#not me feeling near tears from frustration bc I'm getting nothing done

[asiananeurysm]

.

[themarcusmoreno]

unsteady

an: this doesn’t have a read more bc i don’t know how to do them tbh AND i’m posting from mobile. any errors present are yet again my own. i tried to give my dumbass, baby boy javier what i took away in timing is everything. i suggest listening to this version of the song that inspired the title and i hope that you guys enjoy it, i’m proud of this one. i left this with a possiblity for more, if that’s something you’d like to see let me know! feedback is welcome! //// tagging: @spacedadheadcanons, @bonkybaaarnes, @callingmrsbarnes, @buckywiththegoodglare, @drakecaggiula91, @thatsonehellofajedi, @mando-vibes, @i-like-those-odds, @i-am-forever-a-fan, @fvckingavengers, @ikeatwins776

You found becoming a DEA agent to be an easy task, falling into the training and field work like they were second nature. You made a name for yourself, eager to the fight and quick to solve the issues presented to you. So, when the opportunity came for you to take an open post in Colombia, in Bogotá, you took it. Transportig your life to the new country seemed easy enough but finding your place amongst the senior agents proved troublesome, especially when Javier Peña seemed to be involved. You'd been placed with him and his partner, Steve Murphy. Where Steve had warmed up to you quickly, Javier stayed distant and cold. Every bit the asshole you had been warned he would be.

Over the coming months, you saw small breaks in the persona the man presented. Whether it was when you joined he and Steve for drinks after a particularly rough day or at the "family dinners" that Connie held once a week. You, even in the briefest of moments, got to see a different side of him. One that showed the crinkle of his face as he laughed at one of the jokes Steve shared, the warmth of his smile as he watched Connie with the Murphy’s little girl and even the lingering glance he'd give you as you told stories about your early days as an agent. A smirk played on his lips every time he saw you home safely and bid you goodnight.

"You know if you keep this up I may think you actually like me or something, Peña." A smile spreads across you face as you lean against the doorway of your apartment.

"Now what would give you that idea?" Javier has a smile of his own as watches you, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted upward ever so slighty.

You chuckle and roll your eyes, turning to disappear into your quiet home. "Goodnight, Javier."

A brief wave of somethig like sadness fills his chest as he watces you turn away, his arm aching to reach out and grasp yours but instead he is met with the soft click of your door. "Yeah.. goodnight, cariña." He mumbles, sighing and rubbing his jaw before he backs away to head to his own place just a floor below.

In the coming weeks, you saw more of that change in Javier. Once in him lingering near the entrance of the office long after finishing his cigarette, fresh cup of coffee in hand for the both of you. You hid the soft smile that crept on to your face at the gesture behind your cup, walking along with him as he explaied yet another lead in the hunt for Escobar. You saw it again in him seeking you out after another raid had failed and your team had lost four men. You'd be alone, gathering your own thoughts when the knocking at the door had pulled you from your silence. Wiping your face quickly, you opened the door to him standing there looking no better than you felt. His jaw clenched and eyes tired as he took your appearance in slowly.

"Mind if I come in?" The softness of his request betraying the way his features held such frustration. You gave a slight nod and made your way back to the chair you'd previously occupied. When he speaks again there's something in his tone you can't quite place, concern maybe. "I couldn't find you when we got back. You disappeared and nobody saw where you went. I thought you'd left. I needed - wanted to make sure you were okay."

You were silent a few seconds before you brought your gaze to his, fresh tears threatening to spill. "Would you be? I lost men, Jav. I lost four good men because of a fucking raid I planned." There's a bite to your words, not at the man in front you but at the pain in knowing you'd cost someone their life for something you believed in, something you trusted. A wave of nausea brought you to your feet, the emotions overwhelming. You let the tears fall, not noticing the gentle pressure of Javier's hand on your arm as he pulled you close. You didn't fight him, instead you turned into him and gave yourself over to the sobs that racked your body.

"Easy, cariña. Easy." Javier rubbed the small of your back, holding you close and letting you cry. His heart broke for the pain you felt and the thought of the guilt you carried. "What happen.. What happen today, it wasn't your fault. The best laid plans fall apart every fucking day and I know that better than anyone else. So does Steve. But this, this raid and what happen to those men wasn't your fault. You want someone to blame, you blame me. Not yourself, me. Understand?"

