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hippielittlemetalhead · 6 months ago

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Never Took The Time (To Forget) part 4.2: Robin's Boy

A.N: Life is kinda sucky right now with job hunting, surviving at my current job, the strains that come with being a caregiver to a family member while maintaining a long distance relationship and just dealing with mental and emotional self-care. So here's this, super late and not beta-read but at least I wrote it.

As always, feel free to yell at/with me in the comments, tags and/or ask box.

Part 1 (Hop fucks up), Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce's Edition), Part 3 (One of Us), Part 4.1 (With a Capital 'P'), Part 5 (Man Of The Hour)

There's not much that surprises Robin Buckley these days. She gets queasy at the sight of ground beef, the big friendly dogs a few doors down at the O'Reilly place make her blood run cold, she can't watch the old Russian movies her dad loves without having nightmares after and she's sleeping with a nightlight for the first time since she was six. But it takes a lot to surprise her.

Seeing the declared dead Chief of Police step out of a sleek black, obviously-secret-government-bullshit car flanked by an agent she recognizes as one of Owens' lackeys from last July when they were making the rounds with Government funded medical care contingent on signing sketchy NDAs? Just par for the course at this point.

Steve's face when Eleven-Jane rushes into the not-dead Chief's arms and it turns into a whole 'Moment'? Said Chief's look of barely interested confusion followed by tired annoyance when Steve drags her in front of him, rambling about Starcourt and new additions to The Party and finally getting to meet 'My Hop'? Yeah, none of that surprises her either. She plays along for Steve, doesn't give Hopper any time to say anything that would take that happy smile off his face or get rid of the way he's practically glowing he's smiling bigger than she's ever seen directed at anyone other than the kids. Tries not to think about the way it makes something in her clench and crouch like a cat getting ready to pounce and bare fangs she didn't realize she had outside of a life and death situation. She introduces herself, maintains eye contact and drags Steve off as fast as she can to do something, anything, that will distract him from trying to catch up like the Byers clan is with the kids and assembled assorted monster fighters.

She's not surprised when she can't stop Steve from stepping up every time Hopper or Joyce or anyone with a badge says they need anything despite his own still healing wounds. She's not surprised when Hop takes it a step too far.

They're at the Hopper Cabin that is steadily becoming the Hopper-Byers Cottage when Hop tells his and Joyce's shared custody bald parasite that Steve is little more than an annoyance he puts up with for the free babysitting service and manual labor and cause he can go up against shit that would give anyone else nightmares while keeping the kids safe and mostly in-check. She's sitting with Eleven-Jane, sewing patches onto one of Hop's old army jackets, (the kid had seen Eddie's battle vest in Steve's car and it had reminded her of her sister Kali and she'd decided she wanted one of her own for the war ahead and then all of the other rugrats had decided they did too so she and Argyle had taken to giving sporadic sewing lessons whenever the kids had the materials to start their own battle attire) when Steve comes round the corner to the back of the property striding with purpose she rarely saw when he was around his kids.

She leaves her unfinished project on the stump she'd been using as a stool and chases after him. She shooes off curious and worried kids, promising to stick with him, keep the walkie close and on, make sure he was safe and didn't run afoul of any demo-beasts or trigger-happy government goons as he made his way to his car and then wherever else he was marching his happy ass.

She hates the fact that when they're both finally back at the little apartment that Owens' yes-men had acquired for Steve when Harrington Sr. decided to be an opportunist prick and kick Steve out for 'not taking care of the house' in the middle of the 'earthquake', that Steve hasn't shed a single tear. She hates that she's not surprised.

He doesn't say anything as he kicks off his Nikes and shuffles over to the 'second-hand' couch they'd gotten from Mrs. Henderson (Steve and Robin were both fully aware she'd just gotten it shortly before Spring break and was in no way in need of a new one so soon, but they both also knew better than to call her out on her kindness). He doesn't look up at her from his spot curled in amongst the throw pillows and blankets they'd been gifted by parents of various members of the party after Hopper and Owens' story that the two of them had saved the kids again from some freak incident like last year with Starcourt. She pulls out the thick quilt they had found in the latest donations bins when Hawkin's government supervised relief force started outsourcing for supplies and basic comforts. He stares at the wall where they'd hung an oversized corkboard dedicated to polaroids and photo booth strips and even some properly printed pictures of the little monster fighting family they'd put together.

She can't pull him out of this, no matter how much she may want to. There's some places his mind goes only Eleven-Jane would be able to reach and neither of them were going to put more on that girl's plate. So she puts on a Bruce Springsteen record she used to hate and curls up as close as she can to him through the quilt and pillows. Every now and then she gets up to get them both water, to grab some crackers to try and coax him into eating and to switch over to a new record or just flip the one on the player but she always comes back to her spot next to her Steve.

"Whatever he said to you, you know it's not true. Right? You're worth more than a dozen undead cops on a power trip." That gets an amused huff.

"Seriously Stevie, the kids adore you, I swear all the moms in Hawkins think you're the best thing since sliced bread and I don't know what I'd do without my personal chump. We're soulmates, remember? One of these days we're gonna mind meld like Spock and McCoy and we'll be unstoppable. I can't make it without my McCoy, Bones."

"I can't make it without you either, you hobgoblin. Thanks Bobby."

The next day is better. Steve is still a little quiet, a little droopy. But he's present and there's a simmering anger underneath his smile that Robin is proud to see him acknowledging but makes her worry about him as he ushers her into his car to drop her off on her rare lone shift at Family Video before he heads out to a quick 'consultation patrol' with some military special operatives to check out something weird by one of the new cracks.

No one had told any of the kids yet, about the cracks starting to spread out in smaller fissures like a slowly spreading infection. Hadn't thought it necessary with Steve and Nancy (both now legal adults and wasn't the government taking full advantage of that) there as a first line of communication while Joyce wrangled a restless Hop as he settles back in and heals and spars with Owens over payouts and government aide for the town and what the growing military presence was and wasn't allowed to do. With the parents occupied the kids had come together tighter than ever, focusing on their injured and recovering from the nightmare fuel that was their spring break. No one noticed.

She can't help the rant she falls into as they drive through checkpoints and past regular civilians being escorted through areas a little too close to a Gate for comfort. She goes on about how half of the soldiers act like Steve is just one of them and the other half treat him with the same cautious curiosity they do Eleven-Jane whenever she makes her way to the 'front lines' these days. She wants to get the weird boy-speak head nods too! Even Nancy gets them, especially when she's walking around with her sawed-off strapped to a jerry-rigged hip-holster. Robin has used Darlin' before, she's speed poured Molotov Cocktails to hand to soldier boys trying not to piss their pants as Steve and Nancy barked orders as they tried to down a demogorgon fresh from the Upside-Down. Where's her battlefield camaraderie?

