#tiny grey ration bars*

[catracel]

grill centrist entrapta

[lamaenthel]

Tivaevae | Chapter One: Ripped At The Seams

Still struggling to emotionally recover from Master Obi-Wan's deception, Ahsoka discovers in the aftermath that twelve-year-old Boba Fett has been locked up among adults in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. After convincing Chancellor Palpatine to grant him a pardon, she manages to secure his release on the condition that she serve as his legal guardian. Now, with the help of Master Plo and the Wolfpack, she vows to help him track down what family he has left.

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Fandom: Star Wars Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu, Kanan Jarrus, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CC-1119 | Appo, Dexter Jettster, FLO | WA-7 (Star Wars), Shaak Ti, ARC Commander Blitz (Star Wars), CT-6922 | Dogma, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Trooper Sinker (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Comet (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, CT-5597 | Jesse, CT-4860 | Boost, Aurra Sing, Tobias Beckett, Null-11 | Ordo Skirata, Kal Skirata, Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Droid Characters (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars) Total Word Count: 123,000 Chapter Word Count: 6,751

"And then Grey was like skoosh skoosh skoosh–" Caleb held up an imaginary carbine and let loose a series of blasts, so enthusiastic about his reenactment that he nearly fell off of the courtyard bench. " –and the SBD just exploded! He got him right in the power core! And then-and then-and then I did a backflip off of his shoulder, and I cut three B1's in half! It was so wizard."

"You did?" Mace gasped, theatrically placing a hand on his chest in feigned shock. He had a reputation for being overly stoic, cold even, but there was nothing that defrosted the Master like his Padawans. Depa had dropped off young Caleb to have lunch with his Grand-Master with a weary gratitude that Obi-Wan remembered well; ironically, it had usually been Mace that would give him a break from Anakin more often than not, back then.

"Sure did," Caleb raised his chin proudly. "Have you ever done that with your commander, Master Obi-Wan?" he asked eagerly, looking at him from the other side of Mace with bright turquoise eyes.

Obi-Wan swallowed his mouthful of salad. "Unfortunately, no," he said with a smile. "I think I might squash poor Cody if I tried, though, I weigh a bit more than you."

"Is that why you're watching your figure?" Mace asked wryly, looking at Obi-Wan's bowl of fresh greens.

"I don't care if they're nutritionally complete, human beings were not intended to survive off of ration bars alone," Obi-Wan grumbled into his salad.

"I didn't jump off Grey, I jumped off the battle droid!" Caleb giggled.

"Ah," Obi-Wan said. "Well, the answer is still no, but I'll make sure to bring it up to him before our next strategy meeting."

"Good idea!" Caleb said with a grin, then shoved a handful of fried tatos in his mouth. His nerfburger had been inhaled two meandering stories ago.

"Well, I'm impressed. That sounds like a very successful first mission." Mace gave him a pat on the back then added an unholy amount of orbakradish paste to his bowl of red turu rice, green peppers and bantha strips.

"Can I have some?" Caleb asked curiously, staring at the bright green bottle his grand-master had pulled from his pocket curiously.

"It's very spicy," Mace warned before leaving a tiny smudge on the boy's plate, then took a stoic bite of his rice bowl.

Caleb carefully dipped a corner of his fried tato in the orbakradish and took a bite. His eyes went wide. "Ow," he said faintly, and held his mouth open. "Aow. Aow."

Mace chuckled, dipped a tato in the cup of vinegar on the other side of Caleb's plate, then popped it in his open mouth. "I did warn you," he said as Caleb furiously chewed. "Orbakradish isn't like capsaicin. For that, you need some sort of cream. To cure this, you need vinegar."

Caleb sighed with relief. "Thanks, Master." He hurriedly popped another vinegar-soaked tato in his mouth, then finished off the rest of the plate with the speed that only eleven-year-old boys could manage without making themselves sick. Mace and Obi-Wan exchanged amused looks while they ate their own meals at a less tornadic pace.

"Go on, Padawan. Time to meditate, then practice your forms at the training salle." Mace patted Caleb on the back and took his empty plate once he'd licked it clean.

"Will you come and– I mean, I would be honored if you would spar with me after your Council meeting is done, Master." Caleb said bashfully. "If you want to. I, um, I know you're busy."

