#the hostage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theorganasolo · 8 months ago

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omg I really loved this! I feel like you really captured the feeling of those episodes well.

thank you for writing and sharing with us!

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5k (so much for short drabble)

Rating: Mature

Summary: You work for the DEA in Colombia. Until one of your missions goes terribly wrong.

Notes: This is the first fic for my 10k follower celebration!!! Thank you, @lokischocolatefountain who requested “I’ll be here when you wake up” with Javier Peña. I hope you like it 🤭 This fic was very much inspired by Gabriel García Márquez' "Noticia de un secuestro" ("News of a Kidnapping") which I highly recommend if you're interested in what Narcos (Season 1) only covers in two episodes, namely the kidnappings of prominent figures in Colombia by the Medellín Cartel in the early 90s. As ever, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who took the time to ask, "What does this mean?" and made me realize that I, in fact, don't know the answer to that question.

***

It’s night again. Or maybe it’s dawn. You don’t know. The blacked-out windows don’t let in any light. Your days are no longer structured according to the laws of nature (morning – midday – afternoon – evening – night), but according to the laws of your captors (wake up – bathroom – food – nothing – food – sleep). Maybe you’re awake all night and sleep all day. Maybe you only sleep for four hours and are awake for twenty. Neither your mind nor your body can tell the difference any longer.

Right now, for example, you’re in the “nothing” part of your day. It’s just you, rolled up on your mattress in your corner, and your thoughts, looping and looping, making you relive how you ended up here, in this room, somewhere in Colombia. And every single day, right at the end of “nothing” and the start of “food”, you come to the same conclusion: It’s all your fault.

It started with your childhood, you think. No, you can’t blame everything that went wrong in your life on your father, but he certainly did his bid – no matter what you did, it was never enough. Not even when you applied for a transfer to the embassy and you got selected, the youngest woman in DEA history who got an assignment like that. All he had to say to you was, “Huh”. So of course, you had to do better than that.

Here, in Colombia, you found yourself surrounded by men just like your father, old men in suits who sneered at you, confusing you with a secretary, asking you to make coffee and take notes. Old men with guns and enough war stories to fill a book, calling you “little lady” and pinching your cheeks. Old men that were just there, leering at you from corners and doorways. And they all had the face of your father.

Still, no one forced you to raise your hand that Thursday afternoon your floor ran out of coffee, the same afternoon Noonan called you all to a meeting and asked for a volunteer. “Dangerous assignment,” she said, “likely to get you killed.” You should have listened to her. But the looks on all those faces when you raised your hand and said, “I’d be happy to do it,” were worth it. Almost. Because, ultimately, it was the beginning of the end.

One of the men on guard duty today swears loudly and another one growls at him to be quiet. Sometimes they forget there’s a life outside those blacked-out windows and they’re not the only people in this city. You forget that too, but then you hear the voices of people living their lives, the sound of a car backfiring, a dog barking somewhere. If one of you makes the wrong noise, surely, you’ll be discovered.

The three men with you today (tonight?) know that, and so do you. They’re playing cards by the light of a dirty kerosene lamp, sitting so closely together their knees are touching. If they stretched out their legs, their feet would be touching your mattress. The room you’re in is barely big enough for one person, let alone for four. It’s the only room you’ve seen in months, apart from the bathroom they take you to once or twice a day. It’s across a small hallway you haven’t seen because they blindfold you. Every time, for every trip.

You can barely remember a time when not everything you needed to survive was dependent on another person. The autonomy you prided yourself on, your ability to achieve everything on your own, to survive everything on your own, those have been taken away from you. Could you even use the bathroom if no one gave you permission first? You doubt it.

You didn’t need anyone’s permission to go on that undercover mission that ultimately landed you in this tiny square room that is now your entire world. You were the fastest to volunteer, you fit the profile they were looking for: fluent in Spanish, low level enough to not be able to spill any secrets should you get arrested, pretty. It was supposed to be so easy. Infiltrate the Medellín cartel, gather intel, report back. There was even a plan in place to extract you should anything go wrong. And go wrong it did, and nothing was there to break your fall.

Before that, before you watched boys play cards all day, before your only window to the outside world was a small TV, there was one person who tried to get you to back down. You thought he didn’t think you capable of anything because you’re young, inexperienced and a woman, but in hindsight you should have listened to him. It doesn’t matter that the others called him an asshole and you thought he was trying to dissuade you because he was jealous. He knew what he was talking about and you should have listened to him.

The man closest to you lights a cigarette, his face briefly doused in a gloomy red light. You think of them as men because it somehow makes it easier, but he looks barely 16. Your room quickly fills with smoke and you try to suppress a cough so they don’t hit you again.

That’s how this all started, with you getting punched in the stomach.

Your undercover mission asked a lot of you, maybe too much. You were aware that it might be necessary for you to sleep with some of the men you were trying to get close to, and when they asked you about this back at the embassy, you wouldn’t have any problem with it... Until it was about to happen. The man touched you, breathed into your face smelling of cheap alcohol and expensive cigars, and in a moment of sheer panic, you fought back and blew your cover.

That’s it. That’s all. You ruined the mission because you couldn’t lie still for five minutes, and now you’re paying for it.

You know there have been attempts to find you and you know you’re not the only hostage. Right at the beginning, you shared a room with a Colombian journalist who, before that, had shared a room with a famous Colombian TV presenter. You know there are negotiations, you sometimes see on TV that a hostage is returned to their family. One time, there were shouts and sirens and gunshots, but they blindfolded you and put you in a truck. That’s how you ended up here, in this room.

At first, you focused on the stories of the people who made it out alive, not on the stories of the people who didn’t. You’re DEA, and even though you fucked up, you know those three letters are like a protective spell woven around you. Yes, they will hold you captive for as long as possible, yes, they will use you to fight everything you stand for, but they won’t kill you. The more time passes though, the more you doubt anyone is still fighting for your safe return. They might not kill you, but you also won’t be getting out of here.

