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wanderinginksplot-writes · 3 months ago

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Refuge Chapter Eight

It's finally time for your first mission with Delta Squad.

Continued slow-burn Delta Squad x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,300

Warnings: Anxiety, feelings of alienation, social awkwardness, teasing, minor verbal bullying, brief physical bullying, and general references to weapons and warfare

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You would never get used to traveling this way.

You had watched as the ship left from the hangar bay, directed by a GAR tower as you slowly rose through masses of Coruscanti traffic. Fixer had asked you to step out of the cockpit during takeoff. Well, it had actually sounded far closer to an order, but you apparently made him nervous with the intense way you watched everything.

Still, you had found another transparisteel pane to watch from as the planet fell away beneath you. You were in the air. That had always been something for other people to experience, people on distant planets. Voubosians had nowhere to go and the concept of space flight was more theoretical than something that average people expected to experience someday.

And if your palm rose to press against the inside of the windowpane as Fixer put the ship into hyperdrive, who could blame you? Not a single person. Especially since the rest of Delta Squad were all crowded into the cockpit.

You were going to Isiring, a small planet in the Outer Rim and very close to Separatist space. The planet was considering joining the Republic, and that consideration had put them under occupation by the Separatist Army. The GAR had driven off most of the droid army, but the Isiring people were in desperate need of supplies. The Wolfpack had brought a shipment of supplies, but there had been more refugees than expected.

Delta Squad had brought additional supplies, enough to last until another battalion could get through the Separatist remnants with a full resupply. Additionally, Delta would help build and reinforce the refugee camp that the 104th was building.

And, somehow, you were considered capable enough to be part of Delta Squad’s mission. You had your own doubts about that, but you had agreed to take on this assignment and you were determined to see it through.

That didn’t stop you from jolting when someone spoke behind you.

“It’ll be a while before we get there, even using the hyperspace lanes along the way.”

When you had recovered - trying to play off your surprise as a temporary loss of balance, you turned to nod at Sev. “Thank you for letting me know. How long do you think the journey will take?”

Sev was frowning, though. "Did you just get scared?"

"I thought everyone was still in the cockpit," you explained, chuckling at yourself. Sev didn't laugh at all. On Toporik, a harmless fright was considered humorous, good for a shared laugh among friends. Sev didn't seem even slightly amused and you conceded internally that it could be a cultural thing.

"You didn't hear me?"

"No," you admitted, feeling fully awkward by that point. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be listening for you.”

Sev shook his head and returned to the cockpit, leaving you waiting uncomfortably alone in the transport's small seating area.

And you stayed alone for far too long. You couldn't hear any conversation among Delta Squad in the cockpit, but there were closed comlink channels in their HUDs. In all likelihood, they were talking about you.

It wasn’t necessarily bad. They could be discussing how to fit you into the mission without risking themselves or you due to your inexperience. Though you knew they had already considered that, and probably had been doing so since they were first assigned to assist on Isiring. In that case, the conversation might be bad.

You decided to convince yourself that they were all crowded in the cockpit, surrounded by pure silence.

When everyone other than Scorch filed out of the cockpit, you were staring out of the viewport and toying with the material of your body glove. The shine of the transparisteel’s interior meant that you could watch Delta’s faces as they came into the ship’s main cabin.

Sev glanced at you for a moment before he continued on to the back of the ship. Boss didn’t even look at you. Fixer watched you stretch and release the fabric of the garment’s shoulder a few times before he shook his head. Surprisingly, he reached out to still your fingers with his own. For all that he hadn’t seemed very easy with touch, the movement seemed utterly natural for him.

“Don’t you remember how hard we had to work to get that glove for you?” he asked. The question could have been stern or harsh, but his tone sounded softer, almost gentle. “Try not to tear it on your first mission out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed, releasing the fabric immediately. It snapped back into place with a sting that made you wince. You were still facing the window and thought your expressions were private, but when your gaze focused, you could see that Fixer was looking at the window as well. He was using the opposite vantage point to watch you in the reflection. When he saw that you had seen him, he offered a nod and pulled his hand away from yours.

That touch - simple, but freely offered - sparked something in you. Suddenly, you realized how horribly, deeply lonely you were. Perhaps it was inevitable; this was the first time you’d had alone with your thoughts in some time. Without the stress of running for your life or the distraction of Jedi training, you could process it.

