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kyber-queen · 4 years ago

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Someone New (Rex x Jedi!reader)

Summary: This is a lil prequel for the Like Real People Do universe, but it can be read as a stand-alone!! Shiny!Rex is completing additional training under Jedi!reader and he’s painfully in love, big brother Cody gives advice (Codywan if you squint), some mutual pining and confessions!!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, mentions of blasters, awkward Rex, kithes

Author’s Note: I wanted to write something happy for this series since its ending brought me so much pain. This is an elaboration of one of the memories Rex brings up in Pt. 4 -- I hope you all enjoy!! Also-- shebs means one’s backside in Mando’a if you were not aware :D

***

Shots fired off in quick succession to your left, the sheer volume of the mock battle around you rattling your brain. You were holed up behind a barricade next to Rex—the other troopers you were running the simulation with had scattered themselves behind various other blockades. Their helmets were turned expectantly towards you. You glanced over your shoulder at Rex, his visor trained on your face as he waited for your command. He’d been specifically selected to complete additional tactical training, and he had proven himself to be a fast learner and a skilled tactician. He had quickly assumed the position of your right-hand man, pointing out possible troop formations that even you might have missed. Your reliance on him during training quickly extended beyond the battlefield arena—you considered him a friend, and a good one at that. You cared about him, sometimes more than you knew a Jedi should.

“Sir, we’re bogged down from the front, and they’re looking to circle around from behind. Where do you want us?”

You acknowledged Rex with a tilt of your head, scanning the battlefield and eyeing the heavy artillery cannons protected by a row of battle droids—if you could dismantle the cannons, your troops could make a final push to the citadel under lighter fire.

“Cover me—I’m going to take out the artillery,” Rex nodded as you turned to address the rest of the men.

“Stand your ground—pick off the battle droids until we can take out the cannons,” you called.

Assuring that everyone had heard your orders, you leapt up from behind the barricade and started off towards the artillery cannons with a sprint. You made it maybe ten paces before the ground in front of you erupted with a bang.

Your vision flashed and your ears rang, and your body sailed through the air until you felt something solid collide against your back. Hands came to steady your waist, and an all-too-familiar voice sounded from behind you.

“You alright, sir?”

Rex. You absorbed the feeling of his strong hands gripping your waist, looking over your shoulder to see his masked gaze focused on your face. You shook off the momentary stun.

“I’m fine—focus on the cannons,” you shouted.

“Roger that,” he called.

Rex flexed his fingers, the sensation of your waist underneath his fingertips lingering far longer than it should have. He gulped. He trusted you—far more than the average trust built between a trooper and their commanding officer. You had singled him out on the first day he was stationed with you, mentioning that the Marshal Commander had issued a glowing report of his promise as a tactician. Since then, you and Rex had become near inseparable. Somewhere in between the late nights spent developing complex battle strategies and running over military codes, Rex found you invading more and more of his thoughts. It grew beyond just friendly trust—it’s like you put some Jedi curse on him. Your face plagued him during mess, while he was sleeping, in the kriffing refresher—every kind smile and friendly touch played over in his head tenfold. He knew the butterflies in his stomach were traitorous, but when you said his name with that sweet smile on your lips, every rule and regulation went out the window.

“Rex, blast it!” You gestured your saber at an approaching battle droid, still charging ahead to the cannons.

Rex shook himself from his ruminations, silently berating himself for his distraction as he fired at the droid. He was well and truly fucked.

***

“You did well today,” you smiled, bumping your shoulder against Rex’s pauldron. “Keep that up and you’ll be an ARC in no time,”.

Rex preened at your praise, punching in the code to enter the locker room with a grin. The door slid open with a clank.

“Keep an eye on those detonators, by the way,” he teased. “Almost had to scrape you off the duracrete,”.

You rolled your eyes as he followed you into the locker room.

You made a beeline to the sink, splashing water onto your face, which was still flushed with exertion from the training simulation. The locker room buzzed with excitement at a battle well-won. You glanced up from your reflection in the mirror, watching as a few straggling troopers stripped off their armor before heading to the refresher. You turned back to the sink, scrubbing your face and neck clean.

When you next looked up from the sink, your gaze was returned by a certain bleach-blond trooper.

His towel was slung low over his hips, and your eyes widened as you traced a bead of water from his temple all the way down to his chest. You followed it across his abdomen, watching as the water droplet slipped underneath the towel. Your cheeks flushed. Rex was your friend. Every single thought racing through your mind at that moment crossed every line drawn by your friendship, not to mention the regulations specified for the clones and the creed of the Jedi order. You were ashamed to admit to yourself that this wasn’t the first time you had considered him in that way, either. The crease in his brow when he focused, his gentle smile when the two of you organized a successful strategy, his voice low in your ear as he leaned over your shoulder to point out a stray troop formation you had missed—he drew you in, no matter how much you resisted. On the day you met him, his force signature reached out to yours. Since then, neither meditation nor mindfulness was enough to keep him out of your head. It was just your luck that you were certain he would never feel the same.

Your eyes flashed back up to Rex’s reflection in the mirror. You both looked away.

Rex was trained to be observant—he didn’t miss the way your eyes traced his body. Your gaze was electrifying. You were a Jedi. You had enchanted him within the first week of training, and now, Rex was certain he’d do just about anything you’d ask. You had no business falling for a shiny, yet the fire behind your eyes gave Rex hope. You treated him like a person, not an expendable soldier. With every evening you spent at his side reading tactical manuals and discussing new techniques, he found himself becoming more and more entangled with you.

***

“Cody—can we talk?”

Cody looked up from his paperwork, shuffling a large stack into place.

“What do you need, Rex?”

Rex entered the room fully, shuffling over to the desk and leaning rather awkwardly against it. Cody noted Rex’s strained expression with a deep sigh.

“It’s not the Jedi, is it?”

Rex nodded apologetically.

Cody took a deep breath, drumming his fingertips across the other side of the desk.

“You know their code, right? No attachments?”

Rex nodded again.

“Rex—vod’ika—almost every trooper I know has had a crush on a Jedi. It works out maybe one out of 100,000 times, if at all,”.

Rex’s brow furrowed.

“I know, Cody, I just—”

He trailed off. Cody shook his head with a sigh, meeting Rex’s eyes with a sad look on his face. Cody knew the second Rex had mentioned his additional training sessions with the pretty Jedi knight that nothing good could come of it. It was dangerous for Rex and the Jedi, both—Cody knew firsthand. Still, Rex was his brother, and Cody would help him where he could.

“Alright, here. Use Mando’a—natborns’ll go wild for it. And remember, you’re a man of action. A soldier. If you think they care about you the way you care about them, do something before they lose interest,”.

Rex nodded, listening intently. His head tilted in curiosity.

“Does that work for you?”

Cody smiled softly.

“Almost always,”. The smile disappeared. “And Rex?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do anything stupid. It’s been a while since I’ve heard about a brother being reconditioned, but—” He trailed off, looking intently at Rex, before placing a strong hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Just—be careful,”.

Rex nodded, uttering a quiet ‘thank you’ before walking back out the door.

***

You leaned against the wall of the locker room, drumming your fingertips absentmindedly. You waited patiently for the troopers to clear out of the refresher so you could take a shower with some semblance of privacy. Almost all the clones had left for the barracks—except for Rex. He had lingered around the locker room today, for whatever reason. He’d been off recently, you had noticed. More skittish, less talkative. At least he wasn’t darting off to the barracks without a second glance, today. He emerged from the ‘fresher stall in the bottom half of his blacks, a towel tossed over his broad shoulders. You watched his back tense up as he reached for his blacks top in his locker.

Rex’s gaze met yours for a split second as he pulled his shirt over his head—his face was flushed bright red. You were perplexed. Rex was your closest real friend on base, and he had been acting downright strange the past few days. Did you offend him in some way? Had you managed to screw up your friendship without even saying a word? At your training session today, he had just about choked on his tongue when you got him pinned while sparring.

“Rex, you alright?”

The trooper met your gaze with a hushed breath of air that might have been a chuckle were he not so damn nervous. Cody told him to do something, right? He needed to make a move.

Rex closed the gap between the two of you with three quick strides, reaching a calloused hand up to cup your face.

“Cyare,”. His voice was hushed, almost reverent. Butterflies erupted in your stomach.

You opened your mouth slightly, but before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours. His teeth caught painfully at your bottom lip, and you jolted away with a gasp of surprise and pain.

