#commander reina darr

[shadestepping]

The Bad Batch- Trespass: “Crossroads”, pt. 2

Word Count: 3,179 Characters: Crosshair, Trinn Kryze (Original), Captain Mal Kryze (Original), Commander Reina Darr (Original) Date: 9 rotations after “Kamino Lost” Themes: NO romance, NO smut, simply a “what if” AU with OC’s- My purpose(s) for writing this specific fic were simple: I wanted to get a better picture of what was going through Crosshair’s mind in Season 1, and I wanted to write a fic that told the story of what could and would have happened if he had deviated from the canon path, and gotten out from under the Empire’s control sooner rather than later. This starts with the decision to get off Kamino rather than sit and wait for the Empire to come looking for him. One crossroad leads to another, and each decision made steers him toward a better future- one of redemption and a life of his own making.

Synopsis: Crosshair is found by the crew of the Trespass, and offered a lift off of Kamino.

Archive link: [ Crossroads ] [ Part 1 ]

Mandalorians? Was he having a fever dream? 

Well, this was certainly a surprise.

Crosshair stopped in his tracks and took a suspicious step back from the approaching craft. Of all the wayward ships he’d theorized might have picked up his distress beacon, the Night Watch—who had been busy staging their own uprising against the Empire on Mandalore, at least twelve thousand parsecs from Kamino—wasn’t even an honorable mention. 

There was no reason for them to be out this far on the opposite side of the outer rim. And even if they were already within range, the reasons why the rogue warriors of House Vizsla would respond to an Imperial distress beacon were few- most of which did not bode well for his survival. 

An Imperial Commander ranked high on the rebellion’s list of targets, not only as a necessary piece to remove from the board, but as a valuable source of intel. Fortunately for him, all commandos had been rigorously trained to resist interrogation; unfortunately , he’d just spent nine days exposed to constant battering rain, on minimal nutrition and little-to-no sleep. He was starving, sick, weak and paranoid, and high on his last stims. Even the most hardened ARC’s would crack if their Jedi General was to get her hands on them in this state.

Suddenly his ticket off Big Stormy didn’t look so appealing.

Cross squinted, shakily slipped a toothpick into the corner of his mouth, and kept a safe distance from the edge. “You’re a long way from Mandalore,” he drawled with pointed apprehension.

“And you look mighty miserable, standin’ there all by your lonesome.” She grinned with such familiarity it made his stomach churn. “Why don’tcha come in outta the cold and we’ll take you to the nearest starport?”

Hunger pains nipped at his resolve but he didn’t bite. He shifted the pick from one corner of his mouth to the other and further narrowed his eyes as she moved between the support pistons.

“Somethin’ wrong, trooper?”

“You could say that,” he answered with a crooked nod. “Why are you here?”

The Mandalorian furrowed her brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“ Humor me .”

“We were passin’ through and picked up your distress beacon,” she explained as the freighter lowered just enough for him to hop onto the ramp, if he chose. “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of anyone else for at least ten parsecs… nonna whom were rushin’ to Kamino to respond to an Imperial in distress, anyway.”

And there it was, the hook: no ships in range that would consider braving the Kaminoan storms to rescue one lone Imperial. If the Night Watch were convinced enough that they were safe risking a stop, then the Empire really must have abandoned the system.

One arm trembled as he crossed and tucked it under the other, a tell that he needed food and rest soon. “And why did the Night Watch decide to rush to my aid?” he sneered. “Are you really doing this out of the goodness of your hearts? Or are you just hoping for a hostage?”

She was taken aback by the heat in his assumption, but he wasn’t wrong to be skeptical of their intentions. The Night Watch was about as friendly to the Empire as the Republic had been to the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, and it was unheard of for Mandalorians to offer help to their enemies.

“We heard comm chatter about Tipoca’s destruction, so when we saw where your beacon was comin’ from, we didn’t really think twice. The clones helped us once, and we wanted to return the favor.”

He was almost inclined to believe her. These do-gooder rebels were known to have taken in clone deserters and sympathetic parties. If they weren’t looking for a hostage, they were probably hoping to convert one more disillusioned soldier to their cause, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him. They would have had better luck recruiting Clone Force 99 into their ranks, had they come across his brothers rather than him. Swearing allegiance to the Night Watch would have been an easy transition for men in their position- aside from fulfilling their need to ‘do the right thing’, they’d have the security of the clan to protect Omega, stable sources of food and work, and clarity of purpose-

All of which he could have provided, had they just returned to the Empire.

The Empire that had just destroyed their home? The Empire that turned their noses up at the very soldiers who had single-handedly eradicated the Jedi and seized control of the entire Galaxy with one order? The Empire that had made it very clear that the future of their service, their very survival, was not guaranteed…?

Why in the nine hells had he chosen this over his family? For purpose, for stability, for influence ? Fat lot of good that had done him.

Crosshair grimaced, reached up and pressed the heel of his hand into the piercing headache as it shot through his temporal lobe. He hadn’t had a single independent thought that went unpunished, nor a moment of painless clarity, since his chip had activated. 

“... hey- you okay?”

“Do I look okay ?”

He caught the way her face lit up in recognition out of the corner of his eye but didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t need her sympathy—it wouldn’t have helped him anyway—and he didn’t want her empathy. 

A deeper feminine voice boomed from inside the cargo hold, beckoning Trinn to get inside and close the hatch so they could leave. After gesturing back to them to ‘Give me a minute’, she turned her attention back to him and tried again.

“Look- I can only imagine the week you’ve had, but I’d hope you’d still have enough sense t’not look a gift-fathier in the mouth.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied before he could change his mind. Leaving now—after all that time spent gaining ground with Rampart—would be a waste, and he wasn’t about to concede.

“You sure? Maker knows when your next chance will be. Do you really want to sit here for another…” Her voice trailed off and she rolled a shrug to illustrate.

Fierfek , she was right. Not even pirates or scrappers would have bothered withstanding Kamino’s hazards for the promise of a mediocre payday. Crosshair’s throat bobbed at the thought of being stuck on Kamino any longer. Due to his accelerated metabolism, he was already running dangerously low on rations, despite his best efforts to make them last. He could stretch them maybe another week if he bit off just enough to keep himself from starving to death, but he could already feel the weakness creeping into his bones. He was losing muscle density, ketosis was setting in. At this rate, it was either stay and risk an unpleasant death, or leave and possibly be taken prisoner. Had he been at full strength, he had no doubt he would be able to fight back in the case of the latter, but the number of soldiers aboard the craft was an unknown variable. 

And who knew if the Empire would really be back.

His voice cracked as he forced the question. “You’ll take me to the closest starport, no strings attached…?”

“So long as you don’t rat us out.”

The lines in his forehead crinkled, arms dropped and balled his fingers into fists at his sides. He’d have plenty of time to rehearse the conversation with Admiral Rampart about how he had gotten his team killed and survived an orbital bombardment on a city that was now completely underwater. Lying about Clone Force 99’s survival wasn’t an issue, but crawling back empty-handed yet again wouldn’t earn him any favor. At the rate his failures were piling up, he’d be lucky to get an early retirement.

Don’t fool yourself- all you'll ever be to them is a number.

Trinn’s boots scraped as they shifted against the durasteel and turned away. “Fine, I’ll just tell my pilot to turn around-”

“ No ,” he finally conceded with a low, snarling growl. If the objective was survival, the strategy was obvious: control what you can. Even if he ended up in a cell, he’d have food and shelter. His odds of survival were better if he took the gamble of leaving with sympathetic enemies. 

So long as he gave them no reason to distrust him, and nothing to work with. 

Vertigo hit him as he lunged onto the swaying ship. One leg staggered and buckled, and he hit the deck hard as Trinn reacted and reached for his forearm. It slipped out of her grasp until her hand caught at the neck of his wrist and tightly gripped the plating over his hand. His body lurched with all of his weight pulling at his shoulder socket, and whipped his head around to bring him face-to-face with the Kaminoan deep. Sickness rose in his gut as the swell crashed beneath him, and just as he started to black out, he was yanked back into the safety of the cluttered cargo hold with incredible ease. Crosshair groaned as he hit the ground and pressed his fingers into his eyes, writhing on the vibrating floor beneath him.

Another heavier pair of boots approached him from across the room and came to a stop inches from his face, and he looked up into the face of a behemoth of a Mandalorian woman—as thick as he was tall, yet dwarfed him in presence alone—staring down at him with a steely blue, unyielding gaze. Impervious didn’t even begin to describe her.

“Weapons off, Comms and beacons out the ship,” she demanded with a curt nod over his shoulder.

Crosshair sat back on his heels. “Is that really necessary ?”

“Not dealing with you reneging on our agreement, or having your Imperial friends tag us mid-flight.”

He couldn’t fault them for being thorough, but he still hesitated and grimaced in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. He reached for the backup deecee pistol first, then Hunter’s knife which he’d tucked into the plate over his calf, and set them down on the fold-out lockup bench to the left of him. As he reached for his Firepuncher, he leaned forward to give it enough room to swing over his head without hitting the bulkhead, and set it down next to the others with a more reverent touch. 

“Commpad and distress beacon.”

Crosshair grit his teeth and held her gaze with a curled upper lip, unclipped the comm-pad from his vambrace and thrust it out the ship behind him into the raging sea. “Beacon’s wired to the power in my kit.”

“I’ll handle it.” Trinn stepped up behind him and unseated the pack from the mag-plate in his cuirass, then motioned him forward and raised the loading ramp as the muscly woman reached for the vibro-blade and let out a low whistle of approval. 

“I want that back,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed past her into the staging area of the cargo bay and smothered the urge to share that it held sentimental value.

The redhead gripped the hilt and flipped it around and over between her fingers with practiced ease, testing the balance with marveled interest. “Who wouldn’t ?” 

Trinn set his pack down at the workbench against the wall to the right and raised her commpad to signal to their pilot. 

“Sentry-one, we’re clear.”

“ Copy .”

The miniscule shift of directional force as the ship departed the platform disrupted his equilibrium mid-step. One hand instinctively reached for the bulkhead handrail but he instead caught himself on the cargo webbing strung along the walls. His shaky legs wobbled as he pulled himself over onto the bench in the corner beside the interrior blast doors and dropped with all of his weight onto the bare durasteel. Crosshair’s tired eyes fell shut as he drew in a deep breath and released it with a relieved grunt. Circumstances aside, this was already infinitely better than sitting on that platform in the rain.

The female officer folded the bench containing all of his weapons into the wall and secured it for hyperspace, then cast him a skeptical glance before she passed through the doors. Her heavy footsteps receded deeper into the ship until the vibration could be heard no more, and she greeted someone with a curt “ Commander .” 

“ Captain ,” an androgynous voice replied, equally as curt. “ Report .”

“ Found one Imperial, right where they said he’d be. ”

They…? Someone had sent them here for him…? The only people that even knew he was still alive was Clone Force 99, who—as far as he knew—had no affiliation with the Night Watch. If they had friends like that, they wouldn’t have been scurrying from job to job like rats. So who would they have told…? Rebels? The clone underground made the most sense. So they did have contacts somewhere out there looking out for them. 

And he did as well, it seemed. Despite leaving him behind, his brothers hadn’t given up on him after all. They were still giving him chances he didn’t deserve. 

“ So he’s not a clone? ”

“ Doesn’t look like any clone I’ve ever seen… ”

“ Then why are we taking him with us? ”

“ We’re already here, the chakaar looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. You really gonna leave him here to die? ”

“ He’s an Imperial , we gain nothing by helping him, bringin’ him on board the ship is a huge security risk to us. ”

“ Trinn’s disabling his beacon, he has no comms. We’ll be fine. ”

Trinn kicked at the toe of his boot to get his attention and snapped him out of his focus.

“Plates off.”

“Buy me dinner first,” he sneered back without looking up. 

She puffed out a low chuckle. “Savin’ your sorry shebs wasn’t enough?”

“I know what I’m worth.”

“C’mon,” she persisted, dropping his pack next to him on the floor. “You wanna stay on the ship? I need to disable that beacon. Then you can sleep as long as you want.”

Crosshair grimaced and turned away from her in protest. His entire life, his plates had been the only thing between him and an untimely death. It didn’t feel right being out of them, much less in the presence of his enemies. 

“What’s the matter, you shy?”

“Forgive me for not trusting that you won’t shoot me in the back the moment I do.”

“We could still shove you out the airlock at any time.”

He stiffened and bristled instinctively before realizing it was a joke. She was joking with him.

“I’ll give you a minute to yourself,” she said as she double-checked that the weapon stores were locked up tight on her way to the door, then turned on heel and pointed back his way. “But don’t try anything, or you’ll have my sister t’answer to.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and gave her a sarcastic two-fingered salute as the door shut behind her before reaching up to unclip his breastplate. He’d lost track of the conversation between the Captain and Commander once Trinn interrupted him, but without the distraction he could hear them again clear as day.

“ I don’t get why they’d send us out here for one stormtrooper. ”

“ Well, maybe we’ve got it wrong. Maybe he is a clone. ”

“ Oh, for sure he is., ” Trinn proclaimed without hesitation, drawing a snort from the Captain.

“ What makes you so sure? ”

“ Well, for one thing- I don’t think a teekay trooper would have survived that mess on their own.”

Crosshair set his chestplate down on the floor and almost laughed at the thought. The TK’s had been trained by Clone Commandos for infantry combat and security. They hadn’t undergone the rigorous survival training that had killed many clones before they had even deployed. 

“They’re not exactly bright, I’ll give you that.”

“ Exactly, and this one’s too smart- gehatyc, ramikadyc.”

“A Commando? You think so?”

