#and maybe it’s just luck that her impulsive acts of rebellion didn’t get her killed

[mollywog]

If it was Lenore Dove and Haymitch at the end of the 74th games with those berries - she would have swallowed them.

[phantomarchive]

“Jack, what are you doing, we have to go.” Will’s voice pierces through the silence of frozen time, almost too loud in this quiet, but Jack isn’t focused on him or what he says or the urgency of the moment. The stutter could collapse at any moment, and they’re standing in the middle of what looks like a dystopic war zone, Monarch security holding college students at gunpoint. But he isn’t focused on the guns or the uniforms or even Will impatiently trying to get his attention.

He sees Amy trying to run from a man in uniform wielding an AK in her direction, his hand grabbing hers too tightly, her wrist white beneath his grasp. They’re stuck in the moment, like statues, surreal and strange - and he hates seeing Amy like this. They met less than an hour ago, but she’d been so full of life, so passionate. Made him laugh, which was nice, considering he doesn’t have much in Riverport that can do that. He reaches for her, and Will interrupts him again.

“Jack!”

“She was at the protest,” he says, as if that’s any kind of answer, and reaches for her other hand, fingers circling her wrist, a gentler contrast to the Monarch grip on her, focusing his newfound abilities on her. Move, he thinks, trying to will her to do so, waiting for the light in her eyes to become less static, for her to stumble forward in her continued momentum away from the guard only to bump into Jack instead. But she doesn’t move, just stays perfectly still.

“Why-”

“Might have something to do with proximity to the explosion,” Will explains, that impatient edge to his voice getting harsher as he tugs on Jack’s arm. “No chronon exposure.”

Shit. It makes sense - well, he thinks it does, and it seems to make sense with what little he knows of the Meyer-Joyce field - mostly dinnertime ramblings from when Jack was a kid, when they could get Will in from his workshop long enough to try and make him eat. So, not a lot, but maybe enough to believe that Will is right.

He doesn’t want to leave her, but really has no choice. They do need to get going.

Stay safe, he thinks, lets go of her hand. She has fire, energy. She’ll be okay.

----------

2010. He has to go back, get the countermeasure, make sure Beth is okay. Amaral sent her to the wrong time, who knows where she’s going to end up, and he won’t let anyone get away with fucking with his family. Wherever Beth went, he has to believe that she’ll make it back to 2010 to steal the countermeasure, just like they planned.

The gun he has pointed at Amaral is steady as he glares at her, rage burning in his eyes, heart thundering in his chest. He wants to shoot her - in her kneecap if not in her fucking face - but a hint of movement catches his eye. Amy, standing behind Amaral, watching Jack with an intensity he’s become familiar with in his time knowing her. She’s also angry, but she probably doesn’t think the doctor needs to die because of what she did. (Not yet, anyway, not until Jack learns where Beth is.) Amaral is lucky Amy is here.

He lowers the gun and switches the safety on before tucking it into the back of his jeans and turning to the monitor. “Keep hold on her,” he tells Amy, who pulls Amaral away from the monitor. “I’m going to find Beth, and then I’m coming back here to end all of this.” 

Jack is used to anger. He’s thrived on it for years. The loss of his parents saw his grief turn to rage turn to reckless teenage rebellion that never quite seemed to die. Acting on impulse, on emotion. He’s never really been the type to think before he acts, and as he punches in the date to get to 2010, his only thought is getting Beth back, and then going after Paul again. Fuck Paul, fuck Amaral, fuck the Fracture. He wants it finished.

He’s fiercely aware of his heavy footsteps as he makes for the corridor, watching the right door open for him. Blood pounds in his ears and his teeth clench tight, and determination carries him forward-

“Good luck, Jack,” he hears Amy call, and he pauses, looking back at her. Bright brown eyes catch his gaze, hold it, and for a moment, he thinks he feels a hint of clarity through the deafening rage thrumming through his veins. Her lips pull into what might be a smile; she looks composed, but he can see she’s nervous. Afraid, maybe. It’s still reassuring to see that attempt at a smile. “And get your ass back here safely.”

He smiles back, almost more of a smirk, and nods once. He’ll come back alright, and she’ll be fine. She’s strong, brave. She’ll be okay.

----------

It’s still surreal to see Will alive. It’s been barely a full day of him believing Will dead, but he’s managed to save him just in time, and he’s alive, they’re both alive and heading back to the future, and it doesn’t quite feel real. And yet, at the same time, it didn’t feel real for him to be dead. Like him dying or being alive is putting Jack in a weird state of existentialism he doesn’t know how to cope with.

