#hunter just wants to drink his caf in peace

[the-good-batch]

Hunter is worried about the influences in Omega’s life

[fanfoolishness]

the waves flowing, the dawn blooming

Hunter and Crosshair have a heart-to-heart, after their girl takes wing. Set directly after the epilogue, stuffed full of soft Dad Batch feels, lots of healing, and Hunter and Crosshair being close again <3. I cried all through the back half, sorry not sorry. ~1900 words.

-

Beach-crickets shivered the last of their evening songs as Hunter and Batcher wended their way back to Lower Pabu.  The house wasn’t far from the cove, and a brisk walk would have done it in ten minutes, but they took their time.  Batcher was eager to follow her favorite smells along the beach, and Hunter waited patiently for her.  His back and knees had warmed up with the walk, but there was plenty to think about.

Their kid was gone.

He didn’t know what to call this feeling in his chest: a deep and full-bodied sorrow, mingled with the fierce pride he always felt every time he looked at Omega, tangled with joy and worry and the longing for more time.  He grappled with it as they followed the familiar path back to their little home, as the stars shimmered among the slowly lightening sky.  

Batcher whuffed softly as they approached the gate.  Light from the kitchen glowed gently through the side window, and Hunter smiled, catching a faint scent of caf.  Batcher scampered up to the door, morning stiffness long forgotten, and trotted inside as it opened.  Hunter followed, slipping off his boots and heading to the kitchen.

“I wondered when you’d be back,” said Crosshair, raising his eyebrows at Hunter.  He sat at the kitchen table with a pitcher of caf and two mugs.  One steamed merrily before him, and he cradled it in his left hand to take a sip.  He never wore his prosthetic first thing in the morning.

“Well… she’s off.”  Hunter drew up a chair and sat down at the table.

A small smile creased Crosshair’s face.  “You caught her?”

“You knew?” he asked.  “Ahhh, of course you did.”  He waved an annoyed hand at his little brother.

“Said her goodbyes to Wrecker and me last night.  Swore us to secrecy.”  Crosshair shrugged, taking a sip of his caf.  “I can’t say no to her.  Never could.”

Hunter chuckled.  He remembered a time, long ago, that that hadn’t been the case; it felt like another lifetime.  “She let me catch her.  She acted like I’d found her out, but she could have hidden her tracks if she’d wanted.”  He sighed.  “I know I was hard on her.”

”You’ve always protected her.  She knows that’s all it was.  Though she did complain about it.”  Crosshair smirked, wearing the same punchable little half-grin he’d perfected in their brief cadet years.  “‘Doesn’t he know I’m not a kid anymore?’”

Hunter groaned, rubbing his face.  He reached for the pot of caf and poured himself a cup.  “I deserve that.”

”Mm-hm.”

He took a sip of caf.  It was bracing, strong, just how Crosshair always brewed it.  He savored it, letting it swirl over his tongue, so much richer and fuller than the stim drinks they used to have in their rations.  He closed his eyes, lost in thought.

The war had never ended.  It just took on a new name.

This is my fight, Hunter.

Why did she have to have one, when she’d already fought so hard?  Didn’t she deserve the peace they’d won so dearly?

”Are you all right?” Crosshair said in a quiet voice, breaking his reverie.

Hunter blinked, glancing over at his brother.  Crosshair regarded him with that cool, observant gaze, the weight of it familiar and steady.  

It was the same look he used to give him in the Marauder on missions during the Clone Wars; but the face giving it was older, softer.  Crosshair’s narrow cheeks had filled in somewhat with the years, rounding the sharp angles he’d once carried.  His gray hair had grown out and gone fully white, curling gently at his forehead and the nape of his neck, except at the old scar at his temple where it had never regrown.  His short white beard held a hint of the same curl.

You can wear it how you like, you know.  We’re defective.  Nobody cares as long as we complete the mission.

Grow it long like yours?  I don’t think so. These blasted curls are a nightmare.  Give me that trimmer, I don’t know how you stand it.

It’s the headband, obviously.

Sure it isn’t cutting off circulation to your brain?

Hunter stifled a laugh.  They’d been so young.  Things had changed so much since those days, and Crosshair was different now… yet still the same as ever.  

They all were, he supposed.

“Just feeling thoughtful,” Hunter said.  He sighed.  “I don't know where the time went.”

“We’re clones.  We never had very much of it to begin with.”  Crosshair’s eyes softened.  “Tech should have had more.”

Hunter nodded slowly.  “He should have.”

He thought of Tech’s goggles, safely stowed on Omega’s little ship, where she could see them with every pitched turn or hyperspace leap.  It was the right place for them, a testament to all he’d taught her.  His breath caught in his throat.

“She told me this was her fight,” Hunter said.  “But she shouldn’t have to have one.  Not again.”  Tantiss was a victory -- and a cruelty -- that should have been enough for one lifetime.  It tore at him, thinking of her taking on another brutal fight, one with no guarantee of victory.  They hadn’t been blind, these years on Pabu; he knew what she was up against.  He rubbed at his chest, taking a deep breath.

Crosshair poured himself another cup of caf.  “It’s not the galaxy we live in, Hunter.  It never has been.”

”When did you get so wise?”

Crosshair ducked his head in one of his rare guffaws, the laugh echoing sharply in the kitchen.  “That’s not wisdom.  That’s just living.”

”I’m not sure the two aren’t the same.”  Hunter took another drink of his caf, but it had cooled significantly.  How long had he been musing? 

“You’re worried about her.”

”And you aren’t?” Hunter asked skeptically.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow.  “Of course I am.”  He gazed down into his mug, tracing his thumb over the top of the cup.  He rubbed thoughtfully at the side of his face with his stump.  “Of course I am,” he said again.  “But — I trust her, Hunter.  If she has to do this, I have to let her.”  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were bright.  He blinked rapidly.

Hunter reached out, taking him by the shoulder and nodding.  For a moment, it was hard for either of them to speak.

Crosshair cleared his throat, and Hunter let his hand fall.  Crosshair tilted his head towards the back door.  “Maybe you should join us.”

”You and Batcher?” Hunter asked.  He did, sometimes.  When memories of Eriadu, Kamino, Tantiss crept in; when his senses jangled, when it was hard to sleep or think.  It wasn’t often that he needed it, but it did help, he’d had to admit.  And he’d seen the changes meditation had wrought in Crosshair through the years, a calm held deep within, so different from the twisted guilt and painful memories that had once defined him.  

“An open invitation,” said Crosshair.  He swallowed, and Hunter could tell he was thinking of Omega, sunny and centered, always happy to join him when she wasn’t sleeping in or off with friends.  

”All right, then,” Hunter agreed.  “If there’s room on that patio for another old man.”

”Who are you calling old?” Crosshair snarked, getting to his feet with an audible creak.  Now it was Hunter’s turn for a sharp, short laugh.

”Both of us, brother,” Hunter said fondly.

They shuffled out to the back patio, Batcher at Crosshair’s heels.  She curled up in her comfy bed on the patio, knowing the routine.  Crosshair pulled out the stack of pillows piled against the side of the house, tossing two down.  The ground had somehow gotten a lot harder in recent years than it used to be, and the pillows helped.

They settled down beside each other, their folded knees brushing.  The dawn was rising, blushes of faint pink and orange and gold nipping at the edges of the deep inky blue.  The beach-crickets had quieted their songs, only to be replaced by the sweet tittering music of the saltbush sparrows and the sandcatchers and the buzzing starthroats.  

Hunter gazed out at the lightening sky, eyes straining as if to catch the glimmer of a ship’s lights.  But there was nothing out there besides the glow of pre-dawn, no lights making their way home.  Omega was gone, and he knew she’d had to go, knew she had to follow what was right just as she always had, and he hung his head, his breath stuttering.  

What were they going to do without her?  Her laughter echoing through the house with Wrecker’s booming joy, her tinkering with Gonky or parts from her little ship at the kitchen table so like what Tech used to do, her wicked banter and her kind understanding with Crosshair --

The soft, trusting way she’d look up at him, when she was small?

Cut had tried to warn him, once.  Tried to tell him what it meant to love a child, to give everything for them, to do what was best for them even when it was so, so hard.  Hunter had thought he’d be able to figure it out.  Turned out he’d had no idea.

He rubbed at his eyes, trying to master his breath, and looked out at the sea.  The dawn was in full bloom now, gold lining the flowers along their patio and glittering in the suncatcher standing at the east boundary.  Hunter relaxed as the light danced around him, reflecting off the mirrors twirling slowly in the morning breeze.  He remembered when Crosshair had shyly shown him what he’d made, his old mirror pucks strung together with shells and colorful stones, shimmering beacons of art instead of cold devices of war.

He glanced at Crosshair out of the corners of his eyes.  His brother sat with his eyes closed, head slightly bowed, his hand and his stump resting atop his knees.  The lines in his face had softened, his expression calm, grounded.  Peaceful.  His breath flowed in Hunter’s ears like waves on the shore, in and out, in… and out.  

Tears pricked his eyes again, and Hunter smiled, nodded, bowed his head, and let his eyes fall closed.

His brother was right.  If she has to do this, I have to let her.  

He knew it, as much as he knew anything.

She knows what to do.  Of course she did; they’d taught her, hadn’t they, Echo, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, all of them.  She’d come through floods and fire, destruction and capture and all-out war, and she’d never stopped hoping, never given up, never stopped loving all of them through everything. Part of them would always be with her in the emblems on her jacket, in her treasured Lula-doll, in Tech’s goggles, in Hunter’s old headband.  And after that, she’d have the memories, long after they’d breathed their last and gone to join their brother.  

Tears dampened his face, but he didn’t mind: a small price to pay for a love this fierce and good.  He breathed in, and breathed out, his breath matching Crosshair’s, melding with the sounds of the waves below.

She’d be brave, just like they’d taught her, just like she’d always been.

He hoped the galaxy was ready for her.