You listened to him, your tears slowing as spoke to you. Firm but gentle. When you did't respond he said your name softly, repeating his question. "Blame me, no one else. Understand?" He gave you gentle squeeze, words slightly muffled by your hair as he rested his chin against you.*You nodded slowly, pulling away from his tear strained shirt, and answering. "I understand but - "

"No buts. You did your job well today and thats what matters for now. Losing men is never easy but we recover, come back harder the next time and you can bet we will. Harder and faster than this time. We'll avenge the fallen and take that bastard Escobar down a peg or two when we do." Javier looks over your face, absentmindedly reaching to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He lets his hand linger before he shakes his head a little and steps back. "You should take the day. I'll get your reports done. Just go home and rest, yeah?"

You don't stop him as he pulls away, don't reach out fo him the way you want, instead you nod slowly and wrap your arms around yourself to savor the bit of his warmth left. "Are you sure, Jav?"

"Positive, miel. Go home, rest and I'll check on you when I get done here." He gives you a soft smile, not hesitating to reach out and brush your hair from your face. "Maybe I'll bring food too."

"Nothing you cook though because I want to survive the night." You smirk, laughing at his look of shock. "Sorry, you're a great agent but a shit cook." When he grumbles a response, you just shake your head and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Jav." You squeeze his arm and smile, glancing back at him before you step out into the hallway.

He feels it then, the unsteady beating of his heart as he watches you leave. The feel of your lips still on his cheek and your scent lingering on his shirt, he knows what it is but he won't say it, at least not aloud. He just sighs, "Shit..."

The month that follows is different, you can't place it but something is different between you and Javier. He's more attentive, checks in on you more frequently. Lingering touches, soft smiles and few too many quiet moments shared for you to keep ignoring whatever may be there growing between the two of you. You don't get to bring it up to him, address the elephant in the room, before another wave of information comes in. Leads you needed to help the raid you, Javier and Steve were planning. Though leery to go out again, your partners encouragement had you eager to finally put a dent in the armor Pablo Escobar thought he wore.

"We've get every possibly scenario covered. Too many guards, too few guards. Nothing in the lab, something in the lab. Civilians present, no civilians present. I'm not saying it's perfect but its about the best damn plan we've had in a while." Steve looks up from the map to the small gathering of men, including you.

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't be careful. Expect the unexpected, I don't want another repeat of last time." Your arms cross over your chest as you look at everything spread across the table. “Everyone gets a vest, everyone has a partner. You watch each others back. We work quickly, we get home faster."

"Well you heard her. Date prisa, go get the gear and be out front in ten." Javier gives your arm a firm squeeze and winks before he joins the other men leaving the room.

You feel his gaze on you before you speak, sighing as you look at Steve. “What Murph?"

"You gonna tell him?" Steve quirks an eyebrow as he pops his gum and rocks on his heels.

Your breath catches and you brush it off as a cough as you start to speak again. "I don't know what you mean. There's nothing to tell anyone."

Steve scoffs, shaking his head as he gathers things from the table. "Uh huh. You keep telling yourelf that, darlin.” He smiles and squeezes your shoulder, "If it helps, he feels the same way. I've been that asshole's partner long enough to know when he's fallen for someone and that someone happens to be you." He heads towards the door, glancing back once more. "Just... Just don't wait too long to tell him. With our job, we aren't always promised tomorrow. But I told him the same thing and so far no one has made a move.”

You hesitate in the now quiet room and let Steve's words sink. Whatever you felt, Javier felt it too. You wouldn't wait past today, you'd tell him as soon as you could. "I'll tell him tonight." With vocal confirmation, you nodded to yourself and went out to join your men.

Javier had been right that day in the office as he held you close, the best laid plans really do fall apart and its usually in the worst of ways. There had been an ambush waiting, a leak from your own department tipping the guards off. You were all outnumbered before you even got there, but when you did you gave them hell. Losing two of your own men as they worked to stop the assault. When the man you'd paired yourself with was taken down, you felt the fear of not making it set in. It make you hyper aware, but not enough. Javier had covered your six after your partner went down, keeping an eye on Steve as well. That's how he saw him, lurking just out of your peripheral vision and coming up fast. The solid body crashing into you was enough to distract you from the shots but when the body didn't hurriedly move, you knew something was wrong. You shifted enough and the body of your protector landed beside you, causing him to groan lowly. You could see the blood pooling slowly, panic rising as your eyes traveled up to his face. Javier.

