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mylifeisactuallyamess · 5 months ago

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Sanctuary part 2

Chapter 19: Shadows

A/N: This chapter is a biggie, might be the biggest of the fic so far I can’t remember! Follows the events of Teth with my own twist, as always.

Warnings: 18+, clone deaths, angst, canon violence, blood, canon fighting, protective Crosshair, protective Tech, food mention.

Word Count: 10.3k+

Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20

Masterlist

Tagging: @subbing-for-clones @fandom-fortress

You hated the quiet.

Hated the stillness that came with it.

Despised how it amplified every incessant thought, bringing them alive to torment you.

Everyone was asleep.

Batcher snored lightly beside Crosshair in the corner of the hold. Omega was sleeping on Wrecker’s back as he lay face down on the floor. Hunter was asleep, arms crossed over his chest as he rested upright against the hull.

Echo and Tech were in the cockpit.

The ship was hurtling through hyperspace, finally leaving Barton IV behind. You looked at the datapad in your hand and wiped a stray tear off your cheek. The image was frozen on you about to disappear into the Marauder.

It is just the excessive release of dopamine and norepinephrine, hormones that have a somewhat desirable effect on a person’s perception. It creates feelings of euphoria that can, quite frankly, be a hindrance.

Tech hadn’t been wrong. You were a hindrance for him. You felt how it confused his thoughts, clouding his logical decisions whenever he was around you. The screen went dark from lack of use but you kept the headphones on. Enclosing yourself in the silent bubble, inflicting a quiet torture you couldn’t escape. The beat of your heart was your only company, slowly driving you to distraction. So much so, your hands clenched into fists until pain filled your palms like a physical object.

Your body reacted violently when a long fingered hand tried to prise open your fists. Rocking back into a crate, the noise making you jump again.

“Sssh!” Crosshair hissed after he pushed one of the headphones aside. He waited, looking around but it seemed no one had woken up. A breath slowly eased out from between your trembling lips. He jerked his head back to where he’d been lying, tugging on your wrist.

Batcher let out a small whine, her tail thumping on the floor and she shifted to make room for you. Crosshair went back to his position, not letting go of your wrist so both your hands were draped over Batcher’s side. The hound sighed happily, her glow of warmth chasing away the melancholy that had been haunting you.

Cross let go of your hand but you weren’t ready for that yet, placing your hand over his. You heard his huff and felt the twitch of his fingers but he didn’t pull away. Maybe…in this moment, he needed the company as much as you did.

Burying your face into Batcher, breathing in her musky scent and bathing in her presence was just what you needed to finally sleep.

For the first time in a while, you felt refreshed. The dark of your dreams had been nightmare free. Batcher shifted under your hand and you absently rubbed her side, snuggling into her warmth to mumble, “That was a good sleep.”

“Stop rubbing my chest like I’m that stinking hound.” You recoiled quickly, snatching your hand away as your eyes flew open.

Batcher wasn’t laying between you and Crosshair anymore, she had moved and somehow your hand had been resting on his chest. The clone lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with an expression that told you he wished it would cave in and kill him immediately.

“I’m sorry!”

“You smell like a hound,” Wrecker snickered from across the hold. Dread seeped into your body and you lurched upright, looking for a certain someone.

“He’s in the cockpit,” Crosshair answered your unspoken question. “He insisted you shouldn’t be moved.” Everything inside you was collapsing, tugging down to the forbidden depths where you hid the emotions you weren’t ready to face. Tech had seen you sleeping next to Crosshair. With a groan you shoved the heel of your hands straight into your eyes.

This whole situation was an excruciating mess. Maybe Echo could take you when he went back to the underground. Leave the Batch in peace to live out their lives and forget you ever existed.

“Guys,” Hunter’s voice rumbled from the cockpit. “Rex is sending a transmission.”

“About time!” Wrecker smiled wildly. “Hopefully he’s got something good for us.” Echo had pulled the ship from hyperspace, hanging motionless in the darkness of space. Stars filled the canopy, studding it like diamonds, glittering and glinting with their own inner fire.

The holo was already on, an imagine of a clone with closely cropped light hair was looking around at all the faces surrounding him. Reminding you very much of Echo’s first greeting, Rex gave you a subtle nod before turning to Omega.

“It’s good to see you, kid.”

Omega beamed. “You too, Rex.”

“Is everything alright?” Echo asked.

“Ah. Yes and no.”

“What is it, Captain?” Hunter crossed his arms, looking wary as he eyed the blue flickering figure.

“You need to come back to base.”

“I’ll drop this lot off and I’ll be on my way,” Echo responded quickly.

“No. You still need to rendezvous with Gregor. But the rest of you, I need here.” Rex’s eyes sought you out, pouring with apologies you didn’t think you deserved.

“Hemlock is looking for me.” Rex rubbed his stubbled jawline, giving you a curt nod.

“Yeah and not just you either. Trust me, you’re gonna want to see this.”

The cockpit was mostly quiet considering everyone was sat in it. Echo was answering Hunter’s questions about the newest clone base, Tech was on his datapad, occasionally adding a comment he deemed relevant. Wrecker sat on the floor, making a fuss of Batcher. Omega and Cross were in the spare seats, the kid mimicking Crosshair’s brooding pose. You were sat behind them, in the corner being mesmerised by the rush of hyperspace.

You enjoyed the shine of it in everyone’s eyes. No matter what they were feeling, the reflection of space remained unchanged. Vast and unyielding against even the flow of time, space yawned all around. It scared you, sensing the emptiness beyond the ship, but it was better to be there than inside your own head.

Since the transmission with Rex…no.

Since Tech had seen you asleep beside his brother, you noticed his emotions were muted.

Maybe you were trying not to reach out to him, lessening the connection that tethered you together.

Quite possibly, he wasn’t reaching out either. Unwittingly putting up those barriers around himself.

You felt the light of this force in all living things, but none of them burned as brightly as you did. What would it be like? To come across another being that had the same awareness of the force you did? You doubted you would ever find out.

The reverie you found yourself in was broken by the jarring sensation of the ship coming out of light speed. Echo guided the ship through the atmosphere, landing it easily in a landing space cleared near a B’omarr Order Monastery that served as the new base. On closer inspection, the building was actually sat on top of some natural rock that had been hewn out to disguise how deep the structure really went.

Your hands needed to fidget. The idea of being away from the relative safety of Pabu, longer than planned, made you feel off kilter. To be here — once Echo left — without a ship, made you anxious.

Plates of armour clacked together when you shifted the helmet in the crook of your arm, drawing the attentions of Crosshair and Tech who had taken a spot either side as you all waited for the ramp to open.

“What’s the matter?” Crosshair gave you a sidelong judgemental stare, his fingers tugged on the toothpick he never seemed to be without.

“Just feels wrong,” you muttered, trying to shift the plates into a comfortable position, effectively making yourself more uncomfortable.

Cross regarded you for a moment. “You look like a 5 year old natborn dressed you.” Wrecker snorted at the disdainful jibe, even Hunter looked amused when he glanced back to check on you. Seemed their episode on Barton had smoothed some feelings out between them.

“Haha,” was the only sarcastic response you could think of, scrunching up your face in annoyance.

“Would you allow me to alleviate your discomfort?”

Instantly you stilled. “Yes, yes please.”

Tech nodded to acknowledge your breathy response and began to adjust the armour plates. Your gaze seared through him but your heart betrayed you with every brush of his fingers. Your scalp tingled with awareness due to his proximity, lashes fluttering slightly when his breath ghosted across the side of your face.

Crosshair shook his head as a reddish, purple light filled the hold. No doubt he thought Tech was pandering to you again. He shouldn’t have said that to his brother, and you shouldn’t have reacted the way you did. But you felt there was no other way, you had to push Tech away in the same moment you pushed Cross. The sniper was still trying to find his footing in the squad, you didn’t want to make him feel like you had taken your support of him away.

When Tech stepped aside, you saw a pair of clones waiting at the bottom of the ramp.

“They don’t look happy to see us,” Wrecker whispered loudly before breaking out into a smile and laugh, jamming his hand into Crosshair’s shoulder. “Just like old times, huh?”

The clone from the transmission, Rex, walked forward to meet you, another behind him in a set of white and teal armour. He had a scar up his left cheek and a hard scowl on his face, which was directed at Crosshair. You didn’t need to focus your awareness, to feel the waves of anger and suspicion that radiated off this clone. Not even Rex’s eternal inner calm could counter the harshness you felt.

“Thanks for coming,” Rex met the gaze of everyone in the squad briefly, giving a small smile to Omega.

“Good to see you, Rex,” Hunter said.

“Wish I felt the same,” the other clone started, casting a vicious look up and down Crosshair. You tensed. “I have unfinished business with this one. Remember me?” He stepped forward, a move you mirrored to stand a step in front of Crosshair. It took the clone a few moments to see through his anger, recognition dawned, but it wasn’t enough to make him back down. “Surprised I’m alive?! Most of my squad from Ryloth is dead because of you.”

He raised a finger at Crosshair, to jab him over your shoulder, except you knocked it away. Mustering a competitive glare of your own.

“Easy, Howzer,” Rex put a hand on the clone’s shoulder.

Howzer. Formally a Captain…you were sure of that. Some essence of truth welled up from the forgotten recesses of your mind.

“I know you two have history. But we’re all on the same side now.” Howzer scoffed at Rex’s words, his scathing glance flickered to you before he took a small step back.

A collective breath was released from everyone at your back and it made you lower your eyes to fixate on the ground. They had been worried about your reaction, expecting you to fly off the handle no doubt and show your true colours.

Hunter moved the moment along like it had never happened. “Why’d you call us here, Captain?”

“We have something to show you. Follow me.”

“Omega!” Echo called from the ship and she turned to run back. Wrecker and Batcher stayed with her, so you continued on into the base with the others following Rex.

You paused at the door. There was a pressure in the air around you, a warning. It tugged at your gut, making you scan the sky for anything out of the ordinary.

“Are you sensing something?” Tech was waiting a few paces away, head tilted as he registered your behaviour. For a moment you wondered why he had noticed the quick change in you, but then with Hunter as brother, he would be astute at recognising these types of mannerisms.

“It’s just a feeling,” you told him as you began to follow the others once more.

“Positive or negative?” He inquired.

“I’m not sure.”

Rex lead you all into the main area of the base. In the centre was a round command post, surrounded by control panels, storage crates, an eating area and a handful of clones that all had matching glares when they saw Crosshair had walked in.

The animosity was cloying, stoking that forever burning rage within you, born from the injustice of the situation. If they were unhappy to see Crosshair, you felt they should be unhappy to see you as well.

“Your numbers are growing,” Hunter observed, noticing the scowl off a clone in camouflage coloured armour and another in white and yellow.

“Well, we need all the help we can get,” Rex informed him. “Once we find the exact coordinates of the Tantiss Base, we have to hit it hard if we’re gonna pull our brothers out of there.”

Everything inside you tightened at the mention of Tantiss. Crosshair simmered with the same level of hesitancy beside you.

“I have questions about the facility, but that’s not the only reason why I sent for you.” Rex grabbed a puck off the console. “We recovered a target list from an Imperial operative.” He pressed a button to reveal a holo of you. “That’s not all.” The image changed to one of Omega.

“Not a surprise,” Crosshair’s voice was verging on icy sharpness. “They escaped Imperial custody.”

“So did you,” Howzer instantly pointed out. “But you’re not on the list.”

“Guess I’m not as valuable to them,” Cross answered, his mouth set in a firm line.

“Or you’re feeding them information!”

“Back off!” You blurted out, stunning the entire room to silence. Howzer looked shocked but it didn’t last long, his ire now directed at you. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I do,” Howzer countered angrily. “You expect us to believe he was held on Tantiss for months, but he doesn’t know how to get back there?!”

Rage. It was so fierce, rising to meet Howzer’s own, it burned under your skin. “And what about me?” Your head cocked to the side, listening to the shuffle of feet behind you. “I was there for six months.” You stepped forward again, enjoying the little thrill when Howzer bumped into the console behind him. Your voice became quieter. “Locked in a room with no window. Isolated, with only my own nightmares for company. Do you really think I would be able to find my way back to that?”

“Easy,” Hunter placed a hand on your shoulder, taking the edge off the red haze and you forced your body to unclench.

“You weren’t loyal to the Empire before you were, relocated to Tantiss,” Howzer responded diplomatically. “He was.”

“Whether you believe me or not,” Crosshair said. “It’s the truth. But I’m not loyal to the Empire any longer.”