It makes him laugh and shake his head fondly as he calls her crazy and weird with that soft smile on his face that makes her chest feel warm and fuzzy like her parents' hugs used to when she was 10 and crawled into their bed after having a nightmare. She doesn't tell him to be careful as they turn down onto Main street or to make sure he comes back in one piece as he rolls to a stop in front of the dark storefront. She starts on another tangent about him abandoning her to the drudgery of Capitalism as he gets to frolic in the woods with a bunch of burly men with their toys before he laughingly reaches over her to open her door to start pushing her out of the car. He smiles big and dopey as she practically spills onto the asphalt, still rambling away about neglectful soulmates and abuses of driving power with smatterings of claims that she'll take over his apartment if he dies and use his ashes as fertilizer for the plants he's taken to keeping on the fire-escape outside the living room window if he dares to leave her alone to babysit his hellions.

He shoots back a final, "Love you too Bobby!" before taking off towards where he's meeting the scientists and soldiers he's supposed to lead through Upside Down infected woods. As he leaves her standing on the sidewalk he doesn't make any sort of promise to be safe, to let the government goons just do their job, to make it back to her alive or in one piece. Not even to make it back to her. She plays with the locket she's taken to wearing that holds a curled up braid of hair shades darker than hers or anyone's in her family.

She doesn't watch his car to the end of the street like she might have before Spring Break, after their Starcourt 'adventure', instead she takes a deep breath and unlocks the dumb video store in this dumb town full of dumb people who don't know when to call it quits and just get the hell out of Dodge. She boots up the computer leaving it to warm up while she starts sorting through whatever mess the new shmucks Steve insisted they hire to cover what times the two of them couldn't because of the Arcade (which they had also gone and hired more staff for now that people weren't one tremor away from rioting in the streets) and Upside Down/ government related shenanigans they ended up getting dragged into.

The bell above the door jingles and she has to bite back a groan. "Welcome to Family Video, I literally just got here so you're gonna have to give me a minute before I can help you."

"Afraid we've only got movies round here, officer. You want any other medium of entertainment I'd suggest the arcade or the distribution yard." She won't turn to face him, not sure she can keep her cool if she does right now. Her hands move on muscle memory, shuffling papers into their proper piles and flipping open VHS cases to check if they need to be rewound. "Sorry, guess we'll have to catch up another time."

"I'm uh, I'm not here for a movie." She may have only heard his voice a couple of times and in passing but she didn't call her ears little geniuses for nothing. She forces her body to relax, lowering her shoulders the way Steve taught her to and keeping her voice light like Eddie walked her through, calling on his Theatre Kid skill set to teach the Party how to convincingly lie improvise when being questioned by people who really did not need to know just what was going on in good old Hawkins.

She can hear him sigh and can't help but picture his hand running over the fuzz on his head the way Steve runs his hands through his coif more and more nowadays in a way he never did before Nancy, before he got pulled into this bullshit and Hopper was rumored to be the one signing his paperwork and taking responsibility for him when his parents didn't show up after an almost week long stay at the hospital. "Look, I know you don't like me. And it has been brought to my attention just how much I fucking earned that. But I- I need your help here. To fix it."

There's not much that surprises Robin Buckley these days. She gets queasy at the sight of ground beef and meatloaf covered in ketchup, the big friendly dogs a few doors down at the O'Reilly place she used to pet and give snacks to on her way to and from school make her blood run cold, she can't watch the old Russian movies she and her dad used to stay up late watching together without having nightmares after and she's sleeping with a nightlight by her bed for the first time since she was six. But it takes a lot to surprise her. Jim Hopper might have just done it.

She doesn't stop moving, doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of throwing her off. She fiddles with the sharp little knife she has tucked up her shirt sleeve in the little sheath she and Steve put together between shuffling papers, taps at the button on her vest hiding the mic attached to the walkie talkie that never leaves her pocket these days. When she finally turns to look at him she's not surprised by the thinness of his frame or the way his eyes and cheeks still look a little sunken in. She sees the tired father worried for his kids and his people and his town, angry at the government for their involvment and their stupidity that she had come to expect. She is not expecting the remorse, the fear, she sees looking back at her. She wonders for a moment what he sees when he looks at her, at any of the teens and kids and young adults he's fought alongside trying to stop the end of the world.

"Fine. He'll be back from his patrol-" He looks mildly confused for a moment, meaning Joyce hadn't been passing along even the minimal information Nancy and Steve had been giving her to relay to Hop and the rest of the Party. That would have to be it's own discussion at some point probably. "-in about twenty minutes. You have fifteen. Now why should I help you?"

"You care about Harringt- Steve. You're close, the two of you have been basically Siamese Twins since Starcourt from what I hear. I- I realize that I made a mistake dumb enough shitting Mike Wheeler is making more sense than me, that I fucked up in a way I don't fucking know how to fix. And I am asking. Politely. For your help."

Honestly she's not sure she believes him. Honestly he's surprised her more times in the last five minutes than most anything or anyone else has in the last year. The man has a lot to unpack and the situation with Steve is just a drop in the man's pile of shit he's managed to bury himself under but maybe there's some hope yet.

She checks the watch on her wrist (an obscenely expensive piece Steve got from one of his parents' rich friends at a holiday party he was too young to remember on a leather band that he had outgrown and never got around to replacing) and looks back at Hop. Ten more minutes. "Why are you here?"

Hop groans in that growly sort of way that makes her think of her grandpa Dale, a great bear of a man who had given the best hugs with shoulders to put Jim Hopper to shame. The no-longer-chief runs his hand over his fuzz again, one hand propped on his hip as he shifts his weight to one side and she tamps down the flicker of biting anger at another example of the ways Steve had shaped himself after a man who never gave him the respect or care he deserved.

"I don't know how to fix what I fucked up. Steve's a good kid, I can admit that now. And he didn't deserve my bullshit just cause I couldn't get past old highschool biases. I wasn't there for him like I should have been- like I told him I would be when I signed those papers. But he's not the kid I thought he was, he's nothing like his folks or the other trust fund brats who think they run this shithole town. I don't know what I'm doing. I just know that kid deserves better than I've been doing."

She hums like she's mulling over his little speech to hide the way she's freaking out a little over what to say to all that. Even she doesn't know how she and Steve got to where they are beyond being tortured by Russians for information they didn't have then being drugged out of their minds while fighting inter-dimensional flesh monsters. But she doesn't think that would help Hop much in this situation.

But she thinks she believes him. At least for now.

"Alright, I'll help you with Steve." Hop sighs, his shoulders dropping as he seems to unclench slightly. Seriously, that much tension cannot be good for him after being in a Russian gulag for almost a year. "But not because I think you deserve it. You were right, Steve deserves better, but he wants you and Joyce and the kids to be in his life. Be a part of it. That is the only reason I will help you. He deserves a better dad than the one he's had and for some reason he thinks you're like super-dad."

"I- How the fuck did I not- What the hell?"

Robin shrugs, "The human brain is good at weeding out what it doesn't want to see. You didn't want to see Steve until you had to and that realization brought you to me. So. Ignorance is bliss and all that."

"So what do I do?"

