#I will now batten down the hatches and prepare for you to yell at me

[silverstarfics]

Me, staring at the single bar of wifi: please work, please work, come on

The wifi logo, somehow managing to look evil: what if I didn’t? What if I was super slow and made your chapter take FORTY MINUTES TO UPLOAD? What then, Kat? Muahahaha

… Anyway:

[thefloorisbalaclava]

Pero Tovar Pirate AU

Chapter 4: Fish in the Sea

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Black F!Reader

Warnings: Sailing through a storm, injury, hurt/comfort (sorta?)

A/N: You catch yourself being stubborn again and this time it ends badly for you but Pero refuses to give up on you.

[one][two][three][pero masterlist]

“A storm is coming,” Pero warned as he ate breakfast with the crew. You quietly walked up behind him and a few of the men saw you coming. Some scattered, some glared.

“A storm's comin' all right,” one said, nodding at you and Pero turned around. He smiled and your heart beat faster until you looked away.

“What’s this about a storm?” you asked.

“We should prepare for a storm. I can feel one on the horizon,” he said.

“A bad one?” You looked past him out to the sea.

“Could be. No reason to be afraid, I will protect you,” he said proudly.

“Oh, that’s reassuring.” You rolled your eyes. “I ain’t afraid though and I don’t need protecting.” You looked at him again. “Why are you staring at me?”

“What does your hair look like without the scarf around it?” He eyed your hair as if he were trying to picture it himself.

“It’s…hair…” you told him, touching at the hair that peeked from beneath the wrap.

“I know that and I can see the color but I want to know what it is like—is it long, short? Is it soft?” He almost reached out to touch the hair that was exposed but thought better of it.

“Why this sudden interest in my hair? Is it because you have never been…around women like me?”

“I have been around plenty of women,” he chuckled but then cleared his throat. “If you won’t answer that then answer this. Why do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Get defensive whenever I ask you anything that may teach me more about you?” He tilted his head.

“I…why do you…” You looked at everything but him. “We should prepare for this storm.” You walked around him and he shook his head as you walked away.

It was none of his damn business. Why should you tell him anything about you? The wind blew and the spray from the sea sprinkled onto your face. You closed your eyes and smiled. It was one of your favorite things.

“Can you smell the rain?” Pero asked behind you, making you jump.

“I smell the salt from the sea,” you said without turning.

“Look, I came to ask you something,” he said and you turned to him. He looked somewhat handsome in this light. You looked away.

“What?”

“You must promise not to take offense,” he began.

“I’m not promising you a thing,” you snapped. “What is it?”

“I believe the storm will be bad so…you should stay inside.” He said it quickly as if that would make you less angry.

“Stay inside? You think some storm frightens me why? Because I am a woman?” You crossed your arms over your breasts and waited for his response.

“That is not why,” he mumbled. “It is because…” He stopped talking.

“Because what? Speak, man! You’ve never had a problem doing it before!” Suddenly, he moved in close to you and grabbed your arms.

“If you would ever give me the chance to speak I would!” he whispered angrily. You looked down at his hands on your arms then back up into his brown eyes. There was no malice in them.

“Well?” Your voice sounded small.

“I want you to stay inside because I do not want anything to happen to you. I will be busy trying to make sure the ship stays afloat. I cannot keep my eye on you as well.” He loosened his grip on your arms and sighed. “I know you will not listen, but I thought I’d try.”

“I am not afraid of a storm, Tovar. I will be out here on deck when it is happening just like the rest of you. I must protect my ship.” You backed away from him then turned and walked away. This time, he didn’t follow.

You sat alone in the captain’s quarters as you usually did while you ate and drank, listening to the men talk and laugh on deck. There was a small mirror sitting on the table so you picked it up and looked at yourself. You eyed the door then looked at the mirror again before reaching up and untying the scarf from your head.

Your hair was thick and untamed but beautiful. You loved everything about it. No, it did not flow down your back the way you used to wish it had, but it had become something you loved about yourself even if others hadn’t. You certainly knew that Pero preferred the women with the flowing hair.

“Stop thinking of him!” you said to yourself, slamming the mirror down. Someone knocked on the door and you rushed to get the scarf back on your head.

“It’s me,” Pero announced.

“Uh…give me a minute!” You quickly wrapped your hair again but didn’t double check. “Come,” you told him and he walked in. “Surprised you waited. Usually you just barge right in.”

“These are my quarters as well as yours, señora.” He walked over to where you were then froze, staring at something on your forehead.

“What are you staring at? Is there something on me?” You looked up towards your forehead. He reached out and you flinched at first but all he did was tuck a loose strand of hair under your scarf. “Oh…thank you. Is that all you came to do?”

“Uh…no…I…the storm…” he stammered.

“You’ve told me, Tovar.”

“What I mean to say is that it’s picking up. The wind especially. Will you please stay inside?” he pleaded.

“No.” You walked to the doors and opened them to pouring rain and the men scrambling about the deck. “Time to batten down the hatches, boys!” you yelled over the rain and walked onto the deck to help where you could as Pero groaned angrily behind you.

“You call this a storm?!” you shouted to Pero who seemed to have all his attention on you though he had said he wouldn’t be able to.

The wind blew harder and the rain stung your skin but you stayed strong. The ship rocked with each hug wave and you found yourself stumbling. You held on as you looked out over the stormy seas. These waves were bigger than any you had ever seen. Maybe Pero was right.

No sooner had you thought that then you heard a loud crack and the men shouting.

“We lost the-" Was the last thing you heard before something hit you square in the chest and overboard. You hit the water hard and sank quickly and were already winded by whatever had hit you so you tried swimming up to the surface.

Air, air, air was all you could think. You made it to the surface, gasping for air but soon you were back under again, feeling as though you were being dragged down by something. The worst thing you could do was panic but you may not be able to control yourself in a moment. Your vision started to go blurry and you felt a strange sense of relaxation.

You were born to the sea and now you return, you thought. You weren’t afraid to die. Hell, you didn’t have much to live for, but so soon? It wasn’t fair.

You gave into the sea, for you could not fight it. It was where you belonged anyway. You sank and sank and sank and your world went black.

“Why has she not woken up yet?” Pero asked the doctor once again. Well, the closest thing the crew had to a doctor. They had taken him on from a British man-o-war.

“She has taken on a lot of water, sir, and I think a few of her ribs are broken which could have easily punctured her lungs. She could even be bleeding internally from being hit so hard and hitting the water at the force she did,” the man said nervously.

“Well, fix it! Is that not what you are here for?!” Pero shouted. He looked down at you just lying there—unmoving, barely breathing, eyes closed. In all honesty, he would prefer you yelling at him right now. He would do anything to hear you say something.

The doctor began to pull your shirt up and Pero grabbed him by his shirt and threw him to the ground. The man whimpered and held his hands up defensively.

“What are you doing to her?” Pero asked, standing over the man.

“I must look under her shirt…” the man said and Pero moved in on him, making him flinch. “To see what damage has been done!” he added, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh…well…” He helped the man to his feet. “Everyone out!”

“I will keep her...covered as best as I can if you help me,” the doctor said and Pero was at the bedside in a flash.

“What do you need me to do?”

“When the time comes, you may need to help me sit her up so I can bandage her properly. Right now, I am only lifting her shirt to feel for any broken ribs. Just hold her in case she wakes and starts thrashing…”

“Thrashing? You’re going to hurt her?” Pero asked, getting angry again.

“Not on purpose. I swear.”

“Fine.” Pero sat on the bed carefully and held you down firmly but not enough to hurt. You were already in pain even if you couldn’t feel it yet. The doctor began pulling up your shirt and Pero looked away, deciding to concentrate on your face instead. The doctor poked and prodded, but you hadn’t woken up. Then he leaned in close to your mouth to listen. Then moved down to your chest.

“Hey…” Pero started.

“Just listening. She certainly has fluid in there but it’s not too bad. I would say at least two of her ribs are broken but there is no internal bleeding. She should be okay if-"

“Should? What does that mean?” Pero had only just realized he was still holding onto you.

“With the fluid in her lungs it is possible she could get an infection but as long as we watch her closely, she should get through it. She will get through it,” the doctor assured him.

“She better or I will throw you overboard and find a new doctor for my ship…” He looked at you. “For our ship.”

“Yes, sir.” The doctor stood and grabbed the bandages the men had prepared for him. “Um…does she have clean and dry clothes somewhere?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“She cannot stay in these wet things. She will most certainly get sick then.”

“Well, I don’t know where her clothes are. She can...she can have some of mine,” Pero offered. He stood and ran over to where he kept his clothes and grabbed a shirt, and a pair of britches then ran back and just stood there staring down at you. “Do we have to take...” He swallowed hard.

“Shirt first so I can wrap bandage. Help me sit her up.”

Pero sat on the bed nervously and helped the doctor pull you into a sitting position. He cut the wet shirt away and Pero looked away. Luckily, the bandages covered the things he should be seeing. He quickly put the shirt on you and laid you back down carefully.

“Now the britches,” the doctor said, and Pero hesitated.

“Now?” He held onto the pants nervously as the doctor cut and tore the wet skirt you were wearing away. His hands shook as he slipped the britches on, tying the strings with nervous fingers. “Okay.” He threw the blankets over you and finally took a breath after holding it for so long. “What now?”

“We wait. I can stay with her or-”

“I will stay,” Pero offered. “This is where I stay anyway. I don’t need the sleep.”

Pero watched you nervously, sometimes sitting, sometimes pacing. “Stubborn even when you aren’t conscious,” he joked to make himself feel better. “It has been hours since anyone has yelled at me so...I think it’s about time you change that. Wake up,” he commanded, sitting down again. You laid there, unmoving, unresponsive. “I said wake up. I know you don’t like when I tell you what to do but I simply demand you to wake.”

Nothing.

He looked at you and reached out slowly to touch your hair, which he could finally see fully. It was still damp. “So...this is what it looks like, huh? I know I asked you to show me, but this is not what I had in mind,” he joked. “For the love of God, please wake up! Yell at me! Glare at me! Something!”

Then you moved, groaning painfully. You coughed a few times and Pero leaned in closer. “Pero...” you croaked.

His eyes widened and he smiled. “Dios mío,” he exclaimed. “The one time you choose to listen to me...”

“What happened?” you asked weakly.

The smile fell from Pero’s face. “You did not listen to me, that’s what happened,” he said angrily. “You were knocked into the water and someone had to jump in to save you.”

“Who?”

He leaned in close to you again. “Me,” he said through his teeth. “You could have died all because you are so stubborn.”

Suddenly you touched his arm and he looked down at it. “I’m sorry, Pero...and thank you.”

“I guess this will quite the story to tell, hm? You survived a maelstrom.”

“Because of you.”

“I like it, by the way,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Your hair.” He looked at it and smiled. When he saw you try to reach up and touch it, he stopped you. “Don’t move too much. Get some rest. You’re going to be lying there for the next few weeks.”

“Weeks?” you whined.

“Weeks. And this time you will listen to me and stay there. Now...sleep.” He pointed at you for emphasis but you both ended up smiling.

“Yes, capitán.” You tried to laugh but it only made the pain worse. “Ow.”

“You scared me,” he confessed. “I don’t like that.”

“I said sorry.”

“I know but...forget it. I will let you sleep. If you need anything, I’ll be right here.” He sat in the chair beside your bed.

“Fine. Goodnight, Pero.” You closed your eyes and he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “And thank you,” you whispered.

When he was sure you were asleep, he prayed over you and thanked whoever was up there for letting him save you. It was then he realized that he would do it all over again if he had to.​

[hrtiu]

Do No Harm

Written for the 2020 @starwarssecretsanta, this is for @part-timewizard. Featuring Kix and some good ‘ol Blyla, I hope you like it! I think it might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written, so thank you for the inspiration! It’s also pretty long so you might want to read it on AO3. Happy holidays!!!

TW for some medical gore, non-graphic, star wars-y violence, canonical character death, and a vague mention of suicide

It’s not as sad as it sounds, I promise!

32 Years After the Battle of Yavin

The ordnance was supposed to be deactivated, but they’d all known that equipment this old was bound to be unstable. Salvaging the cargo was a calculated risk, and one that should have been mitigated by Kix’s experience with GAR resources. Unfortunately for the crew of the Meson Martinet, Kix was a medic, not a demolitions expert.

“We’ve got a hull breach in the cargo bay!” Reeg said, his large yellow eyes whipping back and forth as he looked from one monitor to the next.

“Kriff!” Quiggold said. “Well at least the goods can’t blow the rest of the ship up if they’ve been sucked out into space.”

“We should get to the escape pods!” Reeg said.

“No.”

Captain Ithano’s monosyllabic response was enough to completely shut down that line of thinking for the whole crew. Everyone, Kix included, looked to their sanguine leader for a long, silent moment. Then Sidon turned from them and took up his position in the pilot’s seat, his mask betraying no concern for their imminent demise.

“Well, you heard the captain!” Quiggold said. “Batten down the hatches! Lash anything that can move down!”

Kix jumped to attention, his soldiers’ instincts kicking in. He’d only been on the Martinet for six months, but he’d picked up his duties quickly and it didn’t take any additional prompting for him to rush to the engine room to secure maintenance tools and parts.

Kix tried not to think too hard about how impossible a landing Sidon was about to attempt. The Martinet’s captain had a knack for getting out of impossible situations, and as a crew they’d already decided to put their fates in his hands. There was nothing for it now except to prepare and hope.

“Everyone get in your seats!” Quiggold yelled from the cockpit. “Brace for impact!”

Kix sprinted for his seat in the common area, strapping in and holding his harness with two hands. They hadn’t yet entered atmosphere as far as he could tell—now it was just a waiting game.

Reveth clicked in next to him, her eyes wide but her jaw set.

“You ready to die, Kix?” she asked, her words full of bravado but her eyes betraying fear.

Kix gave her a humorless smile. “Already did it once. What’s there to be afraid of?”

The ship jolted as they passed through the upper atmosphere of a nearby planet—Felucia, if he remembered correctly. Their breached hull had compromised the ship’s insulation, leaving them at the mercy of the burning heat of atmospheric entry.

Sweat dripped down Kix’s neck and his grip on his safety harness tightened. A thrill of fear raced down his spine, and a feeling so unfamiliar to Kix that he almost didn’t recognize it accompanied it: he felt alive.

Kix let out a harsh bark of laughter and Reveth shot him a wary look. “You alright there?” she shouted over the roar of their rapid descent.

“Yeah!” he shouted back. And he was. Ironic that now that his life was in real danger of ending, he’d finally started to care if it continued.

The searing heat gradually ebbed and the ship ground with effort as Sidon attempted to wrestle it into a controlled descent. Kix greeted the twins of powerlessness and mortal danger like old friends, his mind calling back to dicey drops and aggressive assaults of decades past. This was something he understood.

“Getting closer!” Quiggold yelled from the cockpit.

Reveth’s breathing grew loud and labored, and Kix looked over at her, his instincts to assist and comfort overriding the sense of emptiness that had accompanied him since his awakening.

“It’ll be alright!” he said, loud enough for her to hear but somehow still imbuing his voice with the practiced compassion of a medic.

Her frightened eyes latched onto his, seeking solace in his peace. This is right, a voice from his past whispered. This is what you were meant to do. The voice was his own, from when he knew who he was and what he stood for.

BOOM!

The Meson Martinet made impact.

---

19 Years Before the Battle of Yavin

Bly dropped his head back behind the seat of the Separatist shuttle, letting it clunk hard against the durasteel wall. The distance between them and Maridun grew in proportion to Bly's sense of security. He closed his eyes, going through the steps General Secura had taught him for cooling down after battle. His breathing slowed, his racing mind calmed, and gradually the adrenaline of fighting for his life left him. His body was utterly spent, and now he could finally afford to let himself feel it. They were safe.

“Are you feeling better now, Master?” Commander Tano asked General Skywalker, the two of them seated next to each other across the shuttle from Bly.

“Yeah, not 100%, but close.” 

Commander Tano let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”

General Skywalker chuckled. “Whatever you say, Snips.”

The young Padawan’s concern for her Master was palpable, and Bly couldn’t help but remember her and General Secura’s conversation from earlier.

As a Jedi, it is your duty to do what is best for the group.

Bly couldn’t agree with that sentiment more. It was their job as clones, too. It was why he couldn’t afford to stop to memorialize Cameron, Lucky, or Flash. It was why he didn’t have time to mourn the loss of almost the entirety of the 327th. It was why he was prepared to lay down his life anywhere, at any moment, for the cause. General Secura understood that. It was one of the things he respected most about her.

His wandering mind recalled his feet pounding the earth, running away from the Separatist weapon as fast as his body could manage. Then he was flying through the air, a slender, strong arm wrapped around his waist. His heart was in his chest, but he knew he’d make it. He had absolute confidence in his General.

The shuttle docked on General Skywalker’s flagship, jolting Bly from his meditations.

“There’re rooms for you and Commander Bly in the officer’s quarters,” General Skywalker told General Secura, and she nodded her thanks.

They disembarked, and Bly followed General Secura to the rooms Skywalker had indicated.

“Are you alright, General?” he asked. She didn’t look injured, but things had been pretty rough-and-tumble on Meridun. And if she was hurt General Secura was likely to ignore it as long as possible.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Let’s debrief before rest and recuperation.”

“Yes sir.”

He walked behind her through the halls of the Venator, blaster held at ready despite their relative safety and his aching arms. General Secura marched ahead of him and he could sense her mood. He doubted anyone else would be able to tell, but there was a weight to her step and a tension in her shoulders that spoke plainly to her anger and frustration. Bly’s grip on his blaster tightened. It took a lot to shake General Secura.

General Secura reached her room and punched the control panel with more force than necessary to open the door. Bly stepped in after her, wary of what was to come.

“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing across from her as she pulled a chair out from behind a large desk at the back of the room.

Bly obliged, setting his blaster down first and slowly sitting down. He waited for General Secura to start the meeting with her typical no-nonsense efficiency, but instead she set her elbows on the table and rested her forehead in her palms, her eyes closed and her shoulders tense.

Well, he supposed he could get the ball rolling. “Meteor Company is on leave in Coruscant. We can work with them until our fleet is rebuilt.”

“Rebuilt with what?” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

“Pardon?”

“I said, rebuilt with what?” General Secura said with more force, moving her hands away. Bly nearly flinched when he realized there were tears in her eyes.

“The shipyards are already at work on new Venators, and there are the next generation of trainees from Kamino-”

“Rebuilt with men,” General Secura said forcefully. “Nearly the entire battalion was wiped out. A battalion made up of men. Men who were my responsibility.”

Bly floundered for a moment, unused to seeing his General so conflicted. She was his anchor in the madness of the war. What would he do if she was unmoored?

“They were my brothers, and this loss is… difficult to bear,” Bly said, feeling strangely disjointed. 

He was gutted by the death of the clones in his battalion, but at the same time he felt an odd sense of disconnect. Maybe it was some anti-social characteristic inherited from Jango Fett, maybe it was genetic engineering courtesy of the Kaminoans, but either way he didn’t feel the sorrow residing in his heart in the way he intuitively knew he should.

“My apologies, Commander Bly,” General Secura said. “I’ve been so focused on myself when this must be so much harder for you.”

Bly shook his head. “No, I mean… They were my brothers, so I know they understood their sacrifice. Myself and every other clone in the GAR is prepared to sacrifice ourselves for the Republic. It’s like you said, it’s our duty to do what’s best for the group.” 

“That’s what I told Padawan Tano, and I believe it. But there’s a difference between not allowing personal attachment to cloud your judgment, and just standing back while tens of thousands of men die.”

“We did all we could-”

“But it wasn’t enough!” General Secura said, rising from her seat and slamming her fist on the table.

Bly fell silent, thinking there was no response he could give that would help. General Secura stared at him for a long moment as her frame shook with anger and frustration. Gradually, the rage melted and gave way to a deep, abiding sorrow. She sat back down again, her customary grace and stillness returning to her.

“Bly, I swear to you today that so long as it does not endanger civilian lives, I will do whatever I can to protect you and your men,” General Secura said.

“Ma’am, that’s not neces-”

“Yes it is! Each and every man who died in Quell mattered to me. You matter to me. It’s one thing to stop missing my Master too much. It’s another thing entirely to casually dismiss the deaths of my men. If that’s what it means to be unattached, then it’s not worth it to me.”