Howzer scoffed. “Your squad may trust you. But I don’t.”

“What’s going on?” Everyone shifted at Omega’s voice, trying to cover the lingering impression of averted confrontation.

“The Empire is targeting you and Stitch. Again.” Crosshair explained dryly.

“No surprise there,” Wrecker said with a dark chuckle.

“Why were they after you before?” Your brain whited out at Rex’s question, thankful when Omega answered first.

“To force Nala Se to cooperate and conduct certain experiments.”

“Which, were what?”

Your hands balled up into fists, the image of the lab tried to drift over your vision, wanting to drag you back there, to trap you once more. You fought the urge to close your eyes, because if you gave in, then the base would be erased from sight and all that would be left, would be the white walls.

Still the darkness came, forcing that pain between your eyes to bloom again. It sucked colour and sound from the room, leaving behind a void of nothing that made your breath quicken. There was something here. Something…unnatural.

A touch on your lower back, feather light and unnoticeable to anyone else, attempted to ease some tension from you. Tech was calm. Worried for you, but overall, his calm prevailed. There was nothing you could do to stop his presence melding with yours, it fascinated you how easily it happened with him and no one else. As though your souls wanted nothing more than to be entwined all the time. He was a balm, soothing colour back into your world.

“Nala Se was working on something involving M-Count? I don’t know what that means, but they were taking blood samples from everyone…even me,” Omega was saying.

“M-Count?” Rex repeated.

M-Count. The pitch of your heart elevated, because you had heard those words before…but you couldn’t recall the details.

“Stitch?” Everyone was looking at you, waiting for you to respond to Rex. “What about you?”

“I would advise caution when questioning Stitch about her time on Tantiss,” Tech spoke up.

“Why?” Howzer prompted when it didn’t look like Tech was going to elaborate for once.

Tech swung his helmet round to face the reg. “Given the highly traumatic nature of the event, do you require an additional rationale?" His expression didn’t change, but his tone of voice became waspish.

“Well we don’t know what happened. Do we?” Taunted Howzer.

“Don’t, push it,” snarled Crosshair.

“You might want to back off,” Hunter warned the reg, throwing an arm out to stop Crosshair launching himself across the few paces to Howzer.

“I can tell you everything I know,” Omega spoke up.

Tech’s hand wandered up your back while Omega talked more. You couldn’t feel his touches through the backplate, but you felt every tiny vibration of movement with your other senses. He easily brushed aside the dark thoughts, sending them back into the void they spawned from.

“Chow time!” Fireball called out from the doorway as Omega’s story wrapped up. “Gregor’s recipe, with a few of my own spicy modifications.”

“Oh! Now you’re talking,” Wrecker followed the smell of food, Batcher and Omega right by his side.

“Wait.” Everyone else hesitated and looked at the sniper. “There’s more you should know.” Crosshair sucked in a breath, unable to shift the dark weight in his chest he fought to speak over. “Not all of the clones on Tantiss are prisoners. Some are loyal to the Empire.” He stopped, taking a second to collect himself before he continued. “There is a division of clones trained as specialised operatives and initiated into a secret deep cover program run by Hemlock.” You felt his struggle, saw the pain that flickered in the depth of his clear gaze. “Their identities are erased. They undergo, conditioning. The few that make it through come out…different.”

There was an ache in your chest, the band wrapped around you like the bindings that had strapped you into the machine. This had been done to you but also…you looked up, shivering under the dread of realisation.

“If the program’s so secretive, how do you know about it?” Howzer accused, his arms crossed defensively.

“Because they tried to make me into one of them.” Hunter and Tech shared a passing glance at Crosshair’s candid admission.

“Tried?”

“It didn’t work. Being defective is in my nature.” The urge to reach for Crosshair was overwhelming. He had admitted this, here and now, in an effort to prove he was telling the truth. Laying himself out for all to see. But you didn’t want him to look weak when he was under such scrutiny.

“You’ve encountered one before. The assassin on Coruscant.” You squinted against the pressure in your mind at Hunter’s words. The memory unfurled like a barbed flower, clawing its way free to blossom completely.

It looked like a stasis chamber but all it did was remind you of your confinement. Rex opened the panel on the top and you came face to face with another clone.

There was a void in the box, a silence that nothing could break and it screamed at you.

“He’s an assassin,” Rex clarified to the group. “His identifying numbers been wiped.”

“We’ve known they existed,” you heard Rex say. “But never knew exactly what they were.”

The unnatural silence you felt oozed from behind a closed door, drawing the air out of your lungs in a rush. You stumbled back into Tech who instantly reacted to stop you falling.

“You have one, here!” Rex’s expression contorted, looking almost apologetic in the face of your fear.

“We, uh, captured one. I’ve tried questioning him but he hasn’t been very cooperative.”

“You have one here? Alive?!” Crosshair rushed out in one breath. You turned to zero in on him. Sensing the blooming agitation and fear that blotted the space around him. “Impossible. The Empire would be on top of us already. They have ways of tracking their operatives.”

Howzer smirked. “We scanned him. He’s clear.”

“It’s not the kind of tracker your scans would pick up. Hemlock’s smarter than that,” Crosshair stressed desperately.

“I concur,” Tech backed him up. “I would not underestimate Hemlock.”

Hunter huffed, his brow dragging down. He looked at you, his intent right there for you to sense. Your fingers flexed and you gave him a nod.

“Where’s the operative?” He asked. “Show us.”

Having Tech behind, kept you going forward. You would do this. Even when it felt like you might not be able to summon the strength, you knew there was no choice.

Rex opened the door and instantly the scrawling mass that surrounded the operative, assaulted your senses.

You heard Crosshair say, “We need to leave. Now.” But you were already sinking. The assassin’s eyes devoured you. His presence screamed of chaos and agony, crawling into your presence with sharp teeth, the monster inside raging.

You cried out, unable to tear yourself away from his invisible hold. You had to try, you had to do this.

“Stitch! Let go, you must let go!” Crosshair sounded so far away…

Concentrate. This clone didn’t have the strength you did. He played on your fear, his suffering drawing out your own, like blood from a wound. Your fingers stretched outwards, feeling for the press of his throat until he choked two meters away.

The chaos lessened. Bowing under the pressure you were inflicting and giving you enough room to delve deeply into his psyche.

The strain of it brought you to your knees. Tech had his arms under yours, sinking with you. “He…he has orders to assassinate a senator.” It was difficult, so difficult trying to sort through the erratic thoughts. Many didn’t make sense, fragments of them drifted, splintered images cracked like mirrors making it impossible to make them out.

“Where is Tantiss?” Rex whispered, crouching beside you. “Can you find it?”

“I —.” Your expression contorted from the pain that speared into your mind, a soft gasp of shock spilled until you pushed through it.

“Hunter, if she continues…”

“I know, Tech. I know.”

You blocked them out. The operative struggled, looking as though he was in pain from you rummaging around in his mind. Until he strangled out a laugh.

And you knew why.

The assassin didn’t have the one answer they wanted.

It was a drain, extracting yourself from the sucking blackness. You had never felt anything so blank and so turbulent at the same time. The operative gasped, his eyes widening when you finally pulled yourself free, falling back into Tech’s chest, reaching to touch the blood dripping from your nose.

“If you want answers so badly,” the assassin sneered. His gaze now fixed on Crosshair. “Why aren’t you asking him? Right, brother?” Rage surged through your system, your vision blurred with the force of it and you pitched forward, both hands out stretched.

Good. Good.

The clone choked silently this time, his eyes bulging as your fingers closed into a fist. Pressure pushed on your mind until it felt like your head was going to crack in half.

You are more powerful than I imagined.

The desire to kill this creature was heightened by the darkening of your mind. Even as your arm shook, even as each knock of your pulse could be felt round your entire body, even as it went against who you were.

The darkness was clouding everything, exuding a sense of satisfaction as this clone’s life began to thread through your severing hold.

“Vod’ika.” Crosshair’s use of Mando’a stirred something long dormant as he kneeled beside you. “He is not worth it. He’s a liar.” He didn’t touch you, just watched as you made the operative choke for a few seconds longer until Hunter stepped in.

“Let him go, Stitch. Now.” The command in his voice could not go ignored. So you let him go. Heaving a breath in, watching the clone fall forward in his chair, gasping and coughing.

“He doesn’t know the coordinates,” you rasped, exhausted now the darkness was retreating with an air of disappointment.

“They are coming,” the assassin wheezed. Bloodshot eyes rose to fix on you and Crosshair. “They are coming for all of you.”

Your eyes grew wide. Turning to Rex with your mouth open to tell him something was about to happen when an explosion rocked the ground floor.

“What was that?” Rex shouted.

“They’re here.”

“Get up, vod’ika,” Crosshair urged you. As two more blasts thundered through the base.

“Comms are down. We move out. Now!” Rex bellowed.

“Don’t open it!” You shoved Crosshair away with one hand, reaching in the opposite direction with the other. But you were too slow. The blaster bolt ripped through your hold in the force, killing the assassin immediately. The mental chaos ceased. Leaving behind an emptiness that was almost worse.

“We got a shooter out here!” Wrecker bellowed.

Strong arms grabbed you. Pulling you from the room to hunker down behind some crates. The flash of Wrecker’s blaster tattooed the back of your eyes.

“Tech, we need to get comms online,” Rex shouted.

“Put this on.” Crosshair was forcing your helmet over your head. “Pull a weapon if you can’t use the other.” He’d seen the blood on your face that had now congealed under your nose and over your lips.

“Help Nemec. We’ll cover you!” Tech nodded at Rex, a blaster and his datapad already in his hands. Nemec moved swiftly to the command post, pulling the panel off the access the wires. A high pitched whine screeched in your ears and your stomach dropped into the floor.

You grabbed onto Tech just as he was about to break cover, when the command post exploded on one side, throwing Nemec across the room. The clone was alive and Tech was unharmed.

“Backup plan! Into the bunker. I’ll cover you! Go!” The squad leapt into action. Rex took point, while the rest of you moved. Howzer retrieved Nemec. Your armour knocked against Tech’s and banged into Crosshair’s as you all tried to make your way across.

Red, blistering heat had you throwing up a hand before your visor could adjust to the brightness. You watched another clone charge towards the shooter with the flame thrower, taking a blaster shot in the shoulder at close range. “Fireball!” Your scream filled the second of silence before the detonator exploded, heaving you all backwards with the force of the blast.

Your ears were ringing. There was a disorientating pressure in your face from where your helmet had crushed into you with the blast. Every movement made your entire body scream as you tried to get up.

Rock and dust fell from the building foundations with a hiss. The world rocked alarmingly, circuits sparked and screens shattered but it was the silent void where Fireball had been that made you crawl forward.

Tears slipped free at the agonising loss of life you sensed. “Fireball!” You screamed again, ignoring the chunks of stone that came loose from the ceiling, slamming into the ground to create a webbing of cracks under your feet.

“Move!” Hunter barrelled out of nowhere, almost tackling you back into the room with the dead assassin. The pair of you fell to the floor, covering your heads as more of the ceiling came down, breaking the floor apart and sealing you all in the bunker.

The room filled with dust and smoke. Fire crackled alarming, the stench of burnt circuits made you gag. Age old panic wove around your throat.

This was familiar, too familiar.

You couldn’t see anyone, unable to focus enough to search your feelings for them either. So you cried out instead. “Tech! Tech!”

“I am here.” His helmet materialised through the fog of your tears, your hands reached out to him. You needed to touch him, to feel he was alive and breathing. "I am uninjured,” he told you when he realised what you were doing. “However, if you persist with such a thorough examination, I may become vulnerable to injury,” Tech’s voice was strained and you eased the grip on his arm, a sob shuddering through your body.

“Crosshair!”

“My ears are still ringing,” he moaned from somewhere to the right. “Don’t start screaming my name.”

Everyone else began to appear. Batcher sniffed out the others, Hunter and Nemec helped Crosshair, Omega helped Rex up and Howzer stumbled into the ring of torchlight shaking his head. Wrecker pressed a hand on the rock, testing how well sealed it was. Hunter shone his torch around the room, inspecting the damage and looking for a way out.

“We need to get moving before their reinforcements get here,” Rex said.

“Is there another way off this spire?” Rex gave a brief chuckle at Hunter’s question.

“There’s always another way.” With a swift kick, he moved some crates to reveal a hole in the floor that showed the entrance to a tunnel. “This leads to the lower levels.”