He had kissed you.

You brought two tentative fingers to your mouth, pulling them away to reveal a tiny drop of blood. Your hand dropped to your side.

You met Rex’s eyes—it seemed as if all the color had disappeared from his face.

Rex knew he had fucked up. You were staring at him, silently, with an entirely unreadable expression across your face. This was it, he was going to get reconditioned. Cody’s words echoed through his mind. Don’t do anything stupid. And what did he do? He kissed his Jedi commanding officer, and not only that, he busted their lip open. Cody could tell him he told him so while hauling his defective shebs all the way back to Kamino.

“I-I’m sorry,”. Rex’s voice was barely a whisper.

You heard the tremor in his voice. Your heart ached, and the concern melted from your brow. Cyare—that meant beloved in Mando’a, you thought. He cared for you, too. You reached up to Rex’s face, curling your fingers around his jaw. You pulled him down to your height and into a kiss far gentler than the one before. Your lips slid softly against his, reveling in the warmth of his mouth on yours. His hands circled your waist lightly as he continued to press those soft, gentle kisses against your lips. He certainly was a quick learner. You felt his contented sigh against your cheek as you traced his jaw with your thumb. You could get drunk on kissing him. You pulled away slowly, Rex’s lips chasing yours as he stole just one more kiss from your smiling mouth.

His hands lingered on your waist, so light that you could barely feel them touching you. You rested your forehead against his. His force signature was warm and bright—more so than you had ever felt before. Rex’s unsteady voice broke the silence.

“I wanted you to know,”.

You hummed in response, your hands cupping his face as he melted into your touch.

“I care about you too, Rex,”.

His hands strengthened in their grip around your waist as he held you closer to him.

“So, what happens now?”

you searched his eyes, and warmth blossomed in your chest. All you knew was that you cared about him, and that was enough. You’d have to be careful, you noted. Pursuing this was going to be dangerous, for the both of you, and possibly painful. Your future was clouded—the force offered neither judgement nor advice.

Your thumb coasted over the apple of his cheek, and Rex let his eyes flutter closed for just a moment at the gentleness of your touch. When you next spoke, your voice was soft and hopeful.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,”.

***

Like Real People Do Taglist: @pinkiemme @callme-eds @porgnugget @obi-robi-kenobi

#captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #rex x you #captain rex x y/n #captain rex #ct 7567 #commander cody #codywan #clone trooper x reader #the clones #my fic

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mortallyclearwonderland · 3 years ago

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Star Wars Alien Species - Hiromi

Hiromi's homeworld is unknown (as of yet).

The most prominent trait of the Hiromi was their instinct for self-preservation. One of their favorite activities was, in their words, "not getting beaten up". The Hiromi became very fearful when the possibility of being in danger came up, and were quick to suggest alternatives to fighting—including bringing in reinforcements to fight in their stead, hiding, and going home. Nonetheless, when they were truly needed, the Hiromi charged headlong into whatever task was required of them, though they were no less afraid as they did so.

he Hiromi had a grandiose image of themselves, claiming to be "glorious conquerors," though their short attention spans meant that their grand long-term plans, such as galactic control, were frequently derailed by thoughts of food or play. The Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker would observe that they enjoyed the work of conquest. Other words they used to describe themselves included "glorious", "ruthless", and "supreme". Hiromi considered themselves to be ruthless masters of interrogation, and backed this claim up by making subjects crack in a short time by relentlessly bombarding them with shouts of "Talk!".

Another activity the Hiromi enjoyed greatly was cheering. Whenever they achieved any kind of victory, they would praise themselves and let out a cheer. This was, to them, a very important part of any activity. When Luke Skywalker sought to rally the Hiromi, he appealed to their love of cheering by leading them in one.

Finally, the Hiromi had a great passion for food. Their first task after "conquering" Zeltros was to have lunch, and they had nothing but praise for the quality of the Zeltronian food and desserts. The Hiromi knew of the Jedi and the Force only through legends.

Approximately 2000 years before the Battle of Endor, the Hiromi Empire began planning its conquest of the galaxy. Over the next two millennia they watched the shape of galactic affairs and waited in hiding. They heard legends of the Jedi Knights and their powers, though it would not be until their invasion that they saw one, namely Luke Skywalker, in action.

In 4 ABY, shortly after the Battle of Endor, the Hiromi mothership Kuratcha was dispatched as part of the advanced force of the invasion of the galaxy, and the Hiromi operative Hirog infiltrated the command staff of the Alliance of Free Planets as Admiral Ackbar's aide. Hirog's mission was to destabilize the Alliance to prepare for the Hiromi invasion, which he set about doing by pitting the Lahsbee and Ewoks at war against each other, as these were considered to be the two least dangerous members of the Alliance.

The first phase of his plot was to arrange it to appear that one of the Lahsbee was engaging in an affair with the Ewok Princess Kamida. The Ewok Tippet, who had been courting her, was outraged, and began rallying his people to fight the Lahsbee. The second phase of the Hiromi plan was to plant a bomb near the Alliance leadership; when it detonated, it would kill all the participants in the conflict, leaving the rest of the galaxy to assume it was the fault of either the Lahsbee or the Ewoks. With the leaders of the Alliance dead, their worlds would presumably split and wage war on each other.

The situation never reached this point. A stray blaster shot, accidentally fired during an honor duel between the Lahsbee and Tippet, disabled the timing mechanism on Hirog's bomb, causing it to tick uncontrollably towards detonation. Hirog ran screaming from his hiding place, yelling to everyone present about the plans of the Hiromi and their impending doom. As it happened, one of the Lahsbee had transformed into their animalistic form, the Huhk, and when the creature flung a rock at Hirog and missed, it accidentally disabled the bomb. The Hiromi forces on the mothership chose to abandon Hirog and retreated, the Ewoks and Lahsbee made peace, and Hirog was chased from the scene by the enraged Huhk. He somehow escaped, and later rejoined the Hiromi forces.

Not to be defeated, the Hiromi next set their sights upon the world of Zeltros, home of the Zeltrons. Captain Hookyr, leader of the invasion force, decided that with its temperate climate and rich supply of pleasures, Zeltros was the perfect world for their people. Arriving in orbit on the Kuratcha, they dispatched a force to the royal palace. Members of the Alliance of Free Planets had come to Zeltros too, and King Arno and Queen Leonie held a party for them. With the king and queen busy reveling, and many Zeltros drunk, Hiromi scout Ensign Phoebe reported that they had been neutralized, and recommended the Hiromi strike. The rest of the invasion force, meanwhile, "captured" Luke Skywalker and the Hoojib Plif, though in fact Skywalker had allowed himself to be taken to see whether the Hiromi had the backing of any stronger allies.

This accomplished, the invaders then swept into the empty throne room, and, with the Hiromi declaring him "Hookyr the First", the ruler of Zeltros, Captain Hookyr took his seat on the Zeltron throne. By his order, the first act of the Hiromi was to go to the royal kitchen and have lunch. Unfortunately for them, two other parties had arrived on Zeltros, the Nagai and the Tofs, each of them determined to conquer the world first. The Tof broke their way into the kitchen and took the Hiromi invaders captive. Altogether, the Hiromi conquest of the palace kitchen was the shortest successful invasion of Zeltros ever recorded.

Skywalker and the Hoojibs, although taken captive by the Tof, did not remain so for long, and after defeating their captors they freed the Hiromi. Four Zeltron friends of Skywalker had been captured by the Tof, and Skywalker enlisted the help of the Hiromi to rescue them from the Tof ship. Though initially frightened, the Hiromi saw it as another chance to fulfill their destiny. Skywalker then turned their interrogation skills against a Tof prisoner, who quickly cracked and told them the codes to infiltrate the Tof vessel in orbit.

Taking the Kuratcha to the Tof Wayfarer, the Hiromi waited in the ship until Skywalker had dispatched the guards in the hangar. While they wanted to stay beside Skywalker as he sabotaged the Tof ship, Skywalker heaped praise upon, as he said, "that dauntless, matchless, legendary Hiromi spirit", and thus inspired the Hiromi to charge off to rescue the prisoners. However, it was not as simple as they expected; the Zeltrons believed the Hiromi were working with their captors and assaulted them, and only the timely arrival of Skywalker saved them. A Tof, meanwhile, began sneaking up on Skywalker; Hirog shouted a warning and shot the Tof, killing him. Having killed a Tof in a fair fight for the first time, the Hiromi were very pleased with themselves, and the gathered party let out a loud cheer. Later, the Hiromi would muse that Skywalker had only helped a little, and that it had been them who had truly helped defeat the Tofs.