Her declaration shocked Bly into silence. Nothing was more important to General Secura than the Order, and he couldn’t imagine her turning her back on one of its precepts.

“General,” he ventured cautiously, “You’re distraught, and that’s understandable. But perhaps that’s not the best frame of mind in which to decide to leave the Order.”

“I’m not leaving the Order,” she said firmly. “I’m only recognizing that, as a Jedi, I have multiple ideals that, should they come into conflict, I need to prioritize. And my promise to you—my promise to myself—is that I will always prioritize compassion over detachment.”

Bly’s throat tightened. It wasn’t often a clone was told that he mattered, and for that sentiment to be coming from someone as beautiful, as kind, as gracious as General Secura? Even Jango Fett’s cold heart couldn’t help but be moved by something like that.

“I’m honored, General,” he choked out.

General Secura’s features softened and she rose from her chair, walking around the table to put a hand on Bly’s shoulder.

“I need someone I can trust, Bly,” she said. “I need someone to guide me and push back if I’m not thinking clearly or if my decisions are rash. I need someone to help ensure that this never happens again.”

“I can be whatever you ask of me, General,” Bly said staunchly.

“Please. Call me Aayla,” she said. “What I need is a friend.”

---

“Execute Order 66.”

General Skywalker and Commander Tano stood in front of Kix, their backs to him. Next to him, Rex, Fives, Jesse, and Tup slowly raised their blasters, expressions grim but determined.

“No! Wait!” Kix called out to them. “It’s a trick! Don’t shoot!”

But it was too late. All four of his brothers opened fire, catching their superiors—their friends—completely off guard. Skywalker and Tano both dropped in an instant.

“No!”

Then, to his horror, Kix’s hands raised his own blaster. As he watched on, eyes wide and mind unwilling, his fingers squeezed the trigger three, four, five times, sending burning blaster bolts into their prone bodies. 

“No!”

Kix thrashed in protest, and pain exploded from his legs and chest. He opened his eyes, frantic, but he didn’t see General Skywalker or Captain Rex or anyone else he’d just imagined. Dreaming, he’d only been dreaming.

Kix’s hazy mind still had no idea what was going on and he knew his body was in bad shape, but so long as the nightmare wasn’t real, that was alright with him.

“He can’t come in here, he’ll endanger my other patients.”

“Lady, he’s easily the most injured person here. Who the kriff is he a danger to?”

Voices sounded above and around Kix, noise buzzing in and out of his fuzzy head. He tried to sit up and a firm hand pushed him down.

“Just relax, friend. Don’t move too much,” came Reveth’s voice.

“That thing was made for violence, and I won’t serve him,” the voice said. It was female, but Kix didn’t recognize it. That wasn’t really unusual. He didn’t recognize most of the world he’d awoken to several months earlier.

“That thing is my crewmember,” came Captain Ithano’s raspy voice in harsh rebuke.

“Are you a doctor or not? I thought you weren’t allowed to refuse to help someone in need,” Quiggold added.

Kix’s blurry vision slowly cleared and the sight of blue skies, thick vines, and glowing fungi greeted him. The ordnance, the explosion, the crash—it all came back to him. They’d made it to Felucia, at least mostly in one piece.

Ugh. Thought I’d never have to see this blasted planet again.

“Fine. Bring him in. But as soon as he’s well enough to stand, he’s out of here,” the unidentified woman said.

Kix craned his head up, catching a clouded glimpse of a middle-aged woman with a stern look and odd, blue-ish hair.

“Suit yourself lady,” Quiggold said, and suddenly Kix was moving again.

---

It was past 0300 and the lights of the Venator had been switched to the flickering dim of the night cycle hours ago, but requisitions flimsiwork didn’t care how little sleep Bly had been getting lately. He signed off on a request for more medical personnel—there never seemed to be enough—and set his datapad down for a good stretch. He was closing in on the end and sleep was in sight, but there were still a few things left to do. There always were.

Bly’s office consisted of a small alcove open to the main hallway just off the bridge, and though he would have appreciated some privacy he understood that space was at a premium on a military vessel. The only person onboard who got a private office (or a private cabin, for that matter) was Aayla, her office connecting to Bly’s through a small door at the back. The layout made Bly feel like a glorified secretary at times, but he accepted it since it made it easier to get ahold of the General.

Bly checked what was next on his to-do list. Oh yes, order more munitions for the AT-TE division. Bly braced himself, then settled in for another round of tedium.

“Ahh!”

A loud gasp sounded from behind Bly, and he whirled around in his chair. It was coming from Aayla’s study. Without a second thought Bly jumped from his seat and sprinted through the door separating him from his General.

“General! What’s wrong!”

Aayla looked up from her desk, a hunk of mysterious food hanging from her mouth and a look of surprise on her face. Whatever was going on, she was definitely not in danger.

“Bly! I’m sorry, I was just reacting to this broadcast.”

“What broadcast? Is someone under attack?”

“No…” Aayla said, her lekku flushing a deep blue.

It was then that Bly decided to pause and actually listen to the broadcast.

“But how could Gorges be the murderer? He wasn’t even at the depot when Mr. Waxillium died!”

“He may not have held the blaster, but he set events in motion to cause the death of his supposed good friend, Mr. Waxillium. Didn’t you, Gorges? You were the one who told Mr. Waxillium to go to the depot that night, weren’t you? You were the one who gave Jasna the blaster, weren’t you?”

“You can’t prove a thing!”

Bly’s brow furrowed, the audio from Aayla’s transceiver only confusing him more. “What… what is this?”

“It’s a transceiver drama,” Aayla said with a sheepish smile. “It’s my guilty pleasure, I’m afraid.”

Bly pursed his lips, unsure how he was supposed to respond. It was difficult to imagine Aayla having any guilty pleasures, and he had no idea what a “transceiver drama” was supposed to be.

Aayla’s smile wilted the longer Bly went without responding. “You… don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

She grimaced. “It’s Aayla, especially when we’re not talking business.”

Bly coughed. “I’m afraid not, Aayla.” 

It was still so hard to call her Aayla. He’d managed to start thinking of her as Aayla in his head, but actually saying the words aloud? As if they were friends? As if they were in any way on equal footing? It was a struggle.

“Transceiver dramas are pieces of fiction that are broadcast over transceiver for entertainment. They’re just… fun stories to listen to,” Aayla said. “I don’t listen to them often, but I’m partial to the mysteries.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You never listened to any dramas? Or watched any holos?”

“Only for educational purposes, si-” Bly cut himself off with a curt shake of the head. “Aayla.”

“Well that just won’t do,” Aayla said, standing and pulling a chair from the corner of her study to rest next to hers. “Come, sit and listen with me.”

“I still have some requisitions-”

“Come on, Bly. Everyone needs to relax sometimes. It will help you work better tomorrow.”

Bly still hesitated for several heartbeats, though he knew he’d always end up doing what she asked. He sat carefully in the chair, as if it might eat him alive for slacking off, and slowly eased into the back cushion. Aayla watched him with an amused expression.

“You won’t know what’s going on in this one, but another starts up right after this. You’ll love it—there’s a detective who’s looking for the man who murdered his wife, and he’ll stop at nothing to find him…”

Aayla excitedly described the plot of the upcoming show, her eyes glowing with pleasure as she delved into the twists and turns of the detective’s search. Bly had never imagined that she had such a carefree side to her, never envisioned her indulging in melodramatic entertainment, but he was thrilled by the discovery. She looked so relaxed and at ease, and there was a simple happiness to her habitually world-weary demeanor that Bly desperately wanted to see more of.

The new show started and, despite the mess of names and plot points swirling around in his head, Bly soon found himself sucked into the story. He gasped when Aayla gasped and added to her theorizing when a new clue was discovered. It was fun, an emotion that Bly barely recognized.

Aayla gave him a piece of whatever she was eating and Bly inspected it carefully, discovering after some study that it was dried meat.

“Try it,” Aayla said.

Bly gave the hunk of meat an experimental chew. His tongue was met with an intensity of savory flavor that he’d never imagined could exist, and his eyes widened. “That’s good!”

Aayla chuckled. “A lot better than what they serve in the mess, I’d wager.”

“Definitely.” Bly paused to chew the meat, not expecting it to be so tough. Then a thought occurred to him. “Wait a second, I thought Jedi were vegetarians.”

Aayla looked at him blankly then burst out laughing. “Certainly not! Take Master Yoda, for example. His species is carnivorous. If he was vegetarian he’d starve.”

“Oh…” Bly said, heat rising to his cheeks. “Well I… how was I supposed to-?”

“Shh! We’re missing the next clue!” Aayla said, still trying to hold back her laughter.

Bly slouched into his seat with an undignified pout, and Aayla leaned over and patted him on the arm. The motion should have felt patronizing, but By couldn’t bring himself to resent anything that resulted in her touch.

The drama continued, ending the episode on a cliffhanger with the detective about to be captured by the Hutt crimelord. Advertising played and Bly sighed, bracing himself to get up and finish the requisitions forms.

“...There’s another episode after this one, if you’re interested,” Aayla said with forced indifference.

He really shouldn’t. He was constantly running short on sleep—he needed to finish his work and hit the bunk as soon as possible. He opened his mouth to say as much, then noticed the hopeful tilt of Aayla’s brow. 

“Sure, I could stay for one more,” he said.

What was a few more hours of lost sleep?

---

Kix came to in an aged hospital bed, both legs in splints and his chest aching from what could only be broken ribs. For half a moment his eyes sought Coric, or Rex, or someone else who could tell him what was going on. Then he remembered.

Kix sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back onto his pillow. Maybe it didn’t really matter that much where he was or how he’d gotten there.

Reveth stirred at Kix’s bedside, her eyes widening as she noticed Kix.

“You’re up!” she said, sounding almost cheery.

“Yeah,” Kix said, struggling to sit up without hurting his ribs. 

Reveth jumped to her feet and lent Kix a hand, stacking a few pillows behind his back so he wasn’t staring at the ceiling. They were at the far end of a long room and he was lying in one of several beds partially cordoned off by screens and curtains. The familiar sight of medical equipment provided Kix with a sense of comfort, though the equipment was old and the furnishings dingy.

“How long have I been out for?” Kix asked.

“Just a day. The doctor says you’ll be all better pretty soon.”

“Any other injuries?”

“Us in the common area got it the worst. I had a concussion and a broken wrist,” she said, raising up the bandaged appendage. “Everyone in the cockpit was fine.”

“And the Martinet?”

Reveth grimaced. “She’ll fly again, eventually. Progress is slow because there aren’t any major starports nearby. Kriff, we’re lucky this clinic is even here. I think the doctor is one of those do-gooders who goes to the ass-end of nowhere to serve the needy.”

“Hmm…” Kix said, recalling the way the doctor had at first refused to treat him. She hadn’t seemed particularly charitable then. “How angry is the captain?”

“Ehhh…” Reveth hedged.

“Am I dead? Or just kicked off the ship?” Kix asked. Sidon Ithano was a fair captain, but even he couldn’t just look the other way when a crewmate led them to treasure that ended up tearing apart their ship.

Reveth waved a hand. “The captain seems tough but he’s softer than you’d think.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d avoid him for a few days if you don’t want another broken limb. But he’ll get over it.”

Kix tried to sit up taller but his ribs protested. He fell back into his pillows with a grunt. “Thanks for the advice.”

“It helps that Reeg thinks he can salvage the explosives from the other cargo bay. Only by the grace of the Force did they not blow up in the crash.”

Kix raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Reveth shrugged. “Probably. He said he can extract the titanoid from the charges without setting them off if he soaks everything in moletan first. Still sounds risky to me, but it’s his leather hide.”

Kix nodded thoughtfully. The deconstructed charges wouldn’t be quite as valuable as they would have been whole, but much safer to transport. And that amount of titanoid should make their excursion profitable enough that Sidon probably wouldn’t decide that Kix had to pay for their losses.

“Oh yeah, and your box of stuff was in cargo bay two as well,” Reveth said, reaching for a crate under her chair and kicking it over to Kix.

Kix leaned over the side of his bed with a wince, confirming for himself that the crate really was the one he’d recovered from the crumbling Republic medical center a few days earlier. It was this modest collection of possessions that had brought Kix to back to the old base; the explosives had just been a monetary justification for the trip. The entire crew of the Marinet had understood that, which was why Kix’s concern for Sidon Ithano’s ire was real. They’d risked carrying dangerous explosives onboard just because Kix had wanted to recover a tiny box of worthless personal effects.

Reveth grabbed the crate and set it on Kix’s lap.

“Thanks.”

“So what’s in there?” Reveth asked, leaning forward to see. “What was worth all the trouble?”

“Not much, really. Just a few odds and ends,” Kix said vaguely.

Reveth looked doubtfully at him but didn’t press. 

Kix opened the box and pulled out the first item, a medal he’d been awarded in medical training on Kamino. Medals didn’t interest him much—he still remembered the swell of pride when it had first been awarded him, but now it seemed more like an empty method of placation. He dug further, rummaging around his Phase I helmet, a field medicine guide for venomous creatures and poisonous plants, a musty pair of gloves. He finally found the old pauldron he was looking for,the faded blue painted over with designs of starfighters and explosions—the result of an energetic, easily-distracted mind.

He held the pauldron up to Reveth. “My friend painted this. He sacrificed himself for our company, crashing an enemy fighter into their ship to break a blockade.”

The gently mocking angle that always seemed to tilt Reveth’s mouth disappeared. “Sounds like he was a great man.”

Kix nodded, putting the pauldron carefully back in the crate. “He was.” 

He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do with all this stuff, but the idea of it left to turn to dust on some distant, abandoned base was unacceptable. Despite the crash and despite Captain Ithano’s anger, Kix was glad he’d gotten it back.

The door at the end of the room whooshed open, and the doctor Kix vaguely remembered from before walked in.

“Hey doc! He’s up!” Reveth called.

The woman walked across the room and fully opened the screen that marked Kix’s territory, her nose scrunched up like she smelled something foul. Now that Kix got a better look at her, he realized she was a Twi’lek hybrid. Stubby lekku extended from the back of her head down to her shoulders, barely visible through a shock of thick, blue hair. Her skin was a distinctly human hue of tan.

“He’s conscious? Good,” the woman said, looking Kix up and down. Her eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the crate that still rested on his lap, and without comment she picked it up and pushed it under his bed. “How are your ribs?”

“Broken,” Kix said.

The woman nodded. “They’ll hurt for a while. Some nysillin will help, but time is the best healer.”

Kix groaned his agreement. The splints on his leg looked good and the room, though out-of-date and spartan, was well-maintained. Whoever this woman was, as a man of medicine Kix could respect her.

“Well, try to get some sleep,” the woman said, making some notes on her datapad. “You’ve got a punctured lung, a few broken ribs, and two broken legs, but considering the state of that ship of yours, you’re in pretty good shape. I’ll be using some bacta on those legs and you should be able to get around fairly easily in a day or two.”

Kix closed his eyes again, performing a mental self-examination to confirm her diagnosis. It all checked out.

He opened his eyes again. “I’m Kix. Who are you?”

The woman pursed her lips like she didn’t want to tell him. He remembered what he’d heard when they were bringing him in. That thing is made for violence.

“You can call me Dr. Bosc,” she said eventually. “Pleased to meet you.”

---

“Bly! I need you to get over to that ridge and bring down those turrets!” Aayla shouted over the din of blaster fire and mortars.

“On it!” Bly shouted back, motioning for two ARC troopers and two heavy infantry to follow him and sprinting out from behind cover. 

Bly. Bly. Bly. She never called him Commander anymore. Everything would be so much easier if she would.

His team made short work of the turrets, moving with the grace and efficiency Bly drilled into them day in and day out. It was that skill that would hopefully keep them alive.

Until the day Aayla had broken down after Maridun, Bly had just assumed he’d end up dead before the war was over and hadn’t thought too much about it. Now he thought differently. He wanted to live and he wanted desperately to ensure that every man under his command lived too, no matter how impossible that sounded. It was harder to live this way—harder to maintain hope every day only to have it dashed by the devastation of each casualty his battalion suffered—but Bly could live with the pain. Anything was better than the empty detachment of resignation.

Other things had been different, too. Now that he’d convinced himself he’d live beyond the end of the war, he’d started thinking about his life after. And that was dangerous, dangerous thinking for a clone like him.

“Get down!” Quark yelled.

Bly barely had time to throw himself to the dirt before a hail of blaster fire tore through the air. He crawled through the gravelly earth to the base of the turret they’d just destroyed, using the low platform on which it rested for cover. His team stayed pressed to the ground for several minutes while Bly looked for an opening, but it was no good. A whole company of battle droids had followed them up the ridge, blocking their way out.

“General Secura,” he said into his comm, “We’re pinned down on the ridge. Requesting backup.”

“On my way,” came her snappy response.

I didn’t mean you had to come personally, Bly thought. She surely had more important places to be on the battlefield. He knew she had more important places to be—he could hear that from the comms. 

“Sir! They’re flanking us!” Broadside yelled, and sure enough, a squad of clankers was coming up the other side of the ridge, boxing them in against the steep dropoff beyond the turret.

“Damn,” Bly said. “Alright, we’ve gotta go over the edge. Clankers are worse at covering terrain.”

“Sir?” Broadside said, alarm evident in his voice. “We’ll be totally exposed!”

“I know, but this is our only chance. I’ll try to provide covering fire as long as I can.”

“Sir-”

“That’s an order, soldier!”

Broadside saluted sharply, then pulled his WESTAR M5 from its harness around his back and handed it to Bly. He and his fellow ARC trooper attached their grappling hooks to the base of the turret, lashed themselves to one infantryman each, and started a rapid, precarious descent down the steep face of the ridge. 

Bly grabbed the M5 and switched it to burst mode, then unleashed a spray of blaster bolts on the advancing droids, trying his best to draw fire away from the exposed troopers. After a minute or two of concentrated fire, he chanced a look down to check on their progress. Three troopers were dashing back to the safety of the rest of the battalion, while a fourth lay broken at the bottom of the ridge.

“Karking hell,” Bly hissed. He’d lost another one.

A blaster shot singed a glancing blow off the top of his helmet, and Bly put a halt to his self-recriminations. One of the ARC troopers had helpfully left his grappling hook attached, so Bly grabbed it with two gloved hands and barrelled headfirst down the steep incline. He let his momentum carry him, his feet finding their next hold by instinct and sheer luck, and in less than a minute he was at the bottom. His hands tangled in the wire of the grappling hook, and in the split second it took to free himself, a high-powered blaster bolt nailed him right in the ribs, cutting straight through his plastoid armor.

Bly was on the dirt, face up, waiting for death, when a pair of arms grabbed him under the elbows and dragged him away.

“You’re not dying today, sir!”

The chaos of battle sounded around him, but Bly had very little sense of what was going on. Then the unmistakable whirr of a lightsaber cutting through air and metal filled his ears, and he started to believe that he might make it out alive.

The trooper dragged him into a somewhat sheltered alcove, and suddenly Aayla was by his side.

“What happened, Bly?” she demanded, her elegant features hovering tense and fierce across his field of vision.

“Clanker nailed me,” he managed to get out. “Forgot to duck.”

She narrowed her eyes at his attempt at humor, then sliced the chestplate right off him with several expertly-placed cuts of her lightsaber. She let out a sharp hiss at the sight of the wound, and Bly couldn’t bring himself to tilt his chin downwards to look.

The sound of fighting grew near again, but Aayla didn’t seem to notice. She knelt over him and carefully placed both hands just around the searing pain emanating from his ribs and closed her eyes, her breath coming in deeply through her nose. Nothing happened.

For several long moments all Bly could hear was the not-so-distant crackle of blaster fire and the slow, even breaths of his General. 

“They’re closing in on our position, sir,” a clone voice called out, and Aayla cursed under her breath.

The hands on Bly’s torso pressed down with slightly more force and Aayla gritted her teeth. He could practically feel the force of her will urging his body to knit together, but nothing happened.

“Why oh why can I never heal when I need to?” she muttered, her accent growing thick with frustration.

The sound of blaster fire drew closer, and the shuffle of nervous clone feet reached Bly’s ears. Expending nearly all of his remaining energy, he forced a hand up to grab Aayla’s wrist.