[nahoney22]

Congrats on your 2k followers! You deserve it!

I would like to request something soft and sweet with either Echo or Cross.. ❤

Thanks!

Unpredictable

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 2.3k

Reunited back with his brothers and sister, Crosshair also wasn’t expecting the party of six to be seven when you showed up. A kind hearted civilian who makes sure you’re all in check, Crosshair can’t help but harbour feelings for you as you show him what a little bit of kindness can do.

warnings: fluff for the most part, Crosshair has crush on reader, little bit of angst, mentions of the Empire and imperial Crosshair with chip removed. Enjoy. 🤍

———————————

There was a definite strain on the squad at the present moment with Crosshair returning. He was quiet usually, never being a conversationalist anyway but now he was pretty much mute.

He’d grunt his responses about any topic, stayed out of planning missions and just followed orders without a question.

It was Omega who had definitely made a big effort to bring Crosshair out of his shell but he had once caught her staring at his burn and snapped at her about it.

She apologized straight away and he felt a twinge of regret when he saw her eyes get a little misty. The girl hurried away with her tail between her legs but Crosshair sighed and shook his head at his attitude. He should know better than to be hostile towards her. After all, she had saved his life when Kamino fell.

“Don’t worry, she’ll forget about it.”

Crosshair looks up at the sound of a sudden voice beside him. Your voice.

Right away, Crosshair was intrigued yet skeptical about you. Of course he was wary of new people and had trouble with trust now. After all, he had a chip in his head his whole life that made him lose control. He tried to kill his brothers… but all of these thoughts left when you spoke to him.

Problem was, he wasn’t very good at showing his interest towards you. Often he would be a little moody but for some reason unknown to him, you didn’t seem to mind. Instead, you just smiled at him and moved on about your day. He had a feeling you may have rolled your eyes behind his back whenever one of his brothers saw. But still, Crosshair couldn’t help but stare from afar as you tended to each of his brothers and sister.

“Maybe.” He manages out at long last of staring at you, glancing away as you sit on the chair across from him with a cup of caf in your embrace.

“No, she will. She likes you a lot.” You chuckle, watching as Omega began to climb onto Wreckers back as he did push ups just outside the cockpit door.

Crosshair watched too before stealing a glance your way, watching the way your lips pursed as you blew the radiating steam away from your cup before taking a sip. Your eyes closed, a content look on your face as you drink its contents and let out a little ‘ah’.

“Do you want some?”

A jolt of panic shot through him as he realised he got caught staring, a tinge in his mouth as he tried to swallow down the slight embarrassment. “No.”

You raise a brow, always slightly amused by his lack of manners but you came to the conclusion quickly that he had always been that way pre-Empire. Regardless, you enjoyed his silent company. He never chewed your ear off as much as you like Tech, he didn’t bicker when you wanted a moment's peace like Echo and Hunter did and he certainly did not try to use you as a weight during one of Wrecker’s workout routines. Oddly, the silence was often bliss when you were with him. Also, you could read him pretty well and knew when something was bothering him.

“Alright. May I check your scar?”

Crosshair grumbles internally but he had been aggressively itching it in his sleep, causing it to blister and it had seeped a little.

Tech first addressed it to him with a closer inspection, literally almost crawling in his lap to plant his goggles as close up and personal as he can to inspect the injury but the only person he’d let close to him at this moment in time was you.

Albeit, it was possibly because he did have a little crush on you. He couldn’t help it; you had shown him nothing but kindness which couldn’t really be said for his brothers. Understandably of course. They had tried with him but his temperament was something that needed work on.

“In the bunks. C’mon.” Crosshair gruffs, making his way to the bunks, leaving you behind.

“Lead the way, sir.” Your sarcastic tone rang in his ears and he almost cursed at himself for his bossy attitude when you’re just about to help him. Regardless, he sat on the edge of his bunk as you walked in and began to assess the scarring on his head.

“Does it feel sore?” You ask, head tilting as you analyze his injury and turn away to root for some supplies.

His arms fold over his chest, watching you only when your back is turned before looking down at his feet when you turn back with a spray in hand. “Not at the moment.”

You set the supplies down beside him and stared at him for a moment. You didn’t know what Crosshair was like before. Was he often this sullen? So distant? You felt yourself pitying him and you were so lost in your own thoughts that it took him to clear his throat to gain your attention back. “What are you staring at?”

You jolt a little, eyes looking at his face to see him staring right at you with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry, was just thinking about the best way to go about this.” You say smoothly, covering yourself with a lie rather than saying what you were actually thinking.

“Right,” he shifts a little in his spot, maybe starting to get a little uncomfortable. More so than before. “Just get it sorted or whatever you have to do. Wanna do some training.”

A small smile finds its way onto your lips and you grab some wipes and give him a quick warning that the spray may sting. “That’s exciting! What training are you thinking of doing today?”

Crosshair felt his jaw clenching, uncertain how he could respond just as eagerly as you did. You sprayed at his burn and you were right, it did sting but you were none the wiser if it hurt him. His face looked unfriendly even before the spray went on.

“Just shooting.” He replied.

You hum in acceptance at his answer although it was very boring. Ever so gently, not even realising you were doing it, your hand placed on his shoulder as if to give yourself balance when tending to him. You were using the wipes now, wiping away the excess spray as well as little spots of blood that dried around his skin.

The Sniper stiffened but he wasn’t sure if it was due to the pain or because you were touching him. He kept his head straight but his eyes drifted to the side, seeing your fingers gently rest on his shoulder and he felt different. Almost content that you trusted him enough to touch him.

“You know,” you speak up, bringing him out of his thoughts, “maybe you could take Omega with you?”

That content feeling vanished in an instant, almost annoyed that you would even suggest that. “Yeah? Don’t think the others would let her come with me alone.” He spat and you almost flinched at how he turned from almost calm to bitter very easily.

“Sorry I just thought-.”

“You thought wrong. That kid would get in the way.”

You sigh and pull away from him and instantly Crosshair misses your touch as you turn away and throw the used items away. “I disagree with you. She’d be interested in learning from you.”

“Doubt it.” He grunts. For someone so quiet he can be a right pain in the behind when he wants to be.

“Are you just going to not speak to her? To any of them?” You raised your voice a little, finally showing a sign of annoyance towards him. He was surprised but it wasn’t exactly a shock that you finally snapped at him. He knew he was being difficult but he knew he was gone beyond repair at this point.

He uncrossed his arms, fingers gripped to the edge of his bunk as he saw a certain glow in your eyes. He lost his voice, his reasoning at this point. He had done so much bad he felt as though there was no point of redemption, no matter what he did.

You could see the war in his mind from where you stood and you let out a dejected sigh and folded the medkit up and stowed it away. “Just try, please. I know we don’t know each other well and you don’t have to listen to me but just try.”

Crosshair stares at your back, not saying anything as his eyes squint a little before you turn back around and quickly put a patch on his head without giving him a second glance. “All done. You can go.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, noticing how your usually relaxed shoulders are tense and he thought about your plea. He didn’t want to argue, especially with you so he slowly stood.

You were trying to occupy yourself by slowly packing stuff up, not wanting to seem that you were in a rush to get away but if he was going to be hostile, there was no point in you staying any longer. Even if you found yourself wanting to.

Your ears perked up, hearing some rustling and then a subtle tap to your shoulder.

You glance over to see him holding his arm out to you, something bunched up in his grasp. He wasn’t looking at you but his cheeks were a flaming glow which peaked your interest.

“What’s this?” You question, now turning to face him fully.

“Just… take it.” He winces, looking straight ahead at the door he was almost getting ready to bound out.

You reach out your hand and that’s when he dropped something into it. You pulled it towards you and your heart swelled and your eyes began to water. “Why?” Was all you could ask.

A week ago or how many rotations it was, you had all been in a market place. You were with Omega, glancing at a makeshift store that had little beaded necklaces and bracelets. Your eyes lingered on a bracelet for far too long that when the keeper abruptly went ‘are you going to buy it or what?’, it had caught his attention as he walked on by.

At the time, you had no credits and shook your head, apologising and moved on but Crosshair didn’t move. He looked at the bracelet, then to you as you walked off and then back at it. He didn’t know what possessed him but he knew he had to buy it and so he did. He wanted to give it to you sooner but with his emotions being rattled, he postponed.

He shrugged at your question. “You do too much for us. The others don’t appreciate you.”

“And you do?”

He snaps his head towards you, ready to object but he sees that teasing smile on your lips and watches as you slip it on your wrist. “Thank you, Crosshair.”

“Don’t mention it. Ever.”

You giggled softly, and nod. “I won’t.” He nods and begins to walk away, almost satisfied but pauses when he hears you speak up again. “As long as…”

He looks over his shoulder, raising a brow. “As long as you take Omega with you.”

Conflicted, he’s about to object but you take a step towards him and tap your new and loved bracelet. “Or I tell the others you like me.”

“I don’t like you.” He says, rather quickly. Too quickly to know he was full of it and judging by his cheeks that are still pink, you humble him.

“You’re a good guy, Crosshair. I know you haven’t always been like this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Tell me then, have you?”

He licks his lower lip before yet again, shrugging his shoulders. “I know I haven’t killed innocents before the Order.” He grimaced, looking away from you and bowing his head in shame.

Ever so gently, you reach out to him and tug on his arm so he could face you. “That wasn’t you. You couldn’t help it.” You say softly as Crosshair, surprisingly, let you stroke up and down his arm. The touch was foreign and he felt that odd feeling in his stomach he usually did when he looked at you.

“But-.”

“No buts. Times have changed and your back with your family. You’re not a bad person; you’re just someone that had bad things happen to them. We move forward now.” You say quietly, only realizing how close you two came.

He became rigid, breathing heavily as he scans your face, eyes falling on your lips for more than he would’ve liked. You noticed and he knew you noticed. “I meant what I said. You do too much for us.”