With every day that passes, with every day you grow weaker and more tired, those men stare at you more and more. At first, they didn’t dare to look at you, ignored you when you tried to talk to them, acted like you weren’t there. Now you catch their eyes on you frequently, hungrily taking you in. They still don’t touch you – not like that, anyway – but they hit you when you’re too loud, they press their fingers over your mouth, the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder making you gag, and sometimes their hands wander, to the small of your back, to your side. Even if you make it out of here alive, you won’t make it out of here unharmed.

It's a different day. At least you think it is. You sleep more and more during your period of nothing, but it isn’t a restful sleep. If anything, it makes you more tired, wearier. You dread waking up and you dread falling asleep and you dread being awake. But something is different today, something has changed while you were asleep. There are only two men with you tonight, and they look at you more and more, their faces unreadable. It unnerves you more than their openly lustful gazes. You pretend to ignore them as best as possible, but it’s hard when you don’t want to turn your back on them.

A third man comes into the room, one you haven’t seen before. He’s big, broad, a tight shirt stretching over his belly, lines around his eyes, thinning hair on his head. He doesn’t look at you, just steps over the two boys and switches on the TV that comes to life with a static crackle. On your mattress, you come alive too, your heart starting with a painful lurch. Whatever it is, this can’t be good for you.

You barely recognize the face on TV. It takes you about a minute to make sense of what you’re seeing, so unfamiliar you’ve become with the ambassador you used to take orders from. She looks the same – it’s you who has changed. Her suit is still perfectly pressed, her hair is still perfectly styled, she still speaks into the cameras in that calm, no-nonsense voice. It’s you who you don’t recognize, you who doesn’t make sense anymore.

It also takes you a while to understand her, to make sense of what she’s saying. You hear the words “hostages” and “negotiation”, and you know she’s talking about you and whoever else there may be, but definitely you. It would explain your captors’ faces. Something has happened, some new development that’s inconveniencing them. Maybe this is it. Maybe you’re being set free. Maybe even tonight. The thought makes you feel light-headed; you have no idea who you are outside of these four walls and that mattress.

“… end of negotiations. We will no longer regard terrorists as equal opposites in this. Any American hostages they might still have, or pretend to have, will, from today onward, be considered missing in action.”

What does that mean? Surely, they wouldn’t just … they wouldn’t just let you die, would they? You’re DEA, you can’t be missing in action, you’re not a soldier. The cartels can’t kill you, they wouldn’t do that. Just how the US wouldn’t abandon you, wouldn’t go on TV to sign your death warrant in front of a live audience. It doesn’t make sense.

You turn to your captors, as if looking for guidance, but they look just as lost as you. Even the big man. He keeps running his fingers through his thin hair, sweat beading on his forehead. One of the boys looks at him too, as if waiting for orders, the other is running the tip of his index finger through the dust on the floor. Why won’t they look at you?

“So we just kill her?” asks the boy who keeps staring at the big man. His name is Andrés Felipe. You know that because another boy let it slip once. You’re not supposed to know their names, and Andrés Felipe made sure that mistake would never happen again, but by then it was too late.

“Not yet,” the man answers. “We have to wait.”

Andrés Felipe groans. “What for? You heard that woman on TV. They’re done negotiating.”

“You don’t know that,” dust boy chimes in. “It could be a ruse.”

Andrés Felipe laughs at him. “As if you know anything about politics. You can’t even read.”

You look at Andrés Felipe then, truly look at him. You need the distraction. You need to pretend it isn’t you they’re talking about, as if your fate doesn’t depend on these three men. And there isn’t much else to do in this room but look. Andrés Felipe is young, younger than you, but older than dust boy. His face is free of wrinkles, free of the tell-tale signs of hunger and a tough upbringing in the favelas. He isn’t here because he needs to be, he’s here because he wants to be. Which also explains why he dares to speak up in front of the big man, whose maturity puts him in charge.

You don’t like Andrés Felipe, never have. Maybe it’s because knowing his name humanizes him and it’s easier to hate a human than some faceless, nameless villain. Maybe it’s because of the cruel glint in his eyes, or the way he beat up that boy who revealed his name. And now there’s his eagerness to kill you. There is no reason for you to feel any sympathy toward him.

“He’s right,” the big man says then. “Maybe they want us to kill all the hostages so they’ll have an excuse to send in the military.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Andrés Felipe responds. “Everyone would know they’re liars.”

“They’re not,” dust boy dares to speak up again. “Missing in action also means they can be found. If you’re missing, you’re not dead. If the missing people die –”

He can’t finish his sentence because Andrés Felipe slaps him. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The big man doesn’t come to dust boy’s aid. He just smirks. “Quit it, you two, we’re sitting tight until we get our orders.”

“I’m fucking done waiting!” Andrés Felipe shouts and you flinch. He’s too loud. Someone will hear him. And they don’t have any reason to keep you alive now. It’s easier to shoot you and then run. “All I’ve been doing is waiting. Do you think I don’t have anything better to do with my time?”

The big man shushes him. You wish he would hit Andrés Felipe, put him in his place, but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I say we wait.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. Andrés Felipe says something else in that sharp, nasally voice of his, but you refuse to listen. Nothing good can come of it. Either they will kill you or they won’t. You’re too weak to think about either of these options. And you’re not going anywhere until those orders arrive, so you might as well …

When you wake up, the room is quiet, and you immediately know something is wrong. Even before you feel the cool, sharp blade against your neck, and before you smell the stale breath of the man holding it, cowering above you.

“Not one sound,” he hisses, and you recognize Andrés Felipe’s voice, uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. It’s so quiet, too quiet with just the two of you. The sounds of him unbuckling his belt are like explosions against your eardrums. You fight the urge to tell him to be quiet, but then your brain catches up with what your body already knows, and you kick your legs and shake your head.

You almost don’t feel the cut of the knife, but you do feel the hot drops of blood on your neck. “I told you to be quiet,” Andrés Felipe hisses. “Just don’t move.”