“Aayla. You told me to tell you when you’re being rash.”

The harshness of her expression held for a moment, then melted into resignation. She looked up to some trooper outside of Bly’s field of vision.

“Broadside, I want a medevac for Commander Bly right now.”

“Yes sir!”

She placed a hand on either side of Bly’s face and pressed her forehead to his, her breath warm and comforting against his face. “Don’t die on me, Bly.”

He muttered something about promising and that he’d be fine, but his vision was already starting to blur. More friendly arms lifted him up and onto a stretcher of some kind, and suddenly he was moving again.

All he could see was the sky above him, fixed and immovable as terrain warped and shifted in his peripherals. His thoughts were muddled and confused, but they always seemed to end up returning to the same fact: he was in love with Aayla Secura.

---

It took four days for Kix to be able to put weight on his legs again. 

“It would have been faster if I could spare more bacta,” Dr. Bosc said as she helped him out of bed. “But my resources are limited.”

Having watched her clinic operate the past four days, Kix had to agree. Dr. Bosc was the only medical professional for miles, and she was regularly inundated with patients seeking treatment for a variety of maladies ranging from eye infections to traumatic brain injuries. Kix imagined the unpredictability was also difficult to manage—some days were slower and other days she was entirely overwhelmed.

“I understand, doctor,” Kix said, gripping Dr. Bosc’s forearms firmly to steady himself.

Dr. Bosc gave him a curt nod, then stepped backwards, urging him to test his newly-mended legs. Kix took a tentative step forward, his leg shaking slightly under his weight but ultimately holding firm.

“Looking good there, Kix!” Quiggold called from his seat in the corner, and Kix thanked him with a small smile.

At least one member of the crew had come to visit Kix every day, which he appreciated. It still wasn’t close to approaching the feeling of having his brothers at his back, but Kix was beginning to feel a genuine camaraderie with his crewmates. It was one of the only things about his new life that gave him any measure of comfort.

Dr. Bosc led Kix in several wobbly loops around the clinic, past a Felcuian laid up with a high fever, a Human with a broken leg, and a Weequay woman suffering from dementia. The clinic had really filled up in the past day or two, and Kix had to give it up for the doctor for juggling all her patients with no help.

They passed by Dr. Bosc’s desk, where stacks of paperwork and prescription orders towered, some teetering precariously close to the edge. The only other thing on the desk was an odd sort of T-shaped wooden totem with a chain of connected wooden ornaments dangling off each end.

“Now that I’m mobile I could lend a hand with your clinic, doctor,” Kix said.

Dr. Bosc shot him a contemptuous look out of the corner of her eye. “No, thank you.”

“I’m a medic. I have training. And it looks like you could use the help,” he said, looking pointedly at the desk.

“No,” she said, leaving Kix to balance on his own for a moment to straighten out the stacks most in danger of falling. When she was finished she picked up the totem and placed it in the neatest corner of the desk, careful to keep it safe distance from the edge.

She returned to Kix, and he pursed his lips but said no more. If any of these patients died because their doctor was too stubborn to accept help… 

They finished their final loop around the room and Dr. Bosc helped Kix back onto the bed. Kix started to get settled back into his pillows, but Dr. Bosc disappeared into a storage closet and returned with a set of crutches.

“Good job,” she said, handing the crutches over. “You’re discharged.”

Kix held the crutches and blinked up at her in surprise. Surely she wasn’t serious.

“He can barely walk, doc. He can stay another day, can’t he?” Quiggold asked.

“Does this look like a daycare center to you?” Dr. Bosc said, gesturing to her other patients. “I said he could stay until he could walk. He can walk now, so he’s no longer welcome here.”

Quiggold got to his feet. “What is your problem, lady? If you have a problem with Kix, you have a problem with all of us.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dr. Bosc said, her golden-brown eyes flashing in anger.

“It’s ok, Quiggold,” Kix said. Then he turned to the doctor, curious to understand the mystery that had been eating at him since his arrival here. “My friends know what I am because I told them. How do you know what I am?”

Dr. Bosc glared. “Because you look exactly like my father.”

Kix froze, his brain short circuiting. Father. Father. You look exactly like my father.

“What?” said Quiggold.

Kix’s fingers tightened around his crutches, his knuckles turning white. “Your father was a clone soldier?”

“Yes,” Dr. Bosc spat. “So I have firsthand knowledge of the violence and deception hard-coded into your DNA.”

Deception? Violence Kix could understand, but deception?

“Well hey there, that’s uncalled for-” Quiggold started.

“It���s alright,��� Kix said, struggling to his feet. “I’ll see myself out.”

Kix hobbled to the exit as fast as his busted limbs would let him. If this woman really was the child of a clone, then she probably had some justifiable grievances. Her father was likely a very limited part of her life, and perhaps he’d been more than simply negligent. But that did not mean that Kix was about to sit here and listen while this woman disparaged millions of his dead brothers.

Quiggold followed after him, lending him a hand once they were out of the clinic and guiding him through the musty town to where the Meson Martinet had landed. 

“What was that all about?” he asked. “Is she really the child of a clone?”

“I don’t know,” Kix said shortly. “It’d be a strange thing to lie about.”

“I guess that makes you her uncle.”

Kix leveled a flat look at Quiggold, and he raised his hands in self defense. 

“Hey, just an observation!”

Kix entered the cracked-open shell of the Martinet’s living quarters, stubbornly ignoring the ache in his leg though his medical expertise told him he couldn’t afford to.

“Just hand me an arc wrench so we can fix this ship and get off this miserable planet.”

---

“Get back!” Aayla yelled as the blast doors to the control room burst open.

Bly reflexively ducked for cover, knowing better than to hesitate when it came to his General’s orders. 

They’d been pushing to take out the Separatist base for days now, and they’d finally reached the control tower where intelligence told them the Separatist general would be. The nearness of their goal only reinforced the need for caution in Bly’s minds—those who led from the back often fortified their positions with the toughest security.

Bly used his viewfinder to sneak a peak over the duracrete barrier he’d claimed for cover, his alarm spiking as he realized why Aayla had warned her men away.

Aayla was locked in heated battle with the bald, malicious Sith assassin, Ventress. The dark Force user was wielding her twin sabers to great effect, and though Aayla was a famed duelist, her skills were clearly being put to the test.

“Hold your ground,” Bly repeated over the comm to his troops. He understood that they all had the same instinct he did to rush to the General’s defense, but Aayla had given Bly very specific instructions should this exact situation arise.

“If I meet another Force user in battle, I want you and the men to steer clear, you understand? Those abilities are above your pay grade and my opponent will not be above using you as sentient shields to get to me.”

Bly understood this in theory—had agreed with her, even—but putting it into practice now was a different matter.

Bly had seen Aayla spar thousands of times, frequently against other Jedi. She was undoubtedly more technically skilled than Ventress. But as Bly kept watch over the duel through his viewfinder, it became clear that Ventress had a ferocity—a raw, hateful power—that the General lacked. 

Back pressed against the duracrete, Bly’s fists clenched as he watched the duel progress. He fought the instincts that screamed at him to intervene, to assist, to defend—over all of those urges was the ultimate tenet of obedience.

The duel had moved its way down the hallway and away from the blast doors, and Aayla was now backed up against a wall of transparisteel with nowhere to go. There was a fatigue in her shoulders that Bly knew well, and she didn’t hold firm against Ventress like someone who knew they were going to win. Something snapped in Bly’s mind, and a decision was made.

“Everyone else, continue to hold your ground until I or the General say otherwise,” he said into his comm.

A chorus of “Yessirs,” followed him, and he leapt over the barrier and sprinted towards the duelists. When he was still a good 30 meters away, he pulled out his rifle and aimed carefully. All he needed to do was distract the assassin for a brief moment, enough to give Aayla an opening.

The shrill whine of blaster fire tore through the air as Bly opened fire, squeezing off five shots in rapid succession at Ventress’s back. 

Ventress whirled around, dodging and deflecting with sinuous grace. None of Bly’s shots struck true, but that hadn’t been the point. He’d wanted to get her attention, and he’d succeeded.

Behind Ventress, Aayla noticed her opening and lunged, but Ventress was already gone. She was sprinting full-tilt towards Bly, a sneer on her lips and murder in her eyes. Bly kept shooting at her, using his knowledge of Aayla’s movement patterns to predict where the assassin would dodge. One of his bolts singed her arm, but that only enraged her even more.

In an instant she was on him, his blaster tossed to the side and her hand around his throat. Bly resisted the urge to close his eyes, memories of what had happened to Colt passing through his mind. At least it would be quick.

“You dare to attack me?” Ventress hissed, her voice low and smoky.

Her fingers tightened around Bly’s windpipe, squeezing the air from his lungs. Bly summoned up the last of his breath to respond to her.

“Always.”

Ventress’s sneer turned vicious, and her fingers tightened further, completely starving him of oxygen and summoning black spots to his vision.

“Get away from him!”

The fingers around Bly’s throat disappeared and his body crumpled to the ground. Bly’s hazy world tilted sideways, and through his distorted vision Aayla pounced on Ventress with the ferocity of a gundark.

She slashed downward onto Ventress’s head and Ventress lunged sideways to avoid the strike. Then Aayla swung her blade around for a second strike, faster than lightning, this time aimed at Ventress’s midsection. The Sith assassin jerked backwards, but only far enough to avoid a killing blow. The tip of Aayla’s saber dragged a searing slash across Ventress’s torso, and she howled in pain and fury.

Aayla pressed her advantage, moving in on Ventress, but Ventress simply leapt away, switching off her lightsabers and disappearing out a nearby window.

Relief flooded Bly’s cloudy head, and he closed his eyes, letting himself relax. His blessed rest was interrupted when a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Bly? Bly, can you hear me?” 

Bly opened his eyes, the beautiful sight of a healthy and whole Aayla Secura greeting him. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then get back to the med tent ASAP.”

“Sir, I can fight-”

“Now, Bly.”

Aayla directed a trooper to help Bly to a medic, and several hours later found Bly waiting in his blacks, still foggy and dazed, in the corner of the med tent along with the rest of the non-critically injured. 

The comms told Bly that their operation was over, and not long afterwards Aayla herself marched into the tent, looking tired and angry. She scanned the room, finding Bly quickly and coming to fetch him.

“Debrief in my office. Now,” she said

The harshness of her tone cleared Bly’s cloudy mind, and he jumped to attention, following after her like he always did. They entered the tent that served as Aayla’s office in the field, and as soon as the flap closed behind them, she rounded on him.

“I was very explicit about what to do if I engage an enemy Force user, was I not?”

“You were,” Bly conceded.

“And yet my orders were not heeded.”

“All due respect, sir, I followed your orders until it looked like following them might get you killed.”

“It was a direct order, Bly.”

Anger bubbled up in Bly’s chest, a foreign feeling to him, especially when it came to Aayla. “I made a judgment call! You told me you needed not just a Commander, but a friend. If we’re going to be equals in any way, you need to trust my judgment.”

Aayla took a step towards him, her whole body tilting forward like she was still on the battlefield. “Well I don’t trust your judgment when it puts you in mortal danger!”

“I’m a soldier, Aayla! It’s my job to be in mortal danger!” he said, his voice rasping as his vocal cords reminded him of the abuse they’d been put through today.

Aayla stopped herself from saying more, though she was practically vibrating with anger. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the tactic successfully calming her after several breaths.

Bly eyed her warily, though when she opened her eyes again there was a calm resignation there that assured him their friendship would survive. There was something else in her bearing, though, that gave him pause. Not hostility or anger, but something charged and weighty. It made Bly nervous.

She took another step towards him and lifted her hand to his chest, her fingers not quite touching though Bly could swear he felt the impact. She raised her hand further and pressed her fingers tenderly into the skin of Bly’s neck, and any remaining frustration from their argument was instantly erased.

“Are you alright?”

He swallowed, and he knew she could feel the muscles in his throat constricting under her fingers. “I’ll live.”

“You’d better. Hold still.”

Aayla closed her eyes and hummed in concentration, her entire body calming and entering a state of perfect stillness. The air buzzed with energy, but  the flowing, peaceful energy of the ocean rather than the frenetic energy of lightning. Bly had never felt so complete.

Her hands remained on his neck, and under her touch his skin warmed, then the ache gradually lifted, the tenderness melting away. 

Bly expected her to step away, but she stayed close, her hand sliding down his neck and landing on his shoulder, one thumb resting along his collarbone.

“I know you’re a soldier, and I know that means you’ll always be in harm’s way,” she said. “But if you died to protect me? If you died because of me? It would kill me, Bly.”

This couldn’t be real. Aayla was so much more than Bly was. She was more powerful, more beautiful, more important. How could he matter so much to her? Bly stared hard at her and shook his head, willing thoughts of kissing her, of loving her, out of his unworthy brain.

“That’s… silly,” he said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

“Why would that be silly?” Aayla asked, her beautiful hazel eyes going wide with confusion. She was still so close to him he could see the subtle shift in color of her irises. He’d never been close enough to anyone besides his brothers to see that before.

Her body leaned further and further into his as he floundered for an answer, his training on Kamino providing absolutely no insight. “I don’t matter that much,” he said eventually. “I’m just… Bly.”

She smiled, the motion crinkling the cerulean skin around her eyes. “Exactly.”

Her nose brushed his, but she didn’t move any further. She just stayed there, breathing the same air as him, teasing, taunting. For several tense, protracted moments Bly resisted. This was definitely not the kind of relationship he was supposed to have with a superior officer. This wasn’t the kind of relationship he was supposed to have with anyone.

Then Bly looked down into Aayla’s eyes again, and the love and affection there overwhelmed him. His brothers loved him, but this was a different kind of love—it was warm and fierce, possessive and generous, selfish and selfless all at the same time. She was so close to him, and she wanted him. Who was he to deny her?

Bly surged forward, catching Aayla’s lips in his. She gasped a little, as if she hadn’t actually believed he would kiss her, but she recovered quickly. She held his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking across the golden tattoos on his cheeks, and her careful, tender kiss made him feel like the only thing that mattered in the galaxy.

It was Bly’s first kiss and he had no idea what he was doing, but he thanked Jango for whatever instincts kept him from making an utter fool of himself. He sensed some uncertainty from Aayla, too, though she was better at hiding it. He decided not to worry too much and to just do what felt good and natural, so he slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her flush against him.

She sighed, the action heaving her chest against his, and he tightened his hold. Aayla slid her hands into his hair and deepened their kiss, her mouth moving against him with greater purpose and intensity.

Even though she was brave and strong and could kill him in a second if she wanted, she felt small and vulnerable in his arms. He wanted to envelope her completely, to protect her and love her and be her place of rest. He wanted to do some other things to her, too, that felt less pure but still mutually desirable.

One of Bly’s hands crept up her waist, his thumb hesitating at the bottom of her ribs, and the other moved to cup the back of her head under her lekku. She moaned and the sinful sound demanded retaliatory action. Bly took several steps forward, backing her into her desk, and he pressed himself against her hard. Her fingers tightened in his hair and her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his.

“General Secura! ARC trooper Broadside here with a status report!” a voice called from just outside the tent.

Bly and Aayla shot away from each other like two identically polarized magnets.

“Come in,” Aayla called, fussily sitting herself behind her desk and trying to distract from the azure blush to her cheeks.

Broadside came in and saluted sharply. “Sir! No more Separatist forces found in the area. Casualties are high and our medical resources insufficient to treat them. Requesting backups from the 361st.”

A slight frown crinkled her beautiful brow. “Of course. Stitches should have requested it even if I’m not there—there’s no need to wait.”

“We’re not allowed to request medical aid without your permission, sir. Stitches was looking for you for a while but couldn’t find you.”

Aayla’s flush deepened and she looked down at her desk, shuffling a few pieces of flimsi around pointlessly. “Well he has my permission now. Dismissed.”

Broadside left the tent and Bly stood awkwardly in the corner while Aayla rested her elbow on her desk, all signs of the happy, eager woman of a few minutes ago gone. Bly knew what she was going to say before she even said it. Hell, he even had to agree with her.

Aayla’s eyes flicked up towards Bly. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

---

The first person to show up to the Martinet looking for Kix had a broken toe.

“I went to see Doc Bosc, but she told me Mrs. Xelaut is having a baby today and to come back tomorrow. It really hurts and I don’t want to wait that long!” the young Tholothian boy said, balancing precariously on his good foot just outside the Martinet’s main port.

Kix showed the kid mercy, letting him inside and finding him a chair. It had been two weeks since their crash landing and the crew was still in full-on rebuild mode, working long hours and getting creative with their supplies to put things back together with limited resources.

“I dunno, kid. I think the good doctor might not like it if I start treating her patients,” Kix said, his hands on his hips.

The boy’s face fell. “I’m not going to stop seeing her. I just need someone to wrap up my foot, and she’s busy right now!”

Kix studied the boy’s hopeful face, trying to weigh out exactly how much trouble he’d cause by lending a hand. Then his eyes fell to the foot the boy kept hovering a few inches off the ground so as not to jostle it. His shoe was off and his big toe was swollen black and blue. Kix’s jaw set. He was a medic, and it was his responsibility to treat the injured, no matter what anyone else said.

“Alright then,” he said, helping the boy to his feet. “Ship’s got a small medbay. I can get a biocast for you and get you some meds that will take the edge off a bit.”

The boy whooped and Kix couldn’t help but smile as he provided a steady arm for the boy to balance with while hopping through the ship. A half hour later and the boy walked out of the ship with a pair of makeshift crutches, a tiny biocast for his toe, and a smile on his face.

Word spread quickly of Kix’s services, and soon locals who couldn’t find a spot at Dr. Bosc’s clinic were showing up to see Kix at the Meson Martinet on a regular basis. Quiggold grumbled and Captain Ithano silently disapproved at first, but they changed their tune once grateful patients and their families started making an extra effort to get them the supplies they needed to fix the ship. 

At first it was only one or two people a day, and sometimes nobody at all. Dr. Bosc was an excellent physician, after all, and most of the time she could see her patients as soon as they needed. But then a nasty bout of the flu made its way around town, and soon there were five, ten, fifteen people coming round the ship a day.

Leveraging all of his scrappy field medicine skills, Kix jury-rigged together a tent with some cots and set up a clinic outside the ship. Captain Ithano’s patience was limited, and Kix figured the more he could keep patients from getting underfoot during the repairs, the longer the Captain’s good graces would last.

The flu was a particularly nasty strain, but thankfully as the ship’s doctor Kix had insisted that the whole crew get vaccinated for a wide variety of ailments several months ago, so none of them fell ill. The rest of the town was not so lucky, and soon it seemed every family had been affected one way or another.

By day four of the outbreak, Kix was more tired than he’d been since waking from cryo-sleep. He was constantly inserting IV’s, taking temperatures, changing sheets, getting bedding, and preparing bacta capsules. He was so busy that it took him awhile to realize something strange: he was happy.

Each discharged local felt like a personal victory. The relief writ clear on his patients’ faces when he told them he could help filled, at least partially, the hole inside of Kix that his brothers had left behind. He was in his element, using his skills and expertise to assist those in need.

That newly-discovered happiness deflated when he saw Dr. Bosc marching up to his tent clinic with narrowed eyes and balled-up fists. 

“I need to speak with you immediately,” she demanded as soon as she was within hearing distance.

“Certainly,” Kix said, first making sure his patient was comfortable, then leading Dr. Bosc away from the tent where she wouldn’t cause a scene.

“How can I help you, doctor?” Kix asked once they were a reasonable distance away.

“You know exactly why I’m here,” she accused, her tan features taking on a reddish hue.

Now that Kix knew her father was a clone, he could see the resemblance. The lekku were obviously not part of her father’s legacy, but her light brown eyes, thick, dark hair, and the way her mouth set in a wide, flat line all reminded him fiercely of his brothers. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be specific, doctor. I can’t imagine why anyone would be angry at a medic providing medical treatment.”

Dr. Bosc’s eyebrows rose, as if to question the audacity of his statement. Kix had to admit that raising her ire was somewhat satisfying.

“You are stealing my patients. What kind of a person takes advantage of sick people for profit?”

“I don’t charge my patients anything beyond the cost of materials. They are getting my time for free,” Kix said as calmly as he could manage.