You hum, tilting your head and taking a small step closer to him. “Should I do less?” Your idle gesture to you touching him, his mouth drying but he shook his head.

“No, but you need to look after yourself.” He breathes quietly.

“I’ve got someone like you to look after me.”

At that moment he felt for the first time in a long time accepted. His heart began to race, palms a little sweaty and the look he was giving you was none short of adoring.

He takes a gamble, very unpredictable, and leans forward with two hands resting on your cheeks, noticing how soft you felt before placing a kiss to your forehead.

A gasp escapes your throat, eyes fluttering closed as his lips linger, pulling away for a moment and ever so gently lowers his head. His lips traced along your nose, kissing the tip before he got lower and lower until his lips hovered just over yours. “You’re right. You’ve got me, pretty girl.”

But he doesn’t kiss you. He didn’t want to overstep it. So he pulls back, gently letting you go.

Your heart almost punches its way out of your chest. Your eyes were still closed when he left, only opening when you heard the door whoosh open and spot him making a path straight towards Omega.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying but he had picked up his rifle and left the ship with a beaming Omega running straight after him.

He really was unpredictable.

—————————————

Crosshair Works

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[ladykatakuri]

Coming Home to You

Echo x F Reader

Word count: 2363

Warnings: None really, it has some mentioning of nightmares and sadness and some fluffyness

I used the lyrics of a song to enhance the story i wanted to tell here.

Song: Sleep well my angel by We are the Fallen

Summary: Echo never thought he would ever dance with someone again, until you. He loved you there and then and it only became more

Watching you sleep for so long,

Knowing I can't turn the rain into sun any more

I've given you all that I have,

Now I stand here, too scared to hold your hand.

Afraid you might wake to see

The monster that had to leave

Echo stood in front of you, staring at your soft face with a sad smile. This beautiful person, soft smile on her face while asleep and his greatest love. But despite the deep and intense love that only grew stronger with each passing day, he felt he had to leave, deep inside himself. He was not the same man he once was, the Techno Union made sure of that.

When he was taken by them and they changed his body, something inside of him died. There was no escape, only the off chance of death for him and it was what he longed for the most. He had given up on being rescued and made peace with himself. If he could stop them from abusing his body and mind by dying, then it was alright. He might have even safed his brothers with his death.

Then one day he was found. Found by his brothers, by a crew of misfits and his captain who he admired greatly. Broken and no longer the man he once was, he was safed and had the smallest amount of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to live again. It took a long time to really recover physically and at times he still would find himself wondering how he could have adjusted to the loss of limbs and a normal body. But here he was, alive and with a new family. He still had nightmares and many regrets. His closest friend and brother had died without him around to at least say goodbye. Fives was no longer there to lift his spirit when he felt down in the dumps, but the memory of his fallen brother was greatly treasured and could at times still put a smile on his face.

Then he met you. A waitress at 79s, always kind, smiling  and always ready to make him and his brothers feel welcome. Make them all feel like actual human beings. You never treated them as nothing more than canon fodder or throw away human replicants, clones. To you they were all normal people with names and personalities. You even helped them find their own uniqueness and expres it at times, by painting their armor or figuring out what kind of tattoo would suit them. It blew him away when he first spoke to you and you just smiled at him with that bright and soft smile of yours. You grabbed his comp link as if it was his normal hand and dragged him to the dancefloor. Echo never thought he would ever dance with someone again, until you. He loved you there and then and it only became more, a deeper love and a deeper respect as well. From that moment on it was you and him. You helped him through his nightmares and his insecurities, helped him fight off the flashes of memories that sometimes came all of a sudden and would paralyze him in his tracks. You gave him his space when he needed to be on his own to work through his pain and personal hell, but always nearby when he needed to be caught after falling deep.

' Cause you see the shelter as the storm

Holding wind to keep you on,

You are everything to me, this is why I have to leave,

So sleep well my angel.

“Echo….. Don't leave me….” Four words, muttered in your sleep, but to Echo it was heartbreaking. You had felt something coming, realised that he was struggling more than ever before and even though he smiled and loved you as before, there was something different within. He kept a part of him hidden away from you and though you never said anything about it, you did know. Now, Echo was standing there, staring at the only person in the galaxy he loved more than life itself and he was drinking in your features for the last time. He had to go, you have sheltered him, acted as his shelter through all the storms raging in his mind, but now it was time to protect you from the last person he thought would be hurting you, himself.

Gently bending over you, Echo brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and softly brushes with his lips over yours. You sigh and a smile forms on your lips once more. As you automatically reach to the pillow next to you where he usually lays, Echo whispers. “Sleep well my angel.” One tear slowly falls down his cheek as he turns to leave the room and the only place he truly called home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Under the ash and the lies,

Something beautiful once here now dies,

And the tears burn my eyes,

As you sit there, all alone.

I just want to come home,

It had been several weeks since you last saw Echo. The only explanation you had for his sudden disappearance was a small note and a dried flower that he left on your desk.

Y/N,

I can never tell you how much you mean to me, how much you healed my heart. You stayed with me in the good times and when I went through my darkest moments. I love you more than I could ever say, that is why I had to leave. This is the only way to keep you from falling with me. My love for you is eternal, my wish for your happiness is the reason I ask you to think of me, not with hate but with the gentle smile you always have when thinking about the good times. Be happy my angel.

Always,

Echo

You kept the letter and the dried flower in a small wooden box in your desk. Sometimes you would look at it and cry, most times you tried your hardest to ignore the nagging feeling to take it out and hold it against your heart while in bed. At times you would just sit at your desk when memories flushed your mind and your tears fell without you even noticing it until much later. You would wonder why your cheeks were wet and then remember what it was you were thinking of. “Echo…” Just the mentioning of his name could be enough for you to be withdrawn all day and night, to stay in bed for hours or not get dressed and just sit on your couch as you blankly stare at a holo. Sometimes you would forget to eat and if it were not for your caf addiction, you would also forget to drink, but most times it was just the memory of pain and sadness, mixed with deep love and missing him that were ever present within you as you continued your daily life.

Now you were sitting at a table in a small diner somewhere on Coruscant. It was a nice and calm time to be there and you enjoyed those moments where you could calmly sip your caf, take a bite from your food and doodle away on a padd with the person sitting in front of you. “You know, it would help if you had a better picture of Numa. Now I can only guess the colour of her headdress.” Smiling, you look at the man in front of you when a shiver runs down your spine. You had those at times, at first you believed it was because Echo would be nearby and you would look around the place to find him. Then, when you realised he was never around, you just shrugged it off and moved on. Boil reached over the table and handed you a small piece of paper. “This is it Y/N, thanks for helping me out. I really want to have it on my armor.”

From a small distance. Echo was looking at you. Staring would be a better word to describe it. From the moment he left you behind with only his letter and small gift he felt terrible. His nightmares seemed to have gotten worse and not even his brothers were able to calm him anymore.

Hunter urged him to go back to you and finally talk to you, really talk to you, about everything he went through and still is. But, how could he explain to you that each time he would wake from his nightmares, he would be parazlyzed with fear? That he would see couples happily walk along the boardwalks, holding hands and smiling, dancing to music while in the back of his mind, he knew he was not all man and never enough of a man for you? How he saw you smile when you would see children play and he did not even know if he could ever make you a mother?

Tech would come with explanations as to why he felt this way, why his emotions were all over the place and even came with options for treatment, without having to report it to the doctors back at Kamino. If they were to find out how deep his emotions went, he would most likely be decommissioned or mind wiped. Neither were options to him, because they would mean losing you permanently. At Least now, he could still see you , even if it was from a distance and it pained him immensely.

Wrecker pulled him into a strong hug while he mentioned being his brother and always being there for him. That he could always find him if he needed to talk or wanted to vent by hitting him, or blowing something up. He might not seem like it, but Wrecker had many layers to him and the happy go lucky, destruction loving man was only the surface layer of him. He was always good at cheering up people and making them feel safe.

It was Crosshair that actually helped him decide what he truly wanted. “Just go to her and apologize. You wanna go home right? Stop being a coward and go home.” Flicking his toothpick at him while smirking, Crosshair walked off and left Echo at the diner where he saw you. Crosshair had brought him exactly where he needed to be and the moment he saw you, he knew, he did want to come home. And home is you.

Boil was happy with the work the two of you had done to his helmet. He finally had a small drawing of Numa on it that you helped him draw and color to honor the little sister he and Waxer had pretty much adopted back on Ryloth. Hugging you goodbye, he left with a grin and proudly pulled his helmet down over his head. Now you are back on your own again, ordering another caf. Suddenly a shadow falls over you.

When you look up, you stare into brown eyes, eyes that look at you with deep emotions of regret, fear and love.

“Echo….” Mouth open in amazement you see the man you missed for so long, you longed for and hated at the same time and who is now standing  in front of you. “What…? What are you doing here?” You don't know what to make of this, he left you with a letter and a dried flower as a goodbye and while his brothers did stay in touch as much as they could, he never contacted you again. The guys could not tell you exactly what had happened but you knew they did not agree with his actions either, though they would never tell you.

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

You see the shelter as the storm,

Holding wind to keep you on,

You are everything to me, this is why

“I`m sorry. I`m sorry,  I`m so sorry…..” A tear falls from his eye as he stares at you and his body seems to tremble. You look up at the love of your life as he keeps on apologizing to you, body shaking, head almost exploding with all the emotions that run through you. You do the only thing you can do, you grab his hand and pull him down to your level and kiss him. Full on the lips with the diner as your witness you kiss this man that has been the love of your life all along, who you knew was going through more than you would ever be able to fully understand.

Surprised by your actions, Echo returns your sudden kiss and pulls back. A watery smile forms as he grabs for a chair and sits down next to you. “I…. I don't know how to explain….”