"I'm not sure how long I'll be, but I'll head down to the salles as soon as we're done. I'd be happy to spar with you, Padawan." Mace patted his cheek fondly and winked.

"Okay!" Caleb bowed hurriedly to Mace and then Obi-Wan. "Bye, Masters!" He took off at a run, almost tripping on his robes twice before disappearing around the corner.

"I miss that age," Obi-Wan said forlornly. "They're still so enthusiastic about everything. Once they hit puberty…"

"The attitude, I know," Mace said knowingly. He took a final bite from his rice bowl and reached a hand out for Obi-Wan's dish. "I'm grateful for Depa and Devan. Echuu was a handful. Girls are easier."

"Girls are not easier," Obi-Wan snorted, then rubbed his bald head, textured with a thousand offended bumps. The whole thing was so damn itchy, he'd had to meditate three times that morning just to keep his sanity. Perhaps Lace had some procaine cream in the medbay that he could borrow until all of the hairs had poked through the skin.

"Mine were," Mace shrugged.

"Yours aren't vindictive," Obi-Wan sighed.

"Why would they be?" Mace asked blithely. "I trained them well. They are above pettiness."

Obi-Wan glared at the sky instead of Mace. "Lucky you," he said to the speeder traffic above the Temple.

"I warned you about the consequences of leaving Anakin and Ahsoka out of the loop," Mace reminded him. "You insisted."

"I know." They both stood and began the long walk to the Council chambers elevator.

Mace passed their bamboo dishes onto a waste droid when they passed one then fished around for something in his pocket. "And you are the one who suggested that they go on the mission that 'killed' you," he pointed out, then popped a mint candy into his mouth.

"I know," Obi-Wan huffed. "I understand that my actions have consequences, Mace, I'm not a child."

"Then why are you so upset?" Mace asked.

"I'm not upset," Obi-Wan said automatically.

Mace rolled his eyes. "You aren't at peace, that's for certain."

"I–" Obi-Wan raised his hands and let them fall. "Ahsoka's never been one to hold a grudge at all, let alone at me. I expected the cold shoulder from Anakin, but not her."

"Ah. She's still hurt, then."

"She's got no reason to be hurt," Obi-Wan insisted.

"She discovered your 'corpse,' my old friend," Mace said.

"Please, p-please Bobi, open your eyes, open your… no, no, no, please no, Bobi please–"

"Would you really be so unmoved if you'd discovered hers?"

She fell to the ground like a ragdoll, dead from a single touch. Her limbs were twisted and her yellow eyes stayed open, filmy and veined with black like the rest of the Dark Side corruption that covered her.

He banished the memories. "That's different," Obi-Wan insisted. "We are not meant to outlive our Padawans."

"Yet we do." Mace called the elevator. "More and more often, it seems. And I do not see that changing until this war is over."

That reminded him. "Have you discussed your idea with Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.

"It's difficult to find a good time to propose an assassination," Mace answered. "Especially the assassination of his old Padawan."

The elevator arrived. The two Masters stepped on and began the journey up.

"You've discussed it with Quinlan?" Mace asked.

"I have. He's not unwilling."

"Good to know."

The two fell silent, and Obi-Wan commanded the mental image of Ahsoka's corpse lying at the feet of her killer to stop popping into his thoughts. The encounter on Mortis felt like a dream. He still wasn't sure what had actually happened, what was real and what was a vision, but the memory of Anakin's yellow eyes and his little girl lying dead and corrupted by the Dark side haunted him at the most inopportune moments.

May he become one with the Force before ever seeing such horrors again.

The elevator opened. The two walked down the hall to the inside of the Council chambers and took their seats in companionable silence. They were still a bit early, and no one else had yet arrived.

"Caleb was not supposed to be in active combat yet," Mace said after a few moments. "In case you were wondering. The mission he was assigned was a scouting mission. The droids were a surprise."

"Do you think I'm judging you, old friend?" Obi-Wan asked with a raised brow.

"No, but I thought you may want to know." Mace leaned back with an unreadable expression on his face. "He is very skilled, but I personally would prefer he not be on the front lines until he gains more experience."