"Steve, fuck! Steve, get some medic here. Javi is shot, he's bleeding out!" You look around for Steve, locking eyes with him as he brings his walkie to his mouth.

"Necesito abulancia. Oficial de policía abajo." He listens to the feedback and curses. "Goddamnit! They're ten minutes out, he got that long?"

You survey the area of the pooling blood, grimacing at the pained sound Javier produces. "Maybe.. I can't be sure. He took a couple rounds, looks like they went through but its not good. It doesn't look good, Murph." You feel the familar burn of tears as they start to form. Steve's voice fading away as you look down to the soft call of your name. "Jav? Take it easy for me, okay? Try not to move."

Javier blinks softly, the vision of you him above edged in darkness. "Mi sol.." He winces, grasping at your hand as you press it against the wounds. "Oh mi sol, I'm sorry."

His sun. You blink back tears as you look him, cupping his face carefully with your free hand. "Javier, why? Why would you do this?" You don't hold back, letting the tears fall freely. The sound of the ambulance outside not pulling you from the moment. "Javi, why? I don't - I can't lose you now."

Javier smiles, its weak and fading but he smiles as he squeezes you hand and starts to lose consciousness. "This.. This is about keeping you alive." When he starts to drift off, he hears hurried spanish and your cries.

A week. Javier Peña lays in a drug induced coma for a week before he starts to become aware again. Its slow at first, a groan that has you gathering a nurse then a few mumbled curses as starts to fully wake up. You watch him drink slowly from the cup of offered water. Closing his eyes again before he slowly opens them once more to scan the room, you hear his breath catching softly as he looks at you. You don't hear the nurse leave, you don't feel yourself move until your close to his side and his hand is in yours. The warm, tan skin familiar and welcome in your grasp.

You get choked up as you start to speak, the reassuring squeeze of his hand in yours bring the words forward. "I.. I thought I lost you."

Javier's voice comes out soft, raspy from lack of use. "Can't kill me if they wanted to, miel. I'm too fucking stubborn to die." He laughs and grimaces, shifting in the bed for you to have room to sit.

You reach up, rubbing his cheek gently once you finally join him. "Well you at least got the stubborn part right." You tease, wiping your eyes as you look at him. Stubble lines his jaw and chin, his hair unkempt and you know he's never looked better. Never looked more alive.

"What's on your mind?" He questions, running his thumb over your knuckles as he watches your eyes shift over him.

"Do you remember what you said? Before you blacked out?" You work your lip between your teeth before he slowly reaches up and pulls it free.

"Si." He cups your cheek, no hesitation in his movements. "Por qué?"

"What did you mean? 'This is about keeping you alive.' What does that mean?" You lean into his hand, savoring the feel of him against your skin.

Javier shifts, taking his hand from your face and wincing he sits up more. When he's finally up and stable, he leans in presses a soft kiss to your lips. Sighing against your mouth as you return his affection, he breaks the kiss and rest your foreheads together. "It means that I can't picture my life without you in it and I don't want to. I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you that, to tell you I love you."

You smile, matching his own as you kiss him again. "Glad to know it takes almost dying to get you to confess your feelings." You joke, closing your eyes and basking in the moment with Javier. "I love you too and I'm not going anywhere."

[kyberled]

sends you this from my main bc i'm lazy garbage BUT consider this: Obi and Braig, "Five Times Survived. (or not.)"

Send “Five Times ______ed” for a Drabble of 5 different times our characters… did that. || Accepting

Five Times Survived (Or Not).

The first time Braig was sure he was about to die was on his Gathering. He would remember those chunks of ice falling away from his feet for years to come. He would remember the dark tunnels, the frost, the struggle to find his way out once he’d found his crystals. He would remember the blizzard lashing his skin and the way the world blurred under the icicles forming on his lashes. But, he would also remember the feelings of triumph and excitement, he would remember what it was like to build his sabers the first time, to spar with his friends with his sabers, to feel like a real Jedi. More than anything, he remembers the look of pride on his future mentor’s face when he congratulated Braig on a job well done. He would disregard the pain he had been through, and count it as one of the best days of his life.