She checks her watch again. "He'll be running late, especially if the fissure he's checking out is as bad as we think it is. So you have time to run back home, get Joyce to make extra of whatever monstrosity of a casserole she's trying to make this week and you get your rugrats to figure out a way to be the last drop off after Steve takes the brats to the arcade later instead of sleeping off whatever knocks he gets on patrol today. Then instead of letting him head home you make him come inside for dinner. Use the excuse of finding out he's been doing patrols if you have to. But you make him go inside and sit his ass down and eat something and you let him just- let him just be, Hop." She's running out of time but there is just so much she wants to get through to him. "Just make him feel like you see him."

"I- I'll try."

"Yeah, sure. Just-" She bites back the vitriol she wants to projectile vomit in his direction. "Just don't hurt him again. He's more than just a babysitter or front lines muscle. And I will make you wish you were back with the Russians if you make him forget that."

"I believe you."

"Good." The bell over the door jingles again and she looks past Hop to see a group of teenagers making their way to the comedies. "Now I have to get to work and you need to not be here by the time Steve comes to check on me. So talk to you later, Chief."

"Right. Thanks for your help, kid."

She shrugs him off as he turns to head out. The teens are watching him not-so-discreetly as they try to act like they're looking through the latest releases. She forgets that the man is as much a mystery as the heavy-duty military forces that have taken over their small town.

"Alright, folks. What are we looking for today?" She still technically has a job to do even if the kids keep their distance from her like they do the rest of the Party who at this point have all been seen either spending time with said heavy-duty military forces or chasing something into the dark of the forest wielding weapons smeared in monster blood, or both. It's going to be a long day.

Tag list (I think this is everyone?)(if your tag didn't work let me know cause they don't always work for me Idk why):

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth @dead-cherry-bitch @irethsune @ink777 @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner @ledleaf @pansexuality-activated @paintsplatteredandimperfect @kinryuuki @yikes-a-bee @altocumulustranslucidus @ohimamarigold @samsoble @sensationalsunburst @xxbottlecapx @y4r3luv @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @rootbeerandmusic @vinteraltus @wonderland-girl143-blog @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @steddie-as-they-go @steveshairspray86 @youdrewstarsxaroundmyscars @i-amthepizzaman @wormapothacary @croatoan-like-its-hot @maya-custodios-dionach @ineffable-monster-romancer @asquareinverona @ellietheasexylibrarian @pukner @bookworm0690 @nightmareglitter @joekeerysmoles @salchica @lawrencebshoggoth @iheartjennaaa @child-of-cthulhu @anaibis @rocochen20 @katdeerly @samcoxramblings

#rambler writes #nttttf verse #Never Took The Time (To Forget)#Robin pov #platonic soulmates stobin #rambler writes fic #stranger things fic #post season 4 #hopper adopts steve #but make it sad #not part of any exchange or big bang #I would love to do one of those but the energy is not with me

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saltwaterburns · 2 months ago

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even my phone misses your call, by the way

Summary: Elle knows perfectly well that it's a bad idea and that she'll probably regret it when she sobers up, but she still picks up her phone and dials the number of the one she misses the most - you.

Pairing: Elle Greenaway x fem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of a slightly graphic event that happened to the reader, allusions to smut, a few y/n's, no happy ending (for now?)

Author's note: It's day 3 of me watching season 2 after Elle left and it's safe to say that I'm still incredibly wounded, so what better way to project my feelings onto everyone else than writing this! :D For a girl who hates reading angst I sure do love writing it, so buckle up. I'm dedicating this to @bbbbadoobee i hope u like it pls dont hate me

Word count: 4,4k+

Elle knows she shouldn't. She left the BAU for a reason, and it's late. She glances at the clock on the wall, wincing as the time reads close to 3am. But as she sits in her bleak living room, her third bottle of vodka sitting unfinished on the table right next to her phone, she doesn't care about making good decisions. She's lonely. Desperate.

Leaving didn't make her feel any better. She's been lonely for years. She found a home within the BAU, and she doesn't think she'll ever be able to get over it. Get over her team, that at one point became her family.

She's drunk, and she's tired. She should go to bed. Instead, she picks up her phone, and calls you. She misses your voice the most.

It's been years. She doubts you'll answer. She listens to how her phone calls once, then twice, and on the third time when you pick up, she relaxes. "Y/n...it- it's me."

"...Elle?" You ask groggily, sitting up on your bed and trying to rub the sleep away from your eyes with the back of your hand. Wait, what? Elle? You voice your thought.

"Wait, what? Elle? Elle Greenaway?"

Her heart immediately lurches towards you at the sound of your sleep-ridden voice. She can see you so clearly in her minds eye, how you're sitting on your bed, the strap of your sleep top falling off your shoulder, how the freckles painted on your skin form constellations, the same ones she used to trace with her lips.

"Surprise, I guess." Elle responds, her tone a bit off in attempt to seem casual. Her heart is racing right now, but her voice remains steady. "Did I wake you?"

You stay silent for a beat. You don't notice it at first, but the hand you just used to pull the blanket tighter around you and now is resting on your lap is shaking. You can feel your throat constricting and your eyes beginning to sting, both from the lack of sleep and the emotions you're feeling.

"Yeah, yeah you did, but it's fine. Is- is everything okay? I didn't know you still had my number."

Her heart sinks, hearing how off you sound. Your voice quivers a bit, and she can only imagine your face right now, probably pinched and hurt.

"Of course I do." Elle says, and her voice softens a bit. Maybe she shouldn't have called. What was she thinking would happen?

"I just..." She struggles to articulate her thoughts as she rubs a hand over her face. "I needed to hear your voice."

"I, um, I miss you, Elle. We miss you, back at the BAU," You whisper, looking up at the pale ceiling of your room, taking a deep breath to force the tears down. "How are you?"

Your question feels like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she can't speak. Because how is she actually doing?

"Oh, I..." She hesitates, and swallows the lump in her throat. "I'm...I'm fine." After a few moments, she adds sheepishly, "And I, I miss you guys too..I miss you a lot."

"Did you continue with some sort of federal work at your new um, home?" You ask as casually as possible, the word home leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, because her home should be here, with you, not wherever she is right now.

She's glad you're not prodding her for more information, asking more questions that would be too difficult for her to answer. But she does cringe a bit.

"...No." She finally replies, and her voice is more than a bit embarrassed. "I went...in a different direction."

"That's, that's good, actually. I hoped that you wouldn't. Thought that it would be better for you to leave this life behind, get a chance to heal."

A moment of silence follows that. You don't know what else to say, so you're twisting a strand of your hair around your finger as you wait. But you've always been curious, always digging a little too deep and as you're speaking to her for the first time in years, you can't help but ask.

"Are you happy, Elle?" Was you leaving us worth it?

She listens as you speak, and her heart hurts because when you say it like that, it sounds like you know what's best for her. She thinks for a moment you might tell her to come back, to heal with all of you.

But you ask her if she's happy instead.

And her heart hurts even more because it's the most difficult question you could've asked her.

"Define happy." She says, finally.

From those two words alone you know that she isn't, not fully at least. The perks of being a profiler, you suppose.

"Can you sleep without waking up in cold sweat? Have you managed to stop reaching for a gun that isn't there? Have you stopped being hypervigilant when walking on the street?"