But you do, you do move, at least your hands that you ball into fists. You don’t want your life to end like this, in some shack somewhere in Colombia with a knife against your throat and a criminal inside of you. This can’t be it. They have to put you in front of a firing squad at least, don’t they? Not like this. Please, not like this.

Andrés Felipe touches your lower belly trying to unbutton your dirty pants, and you flinch, a terrified groan escaping your lips. The knife cuts deeper into the soft skin of your throat. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he growls.

Then there’s blood. Everywhere. It’s in your eyes, your mouth, you breathe it in, you taste it on your tongue. Andrés Felipe collapses on top of you, the knife landing on the mattress with a dull sound. You try to get out from under the heavy body, but you can barely lift his shoulders before your arm starts to tremble.

“Hey.” You wipe the blood out of your eyes to find a man kneeling next to you, shoving Andrés Felipe’s heavy body aside so you can sit up. You don’t know who he is, you’ve never seen him before, but he has to be someone higher up if he dared to kill Andrés Felipe. Because that is what just happened, you slowly realize. Andrés Felipe is dead and you’re covered in his blood.

The strange man reaches for you and you flinch away. “Ma’am, my name is Javier Peña,” he says, his voice steady and calm as if he’s been in this exact situation a million times before. “I’m with the DEA. I’m here to get you out.”

“The DEA?” you repeat, the English sounds feeling foreign in your mouth.

He reaches for you again, touches your shoulder, and this time you don’t flinch away. “You’re safe now.” He squeezes your shoulder, then stands up and holds out his hand to you. You take it and push yourself off the mattress.

“What happened?” you ask, trying to ignore the dead body, half its face gone.

“Maybe we should discuss this –,” Javier starts, but you don’t hear the rest of the sentence. Suddenly it feels like there are cotton balls lodged in your ears and the whole world turns dark, darker than it already is.

Someone is carrying you. You think you must be outside because you feel a light breeze on your face. You don’t remember the last time you smelled fresh air, but when you breathe in deeply, you’re enveloped in cigarette smoke and gunpowder. It’s not unpleasant, you realize with a start. It comes from a heavy leather jacket you’re wrapped in, and from the man carrying you. They never would have carried you like this, carefully, as if you might break, so you know you must be safe.

When you next open your eyes, you’re inside again. The room is so big it startles you at first. But the longer you let your eyes wander, the more your brain adjusts to help you realize you’re in a normal sized living room, sitting on a leather couch, a knitted blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You must have just sat up because your head is spinning and your limbs are trembling, but otherwise you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Feeling better?”

You’re proud of yourself for not jumping at hearing his voice. “Yeah,” you answer, swallowing to wet your dry throat. You feel an unpleasant tug on your skin where Andrés Felipe cut you twice. “Where am I?”

You turn to look at him. He’s sitting on the couch next to you but with enough distance between the two of you so you don’t touch. He’s holding a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, trying to hide the look of concern on his face. It’s something you will see a lot from now on, people looking at you as if you’re about to break.

“You’re in my living room,” he answers.

“Why not,” you have to swallow again, “why not at the embassy?”

He taps his foot nervously so his leg is jumping up and down, takes a drag. “Us coming to rescue you … that wasn’t exactly sanctioned by Noonan.”

“So you really are DEA?” you ask, even though there are a million other things you should ask first. Like if the press conference you saw on TV was really true. If Noonan and the United States were really prepared to let the remaining hostages die. But the longer you look at the man next to you, the more familiar he looks.

Javier nods at the same time as you burst out, “You tried to warn me, didn’t you? Back at the embassy? You told me I was in over my head with this. You’re the asshole!”

The surprise on his face is almost enough to make you laugh for the first time in months. “I’m the what?”

You open your mouth, but instead of an answer coming out of it, you start coughing uncontrollably. Your sides are burning by the time you’re done, but Javier is right there next to you with a glass of water that you accept gratefully.

“Let me take a look at your throat,” he says, watching you swallow down the cool liquid.

If you think about it, you haven’t been touched in months. You know you’ll flinch away before he even touches you, so you stiffen your muscles, determined to remain in place.

He must see it all on your face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

His fingers are rough against your skin as he carefully tilts your head to the side. You barely flinch but you whimper because the movement hurts more than you would have thought. He hums quietly before standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You raise your finger to your neck to find the skin there sticky with blood. Whether it is yours or Andrés Felipe’s you can’t tell. But the unfamiliar feeling makes you tremble again. You wish you could stop that, or at least suppress it. You wish the world would start making sense again. You miss your small room and your mattress and knowing what comes next. You don’t even know if Javier is telling the truth, if he really is who he says he is. Yes, he looks vaguely familiar, but until a few hours ago, you had no idea what time of day it was.

“Hey, hey,” Javier says softly. He is sitting next to you again, closer this time, but he’s still not touching you. “Breathe. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“None of it makes sense,” you mumble. You’re not sure if he’s heard you, but you do feel the pressure on your chest lighten.

“You have two cuts on your throat,” Javier goes on, shaking a small bottle of disinfectant. “They don’t look too bad, but I’d still like to clean them. Is that okay?”

How do you explain to him that you just spent months asking for permission instead of giving it? How do you explain to him that you don’t know how to decide anything for yourself anymore?

Not sure what to make of your silence, Javier goes on. “You can do it yourself if you want to. I can show you –”

You tilt your head to the side. “No, please. I want you to do it.”

Javier stops shaking the bottle of disinfectant, grabs a cotton ball, and pours some liquid over it. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

He does hurt you. The second he touches the cotton ball to the cut, you want to scream. It burns so much you can hardly take it. But you grit your teeth and you don’t complain. Because you don’t want him to stop. You know it’s just the isolation and the confusion of the last hours and the fact that your world doesn’t make sense anymore, but the way he dabs the cotton ball across the cut, brow furrowed in concentration, makes you feel safe. And you can’t remember the last time you felt like this.