Sitting still, staring out of the viewport at stars passing by too quickly to be anything other than streams of light, you were spiraling. You had no community, no place. Delta Squad had offered you a spot among them, but now that you were there, they seemed concerned about your presence. No, not concerned… inconvenienced.

Had this all been a mistake? You were honor-bound to see things through, especially since this had been a choice, one you had made gladly. If you died, you couldn’t see that as a terrible tragedy, but what if one of the others ended up hurt or killed trying to protect you because you couldn’t protect yourself?

“Hey.”

You turned quickly at the greeting, desperately clinging to the interruption of your frantic thoughts. Sev was standing there with a box in his hands.

When you didn’t say anything, he frowned. It seemed to be a common expression for him. Or maybe you just brought it out in him…

“You good?” Sev asked. “Your breathing has picked up.”

“Just… trying to meditate.”

It was an incredibly weak lie, one that hung in the air for an uncomfortably long time. Sev gave you a few seconds of incredulous silence to fess up, but you stayed quiet.

“Yeah,” he said eventually, clearly still skeptical. He lifted the box slightly. “Brought you some food.”

“You brought me dinner?” you asked, unreasonably touched by that. Your emotions were erratic - not a good sign before your first mission.

Sev scowled. “I guess. You get some before Scorch gets his. We’ll be going lights-out in about an hour, so consider this your warning.”

“Thank you,” you said, accepting the box from him. Then a thought struck you and you felt more than a little silly for not having considered it before. “Um… where am I sleeping? There are only four bunks and I don’t want to take anyone’s spot-”

“Someone has to fly the ship,” Fixer pointed out. “We’ll rotate bunks - the new person takes the empty one. Everyone’s clean and in top health, so you don’t have to worry about hygiene.”

“As long as Scorch remembers to wash the liquid tibanna off this time,” Sev muttered.

“Hey!” Scorch objected from the cockpit. You jumped again. You hadn’t known he could hear the conversation outside. “That only happened once!”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who ended up with gas burns on his-” Sev’s dark eyes slid toward you before he turned briskly away. “Anyway, I wouldn’t recommend sleeping in a bunk after Scorch has had it.”

“At least my hair isn’t greasy!” Scorch called.

That made you laugh despite yourself. Sev’s hair was shorn so close to his scalp that you didn’t know if you could grab one without the use of tweezers. The idea of grease being able to cling to his nearly bare head was so unlikely as to be truly entertaining.

“Stow it, men,” Boss ordered, sitting across from you with his own box of rations. “Everyone other than Scorch needs to finish up and get some sleep.”

“I would love to, Boss, but dearest Oh-Seven hasn’t brought me my meal yet.”

Sev rolled his eyes toward the cockpit. “I don’t feel like helping you out today. Get your own food.”

Scorch said, “If you insist.” You could clearly hear the sound of a restraint being unbuckled, followed by a few footsteps. The ship gave an alarming dip, spilling some of your food and pulling an alarmed gasp from you.

Boss was on his feet before the food had landed on the table. “Scorch, sit your shebs down before I figure out a way to keep them there permanently. Sev, get Six-Two’s food before he kills us all. Fixer, get a new ration pack for her.”

“That’s not necessary-” you protested.

Fixer was already speaking over you. “What should I do with this one?”

“Give it to Scorch,” Boss ordered. “She can have the fresh one.”

“Aw, Boss…” Scorch’s complaining tone was clear even from the cockpit. “You know flying makes me hungry.”

You wanted to melt through the seat. The last thing you wanted to do was start off your first mission by getting one of your squadmates in trouble. “It’s fine, Sergeant, really. Only a little bit spilled.”

“Okay,” Boss said with a nod. “Did you hear that, Scorch? Only a little bit spilled. Sounds like you’ll survive the rest of the flight without starving to death.”

As you continued to insist that everything was fine, Fixer whisked the ration pack away from you and delivered it to Scorch. You bit your lip, dread weighing heavy on your stomach. It spiked sharply when you heard a soft exclamation from Scorch.

“Oya! You only spilled the greens, civvie. That’s the worst part. Think you did me a favor…”

Your murmured reply was unintelligible, even to you.

The situation was uncomfortable. And it was made worse by knowing that everyone knew about it. Sev and Scorch had been there when you admitted that you may not know if you were manipulating them. Even if you didn’t mean to.