“Yeah, they all have the look in their eye- resentment, guilt, instant distrust of anyone that ain’t a brother... ”

“Could be the shell-shock.”

“Or, it’s ‘cause he’s still chipped.”

“And you left him alone!?”

“Relax, Reina. Mal can handle him.”

He wasn’t the only one that was smart. Trinn was observant ( too observant for his liking ), the Captain was cautious. If he’d learned anything about Mandalorians from Skirata and Vau, it’s that they were not to be underestimated. Each was a Commando by their own right, their entire culture had evolved around survival. Mandalore’s heritage had made the Clone army, without their training he and his brothers would have been long dead. 

And this crew was well-trained. If the rest of the Night Watch was half as competent—and he was certain they were—it was no wonder they were giving the Empire a run for their credits. Though their rebellion against the Imperial occupation of Mandalore had just begun, their notoriety had already spread to the farthest reaches of the Galaxy, inspiring other Separatist-allied planets like Raxus to follow suit. 

It was dangerous for him to linger for too long.

“We should have Noei take a look at him.”

“No way. We’re not taking a chipped Commando back to base.”

“Just drop me off at the nearest starport and I’ll find my way,” he cut in from the doorway behind them. 

All three heads snapped around in unison. Trinn’s hand flexed over the blaster on her thigh, Captain Mal braced herself for a fight, the Pilot fixed an intense gaze on him from behind their goggles. His vision blurred, he swayed on his feet. For a brief moment of confusion, in the dimly lit hallway, he saw the faces of his brothers staring back at him in cautious apprehension…

Then Trinn straightened up and shoved Mal back onto her heels with a muttered udesii as she passed. Their pilot-Commander exchanged a glance with Captain Mal, grunted and finally ceded.

“We’ll drop you off at Capital City on Uyter. It’s about a day’s flight out, but you shouldn’t have a problem gettin’ in touch with your friends there.”

“Works for me.”

Trinn motioned him back into the cargo bay, stooped to pick up his armor as he carefully lowered himself back onto the bench, then sat down at the workbench and popped open the backing that protected the circuitry. The distress beacon in his kit exhaled a low, digitized squeal as it powered down minutes later. He was truly on his own now, no one else was coming for him.

And yet, part of him couldn’t help but feel like he should be making better use of the situation he’d found himself in. 

“I knew you’d change your mind,” Trinn offered in the silence that followed.

“You did, did you…?” Stars, this one was as irritating as she was cute. He was starting to wish he was alone again. The sooner the better.

Crosshair sank down into his seat until he was laying flat on the bench with his legs stretched out long, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see her face, but the silence was telling. He knew she was grinning.

Worldbuilding

The Night Watch: The name for the Mandalorian Resistance against the Empire, following the Imperial Reformation of Mandalore, which consisted of Bo-Katan Kryze and her Night Owls, the Protectors, what would eventually become known as “the Clan”, and most of House Viszla. This Resistance was led by a former Jedi Padawan named Fae-Rao Viszla—the first Mandalorian to enter the order since Tarre Viszla—and was aided by a group of mixed non-Mandalorians and clone deserters, who sympathized with the plight of Mandalore.

[shadestepping]

Welp, I was tagged by @c-ones-adults-only-club in a thread that I can’t reblog to reply to because the original author has me blocked for gods only knows why! 🙃 So I’m starting another self-hype writing train.

CHOO-CHOO ALL YOU LOVELY DI’KUTS! 💕 Show me your favorite lines and / or passages from your fics!

Destiny

From ‘Fireteam Daybreak- Discharge’

Laila summoned her Arcblade again with a bright flash and a violent thunderclap that energized the brick under their feet, and once the air had settled, Laila gestured for him to attack her with a one-handed taunt. “You think you know better than me…? Then show me your mastery,” she challenged, nearly growling it out.

For a moment, Cayde froze, processes halted and mouth lights bright- Laila was a live-wire in every sense of the word, threatening but intriguing, unapproachable; he may have been cocky, but he wasn’t stupid.

Detroit: Become Human

From ‘DBH: Illuminate- Coffee Break: Broken Nose’

It was supposed to be their fresh start, their chance at a better life, to escape the abuse and the toxic expectations that they were supposed to be anyone other than who they were: black sheep, troubled kids, the ones “with issues running so deep” adults had labeled them hopeless.

Star Wars

From ‘The Bad Batch: Trespass- A Statistical Loss’

Despite his expectations, the one thing he couldn’t account for was the degree of emotional dysregulation from his concussion exacerbating his own response. He had seen grief like this in the eyes of displaced civilians and retired veterans, but he had never held it in his arms, never felt it deconstruct a soul as he did when Reina reached around his body with their good arm and clawed at the fabric over his back. Tension rippled through their shoulders, despondent sobbing rattled their chest, the mass expulsion of melancholic energy permeated to his very core… the true weight of it was inescapable. ‘Crushing’ turned out to be his greatest understatement in recent memory.

Tagging my lovelies @tecker @madameminor @fandumbug @wolveria @studioramekin @grayorca15

[shadestepping]

Character paint-overs for my Star Wars fic, The Bad Batch: Trespass.

Top Row: Fives, Fae-Rao Vizsla

Middle row: Commander Reina Darr (left), Doctor Noei Darr (right)

Bottom row: Mal Kryze (left), Trinn Kryze (middle), Hale Saxon (right)

[shadestepping]

The Bad Batch: Trespass- “A Statistical Loss”, pt. 6

Word count: 2,072 Characters: Tech, Crosshair, Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Omega, Reina Darr (original), Noei Darr (original), Fae-Rao Viszla (original)

Date: Early-Mid 16 BBY

When faced with the reality that they may never fly again, Tech refuses to accept that healing is too far out of reach and sets his mind on finding a solution.

Part 1: [ link ] -- Part 2: [ link ] -- Part 3: [ link ] -- Part 4: [ link ] -- Part 5: [ link ] -- Part 6: (you are here) -- Part 7: [ link ]

Archive Link: [ Ao3 ]

It means they may never fly again.

Tech was never one to pass up information when offered, but after the heartbreaking revelation of Reina’s prognosis, he completely tuned out. Every muscle in his body gnarled, anxiety whispering and gnashing like rabid anoobas. This was the worst-case scenario- the only thing that could have possibly been worse than dying, was surviving a second disastrous crash and awakening to the reality that this time, no matter how strong their will to overcome, they would never be able to do the one thing that made them feel whole, ever again.

The situation was much more distressing to him than it was to Noei, and he quietly resented her for the way she communicated facts with such a lack of unease. Was that how he always sounded to his brothers? And how could she be so calm when he was a roiling storm of rage and regret?

His long fingers curled and dug into his thighs, nails snagging on the fabric of his blacks. Sure, Doctor Darr had plenty of experience with delivering bad news to patients, and she had already been through one life-altering accident with her sister, but it shouldn’t have left her immune to grief.

“Isn’t there anything that can be done to repair the damage?” he asked after half a minute of silence.

The good Doctor released a patient sigh and crossed her arms as she back-tracked to what she had just explained. “Once the macula is torn… no, there isn’t anything that can be done to restore vision in full. There are treatments that would help enhance central vision, but they’d still never be able to see with the clarity necessary to pilot a starship-”

“Could a scrip take care of the blurring?” he interrupted before she could finish explaining.

“Their vision will never be perfectly corrected Tech, the trauma is too severe-”

“What about bionics?”

Noei’s shoulders dropped, heavy with melancholy at the desperation seeping into his tone. “Reina would never let anyone near them with something they didn’t build themselves...”

“Bacta injections?”

“Miracle cure that it is, it is a very basic treatment and cannot knit something as delicate as the macula without a lot of time, which is something they simply don’t have. What you’re talking about is as difficult to accomplish as repairing damage to the spinal cord or the brain.”

“Nanodroids?”

“The technology for adapted medical use is limited and hasn’t been perfected for such a delicate operation…”

His eyes unfocused, his brow flattened, and he stared past her. The lines in his forehead deepened and the corners of his eyes crinkled in disbelief. Tech’s hands quivered and rubbed at the pain in his head as an uncomfortable weight pressed down on his chest and shoulders. The soreness in his ribs drew at the air in short chops. Tech’s emotions were usually so well-regulated this wouldn’t even register, but the physical trauma to his brain had left the floodgates unhinged, spilling into what was mostly uncharted territory to him.

After Wrecker’s accident, his brother had had some reservations about his scarring and discolored eye, but not to the extent of the average person. A few rotten regs had made snide comments about the accident, but by and large, the other clones admired him for how much more imposing the scars made him look. Hunter had even tattooed the same side of his face to help him feel less conspicuous. But, the scar was not a complete loss of sight, nor an impediment on his performance in the field. Tech knew what was coming when it was time to deliver the news to Reina, and he wasn’t ready to witness the emotional devastation of them losing their life’s purpose. It would crush him to see them cry.

Tech moved to sit down on the stool next to Reina’s bed, leaned over his knees on his elbows, and rubbed one hand over a fist in front of his mouth. His leg bounced like a jackhammer as he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of their chest. They had to have missed something, this just couldn’t be the final answer. It was unacceptable, and he would not allow it.

“Surely, we could make it work… right?” There was decisive confidence in his posture as his eyes snapped up to meet her gaze.

“… with time and dedication… perhaps,” she answered, careful not to make any promises they wouldn’t be able to keep.

“No,” he shook his head and looked back at the sleeping pilot, unsatisfied with her answer. “We will find a way. We must.”

“Tech…”

He tensed as Doctor Darr placed a soft hand on his shoulder, until she gave it a good squeeze. His head dropped and leaned against the edge of the bed with a strangled cry.

“They’ve been through enough, Noei…” he cracked through his tightly closing throat. “Maker’s sake…”

They can’t lose this too.

Waiting for Reina to wake up was its own unique brand of torture, even without the added dread of knowing how they’d react to finding out they’d never be able to fly again. For several hours after his conversation with Noei, he sat slumped over the edge of their bed with his head on his forearms, eyes shifting between the instruments and the bandage over Reina’s eyes, while decompressing the state of affairs. He wasn’t used to feeling this helpless… or angry, or scared, or guilty. That there wasn’t even a rational reason for the guilt, which bellowed back into anger and stoked each emotion in turn like a cyclone, until he could no longer sit still.

When next Noei came to check on Reina, Tech had set up a small work-station at the foot of their bed and thrown himself full-force into research on medical-grade nanotechnology and how to program the droids to target and repair injuries. Despite her best efforts to explain that there was time for him to give his mind a rest before diving into creating a solution, Tech declined her invitation to relax, insisting that every second mattered.

In the few days that followed, he hardly slept, and he rarely left their bedside. Any time spent sleeping, relaxing, or doing anything where he couldn’t also research was time wasted and it was impossible to convince him otherwise. Echo tried several times a day to coax him into putting down the holofile for long enough to take a shower or a ten-minute walk, but even his gentle teasing that he was starting to smell up the room only registered enough to elicit an auto-response of “Not now, I’m busy.” He was singularly focused on figuring out this riddle before Reina awoke.

Wrecker wasn't allowed in Noei’s lab as a house rule, but on the second day, while Tech was taking a power nap, he snuck in with Omega and tucked Lula under one of Reina’s arms. Tech woke to a blanket draped over his shoulders, a box of Mantell mix, and a bottle of Elba water on his workstation.

The only time he looked up from his work to pay any mind to his brothers was when Hunter stopped by to let him know that Fae-Rao would be along to pick up the data and wanted him there to brief her on further questions she may have. Tech tried to refuse, but Hunter insisted that it wasn’t a request; to her credit, Fae-Rao took one look at him as he entered the room and told him he didn’t need to be there. This upset Hunter because it was the first time they’d gotten him to leave the lab in two days, but she insisted on his behalf.

“That man is in turmoil and this is his way of reconciling trauma. Let him do what he needs to do.”

Crosshair passed by the room at least five times before he finally got tired of seeing him mope through his work, and leaned in the doorway for a brief chat on the third day.

“You know it wasn’t your fault,” he noted in his usual condescending tone, “So why are you so hell-bent on righting an impossible wrong?”

“Because, Crosshair,” he answered with a sideways flick of his eyes, “Flying is all they have left.”

Cross eyed him with a knowing smirk and shifted the toothpick in his mouth. “That’s not all she has left…”

“Mind their pronouns, vod.”

“Right, they…” he corrected with a snarky chuckle as he rolled his eyes. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I am only being considerate of how they wish to be perceived.”

“Yes, while they aren’t awake to speak up for themselves,” he noted with a pointed nod.

The implication of what he was saying went right over his head. “It is not hard to swap a plural noun for someone who views themself outside of a gender binary because they ask you to.”

“No,” He crossed his arms, shrugged, and hummed in agreement. “But maybe you’re in deeper than you thought.”

It took a few times of mentally coming back around to the remark and trying to figure out what exactly he'd meant for what he was saying to click. Tech bobbled the holopad in his hand and sputtered on his drink mid-sip when the dawning realization finally kicked him. He had become too attached for his motivations to be based purely out of concern for a colleague, maybe even too much of a friend. Reina was special to him in more ways than anticipated: as a war hero, as a fellow soldier, as his commanding officer, and as his favorite pilot- as an engineer, as a confidante, as his grounding stone, and as his friend.

But what of friendship… was it love? Or maybe familial attachment? Was he hyper-fixating on solving this problem because he couldn’t imagine flying without them? Or was it just because he was told it couldn’t be done?

He set down the holopad and leaned over the side of the bed, pushed up his goggles, and sighed heavily as he pushed his fingers into his aching eyes. Just what he needed, one more unfamiliar emotion to reconcile atop a mountain of others.