You raise your hand and stop him from talking. “Echo, how could you think I wouldn't understand? I knew my love. The nightmares, the anger and how sometimes you just had to be on your own or with your brothers? I knew and I know.” Suddenly, to his great surprise, you punch him on the arm. “How could you think I wouldn't understand?! I hated you when you just left in the middle of the night! I mean…. I know why you did it, even if you hadn't explained in that letter, but you should have known I understood! You kriffing idiot!” Tears freely fall as you lash out lovingly and Echo quickly grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his arms. Sitting you on his lap, not paying any attention to the other guests of the diner he kisses you. Arms wrapped around you, your head tugged against his neck, you feel his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “I love you my angel. We`ll work through it, I`ll work through it. Always.”

The diner guests clap when they realise what had happened and outside, just out of sight, four men grin and high five as they walk off towards a well known bar to celebrate the happy ending for their brother.

@loth-wolffe @hellothere-generalangsty @reluctant-mandalore @nahoney22

[gmariam19]

Hello! I hit one of those follower milestones that we all like to grin about - thank you! I decided to share something to go with the last moodboard I posted, a story I started ages ago but that stalled out at chapter five. The opening is below, and I'm hoping I can get it going again and post it sometime this fall. I'm sure a few details will change, and I do hope to finish some shorter stories before then. But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy it - thanks for reading! :)

One

Poe already misses the ranch.

It’s been months since he's been home, seen his dad, even had a day off. Spending five days on Yavin 4 is exactly what he needed. He feels relaxed and recharged, ready to resume the job of co-General. He's fairly sure he's gained weight from all the eating and drinking they did, but that was what home was for him: koyo fruit and dark caf, roasted runyip steaks with kibla greens and sweetsand cookies for dessert. He hasn't eaten so well for months, maybe years.

Finn looks fairly content as well. Poe had been nervous about the trip, but it was past time to introduce Finn to Kes Dameron. Poe couldn't remember the last time he'd brought someone home, and he'd been a wreck until the moment his father had stepped forward, raised an eyebrow at Finn's outstretched hand, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Kes's eyes had been bright, and Poe had almost choked up; Finn had been stunned at the warm welcome.

Everything had been perfect after that. In fact, maybe a little too good as Poe had been ganged up on more than once by Finn and his father. But to watch them together, talking, laughing, even cooking (though Finn was a disaster of a cook, so he usually ended up doing the washing) was a joy. It made Poe want a life like that more than anything—a quiet life with someone he loved, near friends and family. It was what peace looked like.

Of course, he would probably be bored after a month, but he could still think about it, couldn't he?

For now, there is still work to do, and part of Poe's plan in flying out to see his dad had been to make a few stops on the way back. The first is Torque, a quick jump from Yavin 4. It isn't the nicest spaceport in the sector, but it's the capital and it’s busy, which means they can blend in and listen, get a feel for what’s going on outside their immediate circle. Finn is meeting with one of Vi Moradi's people to exchange news, someone he'd met on Batuu who happened to be passing through the sector, while Poe is meeting with one of Grakkus the Hutt's pilots for a brief, off-the-record meeting on conditions in Hutt space.

Poe walks to a cantina not far from the landing pads on his own, his senses on high alert. He's in a dingy spaceport in the Outer Rim, a general of the Resistance who still has a large bounty on his head. Armed and aware, he notices immediately when he turns that the street he's on—more of an alley, really—is unusually quiet and empty. Perfect setup for an ambush.

He comms Finn. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he says as quietly as he can. "Good chance someone knows we’re here. Stay alert." Finn confirms the message. Poe unhooks his blaster, speeding up his pace. As he reaches the end of the alley, he senses a presence behind him, and feels a blaster in his back.

"Don't move," says a low voice, a familiar voice.

"Finn?" asks Poe. "What're you—"

The blaster pokes him hard in the ribs, so definitely not Finn (and they don't really play like that in public, anyway.) Poe glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned man, a bounty hunter by the looks of him, though he is close in size to Finn and certainly sounds similar.

"Hands up, blaster to me, then turn around slowly."

Poe raises both hands, discreetly tapping his comm twice as he does, and the hunter takes his blaster. Poe turns and finds himself facing his captor. He's dressed in a black flight suit, with a leather vest and boots lined in red, and he’s armed to the teeth. He's only an inch or two taller than Poe but almost two decades older, short hair and beard shot with grey and a prominent scar running from his temple to his jaw on his right side. He seems familiar, though Poe is almost certain they’ve never met before. Strangely enough, what stands out most are the man’s eyes: tired brown eyes that do not look like the cold, hard eyes of most bounty hunters Poe has met.

The man looks at him with a frown.

"What, not what you expected?" Poe asks. "I get that a lot. It's the hair."

The bounty hunter shakes his head as he pats Poe down, taking his second blaster and a knife. "It's the hair that makes you so recognizable, General," the man says. His voice really does sound like Finn, and his eyes…Poe shakes off the idea. "Maybe if you cut it, half a dozen hunters would stop looking for you."

"Only half a dozen?" Poe asks. "How disappointing. I remember when I was on top of everyone's list."

"Sorry, General," the man says, and there is a wry smile with the strangely apologetic words. "Peace is not as good for business."

"Maybe you need a new business," Poe suggests. He has a funny feeling about this grizzled bounty hunter, as if the man before him is nothing like the image he projects. He doesn't want to hurt this man but talk him out of whatever he’s got planned. Or at least talk long enough for Finn to get there.

"You're actually my last job," the man says, almost conversationally. "There's still people willing to pay good money for your head." He takes out a pair of binders and motions at Poe to lower his wrists. Poe leaves his hands up.

"What if I paid you more?" he asks, lowering his voice and moving closer. "And then we forget this ever happened?" He smiles, turning on the charm, but the man snorts at him, so much like Finn that it’s eerie.

"Lower your arms, General. You can't afford me."

Poe shrugs. "It was worth a try." He slowly lowers his wrists, taking another step closer. Just as the hunter is about to clamp them, he headbutts the older man, sliding a pocket blaster into his palm as he steps back and hits the man with a glancing blow in the arm. The hunter recovers quickly, though, and blasts him in the chest, sending Poe flying backward and into the side of the nearest building. He rolls over and groans, thankful it wasn't set to full stun—or kill. This hunter is even more unusual than Poe thought. The man stands over him and is about to speak when Poe hears the click of a blaster behind them.

"Drop it," says Finn. The hunter turns and shoots so fast Poe barely has a chance to shout a warning. But Finn has good instincts too: he ducks and pulls the blaster from the hunter's hands with his newest Force skill. The hunter looks at his gloved hand in surprise before he tries again with a second weapon, and Finn again slams it aside with the Force.

"I could do this all day," Finn says.

The hunter raises an eyebrow. "Then let’s forget the weapons." He charges Finn with raises fists and they start fighting hand to hand.

Poe drags himself to his hands and knees and slowly stands against the wall, hugging his right side with one hand and wiping blood from a cut on his temple with the other. He hit the building hard and will probably have some colorful bruises soon. He watches the fight for a moment as he recovers from the stun bolt: two highly skilled men, one much older than the other, yet still strong. Poe has the odd thought that it's a bit like watching Finn fight himself in thirty years.

It does not take long, however, for Finn to gain the upper hand and pin the man down, call a blaster to his hand, and press it to the man's neck.

"Yield!" he demands. The hunter got in a good hit and Finn's lip is bleeding, and he's clearly pissed off about it.

"Get off me!" the hunter snarls. "I yield."

"Finn," Poe calls, and tosses him the fallen binders. Finn clamps them behind the man's back and hauls the hunter to his feet.

"Who are you?" Finn demands, but the man looks away. Poe finally figures it out—the clothing, the scar, the stories, and he walks over, moving slowly and still holding his side.

"You're Tenga Idoma, aren't you?" he asks. "I've heard of you, didn't think you worked this side of the galaxy."

"A hunter goes where the bounty goes." The bounty hunter is standing tall and proud, a bruise forming on his left jaw, the wound on his arm small but red and raw.

"I'm the bounty," Poe stage-whispers to Finn, who rolls his eyes.

"Oh, you are both wanted men," Idoma says, laughing bitterly. "I figured I couldn't take you together, so I flipped a chip on who to follow first. I didn't think I'd get my ass handed to me by a former trooper if I followed the pilot."

Poe takes a step forward—always his instinctive response when someone refers to Finn as a Stormtrooper—but Finn stops him with a hand on Poe's arm. He's looking at the man curiously.

"Are you a former trooper, too?" Finn asks.

"I neverserved the First Order." The man spits in the street, so vehemently angry it earns a look of surprise from Finn. "They took everything from me."

"Then why are you tracking us down?" Poe asks. "We're fighting to make sure they don't ever do it again, you know."

The man shakes his head. "I told you, this is my last job. Then I'm done."

Finn looks to Poe with a shrug. "What should we do with him?" he asks.

Poe looks at the man, then back at Finn. The resemblance is almost uncanny. Something—his own instincts, or maybe the Force—prompts him to say, "Bring him with us." He turns to the bounty hunter. "You're under arrest."

"You can't arrest me!" Idoma exclaims, and struggles in his binders, grimacing with pain, but Finn holds tight.

"I'm a general, sure I can," says Poe. Which is not strictly true, but he needs more time with this man.

"What are we going to do with him?" Finn asks. "Why don't we turn him in to the authorities here?"

Poe thinks about what to say, how to say it. "I have some more questions for him," he says. "Come on, let's head back to the Falcon."

Finn looks both skeptical and curious as he comms Vi Moradi's man and explains the situation. Poe calls the pilot he was supposed to meet. The hunter moves reluctantly but does not put up a fight. It feels strange to be taking him in so easily, and Poe can’t help but wonder why—or if something is about to go massively wrong. He tries not to think about who Tenga Idoma might really be, but he can’t help but wonder about that as well.

[redrobinhoood]

no choir | chapter 5, no chorus

AO3 Link | 2700 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 4, Chapter 6

Chapter Summary: Fox, Riyo, and Thire deliberate on what to do next.