“Are you injured?” You glanced at Tech while Rex and Hunter helped Omega into the tunnel.

“I don’t think so.” You were numb. Unsure if you could cope with anything else in this very moment.

“Would you say if you were?” Crosshair asked.

“Probably not,” You muttered.

“Hmm.” He clearly didn’t like your response but chose not to push it. Wrecker was next to disappear as Tech crouched beside the entrance.

Your breath caught loudly through the vocoder.“Crosshair…”

“Don’t ask me.”

“If I get taken…” you whispered.

“I—we won’t let that happen.” He nudged you forward, putting an end to the conversation.

The tunnels were rough, slightly smaller in some places and you winced at the sound of Wrecker’s armour scraping along the stone. The space eventually opened out to a wide stair case that clearly spiralled around the core of the monastery.

Rex looked down into the hollow centre to work out how far up you all were. “Our leech vessel is docked about ten levels down.”

“Doesn’t have a hyperdrive though,” Howzer announced. “We won’t get far.”

“No, but we can use it to contact Echo.”

“Stay alert,” Hunter needlessly reminded everyone. Your fingers felt rubbery as you gripped the blaster and pulled your vibroblade free, following the others down the many steps. There was a rumble through the thick walls and Tech inspected the ceiling as though he could see through it.

“The reinforcements are here,” he stated.

Another explosion rocked the base, dust scattered down the steps with a raining hiss.

“No going back now,” Rex told you all heavily. “The ship’s docked just down this corridor.”

Your feet stopped moving. Something was coming with pounding footsteps that thundered rhythmically in your mind.

“Stitch? We have to keep moving,” Tech encouraged you quietly.

“Stop,” Crosshair loudly ordered and the group ground to a halt.

“What is it?” Nemec asked. You gestured to Crosshair and he nodded, looking out into the darkness through an opening beside you.

“They’re coming.” He looked up, his visor reflected the bright red blaster bolt that missed him by inches. You wrenched him away from the opening, pushing him against the wall.

“I’ll handle it,” Crosshair announced, giving you a shove with his elbow. “Go.”

You didn’t want to leave him. You nearly resisted Tech and his urgent grasp as he pulled you away from Crosshair. The only reason you went, was because of the determination you felt in Crosshair. This was his battle to face.

Rex led everyone into the tunnels, torch light bobbing with each step, throwing shadows along the walls. The group was breathing heavily, their resolve hardening the closer you all moved to the ship. The ramp opened and Rex dove in to power it up. You hovered by the hatch with Wrecker and Tech, blaster cocked and ready incase Crosshair wasn’t the one coming down the tunnel.

But he was, relief cascading over you as he ran into the ship. “We need to go.”

“We’re waiting on you,” Wrecker told him.

“You didn’t kill him,” you whispered to Crosshair.

“I missed,” he seethed angrily. Disappointed with himself but resigned at the same time.

The vessel was tiny, the space made smaller by the amount of bodies crushed into it. Batcher was hassling Nemec with Omega talking to him. Tech was standing next to Rex at the controls, Howzer and Hunter moved aside to make room for Wrecker. You were crushed in, forced to stand before Crosshair.

“Let me see.”

“No…”

“Crosshair.” Your voice was sharp, ending all protests. Still he sighed, offering his hand to you and looking away. He was trembling, the shivers consumed his hand and you worked on smoothing them out. Using repetitive motions with your thumbs, drawing them heavily along his palm and between his fingers, working your way to his wrist.

“Prepare to launch.” Your feet spread to account for the movement of the ship, lost in calming Crosshair which ultimately calmed you as well.

But then you felt the disturbance too late. The blaster shots exploded the engines, jolting you all in midair. Alarms beeped loudly, power flickered through the ship and you saw the ground growing increasingly closer through the canopy.

“Remora-one, we’ve been compromised. Heading to marker 025 for an extraction,” Rex relayed in his transmission to Echo. “Repeat. Marker 025.”

The hull quaked as metal creaked and groaned under the pressure. Air rushed past in a scream, the cockpit began to fill with smoke.

“Impact is imminent,” Tech commented from somewhere behind you.

“We’re going down! Strap in!” Rex yelled.

“Hold on, vod’ika.” Crosshair tugged you forward, switching your places so you were in the corner and he was standing in front of you. Hunter was strapping Omega into a chair, Wrecker was holding Batcher, Howzer and Nemec braced themselves. Rex fought the ships controls, levelling it out as best he could before him and Tech abandoned them to take refuge further back in the ship. Your hand grabbed Tech’s arm, grateful when Crosshair moved over so they could both stand before you.

There was nothing you could do as the ship hit the ground. Omega cried out when the ship flipped so hard you thought your stomach was in your feet and head at the same time. The guys grunted with the effort of holding their positions, armour rattled in the twisting space as the ship lost momentum and slid across the ground instead. The lurch made everyone lose their footing, ending up in a heap on the ceiling of the cockpit.

“Well, that was awful,” Wrecker groaned loudly in the sudden stillness. Hands helped you stand. Wrecker managed to open the hatch, Batcher burst out giving herself a shake. Nemec crawled free, removing his helmet to empty the contents of his stomach in some tree roots.

Your head was swimming. Still reeling from exhausting yourself earlier, then the explosion and now this. It was a wonder any of you could stand at all.

“Is everyone all right?” Hunter checked on Omega who gave him a quick nod.

“I’ve experienced better landings,” Howzer commented over the sound of Nemec still retching.

“Grab what supplies you can,” Rex ordered, passing out a couple of bags. Omega shouldered one and Crosshair drifted over to her.

“You good?” He asked.

“Uh-huh.” You could tell she was shaken, but it didn’t overpower her.

“Got your crossbow?”

“Yep.”

Crosshair continued to interrogate her, ignoring the others as they watched curiously. “Sure you can carry those supplies?”

“Yes.” She turned to face him.

“Stay close. It’s easy to get lost in this terrain.”

There was a moment that lifted the heaviness of the situation when Omega subtly rolled her eyes. “You’re as bad as Hunter.”

“Oh.” Crosshair loomed over her. “I’m much worse.”

Tech’s datapad screen was reflected in his goggles when you turned to look for him. He registered your movement, glancing up at your approach. “I remain uninjured,” he informed you.

“Do you mind if I don’t take your word for it?” The datapad lowered slightly, his fingers still.

“I assure you, I would never purposely deceive you.” Tech sounded almost pained at the idea, what you could see of his expression was lined with concern.

“I’m just worried,” you admitted softly.

“Understandable. This entire situation has been less than ideal.”

“Echo should meet us at the extraction point. We have to continue on foot,” Rex informed the group once Nemec had his helmet back on.

“How far?” Hunter was frowning, his eyes tracking over the terrain as well as his exhausted and battered squad. Once he was happy with everyone he put his helmet back on.

“Five klicks north,” Nemec stated. You all looked up at the sound of the Imperial ships approaching your current position.

“We’ve got attack shuttles inbound,” Hunter observed.

“This way. Let’s move.”

It was Tantiss all over again. The jungle was thick, tree roots covered the ground making it uneven. The pace was as fast as you could all make it, stumbling through the dark, not wanting to use the torches and give away your position.

Oya’karir. The hunt had started, you can sense it with each pound of your pulse. Someone had their sights set on you and Omega, and they were right behind you.

The path evened out so Rex slowed the group to a walk as cover became more scarce. A roar created a disturbance deeper in the jungle, shocking some animals to take flight in the distance.

“What the heck was that?” Wrecker demanded gruffly.

“That would be a jungle rancor.” Tech answered without hesitation.

“A what?” You noticed Crosshair take a step closer to Omega, his rifle poised and ready to shoot.

“The creature is approximately six klicks to the west,” Tech gestured vaguely in that direction. “It should not intersect with our route.”

“Are you sure?” Hunter turned round to address his brother.

Tech glanced at him with an exasperated sigh. “I said ‘should’, not ‘would’. Despite my extensive knowledge of Teth’s fauna, even I cannot predict with absolute certainty the movements of a rancor.”

“Comforting,” Howzer muttered.

“What do they look like?”

Crosshair made a noise through his vocoder, picking up his pace to escape the inevitable information splurge that was about to occur from your question.

Tech almost missed a step at your request, stumbling slightly and then clearing his throat. “I can explain later if…?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. I think we could all do with a minor distraction,” you swept your arm out to encompass the group.

“I fought a baby rancor once,” Wrecker told Howzer, clapping the clone on the back.

“It was an adolescent,” Tech corrected him with a pointed finger

“I would have paid good credits to witness that fight,” Crosshair retorted.

“I recorded it,” Tech hastily told him.

Crosshair looked back, shaking his head a little. “Of course you did.”

“I miss Muchi,” Omega sighed from beside the sniper.

“Come on,” Hunter encouraged Tech. “What do they look like?”

"If you insist. Jungle rancors are actually quite fascinating and exhibit a very different appearance compared to their Dathomirian counterparts. There are several distinctions between the species. Most notably, their skin color is much more vibrant than that of the common rancor. Additionally, they possess sharp spines that run along much of their body, including their tongue. Jungle rancors have webbing between their fingers and toes, which common rancors lack, and their jaws differ significantly in shape and size, with the jungle rancor having the larger of the two.”

You noticed Howzer and Nemec exchange a look through their helmets while Rex shook his with a half chuckle. “Nothing ever changes,” he murmured. “The first time I met Tech, he gave me a lecture on male yalbecs.”

“Aw yeah. Now that was a good time,” Wrecker said dreamily.

“Not something I personally, would like to repeat,” Crosshair pointed out.

“Why not?” Omega inquired and Hunter groaned.

“Ah, let’s focus on that when we get back home,” he suggested.

“I have the video available on the Marauder if you would like to view it,” Tech told the kid and she grinned up at Crosshair with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Oh, definitely,” she told Tech over her shoulder.

The group fell into a comfortable silence, taking constant stock of their surroundings and now, looking out for jungle rancors.

Omega and Batcher drifted to the front with Hunter and Rex, Wrecker brought up the rear. Tech stayed beside you, his visor occasionally coming down to observe the flora in passing. Howzer and Nemec were ahead, gaining on Crosshair, you noticed with interest.

The sniper sighed when they drew level, casting quick glances in his direction. “What?”

“I’ve seen how you are with the kid and Stitch,” Howzer said quietly. Hearing your name, you zeroed in on the conversation.

“Hmm. Your point?”

“Well…” Howzer shrugged under his armour. “You’re different than you were on Ryloth. So…what changed?” You pulled Tech to a halt when Crosshair stopped to face the two regs.

“Loyalty meant something to me. But with the Empire, it didn’t go both ways.” Tech kept his gaze trained on Cross, listening closely. “I realised how disposable I was.”

“You’re not the only one,” Howzer replied kindly. You let out a breath when they all carried on walking, you and Tech following.

“I realise, we have not taken the time to talk to Crosshair about what transpired on Tantiss,” Tech murmured to you. “We do not know the full extent of what happened to him.”

“He wasn’t ready to open up then,” you reassured him. “Cross is talking now because he feels he has to prove himself. If we return to Pabu, he needs a break from it all.”

“When.”

“Huh?”

Tech gave you an earnest glance. “You said ‘if we return.’ I corrected it to ‘when we return.’”

“Were you always this much of an optimist?”

Tech took a while to respond and you wondered if you had upset him somehow. You weren’t prepared for his answer.

"I am convinced the worst ordeal is behind me. Even if the remainder of my life unfolds as a worst-case scenario, I find solace in knowing you are safe." His words made your heart ache. It was excruciating, knowing that you being taken, was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. "Therefore, I surmise I now tend to perceive the positive aspects in every situation."

“Do you have the memory of when I was taken?” Tech’s shoulders dropped a little at the request.

“I do not have the recording of what transpired within the medbay,” he hesitated long enough for you to notice. “I do, however, have the message you recorded onto Beetoo before she was destroyed.”

The medbay, the droid…you’d seen them in the videos of your memories. Unease unfurled all around you, stealing what you were going to say as the air shimmered and vibrated.

“Can you feel that?”

“No. But I am reading an Imperial ship less than a klick south.” The pair of you jogged to catch up with the others as the ship sailed overhead, drowning out Batcher’s bark. Bright lights flooded the jungle, forcing you all to find cover behind a rock and some trees. Soldiers descended from the open base of the ship, just as they had on Tantiss.

“We have to knock through their line to reach the extraction point,” Rex shouted over the sound of the engines.