She swallows thickly once you ask her those questions. And the fact that she can't answer any of them with a yes makes her temples ache.

"I..." Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head as if you can see it. "I don't...no. No, not really." She finally says with a sigh. "I can't sleep, I still reach for a gun, and I'm paranoid as ever that someone is after me."

You rest your forehead against your knees that you've tucked under your chest and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood to keep your tears at bay. All that pain, and and suffering and everything that she's gone through still haunts her, as if her leaving this life behind hasn't had any impact at all.

"I haven't seen you in so long. Did you grow your hair out? Or did you keep the bangs and the bob?"

"The bangs and the bob." She says, and she winces as she realizes how much she actually misses you. If she concentrates hard enough, she can almost feel the ghost of your hands playing with her hair. "I have a few more grays now, though. I'm a real old lady."

You can't help but let out laugh at that, but it comes out wet. You cringe at that. An average person might've missed it but you know that she heard and you know that she has put it together that you're crying. You cringe even more.

"I'm not the youngest anymore either, Greenaway. Sporting a few greys myself under these luscious curls. Thankfully it's not too visible."

You're right - the wetness in your laugh doesn't go unnoticed. Her eyes immediately tear up as well, and she swallows against the lump of guilt in her throat, because she knows she's the reason you're crying right now.

"Yeah, well, you're too pretty to go grey anyway." She's teases right back, but her words are also laced in bittersweetness.

"Always the charmer, huh?" You bite your lip in a smile, feeling giddy for a moment. "Is there, um, anyone special for you nowadays? Are you tied down?"

"No one special, no tied down." She says quickly, maybe too quickly for it to be casual. After a few moments of silence, she adds, hesitantly, "Is there someone special for you right now?"

You shake your head, because how could there ever be someone who isn't her in my bed and in my heart, but then you remember she can't see you so you somehow manage to utter a soft "No."

"There isn't. There hasn't been one, really, ever since you left. You're always in the back of my mind." Your voice quietens as you say the last part.

She can feel her heart start racing when you respond, her body tensing up. She can't believe what she's hearing. There's no one special in your bed, no one in your heart...not even in these last YEARS since she left?

There's this strange, overwhelming sensation that rises up in her. One part of her wants to be angry that you've wasted away waiting for her. But the other part of her, the part that has her heart racing can't help but feel happy. Hopeful.

You keep talking, not giving her a chance to say something in between. "I know what you're gonna say. I can imagine your face and your expression so clearly. You're mad that I've wasted years waiting for you, even though I knew that the chances of me ever seeing you again were close to none. But I just couldn't help it. You can't blame me for that."

She actually laughs aloud at that, because you know her so damn well. She's frustrated, because of course, you've guessed right. She doesn't want you to have waited for her, especially in vain.

She never intended to see any of you again, especially you. And of course, you couldn't help it, because that's who you are. Loyal to a fault.

"You're right, I'm pretty damn frustrated right now." She responds, and her tone is more fond than angry.

"How can you expect me to move on after what we had, Elle? After those nights in the jet? After the nights curled together under the sheets? After we've taken bullets for each other, after I've stitched you up with my bare hands and bailed you out of jail? After that night we spent together right before you left the next morning, leaving me to wake up to an empty bed?" Your voice breaks in the middle of your ramble, and you can feel the hot trails your salty tears are leaving on your cheeks.

"How can you blame me for waiting when you're the only woman I've ever loved?"

You leave her, for the first time in a while, completely speechless. Every event you name flashes before her eyes, so familiar yet so far away. There's so much she wishes she could say, but she's always been a coward when it comes to voicing what she feels.

"Why did you call me, Elle?" You ask, your voice no louder than a gust of wind. Your bed feels extra cold tonight, too large for you to sleep in it alone. You curl up on your side, clutching your phone in your hand.

Why did she call you? She asks herself the very same question, and the guilt begins to chew on her when she realises she doesn't have an answer for you.

"I...." Her voice breaks. "I don't know. I just...I wanted to hear your voice. I missed you, I guess."

Her answer is as unsatisfying as you guessed it would be. For some reason you hoped that she'd confess her own love for you as well, telling you everything you've longed to hear for all these years. But her answer is as vague as always, and the disappointment burns.

"Did you know that Gideon left, too? And that Hotch and Haley got divorced?" You ask meekly, toying with the silky sheets under you.

She knows. She hates herself for it, but she's kept tabs on all the team since she left. She knows about Gideon, about Hotchner's and Haley's divorce, about Haley's ....

Every single time she finds herself reaching for her phone, about to type in a phone number, she has to remind herself that it's healthier for her not to reach out. But each time, it has gotten more and more difficult.

Her voice comes out soft and remorseful. "Yeah, I know, I...I've heard."

Oh.

"I got taken hostage a few months ago. Barely made it out alive, was in a coma for two weeks. Did you know that?"

Her blood runs cold in her veins as you say that, her heart rate increasing immediately. Her hands begin to shake and her eyes widen.

"No. I- no, I didn't know that. You...?" Her voice falters as she begins to ask that question, and she pauses before trying to finish that sentence. "You were in a coma? What happened?"

There's something satisfying about hearing her panic, however cruel that might be. It feels good to know that she didn't reach out because she simply didn't know.

"There was a bomb. I was too close. Hit my head against a block of concrete so hard my skull fractured and my two of my ribs broke off, piercing my lungs."

The moment you say all of that, she actually feels dizzy with panic.

Imagining you lying on the floor in pain, struggling to breathe, struggling to stay alive.. She can feel her nausea rising as her stomach twists.

Elle can't speak as she thinks about all of it. You could've died. She almost lost you and she wouldn't even have known. Would Garcia have told her?

"I'm okay now, though," You whisper softly with a smile, hoping that she can hear it through your voice. "Sometimes I get really bad migraines, but the doctors say I shouldn't have any other complications."

She tries to collect herself, steadying her breath as you tell her that you're okay. Mostly okay, she should say. But you're here, so that's what matters.

"Y-yeah?" She asks, her voice a bit shaky. "How long ago was this, baby?"

Baby. She always used to call you baby. It used to fill you with fluttering butterflies but now it just feels like swallowing acid.

"I think it was at the beginning of the year. It's July now, so 5 months at least." You hum in thought, counting back the months on your fingers. A car drives past your window, the lights flashing, and it feels melancholy. You can't help but let your mind wonder and imagine it's Elle, coming to see you. But she won't, you know she won't.

"Five months..." Her heart aches to think of you going through all of that, dealing with that alone, while she didn't even know. Didn't even check up on you. She hates herself for it, even more than usual. She feels like she's going to throw up.

"Y-you never, did you..?" She can't even get out her question, swallowing heavily. "...call me?"

"...I tried to. I asked Garcia if she could find any way for me to contact you, but she never managed to. You disappeared pretty good on us." You laugh a little, but there isn't any humour behind it. Just a little hurt.

Her heart sinks at your answer, and she closes her eyes in anguish. Goddamn it. Of course you tried to call her. Of course you wanted her there.