“But money isn’t the only problem! These are patients who I’ve developed a rapport with! Patients whose medical histories I know! They’re happy you’re helping them now, but what happens in a month or two, when you’re not here anymore? Did you even think about that?”

“Yes, I did think of that, which is why I offered to help you over a week ago. But you said no. Then what was I supposed to do when people who couldn’t find a spot in your clinic showed up asking me for help? Turn them away? I swore an oath to heal the wounded and restore the weary, and I will not break it just to sooth your wounded ego!”

Dr. Bosc recoiled like he’d physically attacked her. She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, her expression shifting between rage, guilt, and confusion.

“Maybe when you’ve figured out what you’re actually upset about we can talk,” Kix said.

He turned on his heel and walked away, trying his best to just leave it at that. He didn’t know what this woman’s father had done to her, but it didn’t justify the way she was treating him. It didn’t justify her judgment of all of the clones.

“Wait!” Dr. Bosc called from behind him, but Kix just kept walking.

She caught up to him and blocked his path, arms spread wide. “Just wait a second, ok? I’m sorry.”

Kix raised his eyebrows at her. “Is that so?”

“Yes, you were right. I haven’t been fair to you.”

“Fine,” Kix said, moving to walk past her. “Apology accepted.”

“No, wait, please!” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “I really am sorry, and the truth is… I could really use your help.”

“Really?” Kix said flatly. “Now you want my help?”

Dr. Bosc took a deep breath, then exhaled, her posture relaxing and her expression contrite. “Look, I have a lot of problems with my father, but that’s not your fault, and I apologize for letting it affect the way I treat you. I have resources you could use. Set up your tent outside my clinic, and together both our lives will be easier.”

Kix narrowed his eyes at her, attempting to gauge her sincerity. And even if she was sincere, would they be able to work together peacefully?

“Alright. I’ll move everything tonight,” he said.

He’d treated patients in the middle of open warfare. How hard could it be to get along with one middle-aged doctor?

---

Bly was back to calling her General.

He knew it hurt her feelings, but if he was supposed to forget the way she tasted , the way her body felt pressed up against his, then there was no way he could continue to call her Aayla.

They left the GAR headquarters on Coruscant together late one night, the details of their strategy meeting still buzzing around in Bly’s head. The war wasn’t going well. The GAR had seen some decisive victories recently, but it wasn’t enough, and there was no sign of hostilities ending any time soon.

“I’m shipping out tomorrow, but you should report to the Coruscant Guard in the morning. I agreed to lend you to Commander Stone to help oversee the training of a company of new arrivals from Kamino,” General Secura said as they approached the speeder that would take her back to the Jedi Temple.

Bly stopped in his tracks. “More training, General?”

General Secura turned her head back to Bly, her eyebrow raised. “Is there a problem?”

Bly’s jaw clicked. “No, sir.”

“Good.”

She opened the door to the speeder and slid inside. This was the part where Bly stood on the landing pad and watched while General Secura flew away, then turned back to the GAR headquarters and went to sleep in his tiny bunk in his tiny quarters. This was the part where he obediently listened to orders and did what he was told.

Bly slid into the back of the speeder after General Secura, shutting the door behind him and signalling the driver to depart. The driver shot General Secura a questioning look, and she first looked doubtfully at Bly, then nodded to the driver.

“Got something to say, Commander?” she said.

“You’ve got to put me back on the front lines, sir. It’s where I belong.”

“You’re just as much use to me here, Bly.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Please don’t do this out of some misguided attempt to protect me. This is what I want. This is what I was meant to do.”

A pained expression crossed General Secura’s face. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, and there’s no shame in it. I’m a soldier. I’m good at it. I enjoy it. Let me be what I am.”

“You are an amazing soldier, Bly, and I’ll bring you on this next campaign if that’s what you want. But are you sure… Are you sure you’ll never want anything else?”

The question gave Bly pause. “...I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I think that sometimes we have different purposes at different times in our lives. Maybe now you were meant to be a soldier, but some time in the future you can be something else. Maybe now I am meant to be a Jedi, but some time in the future…”

Bly stared at Aayla like she’d grown an extra head. Was she suggesting she might someday leave the Order?

Aayla shook her head and she rubbed at her temples.  “Don’t listen to me, I’m just feeling… out of sorts.”

Bly had noticed. Before their strategy session the General had come from a meeting at the Jedi Temple, and he’d seen the tension in her shoulders and the distant look in her eyes. 

“Is… something wrong at the Temple?” he asked tentatively.

General Secura looked sideways at him, her gaze hard and measuring for a moment before she relented. “Not wrong, exactly. I was just coming from the tribunal for Ahsoka Tano.”

“Oh.” Bly had heard about that. The young Jedi he’d first met at Quell had been accused of planting bombs at the Jedi Temple. It seemed unlikely to him, but you never knew. People could surprise you. “What was the result?”

“She was ejected from the Order.”

Bly remained silent. He’d known men who’d died in that blast.

“She wasn’t ejected because we found her guilty. She was ejected in order to stand trial in a GAR court. She hasn’t been found guilty yet,” General Secura clarified.

“I’m sorry. She seemed like a really good kid.”

General Secura sighed. “I don’t know if she did it. Maybe we’ll never know. But if one thing is clear it’s that something isn’t quite right within the Order. And I worry for Ahsoka and the other young Jedi. I worry what they’ll face in the years to come.”

The idea of the Jedi Order being less than perfect was entirely foreign to Bly. The Order was beyond reproach, it was the source of leadership for the entire GAR, the font of their moral authority. That General Secura would confide in him her doubts was both incredibly unsettling and a sign of immense trust.

“Well… You are a part of the Order. So I know it must be good,” he said, his eyes flitting shyly up to meet hers.

She smiled a soft, sad smile and rested her hand atop his on the leather seat between them. “Thank you, Bly. And thank you for… understanding.”

She didn’t elaborate, but Bly knew what she meant. He felt the same way. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for understanding the things that are important to me. Thank you for understanding why we can’t be together. Thank you for understanding me.

“Of course, Aayla.”

---

Dr. Bosc and Kix got used to working together surprisingly quickly. They were both medical professionals used to setting aside the minor problems to focus on the life-threatening ones, and cooperation was an absolute necessity due to the severity of the flu season.

At first Dr. Bosc was constantly checking over Kix’s work, grilling his patients about his bedside manner and double-checking that he’d given the right medication at the right time. It grated on Kix’s patience, but there was no place for ego on the battlefield, and he refused to let his irritation with her harm any of the people coming to the clinic for help.

Kix also felt the urge to be on his best behavior to prove Dr. Bosc wrong about clones. It rankled him that he cared what she thought, but he couldn’t get himself to let it go. It wasn’t fair to have to serve as an ambassador for all of his kind, but then again he was the last living clone. He was quite literally the only representation of who they were left in the galaxy.

Over time Kix’s consistent competence combined with the sheer amount of work to get done meant that Dr. Bosc stopped hovering and gave him more and more freedom to treat his patients as he saw fit. His grudging respect for her grew as well, as he witnessed her medical knowledge and the kindness and compassion she showed to everyone who stepped through her doors. Everyone but him, of course.

After another week of taking temperatures, replacing fluids, and administering medicine, the flu outbreak finally abated and the deluge of patients slowed to a trickle. Kix packed up the tent and temporary cots, but he kept on helping Dr. Bosc at the clinic. Work on the Martinet was progressing slowly, and Kix felt more useful assisting at the clinic than guessing at the right wrench to hand Reveth on the ship.

“Kix, can you get the maternity med unit ready for me?” Dr. Bosc asked one morning not long after the wave of flu patients had ebbed. 

Kix looked up from the sterilizer he was using to clean their bio-injectors. “Another one?”

Two women had already delivered at the clinic since Kix had arrived—both Felucians. Kix had been busy with the fever patients at the time so he hadn’t assisted with delivery, but he’d seen the women walk out of the clinic the next day with their tiny, rotund babies.

Dr. Bosc shrugged. “Felucians have a cyclical mating season. And seasonal mating-”

“-means seasonal birthing.”

“Exactly. And I’d appreciate it if you lent a hand on this one since we’re having a slower day.”

“Sure thing,” Kix said, finishing up with the sterilizer and going to get the maternity med unit out of storage.

“I won’t need help with anything too complicated.” Dr. Bosc said when Kix returned. “All you’ll need to do is-”

“Actually I’ve delivered a baby before. She wasn’t Felucian, but my understanding is the process is pretty similar.”

Dr. Bosc’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I didn’t realize you were trained in that sort of thing.”

“We focused on field medicine, yes, but we got a rough overview on everything else, too.”

“And when did you run into a woman in labor on the battlefield?”

Kix gave her a secretive grin. “Oh, it’s a long story.”

Dr. Bosc frowned, but any further questioning was halted by the arrival of the expectant mother, her round eyes wide with fear and her hand clenched tightly against her very pregnant belly.

They got to work, ushering the woman to her bed and giving her painkillers while explaining how the long process would go. Kix had only just gotten her settled when a panicked voice shouted out from the entrance.

“Hey! I’ve got a badly injured kid here!”

Kix and the doctor whirled around and a disheveled man staggered in carrying a young boy in his arms. The boy’s leg had been mangled almost beyond recognition and was covered in blood, his face ashen white as he clutched tightly to the man’s shirt.

“Oh my goodness!” Dr. Bosc rushed over to him and directed him to the nearest bed while Kix ran to get some bacta and a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

“We were out on the combine when his leg got stuck on one of the beams and…” the man who’d brought the boy in said, choking off into sobs.

Kix grimaced as he tied the tourniquet tight and examined the leg. Some white was visible through the red, and his skin was torn to shreds.

The Felucian mother shrieked from somewhere behind Kix, and he jumped. He’d forgotten her in the rush.

Dr. Bosc put a hand on his shoulder. “You handle the kid. I’ll come over to lend a hand whenever I can.”

“You sure?” Kix asked. She’d been fiercely protective of her most serious cases so far, feeling ultimately responsible as the founder of the clinic.

“Yeah. You’re much better at trauma than me.”

Kix nodded, then turned back to the kid. “Alright. Now we’re going to stop the bleeding, then see what we can do to save the leg. What’s your name, kid?”

The kid was shivering, his eyes wide and his skin clammy with shock. “K...K...Kin.”

“Well that’s almost like my name! I’m Kix,” he said as he set bacta patches on the pieces of skin that wouldn’t need sutures to heal. “You’ve been very brave so far, and I know you can do this, alright? We’ll get through it together.”

“O...Ok.”

By nightfall the boy was resting peacefully in his hospital bed, a bio-cast over the entire length of his leg and a stuffed convor tucked under his arm. A tiny Felucian baby slept in a bassinet in the corner while his mother rested on the med unit. Kix and Dr. Bosc checked one last time to make sure there was nothing more their patients needed, then they both retreated to the storage room and nearly collapsed onto the futon at the back of the room.

“Ugh, what a long day!” Dr. Bosc said, stretching her arms wide and cracking her neck.

“I thought things would get easier after flu season,” Kix said.

“That’s the life we signed up for. At least every day is different.”

Kix’s mouth quirked upwards into a weak smile, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Better than the battlefield.”

Dr. Bosc leaned back in the futon and eyed Kix appraisingly, her stubby lekku fitting just over the backrest. “You’re a good doctor, Kix. Kin would have lost his leg if not for you.”

Kix’s smile grew into a smirk. “I’m a medic, not a doctor.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “That kind of certification only matters on a planet like Coruscant. Out here the only thing that matters is your ability. And by that measure you more than qualify.”

Kix didn’t need her approval. He hadn’t even really wanted it. But there was still something pleasant about knowing that working with him had increased her respect for him. “Thanks, doc.”

Dr. Bosc twisted her hands together nervously, and Kix noticed for the first time the blue shade of the palms of her hands. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to trust you. But I do now. Thank you for helping me.”

Kix laughed and let his head fall back over the top of the backrest. “Well, what else was there to do?”

She chuckled softly, and Kix closed his eyes, a deep fatigue setting into his bones. During the war this was when he would have busted out the stims, but Dr. Bosc didn’t have many of those and he didn’t want to keep them from people who really needed them.

“How are you still alive?” Dr. Bosc asked, the curiosity strong in her voice.”You should be much older. You should be dead.”

“I was in cryo-sleep,” Kix said, stifling a yawn. “From right before the end of the war until a year ago. It’s… a long story.”

“For another night,” Dr. Bosc said, getting to her feet with a groan. “You can sleep here overnight if you want. On the futon.”

“You just want me to take care of the baby when she wakes up in an hour.”

“The thought had crossed my mind…”

Kix wanted to say no. He wanted to get up and walk down the hill to the Martinet and collapse into his tiny bunk. ...But it was so far away.

“...You get first shift,” he said.

“Deal.”

---

Tomorrow might be the last day of Bly’s life.

That was technically true every day, but the possibility felt especially distinct tonight.

Bly looked over the holo displaying the plans for their assault, the blue glow of the projection appearing so benign compared to what it all might mean for him and his men. Each of those dark blips on the holo represented a full company of battle droids, and each battle droid was more than capable of firing the shot that killed any one of his men. But the munitions factory the droids guarded was key to their victory, so tomorrow they’d launch their assault.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” General Windu asked.

Commander Fisk nodded smartly next to Bly. “Yes sir.”

Bly found himself distracted momentarily by his fellow commander, the man who had replaced Ponds. Fisk stood with one arm behind his back, just like Ponds always had, and Bly wondered how much a clone’s Jedi General influenced his personality. He wondered if Fisk felt like just a replacement to the ever-stoic General Windu.

“Bly?” General Secura asked.

“No questions, sir.”

“This is likely to be a long, difficult battle,” General Secura continued. “But our victory will protect the lives of millions of Republic civilians, and help our other GAR battalions, too.”

General Windu nodded his agreement. “We’ve got a tough day ahead of us tomorrow. Rest up. Dismissed!”

Fisk and General Windu left the bunker they used as a portable command center and Bly turned to follow them.

“Hold up a moment,” General Secura said from behind him.

“Sir?” 

She was standing behind the holo, the Jedi robes she rarely wore draped loosely around her shoulders to ward against the cold of the frigid planet. Her hands twisted tightly in front of her and she bit her lip. “Tomorrow… could be a bad day.”

She was as radiant as ever, her beautiful azure skin glowing luminescent through the lights of the holo, but there was something heavy and serious about her demeanor.

“Yeah. But… we’re prepared,” Bly said, trying to find some words of comfort.

“We’re as prepared as we can be, yes. But even so, many men won’t live to see tomorrow night.”

Bly set his jaw. “We’ll both do everything we can to save as many lives as possible. That’s what we do.”

Aayla stepped out from behind the holo, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “I know, and I’m not pessimistic. I believe in our men, and I believe in the Force. But there’s something I want to give you before tomorrow.”

“Give me?” Bly asked, confused. He wasn’t really in the habit of owning things.

“Yes. I was waiting for the right time, but considering the dangers, I don’t want to miss my opportunity waiting for the perfect moment.”

She took another step towards Bly, but he stayed put by the door, ready to escape if he needed to. It had never been easy holding back his feelings for Aayla, but lately it’d been getting harder. She’d been closer, more familiar, always aware of him in a way that thrilled and tortured him. But he had to stay strong, for both their sakes.

General Secura noticed his caution, a look of hurt briefly flitting past her face. She stopped with a healthy distance between them, and she forced her hands to her sides .

“As soon as the war is over, I’m going to leave the Jedi Order.”

Bly’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking it over for some time now, and I’ve made my decision. I can’t leave now, not with the Republic and the 327th depending on me, but once the war is over I will renounce my vows.”

“But… why?”

She pulled something from a pocket in her robes and stepped just close enough to reach out and hand him a small wooden cube. He turned the cube in his hand, its smooth surface interrupted by precisely carved designs. Three sides depicted a yellow rectangle, identical in design to the tattoos on his cheeks. The other three sides were painted with diagonal blue stripes.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Among my people there is a tradition. We pass down a wooden totem from mother to daughter, and when a woman gets married she adds a piece to it representing herself and her partner. As a Jedi, I never expected to participate in this tradition, but now that I am leaving the Order…” 

Bly froze, his eyes still trained on the wooden block in his hand. The golden-yellow of his tattoos, the deep blue of her skin.

Aayla closed the distance between them, setting her hand on his and closing his fingers around the cube. “When I leave will you go with me? Will you be part of my family?”

The textured sides of the cubes felt sharp and distinct under his hyper-sensitive fingers. It was like watching his own life from above, from the side, from anywhere else. Because how could this be real? How could this be happening to someone like him?

When they had kissed before it had made a strange sort of sense. General Secura was under a tremendous amount of stress, and though she talked tough and didn’t let it affect her command, she’d always had a soft spot for her men. Under those conditions he could understand her momentarily forgetting herself and misplacing her emotions onto him.

But this? Taking the time to carefully consider and then choosing him?

“I don’t understand,” he said, the understatement of the century.

Her head tilted to the side and her eyes softened as she stepped even closer to him, resting a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Bly. Why should it be so hard to believe that I love you?”

He melted at her touch, all of his defenses instantly neutralized. He closed his eyes and turned his cheek into her palm, the hand that wasn’t holding the wooden cube coming up to rest on the back of her hand. Still, he could not speak.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever met, Bly,” she said, her voice now a whisper, “And I would be honored to spend the rest of my days with you.”

A decade of training on Kamino, thousands of meetings about discipline and regulations, even the very structure of his DNA weighed against him, holding him back, pulling him down. Then he opened his eyes and looked into her powerful, fierce, compassionate, beloved face, and he found the strength to speak.

“Yes!” He gasped. “Yes, I want that. I want you. Aayla Secura.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, a feeling of breathtaking, unbelievable joy taking hold. His cheek rested on her lekku, and her fingers anchored into the lines of his back. 

“When the war is over, we leave together,” Aayla said, nuzzling gently into his neck. “No matter what anyone says.”

“Together,” Bly agreed.

---

It took two months, some elbow grease, and a lot of creative use of scrap, but eventually repairs on the Meson Martinet were finished. 

Quiggold insisted on a going-away party, both to celebrate the Martinet’s repairs and to thank the locals who had generously lent a hand. Reveth and Captain Ithano were against it, but Reeg was excited for any excuse to drink and Kix thought it might be nice to spend one last evening with Dr. Bosc, so the three of them outvoted the rest.

A generous spread of grilled fungi, nysillim soup, and other local delicacies filled up the small counter space in the ship’s mess, and the crew crowded around the table with Dr. Bosc, several local scrappers, and a farmer Reeg had grown close to. It was the Martinet’s way of saying farewell to the town they’d called home for two months.

The conversation was friendly and the food comforting, and Kix found himself relaxing, his mind called back to similar camaraderie in the mess hall and simpler times.

“And then Reeg came home with a power converter he bought off a Jawa, and he was surprised it didn’t work!” Reveth said, crowing with laughter.

“That power converter did work. It’s not my fault you broke it!” Reeg protested.

“Back me up here, Kix,” Reveth said.

Kix leaned back and laughed, feeling light hearted for the first time in what felt like ages. “It was busted from the beginning and you know it, Reeg.”

“Don’t listen to him, the hole in his head has turned his brain to mush!” Reeg said, his eyes glowing the particularly vibrant yellow that always accompanied an Arcona who was well in his cups.

Kix gave Reeg a mostly playful shove. He didn’t mind some good-natured ribbing, but Reeg’s joke hit too close to topics Kix would rather leave alone.

“I noticed that incision, Kix. What happened there?” Dr. Bosc asked curiously between sips of wine.

Kix grimaced. He’d thought his hair had grown back enough to cover it up, but he supposed it was inevitable that a trained eye like Dr. Bosc would pick up on it.

“Just a minor procedure. Not a big deal,” Kix said, eyes trained on the wall across from him.

“Not a big deal?” scoffed Reeg. “I’d say removing a mind control chip in your brain is a pretty big deal!”

“What?” Dr. Bosc asked, alarmed.

“Really, Reeg. Cut it out,” Kix warned.

The table fell silent, and Kix looked down at his plate and unenthusiastically pushed his fungus steak around. Out of the corner of his eye Dr. Bosc kept shooting him worried looks, like he might break out into a violent rage at any moment. Great. And I was just finally getting her to trust me.