“We’ve got these.” Omega produced some smoke grenades from her pack and handed them to Wrecker. He armed them and tossed them high into the air. To your surprise, the troopers fired upon your squad with stun blasts. A tremor of fear snaked down your spine. Of course they used stuns, they wanted to drag you back to Tantiss. To Hemlock. Alive.

Crosshair fired some shots and then dropped into the smoke bank next to Omega. “Stick by my side, and stay down,” he ordered.

Tech was beside you, his footsteps matched yours in the retreat, backing away from the advancing troopers. Wrecker and Batcher circled round the back of them, jumping into the fray bashing heads together and pouncing on confused soldiers.

Nemec and Howzer were like ghosts in the smoke. Dragging unsuspecting troopers back into the thick of the smoke. Tech and you were back to back, trying to make sense of the noises and shadows.

You focused, feeling a presence approaching through the dark. The blue glow of a commando visor materialised, lifting his blaster to shoot you.

You wouldn’t go back.

You refused to let Hemlock lay his hands on you ever again.

With a strangled cry you leapt forward, dodging the blast with ease and launching yourself at the commando. He went down under the weight of your body slam, his blaster knocking loose from his grip.

“Stitch!” There were bolts lighting up the smoke in flashes, live fire and stuns alike. Bodies dropped, armour crashed, Batcher’s snarls rolled through the fog like thunder.

Angling your knuckle plate, you slammed a fist into the commando’s helmet, hearing the satisfying grunt of pain. You straddled his chest, pinning one of his arms down with a knee. Your other foot planted on the ground. Holding the top of his chestplate, you raised him up to hit him in the temple again. Not caring on the jarring impact it caused your arm, to slam into his katarn with such force.

The commando’s arm was searching for his blaster, fingers touching the edge of it as he reeled from your blows. Digging your fingers under the lip of the helmet, you wrenched it off. The clone was dazed, but he instantly focused on you with pure anger and disgust. Blood oozed from his nose, smearing across his cheeks and chin.

“You’re my message to Hemlock,” you told him.

He grinned to reveal blood straining his teeth. The clone’s gaze looked at something over your shoulder. “Tell him yourself.”

A shot rang out.

Loud and close.

You could feel the heat of it, smell the scorch of flesh that permeated your helmet.

Then the clone’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he sagged heavily in your grip. You wanted to scream at the intense numbness of death rolling over you, but you were frozen, barely able to breathe.

“Just kill them. It’s much easier.” Crosshair’s voice snaked towards you, his tall form becoming more defined. The noise of fighting reached you, breaking the spell of quiet that had unknowingly descended. He walked past you, lifting his rifle to shoot at the ship.

Standing up, you watched his shots find their mark, killing the pilot and then shooting out the engines at the back. He lowered the rifle to watch the ship almost float to ground, ending in an orange fireball that swept through the jungle on a silent wind, only to be followed by the deep boom of destruction.

“Aw, yeah!” You heard Wrecker shout from somewhere.

“Let’s move!” Rex ordered.

You jumped when a hand grabbed your elbow, tight and firm you thought it was Hunter or Crosshair.

It was neither.

Tech’s eyes were wide, tension rolled off him as he marched you along.

“I can walk,” you protested weakly.

“I cannot afford to lose you again,” Tech snapped. He sighed, easing his hold on your arm when he realised he was over reacting slightly, but he didn’t let go completely. “Or, at least warn me next time you decide to engage in hand to hand combat.” You felt ashamed. He had only just admitted, losing you was the worst event in his life and you decided to be reckless in the very next battle.

A battle to possess you or Omega. Or both.

You wanted to apologise, except you weren’t really sorry. The need for Hemlock to know he’d never own you again was all consuming. If only Crosshair hadn’t killed the trooper, you would have carved out your message onto his blood spattered armour.

“How much further to the landing zone?” Hunter asked Rex.

“Just ahead. Almost there.”

You went to look behind you when Tech’s grip tightened on reflex. “No, there’s something there!” Crosshair heard your cry and stopped to look.

“What is it?” Howzer demanded, reacting to Cross aiming his rifle behind them.

The blue bolt left his rifle the same time as a red bolt shot out of the dark and straight into Nemec.

“No!” You screamed, wrenching free of Tech.

“Nemec!” Howzer moved towards his fallen brother but Crosshair shouldered him out of the way to cover.

“Get down!” The sniper demanded roughly.

Tech wrapped his arms around your waist, hauling you out of sight before the shooter could target you. “No! Nemec!” You sobbed softly, leaning back into Tech, not able to take your eyes off the body sprawled on the floor. Hairs rose all over your body at the silence of death stalking among you. Rex, Hunter and Wrecker added their fire to Crosshair’s as he made his way down the slope a little.

“Omega, smoke grenade.”

“We’re out,” she told Hunter.

“I’ll draw his fire. Get to the rendezvous.” Your face contorted at Crosshair’s voice over the internal com.

“I don’t like that idea,” Omega’s voice wavered lightly.

“Too bad.”

“No! Crosshair!” Your voice cracked over his name. You couldn’t lose anyone else today.

“Tech. Get her out of here.”

“I’m not leaving! I’m not leaving him!”

“Don’t make me stun you,” threatened Hunter as he helped Tech get you up.

“Go! Now!” Rex shouted. They forced you in the opposite direction to Crosshair. Even as you cried and begged, reaching blindly with your hands and senses until your vision was a shattered image you couldn’t make sense of.

Echoes of the rifles, ricocheting off the surrounding rocks made you flinch. You couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from, or which rifle was shooting.

Fear had reared its ugly head. Burying into your chest, lacerating your insides. Each rip and tear grew wider, bleeding the blackness you had so desperately tried to hold back.

When the flash of blaster bolts hit a rock above your head, you acted. With a twist of your body, you blasted Tech and Hunter away, slamming them backwards to the ground.

“Stitch! No!” Wrecker came with the intent of grabbing you, but he was too slow when you ducked under his outstretched arms. There was a river below, the rush it over the waterfall drowned out the beat of running footsteps coming from behind.

You didn’t care. Your focus was on the two figures as they teetered over the edge. With a shout, you watched them fall. The world pulled inwards as you demanded so much of the force around you, it flexed and bent but still you couldn’t get it to reach and save Crosshair.

He disappeared beneath the dark churning water.

“He’s down there!” Howzer shouted. You were already in pursuit, not daring to take your eyes off Crosshair as he fought to keep his head above water. There was another waterfall, steeper than the last. The drop was sheer, but you didn’t care.

“Don’t do it!” Wrecker snatched you successfully this time, just before you stepped off the edge.

“It’s too steep,” Hunter told you, peering over the edge.

“Let me go! I can make it, I have to make it.”

“Not with a broken leg you won’t.” Sagging in Wrecker’s arms you glared at Hunter through the visor. “We’ll find another way down,” he said, softer this time. “I won’t leave without him either.”

“Ok. Ok!” Hunter stepped away and nodded at Wrecker who instantly released you.

“There’s a path here,” Howzer noticed, gesturing with his blaster. They let you charge ahead, Batcher beside you as she too, looked for Crosshair. Your hands were shaking, a chill began to seep from the top of your head, easing down your spine like a slow steady drip. No words could explain it, you just knew time was running out.

The path levelled, bringing you to the river bank. A shadow stood in the water, leaning over with their hands holding something under the water.

Time stopped.

Blistering rage flooded down your arms in a wave of cascading fire. Not even the cold river water could break you from the laser like focus you had. Instinct drove you. Crosshair was in the water, the rage had given you clarity enough to untangle everything your senses picked up.

Crosshair’s life was flickering, desperate to hold on. It had felt just the same as Tech’s life tried to pour through your fingers. You didn’t let it happen then, you certainly weren’t going to let it happen now.

Your awareness struck, wrapping around the operative, dragging him up a fee feet into the air where he struggled, digging at his throat with desperate fingers. You felt the same empty chaos as the other assassin, his presence literally vibrated with it.

Do it. A voice whispered in your mind, the intent nudging your thoughts along. Kill him.

No…

You didn’t want that emptiness on your hands. Each void that came after death was like an inky stain you couldn’t scrub off.

Do it. Give yourself to the dark.

You couldn’t deny, it felt good. Incredibly good to have someone at the whim of your mercy.

I can’t.

The whip of rage wasn’t your own and you tossed the operative over the edge of the waterfall to try and free yourself. The darkness that had taken up residence in your mind melted away as the enemy disappeared from sight.

Running forward, you climbed the wet rock Crosshair was barely holding onto, his fingers slipping with the strong current. “Hold on Cross!” Throwing yourself down, you grabbed his wrist with both hands, barely aware of Howzer kneeling next to you, helping to drag Crosshair free of the water.

The sniper coughed. His lungs trying to expel every drop of water that had been breathed in. You rubbed the back of his neck, supporting him through the body wracking tremors as the others made their way across the river. Tech carried his helmet.

“Can you walk?” Rex asked gently.

“I’ll be fine.” Crosshair’s voice was rough as he moved to stand, taking his helmet from Tech. “Thanks,” he directed at you, giving Howzer a nod.

“Extraction marker is just over here,” Rex pointed to an outcropping the other side of the path.

Omega waited on the bank with Batcher, rushing to Crosshair’s side. “Are you ok?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said again.

He wasn’t. The confrontation with the operative had shaken Crosshair far harder than he’d anticipated. But this wasn’t the time for you to try and figure out why.

A ship was approaching.

“That’s not Echo,” Wrecker announced.

Sure enough an Imperial ship came down to land, kicking up dirt, the air whipping it to pebble against your armour. The group closed around Omega, pulling blasters and blades, ready to fight until Echo arrived.

Clones stepped free of the ship, weapons pointed at the squad as they fanned out over the rocky outcropping. “Drop your blasters! Now!” The clone at the front had decorated armour, an image of days long gone.

Rex stepped forward, lowering his blasters slightly. “Wolffe?”

“Rex?”

There was nothing you could do as Rex holstered his weapons, the rest of the squad relaxing. Even Tech rested a hand over your blaster so it pointed to the ground.

The Captain removed his helmet, revealing himself to the Commander opposite.

“I—I thought you were dead,” Wolffe admitted. He followed Rex’s lead, holstering his own blasters and removing his helmet. “Reports said you were killed in action. That you went down aboard an attack cruiser.”

“Oh, I did,” Rex told him. “I lost a lot of good men that day. And today,” he added heavily.

“What are you doing here, Rex? Don’t tell me you’re fighting against us.” The Batch tensed at Wolffe’s angry tone.

“No. Not against you. Against the Empire. They’re imprisoning and experimenting on our brothers, killed others.”

“The Empire wouldn’t do that to us,” Wolffe countered.

“They have seen it.” Rex shifted, giving Wolffe an unhindered view of you and Omega. You pulled the helmet off, aware of how awful you looked with a face no doubt bruised and still covered in dried blood.

“It’s true,” Omega faultlessly backed up Rex. “That’s what’s happening on Tantiss.”

“We have to stop them. You can help us.” Rex approached Wolffe slowly. “You can stand with us.”

“I am a soldier of the Empire. I have my orders,” Wolffe said in a hard tone, dismissing everything he’d heard. “Hand the girl and the woman over and I’ll make sure you’re given a fair trial.” Tech side stepped in front of you with his blasters raised as Wrecker and Hunter moved to stand before Omega. Batcher gave a vicious snarl that left everyone in no doubt of her position.

Rex raised a hand, staying the Batch. “Think about what you are doing, Wolffe. I know you have been trained not to question orders. But open your eyes. You’re hunting a child. And, I bet they didn’t even tell you the reason for hunting down a medic.” He sighed at the hardening look on his brother’s face. “I know that’s not who you are. As your brother, I’m asking you to do the right thing.”

A light on Rex’s vambrace started to intermittently glow, accompanied by a beep as Echo’s ship approached from behind.

“Sir, there’s an unmarked vessel inbound,” a commando reported to Wolffe. “Commander?”

Echo landed in a cloud of dust and air, opening the ramp ready for you all to board. Rex didn’t move, staring at the opposing clone until he finally made a decision.

“Stand down,” Wolffe ordered.

Tech holstered his weapons and turned, nodding in the direction of the ship as a clear instruction for you to board. So you did. Giving Wolffe one last look before turning your back on them all and heading into the safety of the Remora.