Obi-Wan remembered Ahsoka eagerly bouncing off of the transport and straight onto the front lines of one of the most gruesome campaigns of the early war. "I understand," he said gently. "Unfortunately, there's only one way to get experience."

"I'm aware." The muscle in Mace's jaw worked a bit before he settled into his usual serenity.

"Greetings, Master Windu. Master Kenobi." Shaak-Ti's hologram flickered into view and she bowed her head.

The two men bowed theirs in return. "How fares Kamino?" Obi-Wan asked lightly.

"Sunny, for a change," Shaak-Ti said with a small smile. "The cadets have been training outside all day on the landing pads."

Mace smiled at her. "I'm happy to hear it."

"As am I," Plo said pleasantly. He and Depa bowed from the entrance, Yoda hobbling beside them. Depa spared a fond smile for her old Master as she took her seat, which Mace returned.

More holograms popped up; Kit Fisto, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Saesee Tiin, Agen Kolar, Coleman Kcaj, Luminara Unduli, Oppo Rancisis, and Stass Allie were all still on the front lines. Kit's hologram was cross-legged and floating subtly, broadcasting underwater from the ocean world of Klarn.

"Begin, we shall," Yoda said after clearing his throat. "May the Force guide us as we proceed."

Murmurs of agreement followed him.

"May I be the first to compliment Master Kenobi's haircut," Kit's hologram grinned at him.

"Thank you, Master," Obi-Wan deadpanned, resisting the urge to scratch his blasted scalp again.

"We are all very glad to see you alive and well," Shaak-Ti added with a twinkle in her eye. "You should stay close-shaven. You look twenty years younger."

Obi-Wan sighed. He was very aware; it was half the reason he had grown the beard in the first place. Shaak-Ti's tinkling giggle rang like a bell at his reaction.

A round of chuckles echoed her and Mace held up a hand to quiet them. "Our first order of business," he began with a smile, reading off a datapad, "is– oh." His smile disappeared and his eyebrows went up as he glanced over at Obi-Wan. "Padawan Ahsoka Tano has requested to speak with us."

Obi-Wan sat at attention. "She has?" he asked, surprised.

"Go ahead and send her in," Mace said into the comlink in his chair. "Do you know what this is about?" he asked Obi-Wan curiously.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I've no idea," he answered.

The chamber doors opened and Obi-Wan watched Ahsoka step primly inside, pointedly not looking at him despite his centrality in her line of sight. He crossed his legs and frowned.

"Koh-to-yah, little 'Soka," Plo said. "Why have you come before us today?"

"Koh-to-yah, Master Plo. And thank you for allowing me to speak with you on such short notice, Masters," Ahsoka said politely. She made a deep bow and stood with perfect posture, her hands clasped in front of her. "I wish that this was not necessary, but as a Jedi I am a mandated reporter of abuse. If I witness the mistreatment of a child, I must speak up."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, his ire easing. "What did you witness, dear?" he asked, the epithet slipping out automatically.

Her eyes slid onto him and he was immediately taken aback by how cold they were. "I need to report that there is a twelve-year-old human child being held in a maximum security prison facility alongside murderers, rapists, and violent criminals of all sorts right here on Coruscant," she said icily.

Obi-Wan's stomach dropped. He already knew who she was referring to, and cac, it should have been him reporting it. He'd completely forgotten about his encounter with Boba Fett. He had been so consumed with not just keeping his cover and managing Bane, but blocking the Force bond he shared with his Padawans in order to sell his death that Boba had simply slipped his mind. Force, the shock of seeing a twelve-year-old clone in the middle of supermax dissipated almost as soon as it had struck and Obi-Wan had just… left him there. He felt an alkaline knot of guilt twist around his belly.

There was a smattering of surprised gasps among the Councilors.

"Who is this child?" Depa demanded.

"What could he have possibly done to be imprisoned?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked, bewildered.

Master Luminara shook her head. "We must contact the Guard at once, surely there was an error–"

Ahsoka held up a hand. "The boy is Boba Fett, Masters. After his failed attempt on Master Windu's life, he was sent to the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center."

Looks of grim understanding passed between the Council members. Mace leaned forward. "He's in an adult prison?" he asked, anger coloring the edges of his voice. "Has he been there since he was taken into custody?"

"It would appear so, Master, yes."