“Doc, there’s really nothing to worry about,” Reeg said, noticing Dr. Bosc’s disquiet. “Good ol' Palpatine had a finger in every clone’s brain, but Kix figured out how he was doing it and had the chip removed.”

“I don’t know what you’re-” Dr. Bosc started.

“Got them to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t have done otherwise. How else do you think the Republic got every clone to summarily execute the Jedi without so much as a hearing?”

Kix’s grip on his fork tightened, whitening his knuckles. He really did not want to talk about this. The clatter of metal on ceramic echoed around the mess, and Kix looked up. Dr. Bosc had dropped her fork, and she looked about two seconds from throwing up.

“Doc, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Reeg said.

“Would you shut up already? Haven’t you done enough?” Reveth hissed.

Dr. Bosc shot to her feet, face sickly pale and eyes wide, and fled from the table without so much as a goodbye. Kix stared after her for a long moment, completely at a loss as to what to do.

The rest of the table fell silent and Kix swallowed, turning back to his plate. He started to take another bite of his fungus steak, but a cough from Captain Ithano forced his gaze upwards. The Captain was lounging comfortably in his chair, but his arms were crossed and his masked head tilted sideways. He caught Kix’s eye and jerked his head towards the door. Kix got up and started out the door after the doctor. The Captain wasn’t the kind of person you said no to.

Outside the ship, Felucia’s legendary night sky painted the heavens. It was a little cold, and Kix rubbed at his arms as he followed Dr. Bosc to a small clearing not far from the ship. She stood in the middle of the clearing, looking up at the sky with an oddly blank expression on her face.

“Hey, Dr. Bosc, I can leave if you want, but I wanted to make sure you’re ok-”

“Is it true, what Reeg said?”

“Is what true?”

“That there was some sort of mind control involved in the execution of the Jedi Order?”

Kix shifted from one foot to the other, unconsciously scratching at the still-puffy scar above his ear. “Yeah. I was in cryo-sleep when it happened, but I found out about it beforehand. I wanted to warn the others, but the enemy learned I knew and captured me. As far as I can tell, none of my brothers had any ability to resist when the order came through.”

Dr. Bosc stayed turned away from Kix, her oval face tilted up at the full moon. Kix maintained a respectful distance between them, though the shimmering reflection of moonlight on Dr. Bosc’s cheeks suggested she might be in need of comfort.

“Do you know why I hated you at first?” Dr. Bosc asked eventually, her voice cracking slightly on the words.

What did she mean? Kix had thought it was because her father had treated her poorly. “I’m… not sure.”

“My mother was a Jedi General, and my father was her second-in-command. When they sent me to my uncle and aunt, they said that they loved me, that they loved each other. But only a few months later when the Republic accused the Jedi of treason, my father killed my mother. Shot her in the back without a second thought.”

Kix’s heart stopped, and he stared at Dr. Bosc as if seeing her for the first time. Her stubby lekku extended just beyond her blue, curly hair. The palms of her hands were tinged with color like she’d been writing with a leaky indigo pen. She was tall and elegant, her doctor’s hands moving with a warrior’s grace.

“I came here to Felucia because this is where it happened,” Dr. Bosc continued. “I don’t really know why. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe I just wanted to understand why it happened. But now, maybe I finally have an answer.”

“Your father didn’t willingly kill your mother. That I can promise you.”

“That’s what I’d like to think, hearing what Reeg said about the chip in your brain. But I don’t think I’ll ever really know. How can I know what he was thinking?”

“Is your first name Ayy?”

She froze. “How did you know that?”

“Wait here,” Kix said, then he rushed back to his bunk on the Martinet, locating the crate of personal effects he had stowed underneath it. He rummaged around, then found what he was looking for at the bottom of his crate.

He turned around only to find Dr. Bosc waiting in the doorway to the crew quarters. Kix walked over to her and handed her the object, placing it carefully in her hands. She opened her fingers slowly, revealing a small wooden cube with yellow rectangles on three sides and blue stripes on the other three sides.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Kix said.

---

Bly thanked the Force and whatever gods there were that he was there when Aayla collapsed.

“Ahhh!” she moaned on the hard durasteel floor of her office on the Venator, her hand grasping at her abdomen.

“What is it?” Bly asked, alarmed. Aayla was tough, and he’d seen her take blaster fire to the back without flinching.

“I’ve been having these pains all day, but I took some stims and painkillers and brushed it off. But now- Ahhh!” she cut off with a sharp cry.

“Aayla? Aayla??” Bly crouched down by her side, unable to get her to her feet. She clutched tightly to his arm.

“Find a medic, please,” she said between gasps.

Bly rushed out of the office, and blessedly one of the first men he saw walking the halls had the red medic cross on his arm.

“Medic! Yes, you there! I need assistance immediately!”

Judging by his blue painted armor, he was one of the medics on loan from the 501st for training. If anything that might be for the best—Bly preferred as few troopers as possible see their General in her weakened state.

“What’s your designation?” Bly asked as he punched in the code to get back into Aayla’s office.

“CT-6116. Kix, sir.”

The door whooshed open and Bly and Kix rushed to Aayla’s side. 

“What happened?” Kix asked.

“I don’t know…” Aayla said through gritted teeth. “My stomach… hurts.”

Kix pulled off his helmet and set it on the ground, a grim expression on his face. 

“Could be appendicitis. Let’s get her to the medbay-”

“No!” Aayla said. “No… Just… Find out what’s wrong first. Here.”

Bly shot Aayla a confused look, but she just shook her head. Not now.

“If you say so, sir. Commander, help me get her onto the couch.”

Together they lifted Aayla onto the couch in the corner of the office, and Kix stuffed a few pillows under her shoulders to keep her head elevated. Kix knelt by Aayla’s side and began asking her a series of rapid-fire questions and Aayla answered as best she could between gasps and moans of pain. Bly hovered uselessly overhead, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other.

“Commander, would you go to the medbay and bring me a portable med unit?” Kix asked.

“Right away,” Bly said, understanding that Kix was probably just trying to get rid of him but wanting to be useful all the same.

When he came back with the med unit, the door to Aayla’s office was shut and locked. He knocked on it, and Kix opened it only long enough to pull the med unit inside. When Bly tried to walk in after him, Kix shook his head.

“It’ll be just me and the General here for a bit, Commander.”

“You can’t order me-”

“General’s orders, sir.”

The door shut in front of Bly’s face, and he blinked uncomprehendingly at it for a long moment before going to his desk and sitting down. The longest thirty minutes of Bly’s life passed and Kix opened the door and motioned for Bly to come in. Aayla lay in the med unit, hooked up to various sensors and drips, but looking much calmer and at peace.

“So do you know what’s wrong? Will she be alright?” Bly asked.

Kix nodded to Aayla. “She can probably answer that better than me, sir.”

Aayla opened her eyes and reached a hand out towards Bly. He shot a sideways glance at Kix, but took her hand in his.

“Bly,” Aayla said, her eyes full of a strange mixture of fear and delight. “I’m in labor.”

Bly’s brain stuttered to a halt. In labor? Aayla? Aayla kept talking in front of him, but he heard her words as if through water. Did this mean she was about to become a mother? Did this mean he was about to become a father?

“Bly! I need you to focus!” Aayla’s sharp voice cut through the haze.

“Yes sir!” Bly barked.

Aayla let out a weak chuckle and squeezed Bly’s hand. “I know this is strange, but we have to figure this out. We won’t have much time if we want her to have a good life.”

“Her?” Bly asked.

Aayla nodded towards the medic. “Kix says It’s a girl.”

“How have you been pregnant this whole time, and nobody ever noticed?” Bly asked.

“I suspected... But I was so busy, and it seemed impossible…” Aayla said.

“It helped that Twi’leks bear smaller children, and on top of that this one’s premature. It’s still pretty surprising that nobody realized, though. We can only hope that the child will be healthy,” Kix said.

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Bly that his child might be in danger, but as soon as the words left Kix’s mouth a fear he’d never before experienced took hold of his heart. How strange, that a being he hadn’t even known existed mere minutes earlier had such power over him already.

“I’m about to get to the hard part. I want you here with me,” Aayla said, her fingers tightening around Bly’s.

“Of course,” Bly said, kneeling by her side.

“The silver lining of such a premature birth is that labor will probably be relatively easy,” Kix said, moving down to Aayla’s feet and helping her get into position. “That being said, a lot can go wrong, and the General has requested that we bring no other medics in unless absolutely necessary. Be ready for anything.”

Bly held Aayla’s hand and offered her encouraging words while the 501st medic coached her through her pushes. He felt powerless to offer any real assistance, but Aayla seemed to take comfort in his presence, so he tried not to let his feelings of inadequacy show. Aayla was beautiful and fierce, her warrior spirit showing through in spite of the sweat and blood and roars of effort.

When the child finally came, Kix wiped the mess of childbirth off and handed her to Aayla, her tiny pale form shaking from the shock of her grand entrance into a new world.

She was gorgeous. She had wispy, blueish hair and tiny lekku nubs on the back of her head, and her delicate hands faded in color from a pale tan to a greyish blue. She cried and cried, but to Bly they were the miraculous sounds of a brand new body working, and he’d never heard something so melodious in his life.

“She’s so small…” Aayla whispered. “And pale.”

“She’s quite a bit smaller than the average Twi’lek newborn, but her vitals are good,” Kix said. “And newborns are always born looking pretty pale. She’ll get her color soon enough.”

Aayla held the little girl out to Bly, and he took her delicately in his hands, handling her like a live grenade about to explode. Her tiny face scrunched up and her cloudy grey eyes blinked open and closed as she turned her meandering gaze on the room, her eyes never quite focusing on anything. Bly held a finger out to her, and her tiny digits wrapped around his index finger, her grip surprisingly strong. Bly’s heart rose to his throat, and he didn’t know what to say.

“She’s perfect,” he choked out eventually, handing her back to Aayla.

Tears were coursing down Aayla’s cheeks. “She is,” Aayla said. And for five perfect minutes, they simply basked in that fact.

The little girl’s crying stopped, and she blindly snuggled into Aayla’s chest. Aayla looked up at Bly, the tears of joy in her eyes turning cold and full of regret. “And now we have to find a way to keep her safe.”

“She doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, but this ship doesn’t really have the facilities to care for a premature newborn,” Kix said.

“And if anyone finds out where she came from, I’d be decommissioned, you’d be kicked from the Order, and who knows what would happen to her,” Bly said.

“I have family on Hosnian Prime who will take her in,” Aayla said, arms cradling her child even as they talked about sending her away. “I can issue the order to Kix now, give him whatever authorization he needs. I’ll send them word and ask that they watch over her until the war is over.”

“Until the war is over…” Bly repeated. He’d only just met this child, but he might not see her again until the end of this seemingly endless war.

Aayla hugged the child to her tightly, and she started to cry a tiny, mewling cry. 

“We don’t have any other choice,” Aayla said.

“I know,” Bly said, resting his hand on Aayla’s shoulder. “But… we should enjoy what little time we have with her now. What should we name her?”

Aayla held the little girl out in front of her, careful to support her neck, and looked into her adorable, slightly-smooshed face. “How about Ayy? It means star.”

Bly smiled. “I love it.”

They had thirty minutes with her. That was all. Then they handed her to Kix, who’d made a makeshift bassinet for her that he could use to transport her without drawing too many questions. Kix left them in Aayla’s study, and Bly held Aayla as she lay crying in her med unit until she fell asleep.

He knew it was for the best, but it felt wrong on a deep, visceral level to be sending their child out there into the universe without anything to help guide her way. If Bly had held any reservations about leaving the GAR after the end of the war before, those reservations vanished with the birth of his child. Anything that kept him from being in his daughter’s life was not worth the sacrifice.

An idea occurred to Bly and he jumped up from the med unit, kissing Aayla on the forehead and murmuring to her that he’d be right back before leaving the office. He jogged down the halls of the Venator to the shuttle bay, where he knew Kix would be headed with the baby to catch the first available flight off the ship. Hopefully Bly would be able to catch him in time.

Kix was already halfway up the gangplank to the shuttle when Bly found him.

“Hey, Kix! Wait up!”

Kix looked back, his hands still carrying the piece of cargo that looked like a simple crate but actually held Bly’s newborn child.

“Yes sir?” he asked.

Bly fished around in his utility belt for something, an object he kept with him at all times. It would be hard to see it go, but he wanted Ayy to have some piece of her parents to keep with her, so she’d always know that they loved her. He found the small wooden cube and placed it in Kix’s hand.

“Will you give this to her? Or to her caretakers, to give to her?”

“I’ll see to it personally, sir,” Kix said.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea. It would look strange to anyone watching, and might bring up questions. But Bly didn’t care. He knelt down next to the crate Kix was carrying and set his hand on it, leaning forward to rest his forehead against its cold metal surface.

“Know that you’ll always be loved, Ayy.”

---

“After I left General Secura and Commander Bly, I went straight to your aunt and uncle on Hosnian Prime. They took you but they wouldn’t let you keep the cube. They said that to other Twi’leks, it would be obvious what it meant. It would be too incriminating,” Kix said, sitting next to Ayy on his narrow bunk aboard the Martinet.

She fingered the cube in her hand, silently studying its painted surface. It had rested, untouched, in the vacuum of space for most of its existence, so it didn’t show any of its fifty years’ wear.

“They were right. This was definitely meant for my mother’s kalikori,” she said.

“Kalikori?”

“You know, the figure on my desk? It’s a wooden totem that Twi’lek families keep. A sort of genealogical record.”

“Ah,” Kix said, remembering. “Well I’m glad I could finally return it to you. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Ayy’s fingers curled around the cube, and her expression hardened. “Brain chip or no, if he loved us how could he have killed her?”

Kix pursed his lips. This was the hard part. How could anyone who hadn’t experienced Order 66 themselves truly understand? How could Ayy come to know the intentions of her long-dead father’s heart?

“You know that we were manufactured, right?” he said eventually.

“Yes… On a planet called Kamino.”

“That’s right. The Kaminoans created us to be the perfect soldiers. They tweaked our DNA, gave us specialized training, and even included a sort of failsafe. A chip in our brains that, when called on, could override our individual agency and force us to follow certain commands.

“I’ve read accounts from fellow troopers who were part of the destruction of the Jedi Order. It was an impulse that was impossible to overpower, completely inescapable. And afterwards, most troopers didn’t even realize what they’d done. Only a very few were able to break free, years later.

“I know it might be hard to believe but… I don’t want you to have to go through life believing your father willingly killed your mother. None of us had a choice. None of us ever had a choice, really.”

The sound of laughter coming from the mess of the Martinet penetrated their quiet bubble, and Ayy closed her fingers around the small cube and shut her eyes. She bowed her head, and for a moment Kix wondered if she was meditating, or praying, or somehow trying to commune with her departed parents. He wondered if it was working.

“Did you keep the chip after you had it removed?” she asked eventually, eyes still closed.

“Yes, in storage in the medbay. You can examine it, if you like.”

“I would like that.”

She leaned back against the cold metal wall of the ship and folded her arms, her eyes distant and contemplative.

“What were my parents like?” she asked. “My uncle and aunt didn’t really know my mother very well, and they didn’t know anything about Commander Bly.”

“I didn’t know them as well as I knew the people in my battalion, but from what I saw, General Secura was very disciplined and dedicated to the Jedi Order. She understood the sacrifices required of war, and prioritized the mission over individuals, including herself. Bly was the same, and he was also extremely loyal to General Secura. To be honest, I was shocked that they were involved. They were alike in a lot of ways—the last two people I would have suspected of breaking any rules for personal reasons.”

“Really?” Ayy asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Yeah. When I was helping with your delivery, and I realized that Bly was the father?” Kix shook his head at the memory. “Well I guess it’s just a testament to how much they loved each other.”

“Perhaps....”

She held the cube up to her face, examining it carefully with her golden-brown eyes. It was amazing how much things could change. He’d seen her as a brand new infant, only minutes old, with eyes a cloudy grey and skull still soft and malleable. There was something gratifying about having seen her then and now witnessing the woman she had become.

“Why is your name Bosc?” Kix asked. “If you’d gone by Secura I would have realized much sooner who you are.”

“My uncle and aunt’s cover story for me was that I was a distant cousin. They were trying to protect my mother, trying to prevent anyone from realizing who she was. And then after she died they heard rumors that the Empire was hunting down anyone related to the Jedi, so they kept it a secret.”

“And they were the ones who told you about your mother and father?”

“They heard about her death, but it wasn’t until later that they found out it was my father who’d pulled the trigger. When I was older, I looked up his service record. I thought I might find something to help me understand. Or I thought I might find that there was a mistake—that it was someone else who’d actually killed her.”

“Did it help?” Kix asked.

“Not really. He was a model soldier, even more decorated after the fall of the Republic than before...” she trailed off, her eyes going distant as she stared into the wall opposite Kix’s bunk. 

Then her brows furrowed, and she grabbed Kix’s arm in a vice like grip. “You know what he did after the war?”

“...What?” Kix asked.

“‘Above and beyond the call of duty,’ it said. ‘Exceptional bravery,’ it said. He was killed in combat not very long after my mother, rushing an enemy’s fortified position without backup.”

A terrible sense of dread built in Kix’s chest as he realized what Ayy was suggesting, what his brother might have been driven to by the dissonance between the screaming of his heart and the chip in his brain.

“The man I knew wouldn’t have been able to stomach how the war ended, even if his mind wasn’t his own,” he admitted, his gut tying in a knot of mourning that resurfaced any time he stopped working long enough to think about his lost brothers.

Ayy’s grip on Kix’s arm tightened until her nails dug into his skin, and her jaw clenched and unclenched as an understanding of who her father was and what he had done slowly dawned on her. She bit her lip, and a single tear slid down the bridge of her nose—a strong, arched nose that could have been copied right off her father’s face. Kix thought of how the older cadets had comforted him each time he’d failed in training, and he reached the arm she wasn’t holding over to her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

The dam broke, and Ayy collapsed onto Kix’s shoulder, her sobs quiet but powerful. The physicality of it all was unfamiliar to Kix, but he wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, hoping that his simple proximity might help in some measure.

As his brother’s daughter cried in his arms, Kix noticed something strange. The knot in his stomach, the twisted coil of sorrow and regret and thousands of lost faces, slowly began to ease. The coils loosened and some pieces even slipped free, and he realized that Ayy Secura was perhaps the only person left in the galaxy who might mourn as deeply as he for his lost brothers.

“It’s not fair,” Ayy said, her voice hoarse from her tears.

Kix nearly barked in gruesome laughter at how well she’d summed up the past several years of his waking life. “No, it’s not.”

He pulled back from her, holding her shoulders so she could look him in the eye. “But they have some small scrap of justice, now. Something I think would make them happy.”

“What?” Ayy asked, wiping at her eyes and looking to Kix for guidance as if she wasn’t almost thirty years’ his senior.

“You know that they both loved you. You know where you come from.”

The corner of Ayy’s mouth turned up into a smirk that Kix had seen a thousand times on the faces of his brothers, though the skin of her lips had a distinct blue tinge to it.

“In the GAR we used to always say we were brothers. Same heart, same blood. You’re part of that brotherhood now, Ayy. So long as you want to be. Always.”

Ayy’s smirk turned into a full blown smile, and she wiped at her eyes again. “I’m glad your ship blew up over my planet.”

Kix laughed, though the more he thought about it he had to agree with her. Before coming to Felucia he’d begun to doubt that there was anything of importance left for him to do in the galaxy. Now he realized his brothers had left behind a great work for him to continue, and a legacy to protect.

That night he walked Ayy back to the clinic, and they talked about everything Kix remembered about Bly and Aayla as they strolled through the humid night air. When Kix ran out of things specific to her parents, he told her about the GAR, about his brothers and the Jedi who commanded them, about their camaraderie, skill, and passion.

When they reached the clinic, Kix lingered a long while. He didn’t know how good his odds of coming back to Felucia were, and it was hard to say goodbye to the person who felt like the last vestiges of his old life in the galaxy. In the end he didn’t have to say goodbye, because Ayy invited him in to help her with something important.