In the wake of their victory. the crew of the Kuratcha put in a request to return home. They believed they could best serve the Alliance and the Hiromi while safely hidden—though they were careful to explain that this did not mean they were afraid.

All Hiromi serving in their invasion force were clad in a uniform of red berets and boots, with the exception of Captain Hookyr, who wore a red hat. They dressed in red, tan, and purple attire.

Hiromi were a green, insectoid sentient species approximately 1.5 meters or 4.9 feet tall. They had yellow eyes, two long antennae on their heads, and unlike many insectoid species, tongues.

Hiromi age at the following stages: Unknown (as of yet).

Examples of Names: Hirog, Hookyr

Languages: Native language is unknown (as of yet). They can speak Basic.

#Hiromi #star wars Hiromi #star wars species #star wars aliens

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themikeymonster · 8 years ago

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viridescent skies - 6b

6b or ashes, ashes, we all fall down; and the author incidentally inserts a sequel hook without solid plans for a sequel

It's some time before the Queen finds time for them again, and Anakin is called before her. Well, a handmaiden finds him and brings him to what Anakin can only assume is a private sitting room; it's finely done, but not nearly so lavish or understatedly decadent as the other rooms he's been to - still on mission duty. As if, with the sith dead, there could be another threat to the Queen's life.

Of course there is. Sith come in two. Someone taught him. Somehow, capturing a Queen and working with the Trade Federation seems more advanced than what the creature was capable of; certainly not the whispers that Qui-Gon heard when he set his ear to the Coruscanti underbelly.

"A great many lives have been lost in this struggle," the Queen says after they've observed the social formalities. "Too many lives. Naboo and Gungan alike. It's most unfortunate that we find Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn among them."

The young Queen Amidala is pretty and clever and has quite the sabacc face. It really isn't shown here; her sincerity is transparent, despite the prettiness of her diplomatic words. Strangely, Anakin remembers that she and Qui-Gon had not seen eye-to-eye. His heart, nebulous as it is, somehow sits askew in his chest.

"We have yet to establish contact with Republic space," she says into his silence. "As soon as possible, we will open a channel for you to reach the Temple with news." She hesitates, and looks young and small and uncertain. She's not much older than Obi-Wan, Anakin remembers with some difficulty: scrambled signals from far off towns coming in over the comm he repaired at five with rusted wires cleaned with spit and sand.

"Thank you," he remembers to say. He feels a bit like he's been shut in for days, and finally a storm has passed. His mouth his dry and his throat hurts. "That would be - um. Acceptable."

The young Queen seems to draw strength from his response, even though it sounds awkward. Inadequate. "Please," she says, more confidently. "If there is anything I can do - for either of you -"

Anakin doesn't follow her darting gaze downward to his side. His head feels confused and disjointed and filled with static, but his senses are as sharp as ever. He doesn't need to look to know that Obi-Wan seems to be calmly examining the elegant cut of a nearby archway. He has been dutifully studying the architecture for two days now, as if his life's passion has become Naboo Nouveau. He hasn't strayed out of arm's reach of Anakin since the moment Anakin had finally sat him down in the jumbled, war-torn streets of Theed outside the palace.

"We," Anakin says and pauses. He forces his mouth to smile at her. "Jedi take care of their own."

The Queen nods and seems a bit disappointed. She takes a shallow breath and says, "If there are any rites that we could help you prepare for, we would be most willing to help."

Rites. Funeral rites. Anakin finds himself staring blankly at her. He's seen funerals before - and some of the rites she speaks of: those appropriate for strangers. Where Jedi are called to, there are always deaths. But on Tatooine, there have never been any rites for people like Anakin and his mother - moments of silence, perhaps, or closed eyes. For particularly well loved slaves, maybe the rest of them would join together and eat something. Speak of them as if they were still alive perhaps.

But those aren't rites. And if the Jedi have any, then they were not taught to Anakin.

Obi-Wan might know.

He can not ask Obi-Wan, who still seems to be politely ignoring the conversation, playing the part of the dutiful padawan who does not speak unless addressed by his master -

Anakin inhales. He says, "Master Jinn would be pleased with the rites practiced on Naboo." Or at least Qui-Gon would not hate them - wouldn't be angry with them. Qui-Gon always believed in the Force more than the Order; their rites and ceremonies would not have been so important - could not have been if he had not taught Anakin.

Something awful and sick and hot lays in the center of his belly, somewhere below the pulsing, deathly star his heart has become. He's gently pulled upon, like his feet to the ground, and Anakin swallows-swallow-swallows and packs that wretched thing away, and places it within the center of his star-heart to be crushed and consumed.

"I see," Amidala says. For a moment longer, lashes lowered, she weighs her words. It's a strange world, Anakin thinks, that a Queen - even one so young - has the timidity of a servant. "If I may speak freely, without causing offense?"

The absurdity of it wrings something twisted and not-a-smile out of Anakin. "I am very hard to offend," he says.

She nods. She does not appear to believe him. She says, "Until now Naboo has mostly known Jedi by reputation. I see now that the galaxy must ask a lot of the Jedi. What we offer you - what I offer - is freely given. It's okay to accept help sometimes."

It's a bit skilless. Earnest. Almost naked in its sincerity. She reminds him a little of his mother then, and the awful spewing of the star in his chest begins to calm a little. His not-smile does not budge, but Anakin dips into a shallow bow, because he does like the young Queen Amidala, and he does respect her. "Thank you, your Highness," he says. "I will keep that in mind."

Though in Anakin's experience, nothing comes freely.

It takes longer still before Naboo can reconstruct the communication relays that the Trade Federation disabled during their so-called blockade. It's up to Anakin himself to gain access to the secure lines back to the Temple, but thankfully his codes have not yet been changed.

He asks one of Amidala's handmaidens to look after Obi-Wan while he makes his report in a secure room, standing before the projections of Windu and Yoda. He's somehow not surprised that Yoda announces his intention to come to Naboo to oversee the rest of the mission.

Qui-Gon, Anakin belatedly remembers, was Yoda's grandpadawan. They do - did - take after one another in some ways. He's never met the Jedi Master who links the lineage from Yoda to Qui-Gon, so he can only imagine what the man must be like. Another frowning Jedi like Yoda, perhaps, who Anakin can't see eye-to-eye with.

Anakin's suddenly grateful for the lavish communication booth; he's accustomed to making his reports in the open, with whatever means are available - usually a droid. After the line is closed, Anakin stands in the silent privacy of the booth and takes a moment to let the grim reality of the situation settle in.

He's been his own Knight for nearly a year now, by the Galactic Standard calendar. That hasn't changed. But now he feels awfully alone.

When Anakin leaves the booth, it's to the hubbub of the Queen's people scurrying about, struggling to reassert normality in a Post-Invasion of Naboo world. Not far off, he spots Obi-Wan and the handmaiden; his mouth twitches. It's an interesting tableau of two people politely entertaining one another. The handmaiden persists in trying to make small talk with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan continues to express polite interest in that comical way of his that isn't quite finished, stolen from adults around him and not yet practiced and natural.

It should be comical. Would be, but Anakin hasn't seen him without it in days.

It certainly wouldn't fool one of the Queen's handmaidens, but she plays for ignorance until she catches sight of Anakin. "You've made contact with the Jedi?" she asks as he reaches them.

"I have," he confirms. "One of the Council members will be arriving within the next few days to take over given the - circumstances."

"I understand," she says. "Is there anything else the Queen may help you with?"

"No," he says, "It's all Jedi from here on out." He gives her his best Jedi Business smile; it earns him only a hitched brow before she dips into a shallow curtsy and takes her leave.

Though this area of the palace is fairly busy with the Queen's people, no one bother them, scurrying around them without giving lingering looks. Whatever curiosity the people of Naboo had felt toward the Jedi has been forgotten in preparation of the wakes, and also the celebration of Naboo's continued freedom. Anakin feels strange and disconnected from it. Obi-Wan must feel the same.

"Come on," Anakin says at last, and mutely Obi-Wan follows. They've had time to familiarize themselves with the palace, and as Obi-Wan hasn't ventured from his side, they navigate it with ease. "I've contacted the Temple," Anakin says needlessly as they arrive at a less populace corridor. "Do you know Yoda? He'll be here in a matter of days."