“You’re being so brave,” he mumbles, and surely you must have misheard or you must have imagined it, because he continues in a normal voice, “Tomorrow, you should go see a doctor. I don’t have any medical training and it doesn’t look too bad, but it can’t hurt to be safe.”

You raise your fingers to touch your throat and briefly brush his as he draws them back. “Thank you,” you say when you find your skin free of dried blood. The cotton ball in Javier’s hand is now a blotchy red. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Javier says, standing up to dispose of the cotton ball. “I think he cut you with a knife.”

“No, not that.” You sink back against the couch cushions and tightly wrap the blanket around yourself. “With Noonan and the hostages.”

Javier, who is standing in the open kitchen with his back toward you, stiffens. “It was just you,” he answers, pretending to clean some dust off the counter. “You were the only American hostage left. Because it took so fucking long to find you.” He turns to you, cringing. “Sorry. I meant it took us forever to find you.”

“You can swear,” you tell him, your cheeks tingling from the unfamiliar sensation of a smile.

He walks back toward you, and it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s no longer the jealous man who was trying to get you to back off from a mission he told you you weren’t qualified for. He’s the man who risked his job – and his life – to save you. And you don’t quite know what to do with that.

To your disappointment, he sits down in a chair, not on the couch, and lights another cigarette. “We had your location eventually. But then, two days ago, the cartel released the businessman, the only other American being held. We had to give them three men in exchange, and the exchange almost went wrong. Someone high up in Washington must have decided that’s enough.”

“So it was true, what Noonan said on TV?” You feel hot and cold all over. “It wasn’t a ruse? They were prepared to let me die?”

Javier nods. “Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

Your heart stops for a short while. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’re one of us.”

“You warned me. You told me not to go on this mission. I thought you were jealous.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No, I thought it was a stupid mission. Too dangerous. Not worth risking the life of one of our agents for. And it was putting all our other informants at risk too.”

You look down at your hands, barely recognizing them underneath the dirt clinging to your skin. “What happens next? Will you get reassigned?”

“I won’t get a medal, that’s for sure.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and his face lights up with a red glow. “Noonan will thank me privately but reprimand me publicly. And then she’ll send you home.”

“Me? Why am I being punished?” Your voice, still hoarse from disuse, rings in your ears.

He laughs again, loudly this time. “Darlin’, Colombia almost killed you. I wouldn’t call it punishment.”

Your heart kickstarts at the use of the diminutive. “I want to stay here. There’s still so much to do.”

He stubs out his cigarette. “What you need to do is take things easy. You just went through a horrible ordeal you haven’t even begun to process. Even if you do stay here, you need a break first.”

You want to protest, but you can’t find the strength. You feel weary, exhausted, like you spent the last month trekking through the jungle without a break. Your body is a heavy lump you hardly have control over.

The next thing you feel is Javier’s arms around you as he holds you tightly. “Hey,” he says again, and you could get used to the softness in his voice. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” you mumble, trying to push him away, suddenly trapped in the memory of closing your eyes and waking up to a man holding a knife cowering above you.

Javier doesn’t take no for an answer. “You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You’re still not sure this is such a good idea, but there is no alternative you can think of, and your body is begging you to lie down on cool, clean sheets and forget the world for a while. You let Javier pull you up, and you manage to stumble not more than once as he leads you into a dark bedroom. He doesn’t switch on the light.

“I’m going to let you sleep in,” he tells you, sitting you down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to leave the door open in case you need me?”

“No, that’s fine,” you answer, weakly kicking off your dirty shoes. You just want him to leave so you can close your eyes.

He runs his hand from the top of your head down to your neck in a well-practiced, automatic motion. “I’m a light sleeper – just shout if there’s anything you need.”

You nod, and he finally steps back with a smile on his face. “Good night, Javi,” you say, your head hitting the pillow before you can stop it. He’s already at the door when you add, “And thank you.”

You can’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when the sound of gunfire wakes you. It’s not close by, but the echo of it still reaches you, and before your brain has time to process, your body is already responding with a sob that shakes you from head to toe.

“I’ve got you,” Javier says, wrapping you up in his arms. You bury your face against his naked shoulder, trying to steady your breath, but you’re crying uncontrollably now.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

All he does is run his hand up and down your back. “Shhhh, I’m here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His warm breath against the top of your head makes your heartbeat slow down, and you finally manage to swallow your tears. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, feeling like you’re about to die.

“Come on, lie down,” he urges you gently, trying to lower you toward the mattress.

“No!” You cling to him desperately, but he pries your arms off him without much effort.

“I’ll be here, okay?” he soothes you. “Right in that chair over there.”

You don’t know what chair he’s talking about; you didn’t notice one when he led you into the bedroom, but you stopped noticing things a while ago. “Don’t leave me,” you beg.

He brushes your hair out of your face and places a soft kiss against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When you next open your eyes, there he is, asleep in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, the early morning sun dancing across his skin.

#javier peña #narcos #the hostage #fic recs

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kybercrystals94 · 7 months ago

Text

The Hostage

(Part 9)

Read here on Ao3!

Master List here!

Rated: T | Words: 4868 | Summary: Reunions at last...

Omega glances at the chrono on the wall. She knows Tech would be precise if he said three rotations. In two hours, it will be exactly three rotations from the last moment she talked to her brothers. Somehow, the closer it comes, the farther it seems, seconds and minutes practically stagnant. Omega almost wants to cry frustrated tears.

“Omega, I need your help,” Tiiona says from her small kitchen.

Omega practically trips over her own feet scrambling to Tiiona’s side, eager to be useful and distracted. Tiiona hands her a deep bowl and large spoon. “Stir this.”

Looking into the bowl, Omega is surprised by an array of dry ingredients measured and heaped on top of one another. “What is this?” she asks, obediently poking the spoon into the bowl and stirring the various dry textures together.

“We’re going to make cookies,” Tiiona says.

“Like the ones from when you found me?” Omega asks. Not a day has gone by since she received the treats that she hasn’t wondered where they came from and if there was a way she could get some for Wrecker.