Kix followed Ayy to the corner of the clinic, unsure what to expect, but Ayy’s intentions became clear when she reached for the kalikori still standing watch from her desk. She pulled the wooden cube Kix had given her out of her pocket, and skillfully inserted it into an empty link in the chain of one branch.

“I used to have a fake one here, for the people who were supposed to be my parents,” Ayy explained as she worked. “But once I decided nobody cared who I was I took it out. It felt wrong.”

She stepped back and revealed the updated kalikori, the blue-and-yellow cube hanging between an intricately carved unpainted block and another block below it with symbols Kix recognized as both traditionally Twi’lek and Human. The kalikori was complete, the gap in her family tree filled.

“Thank you, Kix. I hope our paths cross again,” Ayy said.

“Me too.”

The next day as Felucia disappeared in the rear window of the Meson Martinet, Kix’s thoughts turned to the future for the first time since he’d awoken. He was ready to move forward now, doing what he always did. Healing.

Epilogue

Kix hadn’t meant to join another army, but somehow or other his wanderings brought him into the Resistance. He no longer fought, instead spending his days in the Resistance base’s medbay on D’Qar treating freedom fighters and researching improved procedures for restoration.

He never found out how she found his holonet address, but one day he received a message from a far-away friend on Felucia.

Dear Kix,

I realize that I never apologized for how I treated you, and I’d like to do so now. You’ve made my family whole. You’ve helped me be proud of myself and where I came from—both halves. In many ways you’ve given me back my parents. I wish you well in all you do, and know that you will always have a place here if your journey ever takes you back to Felucia. I am proud to have an uncle like you.

With my whole heart,

Ayy Secura

[libsterslobsters]

I'm Gonna Crawl: Post 1

(Divided because of length)

Post 2

Summary: Five years. That's how long the reader and Bucky have been apart (although for him, it was only five minutes) Now with Thanos defeated and both of them taking up the mantle of Avengers, can their relationship return to what it was? Or will they have to discover a new normal?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! super-soldier! Reader (Reader can see pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, language

Author's note: Tumblr is being a poo-poo head and won't let me post the whole fic because it's too long, so this is a two parter.

*************************************************

The text comes when she’s in the middle of teaching English feminine and masculine pronouns. Immediately, she knows it’s something important. There’s a very limited amount of people she’s allowed to filter through the “do not disturb” status she sets her phone in while she’s in the classroom. Her first though is Barnes, but at this point, he’s memorized her schedule even more thoroughly than she has, so it’s unlikely he’s responsible for the disturbance. Pepper, maybe? But no, she’s a powerful enough woman that if she needed anything, she could simply ask and it would be hers. Peter? It’s within normal high school hours, so if he’s messaging her, she’ll give him a lecture next time she sees him for texting in class. That only leaves one person, or rather, organization. As she instructs her students to come up with a few examples of common words which can be said different ways to demonstrate masculine and feminine, then takes a moment to check her phone, her suspicions are confirmed. Rhodes. The Avengers.

“You guys keep working. That’s an example of an English masculine. Now what would the feminine be?” A chorus of ‘gals’ follows her out the door. Once she’s rounded the corner, she dials the number, completely skipping the texting process. The line only rings once before Rhodey answers.

“Hello?”

“Soothsayer. What is it?”

“You need to come in. We’ve got a mission, and it has to be you.” She lets out a silent groan before asking,

“How much time have I got to square things away at work?”

“Wheel’s up in ninety minutes. You need to be here at least fifteen before to read over your orders.” Her boss isn’t going to be happy, but it’s doable.

“Right. I think I just got a crippling migraine. I’ll call you back later.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You’re damn right.” She mutters it as the line goes dead.

Thirty minutes later, she’s on her way after giving the sub her notes and her boss a bullshit excuse. So far, no one’s worked out that she’s one of the people who fought in the battle against Thanos, and she hopes to keep it that way.

She speeds across the city, driving a little faster than is responsible, but her reflexes are fast enough to cover for it. If this is going to be the sort of mission where they need her brawn as well as her brains, she’d like a few minutes to warm up before she has to hop on a quinjet. Grabbing her go-bag (complete with weapons, her suit, and a set of spare cosmetics), she jumps out of the car as soon as it’s parked in front of the newly rebuilt Avengers compound. Warm up, and make a call to-

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” She turns her head towards the voice, catching sight of Sam and-

“What’d you tell them? Stomach flu?” Barnes. Okay, maybe she won’t have to call him after all, but that brings up more questions than answers.

“Migraine.” She falls into step next to him while Sam rushes on ahead. “They called you too, huh?”

He nods, grimacing. “Looks like it’s something big.” Obviously. If they’ve called in both him and Sam, not just one or the other, then it’s a guarantee the situation is FUBAR. Plus her? She’s usually in the background. If she’s being pulled then-

“You alright?” She nods, smiling with more confidence than she feels.

“Yeah. Just wish I knew what we were getting into. If they want both unstable super soldiers-” It’s a joke, which thankfully, he gets.

“Then the situation must be pretty hairy.” That’s putting it lightly. They’ve never been called up together before. Never.

If the mounting evidence weren’t enough to clue her in that this is going to be major, the final factor would be, after Rhodes explains to all three of them that with the return of so many people to Earth, a former dictator who disappeared in the snap has gathered up his forces and is attempting to usurp a now-peaceful democracy in hopes of using the territory to levy compliance from surrounding nations. Usually that wouldn’t be their thing, but when the words “dirty bomb” and “gamma radiation” are brought into play, it’s no mystery as to why they’re being called in.

It’s about what she expected. Falcon is running point, Winter Soldier is the man on the grassy knoll (she shudders when Rhodey goes with that particular descriptor because of a confession several years back just after he woke up in Wakanda; “I really hope I’m remembering this wrong and it was just a dream, but I think I was behind what happened to the president.”), and she’s on evac and rescue, making sure there’s as few civilian casualties as possible. However, when the briefing is called to a close, it’s a total shock that Sam is let go while she and Barnes are told to stay back.

Rhodes sits at the edge of his desk, arms crossed, wearing his most serious expression. “You two have completed the appropriate training hours together, correct?”

“Yes.” They say it at the same time, and she has to bite her cheek to keep from yelling out, “Jinx!” It was a requirement after the defeat of Thanos that the two of them specifically learn how to work together as a team, play off of each other’s strengths, just in case something truly catastrophic happened. She also trained with Bucky and Sam as their third. What she’s wondering is, why ask a question Rhodes clearly knows the answer to? He’s the one who set up the training, after all.

“And you’re comfortable working as a squad?” She catches Bucky’s eye, and it’s clear that he’s come to the same conclusion as her: this isn’t what Rhodey is really after.

“We’re fully capable, yes.” He’s the one that answers, while she reaches out into the unknown, hoping for a vision. No dice.

With a sigh, Rhodey stands.

“What I mean is, can you be objective out there on the battlefield? Can you work together like anyone else?” This time, she’s the one to speak up.

“Can we be objective? Yes. Can we work together like anyone else? No, but that was your goal with the training program.”

“You wouldn’t have called the two of us up if you didn’t need what we can do together.”

For a moment, she feels sympathy for Rhodes. The poor man is clearly struggling to make a point. That’s when it hits her, a vision of what he’s prepared for them to do. As soon as it passes, she kicks Barnes’ chair leg lightly, which is enough that he gets the message.

“Just say it, because she’s already seen it.” She wouldn’t want to be in Rhodes’ position for the world right now with the news he’s about to deliver.

“Fine.” Rhodey nods. “If we get in a tight spot, someone is going to have to draw fire. It can’t be Barnes for obvious reasons.” Part of their mission is to obtain stolen scientific data located deep inside enemy lines. She’s smaller and therefore faster, can fit into tight places more easily, but he’s been trained to go unnoticed, and what’s more, to incapacitate anyone who sees more than they should. It’s an obvious choice. She’s in essence the diversion, the boy crying wolf while the real thief makes off with the shepherds’ wallets. Her size and speed will work to her advantage, as well as the fact that they won’t recognize her, so they won’t know right away that she’s the decoy, whereas the second they have eyes on him or Sam, they’ll know to batten down the hatches.

She doesn’t have to look beside her to know what he thinks of that idea. She can practically feel him seething. But, it’s a scenario that, along with Sam, they’ve trained for.

“What I need to know is that, once the bullets start flying, you won’t fall back on instinct and run to protect each other. Out there, you are not a couple. You’re teammates, fellow soldiers, nothing more. Got it?”

She keeps her eyes focused on Rhodey’s face as she nods, otherwise hers will show what she’s feeling. “Agreed.”

“Barnes?” There’s a pause, so long she’s about to kick his chair leg again just to get a reaction.

“Understood.”

“Good.” Rhodes’ posture immediately changes. “Now, suit up. Quinjet is leaving at 1300 hours.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Oh!” Bucky looks up from the building schematics he’s studying at the surprised noise from the woman next to him. “This one’s actually not bad.”

“Which one?” He leans towards her, scanning the house listing on her phone. “Nah. I don’t like the look of that roof.”

“True, but it says here they’re willing to knock some off the asking price if we’re willing to do our own repairs-”

A groan issues from the other side of the jet.

“Are you two really searching realtor.com while we’re on our way to save the world?” Sam asks, scowling.

“No, of course not.” She shakes her head, smirking. “It’s zillow.” That reminds him-

“Scroll down. Let’s see when it was built.” It looks like… ah. “Hard no. That thing’s older than me.”

“And like you, it has character.” It’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. He sees an opening, and he’s going for it.

“Did you just compare me to a house?” She snickers.

“Now that you mention it, there are some similarities. Good bones, had some renovations done, could use some landscaping-”

“You know, you could’ve just said ditch the beard.”

She gasps, clutching a hand to her chest. “I would never!”

“Alright, I’m gonna stop you there.” Sam holds up a hand. “If you’re gonna talk about his hair anywhere below the neck, I’m gonna open up the hatch and jump out.” It would be a more effective threat if he wasn’t already wearing his wings.

“Mind out of the gutter, Sam.” She half-heartedly scolds before returning to examine her phone. “The market is just shit right now but there’s got to be something listed that’s less expensive than renting an apartment in the middle of Brooklyn…” That’s what all of this is about, really. After the snap (at least from what he’s read) the price of renting was lower than it had been since the fifties. Now that everything is back to normal, everyone and their mother is looking for a place to rent. Not that he can blame them. He’s one of the returned, after all.

“I guess we could move into the complex once it’s repaired. Just for a little while-”

“Nope.” Sam cuts them off. “Hell no. It’s enough that I gotta deal with you and Judge Dredd here being all domestic on missions. If I have to hear you two going at it, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

He may not understand the pop culture reference, but he caught the sexual one. The truth is, they haven’t slept together since he returned. It’s not like things have been platonic; they shower together, cuddle, and make out like teenagers walking down lovers’ lane. However, five years is a long time (even if for him, it was barely more than an instant), and while he’s ready to resume their sex life, he’s not going to push in case she’s not there yet.

Before he can go too far down that rabbit hole, the intercom crackles to life and their pilot announces that it’s time for the drop. He’s not a huge fan of parachuting (falling to his near death and losing an arm sort of took the magic out for him), but he calls on what remains of his training now that HYDRA’s brainwashing has been deactivated and puts on an emotionless front.

“Com links on.” As Sam speaks, he activates his own com. “Everyone getting a signal?” He is, and if the face she just made is anything to judge from so is she. “Okay. I drop first, then on my mark, Winter Soldier drops; five seconds later, Soothsayer follows. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

Sam shoots them a grin that doesn’t completely hide his nerves. “Good luck.”

As soon as his partner’s exited the plane, he catches her eye. “Love you. See you on the other side.”

“Love you. Come back in one piece.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

Even before Sam hits the ground, he knows it’s going to be a shit show. Even though he doesn’t activate his com to tell them as much, it’s obvious as the super soldier plummets past him that his chute didn’t open. Sam might worry about this if it weren’t for the fact he saw Steve jump out of many a plane without anything to keep him from free falling. Their tag-along, however? She has activated her coms (either that or she forgot to deactivate them) and she lets out a gasp. That’s all, a gasp, but it’s enough to put Sam on edge. This is why coupling up is dangerous in this line of work. Your affection can work to your disadvantage.

Because he can’t have his team scattered, worrying about each other, he asks, “Barnes, do you copy?”

“Copy, Falcon. Don’t think I’ll be doing that again.”

“Oh, you are so getting shit for that when we get home.” He rolls his eyes.

“Let’s cut the chitchat. We have a mission. On my mark, Soothsayer heads into the encampment to lead any P.O.W.s and civilians away. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

He lands just before she does, and as soon as she’s detached her shoot, he gives her the go ahead.

Any thought that they might have succeeded in having the element of surprise on their side goes out the window when a shot whizzes past his head.

“Barnes, cover me.”

“Copy.”

Even with the rain of bullets from his own personal sniper, he barely gets past the first defensive line in one piece. He takes out at least a dozen hostiles, incapacitating when he can, eliminating where he must. Just outside the main fortress, he asks,

“Come in, Winter Soldier. How many hostiles between you and my position?”

“Eighteen.” A muffled shot follows the statement. “Seventeen.”

“Alright. Clear a path. Let’s show these sons of bitches what they get when they threaten innocent lives.”

He thinks that maybe they’ll be able to turn it around when they find their human target fairly easily and are able to capture and incapacitate. The orders, however, were not just to bring him in alive but also to seize the assets they’ve lost before a bomb squad and team of radiation specialists comes in and sweep the place. The only way he’ll be able to get their target back to the jet unharmed (not to mention survive himself) is if they do the one thing he was hoping it wouldn’t come to.

“Soothsayer, this is Falcon. Come in. Over.”

“Copy, Falcon.”

“Winter Soldier is going in. Deploy “big bad wolf” initiative.” In other words, go get shot at while at the same time covering me.

“Copy. Be advised, there are hostages in the building. I repeat, hostages in the building. Over.” For a moment he wonders if she saw it in a vision or if one of the people she’s just helped escaped has started talking out of gratitude, but pushes it to the side. He has biggest issues.

“Winter Soldier, Soothsayer, get into place. On my signal, we move.”

“Copy.”

“Copy.”

“Three… two… one… go!”

Sam kicks off into the air, thanking whoever the hell out there invented this tech that he doesn’t have to fly with an extra 250 pounds of dictator in his arms (Redwing is handling that). Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Soothsayer making a run for it, shooting as she goes. Where the hell did she get the gun? Problems for later.

He’s just about to radio into the jet to see if the ‘package’ was delivered when the shots turn in his direction. He returns fire at the same time a dagger flies past his head.

“Throw it a little closer next time Soothsayer. I dare you.” It’s muttered under his breath.

“So you wanted a sniper’s bullet in your back?” Damned super hearing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be causing a distraction?”

“I am. Close your eyes and cover your ears.” He complies just in time for the flashbang to go off over his head.

“Fuck! You could’ve told me that’s what you were doing!” There’s no reply. “Soothsayer?” A grunt followed by the sound of impact comes over the com.

“Little busy. Hold up.” Hand to hand, if he had to venture a guess. More shots are fired, and he flies lower, returning them, kicking a few assailants in the head as he goes.

“Winter Soldier, this is Falcon. Come in.”

“I read you.”

“Do you have eyes on the target?”

“Almost there. There’s a few more obstacles than we thought.”

“Copy. Over and-” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence as a yell of “Get down!” pierces the night.

It all happens in slow motion. He reaches for the shield, but he can already hear the gun discharge. A force runs into him, knocking him to the ground. Realization hits him: it’s her. He doesn’t see the bullet impact, but he hears her cry out. On instinct, he covers both of their vital organs with the shield, and that’s when he sees the splotch of red blooming from her right shoulder, which so happens to have acted as a human barrier, blocking what would have most assuredly have been a kill shot to the head for him.

“Falcon, Soothsayer, come-” There’s a muffled shout over the com, followed by more sickening thuds and a few shots.

“Barnes?” He hears a whisper of movement from behind him, and without looking, fires. “Barnes, do you copy?” As he speaks, several hostiles gang up on him at once. Using the shield to it’s full advantage, he knocks two off their feet, kicks another in the gonads, then chin, and punches two more’s lights out. He starts on the one that’s left, but out of nowhere, the hostile’s legs go out from under him. What-

“This is Barnes. I have the target. Moving hostages out now.”

Sam opens his mouth to speak again, but a tug at his ankle draws his attention. She’s sitting up, features drawn in pain and still bleeding, her fist bloody from the last hostile’s face.

“Don’t tell Barnes.”

Internally groaning, he speaks again. “Copy. Meet us back at the ship. Over and out.” Grabbing her good arm, he hauls her to her feet and drapes her body over his shoulder. “Pretty sure the blood’s gonna tip him off. And the bullet hole.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“It’s not that bad.” This has to be the tenth time she’s repeated that sentiment in the past five minutes since arriving back at the quinjet, and yet it’s still not making an impression. As she stands yet again, Sam gives her good shoulder a hard push.

“Sit your serum-ed up ass down. You’re gonna bleed out if-” She narrows her eyes at the man with the shield. “Fine. You’re still dripping blood everywhere.” Yeah, well, it’s not like it hit a major vein or artery. She saw it coming, after all. Still… it fucking hurts.

“Shouldn’t you be hailing Barnes again?”

“Who’s in charge here? You or me?” She thinks about snapping back with something truly brutal, but bites her tongue. “Only thing you should be worrying about is how we’re gonna get that slug out of you.”

“Give me a pair of pliers and I’ll do it myself.”

“The hell you will.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! It’s-” Before she can repeat herself again, the door opens. Her breath seizes in her throat a she takes in Barnes’ appearance. Dear God.

“Target acquired?” Sam nods and motions towards the back of the plane.

“What about you? Package secure?” With a thump, a black bag is dropped onto the floor between them. Sam opens his mouth (more than likely to make a sarcastic remark about being careful with the brain child of at least a dozen scientists worldwide), but before he can-

“You’re hit.” He’s in front of her, crossing the narrow space in just two strides.

Biting back a wince, she stares pointedly at the oozing bullet wound in his thigh. “So are you.”

“It’s nothing.” She’s about to call bullshit (that’s a fuck ton of blood, and also she doesn’t remember that cut on his forehead last time she saw him), but he turns away, fixing Sam with a hard stare. “Why didn’t you say we had a man down?”

“Not a man-” She starts.

“And technically, she never went completely down. Plus-” She knows what he’s going to say, and mouths a silent ‘Don’t’, which Sam ignores. “-she told me not to.” There it is. She’s never gonna hear the end of this.

Returning his gaze to her, he asks, “You told him-”

“It wasn’t a big deal. Can we talk about this later?”

“I second that.” Sam nods. “Preferably when you’re not both about to bleed out in the air.” Bucky’s lips twitch momentarily, and she barely contains her own smirk. They’re not about to bleed out. Still-

“You want to go first with the pliers, or do you want me to?”

“For the last time, no one is using pliers to go spelunking for bullets. Aren’t you two supposed to be smart?” She raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, and he smirks.

“Technically, I think the serum just turned us into better soldiers. Not geniuses.”

“Right, and since it would take us what?” She glances at her phone, checking the time. “Five hours to get home? More than likely we would’ve already started to heal pretty significantly around the bullet and would have to disrupt that so they could dig them out.”

“So, pliers.” She nods.

“Pliers.”

With a groan, Sam stands and, digging around in the compartment overhead, produces a first aid kit.

“Fine, but if either of you starts to hemorrhage, don’t come crying to me.”

Rolling her eyes at his retreating back, she asks, “The question still stands. You want to be the surgeon first or the patient?”

“That depends.” Bucky motions to her own bullet wound. “Is that as bad as it looks, or worse?”

She attempts a shrug, but the motion makes her wince. “It’s just a scratch.” The look on his face tells her he’s not convinced.

“Then I guess I’ll dig yours out first. If push comes to shove, I can fix myself up.” This time, she’s with Sam. The hell he will. She’ll just power through.

“Alright.” She motions to the few members of the TACK team still hanging around. “If you don’t want to see me shirtless, I’d suggest you find somewhere else to be, or at least look away.” Shockingly few heads turn at her words. “Okay smart-asses. What I mean is give a lady some privacy and avert your eyes.” There. That’s more like it.

She’s kinda pissed off that she’ll have to junk the suit. It was a new one. Even more infuriating is that when she goes to unzip it, thanks to her injured shoulder she can’t manage it, and what’s worse, she lets out a groan of pain.