Omega came, Batcher had her tongue lolling out, clearly happy to be back in the ship. Crosshair entered the hold and immediately slumped onto the floor, removing his helmet and letting it roll away from him. Howzer, Hunter and Wrecker came next, greeting the clone that stood by the entrance. Rex was last, giving Wolffe a lingering look of regret before the ramp sealed and enclosed you all inside.

“Let’s get out of range,” Rex told Gregor.

This wasn’t like the other times. Standing in the middle of the ship all you could feel was despair and loss. All those lives, snuffed out because Hemlock was that desperate to get his hands on you and Omega.

You should have walked away on Lau and never looked back.

“You have extensive bruising across your face,” Tech murmured. “Echo has given me the medkit to administer treatment.” You didn’t even notice he’d left your side. You watched the others all file into the cockpit after Rex, even Omega and Batcher until you were left alone with Tech.

“Why do you bother with me? I’m a hindrance.” Tech frowned at your mumbled question, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose.

“Why…am I treating you?”

“You’re angry with me.” He was. It still persisted within Tech. Frustration at your disregard for your own life, mostly. For not seeing how important you were to him, regardless of what you had suffered.

“My anger is…multifaceted,” Tech stated with a quick huff. "I do not intend to direct my frustration towards you. If it has appeared that way, please accept my sincere apologies." His eyes tracked over your dirty face, softening slightly. "I cannot deny that the past few days have been incredibly challenging for all of us. While I cannot fully comprehend what you must be feeling, I am striving to provide everything you might need."

You deflated. Folding in on yourself as the crushing weight of anguish collapsed the last shreds of restraint you had left.

It hurt to cry. The ache stretched across your cheek bones and up the bridge of your nose. The feelings became too much, the heaviness you always carried on your chest became a hindrance. Each breath was a monumental effort. Tech tried to talk to you, to keep you with him.

It still felt as though you were suffocating alone.

Each sob felt like it was physically torn from your soul. You were made of agonising pain, held together by threads that constantly slipped from your grasp. You had been unravelling for a while, partially unaware of how deep your scars really went.

The only constant you had, was your anger. It came when you needed it the most, honing your mind and body to peak efficiency. Whispering encouragement to go that step further into the unknown.

When you used your anger, it felt right, it felt good.

Darkness came for you, listening to your whimpered pleas for relief, bringing with it words from the one that held you.

I have got you.

#sanctuary #sanctuary part 2 #tech x you #tech x reader #tech x f!reader #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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gigifujijifu · 4 months ago

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Ok so I first wrote a mess in the tags but by the end of it I realized the actual answer, for me, is not just following impulses for who I want to play but also: spreadsheets.

My boyfriend and I make spreadsheets almost as a hobby. We have... a lot of alts, so to make it easier we have spreadsheets for things like which alts we've done holiday events on, and which trade-able cosmetics we've unlocked on who so we can pass extras around without having to log into everyone to check (not that I collect anything in a completionist sense with so many alts).

I also made a spreadsheet that lets us mark which WT stickers we need that week and it will flag which ones we have in common with each others alts so we can pair them off to do them more efficiently if we want.

I realize it's excessive but it's a kind of fun project and I love all of my characters and my bf dearly so playing with them no matter who I'm on or with is fun and there's always something to do.

people who have alts on ffxiv

how do you do it /g

#i have 19 characters #but some are concepts i havent developed past lvl 15 and others are npcs #so the real number is 11 #and of those 11 i only work on 6 regularly and of those 6 only three i consider to be WoLs #i stay on top of it by playing with my boyfriend (most of our characters pair off into duos for leveling/questing)#i tend to focus on very specific things i want to do on very specific characters based on their stories/personality/etc #like example: Rat is my main and original WoL and he is also from a family of woodworkers in ishgard #so it was very very very important to me that he be not only saint of the firmament but also number 1 on ranking for carpentry #and other alts i will aim for very specific glams or hairstyles. ill pass things on my 'main's to give to my alts if it fits them better #the less played alts still get dragged out for every holiday event - so during that time i glam them and gpose and adore them #rhika was shelved for years as a holiday alt. she is a heel at the uldah arena so seeing the arcadion got me wanting to play her REALLY BAD #so now im working on her #but mostly its just playing 1-2 mains and 2-3 alts and rotating who those 2-3 alts are #i also dont raid so theres that #the part that isnt fun though? ive done island sanctuary 4 times. i plan to do it at least two more times..........#re-aquiring some glamours and cosmetics is just needlessly tedious... this game is violently hostile toward players who enjoy alts #but i do it anyway because my characters are who they are #im the polar opposite of whatever is going on with fant addicts #the alt addict #i had to stop being a completionist. i dont want to do everythign on everyone #i just want to do what each character needs and is true for their character #sometimes that means saint of the firmament or farming a cassie earring or sometimes it just means grinding a specific mogtome or pvp rewar #choosing what to do and letting go of completionism is what let me do it tho #the only reason it wasnt an issue in wow was because rewards were all account-wide. SE catch up please gods #idk why i wrote all this in the tags...#im sleepy and cant formulate a proper response #also spreadsheets #we have so... so so many spreadsheets to track things for our characters it is. its a hobby.

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wetterroomba · 1 year ago

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No one warned me about the real nightmare of adulthood- your best friend and lifeline seriously talking about moving to the other side of the country

#to be fair its for asylum bc Washington is a trans sanctuary state and im thinking about talking it over with my mother #i cant leave them behind because 1 they cant afford to live without my income and assistance #and 2 theres no guarantee our insurance would approve more aide hours for either of them if i were to move out #but other side of the country means no family around to help them when i can't #it means having to break everyones routines #takes me back to my childhood anxiety that there is no universal 'home'#theres a very real part of me that wants to leave in secret and not tell them where im going so i can just live for a while #but at the same time it's such a selfish thought they dont deserve that nobody asked to be put in this situation tied to my mother #until she dies and then ill be thrown into independence head first as the legal adult guardian of my brother #what the fuck am i supposed to do

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vanteguccir · 4 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　SLEEPLESS NIGHT

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Spencer finally has a night to sleep at his apartment with his girlfriend, but the current case doesn't even let him close his eyes, leading him to study the files until ungodly hours. But who said that Y/N can sleep away from him?

WARNING: Slightly mention of age gap (reader is still in college), tooth rotting fluff.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Spencer hated bringing work home, and he had two very specific reasons for it. First, he loathed the idea of mixing his work life with his personal life. The BAU was a constant source of darkness; gruesome crimes, twisted minds, and the unrelenting pressure to solve the unsolvable.

His home was the opposite: a place of light and warmth, a refuge from the horrors that haunted him on a daily basis. But more importantly, home was where Y/N was. She was the one person who could pull him from the depths of his thoughts, her mere presence offering a calm that he couldn't find anywhere else. She was his life, his anchor, and his sanctuary.

Their time together was sacred, especially with the demands of his job taking him away so often. Whether he was chasing unsubs across the country or spending endless hours poring over case files at the BAU, being away from Y/N was the hardest part of his job. When he was home, he wanted to be fully present, to make up for the time he lost while he was away.

He cherished the quiet moments, the lazy evenings where they could simply exist together without the weight of the world bearing down on him. He wanted to give her every ounce of his attention, to make her feel just how much she meant to him.

But then, there were nights like tonight, when the case followed him home despite his best intentions, forcing him to divide his focus in a way that always left him feeling guilty.

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, filtered through the sheer curtains that hung over the windows. The clock on the nightstand read 2:37 AM, its gentle green glow a quiet reminder of how late it had become.

Spencer lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling, though his mind was far from still. It raced, chasing the loose ends of the case, replaying details, searching for the missing link that could unravel everything. The unsub was smart, meticulous in his planning, calculating in his movements. It was unnerving, the way this case was so close to home, right here in Quantico.

Hotch had granted the team a rare night to return home and rest, knowing the work would pick up again with relentless intensity in the morning. Spencer knew he should be grateful for the chance to sleep in his own bed, to hold Y/N close, and let her warmth lull him into rest. But sleep felt impossible.

Beside him, Y/N slept soundly, her body curled against his. One arm rested across his chest, her hand fisting tightly the fabric of his white shirt and her hand tucked beneath his shoulder, as if even in sleep, she sought him out. Her breathing was soft and even, the slow rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm against his side.

Spencer turned his head slightly, watching her. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips, probably remains of a dream. His heart clenched with love, a wave of warmth and tenderness washing over him.

With a soft sigh, Spencer slid his right arm beneath her, his hand resting gently on her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric of the sweater she wore - his sweater. He brought his other hand down to her bare leg, carefully shifting her until her right one draped across his thighs, her body instinctively curling closer to him, almost laying fully above him.

His fingers trailed softly along her thigh, the smooth skin warm beneath his touch. The gesture was soothing, grounding him in the present moment, in the feel of her against him. His thumb stroked lazy circles on her flesh, his touch light and reverent, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her - as if he already didn't had each part of her craved inside his head.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. It was a mixture of her shampoo and something uniquely hers, a scent that had always brought him comfort. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her closed eyelids, another kiss pressed to her temple. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her hand tightening its grip on his shirt.

His right hand traveled across the fabric of his sweater, slipping below it, his fingertips sliding higher, brushing against the bare skin of her back. She was so warm, her skin so soft, and the feel of her made something inside him settle, if only for a moment. He continued to stroke her thigh with one hand, his other one gently massaging the muscles of her back, feeling the way her body relaxed further into him.

He stared at her for a long moment, his mind flickering between her and work. He didn’t want to leave her alone in bed, didn’t want to let it drag him away from her. Spencer knew Y/N deserved a good night's sleep more than anyone. She had been tirelessly studying for her college finals, always the most academically involved and dedicated in her class, which caused her to staying up late, buried in textbooks and research papers - just as he spent sleepless nights away on cases.

But even as he held her close, the details of the case gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

With a reluctant sigh, he carefully began to shift, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb her. His hand on her thigh slid away, and he gently eased her leg off his hips, tucking it back beneath the blankets. She mumbled softly in her sleep, her body instinctively moving toward his warmth even as he slipped out from under her.

Spencer sat up, pausing for a moment as he watched her stir. Her hand reached for him in her sleep, her face burrowing further into his pillow as if searching for his scent. The sight made his chest tighten with both affection and guilty.

With one last glance at Y/N, Spencer stood, moving with the quiet precision of someone who was used to slipping away in the dead of night. He padded silently out of the bedroom, the soft sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his feet.

The apartment was shrouded in a heavy, comfortable darkness, the only sound breaking the quiet being the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Spencer moved with practiced silence, stepping lightly through the familiar space until he reached the small room they’d turned into a makeshift office. It was cluttered with his books, scattered papers, and, more recently, case files.

He flicked on the desk lamp, casting a soft, amber glow across the cluttered desk. His movements were slow, careful not to disturb the serene quiet that enveloped the apartment as he sank into his chair, rescuing his folded glasses from between all those papers.

In front of him lay the case file, the photographs of the victims staring back at him as if mocking his inability to piece it all together. He scanned the reports for what felt like the hundredth time, his brow creased in thought, eyes darting over the details.

Minutes bled into an hour, maybe more. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose as he leaned in closer to the desk, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the crime scene photos. His other hand tugged at the cuff of his pajama sleeve, lost in the rhythm of his restless thoughts.

Just then, the sound of soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor reached his ears, the faint shuffling of bare feet snapping him out of his thoughts. He barely turned in his chair before he saw her; a sleepy, disheveled Y/N standing in the doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the hallway light. The sleeves of his sweater were falling over her hands, causing her shoulders to become exposed, and her eyes were heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"Spence..." She mumbled, her voice raspy and thick with drowsiness. The sight of her tugged at his heart in the most tender way.

Spencer’s face softened instantly, guilt creeping in at the edges of his thoughts. He’d woken her.

"Hey, sweetheart." He murmured, pushing the file aside and giving her his full attention. His voice was quiet, filled with concern. "What are you doing awake? You should be asleep."

Y/N blinked at him, the bleariness in her eyes making her seem even smaller and more vulnerable. She swayed slightly on her feet, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I woke up... and you weren’t there." She slurred softly, taking a small step toward him, her expression confused and sleepy.

His heart clenched at her words, a wave of guilt washing over him. He hated that he’d caused her to wake up, especially on a week that she spent too much time studying and having little to no rest. He adjusted his posture above the chair, motioning her closer with gentle hands, but Y/N was already moving on her own, shuffling across the room with slow, sleepy steps, her gaze never leaving him.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, dove." He whispered as she reached him. He reached out with his hands as she practically fell into his arms.