"Oh," Obi-Wan says. "I'll be going back to the Temple then."

It's the first words that Obi-Wan has said since that day down in the reactor - other than 'no, thank you' and 'yes, thank you' as manners dictated. Anakin tries not to startle at them. He can't quite help swiveling to look at the boy. "We both will," he says.

"Of course," Obi-Wan says, accepting the correction gracefully. He begins to frown, and then, distantly, asks: "Knight Skywalker, what happens to Padawans whose Masters die?"

"What," Anakin says.

Obi-Wan's brow grows more tense; if he were an adult, it'd have lines in it. "It suddenly came to me, that's all," he says. "I don't know what they do with padawans like me. Do we go to the service corps?" He looks up at Anakin, perplexed.

"No," Anakin says. He knows it like he knows electrical currents, like thrust, like wind shear and gravity.

"Oh, okay," Obi-Wan says, as easy as that, as if ever in the short time that Anakin has known him he has ever taken an answer at face value. "Will you still visit me? I know knights are busy, but when you can, will you?"

The thought that a new master might not want Anakin to spend time with Obi-Wan - likely won't, for any of the many and varied faults all the Masters seem to find with him - suckers Anakin in the chest. It makes it hard to breathe for a moment, and his deathly star-heart flares and spins wildly, spewing plasma and radiation.

They'll be within rights to insist that their bond be severed, and they'll tell Obi-Wan to ignore his dreams and they probably won't teach him to make tea from eleven different cultures and to sneer if someone adds too much cream or honey. And if Anakin wants to come visit, they'll be within their rights to tell him to sit on his lightstaff and flick the switch.

"No," Anakin says, low and vicious, and when he sees Obi-Wan's face go pale and stricken he says "no" again, and "Obi-Wan, I'll take you as my Learner."

The harsh shock of rejection lingers around the edges of Obi-Wan's expression. He blinks slowly at Anakin without comprehension. "You will?" he asks weakly. "But I -"

Anakin waits for a moment but Obi-Wan doesn't continue. "I will," Anakin repeats with certainty. This is right - he feels that this is right. They've already formed a bond, not through slow and tedious means but easy as breathing. "I can teach you so much," he says. "I won't fail - not again. I swear it."

"But you've never had a learner before," Obi-Wan says. "Will they really let you do that?"

"I won't give them a choice," he says fiercely. Qui-Gon defied the entire Order to take Anakin as his learner. Obi-Wan is already a Jedi but they'll fight it - they will fight it, because Anakin won't ever be good enough for them, but they'll ruin Obi-Wan if they get their hands on him and Obi-Wan is still alive right now and he's going to stay that way. Anakin can't trust that to anyone else.

"I don't think the Council works like that," Obi-Wan says, but the words waver and he starts to shake.

It takes a stupidly long moment for Anakin to understand what has Obi-Wan trembling, and then he stands back for a stunned, uncomfortable moment. The only time he's seen a Padawan cry, he was one himself, and his awkward attempt at comforting her had been sternly rebuffed.

He still can't do nothing, not when it's Obi-Wan. Anakin stoops down, and after one more moment of hesitation, pulls the boy into a hug.

Obi-Wan squirms briefly, then reaches up and around, finding places for his arms and clutching into the hood of Anakin's robe. His shoulder digs into Anakin's throat, but Anakin doesn't shift while Obi-Wan shakes against him, breathing harsh and shallow, swallowing again and again.

"Will you really?" he asks, thin and wobbling. "Can you really be my Master?"

"I'd like to see them stop me," Anakin says through his teeth.

"Approve of you training the boy, we do not," Yoda says severely.

He seems much older than Anakin remembers him being, and given that Yoda himself gave them their assignment to continue protecting the Naboo Queen, that's saying quite a bit. Cynically, Anakin considers the possibility that Qui-Gon's death has had an affect on him.

It seems unlikely. Yoda has done little but grunt and groan since he's gotten here, shaking his head and looking disappointed and put out. A Grandpadawan is not like a padawan, after all. Where, Anakin wonders, is Qui-Gon's master then?

"Forgive me, Master," Anakin says, "You misunderstand me. I wasn't asking permission. I was announcing my intent."

"Not your decision to make!" Yoda says sharply, rapping the gimer stick on the clean, Naboo marble. "Not only a matter of deciding, Master and Padawan partnerships are. Also a matter of consideration for the Council."

"Then I will announce it to the rest of the Council as well," he says flatly. "The fact remains that I will be taking over Obi-Wan's guardianship."

"Qui-Gon's obstinance, you have! But no favors it does anyone in this instance, Knight Skywalker," the old master says. He has yet to look directly at Anakin this entire time. Something within him is bitterly pleased about it. "Young is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Time to recover from the loss of his master, he needs - not a quick replacement in you! Hmm? Think, do you, to so easily replace Qui-Gon Jinn?"

As if Qui-Gon Jinn knew the first thing of what to do with Obi-Wan! As if he knew what to do with Anakin, he thinks. Anakin did more for Obi-Wan over the last few weeks than Qui-Gon had in the months that Anakin was gone.

"No, Master," Anakin says. "I don't seek to replace him. But Obi-Wan and I - there is so much I could teach him, so much he could learn. We work well together, Master Yoda. I don't think it would be good for him if he's suddenly sent back to the creche after this."

Yoda paces with agitation. The bend of his back looks uncomfortable. Anakin wonders if it's natural for his species, or if for them, too, it's a sign of declining health.

"Know you what is best for Obi-Wan, suddenly?" Yoda asks archly. "Remind you, I would, of requirements assigned to you by the Council! Capable of taking care of yourself, you have not yet proven. Take care of a Padawan, you think you could!"

"What better way to remember to?" Anakin questions sharply. "I seem to remember my 'healers' suggesting I take in some pathetic creature to regulate my routine."

"Padawans are not for such purposes," Yoda says, matching him tone for tone. He brings himself to a stop and folds both hands over the knob of his stick, sighing heavily. "A promising youngling, Obi-Wan Kenobi is. Young he was to be taken from the Creche and entered into a partnership with a master. Too young. To the Creche he will return until another Master chooses."

Hot plasma licks against the pathetic durasteel struts that make up Anakin's ribs. "He has already been chosen," he says. It feels like the radiation and heat of his deathly star-heart is surging up his throat and lending extra bite to his words. "I chose him. He's chosen me. He doesn't need any other master."

"Accept this the Council does not," Yoda says - no longer with emotion, but with firmness and fact. As if it's so easy to decide the fact of two people - it's not. It's not that easy, or else Qui-Gon would still be alive and this conversation would never come up. Yoda, too, will learn this, Anakin thinks heatedly. "To the Creche, Obi-Wan will return. Another master, when he is ready, he will take."

"And if he does not?" Anakin demands. "He chose me. He will refuse any other."

Yoda looks grave, and doesn't respond for a moment. His wrinkled face is a bit drawn, and finally, finally he looks at Anakin. He's tired, and wary. "Young he is, and changeable, children are. Let go of your attachment to him you must. Another Master, he will choose."

Yoda is underestimating them both. "And if he does not?" he persists. "If at thirteen, he hasn't taken another master?"

The old master looks worn around the edges. He casts his gaze down, grumbling softly like some kind of brooding krayt dragon. "Review your petition to become Obi-Wan's master, the Council will. But ask yourself, a good master you would be to him? Things, you could teach him, yes - things he should know?" Yoda sighs heavily, rocking on his feet for a moment before looking back to Anakin - judgmental. Reproachful. Never satisfied with Anakin no matter how hard he tried to be the best Jedi. "Satisfied the Council must be before accept your petition they would."

In other words, Anakin has a four year deadline to convince the Council that he was the best Jedi to train Obi-Wan. Fine, he thinks, tasting dying stars on the back of his tongue: he's always worked best under the worst conditions.

"I understand, Master," he says mildly, dipping into a respectfully low bow; he has never forgotten how to bow his head and pretend subservience. The Jedi hadn't let him. "I assure you, I will become Obi-Wan's master. The Force wills it."

The look that Yoda gives him is sharp, but he doesn't argue the point, lifting a hand to wave Anakin off. The dismissal puts pinpricks of heat in Anakin's cheeks, but it's not he isn’t accustomed to. He pivots on his heel and leaves Yoda to his brooding - or whatever it is he intends to do in the lavish room that the Queen gave him.