Mace sank back, frowning severely. "I recommended leniency," he murmured, almost to himself. "The Chancellor assured me his age and his trauma would be taken into account. I believed he'd be sent to a juvenile facility at worst."

"As did I," Plo said heatedly. "Adult prison, for a child. This is not justice."

"Padawan Tano, find out this information, how did you?" Yoda asked, frowning.

"Well, Master," she said, turning, and Obi-Wan was slightly mollified to hear her address Yoda with the same frostbitten tone. She still hadn't forgiven him for Dogma. The clone was thankfully still alive, as Shaak-Ti had made enough of a fuss on Kamino to have gotten him imprisoned instead of immediately euthanized, but Ahsoka wouldn't be satisfied until he was back in the 501st. "I was viewing the helmet-cam footage from the prison riot that Master Kenobi participated in, and–"

"Is that footage not classified?" Ki-Adi-Mundi interrupted, frowning.

"The report is, but the footage was not, no," she said. "I watched it multiple times, and after I saw Master Kenobi fighting Boba I checked his report." Her eyes flicked onto him and then back to Ki-Adi-Mundi. "There's no mention of Boba in the non-redacted portions."

There was no mention of Boba in it at all, because Obi-Wan had forgotten about him like an idiot. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. A dozen heads turned and stared at him, and he'd never missed his beard more than he did at that moment.

"You fought Boba Fett?" Plo asked him sharply.

"Moralo Eval paid him to start a brawl with me in order to provide a distraction for his and Bane's escape," Obi-Wan said, staring at Ahsoka. She was very carefully studying her boots. He'd bought her those boots. "After I inserted myself into the escape party I… lost track of him."

"He is very small for his age," Ahsoka said with false sympathy. "I know you had bigger concerns at the time, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan's skin crawled like it was covered in ants. All of the extra blood rushing to his face was making his stubble itchier than ever.

"We will contact the Chancellor regarding Boba immediately, Ahsoka," Plo insisted, on the edge of his seat and visibly displeased. "We will ensure the boy is placed into a foster home and receives mind healing. Thank you for your diligence, and for bringing this injustice to our attention."

"Thank you, Master," Ahsoka said with a smile, then bowed to him. Obi-Wan felt irrationally jealous of the warmth in her tone. "But I am not sure that a foster home would be the best fit for Boba. He's young, but skilled at both combat and subterfuge. I'm concerned that he would escape and be at just as much risk on his own." She frowned. "He would likely seek out his father's old compatriots again."

"A fair concern," Kit conceded, his smile long gone.

"Do you have a suggestion?" Depa asked mildly.

Ahsoka clicked her heels together. "I would like to volunteer to serve as Boba's temporary legal guardian until I can reunite him with his family," she said solemnly.

The Council chamber went silent in surprise.

"You're only sixteen," Obi-Wan said faintly. "You can't–"

"Actually, as sixteen is the age of responsibility on Shili, I can," she said frostily. "I am a legal adult."

"It's seventeen on Coruscant," he argued. "You–"

"I believe that if I am trusted to lead a battalion of clone troopers into combat, I should be trusted to safeguard the well-being of a single child," she said, speaking over him. "And according to the most recent immigration statutes passed in the Senate, as a full, dual citizen of both worlds, I am actually considered a legal adult on Coruscant." She smiled at him, all teeth.

"Does he have a family?" Saesee Tiin asked. "I was under the impression that Jango Fett was a loner."

"I spoke with the older clones before coming to the Council, Master," Ahsoka said with perfect poise, and Force did it irritate Obi-Wan to see her use her manners for once. "They informed me that there were members of the Cuy'val Dar – that is, the Mandalorian trainers that Jango Fett recruited to train the clones for war – several of them were very close to him. Under the Mandalorian tradition, some could be considered family."

"What an excellent idea, Padawan," Plo said. "I would be grateful if you would come with me to meet with the Chancellor. I'm certain that you will be able to help me persuade him of the right course of action. We will seek out these Cuy'val Dar together, and reunite young Boba with what family remains to him."

Ahsoka bowed again. "It would be my honor, Master," she said sweetly.

Obi-Wan continued to silently seethe.