The second time he very nearly died was in the ruins of Geonosis, and he vowed to himself that he would never return there for as long as he lived. … Though, perhaps he wasn’t being entirely fair. Yes, his torment had technically begun in those damnable catacombs, but it had been on the flight back when things had gone so wrong, so fast. Sometimes, he could swear he still hear the creature chittering, screeching its triumph as the most basic of freedoms was stripped from him, as his limbs moved and his mouth spoke without his consent. If he hadn’t been killed by the worm itself, he would have died by a blaster or saber if anyone figured out what he was, or if he managed to tell anyone. And he would have told them, if he could - he just wanted it to be over. And then the cold came. The cold, so chilling it dug into his bones, into his core. Cold enough that he could feel the moisture in his eyes freezing over, felt the air burn with every breath he was forced to draw, and felt the parasite scream its agony and rage and thrash and scratch and grind its sarlacc-esque teeth against the inside of his skull and it hurt so badly he couldn’t tell if it was of his own will or the parasite’s when he clutched his head and fell to his knees, and he was sure that he or it or both had screamed, and then everything was dark.

He had thought he had died, then, and mused to himself that the Netherworld was a lot plainer than what he’d expected it to be. Then he noticed that his neck was stiff, and hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with it for the rest of eternity. A frown flitted across his face, and he rolled his neck to banish the discomfort, and the floodgates of stimuli opened. The dark quickly faded into a painful, near-blinding white, and his chest burned a bit and every single joint in his body felt stiff, and he let out a groan that mingled with a soft, electronic hum that seemed to be coming from somewhere far off, and his face scrunched in confusion before a thought struck him and he froze, eyes stuck on a random spot of the wall. He pauses like that for a moment, breathing unsteady and soft, and voice barely a whisper louder.

“… I can’t hear it moving.”

It takes him another moment to realise that the thought was vocalised.

That he’d been able to say it himself.

His hand raised to his mouth, then pulled away. He slowly curled his hand into a fist, then let his fingers unfurl, and he would have laughed out loud if attempting to hadn’t sent him into a coughing fit. It took him a moment to catch his breath, but by the time he had settled, there was a gentle hand on his back, comforting and supporting, and he looked up into the familiar eyes of his master, and clung to the familiar cream fabric as best he could in his weakened state - but it was his own doing, so he was content.

He had survived.

The third time, it wasn’t him who had survived.

He remembered begging, pleading, screaming to the Force to give him his master, his mentor, his father back, but it hadn’t answered.

Not until now.

He had imagined, on those nights he had allowed himself to dream of a happier reality, when he had been so desperate for a balm that he would accept the increase in agony such thoughts brought with them, what it would be like to have a reunion with his master. He had never had an explanation for how Obi-Wan had been pulled out of the Force, since everyone knew the dead didn’t come back, not really. He didn’t need one, not when it was just an escape. He always imagined it being likely more emotional than either of them would have allowed (Or, more than Obi-Wan would allow, anyway), with tears, spine-crushing hugs, apologies on both of their behalves, Obi-Wan repeating that familiar reassurance of ‘I’ll never leave you’, and everything would be okay again, and he could put this all behind him.

It hadn’t happened like that.

Not in real life.

Instead, he found himself looking up into the eyes of a stranger (a stranger he would have gladly killed, even only moments ago), and being told that it had all been a lie.

Obi-Wan had never been dead. None of it had been real.

The world seemed to spin around him, swaying like an inebriated dancer, and he took a half-step back to steady himself.

None of it was real, but…

But it had felt real. The funeral, the grief, the… The body. The body had felt real, and heavy, and dead in his arms, and that had been real. He had reached out into the Force without thought, had found it empty and unforgiving, and that had been real. He had mourned, and grieved, and tried his best to honour the master he had thought lost, and that had been real…

Except that it hadn’t.

There were no hugs in this reunion, no warm embraces to chase away the chill of loss. The man before him reached to put a hand on Braig’s shoulder, and the padawan pulled away as though he’d just been scalded, muscles tensed and stance guarded.

“Braig, please, I was only doing what was necessary,” the stranger’s voice said, still masked in an assassin’s guise.