Four years. Anakin can most definitely prove the Council wrong in four years. He's proven them wrong in less, when Qui-Gon dragged him back from Tatooine and before them, short his leg. They said he'd never be field-ready again, but Anakin has never let others decide when he knows. He tweaked hsi prosthetic and designed a better weapon, and passed his Trials and became a Knight.

He can become a master in four years. If most knights take about eight before they're ready for a Padawan, then Anakin has always known that the sticks his peers are measured against are useless to him.

Anakin's hand tightens around his lightstaff. Perhaps he'll start with hunting down the master of that sith creature he cut into a dozen pieces.

Surely master and apprentice prefer to share the same fate. Anakin will only be too happy to oblige.

#star wars ageswap au

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ncfan-1 · 8 years ago

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Breaks in Routine

Her hair was black. That was... new. [Set during ‘The Antilles Extraction’; serves as a companion to ‘Diplomacy Is a Process’.]

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His predecessor had warned him of the things he would need to keep in mind if he ever found himself on the wrong side of a cell door. At the time, Fenn Rau had been a young man, very young, it felt like now, and with all the brashness of youth, he had assumed that such a thing would never happen to him. But his predecessor was not a man to be ignored lightly, and besides, the man had spent the better part of a year in a holding cell around the close of the last of the civil wars, so he had listened.

Do not despair, even if it seems that you might die. So long as you breathe still, there is a chance you will still escape. You need only keep your eyes sharp for an opening.

Don’t go on a hunger strike, for any reason. It will make it more difficult for you to escape, if the opportunity does present itself.

Do not antagonize your captors needlessly, be they cowards or oathbreakers or kinslayers. There is no point, and you should conduct yourself honorably, even if they do not, and have not. At the same time, always keep in mind that your captors are not your friends. Tell them nothing of any value.

If you are given nothing with which to occupy yourself in your cell, you must not sit idle. Lying in your cot, doing nothing but staring up at the ceiling, that will drive you mad after long enough. Find something to do. Exercise, recite poetry, sing if you must, but don’t just wither away in your cell.

Do not long for the sky. Do not forget the sky, but push it to the back of your mind. Do not long for the sky, do not dream of it, do not let it invade your thoughts when your mind is quiet. Just don’t. You’ll regret it, if you do.

And do not let worry for those you have left behind consume you. Your worry alone will not help them; it will eat you alive, and benefit them not at all. If you truly worry over the well-being of those you left behind, then you should devote your energy to getting back to them more quickly.

That was long ago, well over twenty years ago. Fenn had only been a few years out of exile on Concordia, and had thought imprisonment to have nothing on exile, on being cut off from the homeworld and being lumped in with traitorous terrorists in the process. Surely imprisonment had nothing on having few options but to trade one exile for another, Concordia for Concord Dawn, and no way back to Mandalore but by abandoning all honor. He might have listened, but he hadn’t really taken the words to heart. He suspected there might be some things he’d forgotten. Certainly, some of the points were proving difficult to keep putting into practice, and even if the end result was frustration and incredible boredom instead of all-consuming worry, it was still starting to wear.

The boredom was probably the reason he’d stopped viewing the arrival of his most frequent “guest” with extreme irritation, and instead with something more closely resembling minor annoyance.

Sabine Wren was not Fenn’s only “guest,” not exactly. The Jedi, Jarrus, had shown up at his door once, confirming with his scarred face and sightless eyes what rumors Fenn had heard and Wren had managed to sidestep confirming directly. They had spoken little, and to no good end, for the words flew out of memory now like dust in a summer wind. A clone captain, Rex, had stopped by twice, and they reminisced about old battles and training mishaps in empty space around Kamino. (Seeing one of his old trainees had been a surprise, though rather less unpleasant than Fenn would have liked. He’d spent years training the first few generations of the Republic’s clone army. It was nice to see that his training still served some of them even now, though some might have deserted those to whom they owed rightful allegiance.)

But it was Wren who came most often, creeping so quietly up the corridor that sometimes he didn’t even realize she was there until he heard her talking to one of the guards. She seemed to be especially fond of cubikahd, though she might be a lousy player, for she had the astromech who trailed after her—‘Chopper,’ Fenn had heard her call it once—set up a board every time she came. Wren didn’t talk much when she showed up. At times, she would make a stab or two at conversation, but they tended to fall flat under the combined weight of Fenn’s refusal to cooperate and her own reluctance to tell him anything about what went on outside the cell block.

(Fenn would have liked some word from his men. A status update, an assurance that the Empire hadn’t yet discovered his absence, a weather report, anything would have been nice. He was willing to admit that going this long without contact… unsettled him, even if it was only standard procedure in every reasonable army not to let prisoners have unlimited communication with the outside. But trying to get back in contact with the other Protectors would likely have meant relying on Wren as a go-between. He’d just have to live with radio silence until the opportunity for escape presented itself.)

Why exactly Wren kept coming down here, Fenn really couldn’t determine. He somehow doubted it was for the pleasure of his company, and if the kid really wanted someone to play cubikahd against, surely she could have strong-armed one of her companions into learning how to play the game. There was something else, the intermittent gleam in her eyes, brighter than the reflected light from the game board, or the way her brow knit when she tried to talk about something other than the game, almost as if in trepidation. He was beginning to wonder if Wren would ever come out with it on her own, or if he would just have to force the issue. Maybe once she finally came out with it, was honest with what she really wanted, she’d bother him no more.

For now, when Wren appeared outside the force field that served as his cell door, Fenn Rau was reintroduced to something that tended to be rather lacking from the world when she wasn’t around: color. Bright, loud color.

It was pretty clear that the Rebellion, at least the branch that operated here on Atollon (the guards did like to talk with one another at shift change), had no sort of dress code for their operatives. If they had, there was absolutely no way the paint job on Wren’s armor would have been compliant with regulations, nor the dye job in her hair. A bit of personalization was one thing, but making oneself that distinctive would present enough problems in the field as to be another thing entirely. He wondered if Wren just prided herself on being able to move fast enough that the ‘Please shoot me’ paint job on her armor didn’t matter.

But perhaps that bright, variegated paint job was not entirely without use. Though he’d known her heritage in advance, Fenn had not noticed the clan markings on Wren’s helmet until after he’d been tossed in the back of her and Jarrus’s shuttle. It was effective—if unconventional—camouflage, Fenn would grudgingly admit. The eye was drawn to the vibrant designs and splotches of color on the body of her armor, enough so that even if you knew to look for it, you might not notice the clan markings on her helmet, the marks that so clearly identified who she was.

Sabine Wren seemed to be quite enamored of bright—at times, obnoxiously bright—colors, and did not seem at all shy about this love of hers. So when she showed up one evening with all the dye stripped out of her hair, Fenn did what he suspected anyone who knew her, even only in passing, would have done. He did a double-take. And stared.

Wren did not seem to have noticed this lapse, for her expression didn’t shift from careful neutrality as she sat down on the bench opposite from his. “I can’t stay long,” she said, so calmly that he could almost imagine he wasn’t seeing the line of her back tense until it was as straight as a ramrod. “I have to head out tomorrow morning. Early,” and said in the voice of someone who did not sound as though they particularly liked early mornings. She drew her shoulders up slightly as she gestured at Chopper, who had followed her inside markedly more quietly than it usually did. “Do you want to…” Uncertainty blunted the edges of her voice, making her sound younger than her—admittedly few—years.

“Fine.”

Apparently, her natural hair color was black. With the dye stripped out of her hair, Wren suddenly looked naggingly familiar, and Fenn frowned, trying to place it. She was the shade of someone he had met once, long ago, but memory was not exact enough to tell him when, or where, or who. After a long moment of raking at the back of his mind, Fenn decided it did not matter enough to dwell on. He’d had run-ins with members of Clan Wren in the past, both during his time with the Protectors, and before, on Concordia. Most likely, a cousin shared eye shape or jawline, and he’d just never looked for a resemblance before now.

Still, after vivid hues of blue and later lavender, plain black was jarring.

Eventually, Wren did notice the way Fenn’s eyes kept flicking from the game board to her head. She frowned lightly, edging backwards just a hair. “What?” There was the slightest edge of belligerence in her voice; not quite the herald of a fight, but a specter, definitely.