She pushed his arms open with little effort and maneuvered herself onto his lap, pressing against him as if seeking out the warmth she’d missed. Her legs straddled his thighs, her knees resting above the sides of the chair, her body curling around his like a koala hugging a tree. The weight of her felt perfect, grounding him as she nestled closer, her chest rising and falling softly against him.

"Spence, don’t apologize." She murmured, her breath tickling the skin of his neck as she shifted, her nose nuzzling into the curve of it, seeking his scent. She pressed her face against him, her lips brushing feather-light against the sensitive skin just below his ear as she planted a sleepy kiss. "You know I just can’t sleep well without you."

Spencer let out a shaky breath, the soft, familiar feeling of her lips against his neck sending warmth coursing through him. His left hand instinctively found her back, his fingers running to the hem of his sweater and lifting it slightly, making room for hand to enter under the fabric and meet her skin, spreading his fingers as he began tracing lazy circles along her spine, soothing her.

Y/N sighed in pleasure, her left hand gently crawling up to his face. Her fingers softly traced the rough stubble along his cheek before instinctively pushing his glasses back up to their proper place, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose in a familiar, soothing motion.

He smiled softly, his guilt still lingering but melting slightly under the comfort of her touch. She was so close, so vulnerable in her half-asleep state, and it made him feel even more protective of her.

"You should be in bed." He whispered, his voice low and affectionate, his hand continuing its gentle caress. "You have finals tomorrow... and this position’s going to make your back hurt in the morning." He tried to sound stern, but the amusement in his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly as Y/N shifted again, her hand leaving his face and meeting the other side of his neck, her right arm tightening around his torso in silent protest.

"I don’t care." She mumbled into his neck, her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke. "I love you. I want to be here."

His heart swelled at her words, an overwhelming wave of love flooding him. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the comforting scent of her.

"I love you more." He whispered back, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled his cheek against her hair. His hand never stopped its rhythmic movement along her back, his touch gentle and tender.

Y/N hummed in response, her breathing already slowing as the warmth of his embrace lulled her back toward sleep. Spencer could feel the way her body relaxed against his, her weight becoming heavier as she melted further into him. She was so peaceful, her soft breaths brushing against his skin in a steady rhythm.

Spencer's eyes drifted to the case file still resting on the desk, his mind unwilling to let go of the details he was trying to piece together. His hand continued to trail soothing patterns on her back, and he tilted his head down, pressing another kiss to her temple, noticing how her body was giving way to sleep again.

"Let me tuck you back into bed, sweetheart." He whispered against her skin, insisting. "You need the proper rest."

But Y/N shifted in his lap, shaking her head, clearly unwilling to move.

"No." She mumbled, her voice soft but convincing. "What I need is to be with you." She burrowed her face deeper into his neck, pressing her nose against his skin and nuzzling him like she was trying to become a part of him. "Let me stay here. Please."

Spencer sighed softly, feeling torn between the the case and the warmth of Y/N in his arms. He glanced back at Y/N, her soft breathing and her peaceful face pressed against his neck, shaking his head with how stubborn she could be.

Wrapping his arms fully around her, he held her close, one hand still caressing her back while the other pulled the case file closer to him again, reopening it and going back to the first page.

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kitkatscabinet · 1 year ago

Text

Don't feed him he'll come back

simon riley x neighbour! reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 1.6k

part 2 here

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment block. Though it feels more accurate to say he’s an occasional visitor. He comes and goes, like a lost spirit, unsure and aimlessly wandering. He slinks silently through the hallways like a wraith in the few instances when he is there.

The first time you see him is just a glimpse from the corner of your eye, a large hulking shadow standing at the door next to your apartment as you step out from yours.

Your feet stutter to a stop, the landlord had mentioned a neighbour but in the 3 months you’d lived there you’d never seen him. As if sensing your eyes lingering curiously on his form, deep brown eyes turn to meet yours. You can make out no other details of his face, the black material of his balaclava obscuring most of his features.

A century could have passed in those few seconds and you doubt you’d have noticed. Despite the weariness in his gaze, you found yourself pulled into the deep pools of those stunning eyes. Like a predator, his gaze never moves from your body, even as you offer him a friendly smile and wave before walking down the hall to continue your day.

You’d heard the uneasily whispered tales of the Ghost that haunted the apartment next to yours from some of the older tenants, though you’d never put much stock into the idle gossip. His burning gaze bores into your back and follows until the doors of the elevator close and you suppose you should feel intimidated.

It’s hard to conjure up any such feelings, even with the knowledge of the wariness he elicits in others. It’s hard to fear the hulking figure of the Ghost when he had such sad eyes.

He hid it well but you recognised the loneliness that lined his shoulders, the bone-deep exhaustion for life that managed to slip through tiny cracks in his self-imposed shield.

You suppose at that moment that even Ghosts can be haunted.

Maybe that’s why you found yourself knocking on his door later that evening with the tray of pasta bake. Initially, you’d made a large batch to have a few days left over for yourself. Yet just as you opened your fridge you’d hesitated, mind flashing to the man next door. Did he have any food for himself? There was likely nothing fresh, and he’d seemed too exhausted to pull himself to the grocery store during the brief encounter earlier.

Donning your Crocs, you’d marched over and knocked on his door before it properly registered that you were in pyjamas. The door swings open and your eyes trail up, the balaclava is gone, replaced with a simple black face mask letting you glimpse blond hair.

“Sorry if this is a bit intrusive, but I figured you probably didn’t have any food so…” you trailed off, pushing the tray towards him, expectantly waiting for him to grab it. It took a few seconds before he robotically took the tray, probably out of sheer confusion more than anything else. Stepping back before he could return the food you offered one last smile before fleeing to the sanctuary of your apartment.

Two days later you exit your apartment to an empty and cleaned tray, a small note with a simple ‘thank you’ placed within.

His name’s Simon, and apart from an introduction and the occasional dish left at his door, you don’t actually interact with him again until nearly a month later. And that had simply been a case of forced proximity a la broken elevator style.

Simon remained unflappable as ever, and it’s at that moment you decide to try and get a reaction that isn’t stoic silence.

“A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and …cola” Brown eyes turned to look at you curiously, brow raised to let you know he was listening. “Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.”

The joke doesn’t land, silence is the only reward for your comedy genius. “Ok, playing hardball. Alright then… Why did Susan fall off the swings?” Again, there is no answer, but a glance at his relaxed posture indicates he’s listening. “Because she had no arms.”

No laugh but you blaze ahead.

“Knock knock.” It takes a few seconds but with a playful glare, he responds quietly and with a tinge of amusement.

“Who’s there?” It’s not the first time you’ve heard his voice, but it still births a serious case of butterflies in your gut that takes more than a few seconds to fight down and regain your composure.

“Not Susan.” You can’t stop the peal of your giggles at that one, and while you swear you see the corner of his cheek curve upwards a little it’s not enough for you to be satisfied.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this, but I guess it’s time for the big guns. You better prepare yourself Riley 'cause I’m done holding back.” You pause for a few seconds to let the anticipation settle.

“What is… Whitney Houston’s favourite type of coordination?” You take a deep breath before positively belting out, “HAAAAAAAND-EEEEEYE.” Whether it’s the shock from the sudden musical number or the joke itself you’re finally rewarded with a faint chuckle.

“Aha!” you shout in triumph, a smug grin splitting your face, “I heard that laugh, you can do more scowl!”

The doors suddenly open with a ding and Simon pushes off the wall, but not before rolling his eyes playfully your way. Silence once again descends during the walk to your respective apartments, yet it’s not uncomfortable. Swiping your key card it’s just as you step through the threshold that you hear it,

“Why did the chicken go the seance? To get to the other side.” Whipping your head around, you are met with the sight of his door closing behind his large frame, but a win is a win and you celebrate mentally over the exchange.

The next time you leave a dish at his door it comes with a written joke. Sure enough, a few days later you received one back. The months start to blur, and your Ghost comes and goes, but the jokes remain.

Month three sees you snagging his number, a daily joke sent his way even when he can’t respond. Because as much as Simon Riley tried to hide his hurts from the world, he couldn’t hide them from you.

You’ve loved a soldier before in your brother, can see the signs and smell the gunsmoke and blood from miles away. Apart from his team, it becomes obvious the man has nobody left, and believes he doesn’t deserve to be cared for.

You’re not foolish enough to think you can be that for him, but you are understanding enough to give him the choice. So you continue to send him jokes, puns, pictures of your cat Bingbong and anything that you think will get him to at least smile.

Three months turns to six turns to eight. He’s not physically there most of the time but you take every opportunity he is to coax him from the loneliness of his apartment like a stray kitten.

Once-a-week dinners at least. Freely sharing your life’s story without expecting anything in return. One evening you’d plopped your chunky tuxedo cat down on his lap and watched him freeze, hands hovering with wide eyes as he considered the ball of fur making biscuits on his thigh.

It was cute. He was cute. Even when he whipped around to glare when you took a photo, the corners of his lips downturned and tugged at the scars on his face. His bare face wasn’t necessarily a new sight but it causes your breath to hitch nonetheless.

Something you think he notices given the way his lips quirked up suddenly in a smirk. Rolling your eyes you huffed before plonking yourself down next to him on the couch. Bingbong doesn’t scramble onto your lap like you expect, instead deciding to remain on his new favourite human, traitor.

You pay very little attention to the movie even though you’d chosen it, too acutely focused on the large bulk of Simon next to you. Your shoulder rests against his arm, his body heat emanating from beneath his hoodie and absorbing into your skin.

You’ve never been one to fall asleep during movies, but there’s something about Simon’s presence that soothes you, lulling you into a restful slumber as you slump against his chest. Bingbong meows his discontent as you accidentally squish him, jumping away with a huff, none of which you notice.

It’s the sun shining straight onto your face through the open blinds that wakes you the next morning, a groan of confusion leaving your lips as you stretch and look around to orient yourself.

Sitting up, the blanket that you just now realised covered your form fell down to your waist. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes your phone falls to the floor when you stand, the screen flicking on to display the time.

It’s not until you sleepily stumble into your bedroom, plugging your nearly dead phone in and face-planting onto your pillow that you realise Simon must have tucked you in. The smile that covers your face is so wide it is painful and you fall asleep once more, dreaming of the phantom sensation of his arms wrapped around you.

#x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod

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goldfades · 3 months ago

Text

LOVE IS THE ONE THING THAT CANNOT BE TAINTED BY FEAR OR DOUBT──FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW

part two!!!

for this request!!

─ summary | you and father charlie share a bond that goes beyond the confines of your church duties, with your public image as a nurturing servant masking the frustration and resentment you harbor privately. when nun megan grows suspicious and begins spying, she uncovers the intimate, vulnerable side of your relationship, catching a moment where emotions boil over into something more forbidden

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!mother!reader

─ word count | 6k

─ warnings | few kisses, kinda angsty, pretty wholesome though, nun megan being nosy AF, mentions/descriptions of being longing to be a mother + have a family, forbidden love, ends on a cliff hanger (part 2 coming soon, i just couldn't fit everything in one part)

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! (please do btw i'm obsessed w nicholas LMAO). again this turned out very wordy and self-indulgent, my apologies

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The faint scent of incense lingers in the air, the wisps of smoke curling upward toward the stained glass windows, where muted beams of light filter through, casting the nave in shades of gold and crimson. The church is quiet now, save for the soft rustle of robes and the shuffling feet of the last parishioners as they take their leave. You remain rooted to your spot at the front, hands clasped in front of you, your gaze lowered in practiced reverence.

You’ve spent years perfecting this image—a serene, dutiful figure in service to the church. The warmth you offer is genuine, but it's also an armor, a shield from the world beyond the altar. You can feel their eyes on you as they depart, expecting grace, expecting humility, expecting nothing more than what you’ve always given them.

But beneath the surface, you can feel the stirrings of something else. The long hours, the endless work, the weight of expectations—it grinds against you, slowly wearing away at the image you’ve created. And no one sees it. No one, except him.

Father Charlie stands beside the altar, his back turned to you as he speaks to one of the deacons, his voice low and calming, as it always is. There’s something about him—something steady, something real—that draws you to him. He’s the only one who understands the pressures you both face, the only one who sees through the veneer you maintain for the sake of the church.

As the last of the congregation filters out, a wave of relief washes over you. The doors close with a soft echo, leaving the two of you in the lingering quiet of the empty church. You allow yourself to breathe, to let go of the tightness in your chest. It’s only in moments like these, when the others have gone, that you can finally be yourself—unburdened by the expectations of the flock, free from the eyes of those who can never truly understand.