The chilling pins-and-needles sensation erupting from a tired hand on the back of his head shot through him like a lightning bolt and filled him with overwhelming relief. He knew their touch before he heard their voice, which was something he could not say of anyone else.

Hey stranger.

And it seemed the same could be said of him for them.

Tech sat up, clasped their hand between both of his, and pressed it to his forehead as hard as he could muster while swallowing a sob. “You’re awake… thank the maker, you’re finally awake…”

“How long have I been out?” they asked, turning their head in the direction of his voice.

He swallowed, smeared a tear out of his eye, and straightened up a little. “It has been three days since the crash. Everyone made it back alive, and the data was successfully delivered to the Night Watch.”

They squeezed his hand, softly at first, but with increasing urgency as he explained. “… have you been here the whole time?”

“Most of the time,” he admitted truthfully, “Hunter managed to drag me out for the meeting, but other than that…”

Reina forced a smile and chuckled under their breath. “I can tell… you smell awful.”

“So I’ve been told, but I wanted to be here when you awoke.”

The urgency in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, and they expressed a fearful look without making eye contact. “… how bad is it?”

His silence said all they needed to know. The way his hands shifted around and squeezed their hand and wrist as if to apologize confirmed their worst fear.

“No… no, no no, no, NO-“

For the first time since they’d met, Reina Darr fell to pieces, but they wouldn't do it alone. Tech stood to embrace them as they curled over their lap, one hand holding their face to his chest, the other wrapped around their shoulders as if to shield them from the world. He held them as they cried and screamed, each wave of grief cutting into him deeper than the last, and felt some small part of him die in sympathy.

He’d find a way to fix this, and no one and no thing would stop him.

** Special thanks to @hazardous-studios for being my point of reference for the proper terminology and treatment of macula-off retinal detachment!

World-building

The Night Watch: The name for the Mandalorian Resistance against the Empire, after the Imperial Reformation of Mandalore, which consisted of Bo-Katan Kryze and her Night Owls, the Protectors, what would eventually become known as “the Clan”, and most of House Viszla.

This Resistance was led by a former Jedi Padawan named Fae-Rao Viszla —the first Mandalorian to enter the order since Tarre Viszla— and was aided by a group of non-Mandalorians and clone deserters, who sympathized with the plight of Mandalore.

Commander Reina Darr: former Combat Transport Pilot of the Republic Navy (before the Clone Wars) who was discharged after a bad crash in which they lost both of their legs from the thigh-down. After their discharge, Darr continued flying a modified light freighter known as the Trespass for a smuggling operation based out of the Coruscant lower levels, which specialized in relocating anyone trying to escape dangerous situations and start a new life.

Following the Imperial Reformation of the Republic into the Galactic Empire, Darr and their crew fled Coruscant to base their operation out of Ord Mantell, but joined the Night Watch at the request of Fae-Rao. For a little over two years, Darr Commanded a small Airborne Fleet, running tactical strikes against the Empire and evacuating non-compliant Civilians off-planet to the care of the Protectors on the third moon of Concord Dawn.

[shadestepping]

Hello :) For the ask meme: Reina, punch & cloud; Trinn, seedling & wrench

Reina

👊🏻: Are they quick to violence? - It really depends on the situation. Reina was taught to de-escalate where there is no immediate threat to life, but to put a swift end to danger. If someone was getting handsy with them at the bar, they’d de-escalate with minimal necessary force. If someone had a gun on them or someone they cared about? They’d put them down without hesitation.

☁️: A soft headcanon - Reina is not a huge fan of children, but Omega is the exception. Her voracious thirst for knowledge of everything she encounters coupled with her already extensive knowledge, reminds them of themself. It’s nice to feel like they finally have a little sister.

Trinn

🌱: What is their most vivid memory from childhood? - The first time she used a jetpack. Trinn had been waiting all her young life to fly, and the thrill was unforgettable.

🔧: Are they good at fixing relationships? Or do they tend to avoid doing so? - Trinn is a very straightforward person and she does not take things personally. If a relationship needs fixing, she’s willing to work on it. Even if the other party isn’t trying, she will make the effort. It’s just in her nature to seek cohesion, and sometimes that just means dealing with messy emotions or situations. Better to attack it head-on and get through it.

[shadestepping]

I’m really enjoying Trespass: “A Statistical Loss”. Reina is amazing, she has been through so much and is so strong. I would love to learn more about her. From the OC ask game, 🌌 ☁️ ☄️

I'm so happy to hear that they've struck a chord with you. I always worry that people won't give OC's a chance because so many of them end up being self-inserts or Mary Sues (and I know that turns off readers), but I do it anyway because I'm confident that my characters can stand on their own apart from Canon characters, while bringing new depth to the universe. Reina has by far been one of my favorite OC's to-date, I'm quite proud of the work I've done on them.

As a bonus, here’s a quick paintover of how I envision them to look ❤️

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

🌌: What was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them? -- When I set out to write the crew of the Trespass, I had certain squad positions I needed to fill, one of which was for a Pilot.

Because the Star Wars universe is so over-saturated with hotshot male pilots, I decided I wanted this character to be a girl; but then the more I thought about the character's appearance, the more I realized said character was biologically female, but their gender was non-binary.

For their line of work, this pilot needed to be exemplary, someone born to fly but with experience under their belt and the respect of their peers. When I decided they were former military, I had to think of a reason they would have been discharged, and injury in the line of duty was the only thing I could really see that suited them.

☁️: A soft headcanon -- Reina isn’t really “soft”, so I had a little bit of a hard time coming up with one that doesn’t involve attachment to another character. I also already provided a soft headcanon in the last couple I got for them, but here is one for you as well:

When they were in recovery after the first accident, PTSD prevented them from being able to develop normal sleep patterns, and they frequently woke up with nightmares. Noei would sneak into their room when she heard them crying, sit down next to them, and scratch their head / run her fingers through their hair until they fell asleep.

While Reina was in recovery after the Trespass crash, they started doing this for Tech when he couldn’t shut off his mind and sleep. He picked up on the calming effect it had after a few instances, recognized that Reina was subconsciously doing what they knew to be calming, and started returning the favor when able.

☄️: What do people assume about them? Are they right? -- A lot of people see Reina's prosthetics and slim frame and assume they are a helpless damsel... which is unfortunate for the ones making the assumptions, because they are not at all. Their military background means that not only is Reina a good shot, but they're also goddamn proficient in hand-to-hand combat. Their skill has only improved since meeting Mal, as they train a few times a week to keep their skills sharp. They will end a fight as fast as it can start.

From the OC Emoji Asks!

[shadestepping]

For the OC emoji thing, the shooting star! 🌠

Since you didn’t mention a specific character, I’ll answer this for all of them 😊

🌠: If they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?

Reina- They would wish for their body to be whole again. They’re very proud of the work they’ve done on their prosthetics, but they are still a reminder of their trauma every time they look at them.

Noei- Would honestly make the same wish as Reina. Their accident was just as painful for her as it was for them, and she just wishes she could help her be whole again.

Trinn- For the end of the Imperial occupation of Mandalore. As much as she loves being a fighter snd traveling the galaxy, Trinn misses her home and her clan, and wants to be in their company again.

Mal- To see her parents again. They were killed when House Vizsla split due to ideological differences, around the time of the formation of the Death Watch.

Fae-Rao- For the fall of the Empire, for the end of Sidious. For balance to be restored to the Force.

[shadestepping]

Good afternoon, mutuals and followers 💕

If you’re here for my Bad Batch posts, I would like to remind you that I am working on starting up a series called “The Bad Batch: Trespass”!

It is a canon-compliant Alternative Canon following the exploits of The Bad Batch and their new friends, the crew of a ship known as the Trespass!

This is set pretty far in, but once this chapter is through I will be backtracking and starting from the beginning, with Crosshair being picked up off that platform on Kamino.

Please give my work a read, I just know you’ll love it 💕 Thank you for your time and have a good Wrecker Wednesday!

And since he appears in this chapter, here’s a Bonus Trespass/Night Watch Fives!

The Bad Batch: Trespass- “A Statistical Loss”, pt. 7

Word count: 2,282 Characters: Tech, Hunter, Echo, Fives, Reina Darr (original), Noei Darr (original), Fae-Rao Viszla (original) Date: between 18 and 17 BBY Tech and Noei console Reina in their grief and promise to find a cure for their vision loss, while Fae-Rao deliberates over whether or not she should use the Force to speed along the process. Part 1: [ link ] -- Part 2: [ link ] -- Part 3: [ link ] -- Part 4: [ link ] -- Part 5: [ link ] -- Part 6: [ link ] -- Part 7: (you are here)

Archive Link: [ Ao3 ]

Their reaction to the prognosis was harder to endure than previously quantified with the data he possessed.

Despite his expectations, the one thing he couldn’t account for was the degree of emotional dysregulation from his concussion exacerbating his own response. He had seen grief like this in the eyes of displaced civilians and retired veterans, but he had never held it in his arms, never felt it deconstruct a soul as he did when Reina reached around his body with their good arm and clawed at the fabric over his back. Tension rippled through their shoulders, despondent sobbing rattled their chest, the mass expulsion of melancholic energy permeated to his very core… the true weight of it was inescapable. ‘Crushing’ turned out to be his greatest understatement in recent memory.

It was unclear how much time passed as he waited for them to speak again. Tech was too busy mentally cataloging every last micro-expression of their manifested grief, processing his emotional reactions, and filing the information away for future insight to pay it any mind; but he did notice when the shaking started to subside.

“How… how did… this happen?” Reina struggled to ask.

“Retinal detachment from mass deceleration,” he replied, calm and rehearsed.

Silence took them as they searched for reason in this explanation. “But… my retinas partially detached in the last crash… can’t that be repaired?”

Tech drew in a shaky breath and swallowed hard, his eyelids fluttered threateningly. “It could… if there wasn’t also damage to the macula.”

Reina’s brows crinkled. “What… what does that mean, I don’t-…” “The macula is the part of the retina at the back of the eye, about five millimeters in diameter, responsible for processing central vision, color, and fine detail-“

“Tech…” Reina gently interrupted before he could get too carried away with defining, rather than explaining. “I appreciate your knowledge… but what does that mean?”

Tech exhaled a quiet puff through his nose. He was avoiding a direct answer and they knew it. He knew it. “It’s… not something that can be fixed, dral kar’ta…” he admitted, tone dropping with the term of endearment he rarely used. “… at least, not with any known treatment. It’s too small and too delicate to operate on.”

The tremors in their chest started up anew.

“Noei says the previous retinal detachment likely contributed to the extent of the damage this time. It was just bad luck, I’m afraid… like everything else.”

The information didn’t help to slow their spiral; if anything, it made it worse. A low cry forced its way out of their lungs on a frequency that was uncomfortable to his ears. He cringed at the itch it triggered behind his eyes but tightened his grip and tucked his chin over the top of their head as their back curled forward. “I’m sorry Reina…” he whispered, throat quivering, stomach gnarled, and heart heavy with empathy. “I’m oh, so sorry…”

Tech jumped and turned halfway around as Doctor Darr burst into the room behind him moments later, anticipating the worst. Noei’s disheveled appearance greeted him with bruised, sleep-deprived eyes, unbrushed hair, freckles bleeding through smudged makeup, and clothes now three days old. Her blue-green gaze stared through him at her sister, as if she had been ripped from one nightmare and thrown into another. He’d been so fixated on his research he’d forgotten to check on her to make sure she was as okay as she’d seemed, so he hadn’t realized just how exhausted she was until she was standing five feet away from him. For a moment he was ashamed, because Doctor Darr was, after all, a good friend and confidante, regardless of his irritation with her.

Despite her emotional reservations for the last few days, hearing Reina’s cries unearthed instincts long-buried and set her back on auto-pilot. Noei wordlessly crossed the room and climbed up into the bed next to Reina, tucked Lula into the crook of their slung arm, and wedged a cold bottle of water into their right hand. Tech had had enough extensive academic talks with Noei in the past about how to care for psychological and emotional trauma to know that these were grounding techniques, but he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to put the practical application to use.

Without prompt, he fell into step with her efforts. Tech tapped Reina on the back of the head with two firm, two-fingered taps, and felt the trembling in their core weaken. This was a tactile reminder Noei had established to remind them to take pause and recalibrate their focus, that he and Reina had worked into their routines. They normally used it to alert each other when they were hyper-fixating and hadn’t eaten, slept, or taken a break in too long, but he was relieved to see it had the same effect when they were spiraling.

Reina clutched Lula tight against their chest and took in a deep, calming breath, while Noei counted out loud in sets: inhale for five, hold for seven, and exhale for eight. Each time they exhaled, their symptoms dissipated a little more. Tech felt the vibrations in their shoulders cease about five minutes later and loosened his hold on them once the sobbing subsided.

“Reina…?” he called in as soft a tone as he could, though they just burrowed further into his embrace, wishing to disappear. They still weren’t ready to continue the conversation. He repressed the anxious strain in his occipitals with a deep breath in and exhaled slow and even as Noei followed up.

“Reina, listen to me,” she coaxed in a motherly tone, one hand on her shoulder.

This time they lifted their head and turned halfway toward her, and Tech finally saw Noei’s composure crack. Her head dropped, her lip quivered, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled. Maker, how had he been so blind to her pain? She’d been struggling with her grief, same as he.

“There’s no way we’re going to let you lose your purpose to this.” Every negative thought plaguing him for the last three days evaporated the moment the words left her mouth. Finally, they were on the same page.

“No,” he agreed, more emphatic than intended. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes, we will find a solution.”