No answer was forthcoming. A change in hair color was not exactly high on the list of things Fenn would willingly admit to having been thrown by. Even if the wearer of said hair was fond enough of dyeing her hair colors unnatural to humans that a natural color was just bizarre to have to look at.

But even without an answer, Wren guessed what the issue was soon enough. “Oh.” She clutched at the end of a lock of stray black—plain, dull black!—hair. “I don’t know why everybody’s so shocked,” she muttered, her mouth forming the suggestion of a scowl. “Hair dye isn’t exactly Imperial regulation.” When this explanation got her a quirked eyebrow, she responded tersely, “Infiltration and extraction.”

An explanation spanning three words was a pretty clear message. You’ll get no more specifics out of me.

The line about the Empire’s dress code regulations hooked memory and drew it back to, of all places, Kamino. Fenn had not left Kamino for a while after the Clone Wars had erupted and the Jedi had sent a representative to oversee the clones’ training. He and Shaak Ti had not spent enough time in each other’s company during off-hours to move past the boundary wall of “colleagues”, nor even “acquaintances.” The Jedi spent most of her off-hours meditating, as it happened.

What Fenn Rau and Shaak Ti had spent a good amount of time doing was having conversations that balanced a knife’s edge between “discussion” and “fight,” mostly about Fenn’s training methods. Words like “inhumane” might have been bandied about, accompanied with phrases like “high risk for little reward” and “corpses can’t learn how to fly.” Sentences like “I don’t see you getting into a fighter pilot and teaching them how to fly” and “If they get dropped green and raw into a warzone, they’ll become corpses that way, too” might have been fired back. These conversations of theirs always managed to stay within the confines of Basic syllables, though they occasionally threatened to leave language behind altogether. In the intervening years, Fenn had come around to Ti’s way of thinking on some of the points she had made, during their conversations, though not all.

Something Fenn Rau and Shaak Ti had wholeheartedly agreed on, though, was greeting the clones’ expressions of individuality with approval. Names to take the place of strings of numbers and letters; dyed or bleached hair; tattoos; painted designs on helmets. Ti spoke of a day when the war would be over, the clones would be properly integrated into galactic society, and a sense of individual identity would benefit them all greatly. Fenn liked to say that he approved just because he could tell them apart more easily that way, but truth be told, the Kaminoans’ dismissive attitude to the personhood of the clones had been disquieting. More than twenty years after he’d first heard it, and it still was.

Shaak Ti was most likely dead now, as were most of the clones she and Fenn had trained—the former slain by the Empire, and the latter worked until they were too worn down to work anymore, or just dropped dead. The Empire treated all its peoples much the same way as the Kaminoans had treated the clones, except that instead of being indifferent to the way their little cogs attired themselves, they actively stamped out any attempt at assertion of uniqueness. But they were powerful enough to squash anyone who tried to assert said uniqueness, and powerful enough to silence anyone who tried to protest. The Empire was strong enough to crush anyone who said or did something that didn’t fit with their vision of how things should be. All the wisest could do was try to weather the storm, as the Jedi couldn’t, as the clones couldn’t.

“The Empire wants us to treat them like any clan chieftain who prevailed over us in war, but I think we both know this isn’t the same thing.”

Yes, Wren would have had ample experience watching people treat the Empire like a clan chieftain to be loyally served, wouldn’t she?

Wren would not willingly give over any mission specifics, and Fenn wasn’t terribly interested in that, anyways. But he still had a question, and he would have it answered.

“Why?” His voice rang out unnaturally loudly in the shadowy little cell, the cool metal walls amplifying volume until a word spoken at normal volume sounded more like a shout.

She looked up, her head snapping up so fast that Fenn was surprised he hadn’t heard a pop, and she practically shrank. Wren’s back and shoulders hunched as she folded in on herself like a collapsible chair. To someone who had made a career tracking down criminals, her body language fairly screamed ‘Fugitive!’ She did this often, sometimes sat that way the whole time she was in here. Fenn wondered if she even realized she was doing it. Certainly, her shrinking posture made an interesting contrast with the fact that, just as all the others times, she’d walked in with her blasters still holstered. Was that carelessness, bravado, or some misguided expression of trust? If Wren was one of his men, he would have corrected the misstep, and furthermore advised her not to sit like that when speaking with a prisoner; seeing as she was one of his captors instead, he merely reminded himself that he would have a hard time getting home even if he did take her weapons.

Despite the way she shrank, Wren never broke eye contact, her light brown eyes flashing with what looked almost like defiance. Her brow knit. “I didn’t have the easiest time getting out of Sundari after I left the Academy. I don’t want anyone who’s come to the same decision as I did to have the same problems getting out.”

Her words rang out clear and strong in the confines of the cell. There was no trace of shame in Wren’s face, every suggestion of sincerity in her voice, and Fenn didn’t know what to make of that at all, didn’t know if he should be angry, or maybe something else. She did seem to be genuinely devoted to the rebellion, though her cause was one that would surely fail once the Empire set about to crushing it. But…

But Sabine Wren had been born to a clan of traitors, grown up around people who respected only strength, and had precious little conception of honor or loyalty. The best anyone could say about the Wrens was that they were loyal to their own; otherwise, they were just the same as the other clans that followed House Vizsla. The Empire knew little of honor either, and it was the Empire that ruled Mandalore when Sabine Wren was a child; they were the ones who defined honor when Wren was a child, and they said, falsely, that ‘honor’ meant serving them. Sabine Wren had abandoned her duty to Mandalore when she joined the Empire, and had then not even kept her vows to the Empire, for she had deserted the Empire, and joined the rebels. Her loyalty to the rebellion might be sincere now, but Sabine Wren’s loyalty seemed a markedly fickle thing. Too unreliable to be trusted.

Asides from calling out the moves, the game went by in silence. Wren lost, but just about anyone could have predicted that. And it seemed like one game was all she had time for, because when it was done, the droid—Chopper—switched off the game board, and Wren got back to her feet.

“Wren,” Fenn commented as she began to leave, “when you’re on this ‘infiltration and extraction’ mission of yours, try to remember whose side you’re on. The ‘extraction’ part of it won’t end well if you forget where you’re extracting your defectors to.”

Fenn hadn’t known it was possible for someone to roll their eyes with their whole body, but Wren did a good job of it nonetheless. “Trust me, I won’t have any problem with that.”

At first, Fenn was content to leave it at that. Infiltration missions were by definition dangerous, and if there was a chance she might die, it seemed only fair to at least let her have the last word. Perhaps, he thought, it would be easier to escape while she was away. But just after Wren and her droid had crossed the threshold and the force field reformed behind them, Fenn found himself calling out, “And Wren?”

Wren stopped, though she did not turn back to face him, not at first. The droid didn’t stop at all, and grumbled a complaint before rolling off out of sight. When Wren turned back around, there was no trace of hostility in her face. Nothing there but narrow-eyed curiosity, though she was silent. Maybe she had imagined something in his voice, or perhaps he’d just had another lapse, and not realized.

“When you get where you’re going, try not to hold yourself like a fugitive,” Fenn advised her, more mildly than he would have liked. “You’ll just get shot.”

Through the golden static of the force field, Wren smiled at him, and even more unexpected than the smile itself was that it actually seemed… Genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

#Star Wars: Rebels #Fanfic #Fenn Rau #Sabine Wren #When I realized that timeline was it was actually possible for Rau and Shaak Ti to have known each other #There may have been some cackling

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callingmrsbarnes · 8 years ago

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okay I'm on my MacBook and I have no clue how to convert it from google docs to a pdf because it looks so skewed so here goes

The Empire Strikes Back

❝One must always hope when one is desperate, and doubt when one hopes.❞ - Gustave Flaubert

There have been times when the two of them have been apart. Barnes normally left incognito with his gun strapped across his back and MK on another bounty retrieval with blood red lips. Days - sometimes a week - passed between them until they saw each other again. Perhaps it was written in their code, but they were psychically linked. One could not operate nor exist without the other and they both knew that better than anybody else. They’ve been separated before, but not under such violent circumstances.

Barnes vaguely felt her signal across the dark sky. It was faint and flickered like a candle in the night, but it was still there. After the attack on Hoth, he and Sam escaped in Sam’s Redwing and he could only pray that MK and the rest of the team made it out alive. All he could do was hope.