"Yeah, I..." She tries to speak, tries to find her words, but she can't. Not when she knows how badly she hurt you.

"M'sorry." She finally murmurs, a bitter feeling bubbling up her throat.

You coo at her. "It's okay, Elle. I'm fine now, aren't I? And you're on the other end of the phone. No need to fret about it now. I didn't mean to make you feel bad with all of this, by the way. I wasn't trying to rub it under your nose. I was just curious if you knew."

She swallows at that. Even now, even after she's abandoned you, left you behind, caused you pain, you're still trying to comfort her. Trying to make her feel better, trying to tell her what she wants to hear.

She doesn't know why she expected something else, but she hates it.

"You're too kind for your own damn good, you know that, Y/n?" Even saying that is hurting her.

You don't know what to say to that. You've never been good with compliments or praises of any sort, so you just blush and change the subject.

"Did you know that Spence and Morgan still talk about you? Oh, Elle would've known this and Elle would've liked that gets thrown around the office pretty often."

A faint smile tugs on her lips and a small laugh escapes her.

Thinking about Spencer and Morgan still having her in their thoughts doesn't make her feel exactly good, but it makes her feel something.

"Really now?" She asks, her voice still a bit rough from earlier, trying to mask her excitement. "What do they say about me?"

"They still value your opinion very highly, even after all this time. It wasn’t always like that, though. Your name has a lot of respect at Quantico now, but it was a very sensitive topic for a good while. You're missed....I miss you, too." I reminiscence, letting my eyes fall shut. If I try hard enough, I can pretend that she's here and that we're talking face to face, not thousands of miles apart.

"Where are you? Are you still in the US? Or did you leave?"

"I'm still in the US," She replies softly, the corner of her lips pulled back in a sad smile. "I'm in New York. I...couldn't imagine going farther than this from here."

"The Big Apple, huh? I've never been. It sounds awesome, though. I'd love to go one day as a tourist, not as a profiler. Fly economy and all that stuff." You laugh softly, turning to lay on your back.

She grins widely because the thought of you walking around New York, on a vacation, having a good time - it seems like a faraway dream to her.

"It is awesome.There's quite a bit to do, and to see. Especially for a tourist that's not on call."

The hours of the night are catching up to you and you can feel sleep pushing it’s dull claws into you, but you don't want to tell her that. Hanging up could mean never talking to her again.

"Is the subway really as dirty as they show in movies?"

She responds with a snort and an eye roll. "It's worse. Far worse."

"Yeah?" you ask, giggling quietly. "You're having hand to hand combat with the rats?"

"It feels like it, honestly," She grins at your question. "Fighting them for a seat, that is. I feel like I've seen more rats and roaches than human people."

You let out a loud laugh at that and cover your face, letting your phone drop from your hand, your heart feeling light.

A genuine laugh escapes her at that, and the sound of it surprises her. When was the last time she had laughed like that? Was it back when she had just started at Quantico?

For a moment, it feels like the years between the two of you have disappeared, and she's in your bedroom, laughing with you as the night deepens. As the noise calms down and both of your breathing returns to normal, you feel tears prickling in your eyes yet again.

"Will I ever see you again?"

Her body goes rigid at that. She was just having a good moment with you, giggling and laughing, and now...her stomach is in knots.

How could she answer your question? She wants to say "yes, of course", but that wouldn't be true. She wants to say "no, probably not", and that wouldn't be fully true either.

Instead, she swallows and says, "I-I don't know, Y/n. I don't know."

You expected that.

"Tell me that I will, Elle. Tell me that you'll be here tomorrow morning, that you knocking on my door will wake me up. Even if it’s a lie. Please tell me." You beg, a sense of urgency and desperation in your voice.

Her heart thumps wildly inside her ribcage as she listens to you. It's like her heart and mind are having a mental battle, because they want completely different things.

She wants to be there. She wants to be the one to wake you up by banging on the door, she wants to see you in all your glory, hair and clothes messed up from sleep, your cheeks puffy...she wants that more than anything in the world.

But it's not so simple. Her mind is reeling with all the reasons why this can't happen, why she shouldn’t grant you the peace of her saying it, but she can't help it. You’ve always been her vice.

"Please tell me that I'll see you tomorrow." you plead again, your voice cracking. Your heart is constricting inside your chest.

Her resolve begins to crumble at your desperation. God, you're begging her. And she can't find it in her to disappoint you.

"You'll see me tomorrow," She finds herself saying, her voice barely above a whisper. It hurts her to say it, because it's a lie. Because it won't be true come the morning, which means she's setting you up for that same disappointment she tried to avoid just now.

You quickly wipe the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand, nodding along, feeling reassured. Kind of.

"Will you- will you hang up, now?"

She doesn't want to. She wants to keep talking to you, but she knows she's keeping you up. She can hear the tiredness that’s laced in your voice.

"Yeah..I should," She murmurs begrudgingly, her voice thick with emotion.

Your resolve breaks.

"I love you, Elle. I don't think I'll ever stop," You can't help but confess, the words feeling like shards of glass leaving your mouth.

Her heart shatters into dust when you say the words. It's the most beautiful and yet the saddest thing she's heard in years.

She knows, of course she does. She’s always known that you loved her. Back when you were sneaking around with each other, when you were convulsing around her fingers, your climax having you cramped up, the three words always fell from your lips one way or another. She just didn’t have it in her to say them herself. But now, she has to cover her mouth to stop herself from confessing the same. Her breathing wavers and her hands shake.

"Don't say that, Y/n. Don't say that," She all but begs, her voice strangled and strained.

"You know that I do. My heart is yours and yours only. You know that, too." you keep on going, your voice thick with emotion.

The words pierce her like a dagger right into the heart. She can't deny it and she can't tell you to stop, so instead, she responds with a soft, broken, "I know, I know you do. And you know that I feel the same.”

"Say it, Elle. Please? Say it properly." You plead her gently, toying with the straps of your sleep top. You suddenly notice that it's one of Elle's old shirts that she left here. You swallow back a sob.

She feels her heart beating erratically as you urge her to say the words. It's such a simple thing, just three little words. Three words that she's wanted to say to you for years, but always held back.

"I love you, Y/n," She finally confesses, her voice quavering. "God help me, I love you."

You laugh softly and close your eyes as you finally let the tears stream down your face freely. Hearing her finally say those three words was probably the most painful thing you’ll ever experience, but it feels euphoric. After all these years.

She isn't sure how to label what she’s feeling. Relief? Anguish? Saying that she loves you should make her happy, but all she feels is a deep aching pain because she knows that it isn't going to change anything. But what’s done is done. She can't take it back now, and she's just made the whole thing so much harder.

"I'm sorry," She apologizes, her voice cracking now. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I love you, I've always loved you, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, honey. You know I'll always forgive you, and this time it isn't even your fault. Thank you for loving me. I love you, too. I'm ready to hang up now, if you want. I know this can't be easy for you either."

She can't speak past the lump forming in her throat. How do you always manage to forgive her? Saying that this time it's not her fault. You're so kind, too kind. But you’ve always been like that, and she feels sick for taking advantage of that. She wouldn’t deserve you even in a million lifetimes.