Reina’s grip on him relaxed, though when coupled with the question that followed, it felt more like disappointment. “How can you be so sure…?”

Tech paused before answering and lifted his gaze to look Noei in the eye. “Because, my dear,” he affirmed with a blooming, confident grin, “Your recovery is in the hands of the two most brilliant minds in the universe.”

Although she still doubted their ability to guarantee complete recovery, Noei returned his sentiment with a reserved smile and a determined nod.

“You will fly again- of that, I am certain.”

- - -

From the communications room three doors down, Hunter’s attention piqued. The two Night Watch rebels missed his brown eyes lift from the holo-table to focus with deliberate intent on what appeared to be a blank wall, but Echo knew better than to dismiss his tells. He’d heard something.

“What is it?”

Hunter set his jaw, sighed, and grunted a short reply. “Reina’s awake.”

Echo’s expression softened and he tossed a worried glance at Fae-Rao as she read between the lines of Hunter’s verbal and non-verbal cues.

“I take it Tech broke the news…?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer by the flattening of his tone and the tilted grimace in his cheek.

Hunter nodded crookedly, swiped around the data he’d been examining, and stowed it for the time being. “Yeah… and they’re not taking it well.”

“Understandably so,” Fae mused with quiet reservation, violet eyes staring unfocused before her. “I’ve been friends with Reina for four years- flying is their life. They’d rather die than hear that truth.”

“That’s a bit extreme,” Echo commented absently.

“You try telling a bird it will never fly again,” she huffed as she closed the data hologram and stepped away from the table. “Reina’s already had to fight tooth and nail to put herself back together once before- imagine how exhausted you would be to have to endure your trauma for a second time, and lose more of yourself than you already have…”

He let out a heavy-hearted sigh, then cast his gaze to the floor before circling back to the elephant in the room. “Have you given any further thought to my suggestion?”

The Jedi inhaled and lowered a dejected gaze as she leaned over the back of his chair. “I don’t know if it can be done, Echo…” she answered truthfully after a pause. “As much as I want to be able to help my friend, I was never trained to be a healer, and I wouldn’t want to accidentally make things worse.”

“Well… t’be fair,” Fives chimed in from her right, “I don’think a total loss of sight could really ‘get any worse’.”

Fae shifted her gaze like a silent prayer. “Force, how I wish that were true...”

Fives tilted his head and furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“The kind of precision needed to restore such a small part of the body requires intricate knowledge I do not possess,” she reasoned.

“If I make even the slightest mistake, if or when Tech and Noei do find a solution… it could set back their recovery by months, years... maybe even indefinitely.”

Echo's gaze hardened, and Fae-Rao’s eyes fell shut with the weight of his screaming thoughts. She didn’t have to look him in the eye to know what he was thinking: “If it were me, I’d want that option.” Yes, she wanted to do her part to help, if possible, but she also did not want to bear the burden of responsibility if she failed spectacularly. It was selfish, but Reina was a dear friend, and she didn’t want to lose them to resentment.

“But… shouldn’t you at least try? I mean… isn’t it worth it to offer?” Fae-Rao placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You know I’d heal everyone if I could, but that’s just not how the Force works. It’s not a mystical cure-all, and it takes special skill to wield with medical precision.”

Echo’s lips drew thin in grim understanding. His hand lifted and settled over hers and he turned to lean his forehead against her forearm.

“I know you empathize with their plight… and I want to help, but this makes me uncomfortable.”

“She’s right, Ech,” Hunter echoed in agreement. “You can’t ask someone t’perform surgery when they’re not a surgeon- Jedi or not.”

“Why don’t you leave the decision up to Reina?”

Fives’ neutral suggestion gave a much-needed pause to the weight of the conversation. Neither of them was inherently wrong in their logic. Echo was right- that to try and fail was better than to not try at all, but Fae-Rao’s discomfort was also valid and not to be discounted. However, the decision wasn’t theirs to make, and there was no point in fighting over whether or not they should when the question was if they could.

Neither objected to his reasoning. Echo seemed pleased with the compromise but Fae’s expression remained troubled. Echo had missed it, but Fives had been by her side long enough to know even the slightest nuance in her expressions and body language. She was deeply conflicted over this matter.

Hunter could sense that something was amiss. His eyes shifted between Commander Vizsla and Echo for a few moments before he moved away from the communication center toward the door, and tossed a casual order over his shoulder.

“We’ll take a break and reconvene at 21:00. Echo, with me- Crosshair and the Kryze girls’ll be back soon, an’they’ll need our help.”

Echo stood with a quiet “Sir” and glanced down at Fae-Rao as she took back her hand, crossed her arms, and averted his eyes. He flexed his jaw as he stared into the pattern of her silver fishbone braids, wounded by her sudden cold-shoulder, and sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’wanna pressure you,” he breathed as he leaned down and planted a soft kiss atop her head. “Just… do what you think is right.”

Her composure wavered as he left the room, but Fives caught her before she broke. “Don’mind him…” he reassured, one hand lifted to cup the back of her head. “He trusts your judgment, even if he kin’ be a stubborn sheb.”

His teasing earned a quiet laugh as she turned her cheek into the palm of his hand, her expression longing. “I… would like some time to meditate with the Force, before I talk to Reina.”

Fives nodded, his thumb softly swiping across her face a few times before taking back his hand and getting down to business. “I’ll keep watch,” he confirmed and turned toward the door, but before he could step away, she caught his hand with hers. He froze at her touch and tossed a questioning glance over his shoulder.

“Would you, please… sit with me? It’s been so long since I’ve been able to commune with another-”

“Of course,” he replied before she could even finish. “Whatever you need, I’m at your service.”

Fae-Rao beamed back a grateful smile and motioned to the open side of the room. Fives sat down first, crossed his legs as best he could, and exhaled as she sat down behind him with her back to his.

“Relax- Clear your mind, and focus on the question,” she instructed, straightening her back and leaning her head against his backplate.

“And what question is that?”

“A request for clarity- for knowledge, and for empathy.”

———————- dral kar'ta = "bright heart"

** Special thanks to @hazardous-studios for being my point of reference for the proper terminology and treatment of macula-off retinal detachment!

World-building entries

The Night Watch: The name for the Mandalorian Resistance against the Empire, after the Imperial Reformation of Mandalore, which consisted of Bo-Katan Kryze and her Night Owls, the Protectors, what would eventually become known as “the Clan”, and most of House Viszla. This Resistance was led by a former Jedi Padawan named Fae-Rao Viszla —the first Mandalorian to enter the order since Tarre Viszla— and was aided by a group of non-Mandalorians and clone deserters, who sympathized with the plight of Mandalore. Commander Reina Darr: former Combat Transport Pilot of the Republic Navy (before the Clone Wars) who was discharged after a bad crash in which they lost both of their legs from the thigh-down. After their discharge, Darr continued flying a modified light freighter known as the Trespass for a smuggling operation based out of the Coruscant lower levels, which specialized in relocating anyone trying to escape dangerous situations and start a new life. Following the Imperial Reformation of the Republic into the Galactic Empire, Darr and their crew fled Coruscant to base their operation out of Ord Mantell, but joined the Night Watch at the request of Fae-Rao. For a little over two years, Darr Commanded a small Airborne Fleet, running tactical strikes against the Empire and evacuating non-compliant Civilians off-planet to the care of the Protectors on the third moon of Concord Dawn.

[shadestepping]

The Bad Batch: Trespass- “A Statistical Loss”, pt. 2

Word count: 2,093 Characters: Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Tech, Reina (original), Mal (original), Trinn (original), Crosshair

Date: Early-Mid 16 BBY

As the crew of the Maurader prepares to set out on a rescue mission, Tech, Mal, Trinn, and Crosshair discuss their options for survival in open space.

Part 1: [ link ] -- Part 2: (you are here) -- Part 3: [ link ] -- Part 4: [ link ] -- Part 5: [ link ] -- Part 6: [ link ]-- Part 7: [ link ]

Archive link: [ Ao3 ]

// MAYDAY, MA..AY! TRESPASS TO MARAUDER- .. ARE GOING ….! REPEAT- WE ARE GOING D…. ..REE PASSENGERS LO.. .. IMPERIAL SPACE …. ….DE VISZLA OUTPOST O-NINER, ORBITING …….. //

// COMMAND.. ….- PUT YOUR HEL… .N! //

// ALL SYSTEMS FAIL…, .. … ON A COLLISION COURSE WI.. ….LA OUTPOST WITH NO WAY TO SL.. DOWN. TRESPASS IS LOST. I REP…- TH. …….. IS LOST, .. …. NO WAY HOME. REQUEST IMMEDIATE ….- //

// …CE FOR IMPACT. //

// RE….. .MERGENCY EVAC TO PHELB… //

// ……. YOUR NECK, REINA! PROTECT Y…- //

The transmission cut to dead static with no further crackling of voices struggling to be heard under the interference. Hunter paced back and forth between the cockpit and the cabin as Echo worked to clear up the connection in a desperate frenzy but to no avail. “I-I can’t get them back.”

“Well keep trying!” he snapped.

“There’s nothing there, Hunter! They’re gone!”

Wrecker slammed a heavy first against the wall, shaking the ship and denting the hull, and rolled out an anxious growl. “We can’t just sit ‘ere, we’ave ta go get em!”

Hunter turned quick on heel and doubled back to lean over Echo’s terminal, one hand braced against the wall overhead. “Did you get a lock on their location?”

“It’s incomplete, but between that and what I could gather from their transmission, it looks like they went down near-…” Echo trailed off as he stared, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Phelbos,” Hunter finished, grave tension in his tone. He stroked one hand down his face from his nose to his chin with a heavy sigh, Echo slumped back in his seat as Wrecker waited for one of them to explain what that meant.

“… What’s out near Phelbos?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s an Imperial deepdock now,” Echo answered. “The only ships traveling in and out of that part of the system are supply and troop ships for the Empire- but more than that, it sounded like they were heading for an old Death Watch outpost that was cleared out by the Jedi near the end of the war.”

Wrecker tensed and huffed anxiously. “Well… isn’t that good? If they ‘ave somewhere t’ide ‘till we can get there-“

“Only if it hasn’t been reclaimed by pirates, or worse,” Hunter mused with a worried groan, looked between Echo and Wrecker, and settled on a plan. “Echo- prep the ship. Wrecker- stock us up. I’ll go get Omega and Doctor Darr. We’ll leave as soon as you’ve finished resupplying.”

“Yes sir.”

“On’nit.”

“Ah- uh… Hunter?”

He stopped on the cargo ramp mid-stride and softened when he saw Echo’s troubled expression, his brow crinkled with worry. “What is it?”

“Be gentle, when you break the news about the crash…”

Hunter’s stomach dropped, and for a moment he debated having Echo deliver the news instead. He had a better rapport with the Doctor and was therefore better equipped to console Noei when she was told her sibling had been in a life-threatening crash, again, that they weren’t even sure they survived.

He flexed his jaw a few times, then nodded in understanding.

“Thanks, I will. Be quick.”

~ ~ ~

Tech woke to the sound of crackling electricity, hissing gas, spotty comms, and a warning on his heads-up display alerting him to the loss of pressure in his suit. Even with his eyes closed, his head spun like a top, attempting to float away with his tentative state of consciousness.

There was pressure all over the front side of his body- gravity, pulling him forward —rather, down— against the straps of the seat’s harness. He struggled to get the first breath in, throat still clenched tight from the force of the impact. Wheezing turned into coughing the more he struggled to pull air into his lungs, and coughing turned into a stabbing pain between his ribs. His breastplate had absorbed most of the force of deceleration, but he’d still cracked a few of them. Every breath felt like a dozen knives in his chest, and moving was even worse.

He forced open his blurry eyes and blinked them into focus as he attempted to survey the damage to the cockpit. It had done a remarkable job of surviving the crash, all things considered- the instruments were completely trashed, but it had maintained its structural integrity without collapsing under the force of impact, which had surely saved his life. He couldn’t yet see if Reina was alive or dead.

Tech groaned as he leaned forward to try and move his head, but the jumpseat had caved around him, putting pressure on his helmet from both sides and restricting his range of motion. Silent curses curled his lips as he gathered what strength he could to move his hands and unbuckle the harness holding him in place- it clicked open with a little effort, and the ship whined and creaked as he dropped hard onto the control panel. His goggles cracked as his head whipped against the dash, a searing pain ripped through his chest as the wind was knocked out of him. The ship settled threateningly as he lay there in shock for several moments to give himself time to reorient. A muffled voice called out over the Trespass’ com channel, and although couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, he could tell the voice belonged to Mal. It seemed their risky gambit had paid off. At least one of the others had survived, at least their loss hadn’t been for naught.

He took a big breath in and pushed himself up onto his elbows, then finally looked over his shoulder to the pilot’s chair, and let out a strangled cry of despair.

The pilot’s side of the cabin had taken the worst of the impact. Reina was hanging from their harness, motionless, head dripping blood onto the dash from under their helmet. They’d barely had time to fasten the chinstrap before mass-deceleration whipped them forward so hard it knocked them out cold. The safety visor had shattered on impact with the yoke, sliced open the side of their head and impaled their right eye. But that wasn’t what startled him the most. It was the indentations in their body that were so pronounced, he could tell where the collarbone had cracked and the shoulder joint dislocated. Worst of all, the way their head dangled low between their shoulders suggested a snapped neck.

Tech shut his eyes tight and pushed back the dread knotting in his gut. There was no sense getting worked up until he had a definitive answer. Carefully, he crawled over the debris toward them, lifted a trembling hand to find their pulse, then breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It was weak, but it was there.

Rei? Reina, do you copy?