But you sense it, don’t you? That something else is watching, something creeping at the edges of this sanctuary, waiting for you to slip.

You feel a prickle of awareness, an instinct, perhaps, that you’re not as alone as you think. But you push it aside, telling yourself it’s nothing—just the remnants of the day clinging to your thoughts. After all, in the safety of the church, what could possibly be wrong?

You step forward, closer to Father Charlie, your voice dropping to a murmur. “They never stop looking, do they?”

He turns toward you, and there’s a softness in his expression—something that tells you he’s been thinking the same thing. “No,” he says quietly, “they never do.”

You exchange a glance with Father Charlie, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. He sees the cracks in your facade, the weight you carry, but you don’t speak of it yet. Instead, you let the stillness of the church settle over you like a heavy cloak.

From the corner of your eye, you notice a figure lingering near the back of the nave, her sharp eyes scanning the room with a quiet intensity. Nun Megan.

She’s always watching, isn’t she? Always hovering on the fringes, her gaze lingering just a second too long whenever you’re near Father Charlie. At first, you thought it was nothing—just her usual vigilance. But lately, you’ve felt her eyes more than ever, probing, curious. She’s never said anything outright, but the suspicion is there, woven into every glance, every pause when the two of you are together.

Today is no different.

She lingers by the back pew, her hands folded in front of her, eyes flicking between you and Father Charlie, as though waiting for something, anything, to confirm what she already suspects. You can feel the weight of her judgment, subtle but ever-present, like a shadow you can’t shake.

Father Charlie hasn’t noticed her yet, his focus still on you as he speaks softly, a reassuring tone to his words. “You know we can’t let this consume us. What we do here… it’s bigger than us.”

His words are meant to calm you, to pull you back from the edge of frustration, but your thoughts are already racing. You glance toward Nun Megan again, just in time to see her quickly avert her gaze, pretending to adjust a candle on the altar. She’s watching—of course, she’s watching.

You wonder if she’s been watching longer than you realize.

“I know,” you say, your voice low. But the bitterness creeps in, twisting your words. “But sometimes I think we’re expected to be more than human. How long are we supposed to pretend we don’t feel anything?”

Charlie’s eyes soften, but before he can respond, you see him glance over your shoulder—finally catching sight of Nun Megan. The tension in the room shifts, subtle but palpable. He straightens, his face smoothing into the calm, composed expression he wears so well. “Sister Megan,” he calls out, his voice gentle but pointed.

She steps forward, her smile small and tight, her eyes darting between you both. “Father Charlie,” she says softly, inclining her head in a show of respect. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just… making sure everything was in order.”

Her words hang in the air, innocuous enough on the surface, but there’s something else there, hidden beneath her polite tone. You can see it in her eyes—the doubt, the questions she doesn’t dare ask.

Not yet, anyway.

Father Charlie offers her a kind smile, though you can tell he senses it too. “Everything’s fine, Sister,” he says. “We were just finishing up.”

But even as she nods and steps back, you know this won’t be the last time. She’ll keep watching, waiting for the moment when your guard slips. And when it does, she’ll be ready.

As Nun Megan retreats to the back of the church, your pulse quickens. You’ve held your composure for now, but the unease gnaws at you. The walls feel tighter, the air more stifling. She’s already too close, and it’s only a matter of time before she sees more than you want her to.

Father Charlie steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “We have to be careful.”

You nod, but inside, you know it’s already too late. Megan’s already seen enough to suspect—and suspicion, in a place like this, is dangerous.

───

You lay on Charlie's bare chest, still breathless from the earlier exertion. The warmth of his skin radiates beneath your cheek, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the scars and soft ridges of his chest. The room is quiet, save for the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the muted sound of your heartbeats thrumming together in the aftermath of what you’ve just shared. The intimacy of the moment feels stolen—like something you shouldn't have, but neither of you can resist.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself sink into the softness of him, the way he smells of incense and something darker, something distinctly him. This is the one place where the world falls away, where the weight of your roles within the church, the expectations, the endless eyes watching your every move—they don't matter here. In these stolen moments, you’re not the pious Mother superior they expect you to be, and Charlie is not the solemn priest. Here, in the seclusion of your shared quarters, you are simply you and him.

He lets out a quiet sigh, his fingers brushing through your hair as if to anchor you to him, to the present. You shift slightly, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are softer now, the usual veil of composure lowered, revealing the tenderness he reserves only for you. There’s a question in his gaze, though, something unspoken yet palpable, like a prayer hanging in the air between you both.

“Do you think she suspects?” you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, as though even here, in this hidden sanctuary, you’re afraid to speak too loudly.

Charlie’s hand stills for a moment in your hair, and he hesitates before answering. “She watches,” he says softly, his tone measured but tinged with a hint of unease. “Megan always watches.”

You bite your lip, trying to push away the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. Nun Megan’s eyes have been everywhere lately, her presence lingering in corners, her footsteps echoing in halls where no one should be. You can feel her judgment even when she’s not there, like a shadow creeping just behind you.

“What if she knows?” you ask, your voice shaking slightly. “What if she’s already seen too much?”

Charlie’s hand cups your cheek, drawing your gaze back to his. “We’ve been careful,” he reassures you, his voice steady and soothing. “But even if she suspects, we won’t let her tear us apart. Not here. Not now.”

His words should comfort you, but they don’t. There’s too much at stake—too many risks. And yet, despite everything, you can’t pull away. The bond between you both is too deep, too powerful to sever. You close your eyes again, letting the quiet blanket you both, willing the worries to dissolve into the stillness.

But somewhere beyond the walls of this sanctuary, you know Nun Megan is watching. Waiting. And it’s only a matter of time before the veil of secrecy slips, and the forbidden truth of what you share is laid bare.

The silence between you and Father Charlie feels heavier now, like the air has thickened with all the unspoken words and the knowledge that your time together might soon be fractured by someone else’s gaze. You shift your body, propping yourself up slightly on his chest so you can look at him fully.

His brow is furrowed, but he wears the same soft expression he always does when he's with you, the kind that calms your nerves even when the weight of the world presses in on you. You reach out and gently brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"You can’t be the one to carry all the worry," he murmurs, his voice deep and soothing, laced with that unwavering faith that you’ve come to rely on. He places his hand over yours, his thumb tracing circles against your knuckles. “I can see it in your eyes—you’ve been holding too much inside.”

You want to deny it, to say that you’re strong enough, that you can bear whatever comes next, but you know he’s right. There’s too much weighing you down—too many people to answer to, too many demands, and far too many secrets.

“I’m scared,” you admit quietly, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. “Not just of Megan… but of what happens if we get caught. What they’ll do to us. What they’ll do to you.” You lower your gaze, the vulnerability of the confession hanging between you like a leaden weight.

Charlie exhales softly, his hand moving to your jaw, tilting your chin up so that your eyes meet his again. There’s something fierce in his gaze now, an intensity that reassures you despite the uncertainty swirling around you both.

“Whatever happens,” he says, his voice firm, “we’ll face it together. They can’t take that away from us.”

“What if it’s not enough?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “What if this… this thing we share, this love—what if it’s not enough to save us?”

The church is supposed to be a sanctuary, a place of peace and solace, but lately, it’s felt more like a prison. You can sense the walls closing in, the tension rising between the expectation of holiness and the very human desires you’ve tried so hard to suppress.

Charlie shakes his head slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “It is enough,” he insists. “Love is the one thing that can’t be tainted by fear or doubt. What we have—it’s sacred in its own way. Even if the church sees it differently.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe him. His words wrap around you like a protective shroud, and in this space—this room, away from the watchful eyes of the others—it’s easy to imagine that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. That what you have can survive the scrutiny, the judgment, and the dangers that loom just outside these walls.

But as much as you want to cling to that hope, the doubt is still there, lurking at the edges of your thoughts.

You don’t say anything else, instead letting your head fall back against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you. The sound is calming, a tether to the present, to this moment you share together.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the feeling that time is running out. That soon, Nun Megan will step beyond suspicion and into certainty, and when she does, the fragile world you’ve built with Charlie will come crashing down.

Outside, the wind howls against the old stone walls of the church, a reminder of the world waiting for you beyond this small sanctuary. But for now, for this brief and precious moment, it’s just you and him—together, against whatever comes next.

───

The sun hangs high in the clear afternoon sky, casting a golden light over the open field where the annual church picnic is in full swing. Children run through the grass, their laughter ringing out like tiny bells carried on the breeze, while the adults gather around tables laden with food, exchanging pleasantries and stories. You stand near the edge of the field, watching as a group of children pulls you into their game of tag, their faces lit up with joy and mischief.

You can’t help but laugh, your heart light as you chase after them, the stress and fear that have weighed on you for so long melting away, if only for a moment. The children's energy is infectious, their innocence a brief but welcome reprieve from the gravity of the world you usually inhabit. They dart around you, giggling and shrieking with excitement as they narrowly avoid your grasp, their small hands brushing against yours in passing.

You catch a young girl in your arms, swinging her around in a playful twirl before setting her down. Her laughter is so pure, so unburdened by the weight of the world, and it stirs something inside you—a long-forgotten lightness that you’ve almost forgotten was there.

From across the field, Father Charlie watches you, his eyes softening as they follow your movements. You are radiant in this moment, free from the burden of secrets and suspicion, your face bright with genuine joy as you interact with the children. His heart swells at the sight, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest.

He has always admired your strength—the way you carry so much, how you stand tall even when the weight of your responsibilities threatens to break you. But here, now, seeing you like this, surrounded by children, laughing freely, Charlie feels something different. Something deeper.

It's more than just admiration. It’s a longing, a quiet ache for something more than the life he’s chosen. Watching you with the children sparks a warmth inside him he hadn’t known he could still feel, a yearning for a different kind of closeness. One that he knows is forbidden, yet he can’t help but dream about.

You twirl around with another child, your smile wide as they tumble into your arms. For a brief second, you catch Charlie’s gaze from across the field, and your eyes meet. There’s something in his look that makes your breath catch—a tenderness, a softness that you’ve rarely seen outside the privacy of your hidden moments together. His lips curl into a small, almost shy smile, as though he’s caught himself staring but can’t quite tear his gaze away.

For a moment, it feels as if the rest of the world fades away. The laughter of the children, the hum of conversations, even the sounds of nature—all of it dulls into the background as you stand there, frozen in that quiet exchange with Charlie.

It’s a connection you feel deep in your chest, one that’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but is now rising to the forefront, too powerful to ignore.

The children pull you back into the game, and the moment is broken, but the warmth of Charlie’s gaze lingers with you. As you chase after the little ones again, you feel a blush creep up your neck, knowing that even here, in the open, with the church congregation all around, there’s something between you that no one else can touch.

Charlie tears his eyes away, his heart still beating a little faster than before. He forces himself to join in the casual conversations around him, but his thoughts remain with you, and that moment. He’s always been good at keeping his emotions at bay, keeping his desires hidden beneath the layers of duty and faith. But now, watching you like this, he feels those walls crumbling, just a little.

And for the first time in a long while, he allows himself to wonder: What would it be like to have this warmth—to hold onto it, to let it fill the hollow spaces inside him? What would it be like if the life he’d chosen wasn’t a barrier but something that could coexist with the connection he feels with you?

He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts away. But they cling to him, persistent, like the warmth in his chest that refuses to fade.

As the afternoon wears on, and the children slowly tire out, you make your way back toward the picnic tables where the rest of the congregation was. Your cheeks flushed with exertion, your hair slightly wind-tossed, and you catch Charlie watching you again, and this time, there’s something in his gaze that makes your heart flutter—a promise, perhaps, or a confession yet to be spoken. Charlie begins making his way over to you, a warm smile on his lips.

One of the little girls run up to you once again, practically tumbling into your arms. You giggle, grabbing her waist and pulling her into your lap.

"Mother Y/N, have you ever wanted children?" she asks.

Her question catches you off guard. The little girl's innocent eyes peer up at you, wide and curious, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. You feel Charlie’s presence nearby, his footsteps slowing as he hears the question, and your heart skips a beat.

You smooth the girl's hair back gently, buying yourself a second to gather your thoughts. Children… it’s not something you’ve allowed yourself to think about much, not with the path you've chosen. Being a mother in the literal sense feels like an impossible dream—something meant for another life, another version of you.

Still, the warmth of the child in your lap, her trust and affection, tugs at something deep inside you.