And then you had told Boss about what had happened. He had seemed sympathetic, but he had probably mentioned it to Fixer, even if the other two hadn’t. That had to be the cause of the awkwardness among the group, you were certain of it. Conversations had been stilted and laughter was nonexistent in any of the men.

Sev slid a fresh ration pack in front of you, but you only managed a few bites before you pushed it away. “I think I’m going to get some sleep.”

“You’re not going to eat any more than that?” Sev asked, eyeing your barely-touched tray.

“No, I just…” You trailed off, uncertain of what to say. Eventually, you decided to keep to simple sentences. “No, I’m done.”

“You should probably get a little more down,” Fixer said skeptically. “You never know when you’re going to eat on a mission. Skipping meals before you get there means you’re going to be distracted, weak-”

“Go to bed,” Boss ordered. Dimly, you recognized that he had been watching you closely throughout the short conversation, his gaze searching. Whatever he found there seemed to make him take pity on you. He nodded at the other Deltas before he returned to cleaning and reassembling his blaster. “Get some sleep.”

You were too grateful to do anything more than nod back before you scurried toward the small bunk section at the back of the ship. If the conversation shifted after you had left, you didn’t hear it. You made a point of not hearing it.

But, to your eternal frustration, sleep wouldn’t come.

One by one, Delta followed you to the bunks - with the obvious exception of Scorch. Each one seemed to settle easily into slumber, but it eluded you.

Eventually, you opted to slip out of the bunk entirely. Instead of lying there helplessly, you wanted to sit in the main cabin of the ship and reread the field manual the GAR had scrounged up for you.

It seemed like a safe bet - Scorch was flying the ship while the other three were asleep, but you had barely started reading before Boss appeared.

His sudden and silent approach made you jump, pressing a hand to your chest in an effort to calm your racing heart. When you could breathe without feeling like you were going to vomit, you asked, "What are you doing?"

"Funny," he said, leaning against the doorway between the bunks and the main cabin. "Pretty sure I'm supposed to ask that."

"I'm reading," you offered, lifting the datapad as if to prove it.

"What you're doing is disobeying an order," Boss countered. "I told you to get some rest."

You froze, staring at him with wide eyes. He had said that, of course, but you had assumed it wasn't a real order. He had also said that a single disobeyed order would result in him kicking you out of Delta Squad…

"Relax," he told you, pushing away from the doorway to settle in a nearby seat instead. "That was a test. For future reference, I only issue official orders in war zones. Everything else is just a… strongly worded suggestion."

You nodded, gaze dropping to your twisting fingers as you tried to calm your pulse.

Boss gave you a few minutes to settle before he spoke again. “So, knowing that it isn’t an order… wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Can’t sleep,” you admitted with a slight shrug. “I think I just have too many questions.”

“Questions,” Boss repeated tonelessly.

“Yes, but I feel like I should already know the answers, so I haven’t asked them.” You gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t enjoy wasting your time, you know.”

When you finally snuck a look at Boss’s face, he was frowning slightly. “Why should you know the answers to questions you haven’t asked? And think of it this way: I would rather answer your questions now and know that you have all the information you need than worry about you if things get bloody.”

“I thought blood was guaranteed?”

“This is a relief mission,” he clarified. “We might see some action, so we need to be ready for it, but it’s not like we’re dropping into an active war zone. Not this mission, anyway. So what questions do you have?”

“Can you-?” You cleared your throat and started over, wanting to sound more like a specialist gathering information and less like a lost child. “Can you give me some idea of a timeline? For our arrival, at least?”

“Sure,” Boss said, nodding. He didn’t seem irritated by the questions, which helped ease your nerves enough to actually listen to him. “We make sure everyone is awake and fully dressed at least two hours before arrival. An hour out, we do final weapons and equipment checks. By the time we hit atmosphere, everyone needs to be prepped for landing.”

“Do we expect it to be a bad landing?” You hadn’t experienced too many landings - just the one, actually - but you had seen enough HoloNews footage to know that you didn’t want to experience a crash.

A new voice made you jump again, and you turned to see Sev leaning against the doorway to the bunks. His voice was even gruffer with sleep, almost hard to understand, but you tried to listen anyway. “Landings can be rough, depending on how much fire we take. Fixer will get us through the worst of it. Even if we land hard, everyone needs to be clear within fifteen seconds.”