Tech cleared his throat and mustered a raspy reply.

“I'm here... we are alive, barely.”

Mal cursed in relief. “Maker, kid, we thought you didn’t make it.”

Pain settled into the corners of his eyes as he choked back stress screams, he grinned mirthlessly behind his helmet and hung his head. “Where are Crosshair and Trinn?” he asked, trying to stay focused.

“They’re here with me- Cross has a light concussion, but he’s alright.”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Trinn chuckled dryly. “Still well enough to gripe, anyway.”

“Bite me,” he sneered through the pain.

“Is that a request, sugar?”

Tech caught the laugh before it escaped, then let out a wicked cough that tore into his lungs. Crosshair groaned in disgust in the background. At least their sense of humor had survived, because his sure hadn’t.

“We’re comin’ to you, just hang tight!”

“Hold… that… thought…” he managed to wheeze between breaths, as he gave himself a pat-down and looked around what was left of the nest. All he had was a diagnostic tool and a few emergency supplies, and that wouldn’t be nearly enough to treat Reina, much less all five of them. He closed his eyes, exhaled evenly, and winced in pain. He was starting to feel lightheaded and nauseated. “Can you see the other half of the ship?”

Mal was silent for almost half a minute before she responded. “We found and tagged it.”

He let out another sigh of relief as he lost his balance and stumbled back onto the console panel, shaking loose bits of metal and glass as his hands brushed over it. His eyelids fluttered over his honey brown eyes as he struggled to stay awake. “Good… good,” he breathed shakily. “I need-… I need you to…” He swallowed and blinked hard to push back the sickness in his gut.

“Tech…?”

His eyebrows twitched, he moved one hand over his stomach, pressed his fingers into his eyes, and groaned. “… I need you to find the med-pack in the cargo bay and bring it with you.”

There was silence on the other end of the comm. “We don’t have enough fuel in our packs to make it there and back if we’re going to come to you,” Mal replied after a while.

“So we send one person,” Trinn countered. “We can use the fuel from the remaining two packs to propel all three of us toward the outpost.”

There was another pause as Mal considered the plan. Tech let out a small, stressed laugh in the silence. “Someone needs to go, or Reina isn’t going to make it.”

The urgency in his voice was clearer than intended, and Crosshair didn’t miss it. “I’ll do it,” he offered when the girls didn’t speak up.

“No,” Mal countered, “You’re concussed. If you pass out on the way there, one of us is going to have to go get you, then we won’t have enough to get to them. I’ll go.”

“You weigh more than both of us, you’ll use up the most fuel if you make both trips,” Trinn corrected. “I’m fast and light, and I’m used to maneuvering in Zero-G.”

Mal growled softly under her breath, not keen on the idea of letting her baby sister venture off alone into open space. “Okay… fine, you’re right- just be careful out there, kih’verd.”

“I’ll be back before you know it, sis.”

“Let me know when you are on your way,” Tech asked as he focused on steadying his breathing.

“You got it.”

He lifted his hands, unclasped his helmet, and slipped it off carefully. He hadn’t noticed until then, but he was also bleeding from the head at the ear and brow. Must have sustained a nasty concussion, that much at least explained the other symptoms.

Tech hesitated to look back up at his friend, only because it hurt to see them this way. It was imperative that he move them so that they could be treated, but he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to accomplish that without help, or without inflicting further damage. As traumatizing as it may be for them to be conscious while he did, it would still be better if they were able to help control the drop. They would need to be awake.

From the pack on his hip, he removed an adrenaline stimshot, readied the needle with a sharp twist and flick, and injected them in the jugular. A few seconds later, they jerked awake, gasping and mumbling. “Trespass-… going down-…. evac-… why- where are-"

“Reina…? Reina!” He repeated their name several times as they flailed their arms around, searching for him. “I’m here, I’m right here.” Their hand found his shoulder, and he lifted his hands to gently grasp their upper arms. They panted and cringed as they tried to recall the last thing they remembered.

“… where are we?”

“We made it to Vizsla Outpost Nine,” he explained as he dropped the injection and reached for a knife on his thigh. “You’re badly injured, and I need your help so I can cut you down. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Their bottom lip trembled, eyes and cheeks rippled with stress twitches. “I can’t see…”

His attention snapped back up to them without considering the consequence of the sudden movement. Pain tore through his neck, and he cringed as he looked up at them and realized they weren’t looking at him. With eye trauma this severe, that much was to be expected, but their eyes hadn’t even shifted since they’d woken up. Tech lifted a hand in front of their face and waved it a few times, looking for a response, but received none. His heart sank as the feeling of dread returned.

“Commander...?”

“I can’t see, Tech… why can’t I see?”

[shadestepping]

Good Morning <3 Anyone up for a Crossroads update?

@kaminocasey @staycalmandhugaclone @fandumbug @corona-one

THE BAD BATCH- TRESPASS: “CROSSROADS”, PT. 2

Word Count: 3,179 Characters: Crosshair, Trinn Kryze (Original), Captain Mal Kryze (Original), Commander Reina Darr (Original) Date: 9 rotations after “Kamino Lost”

Crosshair is found by the crew of the Trespass, and offered a lift off of Kamino.

Archive link: [ Crossroads ] [ Part 1 ]

Mandalorians? Was he having a fever dream? 

Well, this was certainly a surprise.

Crosshair stopped in his tracks and took a suspicious step back from the approaching craft. Of all the wayward ships he’d theorized might have picked up his distress beacon, the Night Watch—who had been busy staging their own uprising against the Empire on Mandalore, at least twelve thousand parsecs from Kamino—wasn’t even an honorable mention. 

There was no reason for them to be out this far on the opposite side of the outer rim. And even if they were already within range, the reasons why the rogue warriors of House Vizsla would respond to an Imperial distress beacon were few- most of which did not bode well for his survival. 

An Imperial Commander ranked high on the rebellion’s list of targets, not only as a necessary piece to remove from the board, but as a valuable source of intel. Fortunately for him, all commandos had been rigorously trained to resist interrogation; unfortunately , he’d just spent nine days exposed to constant battering rain, on minimal nutrition and little-to-no sleep. He was starving, sick, weak and paranoid, and high on his last stims. Even the most hardened ARC’s would crack if their Jedi General was to get her hands on them in this state.

Suddenly his ticket off Big Stormy didn’t look so appealing.

Cross squinted, shakily slipped a toothpick into the corner of his mouth, and kept a safe distance from the edge. “You’re a long way from Mandalore,” he drawled with pointed apprehension.

“And you look mighty miserable, standin’ there all by your lonesome.” She grinned with such familiarity it made his stomach churn. “Why don’tcha come in outta the cold and we’ll take you to the nearest starport?”

Hunger pains nipped at his resolve but he didn’t bite. He shifted the pick from one corner of his mouth to the other and further narrowed his eyes as she moved between the support pistons.

“Somethin’ wrong, trooper?”

“You could say that,” he answered with a crooked nod. “Why are you here?”

The Mandalorian furrowed her brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“ Humor me .”

“We were passin’ through and picked up your distress beacon,” she explained as the freighter lowered just enough for him to hop onto the ramp, if he chose. “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of anyone else for at least ten parsecs… nonna whom were rushin’ to Kamino to respond to an Imperial in distress, anyway.”

And there it was, the hook: no ships in range that would consider braving the Kaminoan storms to rescue one lone Imperial. If the Night Watch were convinced enough that they were safe risking a stop, then the Empire really must have abandoned the system.

One arm trembled as he crossed and tucked it under the other, a tell that he needed food and rest soon. “And why did the Night Watch decide to rush to my aid?” he sneered. “Are you really doing this out of the goodness of your hearts? Or are you just hoping for a hostage?”

She was taken aback by the heat in his assumption, but he wasn’t wrong to be skeptical of their intentions. The Night Watch was about as friendly to the Empire as the Republic had been to the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, and it was unheard of for Mandalorians to offer help to their enemies.

“We heard comm chatter about Tipoca’s destruction, so when we saw where your beacon was comin’ from, we didn’t really think twice. The clones helped us once, and we wanted to return the favor.”

He was almost inclined to believe her. These do-gooder rebels were known to have taken in clone deserters and sympathetic parties. If they weren’t looking for a hostage, they were probably hoping to convert one more disillusioned soldier to their cause, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him. They would have had better luck recruiting Clone Force 99 into their ranks, had they come across his brothers rather than him. Swearing allegiance to the Night Watch would have been an easy transition for men in their position- aside from fulfilling their need to ‘do the right thing’, they’d have the security of the clan to protect Omega, stable sources of food and work, and clarity of purpose-

All of which he could have provided, had they just returned to the Empire.

The Empire that had just destroyed their home? The Empire that turned their noses up at the very soldiers who had single-handedly eradicated the Jedi and seized control of the entire Galaxy with one order? The Empire that had made it very clear that the future of their service, their very survival, was not guaranteed…?

Why in the nine hells had he chosen this over his family? For purpose, for stability, for influence ? Fat lot of good that had done him.

Crosshair grimaced, reached up and pressed the heel of his hand into the piercing headache as it shot through his temporal lobe. He hadn’t had a single independent thought that went unpunished, nor a moment of painless clarity, since his chip had activated. 

“... hey- you okay?”

“Do I look okay ?”

He caught the way her face lit up in recognition out of the corner of his eye but didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t need her sympathy—it wouldn’t have helped him anyway—and he didn’t want her empathy. 

A deeper feminine voice boomed from inside the cargo hold, beckoning Trinn to get inside and close the hatch so they could leave. After gesturing back to them to ‘Give me a minute’, she turned her attention back to him and tried again.

“Look- I can only imagine the week you’ve had, but I’d hope you’d still have enough sense t’not look a gift-fathier in the mouth.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied before he could change his mind. Leaving now—after all that time spent gaining ground with Rampart—would be a waste, and he wasn’t about to concede.

“You sure? Maker knows when your next chance will be. Do you really want to sit here for another…” Her voice trailed off and she rolled a shrug to illustrate.

Fierfek , she was right. Not even pirates or scrappers would have bothered withstanding Kamino’s hazards for the promise of a mediocre payday. Crosshair’s throat bobbed at the thought of being stuck on Kamino any longer. Due to his accelerated metabolism, he was already running dangerously low on rations, despite his best efforts to make them last. He could stretch them maybe another week if he bit off just enough to keep himself from starving to death, but he could already feel the weakness creeping into his bones. He was losing muscle density, ketosis was setting in. At this rate, it was either stay and risk an unpleasant death, or leave and possibly be taken prisoner. Had he been at full strength, he had no doubt he would be able to fight back in the case of the latter, but the number of soldiers aboard the craft was an unknown variable. 

And who knew if the Empire would really be back.

His voice cracked as he forced the question. “You’ll take me to the closest starport, no strings attached…?”

“So long as you don’t rat us out.”

The lines in his forehead crinkled, arms dropped and balled his fingers into fists at his sides. He’d have plenty of time to rehearse the conversation with Admiral Rampart about how he had gotten his team killed and survived an orbital bombardment on a city that was now completely underwater. Lying about Clone Force 99’s survival wasn’t an issue, but crawling back empty-handed yet again wouldn’t earn him any favor. At the rate his failures were piling up, he’d be lucky to get an early retirement.

Don’t fool yourself- all you'll ever be to them is a number.

Trinn’s boots scraped as they shifted against the durasteel and turned away. “Fine, I’ll just tell my pilot to turn around-”

“ No ,” he finally conceded with a low, snarling growl. If the objective was survival, the strategy was obvious: control what you can. Even if he ended up in a cell, he’d have food and shelter. His odds of survival were better if he took the gamble of leaving with sympathetic enemies. 

So long as he gave them no reason to distrust him, and nothing to work with. 

Vertigo hit him as he lunged onto the swaying ship. One leg staggered and buckled, and he hit the deck hard as Trinn reacted and reached for his forearm. It slipped out of her grasp until her hand caught at the neck of his wrist and tightly gripped the plating over his hand. His body lurched with all of his weight pulling at his shoulder socket, and whipped his head around to bring him face-to-face with the Kaminoan deep. Sickness rose in his gut as the swell crashed beneath him, and just as he started to black out, he was yanked back into the safety of the cluttered cargo hold with incredible ease. Crosshair groaned as he hit the ground and pressed his fingers into his eyes, writhing on the vibrating floor beneath him.

Another heavier pair of boots approached him from across the room and came to a stop inches from his face, and he looked up into the face of a behemoth of a Mandalorian woman—as thick as he was tall, yet dwarfed him in presence alone—staring down at him with a steely blue, unyielding gaze. Impervious didn’t even begin to describe her.

“Weapons off, Comms and beacons out the ship,” she demanded with a curt nod over his shoulder.

Crosshair sat back on his heels. “Is that really necessary ?”

“Not dealing with you reneging on our agreement, or having your Imperial friends tag us mid-flight.”

He couldn’t fault them for being thorough, but he still hesitated and grimaced in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. He reached for the backup deecee pistol first, then Hunter’s knife which he’d tucked into the plate over his calf, and set them down on the fold-out lockup bench to the left of him. As he reached for his Firepuncher, he leaned forward to give it enough room to swing over his head without hitting the bulkhead, and set it down next to the others with a more reverent touch. 

“Commpad and distress beacon.”

Crosshair grit his teeth and held her gaze with a curled upper lip, unclipped the comm-pad from his vambrace and thrust it out the ship behind him into the raging sea. “Beacon’s wired to the power in my kit.”

“I’ll handle it.” Trinn stepped up behind him and unseated the pack from the mag-plate in his cuirass, then motioned him forward and raised the loading ramp as the muscly woman reached for the vibro-blade and let out a low whistle of approval. 