"Yeah," She manages to croak. "I should go, and you have to get some sleep. It’s late."

"I don't know if you'll call me ever again, but thank you for doing it today. It feels nice, talking to you again. I missed you terribly."

Her heart breaks hearing that you think this might be the last time she ever calls, even though there’s a high possibility that it is. She wants to tell you that she'll call you again, and again and again, but she can't. She can't promise you that. She can't make you false promises, not anymore. So instead she just murmurs, "I missed you, too. Night, baby."

"G'night, Elle.." you whisper, barely audible, and press the end button. A small click sound echoes around the now eerily silent room and you let out a wail, falling on top of your pillows in sobs.

Elle can't move for a few moments after you hang up, just sitting and staring at the wall. She feels numb. Cold. Empty. Why the hell did she do that?

She can still hear the sound of you crying, it was so distinct and full of pain, even through the phone. She's the one that did that, she made you cry. It’s just like the day she left.

With a pained cry, she brings the phone down to her lap and buries her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

You don't know whether to hate or to love her for picking up that phone tonight and pressing that call button. Your heart feels strangely light after finally being able to free itself from all the emotions it’s had to carry over the years, but your soul feels terrifyingly empty. What now? You just go back to your everyday routine and pretend that tonight didn't exist?

The same thought is racing through Elle's mind. There's a small part of her that's glad she managed to hear your voice again, but everything else...god, she just made things so much harder for the both of you.

You're going to wake up tomorrow morning, and there won't be anyone at your door.

That realization, that she did that to you...it kills her. But right now, she can't undo it. What's done is done.

It's stupid, but as you lay on your cold sheets, alone yet again, falling in and out of consciousness, you can't help but hope that you’ll find her behind your front door as the morning comes.

hi please excuse the repetitive words and the medical talk idk if your ribs piercing your lungs is either survivable or puts you in a coma

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #elle greenaway #elle greenaway fic #elle greenaway x reader #elle greenaway x fem!reader #elle greenaway angst #elle greenaway smut #criminal minds imagine #elle greenaway imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x fem!reader #elle greenaway x you #elle greenaway x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n

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corvidarcana · 4 months ago

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the artistic quality of my fancomic has really gone down lately, and will continue to do so, but my sanity has gone up as a result, and that's what matters

#most of my fan projects at this point are legacy things #projects I refuse to leave unfinished because i hate leaving projects unfinished #but it's so hard making content for a fandom youre no longer as invested in skdjfdssdj #so yes I'm lowering my effort on my fancomic but as a result i'm telling that story

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astronautrobot · 2 months ago

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Open images for better quality

OK, two things:

One, this story is post Rise movie.

Two, you might notice a small style change between pages. I mentioned before the Rise guys are kinda hard for me to draw, so you guys are actually witnessing my two-week learning curve for drawing Raph XD

Next part when? So not promising dates now... First page was finished on Oct 16 and I just finished page six. I'll will continue tho, I hate leaving projects unfinished.

Comments, critics, drawing tips for the big guy XD, they're all welcome

(I freaking forgot Raph's shell on the very last panel... Just corrected it)

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kindasleepywriter · 1 year ago

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An Unexpected Visit (Cal Kestis x Mechanic!Reader)

Summary: You find a little metal friend in your lonely workshop on Koboh and you have no idea where he came from. The answer to that question brings you more hope than you thought it would.

Warnings: Small blood mention.

Words: 3.8k

Note: Thought I'd post a little something while I work on the next few chapter of BoP! Pretty sure this is gender neutral, but if im wrong don't hesitate to point it out!!

Koboh was a hot planet to live on even on its coldest days. There was no such thing as frost here, and snow was out of the question. The native population of the planet was used to it, buildings designed to keep out the sweltering air and clothes made of the thinnest materials.

You, however, hated it.

You’d been warned the planet was warm, but no one had quite mentioned how high the temperature really was. You regretted trusting the Ihi Tib that had brought you here more than anything, but you’d used up all your credits on that trip and there was no way in hell to make that money again to leave, not while working here.

You longed for Habo, the little planet you’d decided against in favor of this one. No raiders, no empire soldiers, just nature and its shy inhabitants. No droids either, but there wasn’t any here either, so you didn’t care. Sometimes, you dreamt of reaching its lush forests and mountains and feeling cold drops of rain on your skin.

The metal roofing of your shop did you no good either, heat waves often visible above it. Its only room felt like a furnace even at the best of times, and you weren’t a stranger to the feeling of sweat-soaked clothes sticking to you uncomfortably anymore.

You tinkered with a metal detector that some prospector had brought to you, taking the opportunity of the night’s barely detectable coolness to work on a project. Apparently, it had stopped functioning properly after it’d been dropped into a chasm. By the looks of it, you were surprised it even was in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. Maybe the revenue you’d make from this might be able to pay for new boot soles, yours having almost completely disintegrated because of the burning sand that covered the entire region.

The only sound in your workshop was the harsh grating of your screwdriver against the detector’s metal, as you tried to pry open its chassis. The thing just wouldn’t budge, and you considered whether the boots were even worth it.

A whistling sound startled you, the old screwdriver slipping and taking a chunk out of your palm. You swore and tugged a rare oil-free cloth from the toolbox beside you, hitting your head on your work lamp in the process and swearing again. You pressed the cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding and looked towards the open room to determine where the whistling had come from. The door to the shop was locked, you’d triple-checked it while closing. Was this one of the raider lackeys trying to draw you outside again? You’d fallen for it exactly once and promptly learned not to investigate strange noises you might hear outside, but this sounded like a mechanical whistle, not a breathing being.

The strange whistling sounded again, this time from behind you. You spun on your heels, tied the cloth around your hand, and reached for the rusty rebar you kept by your workstation. Nothing seemed amiss at first glance. Had you imagined the sound? Maybe the heat was getting to you, you hadn’t refilled your water canister since this morning. Dehydration hallucinations were rare for you, but you’d still had your fair share, especially when you’d just arrived to Koboh. Getting used to this planet had been a challenge.

Suddenly a flash of red and white crossed the room, hiding behind a wooden bin you used to store your own unfinished projects. The whistle came again, followed by a few beeps. A droid, you realized. He’d been speaking binary! You’d hardly recognized it, not having heard it since your arrival. Lots of droids, the Ihi Tib had assured you, the bastard.

“Hey little buddy, can I help you?” you called, slightly lowering the rebar but still holding it tightly with your free hand. A series of beeps followed in response. It was mostly unintelligible, but you could make out the meaning of some of it.

“Yeah, I’m the mechanic here, do you need something fixed?”

A scared whistle. You crouched, putting down the rebar at reaching distance from your hands.

“I’ve let go of the iron, I won’t hurt you as long as you don’t hurt me, deal?”

You received no response, but the droid tentatively stepped out from its hideout. It was a cute one, you thought, a little flat head and cubical body supported by its two lanky legs. You could see his eyes focusing and zooming on you, no doubt examining you for any sign of aggression. You raised your hands as a peace gesture, and he stepped closer. He emitted a green light from his position. You laughed at the sudden scan but didn’t move.