Tiiona smiles. “An old family recipe passed down from my great-great grandmother. My mother taught me, and I taught Gawynn, and now I’m teaching you.”

A warmth of emotion fills Omega then, similar to the emotion she has grown to cherish with her brothers, but different. It is softer, somehow. And she wonders something she has never wondered before: what would it be like to have a mother?

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“How did Omega meet you and this…” Echo pauses, “other individual?”

Omega’s contact glances at him sidelong as they shoulder through the crowd, going back to the spaceport. “Tiiona found her, said she’d help. I got involved by association.”

“Why would Tiiona help Omega? What’s in it for her?” Echo asks.

“The satisfaction that she’s saved another soul, I suppose,” the man says. “Not every being in the galaxy has a hidden agenda.”

Echo makes a noise that could be an agreement, but doesn’t offer more. Until Omega is under their protection again, Echo won’t fully trust anything, no matter what this man says.

“Which brother are you?” the man asks suddenly, “Omega told us your names and descriptions, but…I can’t remember.”

Echo hesitates, swallows. “Echo,” he says after a moment.

“Wrecker’s the big one,” the man says, “Name makes sense if he uses his bulk for anything destructive. Unless it’s one of those oxymorons, and he’s the smaller one…the one with long hair?”

The offhand comment surprises a laugh out of Echo, a hearty one. Hunter would be mortified. He’ll have to disclose the information to Wrecker, Tech and Omega later, well out of Hunter’s enhanced hearing range, wherever that is.

“No, you’re right. Wrecker’s the big one,” Echo says, still chuckling. “The smaller one is Hunter. Tech is the third.”

The man grins, the tension in his posture loosening. “I’m Paa,” he says.

“Paa,” Echo repeats with a nod.

“That why they call you Echo?” Paa asks.

Echo shrugs and grins under his helmet. “I guess.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Echo, kitted in his droid disguise, and another man wait outside the Marauder as they arrive back.

“The issue taken care of?” Echo asks, stepping forward.

Hunter nods, eyeing the stranger at Echo’s shoulder. “Won’t be causing any more problems.”

The man’s eyes widen minutely, but he keeps his arms crossed, posture stiff.

Echo turns. “This is Paa, Omega’s contact.”

“Where is Omega now?” Tech asks. “Where is her location?”

The man – Paa – frowns, casting a weary glance at Echo. “I already told your,” he hesitates, as though he isn’t sure of the word he wants to use, “brother here that I will take one of you to Omega’s location. My friend is with her, she is safe; however, I will not bring more attention than necessary to Tiiona.”

“Tiiona?” Hunter asks.

“She’s the woman who found Omega,” Echo explains.

“What do you want in exchange for helping us?” Hunter asks warily. It cannot be this simple. There has to be a catch, separating the brothers with the promise of leading them to Omega’s location.

“Nothing,” Paa replies easily. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Hunter exchanges glances with the others. Wrecker is grinning at him, the anticipation of retrieving Omega overwhelming any sense of apprehension. Tech adjusts his goggles nervously, but nods. Echo’s expression is hidden, but his body language speaks volumes. He seems to trust Paa, and has spent some time interacting with the man.

“I’ll go with him to get Omega,” Hunter decides. It isn’t a statement open for debate. Nonetheless, Tech looks like he might try, and Wrecker steps forward. Hunter shakes his head. “We’ll be back soon. I’ll keep my comm on in case anything happens.”

Paa huffs. “Do you have anything more subtle to wear?”

Hunter glances down at his beaten armor. “This’ll have to do,” he growls. He’s not going to make himself any more vulnerable than he needs to be.

Paa looks like he might argue; however, after a moment, he rolls his eyes. “Fine. C’mon.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“Your sister insisted that you would be here exactly three days from our call,” Paa says, “but I told them to wait a couple hours before going to the meeting place. I didn’t want them loitering anywhere in this city longer than they have to.”

It is strange hearing someone refer to Omega as their sister so casually, almost naturally, as if there is no other explanation. Stranger still is the unmistakable protectiveness that permeates Paa’s words about Omega and whoever has her in their care. As far as Hunter knows, Omega has not done anything to be owed such loyalty and defense, and yet, these individuals have given it freely, not asking for a single thing in return.

In a galaxy standing against them, there is some goodness, some light.

Hope.

Paa nods to a narrow alley across the street. “There they are,” he says.

Hunter looks, sees an older, human woman. Beside her, a smaller person hidden in a cloak stares down the street in the direction the spaceport is. Hunter can’t see their face under the shadow of the hood; however, he’d recognize that energetic stance anywhere, unable to stand still, bouncing on the toes of her boots.

“Omega!” he calls out.

The little figure turns instantly, and their eyes meet. “Hunter!”

Omega is moving through the obstacle of passersby in her path before Hunter can force his dazed body to corporate. It is suddenly entirely real, and Omega’s solid form collides into his, her lithe arms wrapping around his waist. Hunter pulls away just enough to kneel down, and Omega’s embrace shifts effortlessly to around his neck, her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder.

“Hey, kid,” he chokes out, bringing his arms up to hold her.

Omega doesn’t say anything, but her entire body shudders with sobs.

“You did good, kid, you did so good,” Hunter whispers into her hair.

“I missed you so much,” Omega says, voice wobbly. “I missed all of you. I was so scared.”

Hunter's heart aches. “I know. I’m so sorry, Omega.”

Omega shifts in his grip, turning her face so that she can speak. “Syko…”

“He’s gone,” Hunter says, “and he won’t be back. I promise.”

Her head nods against him, and she hides her tear stained face again.

“Your sister is a brave little soul,” a feminine voice says above him. Hunter looks up and sees the older woman standing next to Paa, a kind, gentle smile on her face. “I’m Tiiona. Omega’s friend.”