“I want that back,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed past her into the staging area of the cargo bay and smothered the urge to share that it held sentimental value.

The redhead gripped the hilt and flipped it around and over between her fingers with practiced ease, testing the balance with marveled interest. “Who wouldn’t ?” 

Trinn set his pack down at the workbench against the wall to the right and raised her commpad to signal to their pilot. 

“Sentry-one, we’re clear.”

“ Copy .”

The miniscule shift of directional force as the ship departed the platform disrupted his equilibrium mid-step. One hand instinctively reached for the bulkhead handrail but he instead caught himself on the cargo webbing strung along the walls. His shaky legs wobbled as he pulled himself over onto the bench in the corner beside the interrior blast doors and dropped with all of his weight onto the bare durasteel. Crosshair’s tired eyes fell shut as he drew in a deep breath and released it with a relieved grunt. Circumstances aside, this was already infinitely better than sitting on that platform in the rain.

The female officer folded the bench containing all of his weapons into the wall and secured it for hyperspace, then cast him a skeptical glance before she passed through the doors. Her heavy footsteps receded deeper into the ship until the vibration could be heard no more, and she greeted someone with a curt “ Commander .” 

“ Captain ,” an androgynous voice replied, equally as curt. “ Report .”

“ Found one Imperial, right where they said he’d be. ”

They…? Someone had sent them here for him…? The only people that even knew he was still alive was Clone Force 99, who—as far as he knew—had no affiliation with the Night Watch. If they had friends like that, they wouldn’t have been scurrying from job to job like rats. So who would they have told…? Rebels? The clone underground made the most sense. So they did have contacts somewhere out there looking out for them. 

And he did as well, it seemed. Despite leaving him behind, his brothers hadn’t given up on him after all. They were still giving him chances he didn’t deserve. 

“ So he’s not a clone? ”

“ Doesn’t look like any clone I’ve ever seen… ”

“ Then why are we taking him with us? ”

“ We’re already here, the chakaar looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. You really gonna leave him here to die? ”

“ He’s an Imperial , we gain nothing by helping him, bringin’ him on board the ship is a huge security risk to us. ”

“ Trinn’s disabling his beacon, he has no comms. We’ll be fine. ”

Trinn kicked at the toe of his boot to get his attention and snapped him out of his focus.

“Plates off.”

“Buy me dinner first,” he sneered back without looking up. 

She puffed out a low chuckle. “Savin’ your sorry shebs wasn’t enough?”

“I know what I’m worth.”

“C’mon,” she persisted, dropping his pack next to him on the floor. “You wanna stay on the ship? I need to disable that beacon. Then you can sleep as long as you want.”

Crosshair grimaced and turned away from her in protest. His entire life, his plates had been the only thing between him and an untimely death. It didn’t feel right being out of them, much less in the presence of his enemies. 

“What’s the matter, you shy?”

“Forgive me for not trusting that you won’t shoot me in the back the moment I do.”

“We could still shove you out the airlock at any time.”

He stiffened and bristled instinctively before realizing it was a joke. She was joking with him.

“I’ll give you a minute to yourself,” she said as she double-checked that the weapon stores were locked up tight on her way to the door, then turned on heel and pointed back his way. “But don’t try anything, or you’ll have my sister t’answer to.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and gave her a sarcastic two-fingered salute as the door shut behind her before reaching up to unclip his breastplate. He’d lost track of the conversation between the Captain and Commander once Trinn interrupted him, but without the distraction he could hear them again clear as day.

“ I don’t get why they’d send us out here for one stormtrooper. ”

“ Well, maybe we’ve got it wrong. Maybe he is a clone. ”

“ Oh, for sure he is., ” Trinn proclaimed without hesitation, drawing a snort from the Captain.

“ What makes you so sure? ”

“ Well, for one thing- I don’t think a teekay trooper would have survived that mess on their own.”

Crosshair set his chestplate down on the floor and almost laughed at the thought. The TK’s had been trained by Clone Commandos for infantry combat and security. They hadn’t undergone the rigorous survival training that had killed many clones before they had even deployed. 

“They’re not exactly bright, I’ll give you that.”

“ Exactly, and this one’s too smart- gehatyc, ramikadyc.”

“A Commando? You think so?”

“Yeah, they all have the look in their eye- resentment, guilt, instant distrust of anyone that ain’t a brother... ”

“Could be the shell-shock.”

“Or, it’s ‘cause he’s still chipped.”

“And you left him alone!?”

“Relax, Reina. Mal can handle him.”

He wasn’t the only one that was smart. Trinn was observant ( too observant for his liking ), the Captain was cautious. If he’d learned anything about Mandalorians from Skirata and Vau, it’s that they were not to be underestimated. Each was a Commando by their own right, their entire culture had evolved around survival. Mandalore’s heritage had made the Clone army, without their training he and his brothers would have been long dead. 

And this crew was well-trained. If the rest of the Night Watch was half as competent—and he was certain they were—it was no wonder they were giving the Empire a run for their credits. Though their rebellion against the Imperial occupation of Mandalore had just begun, their notoriety had already spread to the farthest reaches of the Galaxy, inspiring other Separatist-allied planets like Raxus to follow suit. 

It was dangerous for him to linger for too long.

“We should have Noei take a look at him.”

“No way. We’re not taking a chipped Commando back to base.”

“Just drop me off at the nearest starport and I’ll find my way,” he cut in from the doorway behind them. 

All three heads snapped around in unison. Trinn’s hand flexed over the blaster on her thigh, Captain Mal braced herself for a fight, the Pilot fixed an intense gaze on him from behind their goggles. His vision blurred, he swayed on his feet. For a brief moment of confusion, in the dimly lit hallway, he saw the faces of his brothers staring back at him in cautious apprehension…

Then Trinn straightened up and shoved Mal back onto her heels with a muttered udesii as she passed. Their pilot-Commander exchanged a glance with Captain Mal, grunted and finally ceded.

“We’ll drop you off at Capital City on Uyter. It’s about a day’s flight out, but you shouldn’t have a problem gettin’ in touch with your friends there.”

“Works for me.”

Trinn motioned him back into the cargo bay, stooped to pick up his armor as he carefully lowered himself back onto the bench, then sat down at the workbench and popped open the backing that protected the circuitry. The distress beacon in his kit exhaled a low, digitized squeal as it powered down minutes later. He was truly on his own now, no one else was coming for him.

And yet, part of him couldn’t help but feel like he should be making better use of the situation he’d found himself in. 

“I knew you’d change your mind,” Trinn offered in the silence that followed.

“You did, did you…?” Stars, this one was as irritating as she was cute. He was starting to wish he was alone again. The sooner the better.

Crosshair sank down into his seat until he was laying flat on the bench with his legs stretched out long, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see her face, but the silence was telling. He knew she was grinning.

[shadestepping]

Thank you love!! I’m glad you loved it!!

THE BAD BATCH- TRESPASS: “CROSSROADS”, PT. 2

Word Count: 3,179 Characters: Crosshair, Trinn Kryze (Original), Captain Mal Kryze (Original), Commander Reina Darr (Original) Date: 9 rotations after “Kamino Lost”

Crosshair is found by the crew of the Trespass, and offered a lift off of Kamino.

Archive link: [ Crossroads ] [ Part 1 ]

Mandalorians? Was he having a fever dream? 

Well, this was certainly a surprise.

Crosshair stopped in his tracks and took a suspicious step back from the approaching craft. Of all the wayward ships he’d theorized might have picked up his distress beacon, the Night Watch—who had been busy staging their own uprising against the Empire on Mandalore, at least twelve thousand parsecs from Kamino—wasn’t even an honorable mention. 

There was no reason for them to be out this far on the opposite side of the outer rim. And even if they were already within range, the reasons why the rogue warriors of House Vizsla would respond to an Imperial distress beacon were few- most of which did not bode well for his survival. 

An Imperial Commander ranked high on the rebellion’s list of targets, not only as a necessary piece to remove from the board, but as a valuable source of intel. Fortunately for him, all commandos had been rigorously trained to resist interrogation; unfortunately , he’d just spent nine days exposed to constant battering rain, on minimal nutrition and little-to-no sleep. He was starving, sick, weak and paranoid, and high on his last stims. Even the most hardened ARC’s would crack if their Jedi General was to get her hands on them in this state.

Suddenly his ticket off Big Stormy didn’t look so appealing.

Cross squinted, shakily slipped a toothpick into the corner of his mouth, and kept a safe distance from the edge. “You’re a long way from Mandalore,” he drawled with pointed apprehension.

“And you look mighty miserable, standin’ there all by your lonesome.” She grinned with such familiarity it made his stomach churn. “Why don’tcha come in outta the cold and we’ll take you to the nearest starport?”

Hunger pains nipped at his resolve but he didn’t bite. He shifted the pick from one corner of his mouth to the other and further narrowed his eyes as she moved between the support pistons.

“Somethin’ wrong, trooper?”

“You could say that,” he answered with a crooked nod. “Why are you here?”

The Mandalorian furrowed her brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“ Humor me .”

“We were passin’ through and picked up your distress beacon,” she explained as the freighter lowered just enough for him to hop onto the ramp, if he chose. “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of anyone else for at least ten parsecs… nonna whom were rushin’ to Kamino to respond to an Imperial in distress, anyway.”

And there it was, the hook: no ships in range that would consider braving the Kaminoan storms to rescue one lone Imperial. If the Night Watch were convinced enough that they were safe risking a stop, then the Empire really must have abandoned the system.

One arm trembled as he crossed and tucked it under the other, a tell that he needed food and rest soon. “And why did the Night Watch decide to rush to my aid?” he sneered. “Are you really doing this out of the goodness of your hearts? Or are you just hoping for a hostage?”

She was taken aback by the heat in his assumption, but he wasn’t wrong to be skeptical of their intentions. The Night Watch was about as friendly to the Empire as the Republic had been to the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, and it was unheard of for Mandalorians to offer help to their enemies.

“We heard comm chatter about Tipoca’s destruction, so when we saw where your beacon was comin’ from, we didn’t really think twice. The clones helped us once, and we wanted to return the favor.”

He was almost inclined to believe her. These do-gooder rebels were known to have taken in clone deserters and sympathetic parties. If they weren’t looking for a hostage, they were probably hoping to convert one more disillusioned soldier to their cause, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him. They would have had better luck recruiting Clone Force 99 into their ranks, had they come across his brothers rather than him. Swearing allegiance to the Night Watch would have been an easy transition for men in their position- aside from fulfilling their need to ‘do the right thing’, they’d have the security of the clan to protect Omega, stable sources of food and work, and clarity of purpose-

All of which he could have provided, had they just returned to the Empire.

The Empire that had just destroyed their home? The Empire that turned their noses up at the very soldiers who had single-handedly eradicated the Jedi and seized control of the entire Galaxy with one order? The Empire that had made it very clear that the future of their service, their very survival, was not guaranteed…?

Why in the nine hells had he chosen this over his family? For purpose, for stability, for influence ? Fat lot of good that had done him.

Crosshair grimaced, reached up and pressed the heel of his hand into the piercing headache as it shot through his temporal lobe. He hadn’t had a single independent thought that went unpunished, nor a moment of painless clarity, since his chip had activated. 

“... hey- you okay?”

“Do I look okay ?”

He caught the way her face lit up in recognition out of the corner of his eye but didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t need her sympathy—it wouldn’t have helped him anyway—and he didn’t want her empathy. 

A deeper feminine voice boomed from inside the cargo hold, beckoning Trinn to get inside and close the hatch so they could leave. After gesturing back to them to ‘Give me a minute’, she turned her attention back to him and tried again.

“Look- I can only imagine the week you’ve had, but I’d hope you’d still have enough sense t’not look a gift-fathier in the mouth.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied before he could change his mind. Leaving now—after all that time spent gaining ground with Rampart—would be a waste, and he wasn’t about to concede.

“You sure? Maker knows when your next chance will be. Do you really want to sit here for another…” Her voice trailed off and she rolled a shrug to illustrate.

Fierfek , she was right. Not even pirates or scrappers would have bothered withstanding Kamino’s hazards for the promise of a mediocre payday. Crosshair’s throat bobbed at the thought of being stuck on Kamino any longer. Due to his accelerated metabolism, he was already running dangerously low on rations, despite his best efforts to make them last. He could stretch them maybe another week if he bit off just enough to keep himself from starving to death, but he could already feel the weakness creeping into his bones. He was losing muscle density, ketosis was setting in. At this rate, it was either stay and risk an unpleasant death, or leave and possibly be taken prisoner. Had he been at full strength, he had no doubt he would be able to fight back in the case of the latter, but the number of soldiers aboard the craft was an unknown variable. 

And who knew if the Empire would really be back.

His voice cracked as he forced the question. “You’ll take me to the closest starport, no strings attached…?”

“So long as you don’t rat us out.”

The lines in his forehead crinkled, arms dropped and balled his fingers into fists at his sides. He’d have plenty of time to rehearse the conversation with Admiral Rampart about how he had gotten his team killed and survived an orbital bombardment on a city that was now completely underwater. Lying about Clone Force 99’s survival wasn’t an issue, but crawling back empty-handed yet again wouldn’t earn him any favor. At the rate his failures were piling up, he’d be lucky to get an early retirement.

Don’t fool yourself- all you'll ever be to them is a number.

Trinn’s boots scraped as they shifted against the durasteel and turned away. “Fine, I’ll just tell my pilot to turn around-”

“ No ,” he finally conceded with a low, snarling growl. If the objective was survival, the strategy was obvious: control what you can. Even if he ended up in a cell, he’d have food and shelter. His odds of survival were better if he took the gamble of leaving with sympathetic enemies. 