From up close, you could see the damage he carried. The side of his left leg was blackened as if burnt, and its small body had a gaping hole that revealed his inner components. No wonder he’d been scared, one more hit and he’d be fried. He looked mostly intact on the inside, but you’d need him in your hands to determine if that was the case. You went to speak but got cut off by the loud noise of your door slamming shut behind you.

“Beedee, I told you to wait while I left to find a spare-”

You squealed at the man’s voice, grabbing the piece of rebar again, wincing as it rubbed against your clothed palm, and jumped to your feet.

A man stood at the entrance of your shop, only a few feet from you. You shakily held up the rebar between the two of you as a threat, the droid incoherently beeping behind you and hitting you with his little leg. You ignored him, and the intruder raised his hands, showing you that they were empty. You could see a metal baton at his side and a pistol strapped to his thigh, but he wasn’t reaching for them despite the threat of your rebar.

“Whoa, easy,” he exclaimed rapidly, “I’m not here to attack you!”

“What do you want?” you called, “Shop’s closed at this hour.” It was fairly late in the night, and not many people were still up at this time apart from you. No one with good intentions, at least.

He took a less defensive stance, increasingly unimpressed at your choice of weapon, or your unsteady hold of it. “My name’s Cal, I’m just here for beedee.” He gestured to the droid. “Come on buddy, we’ve got to get back to Greez.”

The cantina’s owner?

“How do you know Greez?” you asked with narrowed eyes. You’d never seen this man, and he’d never been around here. News spread fast in a village this small, you would’ve heard about it in less than a day. The cantina sometimes welcomed suspicious or dangerous individuals, and you wondered if this new guy was one of them.

“It’s a… long story. I’m just visiting. Beedee, let’s go.”

You examined the man closer, as he was clearly only interested in the droid. Now that the adrenaline had mostly run its course, your mind pointed out how attractive the man was. Sure, his armor-looking leather garments looked like they had seen better days, but it was hard to ignore his soft-swept hair, scatter of freckles and sharp jawline that his stubble didn’t quite manage to hide, not to mention his lean yet muscled build.

The droid, beedee, didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he pushed into your leg again and emitted a series of noises you couldn’t understand.

“Is he always this unclear or is my binary just rusty?” you asked the man hesitantly, keeping the rebar in hand and taking a few steps back to put space in between the two of you.

“He got shot in the middle of a fight, his vocabulator got damaged,” he said. Your grip on the metal tightened. A fight? “I was going to fly to a relay point to find him a new one, but this guy,” he shot a reproachful look at the droid, “Won’t stay put long enough for me to go.”

The droid continued his monologue. The only word you could make out was ‘Mechanic’.

“I’m a mechanic, beedee, is that why you came to see me?”

He near-violently nodded his head.

“I’m sorry he disturbed you, like I said, we need the new component to fix it.” Cal said, shrugging.

You crouched and took a closer look. You could view the injured piece now, its main area intact but its outer edge clearly burnt out. You shook your head. “You don’t need a new one, actually.”

Cal looked at you like you’d grown a third head. “Have you seen the chip? That thing is as good as dead.”

“Not if you reroute the circuit towards his internal commlink instead.”

He blinked. “You’ve worked on droids before?” he asked cautiously.

You nodded. “It’s what I trained for as a teen on my home planet, but I had the great luck of finding a dishonest pilot who promised me there were a lot of droids here.” You gestured to your near empty workshop, embarrassed. “As you can see, not quite the reality of the area. The only ones here are those the raiders keep, and I’ve made it quite clear to them on multiple occasions that they could shove it. Being on their bad side isn’t the greatest, but at least I’m not helping them loot and kill people. Used to work on ships too and loved that, but those are also lacking here.”

He looked at you as if evaluating your body language. You weren’t exactly hard to read; you wore your emotions quite visibly. “Why haven’t you left?” he asked.

“A droid mechanic on a droid-less planet doesn’t exactly have the revenue to jump on a hyperspace voyage. Maybe in a couple years, but at this rate the raiders will have found any stash of money I could keep. Anyways! what I’m trying to say is I can fix beedee if you want.” The droid beeped approvingly from where he stood, jumping up and down in triumph.

Cal seemed to weigh the risks. You didn’t blame him, some unknown mechanic on a near empty outer rim planet didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you knew you could make the repairs easily.

“Alright,” he said defeatedly, “but if a single electrical filament is damaged, I’ll know, and you won’t get a cent.”

You shrugged, his threat not scaring you. The droid already had enough injuries as is, you weren’t planning on adding to them.

Beedee jumped up to the worktable you’d been working at earlier and you pushed aside the metal detector with a wince. The movement pulled on your palm painfully. The droid didn’t miss your reaction and pushed on your injured hand with a foot.

“Just a cut, little guy, nothing to worry about.” You said, perhaps unconvincingly. The screwdriver you’d used was a bit rusty, and you knew you should get a bacta patch to keep an infection from spreading, but you couldn’t afford one. You’d wash it out with water later and hope for the best.

The droid didn’t miss a beat at words and a little vial was suddenly flung up in the air. You didn’t manage to catch it, not having the reaction time you might have with more rest and water in you, but a calloused hand caught it before it could hit the ground. Cal stood next to you, offering the tube in an open hand

“A stim?” you exclaimed, picking it up and examining it, “I haven’t seen one of those in years, they cost a fortune.” You glanced towards Cal. “I’m not sure the cut warrants using one.” you added.

The man just folded his arms and leaned against the table. “If beedee says you need one, I wouldn’t argue, or else you’ll be arguing with him all night.” he said.

You mumbled a soft thank you as you injected the stim, your hands already feeling much better after only a few seconds. You took off the cloth and despite the dark red that coated your hand, the cut had all but disappeared, leaving only a thin pink line behind. You scrubbed the dry blood off as best you could and turned towards the droid again.

He sat in front of you, presenting his exposed wiring. You picked up your smallest welder and started working, self-conscious of your beat-up tools. You could feel Cal leaning in with each detailed movement you made, unquestionably watching the process to learn how to do it himself. You worked as diligently as you could despite your focus trailing occasionally to the man that held close to your side. The slight reprieve the night air provided seemed gone, his warmth seeping into your skin.

It wasn’t a complicated job, you just needed to reroute the processor to the commlink to translate the droid’s processes into clear binary code to then bypass the burnt translator located on the edge of the vocabulator. It was a trick that was specific to this type of vocabulator though, so it wasn’t a well-known process.

You finished with the rerouting, satisfied by the clear binary beedee could now emit as he properly introduced himself to you. And idea shot through you and you slipped out from Cal’s side to reach for your spare parts bin. You rummaged through it for a moment, the droid sending you a questioning whistle.

“Wait a minute! I know I’ve got it somewhere here…” you grumbled. “Ah-ah! Here it is.”