Hunter starts to stand, so he can address the woman properly, but Omega clings tighter, unwilling to release him. He happily compromises by scooping her up in his arms and holding her against him. “Thank you,” he says to Tiiona, and he knows that the words fall woefully short of the depth he means them, “for helping our sister find us…we thought…”

“I know,” Tiiona says, softly, sparing him the awful words. The woman glances around, looking for something. “Where are your brothers?”

“Back at our ship,” Hunter replies.

“No need to draw more attention than necessary,” Paa adds.

Tiiona gives the man a fondly annoyed look. “I would like to meet Omega’s family. She’s told me all about them, and I’d love to put faces to names.”

“Tiiona…” Paa starts.

She puts up a hand, effectively cutting the man off, and turns to Hunter. “I hope you will allow me to meet the rest of your family.”

It is such a small request when Hunter owes more than he could ever hope in a thousand lifetimes to repay. “I don’t see why not.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Wrecker watches the constantly revolving crowd, searching for the bright, familiar face he’s missed and mourned deeply. It won’t feel like anything more than a dream until he’s got her tucked up in his arms, her voice and laughter in his ears, the soft tickling of her hair against his face. That’s when he’ll believe it. That’s when the gaping hole in his chest will start to heal over.

Tech and Echo linger nearby, pretending to be occupied running diagnostics; however, Wrecker knows they are watching the same crowd, the same faces, waiting.

Wrecker almost doesn’t recognize Hunter at first, his arms cradled around a child size bundle, a starlight blond head resting on his shoulder. And Wrecker is moving, rushing to meet his little sister. His living, breathing little sister. His lungs breathe in a breath of air that isn’t for survival alone, but to call out her name, to laugh. Relief makes his muscles feel weak, but he’s never felt stronger.

“Omega! There are you!” he calls out.

She lifts her head from Hunter’s shoulder and turns. And she smiles. And she’s alive.

Alive, alive, alive…

Hunter lets Omega slip from his arms, and as soon as she’s on her feet, she’s running to meet Wrecker, a cloak streaming behind her like a cape. Between one blink and the next, she’s in Wrecker’s hold, her arms tight around his neck.

Wrecker thinks she might be crying. He knows he is.

“I missed you so much!” she tells him.

Wrecker laughs. “Missed you more, kid.”

“I’m sorry Syko made you think I was dead.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Wrecker tells her, pressing his face against the crown of her head.

She is real. She is alive. She’s safe.

“Hey, don’t forget about us,” Echo’s voice says.

Omega laughs and pulls back, smiling down at Echo and Tech who have finally caught up. Wrecker doesn’t want to let her go, but he puts Omega down, and she goes first to Echo, hugging him and receiving an embrace in return. “Glad to have you back, kid,” Echo says, his gruff voice catching on the corner of something in his throat, which he coughs to clear.

Approaching Tech much more sedately, Omega hugs him around his middle. Tech gives her shoulder a couple firm pats. “We are happy for your safe return,” he says.

Omega releases him, gravitating back to Hunter who has joined the reunion. Hunter rests a hand on her shoulder. Wrecker notices Paa is present, but hanging back, looking upset about something. And then he sees the woman, older and sturdily built, who approaches boldly. “You must be Omega’s brothers,” she says.

Omega grins so big and proud it makes Wrecker’s heart ache. “This is Tiiona. She is the one who found me,” she says, and she introduces each of them to the woman, who nods and smiles, saying nice to meet you.

“Wrecker,” Tiiona says, looking up at him, “Omega tells me that you’ll be the one to appreciate the cookies she and I made.”

Caught by surprise, Wrecker chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Eh, I’ve never said no to food before.”

“That is the most accurate statement Wrecker has ever said,” Tech says, and Omega giggles.

Tiiona brings a small box out and gives it to Omega. “I trust you’ll make sure your brothers share,” she whispers loudly.

“I will,” Omega promises, hugging it to her chest. She glances down at her shoulders. “Oh, Gawynn’s cloak!” She starts to undo the fastener at her neck, but Tiiona stops her with a gentle touch of her hand.

“Keep it, little one,” she says. “Gawynn would like to know that it went to someone who will appreciate it.”

Omega smiles shyly, and Wrecker’s heart melts a little more. “Thank you,” she says.

Then, Omega gives the box of cookies to Hunter and throws her arms around Tiiona’s waist. The woman does not even look surprised, and kneels down to return the embrace, holding Omega in her arms like she might not let her go. “I will miss you so much, sweet girl,” she says. “If you and your brothers are ever nearby, I hope you’ll come visit again.”

“We will,” Omega promises.

Tiiona pulls away, but rests her hands on Omega’s shoulders. “Keep safe,” she tells her, but Wrecker feels that the words are directed at them.

Keep her safe.

“Is there any way we can repay you?” Hunter asks once Omega has pressed herself back against his side, a protective hand resting on her shoulder.

Tiiona smiles and shakes her head. “We are just happy that Omega has found her family.”

Paa steps forward at last. “We should go,” he tells Tiiona.

Tiiona puts her hand on Omega’s head, the gentle touch lingering for a moment, before she follows after Paa. Omega turns to watch them go, and watches long after they’ve disappeared from the spaceport. “Do you think they’re going to be okay?” she whispers.

“They seem to be very capable,” Tech reasons.

Omega does not look convinced, but then she looks up at them. “If Syko is…” she hesitates, “gone, what will happen to his ship?”

Wrecker frowns. He hadn’t thought about that at all, and if his brothers’ expressions are anything to go by, they hadn’t either.

“Because,” Omega continues when no one answers her, “I might have an idea.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Tiiona tries to convince him to go to the apartment with her, to visit just once; however, Paa cannot quite bring himself to do it. Tiiona has already drawn enough attention to herself. If the Empire found out, somehow, that she is Gawynn’s mother…it isn’t worth the risk, no matter how homesick he is.

So he walks her to the usual place they meet, and she walks on without him while he goes to his own little apartment, a cramped, one-room thing with smog stained walls. He goes to bed and wonders where Gawynn is now. What is the Empire making her do with that brilliant mind?