So long as he gave them no reason to distrust him, and nothing to work with. 

Vertigo hit him as he lunged onto the swaying ship. One leg staggered and buckled, and he hit the deck hard as Trinn reacted and reached for his forearm. It slipped out of her grasp until her hand caught at the neck of his wrist and tightly gripped the plating over his hand. His body lurched with all of his weight pulling at his shoulder socket, and whipped his head around to bring him face-to-face with the Kaminoan deep. Sickness rose in his gut as the swell crashed beneath him, and just as he started to black out, he was yanked back into the safety of the cluttered cargo hold with incredible ease. Crosshair groaned as he hit the ground and pressed his fingers into his eyes, writhing on the vibrating floor beneath him.

Another heavier pair of boots approached him from across the room and came to a stop inches from his face, and he looked up into the face of a behemoth of a Mandalorian woman—as thick as he was tall, yet dwarfed him in presence alone—staring down at him with a steely blue, unyielding gaze. Impervious didn’t even begin to describe her.

“Weapons off, Comms and beacons out the ship,” she demanded with a curt nod over his shoulder.

Crosshair sat back on his heels. “Is that really necessary ?”

“Not dealing with you reneging on our agreement, or having your Imperial friends tag us mid-flight.”

He couldn’t fault them for being thorough, but he still hesitated and grimaced in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. He reached for the backup deecee pistol first, then Hunter’s knife which he’d tucked into the plate over his calf, and set them down on the fold-out lockup bench to the left of him. As he reached for his Firepuncher, he leaned forward to give it enough room to swing over his head without hitting the bulkhead, and set it down next to the others with a more reverent touch. 

“Commpad and distress beacon.”

Crosshair grit his teeth and held her gaze with a curled upper lip, unclipped the comm-pad from his vambrace and thrust it out the ship behind him into the raging sea. “Beacon’s wired to the power in my kit.”

“I’ll handle it.” Trinn stepped up behind him and unseated the pack from the mag-plate in his cuirass, then motioned him forward and raised the loading ramp as the muscly woman reached for the vibro-blade and let out a low whistle of approval. 

“I want that back,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed past her into the staging area of the cargo bay and smothered the urge to share that it held sentimental value.

The redhead gripped the hilt and flipped it around and over between her fingers with practiced ease, testing the balance with marveled interest. “Who wouldn’t ?” 

Trinn set his pack down at the workbench against the wall to the right and raised her commpad to signal to their pilot. 

“Sentry-one, we’re clear.”

“ Copy .”

The miniscule shift of directional force as the ship departed the platform disrupted his equilibrium mid-step. One hand instinctively reached for the bulkhead handrail but he instead caught himself on the cargo webbing strung along the walls. His shaky legs wobbled as he pulled himself over onto the bench in the corner beside the interrior blast doors and dropped with all of his weight onto the bare durasteel. Crosshair’s tired eyes fell shut as he drew in a deep breath and released it with a relieved grunt. Circumstances aside, this was already infinitely better than sitting on that platform in the rain.

The female officer folded the bench containing all of his weapons into the wall and secured it for hyperspace, then cast him a skeptical glance before she passed through the doors. Her heavy footsteps receded deeper into the ship until the vibration could be heard no more, and she greeted someone with a curt “ Commander .” 

“ Captain ,” an androgynous voice replied, equally as curt. “ Report .”

“ Found one Imperial, right where they said he’d be. ”

They…? Someone had sent them here for him…? The only people that even knew he was still alive was Clone Force 99, who—as far as he knew—had no affiliation with the Night Watch. If they had friends like that, they wouldn’t have been scurrying from job to job like rats. So who would they have told…? Rebels? The clone underground made the most sense. So they did have contacts somewhere out there looking out for them. 

And he did as well, it seemed. Despite leaving him behind, his brothers hadn’t given up on him after all. They were still giving him chances he didn’t deserve. 

“ So he’s not a clone? ”

“ Doesn’t look like any clone I’ve ever seen… ”

“ Then why are we taking him with us? ”

“ We’re already here, the chakaar looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. You really gonna leave him here to die? ”

“ He’s an Imperial , we gain nothing by helping him, bringin’ him on board the ship is a huge security risk to us. ”

“ Trinn’s disabling his beacon, he has no comms. We’ll be fine. ”

Trinn kicked at the toe of his boot to get his attention and snapped him out of his focus.

“Plates off.”

“Buy me dinner first,” he sneered back without looking up. 

She puffed out a low chuckle. “Savin’ your sorry shebs wasn’t enough?”

“I know what I’m worth.”

“C’mon,” she persisted, dropping his pack next to him on the floor. “You wanna stay on the ship? I need to disable that beacon. Then you can sleep as long as you want.”

Crosshair grimaced and turned away from her in protest. His entire life, his plates had been the only thing between him and an untimely death. It didn’t feel right being out of them, much less in the presence of his enemies. 

“What’s the matter, you shy?”

“Forgive me for not trusting that you won’t shoot me in the back the moment I do.”

“We could still shove you out the airlock at any time.”

He stiffened and bristled instinctively before realizing it was a joke. She was joking with him.

“I’ll give you a minute to yourself,” she said as she double-checked that the weapon stores were locked up tight on her way to the door, then turned on heel and pointed back his way. “But don’t try anything, or you’ll have my sister t’answer to.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and gave her a sarcastic two-fingered salute as the door shut behind her before reaching up to unclip his breastplate. He’d lost track of the conversation between the Captain and Commander once Trinn interrupted him, but without the distraction he could hear them again clear as day.

“ I don’t get why they’d send us out here for one stormtrooper. ”

“ Well, maybe we’ve got it wrong. Maybe he is a clone. ”

“ Oh, for sure he is., ” Trinn proclaimed without hesitation, drawing a snort from the Captain.

“ What makes you so sure? ”

“ Well, for one thing- I don’t think a teekay trooper would have survived that mess on their own.”

Crosshair set his chestplate down on the floor and almost laughed at the thought. The TK’s had been trained by Clone Commandos for infantry combat and security. They hadn’t undergone the rigorous survival training that had killed many clones before they had even deployed. 

“They’re not exactly bright, I’ll give you that.”

“ Exactly, and this one’s too smart- gehatyc, ramikadyc.”

“A Commando? You think so?”

“Yeah, they all have the look in their eye- resentment, guilt, instant distrust of anyone that ain’t a brother... ”

“Could be the shell-shock.”

“Or, it’s ‘cause he’s still chipped.”

“And you left him alone!?”

“Relax, Reina. Mal can handle him.”

He wasn’t the only one that was smart. Trinn was observant ( too observant for his liking ), the Captain was cautious. If he’d learned anything about Mandalorians from Skirata and Vau, it’s that they were not to be underestimated. Each was a Commando by their own right, their entire culture had evolved around survival. Mandalore’s heritage had made the Clone army, without their training he and his brothers would have been long dead. 

And this crew was well-trained. If the rest of the Night Watch was half as competent—and he was certain they were—it was no wonder they were giving the Empire a run for their credits. Though their rebellion against the Imperial occupation of Mandalore had just begun, their notoriety had already spread to the farthest reaches of the Galaxy, inspiring other Separatist-allied planets like Raxus to follow suit. 

It was dangerous for him to linger for too long.

“We should have Noei take a look at him.”

“No way. We’re not taking a chipped Commando back to base.”

“Just drop me off at the nearest starport and I’ll find my way,” he cut in from the doorway behind them. 

All three heads snapped around in unison. Trinn’s hand flexed over the blaster on her thigh, Captain Mal braced herself for a fight, the Pilot fixed an intense gaze on him from behind their goggles. His vision blurred, he swayed on his feet. For a brief moment of confusion, in the dimly lit hallway, he saw the faces of his brothers staring back at him in cautious apprehension…

Then Trinn straightened up and shoved Mal back onto her heels with a muttered udesii as she passed. Their pilot-Commander exchanged a glance with Captain Mal, grunted and finally ceded.

“We’ll drop you off at Capital City on Uyter. It’s about a day’s flight out, but you shouldn’t have a problem gettin’ in touch with your friends there.”

“Works for me.”

Trinn motioned him back into the cargo bay, stooped to pick up his armor as he carefully lowered himself back onto the bench, then sat down at the workbench and popped open the backing that protected the circuitry. The distress beacon in his kit exhaled a low, digitized squeal as it powered down minutes later. He was truly on his own now, no one else was coming for him.

And yet, part of him couldn’t help but feel like he should be making better use of the situation he’d found himself in. 

“I knew you’d change your mind,” Trinn offered in the silence that followed.

“You did, did you…?” Stars, this one was as irritating as she was cute. He was starting to wish he was alone again. The sooner the better.

Crosshair sank down into his seat until he was laying flat on the bench with his legs stretched out long, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see her face, but the silence was telling. He knew she was grinning.

[shadestepping]

Well, I hope that I can get the next part out sooner rather than later 😭 Because that reveal will be in the last chapter!

Thank you again for reading!! You are one of like two people that I know are even still reading my fics 🥹

THE BAD BATCH- TRESPASS: “CROSSROADS”, PT. 2

Word Count: 3,179 Characters: Crosshair, Trinn Kryze (Original), Captain Mal Kryze (Original), Commander Reina Darr (Original) Date: 9 rotations after “Kamino Lost”

Crosshair is found by the crew of the Trespass, and offered a lift off of Kamino.

Archive link: [ Crossroads ] [ Part 1 ]

Mandalorians? Was he having a fever dream? 

Well, this was certainly a surprise.

Crosshair stopped in his tracks and took a suspicious step back from the approaching craft. Of all the wayward ships he’d theorized might have picked up his distress beacon, the Night Watch—who had been busy staging their own uprising against the Empire on Mandalore, at least twelve thousand parsecs from Kamino—wasn’t even an honorable mention. 

There was no reason for them to be out this far on the opposite side of the outer rim. And even if they were already within range, the reasons why the rogue warriors of House Vizsla would respond to an Imperial distress beacon were few- most of which did not bode well for his survival. 

An Imperial Commander ranked high on the rebellion’s list of targets, not only as a necessary piece to remove from the board, but as a valuable source of intel. Fortunately for him, all commandos had been rigorously trained to resist interrogation; unfortunately , he’d just spent nine days exposed to constant battering rain, on minimal nutrition and little-to-no sleep. He was starving, sick, weak and paranoid, and high on his last stims. Even the most hardened ARC’s would crack if their Jedi General was to get her hands on them in this state.

Suddenly his ticket off Big Stormy didn’t look so appealing.

Cross squinted, shakily slipped a toothpick into the corner of his mouth, and kept a safe distance from the edge. “You’re a long way from Mandalore,” he drawled with pointed apprehension.

“And you look mighty miserable, standin’ there all by your lonesome.” She grinned with such familiarity it made his stomach churn. “Why don’tcha come in outta the cold and we’ll take you to the nearest starport?”

Hunger pains nipped at his resolve but he didn’t bite. He shifted the pick from one corner of his mouth to the other and further narrowed his eyes as she moved between the support pistons.

“Somethin’ wrong, trooper?”

“You could say that,” he answered with a crooked nod. “Why are you here?”

The Mandalorian furrowed her brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“ Humor me .”

“We were passin’ through and picked up your distress beacon,” she explained as the freighter lowered just enough for him to hop onto the ramp, if he chose. “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of anyone else for at least ten parsecs… nonna whom were rushin’ to Kamino to respond to an Imperial in distress, anyway.”

And there it was, the hook: no ships in range that would consider braving the Kaminoan storms to rescue one lone Imperial. If the Night Watch were convinced enough that they were safe risking a stop, then the Empire really must have abandoned the system.

One arm trembled as he crossed and tucked it under the other, a tell that he needed food and rest soon. “And why did the Night Watch decide to rush to my aid?” he sneered. “Are you really doing this out of the goodness of your hearts? Or are you just hoping for a hostage?”

She was taken aback by the heat in his assumption, but he wasn’t wrong to be skeptical of their intentions. The Night Watch was about as friendly to the Empire as the Republic had been to the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, and it was unheard of for Mandalorians to offer help to their enemies.

“We heard comm chatter about Tipoca’s destruction, so when we saw where your beacon was comin’ from, we didn’t really think twice. The clones helped us once, and we wanted to return the favor.”

He was almost inclined to believe her. These do-gooder rebels were known to have taken in clone deserters and sympathetic parties. If they weren’t looking for a hostage, they were probably hoping to convert one more disillusioned soldier to their cause, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him. They would have had better luck recruiting Clone Force 99 into their ranks, had they come across his brothers rather than him. Swearing allegiance to the Night Watch would have been an easy transition for men in their position- aside from fulfilling their need to ‘do the right thing’, they’d have the security of the clan to protect Omega, stable sources of food and work, and clarity of purpose-

All of which he could have provided, had they just returned to the Empire.

The Empire that had just destroyed their home? The Empire that turned their noses up at the very soldiers who had single-handedly eradicated the Jedi and seized control of the entire Galaxy with one order? The Empire that had made it very clear that the future of their service, their very survival, was not guaranteed…?

Why in the nine hells had he chosen this over his family? For purpose, for stability, for influence ? Fat lot of good that had done him.

Crosshair grimaced, reached up and pressed the heel of his hand into the piercing headache as it shot through his temporal lobe. He hadn’t had a single independent thought that went unpunished, nor a moment of painless clarity, since his chip had activated. 

“... hey- you okay?”

“Do I look okay ?”

He caught the way her face lit up in recognition out of the corner of his eye but didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t need her sympathy—it wouldn’t have helped him anyway—and he didn’t want her empathy. 