Thire leaned into Riyo’s embrace, closing his eyes as he tried to fight back the memories that were resurfacing. She was murmuring reassurances into his ear and for a moment he felt an intense jealousy for Fox. That jealousy rapidly disintegrated as the events of last night continued to come back to him. He remembered Fox holding him, soft words in the language he had known since birth, the argument, the numbness that had eaten him alive. Thire had known a lot of pain in his life, and he had decided that feeling pain was better than feeling nothing at all. He came back to reality to the sound of his name.

“Thire, Thire, don’t go back there.” Riyo was saying, rubbing the side of his shoulder. “Stay here. Don’t think about it.”

Thire sighed and took a long drink of the caf that had been forced upon him. He had a new resolve. “Maybe it shouldn’t be my burden, Fox. But it’s one I’ll gladly bear.” Perhaps gladly wasn’t the best word, but when compared to the utter nothingness he felt at night it suited the emotion best. He looked back down into the mug in his hands. “The five-oh-first clone you killed. Fives. We lost you for a while afterwards. If Thorn hadn’t been there, I don’t think we ever would’ve gotten you back. I can’t watch you go through that again.”

“That was different.” Fox spoke softly, and Thire knew that if he looked up he would find Fox also staring at the liquid in his cup.

“I remember what you said before you collapsed. You said, ‘it should’ve been set to stun.’ Do you remember that you collapsed?” Thire found the strength to look up and found his prediction to be true. If he hadn’t worked beside Fox for the past three years he would’ve thought that the man wasn’t listening, his concentration on avoiding eye contact was so intense.

“Only what Thorn told me.”

“I couldn’t-, I can’t let that happen again.”

“Fox.” When Riyo spoke up both men turned to look at her. “Did you kill Lor Hano?”

“Senator Chuchi, Lor Hano was killed by his own thermal detonator.” Thire said.

“And who told you that?” She asked. When Thire couldn’t answer her, she continued. “Fox, you said you lost your blaster in the explosion. But when I was targeted by that speeder bomb your blasters were fine and you were much closer to that than you were to the thermal detonator.”

“Are you saying I shot him then what, blew up the building myself?” Fox laughed in disbelief. “I think I would remember.” Then his expression fell, and he looked back at Thire.

“Would you remember?” Riyo prompted.

Fox shook his head. “This conversation doesn’t leave this apartment. For the sake of the Emperor, this doesn’t leave the apartment.”

“You think someone in the Senate is doing this.” Thire said.

“I think it’s someone close to the Emperor. One of his aides? Are you certain that it’s not Darth Vader, Thire?”

“Vader was off-planet when Lor Hano was killed.” Anakin Skywalker had been on Oba Diah at the time. “I’m certain it’s not him. He would’ve just killed us instead.” He would’ve killed Thire the moment he stepped out of the immolation chamber. Thire could barely remember hunting down Master Yoda, but he could clearly remember what had followed the hunt. Mustafar. Plastoid melting heat. He remembered kneeling in the burning sand over a body that burned just as hot. A body whose face he recognized from meetings in the Chancellor’s office.

“You know him better than we do.” Riyo said before Fox could question Thire further on the Sith Lord. “Even after, well, last night, you still prefer his presence over the Emperor?”

“If serving the Emperor comes at the cost of my mind, yes. The Emperor is a good man, but I think Stone was right. I think I’m allergic to him.” Thire watched Fox reach up to touch the fresh scar across his lip. The Guard wasn’t the same without Stone. Life wasn’t the same without Stone. Both Thire and Fox were commanders, but Fox was also his commanding officer. Each of them had had a very different relationship with one another.

“I’m sorry, Thire. I should h-.”

Thire waved away Fox’s apology. “It comes with the territory. I accept your apology, but I don’t need your justification spiel. I know it’s because you were busy with Riy- with Senator Chuchi.”

“Riyo is fine, Thire.” Riyo said with a smile, placing her hand on his shoulder for a moment before pulling back. Now that the tension in their conversation was waning, her skittishness around him was returning. “You’ve slept on my couch. I believe that that threw all formalities out the window.”

Thire couldn’t help the light laugh that escaped him. Possibly, his first laugh in months. “We are in agreement there, Riyo.”

“And I believe that we are all in agreement that we need to find out who has been pulling the strings of this operation for months.” Fox said. “My first missing memory not from a traumatic head injury was after the bombing at the Jedi Temple. Thire?”

Thire shook his head. “I don’t know.” He had a clear timeline of his life until his promotion to commander. But after that, fragments. A few clear memories, mostly in the evenings; laughing with Fox and Stone in the barracks, some soft-spoken conversations with Jek and Rys, a conversation in the museum with his brothers and Riyo, the crack of plastoid against marble, the screech of heels against that same marble as they dragged Riyo away. After that, the fragmentation began in earnest. The scent of blaster-fire burned flesh and bacta. His wound or Fox’s? There hadn’t been a scar on his arm before, it must’ve been his. He had been told that there was an interrogation that he conducted on the bounty hunter that he’d brought in. It was because of that interrogation that Fox went to arrest Lor Hano. And then Lor Hano was dead and all of his files were destroyed. Any evidence of his supposed crimes was gone. More fragments. He had woken up in Stone’s arms on many nights, but he couldn’t remember why he’d needed comforting. Now, he believed that he might understand. Sometimes Fox was there, often he wasn’t. Thire thought he may have collapsed once. There were fragments of Jek, Rys, and Riyo floating around but they didn’t form a cohesive narrative. He had depended entirely on his immaculate records in his office to keep the work he did from day to day straight. Then there was order sixty-six and Mustafar. Thire wrenched himself back out from his thoughts. “After the bombing. Sometime after my promotion.”

“Well then, let’s start a list of everyone I had contact with starting at that time and compare that to who you see on a daily basis.” Fox was taking over as the commanding officer now. Thire let him. It was his right after all. “We’ll take this slow, we don’t want this being to know that we’re onto them. And Thire, don’t tell the Emperor yet. He may put himself at risk if he knows that he’s being played. And we can never talk about this in the Senate building. The risk of bugs is too high.”

“You can meet here.” Riyo offered. “Your men will think that you’re working late and sleeping in your offices, even if you don’t mention anything to them.”

“Ri, if we’re found out that puts a huge target on your back. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. And if any being can find out about this, they can find out about us. And our relationship may be the more despicable thing to the citizens of Coruscant.”

Thire nodded and stood, making his way over to where his boots, gauntlets, and helmet lay on the floor beside the couch. When he looked back up Fox was holding Riyo in his arms, pulling her securely against his chest. He let the image burn into his memory. He had served alongside Fox for the past three years. In that time, he had seen the commander bleed, burn, and break, and through it all he never gave up on protecting his men. Thire didn’t know if his loyalty to Fox came from Kaminoan conditioning or from the man’s steadfast commitment to leading from the frontline. In the end, Thire supposed, it didn’t really matter whether his loyalty had been bred or gained, it had certainly been earned. Thire resolved to hold onto this moment, keep it as a fragment in his mind. He’d been in pieces for a long time, a few more didn’t matter if it kept his family whole. Even if he couldn’t save himself, he could save them. He could save Fox from the crushing numbness. He could save Riyo from watching him slip away. Maybe he could pick up his own shattered pieces, maybe not. Rys’ blood still stained his white gauntlets. He would have to break a little more today.

Riyo kept her eyes on the two seated clones in front of her as the speeder made its way through the Coruscant sky. With all the things she could fear right now, the one at the forefront of her mind was that she didn’t shower this morning. Instead, she had selected the most covering outfit she had in hopes of suppressing the smell of ash and blood and the unmistakable smell of clone. She couldn’t have named the smell of the clones with one word, or perhaps many words, but the scent of armor polish, plastoid, combat, Coruscant, cheap soap, ozone, salt, and fried circuitry was distinctly theirs. If another being smelled it on her, she and Fox would be found out in a heartbeat, and this time, they would be dragging Thire down with them. While any trace that still lingered across her skin was covered, her hair was not. She hoped that the sprays she had used to set her hair in place above her head masked the smell. She and Fox couldn’t be found out when he was so close to uncovering such a corruption.

They were onto something, and if they were right, all would be better. The wheels of the Empire could start turning. With whoever it was pulling the strings gone, the Senate could begin to function as it had before, if not better. They could begin to repair their relationships with worlds that had turned to the Separatists and restore peace and trade across the galaxy. The Republic had been divided, but with the right being to bring them together the Empire could be something better. The Imperial Senate could unite to pass regulation across all systems. Already, the Empire was bringing technology to impoverished worlds. A memory stirred, and she quickly brought out her datapad to make a note.

“How are you changing the galaxy today, Riyo?” Fox called back. Of course, he had seen her pull out her datapad in the mirror.

“Bringing technological advancements to the galaxy doesn’t mean that we should discard the local traditions of each world. They need to be preserved in that world’s heritage and should be used in industry in combination with the technology that we will introduce to them.”

“Is this what we sound like when we explain our job to senators?” Thire asked.

“Probably.” Riyo chirped. “When we brought industrialization to Pantora years ago to harvest our silk there were protests in favor of our traditional methods. Now, our economy is flourishing and traditionally harvested Pantoran silk is seen as a luxury. I want to bring that experience to other worlds.” When the speeder landed before the Senate she was the first one to leap out and start towards the Senate doors. Fox and Thire fell into place behind her and when she looked at their shadows that stretched at her feet she could see that they were marching in-step with one another. Likely an unconscious choice. On the rare occasions that she and Fox had walked side-by-side he had fallen into step with her almost instantly.

“Would the two of you be so kind as to escort me to my office today?” She asked.

“As you wish, ma’am.” Fox responded. Of course, he always walked with her to her office when he escorted her to the Senate, perhaps barring one or two days when there had been an emergency. But there were formalities and appearances to consider and Thire was with them today. Not that anyone would know that it was Thire. To them, he was just another guardsman in white armor. She thanked them at her door, shaking their hands and giving Fox’s hand three squeezes. They waited for her to walk into her office before they departed. However, when she opened the door a harsh mechanical breathing greeted her.