“What was necessary?” He’s not shouting, is far too exhausted for that. Instead, his voice is incredulous, dancing on the egg shells he had been treading on so carefully before.

There are no tears in this reunion, much as he’d like to cry, to scream, to yell and lash out; But there are other Jedi, here, and he’s not sure he could handle another lecture, not now. He’s quite sure that the heartbreak, the betrayal, the pain and shock and anger etched itself clearly into his face, despite how he struggled to keep his composure (and it was a struggle, a battle he knew he was losing in spite of his best efforts). Air was a had thing to come by, but he did his best to draw in one strained lungful after another to keep his composure from shattering right there. 

“I’m so sorry,” says the stranger who had once been a father, “but, I had to– If there was any other way, trust me, I–”

“I did trust you!” Now Braig was shouting, and the Force around him snarled along in time. He holds that ice-blue stare, more alien than any distant planet, and he’s not sure if he’s shaking or not, but he knows there are eyes on them, and he can’t help but feel ashamed. Brown eyes flick down, then once again look up to meet his master’s gaze, the fire from before had faded, just slightly.

“I did trust you,” he repeated, voice dropping to a more reasonable volume as he exhaled a shaky breath. “But you taught me never to make the same mistake twice.” 

With that, he turned on his heel and left. 

Braig had survived.

Obi-Wan had survived.

But something had died that night, and Braig wasn’t sure it was ever coming back. 

The fourth time, he had still bee nursing his wounds when the Force around him tensed. Kamino had been a makeshift sanctuary for him, taking comfort in the presence of the other half of his makeshift parentage, in the distance between himself and the Order. 

The quarters he’d been afforded were spartan, but that was nothing new; In fact, he thought that this room was bigger, and possibly nicer, than the cells the padawans slept in back home. It even had a desk, and that was where he had himself stationed, now - comm placed neatly in the corner, in case he was needed, pens lined up to be parallel with the desk’s edge, notebook open to one of the few blank pages left (he’d have to go shopping, soon, and get some fresh ones added in). He’d been sitting like that, tip of the black-inked disposable pen hovering over the slightly-worn page, for the better part of five minutes; with a frustrated sigh, he dropped the pen into the spine of the book and his head into his hands, propping his elbows on the desk.

It was hard to organise one’s thoughts when one didn’t even know what they were. 

He stayed in that defeated position for a moment longer, until the disturbance rippled through the Force around him, and he started, just slightly, looking up and around with a furrowed brow. He waited for a moment, and a similar jolt pinged on the edge of his senses, and he stood - another jolt - and walked quickly to the door, leaving his notebook behind for the time being. Lingering in the open doorway, he glanced around the hall, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. A passing trooper offered a greeting, and he gave a distracted response, staring at the floor with an utterly perplexed expression before retreating back into his room, ignoring the desk and sitting cross-legged on the floor instead, closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and concentrating. … No new disturbances came. A frown painted itself across his features, and he was left only with the feeling that something was very, very wrong. 

Later that evening, after he’d gone about his duties (he wasn’t staying for free, after all), he’d been getting ready for bed when the disturbances returned with a vengeance. Far from simple tugs and annoyances, there was actual pain associated with these. He wasn’t sure when he’d leaned on the wall for support, or when his senses had left him, but blinking focus back into his eyes saw him surveying his room, one hand braced on his hairline as though warding off a migraine. 

He doesn’t wait for the next sensation to start packing. His pack slung haphazardly over his shoulder, he was already striding down the hallway, wondering where he might find Master Shaak, when he nearly walked into her. He couldn’t hide the concern on his face as he looked up to her.

“I have to get back to Coruscant.”

It was a short flight.

Short, tense, and quiet.

Braig thanked the soldier who had served as pilot, but kept his worried expression all the way to the quarters he shared with his master. He didn’t bother to unpack his belongings, simply threw the bag down by his cot and set about pacing, pushing his hands through his hair. He’d made it this far, but, now what? He knew something was wrong, he could sense it likely involved Obi-Wan, but, what could he do? Ask the Council? Yes, because they’d proven themselves to be such beacons of truth in the recent past… How did he even know the disturbances were real? Whose funeral would he be forced to endure, this time–? 

The door opened.