Doesn’t matter, Will is here, he’s alive, and they’re going to fix the Fracture. There’s so much he wants to tell him about the last twenty-four hours, everything that’s changed, but there isn’t time. They can talk when it’s over and they have a minute to grab a few beers and settle into a new routine of existing after the Fracture. What that means for them, for everyone who’s made it. (He can’t tell him about Beth yet, not all of it, it’s too fresh, too soon, and Jack doesn’t know if he’d be able to go back for her, too.)

“This way,” Will says, gesturing for Jack to follow him in through a side door into the library, and from the other side of the fence, he hears a voice. Amy’s voice, pleading with the Monarch soldier to let her go, and Jack stops. He has to go back for her, see if he can help her this time, get her out of Monarch’s grasp. 

“Amy,” he says, looking towards her and grabbing the fence to start climbing it, but Will grabs his shoulders before he can.

“No, Jack, you can’t interfere. You can’t change anything or it could be disastrous.”

“I have to help her.” He’s seen what Amy has to go through over the next day of her life, and he doesn’t want her to have to, wants to shield her from the danger, the craziness, the fear. He never wants her to be faced with the barrel of a gun again, and he has the ability to keep that from happening. He can help her. He can keep her safe.

“You can’t. You’ll just make things worse if you do. Now come on.” Will starts moving again, pushing his way into the library, but Jack stays still, looks to where Amy is trying to pull away from the guard. Jack wants to deck the man in his face for hurting her, thinks maybe he’ll do that when he gets back to the future, if the man hasn’t already been killed in Jack’s Monarch killing spree.

Stay safe, he thinks, and he knows she will because he’s seen all of this next part of her life with her. He knows she’ll be alright, because she’s fierce, she’s compassionate, she’s defiant. She’s so many things Jack wants to be, but always seems to override in favor of impulsiveness and a sharp wit. She’s tough, and when he gets back the Fracture is fixed, he’s going to tell her so.

She’ll be okay.

[ncfan-1]

Diplomacy Is a Process

Well, this time had gone better than last time. At least this time he actually talked to her.

-------------------------------

The interior of the corvette was refreshingly cool after hot, dry, dusty Atollon outside, though by the time Sabine and Chopper had made their way down to Cell Block A, Sabine thought the air was starting to get a bit stale. Not a lot of people went down here, and it told in the cold, silent air. Oh, well. At least down here, Chopper didn’t complain about how the dusty winds were ruining his paint job; he’d been griping about that for over a month. (Though to be fair, Sabine had had to touch up the paint on her armor rather more often than usual since settling here.)

She had warned Hera and Kanan about what she was planning on doing, before the first time. With everything else that was going on, Sabine was pretty sure that them finding out after the fact, without her even apprising them of her plan, wouldn’t have ended well. Chopper agreed to help if only because he was “sick of watching Hera mope.” For all his moaning, Sabine was pretty sure Chopper did genuinely want Hera to feel better. It was just that that impulse was deeply buried. Very deeply buried, a mile or so up from where the planet’s crust met the mantle.

Sabine had gone in expecting that she’d have to fight Hera and Kanan both for permission. She’d avoided Rau like the plague ever since she and Kanan had brought him back from Concord Dawn—not that that was difficult, considering the only time Rau ever saw daylight was to be transferred from one ship’s brig to another. On top of that, Sabine wasn’t entirely certain Kanan believed she wouldn’t try to kill Rau, or at least wound him a bit, if the two of them had to be stuck in the same confined space for any length of time. For the record, no, she wouldn’t; Hera had been back on her feet for a long time, and Sabine’s anger had cooled from a fire to a few lukewarm embers.

But Sabine’s expectations had betrayed her. Far from being recalcitrant to what she was proposing, Hera and Kanan were surprised, but pleased. “That’s… I’m glad, Sabine,” Hera had told her, with a smile so infectious that Sabine forgot her own mixed feelings and smiled back.

Not to say that they didn’t have some ‘advice.’

“Just please remember to be civil. Recruitment tends to work better that way.”

“I can be civil!”

Kanan laughed. There were still bacta patches hooked to the too-white bandage over his eyes, and a combination of pain and painkillers made his voice a touch weaker than it should have been, as he remarked, “Yeah, you can be civil. What we’d like is for you to be civil. If you’re successful at all, it probably won’t be immediately, so remember to be patient.”

Hera leaned over and rested her hand lightly on Kanan’s shoulder. “Diplomacy is a process, Sabine. Remember that, as well.”

The first time, however, it wasn’t a matter of Sabine being civil or uncivil; she never got a chance to be either. The first time, Rau didn’t just not take her up on a game of cubikahd, though he must have been bored to tears in that empty cell. He did not say one word to her, instead fixing her in a long, hard stare that Sabine could only hold for so long before she had to look away. Not exactly a rousing success.

Hopefully, this time around, he would at least talk to her.