“Easy. Let me help.” If they were alone, she’d make an off-colored joke (something along the lines of “any excuse to get me undressed”), but she swallows it down and grits her teeth as the material tugs at her wound. She’s just going to have to toughen up and rip it off like a band-aide.

“I think there’s a water bottle somewhere, so we could soak-” Bracing herself, she gives the material a sharp tug, completely exposing herself. “-or you could just do it the hard way.”

“After all these years, why would I start doing things the easy way now?” She feels more than hears the short intake of breath that signals a laugh.

“Good point. Hold tight while I check the kit.” Taking advantage of the brief lull, she closes her eyes. She’s not exactly squeamish, but there’s something about seeing a bullet lodged in her shoulder that’s somewhat unsettling. “Alright. This is gonna sting, and then it’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” That one earns her an actual snicker.

Sure enough, it does sting. That is, if by “sting” you meant “feels like I scrubbed myself with a sandpaper washcloth and then rinsed off with vodka.” Still, she manages to keep still and wipe any expression of pain from her face as the disinfectant is poured on, completely soaking her.

“Sorry.” She shakes her head.

“Nothing a towel won’t take care of.”

He’s in front of her now, so she opens her eyes, concentrating hard on his face so she won’t look down.

“You alright?” It’s completely false, but she pastes on a smile.

“Splendid. Thinking of taking this up as a hobby, actually.” He frowns.

“You couldn’t just take up embroidery like a normal person?”

“No one-” Her breath catches as he starts to probe for the bullet. It was a distraction. “-takes up embroidery as a hobby anymore.” Deep breaths. She needs to take deep breaths.

“Shit.” Shit? That’s not comforting. “Do you want the good news first or the bad news?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

“Good news, it’s in one piece. Bad news-” He looks up, holding her gaze. “It’s lodged pretty far in there, Doll.” Of course it is. Just her luck. “Do you want to wait ‘til we get home, or-”

“Just do it.” Once more, she closes her eyes. “Sooner we get it out, sooner the super soldier mojo can do it’s thing.”

“You sure?” She nods.

“Just do me a favor. Don’t tell me when you start pulling it out. I don’t want to know.”

It’s silent, no one saying a word. Still, she clings to the little sounds she can make out in order to keep herself occupied. The engine running. The air filtration system. Her own jagged breaths and his measured ones. Despite her attempts at distraction, she can feel it the moment he starts easing the bullet out of her shoulder. On instinct her body seizes up, and she has to force herself to relax each muscle. It’ll only be more painful if she’s tense.

“Do you want something to squeeze? Maybe a hand to hold?”

Taking a slow, deep breath, she answers.

“That depends. How much do you like that arm?” If she takes out the pain on anything else, she’s almost certain she’d crush it.

“I’m sort of attached to it, so-” She chuckles, and that’s when the bullet slides free. “And, next time you make fun of my corny jokes, I get to remind you of this.”

The patching up process is simple from there. The bleeding is easily staunched and although it’s in an awkward place, they manage to bandage her without much trouble. She’s so nervous, she expects her hands to shake as she takes her turn and, with her good arm, digs the bullet out of Barnes (his is in fragments but luckily, a vision hits and shows her the shards’ locations), but surprisingly, her hands are steady. She glances up at his face just as she pulls the last shard out, but of course, he’s shut down, completely expressionless.

Finally, the quinjet touches down outside of what used to be the Avengers’ compound. Normally they would disembark, then head straight off to a debriefing, but under the circumstances, Sam calls it a night and tells them to get some rest, then come in tomorrow to go over mission reports. As they watch Falcon climb into his car and drive away, it hits her how terribly exhausted she really is. Between her bum shoulder and his bum leg, neither of them is really fit to drive home, so-

“Think we can get a cab this time of night?” Great minds think alike, it seems.

“I don’t know, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

It’s only once they’re home safely and she’s climbed into bed that she allows herself to wonder if they’re ever going to talk about today.

[snowbellewells]

Savior’s Haven {Part Two of Two}

by: @snowbellewells

Here, at last, is the woefully delayed conclusion to my contribution for the @csseptembersunshine event. I hope it will still be enjoyable despite its tardiness. Thanks so much to @captainsjedi for introducing such a lovely event and allowing me to take part, and to all the lovely ladies on the @cssns Discord chat who offered a wealth of name suggestions to me back when I was working on Part One - particularly @shireness-says @profdanglaisstuff @snidgetsafan @darkcolinodonorgasm and @kmomof4. 

This continues from Part One (which can be found here) and is what I call “missing moment fluff”, meant to be taking place sometime post season six in Storybrooke, but before Henry leaves and prior to Hope’s birth.

{Well, I must say...I really didn’t intend to keep you waiting so long for Part Two to wrap this all up. Technically, now it’s October, but I hope you will still enjoy the conclusion of this fic all the same. Thanks so much for all the lovely likes and kudos on this story’s first part! They were very much appreciated…. And now, here’s Part Two…}

Savior’s Haven

Part Two

As it turned out, Rolly and Oliver were only the start of a train of outcasts and strays - lost souls one and all - who began to make their way to Emma and Killian’s home by the harbor in Storybrooke.  Even if there was some occasional wondering about having enough room or rearranging how all of the house’s occupants might fit, neither sheriff nor sailor had the heart to turn anyone, young person or beast, away from the only thing both of them had ever wanted and finally had to share - a home.

Not long after Oliver had left their house for college in the Land Without Magic and Henry had gone through the portal he’d procured to explore the realms and find his own story, Emma found herself feeling the loss of their once quite full nest. She would never trade the quiet evening strolls she and Killian took around the town, both in an effort to lessen Rolly’s boundless energy before he destroyed the entire first floor, and to enjoy the crisp scent in the autumn air and the crunch of fallen leaves under their steps. It was a genuine luxury to actually have downtime together merely to look at the Fall oranges and reds transforming their tiny town and take in the cool temperatures and the cozy smells of cookout bonfires on the air arm-in-arm with her husband, Emma’s head resting easily on Killian’s shoulder. Still, despite that priceless comfort and harmony, as much a novelty as it was, Emma couldn’t help missing the hum and bustle of a house full of life and action, crammed to the ceiling with the marvelous chaos that she had enjoyed for the last couple of years.

Yes, she had long been part of the shuffle of too many kids no one wanted in one foster home after another; all shoved in under one roof with not enough room, not enough food, and never enough attention or affection. But what a difference just a bit of love made, turning a crowd within four walls into a family. If she could give that to kids like her, so they didn’t need to spend years of their lives feeling unwanted, then she would do it. And she knew that Killian’s childhood had been even more scarring, and that he absolutely shared her desire to offer better where it was needed.

Granted, they had also been trying for a child of their own, but so far they’d had no luck. Emma didn’t want to stress over it unduly, but the doubt and fears couldn’t be fully kept at bay. Even if there were no real medical reasons behind it, she tormented herself wondering if the trauma of having Henry so young, shackled to a bed in as high a stress environment as prison, without the best prenatal care or nutrition, had done some damage she had been unaware of, or left some scar tissue that made conceiving again more difficult. In her guiltier moments, she struggled to dismiss the creeping voice that whispered, “You had a healthy, perfect little boy, and you gave him up.” Regardless of her unselfish intentions at the time for Henry being able to have his best chance, during the darkest hours of a late night or early morning, when sleep eluded her, Emma found herself fearing that maybe she just didn’t get a second chance.

Killian was unfailingly gentle, sweet, and patient with her; encouraging her that they had all the time in the world for a babe of their own, the rest of their lives together. Still, she knew her pirate had regrets and blame of his own that he shouldered when he thought no one was looking. He had lived in Neverland, completely outside the normal passage of time, and while he might appear only slightly older than her, in reality, he had lived for centuries. Was he too old to father a child? Was they why they kept failing to get pregnant?

It wasn’t something that could be easily answered, and making themselves crazy certainly wouldn’t improve their odds, so most times both Sheriff and her deputy tried to put their desire for a little one of their own out of mind and to focus on the many happy moments they enjoyed. They baby-sat the little prince - Emma’s brother was now nearly ten and a ball of energy interested in practically every sport, activity and skill under the sun, when her mother and father needed to get away for a date night. Killian took to helping Belle reorganize and reshelve the books in the library on free afternoons and evenings, and added an extra frisson of excitement for the regularly attending children when he dressed up in character for the storytime selection Belle read, or when he served as enthusiastic reader himself.

Emma discovered she found it quite therapeutic to go out to the beanfield Anton tended on the outskirts of town and burn up frustration or anxiety digging, shoveling, raking, weeding, or whatever the gentle giant needed done. He’d made himself a regular attraction by this point - especially in the Fall, since he also nurtured a pumpkin patch and sold berry preserves and cider from plants grown himself. She’d always had a soft spot for Anton, and many of the dwarves who often worked there as well were much more palatable in the fields than when they were running into the station yelling the alert about whatever new danger had arrived in town or forcing her to play referee in their own petty disputes. Even Leroy was markedly less Grumpy out in the brisk air with solid, dependable work at hand to do. His gruff ‘Mornin’ Sister,” if she was able to join them early in the day, and his handing her a shovel or hoe as she took the row next to him seemed to be his way of accepting her into their number, and though Emma wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, it did warm her heart each time. The bearded man who would have been an “uncle” of sorts to her in another life seemed less abrasive and more grudgingly affectionate the more time that passed.

Whatever the case might be, and whatever else they found to do or to fill their time, Emma knew the wish was still present in both their minds. Though Henry and Killian’s house operation, the place they had dreamed of sharing with her even in her darkest moments when she had felt almost lost to them both, had long since become each of them’s first true home, some part of her still wanted it full of giggles and mischievous whispers, shrieks of glee and the slap of little bare feet on the hardwood floors.

One night, about a year after Oliver had left for college and Henry had set off for other realms, Emma had gone down to the docks as evening neared, anxious to see her husband after a day spent at separate tasks, and to walk home with his warm, familiar arm wrapped comfortably over her shoulders. She had made a casserole that was one of Killian’s favorites from dinners with her mom, dad, and little brother; she had followed Snow’s instructions to the letter and was anxious to see how it had turned out. Home cooking was still not what Emma would call a strength of hers, but she was getting better… she hoped.

However, as she neared Killian’s ship, docked in its assigned slip at the harbor, Emma noticed the sky had gone rather suddenly dark, wind gusting distressingly through the sails and spars and whistling loudly. She had to genuinely lean into the breeze with determination as she reached the side and then took Killian’s outstretched hook when he saw her coming up the gangplank, pulling her into his arms as she clambered over and onto the deck. 

“Bit of a squall on its way, eh Love?” he murmured against her hair, brow raised in teasing question as he pulled back just slightly to study her rather anxious face.

She gave him a soft smile, reaching light fingers up to brush over the scar on his cheekbone. “Well, I came to walk you home for supper, but do you first need help battening down the hatches, Captain?”

Her pirate shook his head, chuckling lightly at her playful banter. He had already secured the Jolly as well as could be accomplished, having an innate, almost sixth sense for inclement weather after so many years on the sea. She might be tossed on the swells that were already beginning to rise and fall and to rock the hull wildly, but the old girl had withstood much worse in her time, and she would still be there come the morrow. “She’s all set, actually,” he answered, moving to grab his jacket, scarf and the other items he needed, ready to head home with her, but unable to resist teasing back at least a bit. “The Jolly’s a steady lass, Swan. She’ll manage the weather just fine.”

They were both prepared to disembark for the docks and be on their way, when a frightened howl of distress met their ears over the wind whipping the sails and the water smacking against the wooden sides.

Swinging back around in concern, they both sought the source of the animal cry for help in the rapidly darkening and turbulent surroundings. However, it was a sailor’s sharp eye which let Killian find the distressed and already bedraggled mass of wet grey and brown fluff somehow tangled in the rigging a few feet over their heads. Probably the poor thing was a stray, not long separated from its mother and littermates by the size of him, and might have begun the climb for fun, but was now both entangled and terrified, and nearly drenched from the rain which had begun pelting down around them.

“Oh, there he is!” Emma cried out once she spotted their poor feline victim as well; illuminated in his uncomfortable perch by a startling flash of lightning. “How did he even get up there?”

Both of them moved almost as one in an effort to reach the poor kitten wriggling valiantly to free itself, ‘mewing’ pitifully to beg help of anyone who would listen. However, Killian, with years of practice manuevering about his ship in all sorts of weather, and with a natural agility and grace that never ceased to leave Emma marveling, was quickly hopping up onto the railing, and had a foot in the rigging himself, a couple steps bringing him close enough to reach their unhappy stowaway, before Emma could even figure out how to proceed.

The yowling of the tiny creature intensified as Killian stepped onto the rope, probably squeezing the poor little guy, Emma realized, if he were tangled tightly enough. “Swan!” her husband shouted over the ever-increasing wind and rain. “I can’t unravel him! Get the knife from my boot and hand it up to me!”

Moving quickly, Emma did as he asked, and finally, with a few expert slices, the kitten was free, cradled to Killian’s chest beneath his jacket. The wretched squalling now lowering to a more plaintive and pitiful refrain. A few seconds later, her husband was alighting on the solid deck once more and holding out his rescued prize for her inspection.

Unwinding her own scarf and wrapping it around the nearly weightless seeming body of skin, bones, and fluff, Emma cooed to the tiny cat gently, hoping to soothe and reassure the frightened animal that it was safe with them now. She looked up at Killian, who was shivering slightly and fairly drenched himself, but all the same, appeared rather pleased with his efforts and watched the new critter - clearly already one of their own - burrow into Emma’s warmth and begin to purr with such gentle affection that it made Emma’s chest swell in response. 

“Let’s get you both home, dry you off and warm him up, and see what we can do for this little guy,” Emma suggested, squeezing Killian’s hand gratefully for his kindness and caring and wanting him to know how glad she was he had scaled the height for a poor, lost cat.  

*****~~~*****~~~*****

The next day’s trip to the veterinary clinic on Storybrooke’s outskirts confirmed what they had already nearly determined for themselves in the intervening hours - their scrawny but handsome new arrival was malnourished but otherwise quite well, except for the fact that he seemed unable to use his right front paw and leg, the appendage having been caught for too long with blood flow cut off, rendering it useless and mostly dead weight. 

Yet, even if they had suspected as much, the vet’s stark, unconcerned manner had Emma’s eyes immediately welling up, tears starting quickly with empathy, while Killian went tensely still and quiet beside her, his only motion to reach out and caress the kitten’s striped head in comfort. The vet went on to caution them that there was simply too much risk of infection and swelling, artery blockage or gangrene. It simply wasn’t viable to leave the leg. But he didn’t seem to realize what dangerous ground he was treading on when he suggested that the animal could be put down painlessly at little cost to them rather than their needing to take in a maimed stray and force it to live life on only three legs, until the sheriff’s eyes flashed a venomous, angry emerald at him when she gathered the cat to her chest protectively.

“And just what makes you think we wouldn’t care for a cat with a few more needs?”she challenged hotly, letting Dr. Terrence Doolittle know just how seriously he had stuck his foot into his mouth. “I don’t recall asking if you thought he was worth saving, or even what you thought we should do - just what he needed.”

The Savior was practically vibrating in her indignation, looking as though she might not even turn what was clearly their new pet over to him again to perfrom the necessary operation. He remembered belatedly just how powerful a magic wielder she was, as well as the upholder of the law in Storybrooke, and found himself hoping he wouldn’t end up a newt or a lawn statue before he could apologize and insist he had meant no offense. Before any of that could happen though, her husband gently took the kitten from Sheriff Swan - as it had begun to squirm and mew uncomfortably at her distressed and tigthening hold. A gently staying touch of his namesake brushed back her hair in what was clearly a familiar and soothing gesture, and the sight of the steely appendage suddenly made the cause of her ire all too clear.

Emma Swan visibly calmed at her husband’s caress, blowing out a harsh breath and stepping back before she answered in a tersely clipped but more collected voice, “If the amputation is needed, then please just do it. Whatever he needs to be as comfortable and healthy as possible. We’ll take care of him from there, alright?”

“Yes, Sheriff, of course,” the man agreed readily, nodding with vigor. Adding as direct a look at both of them as he dared, he added in stuttered uncertainty, “and my apologies for my earlier callousness. I meant no offense.”

While Emma merely huffed a sort of noncommittal sound in her throat, bobbing her head in a bare nod of acceptance, Killian Jones, took him by complete surprise when he kindly replied, “Apology accepted, mate. I understood that your intention bore no malice.”

But if Sheriff Swan stuffed their newest family member with salmon, the priciest treats, and as much catnip as he could stand the next evening when the newly dubbed Maelstrom returned home to stay, and cuddled and spoiled him within an inch of his life every day afterwards, well, she would challenge anyone to blame her. It wasn’t long before the well-fed and cared for cat sported a sleek, silky, long-haired and dark-striped coat and looked quite the handsomest feline in the neighborhood follwing right behind Emma anywhere she went in the house and yard like a contented little shadow. His rapid, balanced hopping gait didn’t seem to trouble him or slow him down in the slightest as time went on; for all intents and purposes, their little Maelstrom was every bit as agile, curious, and playfully quick as any four-legged cat.

*****~~~******~~~*****

When trick-or-treating season came around, and Emma’s stomach had at last begun to round with a babe of their own, Killian could only smile at her indulgently, his heart too full of happiness and love to gainsay or spoil her fun when she dressed their cat in a red vest and little black leather breeches of an animal costume, sewn by none other than her royal princess mother. Emma magicked her own tiny version of a hook that could be strapped around Maelstrom’s furry chest to sit where his missing leg would have been, and it was clear their cat was a rather adorable feline version of himself. 

His wife, meanwhile, sported a red stocking cap and a red and white striped T-shirt that stretched over her growing baby bump, a much more fetching version of Mr. Smee in all his traditional Disney cartoon buffoonery if Killian had ever seen one. For a moment, he was rather uncertain how to work himself in with their theme - not about to dress as his own insulting Disney likeness, nor as Pan or the crocodile. He did eventually feel a bit smug at getting the last laugh once he settled on a Victorian formal suit complete with tails, white ascot and silver-rimmed spectacles, making himself rather the most dashing Mr. Darling one could have envisioned. Emma’s mouth hung open, in fact a little breathless, as he joined her at the door. At least, that was until the shrill ringing of the doorbell broke the moment, announcing their first visitors seeking candy.

*****~~~*****~~~***

Two weeks later, two little girls, ten and twelve years old, named Sara and Anne, whom they had noticed hanging back from the rest of the group of trick-or-treaters, not seeming to be escorted by parents as the others were, but eager to come forward and get as much candy as they could hold at he and Emma’s insistence once the rest of the group had moved on, were part of their household as well. They had cooed over Maelstrom’s Captain Hook costume, giggled as he wended his way between their skinny legs, and petted him gently and admiringly.

“I’ve never had a pet,” the brunette named Sara had explained wistfully, her big doe eyes looking up to meet theirs and capturing Killian’s heart in an instant. He knew even before an official and thorough search proved that they were alone, that these two girls needed he and Emma. It seemed they had been brought over with the other Untold Story realm’s citizens, but rather than with a whole family, as most who’d even noticed them about had assumed, each had instead been separated from her parents and all alone. They had located each other at school, and found an abandoned building at the edge of town where they had managed to squat under the radar. But Emma’s stomach panged with remembered hunger and her heart beat rapidly at the fear and loneliness that would never completely fade. The two girls couldn’t have found any two other people more likely to know what they’d been through than she and Killian.

By the time Emma delivered a healthy baby girl in the early morning of a brand new year, Hope Lianna Jones had two big sisters in her family ready to greet her excitedly.

Their house was once again full of squeals and yelps as feet pounded down the stairs and peals of laughter at all sorts of odd hours. David might tease Killian about how badly outnumbered he was by women in their own little haven, but Emma could only think her prayers had been answered by their house’s fullness. The more the merrier was by now their enthusiastic motto. It was a view not held by nearly enough of the world when she and Killian were growing up on their won. And they were doing their part to change that - one kid and one animal at a time.