The sight of his beaten, bloodied mentor was enough to banish scepticism from his mind, and there was only a heartbeat before he flung himself forwards and wrapped arms around Obi-Wan’s torso. He didn’t say anything; didn’t think he could, not yet. He only held on more tightly, even for the brief moment of shock that seemed to overcome his mentor, before Obi-Wan returned the embrace. It would be a long time before they would be back to where they had been - if they ever could go back - but, they had survived. Somehow. They had survived.

By the fifth time, things still hadn’t gotten better. 

… Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Things were still tense, even between Obi-Wan and Cody, but they had improved, even if a little bit. Of course, upon reflection, Braig had to agree that saving the Chancellor had been top priority, but he still didn’t agree with the methods. Surely, something else could have been done… 

He looked up from where he was kneeling with his scopes, down the ridge to where Obi-Wan was standing with one group of the 212th. Cody was on the far side with his own detachment, and then Braig had his own group on the far eastern side. Still within eyesight of each other, but at a decent enough distance to allow them to cover the entire ravine. Braig pressed his mouth into a thin line, then stood and turned as much as he could without losing his balance to gaze out at the village they had been tasked with defending. He could see no life in the streets; the locals must have gone inside to wait out the coming battle. The Separatists were no threat to take lightly, especially under the officer who had been sent to this planet - General Grau Tessk again, Braig reminded himself, remembering the Trandoshan Separatist’s cruel fangs and crueller tactics from the last time he and Obi-Wan had crossed fire with Tessk’s droids. There was no way he could let that cold-blooded filth sink his claws into the innocents here…

“Sir!” The sudden voice broke through his thoughts, and Braig looked up, straightening his posture, to see one of the men saluting. “Artillery is in position, waiting orders, sir!”

“Good,” Braig nodded, clipping his scopes to his belt and folding his hands behind his back. “Thank you, Steppes.” Steppes nodded, and his posture seemed to relax now that his message had been delivered.

“It’s going to be a hard battle,” Braig remarked, letting his eyes sweep over the ravine, to where the cliffs dropped away to divide the dried-up gulch into three sections. “But I think we’ll be able to outlast it.” 

“We’ll do our best, Commander.” Steppes replied, taking a few paces forwards to stand a bit closer to the sheer drop of the cliff’s face.

“That’s all I can ask of you.” Braig nodded. “That, and to make sure the medkits are ready. I don’t want any unnecessary casualties, so make sure the bacta is set and easy to find, and everyone knows where it is. … And remember, unless I say otherwise, I want you all up here. It’ll be easier, and safer, for you all to pick the clankers off at a long range. They won’t know what hit ‘em.” 

“Yes, sir.” Steppes saluted again, turned, and jogged over to where the rest of the men were gathered. Braig couldn’t keep the hints of a fond smile off his face as he shook his head, then took his scopes back out and returned to surveying the area. Noting that nothing had changed, he shifted his gaze up, and noticed Cody doing a similar sweep of their surroundings. When it looked like the Commander’s gaze was in his direction, Braig waved, then turned out to the future battlefield again - noticed a dark mass advancing on the horizon. 

“Here they come, boys!” He called over his shoulder, before flicking his comm on. “We’ve got company.”

“I see ‘em, too.” Cody’s voice was grim; the model soldier in his element.

“Well, at the very least, they’re punctual,” Obi-Wan commented, his own tone jovial. Braig snorted.

“How kind of them.” He remarked, then clicked his comm off. It joined his scopes on his belt, and his sabers found their way to his hands. The hordes were advancing quickly, for a droid army, so they had a good few minutes to get into their respective positions. Braig measured each breath, counting down from ten. 