When he wakes the next morning, he puts on his factory uniform and walks the same path as he always has. He barely makes enough to live on, but whatever extra he makes he tucks away. He could have asked the clones for credits. They would have readily paid him; however, it is not what Tiiona would have wanted. Not what Gawynn would have done. But he would have been just a little closer to having the credits to get off this planet and take Tiiona with him. He’d take her somewhere safe and then search for her daughter, his love. Rescue her. Bring her to a better home, a safer home.

Someone steps in front of him. “Omega said you took this route.”

The goggled clone, now dressed in civilian clothes, pulls him into the nearest ally.

“What do you want?” Paa growls wearily.

The clone – Tech? – tips his head thoughtfully. “Nothing from you,” he answers, “however, I do have something for you.” He holds out a device. “The bounty hunter’s ship. He no longer has use for it, so we cleared its logs and I reprogramed its codes. It is yours to do with as you see fit. Keep it or sell it.”

Paa knows he must look like an idiot, slack jawed and staring at the remote in Tech’s hand. The shock of the offer feels dreamlike. “I…I don’t know what to say,” he mumbles at last.

“It was Omega’s idea,” Tech says. “Unsurprisingly brilliant of her.”

Swallowing, Paa takes the remote. “You said you reprogrammed the codes. Is that legal?”

“Not at all,” Tech says promptly. He grins. “However, legality did not hinder the process. I locked a data pad inside the ship with all the information you might need, and provided a way to contact us should you ever need assistance in the future.”

“This is too much,” Paa whispers.

“On the contrary, we can never repay you enough,” Tech returns.

Paa could voice the same thing if he could get the words out.

I’m coming for you Gawynn. I will find you.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Omega tells them what happened, alighting briefly on details before fluttering to the next. Echo wants to ask questions, can see that their brothers do too, especially Tech; however, they are quiet and listen, only offering encouraging hums and nods as she goes, gaping holes in the account that beg to be filled.

“I know that’s not everything,” Omega finishes, her voice quiet. “But I don’t really…I just want to not think about it for a while.”

Tech opens his mouth, likely to press the importance of sharing the information while it is fresh on her mind, but Echo cuts him off with, “That’s fine, kid. You can tell us more when you’re ready.”

“Echo’s right,” Hunter agrees, and that ends the discussion.

Omega lingers in the cockpit after the others have dispersed, moving to sit next to Echo in the co-pilot’s seat. She seems like she might have something to say, so Echo waits, pretending to be semi-occupied with the nav system.

“What if I’m never ready to talk about it?” Omega asks at last.

Echo thinks about that, comprehending all too well. After he was rescued from Skako Minor, he hadn’t had much of a choice than to talk, to tell everything he could remember. It was vital to the war effort. Understanding that had not made it easier, forcing his mind to recount the trauma, the pain, the suffering…the guilt.

He looks down at Omega now, her little brow furrowed and lips pressed as she wrestles with the need to tell and the desire to forget.

“Maybe you could write it down instead,” Echo says. “Like a mission report.”

Omega looks up at him, wide eyed. “But this wasn’t a mission.”

“No,” Echo says, “but sometimes it’s easier, to look at the facts, to understand what happened. You can take as long as you need, write down as little or as much as you want.”

“That might be easier,” Omega says. She grins. “And I’ve read all of your mission reports, so I can make mine just like yours.”

Echo chuckles. “You can try. Those are pretty big boots to fill,” he teases.

Omega’s smile is broken by a yawn.

“You need some rest, kid,” Echo says. “Why don’t you go tuck in. I’m sure you’ll have a clearer mind when you wake up.”

Omega nods and slides out of the seat. She notices her data pad in its charger port and takes it, hugging it against her chest. “Maybe I’ll start my report before I go to sleep.”

Echo reaches out and ruffles her hair. “If that’s what you wanna do, kid.”

When his sister shuffles out of the room, Echo releases a shaky breath. He wonders if this is how Rex felt when he suddenly resurrected from the dead.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The ship is peacefully quiet, a far cry from the devastated silence that had shrouded the occupants in the days following Omega’s “demise.” And although such was not the case, the residual emotions linger, and Tech denies himself a fifth time when he wonders if he should check on his sister, to make sure she is still in her gunner’s mount room, nestled amongst her blankets with Lula and Trooper. It is illogical to think she might have disappeared in the mere hours his eyes have not seen her. They are in hyperspace after all, nothing can have snatched her away. It is impossible.

And yet…

Tech growls to himself, feeling frustrated with his irrational uneasiness. He tries to focus instead on the article he’s been unsuccessfully “reading” since his watch began.

A tiny, purposeful cough distracts him from his fruitless efforts. He looks up and Omega is standing in the doorway, Lula tucked in the crook of one elbow and her data pad hugged against her chest with the other. “Are you busy, Tech?” she asks.

Her voice is real and present and familiar, speaking to him directly. Not through the static of a comm, or the distance of a memory clung to. His immediate answer lodges in his throat, and he has to swallow three times to clear the obstruction. “I am not busy.”

Omega smiles. It is invitation enough, and she confidently climbs into the copilot’s chair, settling Lula beside her, and resting the data pad in her lap. “I noticed,” Omega says, softly, “that you updated my learning modules. Well…my notes.”

Tech blinks. He’d forgotten about that, had barely noticed when she snatched up her data pad before climbing into her room, not even thought about what she would find if and when she opened the file Questions to Ask Tech.

“I opened my notes because I had more questions to add,” Omega continues when it becomes evident that Tech has no verbal comment to offer. “And I saw that you’d answered all my other questions.”

“Yes, I…” Tech begins, but no explanation seems adequate for the reasoning behind his actions. It was not logical to answer the questions of a deceased individual. Maybe it was strange and perhaps morbid, but somehow had brought a sense of closure and control in the chaos of untamed emotions that raged within him at the time.