**Author’s Note: Again, I apologize for the length of time between Parts One and Two of this story, but I do hope that you will find this conclusion satisfying. You might have noticed that I strove to find literary/legendary orphans to use as potential new members of Emma and Killian’s family. Oliver from Oliver Twist, Sara from A Little Princess, and Anne from Anne of Great Gables.  And thanks once again to the lovely ladies on Discord for the animal names, I couldn’t resist switching one from dog to cat here in Part Two! ;)

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @therooksshiningknight @laschatzi @effulgentcolors @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @snidgetsafan @resident-of-storybrooke @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @darkcolinodonorgasm 

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Bombs and Boards

(pinch-hitting for @mypnotism and meihem santa. The theme was Pirate Junkrat and Mei getting out of a sticky situation together.)

He landed headfirst with a rattling crash on the wooden floor, scraping up splinters as he went, his coat upending to drape over his head as he hit the far wall. Long body unfolding, he lay sprawled face down on the ground for a few moments before he whirled about, bouncing upright like a springboard. Landing on boot and peg leg, he grabbed onto the metal bars and began rattling them, yelling so hard that foam started to gather on his chapped lips.

“Drongos! Blighters! Dog’s arses! The lot of ya! Bloody turncoats, I’ll see ya hanged or blown to smithereens! Nobody messes with the famous BilgeRat! Oi, when my mates find out about this—”

Rough, scornful laughter interrupted him, the other pirates waving off his threats.

“Shut your mouth, Rat.”

“The only thing your ‘mates’ are gonna do is pay up for your return. Whatever’s left of you, anyway.”

“Maybe a few days without water will soften him up. Should’na tried to cheat at cards!”

Rat aimed a ferocious kick at the bars, roaring uselessly after them as they ascended the stairs and left the brig. He was left in the cold damp of his cell, with little more than a lantern on the far wall to see by. Not that there was anything to see. His new living arrangements offered nothing but a pile of moldy straw and a slop bucket that smelled more than a little suspicious.

Which wasn’t fair at all! At least the other cell had a pile of pretty blue fabric in it. Pretty blue fabric that was moving, scrambling to the other side and away from him. And the blue fabric was actually a ragged dress attached to a person, crawling into the light as she fled from the newcomer next to her. It was a woman. A very pretty woman, too; small and softly featured, with pale skin and dark hair and dark eyes that were glaring at him in a way that made his ears heat up.

“Qǐng bié dǎrǎo wǒ!” she said, and whatever that was, it didn’t sound friendly.

“Uh? English?” He tilted his head at her. “Anything? No? Well, so much for scintillating conversation with yours truly.” He let go of the bars, turning about and cursing as counterfeit playing cards fell from his coat, scattering on the floor. He fell to both knees to quickly try gathering them up. “Whoops! Forget you saw that, love! So, what’re you in for?”

“Nǐ zhège liǎngmiànpài, wǒ zài yě bùhuì xiāngxìn nǐ le.”

”Woah, woah! Let’s not say things we can’t take back!” he replied good-naturedly, before slumping down atop his itchy straw.

The woman eyed him for a while longer before she grumbled something to herself…and spoke up in English this time. “Wait, I don’t recognize you. Who are you? Are you one of the crew?”

“Oh, ya do speak! Foreign, aren’t ya? Well, maybe you’ve heard of me anyway?” He struck a pose, as impressive as he could make it without having to get up again. “The most famous and most scurvy of scoundrels, pirate king, scourge of the seven seas— that handsome bloke stealing priceless treasures and lady’s hearts alike! The one n’ only Buccaneer BilgeRat!”

“…I haven’t heard of you,” she said flatly.

“Arright, owch. Maybe they just know me by another name in wherever you’re from. And no, not from this crew. These cretins are a whole different breed who can’t stand losin’ a simple game of cards… Guess you’re not in for card-sharkin’, are you? What’s a cute lil’ button like you doing in a place like this, anyway? You got a name? They ain’t hurt ya, did they? Scum, the lot of ‘em. Now me, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m a proper gent.”

She frowned at his barrage of questions, drawing her knees up under her torn blue dress. “My name is Mei-Ling. And they’re keeping me for a ransom. Although once my organization hears about this—!” She huffed, turning away. “If they can get here in time, anyway. I think it’s already been a few days. And one of them tried to get…handsy, and was suggesting very awful things. But I pretended I didn’t understand the language and broke a lantern over his head. So they put me in here.”

A small spark of admiration lit in his chest. “Good on ya, Mei-Ling! Give ‘em hell, darl! Not to worry. When I bust out of here, how about I take you with me?”

She pursed her lips, still looking unimpressed. “But you’re just another pirate.”

“The pirate, love. THE pirate. The famous Buccaneer BilgeRat’s gotten his self out of worse than this. I’ll get us out of here and then, uh…maybe we can go out for drinks, you and me? How about dinner?”

“Are you asking me on a date while we’re both trapped in a pirate brig?” she said incredulously, before shrugging and sitting back again atop her own hay pile. “Hmph. I’ll go wherever you want to go, if you can just get me out of this awful place.”

“That’s the spirit! I know a great little cafe too, you’re just gonna love it. You just sit tight while ol’ BilgeRat works his magic.” He offered her a wide grin, which she didn’t return. But she did watch when he stood up again and moved to the door, inspecting the lock. “Would’ve waited just a bit longer so I could get me bearings a little, but we’ve got a date and all now, so let’s get on with it.”

Her brows furrowed a little more curiously, scooting forward into the light and towards the bars separating them. “Do you actually have something that can get us out? Really?”

“Always pays to be prepared, Mei, sweetness. I’ll admit they did give me a bit of a pat down. Removed my bombs and matches and all. Even searched my peg, the blighters. Took the dynamite out of it, so that’s a no go.”

“You…keep dynamite in your leg?”

“Well not anymore, that’s the problem. They near on emptied me clean. But!” He winked at her in what he hoped was a charming manner. “Pat-downs can’t always find everything. Especially when they don’t wanna pat down everything. Now what you’ve probably been wondering is… Is that a bomb in my trousers or am I just really happy to see you?” He pointed to his crotch.

“Um—”

“The answer is both! Hold on a tick…” Without shame, he pulled his belt loose and dove into his underwear with both hands, searching until he was almost elbow deep. “Right… OW! No, wait…Okay, other one, grabbed onto the wrong bit.”

Mei looked aghast, but brightened when he soon came up with a small round explosive. Plucking a fuse from the tangles that were his dreadlocks, he quickly inserted it into the bomb and held it out proudly. Tossing it up and down, he puffed his chest up a bit and posed for her a bit. Clicking the tips of his metal fingers, he hatched a smattering of sparks until one of them finally caught. And with a quick flourish, he thrust the nob at the top into the door’s keyhole.

“Batten down your beautiful hatches, Mei!” he said, backing away and shoving both fingers in his ears.

Mei retreated to the far side of her cell, doing the same. The fuse sizzled and sparked, then burned down… until there was a loud bang and a bright flash of light, the force of it reverberating around the hollow innards of the boat. With the lock now utterly mangled, the door swung open and Rat stepped through it, waving away clouds of ashy smoke.

“There we are! I’m thinking they might have heard that one, so we’re a bit pressed for time.” He limped across the creaking floorboards, snatching up the keyring and lantern from the far wall. Hurrying back, he searched through the keys to begin sticking them in Mei’s cell door. She was pressed up against it, excitement on her face and actually smiling at him.

He liked that.

There was a shout from up above them as Rat finally found the right key and her door screeched open. Gesturing her out with a twirl of his wrist, he batted his wild brows at her roguishly. “Right this way, lovely. I know where they emptied out the rest of my bombs, so let’s grab them and make a scene. Now let’s— What’re you doing? Mei?”

She held up a finger, hurrying back across to her hay bed and pulling up something from beneath it. “I wasn’t able to find anything to get out of my cell. But I did manage to pry up a floorboard in case one of them came to give me trouble again.” She offered him that wonderful dimpling smile, holding the wooden board up cheerfully. “It even has a nail in it.”

He grinned at his new favorite blue lady and her makeshift weapon. “Oh, I’m liking you more and more by the second. Let’s go give ‘em a bit of hell. And then you and I are  off for that date.  It’s Two-For-Tuesday at that cafe down at the docks and I’m gonna take you there.”

“Um… Why don’t we discuss that after we deal with this?” She hefted her nail-board over one shoulder as the yelling grew closer.

“Right! Right! Priorities!” He limped off into the storage room with the lady at his heels, rooting around in the pile of booty before coming up with his straps of bombs and explosive devices, slinging them back into place over his coat. With a manic gleam lighting up in the center of both eyes from the yellow heat of the lantern, he lit up a fuse and stuck it between his teeth, picking up his frags in both hands. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this.”

The first of the pirates on lookout appeared on the stairs, cutlass drawn. Although he seemed to become less sure of himself when he saw a living explosive coming his way, grinning and leering up at him. He took several steps back, cursing.

Mei took up her place by Rat’s side, hiking up the remains of her dress and lifting her weapon. “Nǐ gěi wǒ gǔn! You big bullies!”

Rat twirled the sparking fuse in his mouth and lit the first of his bombs. ”You tell ‘em, darl! Thar she blows! Avast, you mangy dogs! Come get some!”

They lunged together.

[owlish-peacock36]

Bid Ye Soft Farewell- Ch. 3

Finally! This past week has been hectic, but I hope that you won't have to wait that long for another chapter again! At least for a while. 

A couple of things first. One, I would like to give a shout out to my significant otter for helping me get from point A to point B in this chapter. Just want to brag on him for a second. Also, I've created a fanfic archive page for my fics. You can find it here. I know there isn't very many at the moment, but there will be! Like I've said before, I'm a Tumblr baby, so if there are any issues with it, just let me know! 

Now, on with the show!

Chapter 3: The Storm and the Shadow

With morning came the glowing sun, and a hangover shared by all the men. Jamie himself was squinting in shimmering light, eyes blurred and head heavy. Made even worse by the fact that he had to perform double duty; every man did. And they would still be off schedule, if what Dougal said was to be believed. A week until they reached Port Royal.

           The only man who was seemingly in perfect spirits was Rupert. He could drink a man to his death.

           “Oh, lads! IN AMSTERDAM THERE LIVED A MAID…” He waited for the men to respond in kind, but only a few half-hearted grumbles permeated the air.

           “Mark well what I do say…” The loudest complaint came from Murtagh, who was in no mood for song and horseplay.

           “Shut yer hole!” The disappointment on Rupert’s face was palpable. Angus patted his friend’s shoulder sympathetically, and they both turned back to their work. Jamie was glad for the relative silence. The only sound was the breeze whipping about his ears. It was an unusually strong wind, and it worried Jamie.

           “There’s a storm brewing,” Murtagh murmured to him, as if deciphering his thoughts. “We’d better tell Dougal, or we’ll all blow awa’. Bloody man wouldna know a sunny day if it blinded him…” And with that, he crept away to the captain’s quarters, and Jamie trailed behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie and Murtagh entered the captain’s quarters, temporarily blinded by the light coming in from the windows. Dougal was sitting at his desk, facing said windows. His black-clad shoulders were hunched, quill in one hand, his head in the other. The corners of a map were fluttering off the edge of the desk. Murtagh cleared his throat.

           “There’s a storm on the horizon, Dougal. Its best we batten down the hatches.” Dougal rose from his chair, and swiftly spun around to face them.

           Dougal was a handsome man, if what the lassies said could be believed. Tall and imposing, he was the perfect build for a captain. He had no hair on his head, but made up for it with the long, chestnut-colored beard, peppered with gray. His face was weathered from the sun, ruddy and freckled. But perhaps it wasn’t his looks that the women were attracted to, but rather his charm. He could convince a man to kill his own mother, if he wanted. Hell, he convinced Jamie to join this crew.  

           “Shit. Tell Rupert an’ Willy to make sure the cargo is secure. Tell Angus to trim the sails, and tell Duncan to douse the galley. We’ll need all hands on deck fer this…”

           “Aye.” And with that, Murtagh turned to leave, and Jamie made move to follow.

           “Wait, lad.” Jamie tensed. Dougal never spoke to him privately unless he needed something.

           “Yes, Uncle?” Jamie asked carefully. Dougal sauntered next to him, and flung his arm over Jamie’s shoulder. This caused Jamie’s tension to increase tenfold.

           “I’ve something to ask ye.”

           “Yes, Uncle?” Jamie repeated.

           “I’ve heard rumor about a hefty prize, aye? Located near the Southern Cay.”

           “Aye?”

           “Aye. A ship, ken? Wrecked upon the shore. Gold glittering upon the shore…” Dougal sighed, painting this pretty picture.

           “Weel, sounds an easy prize then.” Jamie turned to make his leave, but Dougal stopped him again.

           “Tis not so simple, lad. There are sentries, aye? Dozens of them. Watching over the treasure until a proper ship can come and collect. That’s where want you to come in.”

           “Dougal, I dinna want any part of this scheme. Ye told me once we dropped anchor at Port Royal, ye’d let me free, with my fair share.”

           “Aye, weel, I changed my mind didn’t I?” Dougal said this with annoyance and frustration. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. But just as quickly as the anger came, it went, replaced with arrogance and a deceitful grin. “Besides, you willna get your share until ye do this for me.”

           “Ye’ve said this for years Uncle! ‘Do this, and I’ll give ye yer share. Do that, and ye can go back to Scotland.’ And how much more must I do to please ye!” Jamie’s face was hot, his eyes wild. Dougal had seen this look before. Best to assuage his frustrations now, and deal with the repercussions later, when he wasn’t alone with him. He was a big man, but Jamie was bigger.

           “This is the last time. I promise,” Dougal soothed, giving him his best reassuring smile. In his heart, Jamie didn’t believe him. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

           “What is it?”

           “Scout the place, lad. Take a couple of the men, and see how the place looks,” Dougal said, as if it were the easiest task in the world.

           “If what ye say is true, we’ll be shot on sight! Its suicide!” Jamie didn’t much feel like dying in the near future.

           “Nay. ‘Twill be perfectly safe. Beside, yer a braw fighter. Ye could take the guards down if ye needed. Ye’ll have a few men with ye.”

           “5 men against dozens? Braw fighters or no, it will no end well.” Dougal just shrugged. “And if I refuse?”

           “Ye won’t. For I am yer captain, and I hold yer future in my hands.” It was the plain, God’s honest truth. Dougal knew it. Jamie knew it. And there was nothing he could do about it.

           “Aye.”

           “Good lad.” Dougal clapped Jamie on the shoulder. “Now, get back out there, and get to work. We’ve a storm to prepare for.” Jamie made yet another turn to leave before being stopped by Dougal’s voice. “And tell the men not to leave their orange peels lying around. I’m no their mother, and I’ll no be picking up after them.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

             The storm came upon them slowly and deliberately. The wind began to shriek, crying out to those that would listen.

           “Oi, sounds a bit like your mother last night. Eh, Duncan?” Angus hollered above the howling gusts.

           The dark sky crept quickly upon them, skipping through a day’s worth of sunlight in an hour. Soon, the world was shadowed in an unearthly gray, the clouds lit from behind from the lightning within them.

           The men grew serious, bracing themselves for what was coming their way. A storm was never a happy occasion. Lost crew members. Lost cargo. Lost ship fragments. That was what the crew had to look forward to; they just wondered which one it would be this time. Perhaps all three.

           As the waves grew higher, the men’s brows sank lower, absorbed in the task of keeping the ship afloat. No men would die tonight. Not if any of them had a say in it.

           The booming of thunder echoed the crashing seas. The waves struck the ship. The men tumbled, tripped, fell. Screams and yells fell on deaf ears.

           Fighting a storm was like fighting a man, Jamie thought. The relentless movements of the opponent. The struggle to stay alive. The worry for crew members, and knowing that the worry is futile.

No rest until it’s over.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           The hours of laboring finally drew to a close, as the blasts of air calmed to a warm breeze, and the rain danced lightly over their bodies. The sea was still choppy, and jolted the men off their feet on occasion.

           “Least we survived, eh?” Murtagh grumbled to Jamie, as they surveyed the ragged sails.

           “Aye. They’ll get us to Port Royal, though.”

           “Ye never did tell me what Dougal said to ye.”

           “Later, all right?” Jamie didn’t want speak badly of the captain in front of his men.

           “Aye.” Murtagh gave Jamie a knowing look. He knew how the lad felt: disgusted by things he did, wanting out of this ‘trade.’

           “I’ll tell ye this, though. I’ll no be leaving at Port Royal, like I thought.” Murtagh nodded. He expected as much.

           A crash from underneath them broke them out of their conversation. It was a familiar sound. Barrels tumbling and rolling across the wooden boards. Glass breaking. Wood splintering. All from the cargo hold.

           “HELL! Rupert! Did I no tell ye to secure the cargo, ye idiot!” Dougal screeched from somewhere above them on the quarter deck.

           “Aye! I did! Must’ve broke loose!”

           “Weel, you and Jamie go tighten back up! And ye better pray to God that nothing’s broken…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie led the small party down the creaky steps to the hold, Rupert mumbling curses the whole way.

           “Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuckin’ cargo.” Jamie grinned at Rupert’s colorful language. He had a way with words.

           The smile quickly disappeared, however, when he caught sight of the hold. Not because of the fallen cargo. It was a mess, but could be easily cleaned and reorganized.

           He stopped grinning, because there among the jumbled barrels and crates, was a small shadow picking its way carefully around them.

           A human shadow.

           It stopped in its tracks as it caught sight of him. Frozen, like prey trapped by a predator.  Rupert was the first to move.

           “Jesus Christ!” He yelled, as he jumped over the railing, directly into the hold. The shadow sprang into action then, jumping over barrels to escape Rupert’s sizeable presence.

           “Ach, no ye don’t!” Jamie himself was frozen, watching this cat and mouse game taking place in front of him. Rupert was a strong, capable man. Jamie had seen him take down three men at once. But the shadow was agile, like a large cat, jumping and twisting just out of reach.

           But the hold was small, and there was only so much room to jump and twist. Rupert had the shadow trapped in the far corner, his strength overpowering its agility. Their two shadows became one as he pinned its arms behind its back, and pushed it toward Jamie and the stairs.

           The mess was all but forgotten.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           Jamie was in charge of holding the weapons Rupert had removed from the stranger: multiple daggers and pistols, and one long sword. Jamie wondered where the stranger hid it all.

           They stepped into the dull light of late afternoon, the stranger tensed, awaiting its fate. It did not struggle, though.

           Only in the diffused light could Jamie see the stranger for the first time. Wild dark hair, clubbed back and topped with an askew tricorn. Loose breeks and a too-large jacket hid the body, but the face gave it away.

           A face soft and pretty, as only a woman’s can be. Large lips, pressed into a perfect straight line. Eyes, the same color as the setting sun, fringed with black lashes. He noticed a scar, running from the end of her right eyebrow to the prominent cheekbone.

           “Weel, what have we here, Rupert?” Dougal sauntered over to the three of them, a devilish glint in his eye. He noticed the lovely face, too, then.

           “Found this in the hold. Put up a good fight.” Dougal nodded.

           “What’s yer name, lass?” But the woman stared through Dougal, eyes bored and mouth tensed. She would not answer.

           “We found these on her, cap’n,” Rupert interjected. He nodded toward Jamie, and he dropped the weapons at Dougal’s feet. Dougal knelt, and rummaged through them, nodding in appreciation at the well-made weapons. He held the sword up to the light, recognition dawning on his face. He stood, and faced his crew.

           “I’ve heard tales, as ye all have as well,” Dougal began. He spoke strongly and loudly so all men could hear the story about to be told. “Of a woman. A pirate lady. A well-bred English woman, thrust into piracy. Some men say she’s a witch, others a ghost. They say she could kill a man wi’ the edge o’ her sword, and heal him wi’ the other.  She could hypnotize a man to betray his own kin. She’s done it before.” The men were nodding and mumbling. They had heard this one before. “A bonny fighter, quick and nimble. Could disappear in front of yer eyes, only to reappear behind ye. Recognized only because of her sapphire sword. The last thing some men see.” At this, Dougal help up the sword in question, blue light glinting off the hilt. The woman narrowed her eyes, but otherwise, her face didn’t change. Dougal turned to speak to her, but still used his storytelling voice so the men could hear:

           “Welcome aboard The Thistle, La Dame Blanche.”