“And the time between breaching atmosphere and landing?” you asked, struggling to gather all of the vocabulary you had learned in the past few weeks. “Do we… wear parachutes or something? What’s the protocol?”

“Parachutes?” Boss repeated.

“Why would you jump out of a ship in a war zone?” Sev asked, nearly scowling by that point.

You frowned a little yourself, but more out of confusion than irritation. “Well, you know… if it’s crash-landing or something-”

“Don’t jump out of the ship,” Boss advised.

A groan drifted from the doorway behind Sev, followed by Fixer’s voice. “Who is jumping out of a ship?”

“The civvie,” Sev tossed back, moving over slightly so Fixer could stand bleary-eyed in the doorway beside him. “The jetii must have taught her some strange tactics.”

“Shut it, Sev,” Boss ordered, tacking on a glare for good measure. His gaze evened out when he turned back to you. “You’re always gonna be safer inside the ship, even if it’s going down. There’s too much chance of taking a blaster bolt while you’re floating above an active battlefield.”

“Are we having a meeting?” Scorch called from the cockpit.

“No,” Fixer told him. “Civvie’s just asking some questions. Wanted to know if we were going to wear chutes when we break atmosphere.”

“Chutes?” Scorch echoed, bewildered. “Why would we jump out of ship in the middle of a combat zone?”

“Okay, I’ve got it,” you hurried to say, getting to your feet. “Understood. Awake and dressed two hours out, checking weapons one hour out. Ready to go when we break atmosphere. When we land, get out of the ship within fifteen seconds. If we’re not dead from being shot down.”

“We won’t be dead,” Fixer assured you. The confident tilt to his chin made you believe him. “I’ve landed bigger ships than this in worse areas.”

“But everything else is right,” Boss confirmed.

Sev shrugged. “Pretty much. Though if landing is quiet, you can miss the fifteen second mark by a few seconds without as much risk.”

“Seriously, I can come back there,” Scorch offered.

“That’s okay; we’re done,” you told him. “Thank you all. I’m going to sleep now.”

—

To your great relief, the landing part of the mission had been simple.

You had been ready and armored far too early, but Scorch had been too tired to do much more than laugh. Fixer had guided the ship into a smooth landing on Isiring, and the Republic’s forces had secured the area around the relief camp. Boss had advised everyone to wear helmets anyway, and you gladly followed that advice. You were always a fan of overpreparedness, and you found yourself a little shy around the unknown troopers.

The peace didn’t last long, though. Your first task was to operate the droid lifts, shuttling fully-loaded lifts to deposit their supply crates in the correct areas while dispatching the newly empty ones back to the ship for Delta Squad to restock. It was easy work, and you were grateful for the chance to decompress and brace yourself for anything else you might be assigned to do next.

But what you hadn’t realized was that your position as the only one outside of the ship left you surrounded by unfamiliar troopers.

One such trooper laughed far too loudly behind you, knuckles rapping sharply against the top of your helmet in a way that made the HUD give an irritated beep. “What is going on here? I think you could have used a little more time in that growth jar, eh, vod?”

None of that made any sense to you, so you stayed silent, shoulders hunching up toward your ears as you focused on the datapad you were using to direct the droids.

“Hey, knock it off,” another voice said, and you relaxed slightly at the intervention. “Obviously, he hasn’t learned to talk yet!”

Uproarious laughter, then you were jostled as someone knocked your arm. It was probably a playful gesture, you knew that. But the interaction had drawn attention, and being surrounded by strangers who were all tall and broad enough to make you feel trapped… Well, it wasn’t doing wonderful things for your peace of mind.

The sound of your name in a crackling call made you startle. “What’s wrong? Why is your heart rate so high?”

Your HUD identified the voice as belonging to Fixer. “I’m-”

The explanation, whatever it was going to be, cut off as you were jostled again. This time, it was a hard enough hit to push you forward, and you staggered slightly as you tried to keep hold of the datapad without stepping into the path of droids whirring back and forth.

“Back off!” a harsh voice commanded and you noted with more than a little relief that Sev was closer than any of the other Deltas. Clearly, he had left the ship.

“Or what?” one trooper called challengingly. “We’re just having some fun.”