“Senator Chuchi.” The shadow from her nightmares said as he rose from her desk chair to greet them. “Commander Fox, Commander Thire.”

“Sir!” Riyo looked back to see the two commanders snap to a salute. The shadow waved his hand dismissively and they lowered their hands.

“Is everything alright, Lord Vader?” Thire asked as he and Fox stepped into the room behind Riyo. So, this was the Darth Vader they had spoken of. Suddenly, Riyo wasn’t so sure that Thire’s faith in the man wasn’t misplaced. Perhaps Vader hadn’t killed Fox at the Temple, but he had still killed his brothers.

Vader waved his hand once more and the door shut behind them. “I thought that I might find Commander Fox here, I didn’t expect you as well, Commander Thire.”

“Senator Chuchi’s alarm system was triggered last night.” Thire said without skipping a beat. “Commander Fox and I are familiar with the senator, so we both went to investigate.”

“Is this about the Jedi, sir?” Fox went straight for the throat of the matter, giving Vader no time to respond to Thire.

“The Jedi is no longer a concern to us.” Vader said, looking from Fox to Thire. “Which I believe you should be glad to hear. The Emperor tells me that one of your captains was killed by the witch. Most unfortunate.” Riyo expected Thire to bristle at the remark, but he remained motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest. Vader turned back to Fox. “Your efforts last night were admirable, if ineffective. The Emperor expects better in the future.”

“I understand, sir.” Fox gave him a terse nod.

When Vader stepped forward the two clones stepped to the side, Riyo following suit to stand next to Fox. As he walked by, Vader turned to look at her. For a moment, her blood ran cold and something inside her told her to run. Then the moment passed, and Vader’s gaze was on Thire.

“Commander, if you would accompany me.”

“Sir.” Thire cast a look towards Fox and Riyo then fall into step behind Vader as he exited the room.

When the door slammed shut, Riyo turned to Fox and grabbed his hands. “He knows.” She hissed. “He knows about us, I know it.”

“Riyo.” He squeezed her hands. “If he knew about us, I would be dead.” He pulled her to his chest and set his helmet against her head. “Things are going to get better. I promise.”

When Fox let her go and stepped back, she reached up to touch his helmet. “I trust you.”

“Sweetheart.” When she blinked up at him in confusion he continued. “Cyar’ika. It’s usually translated as darling or sweetheart.”

“Fox.” She breathed, finding herself speechless. With her hand still resting on his helmet she brought his forehead down to meet hers, pressing her forehead against the white stripe that came down over his visor. “I love you.” She managed to whisper.

“And I love you.” He rose back up slowly and stroked her cheek with a gloved hand. “We’ll find that fresh air one day, I promise. We’ll find a forest. It can just be you, me, and the trees. I promise.”

Riyo knew that those were promises he might not be able to keep. But right now, with Fox standing before her, she could pretend that their fulfillment was truly up to him.

[jedimasteramell]

Three Ways To Say I Love You

Happy RP-nniversary to my dear @uldren-sov. Its been so amazing and I’m beyond appreciative of every story and moment that we’ve had together, and for all my words I can’t explain just how much all of this has meant to me, how much I’ve enjoyed it all, and how awesome it is to have you as a friend. Thank you so much <3

Original Characters // SFW // SWTOR

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i. Daya & Tal

Daya nursed her cup of caf and blinked slowly out across the pinks and purple dudes of a spring Tatooine sunrise. Not yet did she allow the plans for the day to run amok in her head, rather, she savored the freshly-bought beans, the cool scent of the air filter, and the soft beating of foot prints that could only belong to one person.

Wrapping his arms around her, Talcyn rested his head on her shoulder with a yawn, content to return to sleeping right then and there. “You get up too early.” Sleepily, he whined, burying his face into the crook of her neck. 

“Oh habits are hard to break, sleepyhead.” Affectionately, she pressed a kiss into his auburn hair. “Kids more so than military training.”

He huffed in response, muffled by the soft skin of her neck. Tal ran his hands along her waist and down her arms, stealing away the mug of caf. He took a sip over her shoulder, and made a face. She laughed as she took it back from him. 

“Too much sugar?” She teased.

Tal brushed his fingers past her navel, rolling his head back to look her in the eye; gold like the sands in the sunlight meeting the first pale blue light of morning. “I don’t know how you drink that,”

“I can make you a cup.” Daya started to move away but Tal held her fast, and they both watched the twin suns rise up over the horizon. 

“Did you know I’d basically fallen in love with you by the time we left Coruscant?” Tal said, a loving whisper in her ear bearing the comfort of years of companionship.

“So you like to say.” She smiled, and careful of her horns, leaned her head against his. They were quiet a minute more.

“Hey Tal?” 

“Yes love?” 

“Thanks.” With a murmur, Daya set her mug down, laying her arms over his, basking in the low light and their love.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” He smiled and pressed a kiss to her neck. “What about?”

“For coming to talk to me, offer your help, all those years ago on Ord Mantel.” Ever the romantic, she sighed dreamily, snuggling back into his embrace. “I dont know where I’d be without you that day.”

“Well not at home with such a handsome husband and beautiful family. A far more average looking one, most like.” He huffed at the humorous and ludicrous thought: he’d always be Daya’s, and her always his.

Daya laughed, shielding her eyes as the light flooded their little kitchen. “Love you too.”

ii. Astra & Cael

It’d been a long time since Cael had figured to call himself a jedi. Once he was more Sith he supposed, but now, now he was simply himself, at his own peace and balance. 

And with Astra, always with Astra. 

He broke his casual meditation to steal a glance at the darling woman fiing her jewelry in the mirror by the refresher. Even traveling the galaxy as artifact hunters, or well, an overeager archaeologist and her partner the bodyguard, Astra kept herself in beautiful shape, fierce and stunning as much in battle or in an excavation as she did dressed up for a party, or just waking up on their ship. He caught the flash of the worn gold wedding band, and his heart hopped with pleasure. 

Feeling him down their bond, one more pronounced and lasting than the metal ring on her finger, she turned and smiled, narrowing her bright yellow eyes as she sauntered over, well aware at how much he appreciated the sway of her hips. 

“You can touch too if you want.” She teased, stepping up behind him, tilting his head back with both hands to kiss him upside down. 

“You’re insatiable.” A charming and lazy grin split his lips, and he blinked at her affectionately.

“And you���ve had so much practice now, You’ve gotten immeasurably better.” She matched his expression with a wicked grin of her own, playfulness sparking through her eyes. 

Cael groaned, and a blush reached his cheeks before he could stop himself. “That’s true, but honestly Astra, you can’t judge me so harshly, you were my first after all.”

“I try and forget about it.” She grimaced good-naturedly, but there remained a kernel of truth there. Stars he’d been really bad at well.... everything. 

If only to dispel his embarrassment, Cael huffed a laugh and turned, so, still on his knees, he faced Astra, his hands on the back of her legs. “Thank you.” 

“You dont have to thank me for touching me darling, as potent as I am.” She responded wryly, running her scarlet fingers through his dark hair. Cael continued smiling, their banter was half the fun.

“Thank you for staying, when I gave you every reason not to ever trust me again.” 

Her toying expression softened, he’d never stop punishing himself. Maybe that was unnecessary, but it remained proof of his conviction. She knew the truth, could sense it intrinsically in the connection between them. “Thank you for giving me reasons not to.”

iii Azred & Jac

Jac hit the ground with a cloud of dust and an ‘oof’.

His training saber spun away from him across the dirt, as he sensed Azred’s slow prowl come to a halt several paces from him. Jac felt worry, and then humor when he gave the other jedi a cheeky grin, coming off his partner, and readily accepted the hand that he sensed offered.

‘You alright?’ Azred’s thought stole his attention from whatever the older master was saying to the assembled group.

‘Seems like were back to being even.’ Jac rolled his shoulders nonchalantly, amused at Az’s stray reaction to his dust covered robes. 

‘No Im definitely up by one now.’ Az shot back, ‘I beat you also back when we were at that conference on Corellia.’ 

‘Beating me when I didn’t know we were dueling doesn’t count.’ Jac protested in thought.

“Tal’zayor, Lenn. Are you two paying any attention to what Im saying?” The sharp tone of the Battlemaster, punctured the private conversation between the two young knights. Az at least had the deference to look ashamed. 

“We were Master, I apologize on behalf of my friend here.” Azred quickly replied with a nod of defference.

‘Kiss-ass.’

‘Just an ass.’

Unaware of the boy’s private conversation, the older Jedi continued addressing the assembled padawans. “As I was saying, if we examine Knight Lenn’s form you can clearly see....” 

Yawn! Already, Jac tuned him back out, getting a small sense of shame for the act, not sure if it was from Azred, or simply Az’s influence on him. 

‘You really should be paying attention, he’s making some good points about your balance.’ Az scolded him mentally again.

‘Yes, master, of course master, I’ll do better next time master.’ If there weren’t other’s around, Jac would have flourished to complete his exaggeration. He felt Az hold back a laugh. 

‘You’re just grumpy because you’re hungry.’ Even as a thought, Jac picked up the amusement and affection in Az’s voice. About to protest, his stomach rumbled. Azred actually laughed. 

“Im sure Ive missed the joke,” The master turned towards the two of them, the picture of sternness and patience, a balance jac had never managed to find “Just what was so funny?”

“Sorry master, it was me.” Cutting off Az, Jac offered a deeper bow than Az had earlier. “It’s nothing you said, Im just... hungry.”

Jac couldn’t see, but he liked to imagine the old jedi rolled his eyes. “Fine fine.” Came the good-natured response, “Class is dismissed, lets all find something to eat before Jacoac here faints from lack of lunch.”With a murmur of chuckles at Jac’s expense, the cluster of padawans broke off, following the familiar path back to the temple. 