You smile softly, running your fingers through her hair. “I suppose I have,” you admit, your voice gentle. “There was a time when I thought I might have a family of my own one day. But now... I think my place is here, taking care of all of you.”

The little girl tilts her head, a frown crossing her face as she processes your words. “But wouldn’t you like to be a real mama?” she asks, her small hands gripping your arm as if to anchor you to the moment, to the question.

Before you can answer, you feel a presence behind you—Charlie has arrived. He crouches down beside you, his hand brushing your shoulder in a gesture so natural, so easy, that it almost makes your heart ache.

“The way you care for everyone here,” he says softly, his voice warm and filled with admiration, “I think you’re already a mother to so many.”

You glance up at him, your eyes meeting his, and there’s something in his gaze—something gentle and understanding, but also deeper, more personal. His words resonate in a way that goes beyond the roles you’ve both taken on within the church. For a moment, you allow yourself to imagine it—what it would be like if things were different, if you and Charlie could have a life beyond the confines of the walls you’ve built around yourselves.

The girl beams, nodding in agreement. “See? You’re like a mama to us already,” she declares, then wraps her small arms around your neck in a tight hug before hopping off your lap and running back toward the other children, her energy renewed.

You watch her go, your heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. When you turn back to Charlie, he’s still crouched beside you, his expression softened by something you can’t quite put into words.

“You handled that well,” he says quietly, his smile reaching his eyes.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t think I was prepared for that kind of question, if I'm being honest.”

He chuckles too, and for a brief moment, the world feels lighter, the weight of everything you’ve been holding inside lifted by the simple connection between you two.

But as the children’s laughter echoes around you and the other parishioners continue with their picnic, you feel the weight of reality creeping back in. This quiet moment with Charlie—this glimpse of what could be—feels like a fleeting dream. You know the path you’ve both chosen is far more complicated than that. Yet, as you stand together in the warm afternoon sun, you allow yourself to linger in this feeling for just a little while longer.

Charlie’s hand brushes against yours, lingering for just a moment, and you know that whatever happens next, whatever challenges come your way, you won’t be facing them alone.

───

The last light of day has faded, leaving the courtyard steeped in a deep, quiet twilight. You stand by the fountain, your fingers tracing the cold, rough surface of the stone. You try to breathe deeply, but frustration gnaws at your insides. On the outside, you wear the same mask you always do—calm, nurturing, and devout. But inside, there’s an ever-present storm, growing louder by the day.

Your thoughts drift back to Father Charlie, to the comfort he offered earlier. His words felt like a balm on your wounds, but they didn’t erase the resentment. The weight of expectations presses on your shoulders—constant demands, endless servitude, all while suppressing the truth of who you are.

Your gaze flickers toward the chapel, half-hoping to see him stepping into the courtyard. But the figure that emerges from the shadows isn’t him.

Nun Megan.

Her steps are silent but deliberate, and her eyes are as sharp as ever. You’ve noticed her watching lately—her gaze lingering on you and Father Charlie, suspicion glinting in her eyes.

“Out late again, I see,” she says, her voice carrying a quiet accusation. She stops a few feet away, her gaze fixed on you, unblinking. “You’ve been spending a great deal of time in Father Charlie’s company.”

You stiffen at her words, but force yourself to remain composed. You know how to wear the mask—how to keep the perfect image intact. “I seek guidance, Sister Megan,” you reply, your voice measured. “Father Charlie offers wisdom.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her expression hard. “Guidance, is it?” There’s no mistaking the suspicion in her voice now. “We all seek guidance, but you’ve been… close.”

The accusation hangs in the air between you, cold and heavy. You feel a flash of anger rise within you, but you suppress it, keeping your voice even. “We are all called to be close to God. To each other, Sister.”

Megan steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “Perhaps. But eyes are everywhere. You should be careful. It’s my duty to protect the sanctity of this place.” Her words are a thinly veiled threat, warning you that she’s watching.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.

“Sister Megan.”

You turn at the sound of Father Charlie’s voice, relief washing over you as he steps into the courtyard. His presence brings with it a sense of calm, as if the storm threatening to engulf you has momentarily eased. His gaze flicks between you and Megan, though when his eyes land on you, they soften.

“Is there a problem?” he asks, his tone neutral, but his eyes hold a silent reassurance.

Megan stands a little straighter under his scrutiny. She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with challenging him, but her suspicion remains. “No, Father,” she says finally. “I was simply offering our sister here a reminder of her vows. It’s important we maintain propriety.”

Father Charlie’s expression doesn’t change. “Of course, Sister. We all must uphold our vows. You may return to your duties.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, you think Megan might push further. But then she inclines her head and turns away, her steps sharp and purposeful as she leaves the courtyard. The weight of her presence lingers, like a shadow refusing to lift.

As soon as she’s gone, you exhale, tension slipping from your shoulders. Father Charlie steps closer to you, his voice low and steady. “She grows more suspicious.”

You nod, swallowing against the knot in your throat. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The mask you’ve worn for so long feels suffocating now, the weight of expectations unbearable.

Father Charlie’s expression softens, and when he reaches out, his fingers lightly brush your arm. “You’re not alone,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

His touch sends a spark through you, and for a moment, the weight of your burdens eases. But as you stand there, alone in the darkness with him, you know that the road ahead will only grow more difficult. Still, with him beside you, it feels less daunting.

You stay silent for a long moment, standing there with Father Charlie. His presence should be enough to calm you, but the weight of your thoughts has become unbearable, pressing down harder than ever before.

“I never wanted this life,” you finally whisper, eyes fixed on the fountain’s surface, the soft ripple of water reflecting the sky. “When I was a little girl, I dreamed of something else.”

Charlie says nothing, letting you speak, his silence a kind of permission.

You take a breath, the memories flooding back. “I used to imagine myself far away from here—away from society, the rules, the eyes always watching. I dreamed of having a family, children running through an open field, laughter filling the air. I wanted to be a mother,” your voice wavers slightly, “to nurture my own, not just serve others.”

The words feel strange as they leave your mouth, like a confession you’ve never dared to speak aloud. Even though you’ve lived in service, dedicating yourself to this life, there’s always been a gnawing ache inside you for something more—something that belonged solely to you.

“I imagined a small cottage,” you continue, your voice growing softer, “with a garden, flowers blooming. Somewhere far from this place, where no one could judge me, where I could be free. I wanted to love, to build a life that was mine.”

Father Charlie shifts closer, his hand lightly brushing against yours, offering silent support.

“But instead… I ended up here.” The words hang in the air, heavy with regret. “I thought I was doing the right thing, choosing this path. I thought it would bring me peace. But it didn’t. It feels like every day, I’m giving up more of myself—burying my real desires so deep I hardly recognize them anymore.”

Your throat tightens as a tear escapes, sliding down your cheek. The picnic earlier flickers in your mind, how for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel happiness. Real happiness. Sitting under the sun with him, laughing, letting your guard down—it had stirred something in you, something real and raw, a glimpse of the life you had always wanted.

“That picnic…” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “For the first time in so long, I felt alive. I didn’t feel like the person everyone expects me to be. I felt like… me.”

Father Charlie’s gaze softens, and he doesn’t pull away when you step closer, his presence like a steadying force. “It’s not wrong to want more,” he says gently. “You deserve to feel whole.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I’ve given up so much already. What’s left of me?”

He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, and in them, you see the same conflict, the same struggle that mirrors your own. “There’s still time,” he says, his words a quiet promise. “There’s still time to find yourself.”

Tears spill freely now, and before you can stop yourself, you collapse into his arms, seeking solace in the warmth of his embrace. For a moment, the walls around your heart crumble, and you let yourself feel the ache of all you’ve lost—the life you could have had, the dreams that seem so distant now.

“I wanted a family,” you whisper into his shoulder, your voice breaking. “I wanted to be a mother, to love, to be loved. But instead…”

He tightens his arms around you, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are loved. In ways you may not see yet.”

Father Charlie holds you close, his arms steady around you as your tears soak into his robe. The dam has broken, and there’s no holding back the flood of emotions anymore. You cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s crumbling beneath your feet, each sob rising from a place so deep it scares you.

“I thought… I thought if I buried those dreams long enough, they’d go away,” you murmur into his shoulder. “But they haven’t. They’ve only grown louder. I see families, mothers with their children, and it’s like a knife in my heart. I want that—so much it hurts.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes searching his face for understanding. His brow furrows, concern etched into every line. “I feel trapped here,” you continue, voice cracking. “I’ve spent my life giving and giving, but no matter how much I give, I can’t find peace. All I ever wanted was a simple life, with love. But instead, I’m… this.”

Father Charlie’s hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear. “You’re not alone in this,” he says, his voice soft but resolute. “I see your struggle, and I feel it too. Every day I ask myself if I made the right choice. If this is what my life was meant to be.”

The vulnerability in his words makes your breath hitch. You’ve never heard him speak like this before, never knew he had the same doubts gnawing at him. It’s both terrifying and comforting at once—knowing that even someone like him, someone who always seems so sure, is just as lost as you are.

“I don’t know how to keep pretending,” you admit, your voice a fragile whisper. “That picnic, earlier today… it felt like a glimpse of the life I could’ve had. And for just a moment, I was happy. Truly happy. But then it all came crashing back—the guilt, the expectations. The life I chose. It feels like a prison.”

Father Charlie’s thumb pauses on your cheek, and he lets out a slow breath. “I understand,” he says quietly. “More than you know.”

The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken truths and shared pain. There’s something unspoken in his gaze, a longing that mirrors your own, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s wrestling with the same thoughts—if his dreams have also been sacrificed for a life he’s no longer certain of.

“I never thought…,” you begin, but the words catch in your throat. “I never thought I’d feel this way, here of all places.”

His hand slips from your cheek to your shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “Feelings are complicated,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Sometimes, we think we’ve made peace with our choices, but deep down, our hearts tell a different story.”

A silence stretches between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. There’s something raw and honest about this moment, like the two of you are finally shedding the masks you’ve been wearing for so long.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice barely audible. “I feel so lost.”

Father Charlie’s gaze softens, and he leans in just slightly, his face close. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he murmurs. “But you don’t have to face this alone.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a blanket, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to carry this burden on your own. Maybe there’s room for something more—something real.

Your heart races in your chest, and you take a shaky breath, eyes locked with his. The closeness between you feels electric, every nerve in your body attuned to his presence, to the quiet intensity in his gaze. It’s dangerous—this connection. You both know it.

But in this moment, it’s all you have.

───

The church bells have just finished ringing, signaling the end of Sunday Mass. You stand outside with Father Charlie, your heart still heavy from the morning’s sermon. The congregation begins to disperse, everyone offering quiet blessings to one another as they leave. You and Father Charlie remain, lingering by the old stone archway. It’s quieter now, the sacred stillness of the church grounds wrapped around you both like a secret.

He turns to you, his gaze soft and familiar, and you can feel the pull between you—stronger now than ever. The unspoken connection that had simmered all week after your vulnerable conversation feels unbearable in its intensity.

“I shouldn’t…” you start, but your words falter as he steps closer, the warmth of his presence radiating into the space between you.

“I know,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. But the way his eyes flicker from yours to your lips betrays his struggle, mirroring your own.

Before either of you can talk yourselves out of it, your lips meet in a kiss. It’s soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepens, fueled by the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long. The world seems to disappear—just the two of you in a moment stolen from time itself, as your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

The kiss is both a comfort and a confession, a silent surrender to everything you’ve been too afraid to say. You clutch the fabric of his robe, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solidness of him, to anchor yourself in this forbidden moment.

But then, a gasp—a sharp intake of breath that slices through the intimacy like a blade. You break apart, breathless, and turn to see Nun Megan standing at the edge of the churchyard. Her face is a portrait of shock and disbelief, eyes wide, hand clasped over her mouth as though she cannot believe what she’s just witnessed.

Your stomach drops, cold dread flooding your veins.

“Goodness…” she whispers, her voice laced with horror, “what have you done?”

Father Charlie immediately steps back, but the damage is done. The air is charged with accusation, and you can see the betrayal written across her face. The weight of your actions crashes down around you, guilt mixing with panic.

“Megan, it’s not—” Father Charlie begins, but there’s no stopping her now. She turns and rushes back toward the church, her steps frantic as if she’s running to report what she’s seen, to stop the corruption before it spreads further.

You and Father Charlie are left standing in the aftermath, the kiss lingering on your lips, now tainted with the knowledge that everything is about to change.

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