Running a hand through his hair, Barnes sat on a nearby boulder and sighed. He was soaked to the bone after Sam crashed Redwing into a swamp. While Sam made it out dry and unscathed, Barnes wasn’t so fortunate. Some water creature messed with his system and all his files and signals were down and offline. If MK were to transmit a signal to him - let alone attempt to find him - she would be lucky to find anything. Sam had run off to find supplies and some “Coulson” while the assassin was left to his own devices and do something.

With another sigh, Barnes stood and ran straight into a neighboring tree, using his left arm to break his fall. He fell to the ground with a loud grunt and cautiously moved his arm. At least it was now fully in his socket.

He glanced down at the tangled wires sprouting from his forearm and fingers and groaned. It was going to be a long evening.

When she opened her eyes, MK expected to remember their grand escape. Instead, her head throbbed as if someone were drilling into her skull, her limbs as light as feathers and her throat drier than the driest desert. Gritting her teeth, the bounty hunter wiggled her toes and fingers to ease the tension in her joints. Despite their cracks of protest, MK pushed through until her body finally felt like her own again.

With a groan, MK stood and leaned against the wall for support. Oh, now she remembered. Steve had thought it was a brilliant idea to fly the Lady Carter straight into an asteroid belt while fleeing Hoth. Of course, the princess and the captain were bickering as always and MK faintly recalled Rogers mentioning something about shutting everything down.

She blinked and familiarized herself with her surroundings. No, she was in the back and in front of the hyperdrive. She must have fallen and hit her head during the chase, but everything seemed still and quiet. Perhaps they escaped and found a place to hide for the time being.

MK shook her head and rolled up her sleeves. “Oh, where the hell is Bucky when I need him?”

The attack, MK clearly remembered. Sam had gone out to investigate a fallen meteorite, only to discover it was a tracker from HYDRA. The Empire attacked and their crew separated not long after the first Walker struck their hidden base. She and Barnes have parted ways before on different missions, but never under a siege.

Whistling, she leaned forward into the control panel. Usually, Barnes would have sent a message to tell her that he was okay, but she felt nothing, not even a distant signal of his existence.

Before dark thoughts could evade her mind, MK shook her head and stepped back as the panel whistled in return. He and Sam could take care of themselves and sometimes, one or the other might have been knocked out. Hell, her head still felt tender after her fall. All she could do now was fix her had and work on the panel before sending him a signal.

Within a heartbeat, the panel was as good as new. With a beaming smile, MK walked down the hall and nodded at Dodger in greeting.With a bounce in her step, she found the captain and reported rather excitedly, “Captain! I’ve isolated the reverse power flux coupling.”

He turned and oh, oh.

Shit.

The princess stood behind him, her cheeks flushed and lips swollen as she turned away. Stunned, MK observed the Captain’s messy blonde hair and –

Holy shit.

“Thank you,” he smiled, his voice strained as he masked his annoyance. “Thank you very much.”

“O-oh, um,” she stammered, embarrassed to have walked in on them. “You’re perfectly welcome, Cap.”

Shooting a look over her shoulder, Chrissy glared as MK merely quirked a brow and smirked.

Don’t you even dare.

***

It has been a total of three days, two nights, fifteen hours and twenty-three minutes since they crashed into Dagobah. However, it has been a total of two days, one night, sixteen hours and forty-one minutes since Sam met and began training with the Jedi Master Coulson. While the young Jedi had a bit of a (literal) blast, Barnes spent his time occupied with something else.

For Barnes, it has been a total of three days, two nights, seventeen hours and fifty-four minutes since he last saw, heard, and felt his partner’s link. It has also been a total of three days, two nights, sixteen hours and two minutes since his files were offline. The soldier spent a sum of twenty seven hours and thirty-two minutes to repair his drive. Luckily (or perhaps he was aided by the Force), 72% of his system was operational and had a weak connection online. Although it was better than being completely offline, Barnes repeatedly shut down until Sam recited Barnes’ activation code every hour because his system overheated.

Needless to say, JB-Barnes-91 was pissed.

Biting his lip, Barnes slammed his left hand back into place. A thunderous crack reverberated through the air and he grunted at the impact. It was the nth time he plugged his hand back into his arm, but the bloody thing had the audacity to fall off each time. Coulson barely had enough supplies for him to get by, let alone repair a malfunctioning cyborg.

Frustrated, he stood and brushed the sweat off his forehead with a towel. On the bright side, he received a message from MK earlier that morning. Her signal was stronger from after the crash, but his comms broke down each time he tried to respond back. MK sent the text two days ago and he only received it less than four hours ago. He spent a majority of the morning repairing his comms. While he had more than half of it fixed, he still had a long way to go.

At least Sam made some progress with Coulson. The Jedi became stronger in his tasks through training and whatever else he did with the Master. Barnes never strayed far from their sessions. Currently, the three of them resided right beside the crash site. The poor aircraft was halfway submerged in the murky water, but it was better than having it sink to the bottom of that boiling swamp.

“Any luck in reaching them?” asked Sam a few minutes later.

Barnes shook his head. “My comms are still down, but the rest of our team are okay.”

Sam nodded, but his brows furrowed.

The assassin frowned. “What is it?”

“I just have this feeling that something bad is going to happen. I can’t shake it.”

The two men fell quiet for a moment, listening to Coulson walk on broken twigs behind their shoulders.

After a minute, Barnes inquired, “when you’re done with your training and we can finally leave this place, can I ask you for a favor?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

A small grin spread across his lips. “Can you move your seat up?”

The Jedi narrowed his eyes at him. “No.”

Not everyone can say that they survived hiding in an asteroid belt. The asteroid belt - any asteroid belt, for that matter - was No Man’s Land. Forbidden. Hell. Taboo. A place no one dared venture to out of fear and of the unknown. The belt was terrifying, but miraculously, they survived before they were eaten alive.

Rubbing the back of her head, MK arched her back and groaned at the cracking muscles. Aces, she could not remember a single thing from their escape. Other than turbulent asteroids, a horrifying asteroid creature (she shuddered at the thought) and an argument with the captain, there was nothing else her mind could recall. This was not the first time the bounty hunter blacked out during a chase; rather, it was common for her body to shut down when certain neurotransmitters were too high and flooded her system, or when under certain conditions (such as navigating through rugged terrain) she would pass out.

At least this time, her head lacked the awful throbbing when she first woke up in front of the broken hyperdrive.

Craning her neck, the brunette tapped her temple and browsed through her comms. Within the past few hours before she was knocked out, she felt Barnes’ presence spark through her system. It was faint, but it was more than enough to reassure the team that he and Sam were still alive. His trace flared stronger than when they first parted back at Hoth, but it still felt obscure. She tried to access his files but they only appeared in fragments, much like missing words failing to complete a sentence. That was better than nothing, but her worry had yet to cease.

Or maybe Sam implanted a virus into his system. MK mused as she bit her lip. Barnes and Sam were constantly bickering the moment the two of them were left alone. And most people thought that Chrissy and Captain Rogers argued the most, they were dethroned by the cyborg and apprenticed Jedi.

Finding nothing from Barnes, MK stood and walked straight into the main room, stunned to find the captain and the princess sitting in silence as Dodger slept behind them.

But that was not the only thing that caught her attention.

Rather than looking at the black galaxy, she saw pastels of blue, gold, and pink. The sun settled high above the horizon as clouds of white drifted like white parachutes around them. She gasped as birds flew across the sky. The city was beautiful; the last time she saw colors like this, it was back before she and Barnes met Sam and Thor back on Tatooine. That was three years ago, but she remembered it as if it were yesterday.

She jumped at the sound of the intercom commanding them to not deviate from their course.

“Rather touchy, aren’t they?” The droid observed as she leaned against the back of the princess’ chair. “Do you even have a landing permit?”

Chrissy frowned. “I thought you knew this person.”

Dodger growled. The captain rolled his eyes.

“Well, that was a long time ago. I’m sure he’s forgotten about that.” He snapped off the intercom once they received permission to land. “There’s nothing to worry about. We go way back, Howard and me.”

The princess whispered quietly, low enough so that only her droid could hear.

“Who’s worried?”

***

Finally, oh, finally, thank the Jedis, his system was fully online. Barnes should have been jumping and weeping for joy that his system was fixed, but no, he was a far cry from happiness.

Instead, he found himself frantically fixing the engines so that they could leave that blasted planet.