Omega is watching him, waiting patiently for him to compose his thoughts, if there are any to compose at all. But not for the first time, words fail him, understanding evading his comprehension. Deciding he has no answer to offer, he simply shakes his head, glaring at the console beside him.

“Can I give you a hug?” Omega whispers the question, and waits for him to nod before sliding from her seat and closing the short space between them. She wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him so tight he almost cannot breathe, although he is not sure whether it is physical constriction of her enveloping hold or unchecked emotion at fault. It is the kind of embrace he has seen Omega give to his brothers, but has never quite received himself.

He hesitates a moment before lightly returning the gesture, holding her gently against his cuirass.

“We thought we lost you,” he whispers into her feathery hair.

Omega nods into his shoulder. “I know.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I answered the questions in your notes,” Tech says, and his voice sounds odd, distorted by a tangle of sentiments.

Omega giggles. “I don’t mind. I love you too.”

When Tech blinks, dampness catches in his goggles. It seems that Omega understood perfectly what he himself could not convey in words or thought.

Omega pulls away and returns to her chair, letting Tech collect himself while she readjusts Lula and the data pad in her lap, pretending not to notice that anything is strange or awkward. Instead, once Tech has dried out his goggles, she says excitedly, “I have to tell you what I did to Syko’s ship.

“What you did to his ship?” Tech echoes, confused.

Omega grins at him, a crooked mischievous thing that reminds him of their brothers. “I sabotaged it. Remember when I accidentally set off the Marauder’s alarm system?”

Tech remembers and nods.

“I got into the vents and made it to the internal control panel. I set off all the alarms.”

“All of them?”

Omega is practically radiating light when she says, “Every single one.”

And as Omega goes on to describe in great detail the steps she took, Tech could not be more proud of his little sister.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“These are the best cookies I’ve ever had in my whole life,” Wrecker tells Omega once he’s convinced her to sneak him an extra one. It doesn’t take much effort, but Omega makes a show of tucking it into his waiting hand.

Omega smiles. “Tiiona taught me the recipe. She even wrote it out on flimsi in case I forget anything.” She produces the small sheet proudly from her pocket.

“So what you’re saying is,” Wrecker says, “that we can make cookies whenever we want?”

“Well,” Omega says with a grin, “Only if we have the ingredients…and a place to bake them.”

Wrecker sighs. “I guess we better make this batch last then since we don’t know when we can make more.”

“That means you’ll have to stop eating so many,” Omega giggles.

Wrecker exaggerates a groan, slumping down in the crash seat. “That’s gonna be hard. They’re so good!”

“I know!” Omega cries. “Especially the chocolate pieces.”

“Especially the chocolate pieces,” Wrecker agrees.

Omega snuggles up under his arm, and he squeezes her close. “I missed you,” Omega whispers.

“Missed ya more,” Wrecker tells her.

“I remembered what you said,” Omega says, “about keeping my thumb out when I punch.”

“Who’d you punch?”

“No one, but I was ready. Had my fist like this.” Omega demonstrates.

Wrecker smiles even though his heart breaks a little. “Looks great, kid.”

“I wanted to punch Syko,” Omega admits, “but I didn’t get a chance.”

“Aw, that’s okay. We’ll find another jerk for you to practice on,” Wrecker says. “The galaxy’s full of them.”

That makes Omega giggle again, and she wiggles impossibly closer. Wrecker never wants to let her go again.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter doesn’t realize he dozed off until something sharp jabs into his stomach, startling him to alertness. He looks down to find Omega curled into him, the upper half of her body draped over his abdomen, her folded arms pillowing her head. One of her elbows must have gouged him. She doesn’t look very comfortable, even though she is heavy against him, fast asleep.

Lifting the hand that isn’t held captive by the little girl at his side, he brushes his fingers through her soft hair. She stirs slowly, eyes blinking open to peer up at him, and she smiles.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low, “We should get you to your own bed. You might sleep better.”

Omega sits up, stretching her arms over her head. “I’m not tired.”

Hunter pushes himself up on his elbows. “Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not,” Omega insists. “Well, not anymore.”

“Are you hungry?” Hunter asks.

Omega nods and stands, allowing Hunter to get to his feet. He goes to their supplies and pulls out the crate of rations. He gives Omega one of the flavors he knows she likes best. She sits down at the nav computer and opens it, nibbling at the edge. Hunter leaves for a moment to give the others their share before putting the crate away and going back to the bunk, sitting down and tearing open his own ration bar. Omega leaps up from the seat and scrambles up onto the bunk next to him.

“Hey, kid,” Hunter says.

She leans her head against his arm. “I hope that one day I can learn to cook and bake just like Tiiona,” Omega says. “Her food was the best I’ve ever tasted in the galaxy.”

“I don’t know if anything can beat meiloorun ration bars,” Hunter says, knocking his plain bar against Omega’s fruit flavored one. He grins when it makes Omega laugh. “There’s still a lot of the galaxy to explore. Lots of places to see, people to meet, food to taste…”

“True,” Omega agrees.

They finish the rest of their meal with no words spoken between them. When Omega finishes her last bite, she starts folding her wrapper, making tiny, painstaking creases.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Hunter asks.

Omega has her face downturned, but her busy little fingers still for a moment before starting again more slowly. “I miss Tiiona,” Omega whispers.

Hunter knows he should say something comforting, but before he can even scrounge up a syllable of empathy, Omega looks up at him with tearfilled eyes. “We’ll never see her again, will we.” Her voice is steady even as her lower lip trembles. It isn’t a question.

Hunter swallows. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But Tech left Paa a code to contact us, so maybe…we might hear from them at least. If they ever need us, we’ll be there.”

While he isn’t sure it is the correct thing to say, it seems to sooth whatever turmoil of emotions Omega is experiencing. She nods and offers up a wobbly grin. Perhaps more for his emotional sake than evidence of her own.

Hunter puts an arm around her, pulling her close. “Still wanna see the galaxy together?” he asks softly.

Omega nods. “Always,” she breathes.

END

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