Sabine nodded to the guards, who nodded silently back and deactivated the force field just long enough to let her and Chopper through. Rau sat straight and stiff on the bench opposite from Sabine’s—she didn’t know if he’d had advance warning of her coming, or if he’d just heard her and Chopper coming down the hall. Either way, he did not seem surprised to see them. A little annoyed, but that was about normal.

“Hello,” Sabine said quietly, feeling awkward in spite of herself. She had to fight the urge to fidget.

She got no response, and after a couple of minutes of silence, began to wonder if this really was just going to be a repeat performance of last time. I wonder if he treats the people who bring his food this way. Maybe I’d have more luck if I started serving in the mess hall. But just as Sabine was starting to think she was going to have to call this one off too, Rau said, sounding only a little like a man who had barely spoken in months, “Tell your droid to set up the game board.”

Well, this was already getting off to a better start than last time, not that that would be hard. “I’m standing right here,” Chopper grumbled (or, at least, that was a close approximation of what he said; what he actually said didn’t really bear repeating), but he brought the board up anyways.

There was a lot of variation to favored hologames among Mandalorians, with Mandalorians from different worlds or clans favoring different games. Cubikahd was the only game Sabine could think of that was universally enjoyed, and it was the one game she could think of that she and Rau were both bound to know how to play. It had been a very long time since Sabine had last played cubikahd.  Most of her family didn’t have much time for it, when she was growing up; with the kind of lives they led, leisure time was difficult to come by. She’d mostly played against one of her second cousins, who was a few years older than her, and who in retrospect she suspected had been going easy on her. Judging by how quickly she lost the first game, yeah, her cousin had definitely been going easy on her.

The look on Rau’s face as Chopper reset the board was an odd mixture of sardonic amusement and something that looked almost like disappointment. It was like he couldn’t decide whether to savor an admittedly petty victory over one of his captors, or be disappointed that the only other person around who actually knew how to play this game happened to be a lousy player.

When Rau made that face, he reminded Sabine irresistibly of a couple of her older uncles (Or, rather, parents’ cousins whom she called ‘uncle’ in deference to the fact that they were much, much older than her). He reminded her of some of her older relatives in general, the ones who could remember a time before the civil wars long before Sabine was born, and hadn’t become directly involved with Death Watch afterwards. Less aggressive than those who had joined Death Watch, but still markedly watchful of anyone who might logically be a threat to them. She hadn’t wanted to see it before, but she could now. And there wouldn’t be any telling Rau that; he’d probably be even more offended than her uncles if she said so. Of course, they’d probably all express their offense in exactly the same way, and prove Sabine’s case for her, but this would probably trigger another breakdown in diplomacy. Possibly one involving blunt instruments. She kept her mouth shut.

It did make her feel just a little lonely to see, though.

“I heard about Jarrus,” Rau told her suddenly, during a lull in the second game. His voice was decidedly, deliberately neutral, and he eyed her sharply as he spoke.

Herself, Sabine had to fight to keep from scowling. Of course. He probably heard the guards talking. Probably the only reason Rau had been any more responsive today than he had the last time Sabine had showed up was because he was trying to worm information out of her.

Figures. My version of diplomacy’s digging up an old hologame and hoping the guy I’m playing against will actually want to talk with me after long enough. Figures he’d just take this as an excuse to pump me for information.

He wanted to worm information out of her? Sabine narrowed her eyes. Well, fine. Two could play at that game.

“What have you heard?” Sabine asked carefully. The game was now forgotten, her attention fixed on the other player, though she could still feel Chopper looking at her.

“That he bit off more than he could chew during a mission.” Rau broke eye contact with her and stared off to his right, at the wall of the cell opposite from the doorway. He frowned deeply. “Seems a shame.”

Sabine bristled, and said hotly, all with Hera’s ‘Please be civil’ ringing in her ears, “He can still fight!”

“Yes, I imagine being a Jedi helps with that,” Rau shot back, his voice practically dripping sarcasm. “It still seems a shame. There’s little use in getting yourself maimed if it doesn’t even serve to achieve your mission objective.”

“He’s still alive.”

“He is, indeed. Dying to achieve your mission, unwavering, is not an unworthy act. Not that I would expect you to appreciate that.”

His tone was positively withering, and somehow, Sabine didn’t think he was talking about her involvement with the Rebellion. She tilted her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

There came no answer, except a look that gave Sabine the impression that Rau thought she ought to have known exactly what he meant. As it stood, Sabine didn’t, and she didn’t particularly want to have to press further to figure it out. I wonder if the Empire alerts the Protectors when someone defects from the Imperial Academy on Mandalore. It would make sense to put them on alert. Or it might be house politics; he does think my house is an even bigger embarrassment to our people than I am, after all. And with that thought, the probable answer slotted into place. Death Watch. He was talking about Death Watch.

“Rau…” Sabine frowned at him, staring intently into his face. “…How old do you think I am, exactly?”