As the group left, Jac tried to elbow Az, missing mostly, but the point got across. ‘You're welcome.’ After so long, thought-sharing came with far more instinct than speaking aloud did.

A surge of affection and teasing rushed down the bond, wrapping around Jac as assuredly as if he’d stepped into a sunbeam and Az had embraced him simultaneously. What a pleasure it was to know they had each other. ‘Whatever would I do without your quick thinking?’ Az hummed absently, and in their privacy, dared an arm across Jac’s shoulder’s pulling the taller man close. ‘Im glad you're here.’ 

Jac left Az to imagine that, flushing with the warmth of the contact, ‘Glad to be so.’

[lukeleiahan]

Something we can rely on

I was having Mara feels, which developed into Luke/Mara feels, so... have this? I guess?

There are days, Mara thinks, when she almost misses serving under the Emperor.

Key word being almost, of course. It's not like she's forgotten the manipulations, or the torture, or all those chains that she'd only seen once she was free of them. And who could forget Vader's wrath, or the innocents that were murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But some days, she does sort of miss the calm of it. Maybe calm is the wrong word for it. But she does sometimes miss the clear hierarchy of the court, and not having to question orders.

Mostly, honestly, because she's pretty darned sure that she'd never have ended up in this situation if she was still the Emperor's hand.

“Why did we have to go for drinks on this force forsaken rock again?” She asks no one in particular, blocking two blaster shots in quick succession while shooting blindly over the greasy table she's taken refugee under.

“It did seem like a good idea at the time.” Skywalker says to her left, sounding infuriatingly calm and controlled even as a part of the roof breaks of and lands not three feet away from them.

Mara rolls her eyes. It's going to be that kind of day, she just knows it.

Mara had not, actually, planned to go on a mission with Skywalker. Indeed, she wasn't even supposed to be in this sector, much less this star system.

But when Karrde had called her on her free evening, after Mara had just put on the nice music and gotten out the good wine, and asked whether she could do him a favor, Tapper had become ill rather suddenly and this needed to be done rather soon, well, she couldn't really say no, now could she? Not when Karrde asks like that. He is her boss after all. And maybe, maybe, her friend as well. At least sort of.

So, she had agreed, and readied her ship. Not that there was much to do, years of being sort of on the run made for habits that were hard to break, even now, when she has a stable job and does not need to hide anymore.

Karrde had sent her the information about the moon she was supposed to check out, and Mara looked it up. She'd told herself that it wouldn't be longer than a few hours, that figuring out some backwater idiots couldn't possibly be that hard.

If she'd known how this would end, she would have told Karrde to fuck of and drank the wine.

A sharp Force warning flashes in Mara's mind, and she ducks not a moment to soon. A blaster bolt burns a hole through the chair behind her, exactly where her head had been a second ago. Skywalker more or less blindly sends a force shove towards their attackers, and it sounds as though at least a few of them felt it.

She risks a glance over the table they've been using as a shield. About twenty bounty hunters are still in sight and on their feet, all armed, though some of them are cursing heartily. Some are lying on the floor, maybe dead, maybe just knocked out.

She lets herself fall back to the floor.

“We're screwed.” She sighs, checking her blaster charge. The recharge light blinks. Of course it does. She can't have good things, obviously. And of course she left her second blaster in the ship, because this whole thing was supposed to be peaceful. Of course.

The backwater rock, a small moon circling around a gaseous giant of a planet in a tiny star system in the Outer Rim territories, was populated nominally by a few farmers, but actually mostly used as some sort of haven for smugglers and sometimes even pirates. Mara's people. At least technically.

There were systems set up to alarm the people of anybody new entering the system, but Mara had been working as a smuggler long enough to recognize them, and even if she hadn't, they were not as subtle as the stuff Ghent and a couple of his friends had come up with.

However, things had started to go wrong as soon as she entered the system, with another ship hailing her almost immediately. At first, she'd thought that even with all her care and skill she had been detected by the smugglers, but when she opened the channel, it was Luke Skywalker who smiled at her.

“Greetings, Mara. I haven't seen you in a long time.” He said, as though they were meeting in one of the big star ship havens on Coruscant or Corellia instead of this far off system.

“Greetings, Skywalker.” She had answered, not suspicious, exactly, given that Skywalker wasn't the type to betray her, but still careful. She remembered the last time she had met him on an Outer Rim world, and how all the crazy stunts she'd been pulled into. She did not want that for today.

“How are you?” He asked, and for a moment, he looked like a farmboy and not like the revered and respected Jedi master. It made him look about ten years younger, and Mara had to admit that it was a good look on him. Not that that mattered. At all. It was simply an … empirical observation.

“Pretty good.” She told him, telling herself to stop looking at his smile. “What brings you to this system?” It came out harsher then she had intended it to, but Skywalker kept smiling.

“I was on a diplomatic mission near Krast, in the Outer Rim. Ended up having to fly between Krast and the neighboring planet Ruest quite a few times, and now I need to refuel.” He smiled again, looking almost bashful. It was really distracting. Mara took a deep breath and stopped herself from shaking her head.

“Want to meet for drinks? I'm sure there's at least one decent bar on that moon.” She wasn't sure why she said it, but technically it was her free day, and catching up with Skywalker could always provide her with interesting and potentially valuable information. At least, that's what she told herself.

The bounty hunters keep up a steady stream of cover fire, too regular for Mara to not think that they have something different planned. A look at Luke tells her that he's thinking the same thing.

“We could make a break for it?” Skywalker suggests, but he doesn't really sound convinced by the viability of it himself. Mara eyes the various tables around them, but they both know that the only door on the other side of the room, behind the bounty hunters.

“Not likely, at least like this.” She answers, and doesn't flinch when a blaster bold strikes so close to her leg that she feels it's heat. She feels her blaster vibrate, and bites back a curse.

“Any chance of back up from your team?” She asks, meaning the New Republic. Not that she'd say no to smugglers or pirates or anyone willing to help them, at this point, but pretty much all of Skywalkers friends are New Republic.

Aside from you, a small voice says. She ignores it.

“Nope. It was just diplomatic stuff, no need for a military back up, and Han and Leia are still on Coruscant, probably playing with the twins right now.” He smiles as he says it, fondness for his family so clear on his face that it's almost endearing.

Mara pushes down the urge to groan. This is a nightmare.

The bar was greasy and sort of creepy, but that was par of the course for smuggler bars of course, and anyway, both Mara and Skywalker had been in way worse bars in their life.

Skywalker smiled at seeing her, which was stupid given that they'd already talked through the com channel. It felt sort of … nice, anyway, which Mara resolutely decided to ignore, because that just seemed like the sort of thing that could complicate her life way more than she'd like.

For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to hug her, but thankfully he stopped and just sort of flailed his arms for a moment before shaking her hand awkwardly. Mara kind of wanted to look away for a moment, because this whole thing was kind of awkward, but she did not. Neither did he. They just stared at each other.

Finally, she told him to get inside, because they weren't going to get drinks out here, after all. He nodded, and opened the door for her. Always the gentleman, she'd said, and he had rolled his eyes but kept smiling.

A Twilek jumps between them suddenly. Mara sweeps his legs from under him, and Skywalker finishes him of with the butt of his lightsaber. She sees him reach under his jacket, pulling something small out.

“Didn't realize you still carried a blaster.” Mara grinds out and throws her own away, the battery having given out just seconds before. Skywalker hands her his. It's old Rebel issue, she notes.

“A soldier stays a soldier. It's, as an old friend would say, a terribly barbaric weapon, but it's also very useful.” He's still smiling. She kind of wants to wipe that smile of his face, but it's also sort of reassuring. Not that she'd ever tell him that.

He points to a hole in the roof that Mara had not seen yet.

“Think we could widen that somehow?” He asks. Mara looks at it critically. The material isn't the best, a lightsaber could most definitively cut through it. The problem will be getting there, though. The bounty hunters are still shooting, after all.

“Any idea of how to distract them long enough?” Mara asks. “Like, grenades or something like that?” She curses herself for not having brought her own, but then again, business deal. Getting attacked had never been part of the plan.

“Left them on my ship, I'm afraid.” Skywalker says. He sends another Force shove towards their attackers, annoyingly non lethal. Not that he wouldn't kill them if necessary, she knows he would, but until forced he won't. Which is annoying, because it makes Mara kind of want to do the same, and that's just not practical.

“There is the caf maker over there. If I hit it, it might blow up. Which could give us enough time to cut the roof open.” She tells him. Skywalker glances in the direction she's pointing, and nods.

Mara lines up her blaster.

They had known something was of the moment they had set foot in the bar. Mara wasn't sure if it was her instinct, the Force, or both. Or if it was the same thing.

But they had both known. They had seen the blasters, not unusual for a bar like this, but the looks in the eyes of the patrons were. The fact that the only free table was the one the farthest away from the door. It was not all that subtle, but it also wasn't so overt that Skywalker was deterred from entering the bar and sitting down, anyway.

Mara had glared at him, annoyed and irritated by his clear lack of common sense, but then again, she'd known that about him since the first day, pretty much. He had grinned, and ordered a caf for both of them. At least no alcohol, Mara had thought.

And then, a group of seven beings had entered the bar, not even bothering to pretend that they weren't there to cause trouble, to catch or kill them. They had pulled their blasters immediately, all at the same time.

The caf maker explodes beautifully, and Mara and Skywalker jump up, cutting the roof open in synch. It's harder than Mara had thought, but finally she feels it giving in. She glances over to the bounty hunters. Most of them are still disoriented, but they're getting back to their feet.

“Let's go.” Skywalker says, and attempts to help her get to the roof. She shakes of his hand and instead gives him a lift. That would be the one thing that could make this whole thing worse, to be treated like a damsel in distress in need of a rescue by the Jedi Master.

Mara blocks a blaster bolt, and sends another back to the bounty hunters, and then Luke's hand is reaching down to help her up. She grasps it tightly, and finally manages to disappear through the hole in the roof.