“Fun’s over.” You couldn’t see Sev’s face, but you knew exactly how it would look - darkness simmering behind a tightly controlled expression.

Another trooper scoffed. “You commandos think you’re so much better than us. This one won’t even talk to us.”

That made you freeze, overcome by a strange mixture of shame and fear. A gauntleted hand entered your frame of vision, wrapping around your wrist and giving a tug. You recognized the jagged lines of red paint and let Sev pull you toward him, stepping free of the group of troopers at the same time.

“C’mon, vod,” a trooper jeered. With your new perspective, you could see that none of them were wearing helmets, and there was a look of derision on this man’s face. “You’d be better off letting us standard troopers into the commando force. That one’s clearly defective.”

“If you men don’t have anything more important to do than harass my people, I’ll speak to your CO and see what we can figure out,” Boss said firmly, such durasteel in his tone that the troopers straightened, looking uncertain. They didn’t walk away, however, and the reason why was apparent only a moment later when an imposing figure approached you.

“Commander Wolffe,” Boss greeted with a salute.

“Sergeant,” the commander returned. Like his men, he wasn’t wearing a helmet. His bare face was stern, the harshness of it accentuated by the wicked-looking scar over one eye. The helmet tucked beneath one arm was painted to look like some kind of animal and his posture was precise.

Commander Wolffe looked like a man who had little patience, and that impression was only solidified when he asked, “Why are you giving orders to my men?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir,” Boss requested. With a glance at the men still standing nearby, he added, “And privately.”

Wolffe gave a slow nod, eyes traveling to the men behind you. They watched him eagerly and his voice was sharp as he said, “Dis-missed.”

You had never seen a group disperse so quickly.

“Your men were harassing a member of my squad,” Boss reported, removing his helmet so the other man could see the disapproval on his face. “We can all deal with jokes, but I can’t stand by and let my people be physically pushed around.”

The commander’s gaze moved to you, critically assessing you in a way that made you want to shift uncomfortably. “Take your helmet off.”

With your eyes hidden behind plastoid and transparisteel, you had no idea how Boss knew that you had looked at him for confirmation, but you were grateful for his subtle nod anyway. As soon as you had your sergeant’s approval, you broke the seal on your helmet and lifted it free.

The air on Isiring was cool at best, far from cold, but it felt frigid on your face after being confined in the helmet for so long. You took a deep breath, straightened your spine, and made eye contact with Commander Wolffe.

“This must be your first mission,” he said cryptically. You had a moment of panic, wondering what you had done so wrong that he knew you were - as Scorch said - a shiny, but a corner of Wolffe’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Otherwise, I would have heard about this already.”

You looked helplessly at Boss, searching for a hint about what to do next, but he looked as amused as the commander. Without any further leads, you let your manners take over. You held a hand out toward Commander Wolffe, introducing yourself as he shook it with a firm grip. “I’m a specialist assigned to work with Delta Squad.”

“Commander Wolffe, leader of the 104th battalion,” he offered in return. “We don’t get many females out here, especially not attached to commando squads. If the men get stupid, come find me.”

“I- will,” you stammered. “Thank you, sir.”

Wolffe released your hand and nodded at Boss. “Sergeant.”

“Commander.”

And then the commander walked away. Your embarrassment, having faded during the semi-normal conversation, flared back to life as you caught sight of the dozen wide-eyed troopers watching you from the edges of the camp. You jammed the helmet back on your head and looked down at the datapad, frantically moving to catch up with the droid workers who were waiting for additional commands.

“Hey.”

You glanced up, attention caught by the urgency in Boss’s tone. “Yes?”

“We have more work to do on the ship, but we’re on the same HUD loop,” he reminded. “If you have any more problems, shout ‘em out. We’ll come take care of it.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” you told him, but you felt yourself slump as he walked away. Half an hour on the ground and you’d already needed a rescue and caused a tense interaction between your commanding officer and the leader of the relief camp. It wasn’t an auspicious start.

---

Author's Note - I am so sorry, guys. I knew it had been a while since I last updated, but I missed that it's been EIGHT MONTHS. I post a chapter of a fic every week across my accounts (or, at least, I try), but I don't have a firm schedule about which fics get updated when.

Thank you all for your patience, assuming that anyone is still interested in this story. I can't promise that I'll start posting it super often, but I'm sure I can do better than once a year!

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