You held out a grey piece of thin durasteel as you sauntered back to the waiting duo, grabbing your heat gun along the way. “I think I can give you a temporary fix for your casing, let me just… There! It doesn’t match your colors, but it should do the trick.” You slid a newly shaped metal plate over the spot where the casing had melted away, grinning at its sturdiness. “This won’t fix it forever; I’d need a little more time to make an entirely new one and to make it the right color, but this should keep your components safe for a while!”

BD-1, as you now knew him, spun around in circles as he tried to check out his new part. You took out a small mirror from a drawer and held it up to him so he could see. He let out a string of excited beeps and whistles, repeatedly asking Cal to look at his ‘cool looking patch’. You glanced to the man on your side and discovered him watching you intently with a small smile. You felt your cheeks heating under his stare and scuttled back a few steps.

“Uhm, I hope this all works out until you’re able to find new parts, you guys! I could get started on a new custom permanent case too, so beedee doesn’t lose his usual flair.” BD-1 whistled in approval. “Shouldn’t take me more than a few days, maybe 5 at most, if you’re interested.”

Cal nodded, his intense gaze not faltering. “I think that’d be perfect. How much for today’s work?”

“Oh no, consider it as a repayment for that stim and for the opportunity to work on a droid again. Honestly, I had forgotten how much more interesting it is than working on the prospectors’ tools. As for the pickup, if I’m not here when you come back to get it, that means I’ve gone out to trade for parts. I’ll leave the finished casing in this drawer here,” you pointed to the right one, “and you seem to know how to get past the locks. Just close it back up when you leave!”

He laughed at the remark and thanked you for your work on BD-1. The droid gave you a sharp farewell whistle despite its clear disappointment at having to leave already. He climbed onto Cal’s back as the man moved toward your shop’s door.

“Hey,” you called, “if you come around this corner of the galaxy again after picking up beedee’s casing, don’t hesitate to swing by! It’s always nice seeing someone new.”

He turned on his feet, walking backwards for a few steps. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again, don’t worry.” He winked at you, leaving you at a loss for words, and turned back to walk through the door.

After you calmed your elevated heartbeat, you locked up after him, deciding the two unexpected guests were enough for one night. You leaned back against the door and sighed. Maybe you should’ve accepted the money. Cal seemed like a nice guy, but Koboh was getting harder every day. Habo was still on your mind, but you’d settle for anything other than this damn planet. Kriff, you’d even be willing to join a crew of wandering space pirates if that meant you actually got to do something other than retrieve and fix the same old tools over and over again. Maybe one day luck would favor you, you thought, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

-- 9 days later ---

The walk back from trading was always exhausting. The prospectors that held the best materials were currently residing on a high cliff that hid a cave’s opening. Getting up there was arduous, but if you left early enough it was manageable despite the climbing you had to do. By the time you made the trek back, however, there was no escaping the sun’s rays, and the only thing keeping your hands from the burning rocks as you scaled down the cliff was an almost ruined pair of leather gloves. They wouldn’t last another climb, you thought, and neither would your boots.

You’d have to find something to barter with the one villager who made most of the prospectors’ equipment. You didn’t even have money for food this week, but you’d make do, like you always did. Maybe you’d go back to the cantina tonight to offer maintenance on Greez’s bartender droid. His cantina was apparently bringing in more customers this week, so maybe you could find some other work there too.

You were also looking forward to hearing more of the village gossip. You’d heard rumors of a Jedi taking down raiders all over the region when you’d gone for a drink the night before but given that the source of that information was Turgle, you were far from convinced. A Jedi would be hunted down in a minute by the Empire, especially if they used their famed weapon and left witnesses. The fisherman you sometimes saw hanging around the streams, Skoova, had however confirmed that there was indeed a newcomer hunting down raiders for sport.

He hadn’t been very talkative, only describing him as a short-haired man of average height that fought in a poncho. You didn’t know how you felt about someone wearing a poncho on a desert planet, though you did find humor at the idea of the raiders getting their ass kicked by some new guy in a raincoat. Either way, if there was a chance that this not-a-Jedi-even-though-Turgle-says-he-is guy had arrived here by ship, you wanted to find out more no matter his unusual taste in clothing.

You entered your workshop after the long walk back from the prospectors, bracing for the intolerable heat of your metal cage. You stored what little you’d brought back in its rightful place and dragged your feet to your worktable, ready to start working on another tool a prospector had given you to fix. You remembered distantly that Cal still hadn’t swung by to pick up BD-1’s new case.

You peeked inside the drawer and found it empty of the custom case. There were a few credits in there, thankfully enough to cover the material you’d used for the case, plus a couple more. Despite the much-needed money, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, the one day you left your workshop had to be the one when he decided to come here. You sighed and pushed the drawer away, rubbing your eyes with your palms, hoping (and doubting) that he would visit again. You didn’t even know what region of Koboh he was from, you didn’t recognize his accent at all.

A glimpse of white caught your eye before the drawer shut completely. You reached towards the unknown object and found a folded note that you were sure hadn’t been in therebefore you left. You opened it and didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting.

Thank you for the case, BD-1 is practically begging for a couple more designs (to match my ‘rizz’ - I have no idea what that means. He convinced me to wear an old grey poncho I had just so we matched and I fear giving in to the different colored cases will be the start of a slippery slope, but how could I say no to the little guy?)

I’ve gone off-track – What I mean to tell you is that if you still want to leave Koboh, there will be a ship (it’s mine) at the landing pad until 1500 tomorrow. Bring what you need, but I have all the essentials on board. Food and water I mean, and maybe I have a spare toothbrush somewhere too?

Anyway. We’ll figure it out.

I can drop you off somewhere if you want, but I wouldn’t mind a mechanic on board if you’re interested. Can’t guarantee regular hours or absolute safety but hey, still more interesting than metal detectors, right?

This might be my last visit to Koboh in a while.

P.S.: BD-1 wants you to know you’re the only one allowed to fix his leg, and that he ‘requires you on board’. His words, not mine. He shot an electric dart at the last person who tried to repair it (me).

Cal

You couldn’t help but let out a loud celebratory shout as you read. He had a ship, and you were finally getting out of here! No more prospectors whining at the time it took to fix their tools, no bedlam raiders trying to kick through your door in the middle of the night, no need to refill your water supply from the well that stood well over a mile away.

You’d happily make BD-1 a thousand little metal outfits to match Cal’s ponchos if he wanted-

Your mind screeched to a stop. Hadn't that been the outfit Skoova mentioned?

You remembered what Turgle said about the second newcomer, the one he had called a Jedi. You didn’t remember ever reading about that order using guns, but… Cal had been carrying another weapon. The metal handle, you now realized, that was hanging at his side.

Oh kriff.

Had the idea while building the BD-1 Lego set. I meant for this to be just a little 1k meet-cute oneshot, Of course, me being me, i wrote 5k. Edited it a little, and it's as short as I can tolerate lmao

My first time posting for Star Wars! Still not over Survivor despite having played it more than 100 hour in the first two weeks i got it, and having done reruns since. The double-bladed stance has me in a chokehold.

Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!

#Cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #cal kestis x you #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #jedi video games #star wars jedi #star wars #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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