Again, Sabine got no answer, and this time, she shook her head and bit back a sigh. “I was born two years before the Siege was lifted, and the Empire took control of Mandalorian space,” she explained, willing herself to be patient, to keep her voice level and impersonal. “By the time I was old enough to actually remember anything, Death Watch had already gone to ground. For a while.” Rau blinked, his eyes widening slightly, only just enough to be noticeable. So she had his attention. Good. “I don’t remember when Satine Kryze ruled. I don’t remember Pre Vizsla, or Maul. The only rule I’ve known anywhere in Mandalorian space is the rule of the Empire.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, forced herself to say, “The Empire wants us to treat them the same way we’d treat any clan chieftain who prevailed over us in war, but I think we both know that that isn’t the same thing.”

I figured that one out the hard way. Someday, you might, too.

Once more, Rau seemed to have nothing he particularly wished to say. Instead, he looked her over closely, as if trying to pick her brain apart with his eyes. He leaned back against the cold metal wall of the cell, the shadows falling over his face like a veil. Sabine said nothing, clamping her mouth shut so fast that her teeth made an audible click against each other.

There was no way he’d seriously thought she was old enough to have actually fought with Death Watch. It didn’t matter how old Rau thought Sabine was; she knew she didn’t look old enough to have been of fighting age during the Clone Wars, let alone beforehand. But it did seem he’d thought her old enough to at least have clear memories of that time period, of what Death Watch had done before the Empire came and they all, every warring faction, had gone deep into hiding. Well, more fool him.

Half-buried memories of history lessons surfaced from the back of Sabine’s mind as silence fell thick and fraught in the cell. After the civil wars ended (if they ever really had ended; Sabine could remember a few times when she was very young when it seemed like they had never stopped) and the Duchess Satine had cemented her control on the throne, she made it clear to the warriors of Mandalore that they were to lay down their arms and submit to her authority, or be exiled from Mandalore. Sabine’s people had refused to do either, and were restricted to Concordia. They weren’t the only ones.

The Protectors had recognized Satine’s victory, and thus her rule, as legitimate. Not exactly surprising; their allegiance was to the throne directly, rather to any particular clan or house. However, they had refused to lay down their arms, and had gone into a voluntary exile in the Concord Dawn system. From what Sabine had heard, the Duchess had still occasionally called upon the Protectors to track down especially dangerous fugitives, and she allowed them to recruit from the warrior clans (she must have; there was no way Rau was old enough to have already been with the Protectors by the time the wars had ended), but the détente was at best an uneasy one. Joining the Protectors meant exiling yourself from the Mandalore system, and the rise of the Empire had not changed that. The last thing the Empire wanted was the Protectors free to operate on Mandalore, or any of the other Mandalorian worlds; they’d gone so far as to put a moratorium on recruitment a few years before Sabine joined the Academy.

Sabine didn’t know when, exactly, Rau had joined the Protectors. It would have had to have been before the Clone Wars, for him to have been a flight instructor on Kamino, but no matter the exact figure, it would have been a very long time ago. The Mandalore Sabine Wren knew bore little resemblance to the Mandalore Fenn Rau knew. The Mandalore Fenn Rau knew probably had much more in common with the stories Sabine’s family had told her than to what she had known growing up. She knew that. She’d known that. He might know that now, too.

“Wren,” Rau said at length, sharply, but he couldn’t mask the sudden tiredness in his voice, and Sabine stared at him, surprised to hear it. He didn’t look directly at her. Instead, he focused his attention on the holographic game board in front of them, waving his hand so the image crackled and winked around it. “Either keep playing, or get out.”

It would have been kind of nice to be able to just leave, to get away from someone who played nice with the Empire just to keep their wrath from falling on him, and yet judged her choices and found them wanting. It would have been nice to get away from someone who looked at her with such scorn. But Sabine thought of Kanan, who would never fully recover from what had happened to him on Malachor, who now found himself having to adjust to blindness. She thought of Hera, whose face was perpetually strained with grief and worry, who hadn’t smiled wholeheartedly in over a month, and who Sabine occasionally caught rubbing at bloodshot eyes. She thought of Chopper, who would have loved for everyone to believe he didn’t care, and yet still followed her here without a single complaint. She thought of Ezra, who had grown distant and unsmiling, Zeb, who barely seemed to know what to do now, Rex, whom she caught staring off into the arid wilderness with a look in his eyes as though he was galaxies away.

She thought of the family of her blood, who had, long ago, made the same choice as Rau. Maybe for the same reasons, or maybe not. Sabine knew his reasons, but she had never been sure of theirs, had never been able to guess whether it would have been easier or not, had she known. She hadn’t been able to make them change their minds, but maybe, just maybe…

The Rebellion needed all the allies it could get.

Diplomacy is a process, Sabine told herself, and kept playing.