Behind him, he heard Sam yelling at Coulson and God knows who else he was talking to. Not even fifteen minutes ago, Barnes rebooted his entire system and arm twice before he was fully operational. Once the message was broadcasted on his lenses, he screamed so loud that Sam accidentally dropped Coulson into the swamp at the sudden noise. The Jedi Master was not too pleased.

Barnes was not too familiar with the Force. Nearly 27% cyborg, he was mostly human and felt some sensitivity in the air around him, but it was far from the Force. Ever since he became cyborg after his planet’s Galactic War years ago, a different man emerged from inside. He received a new arm and an upgrade to his system after he nearly lost his head from when he fell, but years later, his body felt foreign. Yeah, he was more sensitive to the changes in the atmosphere, but one thing he seemed to pick up on was human emotion. From where he sat organizing the dashboard in the pilot’s seat, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Sam was a complete mess and very rarely was the bastard like this.

Once he connected the wires, Barnes stood and strode towards Sam as the air grew thick around him. His throat grew heavy and dry, his eyes stinging and his legs weak with each step as he walked up the hill. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he heard them.

MK. Steve. Chrissy. They were all screaming in agony, begging and pleading for mercy. A booming voice cackled above their cries. He never met Vader, but he heard enough to make his blood boil.

Blinking rapidly, Barnes shook his head. His vision cleared and their voices faded as Sam argued with Coulson for the fifteenth time about why he needed to find the rest of the crew.

“They must be stopped, yes,” Coulson agreed, “Only a fully trained Jedi Knight with the Force as his ally will conquer Vader and his Emperor. If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil.”

Sam gaped at him, his eyes wide as his voice rose. “And sacrifice Steve, Chrissy, and Thomas?!”

“If you honor what they fight for, yes!”

Barnes stared as Sam shook his head and turned to him.

“Barnes, fire up the converters.”

The assassin nodded and turned as their voices began to fade. With a hopeful sigh, he tapped his temple and whispered.

We’re coming for you. Be careful and stay safe.

She once joked that danger was her middle name, but spades, she sure regretted that now. What the hell was she even thinking? Clearly, she wasn’t. Not long after they met Howard Stark, the droid ventured around the place just for giggles and out of her burning curiosity. The former princess of Alderaan remained skeptical, her demeanor cold and stiff around Stark despite Steve’s reassurance. Even the droid herself felt something odd in the air, but pushed that aside as they left her to her own devices. The other droids once talked about visiting Cloud City because of its clouds and beauty for as long as she could remember. Now that she finally had the chance, Chrissy and Steve allowed her and Dodger to explore the place for a little while.

But then she heard a whistle that sounded all too familiar, as if Barnes were beside her and not some foreign planet across the galaxy. Deprived of any connection she tried to find over the past few days, her instinct forced her to follow the sound.

Some idiot found it smart to shoot a blaster right in the center of her chest. Naturally, some of her limbs flew across the room and she could only hope her fist collided with the shooter’s face at one point before she blacked out. Hasn’t she blacked out enough already?

Up above, the ghost of the Jedis must be laughing their butts off and MK was more than ready to make them pay once she was put back together. Luckily Dodger found her and made haste to assemble her back into one piece, but something felt off. Even before landing, she and Chrissy felt a shift in the atmosphere. Something bad was going to happen and obviously, blacking out for the third time within the past four or five days was one of the things on that list. As Dodger coordinated her, she finally knew why.

The Imperial Army was everywhere. A sea of black and white as crimson lasers bounced across the halls and corridors. Thank goodness her hair was tied back, otherwise she would have emerged bald on the other side.

The bounty hunter stared, her bright eyes wide. “Stormtroopers? Here?!” As if things couldn’t get any worse.

Perhaps she spoke so soon.

They finally crashed into a dark room surrounded by Stormtroopers. Just as MK finally had her legs fully functional and in place, she and Dodger were seized and held captive in their grip. Her right arm dangled slightly, her forearm limp and held by a handful of wires that sparked each time she tried to move. Resistance was futile at this point, but dark clouds burst in the corner of her eyes. If she blacked out one more time, she was going to kill somebody until a hand forced her head forward and -

Aces, there was a shit ton of screaming.

Dodger howled as a plethora of voices argued, shouted, and yelled over and at each other. Her head throbbed at the cacophony drilling into her skull. She could barely distinguish the voices as the darkness slowly floated in front of her eyes amid a sea of white and red. MK adjusted to a variety of temperatures, but damn, her lungs flooded in heat as she tried to breathe in whatever room she was captive in.

And then she heard them, her friends farewell. I love you. I know.

The brunette shut her eyes and braced herself for what was to come.

***

Once upon a time, he loved the thrill. Heart pounding, blood roaring, adrenaline coursing through his veins, stars, it was then he felt alive. He practically lived for it; once the war ended on his old planet, Barnes wanted more. Barnes once teased MK that she stole his middle name but in all honesty, Barnes was twice as likely to launch himself behind a gun and shoot without hesitation. It was almost as if it was programmed in blood to just act now and think later, but God knows that desperate times call for desperate measures.

He could only pray that the others were okay. Ever since he and Sam landed, he never heard a word from MK. And that drove him even more to the edge each time he shot at the red HYDRA heads in the halls.

Pressing his back against the wall, Barnes crouched low to the ground, his neck craned over his shoulder as he waited. Down the corridor, a band of Stormtroopers stalked in the opposite direction and guarded the block of carbonite that made his blood boil at the sight. Reloading his gun, the assassin moved forward with one knee on the ground and turned.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Shoot.

The Trooper fell to the ground like an apple shaken from a tree.

The brunet cursed as he withdrew back into the crevice where he hid the wall in front of him blazed from the retaliating beam. Biting his tongue, he stood and aimed the gun at the remaining trooper.

Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi. Shoot.

His ears bled as the alarms screeched over his head. Sprinting down the corridor, Barnes reloaded his gun and turned over his shoulder each time a chill scratched at the back of his neck. A flurry of crimson beams flew beside him, but the assassin calculated their moves before he could breathe. Right, left, shoot. With each turn and entry way, his winter blues flickered for any sign of his familiarity. The damn Troopers tore him from his friends. Somewhere, Vader lurked and Barnes did not even want to think about what that bastard was doing.

At the approaching door, Barnes shot the handle and kicked it down just to see the sight of his friends with their guns pointed at his chest.

His heart leapt to his throat as her blazing blue eyes found his.

***

So this is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but in a whimper.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Hours ago, they nearly escaped the clutches of the Empire. The bounty hunter lost count of how many bruises, scrapes, and cuts that decorated her body. Only minutes ago did Barnes fully and properly assembled her body back together, but despite the rapid neural and electrical connections coursing through her body, her chest felt heavy and hollow all at once. She could finally breathe, but her lungs drew the air in so painfully like knives stabbing at her insides.

Crossing her arms, MK walked towards the window. The stars glistened across the dark sky as clouds of pastel colors drifted around them. Long before she became a bounty hunter, she remembered her first master, a kind woman who told her the stars, moons, and constellations across her galaxy. The little droid latched onto her master’s words as if they were the Scriptures themselves and followed her footsteps wherever she went. There were days and nights when her mind wandered to places she had not thought of in years and that terrified her.

A red notification blurs in the corner of her eye. Blinking rapidly, MK tapped at her temple and smiled lightly.

Did I ever tell you how beautiful you look?

Shaking her head, MK sighed wistfully. Only when you want something from me.

A heartbeat later, strong arms wrapped around her waist, his warm breath tickling her neck as he rested his head against her shoulder.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered. His thumb stroked her bruised knuckles as she leaned against him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her red lips curved into a smile as he pressed a kiss to her hand. “And yourself?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

MK rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot, you know that, right?”

The cyborg laughed as he kissed her cheek. “I know doll, I know.”

A spark of white sparked before her eyes. The Lady Carter drifted before them before disappearing into the distance.

“We’ll find him,” He whispered.

His warm hand squeezed hers as she closed her eyes. I know.

May God have mercy on my enemies, for I sure as Hell won’t.

When you first told me you were writing me fanfiction for my birthday, I thought “aww she’ll probably write something really sweet, like Bucky x reader fluff.” I was NOT expecting you to make me C3PO and Bucky R2! (And yourself Princess Leia?!) But I loved that you fleshed out our idea for an alternate Star Wars universe and I can tell you worked so hard on this. Thank you Chrissy! ❤

#fic rec #star wars crossover #avengers crossover #submission #gstaceys #about me

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