When he got to three, he crouched, and by two, he was already airborne, descending rapidly as amethyst blades screamed to life. His feet hit the ground in time with the heads of the droids unlucky enough to have been in his path. Blasters fired off - blue and red painting orange sandstone. Fire from the artillery above peppered the ground, thinning out crowds in front of Braig, set to cut down any who might have tried to make it past. Parry. Deflect, duck, impale. Evade, behead, backhand. It was a dance long since memorised, movements learned in time with his first steps, and he found himself feeling more comfortable and at home than he had in so long. Sidestep, slash. Rollers came; a B2 unit made a convenient stand before his sabers buried themselves in its back, and he stepped carefully onto the Roller’s back (mindful of the speed limit on the shield - a blessing, really). The droid reacted nearly instantly (improved programming?) and he jumped, letting its momentum propel him forward to drive plasma blades into a set of B1s just ahead. A shout from above and a flicker of motion alerted him to the droid poppers being hurled down; a sway of his hand had the Force guiding the EMP grenades just into the Rollers’ path with a satisfying boom. Focus had been aimed elsewhere- A shot whizzed by his head, and he cursed, loudly - enjoying the freedom of fighting on his own, yes, but damning himself for having been so careless. His ear stung slightly where the heat of the bolt had burned it, but he reminded himself to be happy he was alive. Dodge, roll, remove legs, stab. Duck. How often had he done this? Too often. Block, stab, deflect, deflect, counter. Another shout from overhead, and a familiar whoosh - vulture droids. No matter; the 212th would be ready.Artillery shifted fire with a mighty roar, and the shining weapons dropped from the skies like stone from all directions (looks like Cody and Gramps were having just as much fun as he was). Jump, stab. Turn, slash, guard, spin, slash. He grit his teeth in frustration when he had to jump back, catching a B2 that had almost gotten past. There was no way any bucket of bolts would hurt that village, as long as he drew breath. Another leap forward saw his knees colliding with a B1, blades on either side making short work of two identical units before he stood, turning to remove the head from the one he had knocked over. A vulture droid flew over head; A rapid series of brilliant blue lights brought it screeching down. It collided with the ravine wall, not far off from where Braig was; He cursed again when rubble fell, having to turn rapidly to avoid being shot in yet another lapse in concentration. The amount of droids flooding into the gap was beginning to get overwhelming; how many of them could have gotten here? He couldn’t afford any more breaks in focus. Stab, block block, deflect, block, slice– He turned to deal with another incoming Destroyer, nearly lost his footing on some of the smaller debris, and yelped when a bolt connected with his arm. A snarl saw the Force throwing the aggressor back, and Braig had to force the pain down, as best he could. 

Even with such focus, a damaged arm was a damaged arm, and his technique was slipping accordingly.

“Kriff,” he said plainly, quite glad that Cody wasn’t in earshot. Another set of vulture droids came overhead; as Surefire turned his canon loose on it, Braig’s eyes flicked to the rubble behind him, to his arm - he wouldn’t be able to fight the droids off for much longer, not like this.

But a Jedi’s duty was to protect.

If he must give his life to save another, then that was his fate. 

He didn’t give himself time to think as he threw the Force around the now-flaming vulture and hurled it against the other side of the ravine, ad another wave of rubble cascaded down. A B2 was slashed across the front with his sabers before being subjected to a similar fate, and that seemed to be enough to trigger the desired result. With a roar like thousands of thunderclaps, the cliff face gave way, and a wall of rock rushed down, cutting off the droids’ route to the village.

“May the Force be with you all,” he murmured, a quiet prayer that Obi-Wan and Cody’s fight be going better than his. He could hear, over the comm-channel set up with his men, frantic yelling, demands to know what he thought he was doing, but he didn’t respond, only turned to face the droids with the resolve of someone who is sure of his own impending end. He gave up on his damaged arm, let his sabers interlock into a staff to do what he could one-handed. Blaster fire still rained around him. He held his ground only a moment longer before being caught in the leg, then the ribs. With a defiant snarl, he dropped, tried to stand and failed. Closed his eyes.

He wished he could have been with somebody, when this happened, rather than surrounded by lifeless droids.  

He wished he could have told someone.

Told Obi-Wan that he was sorry for how he acted, for being so childish, for saying those things he said. To tell him that he was grateful for all the old Master had done for him over the years.

Told the men that this wasn’t their fault, and that he was proud of them. 

Told Cody that he was the finest soldier and best brother Braig ever could have asked for - but not to tell Wolffe that. Just in case.

Told Master Shaak thank-you, for being so caring, even when she hadn’t been his master.

He wished he could have seen the look on Grau’s face when Obi-Wan and Cody and the men inevitably drove his forces back.

But, more than anything, he wished–

Another bolt.

Silence.

The fifth time, he had not been so lucky.

The Force accepted its child back without fuss; the battered form in the ravine was empty long before it fell to the dirt.

…

He wished he could say good-bye.