“The Jedi Master and the Emperor's Hand.” One of the bounty hunters, obviously the leader, had growled. “What a catch. We could become rich with those two.”

“We don't want any trouble.” Luke had said, hands raised in a placating gesture, his voice calm. Mara had discreetly reached for her blaster instead, and checked for her vibro blade.

“We don't want any trouble either.” The bounty hunter had growled. “But the Empire and the Republic are the definition of trouble for poor working people like us. Too much trouble for my liking, really Way too much trouble.”

“Let's just kill them.” Another bounty hunter says, and Mara can see the rest of them agreeing. Skywalker is tensing next to her, and they share a look. Then they kick the table into a defensive position, and well...

That's that.

They make a run for it once they are out of the bar, racing towards their ships. Skywalker waits for a moment, to make sure that she reaches her ship in time, too, which is weirdly protective and annoying, and maybe kind of sweet. Maybe.

She coms him once they've left the planetary atmosphere.

“You good, farmboy?” She asks.There is a smudge of grease on his cheek, and his jacket is ripped at the side, but he's grinning.

“Absolutely. Are you okay?” Mara looks down on herself. Her favorite pair of pants is torn and dirty, but she should be able to fix it. And her hair might be burned at the side. Again.

“No complains.” She says. “Do you have enough fuel to get to the next haven?”

“Sure. I didn't want to risk it before, but now... I'll get there, no doubt. What about you? You didn't finish your job.” He seems honestly concerned, but Mara just shakes her head. She had almost forgotten about her job, to be honest. Which is unprofessional, but also forgivable, given the circumstances, she thinks.

“Karrde wanted to know whether this moon is a suitable place for an outpost. The answer to that is kind of clear. So... I'm good.”

Luke smiles. Mara smiles back. It's awkward, and kind of nice. Mara looks away first.

“Well... I guess... I'll see you around?” Luke asks. He sounds so hopeful that Mara really can't do anything but nod. Only once, though.

“I guess.” She says. She'll probably be busy for the next weeks, and anyway, seeing Skywalker is a public health hazard. But... still.

“You still owe me a drink, after all.” Luke tells her, and she almost smiles again. Almost.

“Only if you'll take a real drink instead of just some weak ass caf.” She tells him, and he beams at her with the power of a full blown sun. Mara wants to roll her eyes, but she also wants to hug him. Which is stupid. She is not going to hug Skywalker, especially not through a com connection.

“I'll call you up when I'm in Coruscant again.” She says, and decides that that can't be too bad, right?

[fanfoolishness]

five denials and a truth (The Mandalorian)

Written for @fake-starwars-fan, who suggested this idea.  Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one time he doesn’t.  Canon-compliant, spoilers for seasons 1 and 2, and gets angsty as hell. I’m so sorry, Din.  Featuring Din, Grogu, Omera, the Armorer, Peli Motto, Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, and Cara Dune.  3800 words.

***

i.

The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows.  Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children.  Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan.  Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.

Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter.  The girl took off eagerly to join the others.  Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.

“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight.  “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him.  My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.”  She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.

“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones.  He shifted slightly on the log.

Omera tilted her head.  He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away.  “Because he isn’t human?”

He shook his head slightly.  “No.  That has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what?  I see the way you watch out for him.  You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly.  “Every parent does it.”

“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down.  Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else?  The less said about it, the better.  “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”

She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips.  “Looks like he has something to show you.”

Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands.  “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly.  “Huh.”  He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them.  Despite himself, he was impressed.  

“Good for you.  Just don’t  -- no!  Drop it!”  He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky.  The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing.  “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”

“Oh,” said Din.  He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet.  “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child.  “Maybe next time.”

The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin.  Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.

“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?”  She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.  

“I’m not what he needs,” Din said.  He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited.  “That’s all.”

***

ii.

The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived.  Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear.  Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life.  The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.

She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe.  The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood.  This one had seen suffering.  It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.

She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child.  She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet.  And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn.  She began to understand.

She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded.  No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them.  He was a resourceful man.  She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.

The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear.  The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear.  They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.

Djarin dissented.  “I’m staying.  I need to help her, and I need to heal.”

His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path.  His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep.  The truth could not be hidden.  A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.

“You must go,” she said firmly.  “A foundling is in your care.  By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

You already are, she wished to say, but she did not.  He was not ready.  Not yet.  Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.

“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk.  “You have earned your Signet.”  Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.  

There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him.  “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable.  “I will wear it with honor.”  

There were certain truths she had long known.  The best warriors did not harden their hearts.  Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste.  Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.  

The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world.  It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.  

She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready.  She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape.  She knew she would not fall this day.  

Beneath her helmet, she smiled.  For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.

***

iii.

Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market.  Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches.  Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed.  He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid.  He’s fine, he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.

As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap.  She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered.  As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.

“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready.  I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the nerve to -- Mando!  Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.  

The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him.  Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms.  The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.

“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said.  “Thanks for watching the kid.  He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor.  Sticky fingers.”  And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time.  Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.

“This angel?” Peli scoffed.  “I don’t believe it.”  Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I was.  I get your point.”

“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din.  The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed.  “I know, I know.  You didn’t mean it.”  He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.

“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf.  “Always a pleasure.  It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”

Din nearly choked.  “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands.  “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys.  Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks…   It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”

Din was still.  The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one.  He didn’t speak.

Peli raised her brows, looking concerned.  “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…”  He swallowed.  “I’m not his father.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said.  “But dads aren’t just a blood thing.  I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all.  You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I would,” he said slowly.  “Do anything for him.”  The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny ting noises against the beskar.  

“But you’re not his dad.”

If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?

You are as its father.

“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady.  “I would die for him.  This is the Way.”

Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion.  “And again, you’re not his dad?  I’m not getting the distinction here.”

He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.  

Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --

Until it is reunited with its own kind --

“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her.  “Thanks again for watching him.  We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”  

He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him.  “It’s noon, but whatever you say, Mando!”

***

iv.

Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away.  Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting.  It was nearly time.  Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.

Time to say goodbye to Grogu.

His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away.  He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock.  He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world.  He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy.  He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.  

He remembered how he’d laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.

Din raised his hands.  They trembled.  

This is what I came to do.  This is for him.

“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking.  “It’s time to say goodbye.”  He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest.  The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum.  He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.

Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee.  He looked at him.  Really looked, though his vision blurred.  I have… I have to remember.    

He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green.  He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate.  He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.

Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip.  Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him.  Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive.  He would never forget them.  

“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered.  “You’ll learn how to use your powers.  You’ll get even stronger.  You’ll see.”  You won’t need me.

Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.  

Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.  

He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body.  Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.

He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch.  He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.

They regarded each other for a moment.  The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant.  She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.  

“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally.  “I cannot train him.”

His legs felt fuzzy and weak.  He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm.  He had to try again, for the kid’s sake.  “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.

The Jedi spoke.  Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi.  He could do this.

The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms.  You’re like a father to him echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before.  He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble?  Weren’t they supposed to tell the truth?

But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.  

He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.

***    

v.      

“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.

It took him a moment to get his bearings.  This wasn’t the Crest.  This was Slave I.  This was Boba Fett.  Fennec Shand was down below.  And Grogu was… gone.

His head reeled. Gone.  Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered.  He’d been stolen, been lost.  Under his watch.

“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back.  His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars.  Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.

“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head.  He lapsed into silence.

“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett.  “I hope it works.  For the sake of the child.”

“You didn’t have to --” Din started.  They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests.  “I’m… grateful for the help.  Thank you.”

Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know.  Before Tython.”

Din stared straight ahead.  He didn’t care about that.  But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer.  “I didn’t know.”  

There; the man should take it as a compliment.  Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.

“I saw how you were with the child.”  Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful.  There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.

“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out.  “I failed him.”

“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out.  “I saw it.  That’s not nothing.”  

“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically.  “Any Mandalorian would have done the same.  The Creed demands --”

Fett sighed.  “You can keep your Creed.”  The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege.  Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.

Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke.  “You were a father to him.  That much was clear.”

Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound.  It hurt his throat.  “People keep telling me that.”

“Are they wrong?”

He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold.  He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies.  He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.

He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face.  “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.

***

vi.

Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.

He’d been half-expecting her for some time.  Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears.  Knew that she’d put two and two together.  Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.

She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded.  She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale.  She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.

“Hey, Mando.”

He didn’t look at her.  Didn’t want to see the pity in her face.  He could hear it well enough in her voice.

“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly.  “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”

“No,” she said.  “I guess it isn’t.”

In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.

“I know it was you,” she said presently.  “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe.  Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed.  Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters.  And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”

“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said.  He took a drink of his ale.  He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.

“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.”  Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side.  He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak.  “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”

Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder.  And sympathy etched in every line of her face.  He looked away, shaken.

“So what?” he asked.  “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”

“They don’t.  They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara.  She finished her drink.  “I have a problem with it.”

He nearly snorted into his foul ale.  “Really.  You’re worried about the Imps.”

“I’m worried about you, Din Djarin.”

He froze.  She’d never used his name before.  Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display.  “Stop.”

Cara flushed.  “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser.  I saw what you did to them.  It wasn’t…”  Her mouth twisted.  “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me.  You know that.  But that was… brutal.”

“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about them?”

“About what it’s doing to you,” she said, her voice flat.  “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for noble kills --”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.

She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface.  “You’re torturing yourself about letting him go.  This isn’t you, Mando.  And I think a part of you knows it.”

The weight of the last several months loomed.  It pressed.  It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking.  He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled.  He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt dirty, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he?  Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --

“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed.  “I know it’s wrong.  I -- I broke the Creed --”

She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder.  She waited, her eyes soft.  

He bowed his head, shaking.  “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands.  “I lost my son.”

My son.

The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him.  Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late.  It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all.  The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.

“I was his father,” he choked.  “What am I now?”

Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him.  In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.