A deeper feminine voice boomed from inside the cargo hold, beckoning Trinn to get inside and close the hatch so they could leave. After gesturing back to them to ‘Give me a minute’, she turned her attention back to him and tried again.

“Look- I can only imagine the week you’ve had, but I’d hope you’d still have enough sense t’not look a gift-fathier in the mouth.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied before he could change his mind. Leaving now—after all that time spent gaining ground with Rampart—would be a waste, and he wasn’t about to concede.

“You sure? Maker knows when your next chance will be. Do you really want to sit here for another…” Her voice trailed off and she rolled a shrug to illustrate.

Fierfek , she was right. Not even pirates or scrappers would have bothered withstanding Kamino’s hazards for the promise of a mediocre payday. Crosshair’s throat bobbed at the thought of being stuck on Kamino any longer. Due to his accelerated metabolism, he was already running dangerously low on rations, despite his best efforts to make them last. He could stretch them maybe another week if he bit off just enough to keep himself from starving to death, but he could already feel the weakness creeping into his bones. He was losing muscle density, ketosis was setting in. At this rate, it was either stay and risk an unpleasant death, or leave and possibly be taken prisoner. Had he been at full strength, he had no doubt he would be able to fight back in the case of the latter, but the number of soldiers aboard the craft was an unknown variable. 

And who knew if the Empire would really be back.

His voice cracked as he forced the question. “You’ll take me to the closest starport, no strings attached…?”

“So long as you don’t rat us out.”

The lines in his forehead crinkled, arms dropped and balled his fingers into fists at his sides. He’d have plenty of time to rehearse the conversation with Admiral Rampart about how he had gotten his team killed and survived an orbital bombardment on a city that was now completely underwater. Lying about Clone Force 99’s survival wasn’t an issue, but crawling back empty-handed yet again wouldn’t earn him any favor. At the rate his failures were piling up, he’d be lucky to get an early retirement.

Don’t fool yourself- all you'll ever be to them is a number.

Trinn’s boots scraped as they shifted against the durasteel and turned away. “Fine, I’ll just tell my pilot to turn around-”

“ No ,” he finally conceded with a low, snarling growl. If the objective was survival, the strategy was obvious: control what you can. Even if he ended up in a cell, he’d have food and shelter. His odds of survival were better if he took the gamble of leaving with sympathetic enemies. 

So long as he gave them no reason to distrust him, and nothing to work with. 

Vertigo hit him as he lunged onto the swaying ship. One leg staggered and buckled, and he hit the deck hard as Trinn reacted and reached for his forearm. It slipped out of her grasp until her hand caught at the neck of his wrist and tightly gripped the plating over his hand. His body lurched with all of his weight pulling at his shoulder socket, and whipped his head around to bring him face-to-face with the Kaminoan deep. Sickness rose in his gut as the swell crashed beneath him, and just as he started to black out, he was yanked back into the safety of the cluttered cargo hold with incredible ease. Crosshair groaned as he hit the ground and pressed his fingers into his eyes, writhing on the vibrating floor beneath him.

Another heavier pair of boots approached him from across the room and came to a stop inches from his face, and he looked up into the face of a behemoth of a Mandalorian woman—as thick as he was tall, yet dwarfed him in presence alone—staring down at him with a steely blue, unyielding gaze. Impervious didn’t even begin to describe her.

“Weapons off, Comms and beacons out the ship,” she demanded with a curt nod over his shoulder.

Crosshair sat back on his heels. “Is that really necessary ?”

“Not dealing with you reneging on our agreement, or having your Imperial friends tag us mid-flight.”

He couldn’t fault them for being thorough, but he still hesitated and grimaced in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. He reached for the backup deecee pistol first, then Hunter’s knife which he’d tucked into the plate over his calf, and set them down on the fold-out lockup bench to the left of him. As he reached for his Firepuncher, he leaned forward to give it enough room to swing over his head without hitting the bulkhead, and set it down next to the others with a more reverent touch. 

“Commpad and distress beacon.”

Crosshair grit his teeth and held her gaze with a curled upper lip, unclipped the comm-pad from his vambrace and thrust it out the ship behind him into the raging sea. “Beacon’s wired to the power in my kit.”

“I’ll handle it.” Trinn stepped up behind him and unseated the pack from the mag-plate in his cuirass, then motioned him forward and raised the loading ramp as the muscly woman reached for the vibro-blade and let out a low whistle of approval. 

“I want that back,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed past her into the staging area of the cargo bay and smothered the urge to share that it held sentimental value.

The redhead gripped the hilt and flipped it around and over between her fingers with practiced ease, testing the balance with marveled interest. “Who wouldn’t ?” 

Trinn set his pack down at the workbench against the wall to the right and raised her commpad to signal to their pilot. 

“Sentry-one, we’re clear.”

“ Copy .”

The miniscule shift of directional force as the ship departed the platform disrupted his equilibrium mid-step. One hand instinctively reached for the bulkhead handrail but he instead caught himself on the cargo webbing strung along the walls. His shaky legs wobbled as he pulled himself over onto the bench in the corner beside the interrior blast doors and dropped with all of his weight onto the bare durasteel. Crosshair’s tired eyes fell shut as he drew in a deep breath and released it with a relieved grunt. Circumstances aside, this was already infinitely better than sitting on that platform in the rain.

The female officer folded the bench containing all of his weapons into the wall and secured it for hyperspace, then cast him a skeptical glance before she passed through the doors. Her heavy footsteps receded deeper into the ship until the vibration could be heard no more, and she greeted someone with a curt “ Commander .” 

“ Captain ,” an androgynous voice replied, equally as curt. “ Report .”

“ Found one Imperial, right where they said he’d be. ”

They…? Someone had sent them here for him…? The only people that even knew he was still alive was Clone Force 99, who—as far as he knew—had no affiliation with the Night Watch. If they had friends like that, they wouldn’t have been scurrying from job to job like rats. So who would they have told…? Rebels? The clone underground made the most sense. So they did have contacts somewhere out there looking out for them. 

And he did as well, it seemed. Despite leaving him behind, his brothers hadn’t given up on him after all. They were still giving him chances he didn’t deserve. 

“ So he’s not a clone? ”

“ Doesn’t look like any clone I’ve ever seen… ”

“ Then why are we taking him with us? ”

“ We’re already here, the chakaar looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. You really gonna leave him here to die? ”

“ He’s an Imperial , we gain nothing by helping him, bringin’ him on board the ship is a huge security risk to us. ”

“ Trinn’s disabling his beacon, he has no comms. We’ll be fine. ”

Trinn kicked at the toe of his boot to get his attention and snapped him out of his focus.

“Plates off.”

“Buy me dinner first,” he sneered back without looking up. 

She puffed out a low chuckle. “Savin’ your sorry shebs wasn’t enough?”

“I know what I’m worth.”

“C’mon,” she persisted, dropping his pack next to him on the floor. “You wanna stay on the ship? I need to disable that beacon. Then you can sleep as long as you want.”

Crosshair grimaced and turned away from her in protest. His entire life, his plates had been the only thing between him and an untimely death. It didn’t feel right being out of them, much less in the presence of his enemies. 

“What’s the matter, you shy?”

“Forgive me for not trusting that you won’t shoot me in the back the moment I do.”

“We could still shove you out the airlock at any time.”

He stiffened and bristled instinctively before realizing it was a joke. She was joking with him.

“I’ll give you a minute to yourself,” she said as she double-checked that the weapon stores were locked up tight on her way to the door, then turned on heel and pointed back his way. “But don’t try anything, or you’ll have my sister t’answer to.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and gave her a sarcastic two-fingered salute as the door shut behind her before reaching up to unclip his breastplate. He’d lost track of the conversation between the Captain and Commander once Trinn interrupted him, but without the distraction he could hear them again clear as day.

“ I don’t get why they’d send us out here for one stormtrooper. ”

“ Well, maybe we’ve got it wrong. Maybe he is a clone. ”

“ Oh, for sure he is., ” Trinn proclaimed without hesitation, drawing a snort from the Captain.

“ What makes you so sure? ”

“ Well, for one thing- I don’t think a teekay trooper would have survived that mess on their own.”

Crosshair set his chestplate down on the floor and almost laughed at the thought. The TK’s had been trained by Clone Commandos for infantry combat and security. They hadn’t undergone the rigorous survival training that had killed many clones before they had even deployed. 

“They’re not exactly bright, I’ll give you that.”

“ Exactly, and this one’s too smart- gehatyc, ramikadyc.”

“A Commando? You think so?”

“Yeah, they all have the look in their eye- resentment, guilt, instant distrust of anyone that ain’t a brother... ”

“Could be the shell-shock.”

“Or, it’s ‘cause he’s still chipped.”

“And you left him alone!?”

“Relax, Reina. Mal can handle him.”

He wasn’t the only one that was smart. Trinn was observant ( too observant for his liking ), the Captain was cautious. If he’d learned anything about Mandalorians from Skirata and Vau, it’s that they were not to be underestimated. Each was a Commando by their own right, their entire culture had evolved around survival. Mandalore’s heritage had made the Clone army, without their training he and his brothers would have been long dead. 

And this crew was well-trained. If the rest of the Night Watch was half as competent—and he was certain they were—it was no wonder they were giving the Empire a run for their credits. Though their rebellion against the Imperial occupation of Mandalore had just begun, their notoriety had already spread to the farthest reaches of the Galaxy, inspiring other Separatist-allied planets like Raxus to follow suit. 

It was dangerous for him to linger for too long.

“We should have Noei take a look at him.”

“No way. We’re not taking a chipped Commando back to base.”

“Just drop me off at the nearest starport and I’ll find my way,” he cut in from the doorway behind them. 

All three heads snapped around in unison. Trinn’s hand flexed over the blaster on her thigh, Captain Mal braced herself for a fight, the Pilot fixed an intense gaze on him from behind their goggles. His vision blurred, he swayed on his feet. For a brief moment of confusion, in the dimly lit hallway, he saw the faces of his brothers staring back at him in cautious apprehension…

Then Trinn straightened up and shoved Mal back onto her heels with a muttered udesii as she passed. Their pilot-Commander exchanged a glance with Captain Mal, grunted and finally ceded.

“We’ll drop you off at Capital City on Uyter. It’s about a day’s flight out, but you shouldn’t have a problem gettin’ in touch with your friends there.”

“Works for me.”

Trinn motioned him back into the cargo bay, stooped to pick up his armor as he carefully lowered himself back onto the bench, then sat down at the workbench and popped open the backing that protected the circuitry. The distress beacon in his kit exhaled a low, digitized squeal as it powered down minutes later. He was truly on his own now, no one else was coming for him.

And yet, part of him couldn’t help but feel like he should be making better use of the situation he’d found himself in. 

“I knew you’d change your mind,” Trinn offered in the silence that followed.

“You did, did you…?” Stars, this one was as irritating as she was cute. He was starting to wish he was alone again. The sooner the better.

Crosshair sank down into his seat until he was laying flat on the bench with his legs stretched out long, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see her face, but the silence was telling. He knew she was grinning.

[misogirl828]

💕💕💕really enjoy learning more about Reina and your decisions in creating them.

It is definitely dangerous to underestimate Reina. I like that they and Tech look out for each other with a calming technique.

Your quick paintover of Reina is beautiful! 💕💕

I’m really enjoying Trespass: “A Statistical Loss”. Reina is amazing, she has been through so much and is so strong. I would love to learn more about her. From the OC ask game, 🌌 ☁️ ☄️

I'm so happy to hear that they've struck a chord with you. I always worry that people won't give OC's a chance because so many of them end up being self-inserts or Mary Sues (and I know that turns off readers), but I do it anyway because I'm confident that my characters can stand on their own apart from Canon characters, while bringing new depth to the universe. Reina has by far been one of my favorite OC's to-date, I'm quite proud of the work I've done on them.

As a bonus, here’s a quick paintover of how I envision them to look ❤️

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

🌌: What was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them? -- When I set out to write the crew of the Trespass, I had certain squad positions I needed to fill, one of which was for a Pilot.

Because the Star Wars universe is so over-saturated with hotshot male pilots, I decided I wanted this character to be a girl; but then the more I thought about the character's appearance, the more I realized said character was biologically female, but their gender was non-binary.

For their line of work, this pilot needed to be exemplary, someone born to fly but with experience under their belt and the respect of their peers. When I decided they were former military, I had to think of a reason they would have been discharged, and injury in the line of duty was the only thing I could really see that suited them.

☁️: A soft headcanon -- Reina isn’t really “soft”, so I had a little bit of a hard time coming up with one that doesn’t involve attachment to another character. I also already provided a soft headcanon in the last couple I got for them, but here is one for you as well:

When they were in recovery after the first accident, PTSD prevented them from being able to develop normal sleep patterns, and they frequently woke up with nightmares. Noei would sneak into their room when she heard them crying, sit down next to them, and scratch their head / run her fingers through their hair until they fell asleep.

While Reina was in recovery after the Trespass crash, they started doing this for Tech when he couldn’t shut off his mind and sleep. He picked up on the calming effect it had after a few instances, recognized that Reina was subconsciously doing what they knew to be calming, and started returning the favor when able.

☄️: What do people assume about them? Are they right? -- A lot of people see Reina's prosthetics and slim frame and assume they are a helpless damsel... which is unfortunate for the ones making the assumptions, because they are not at all. Their military background means that not only is Reina a good shot, but they're also goddamn proficient in hand-to-hand combat. Their skill has only improved since meeting Mal, as they train a few times a week to keep their skills sharp. They will end a fight as fast as it can start.