"Thank you again, Masters, for taking the time to speak with me," she said warmly, then her eyes flickered over to Obi-Wan. "I do hope that Master Kenobi is not censured too severely for failing to report such egregious abuse of a child. I'm certain he was simply preoccupied with his mission."

That was it. Ahsoka did not get to march into the Council chambers wearing boots that he had bought for her and humiliate him in front of his peers out of childish spite. Obi-Wan's hand slammed down onto the arm of his chair, startling everyone. "A word, Padawan," he said through gritted teeth.

"Of course, Master Kenobi," she said serenely.

He stood and led her brusquely from the Council chamber by her right bicep, ignoring the whispers of his fellow Council members behind them.

"An deach thu às mo chiall?" he hissed once the doors had closed and they had a spot of privacy. He released her arm and glared down at her. "Carson a tha thu a’ toirt eas-urram dhomh?"

"Apologies, Master Kenobi," Ahsoka said politely. "I didn't intend to publicly disrespect you."

He stared down at her. Her refusal to speak Maor-Grásta back to him hurt more than the silent treatment. That was their language. No one else at the Temple spoke the indigenous language of the planet crudely known as Stewjon, not even Anakin, though he had tried to teach him. "So this is how you're going to be, then?" he asked finally.

She blinked at him. "I'm not sure what you mean, Master."

"You damn well do," he snapped, and finally gave in to the urge to scratch his damn scalp. "This is childish of you, Ahsoka. You're better than this."

"Better than what?" she asked, cocking her head. "I've been nothing but polite, Master, but if you find my conduct unbecoming then I apologize. I will meditate on our interaction until Master Plo calls me to meet with the Chancellor." She bowed and turned to leave.

Obi-Wan caught her by the left arm and spun her back around. She hissed in pain and ripped her arm away.

"Please refrain from putting your hands on me, Master Kenobi," she said frostily.

Obi-Wan stared at her, knowing that if he asked what was wrong with her arm he'd get no answer. "I'm not putting my… Ahsoka, please, stop this."

"I'm not sure what you wish me to stop, Master."

"Stop acting like you've never met me before!" Obi-Wan said, raising his voice in frustration.

For just a second, her placid mask crumbled and he saw the devastation she was hiding underneath. The mask reappeared and she looked away, pursed her lips and shrugged. "Recent events have shown that I haven't, Master," she said quietly. "Not really."

Obi-Wan sagged and this time, he didn't stop her from walking away.

Ahsoka went through her mental checklist again. She couldn't muck this up. If she somehow pissed off Chancellor Palpatine or failed to convince him that Boba didn't belong in supermax, the kid was screwed.

"Do not be nervous, little 'Soka," Plo whispered, squeezing Ahsoka's right shoulder reassuringly. They sat together on a plush bench in a waiting area right outside the Chancellor's office.

"I can't help it, Master," she whispered back. "What if I make it even worse, somehow?"

"I would advise you, respectfully of course, to think of what your Master would not do and try that."

Ahsoka snorted. His aura was a little too gold with humor for the seriousness of the situation.

"Trust in the Force. We are in the right, here, and we know this."

She nodded. "Yes, Master."

"You may enter," one of Chancellor Palpatine's secretaries called from the doorway; a short, plump Human woman with black hair shorn down to the scalp and the pale skin of someone who worked and lived exclusively indoors.

Ahsoka took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then followed Master Plo to the Chancellor's office. He was still sitting at his desk, writing something with an electric pen that showed up as a language she didn't recognize on the left side of his desk.

"Master Koon," the Chancellor smiled, and bowed his head. "And Padawan Ahsoka. My, how you've grown since I last saw you! I must say, Anakin raves about you every time we meet. He is very proud of you."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Ahsoka said sheepishly, ducking her head. There was nothing specific about the Chancellor himself that put her on edge, it was the office. There was just something unnerving about it. The statues of the Four Sages seemed to watch her from their posts bordering the room, and some of the art vibrated weirdly in the Force. Nothing she could pin down, just off.

She peered down at the unfamiliar writing on the Chancellor's desk. "That's a beautiful script," she said, projecting her aura out over the room with green serenity-amiability. It helped block out the weird vibrations of his artwork. "I don't recognize it."

"It's the poet's script," the Chancellor said, his naturally violet aura gone blue with appreciation. "It's an old traditional practice on Naboo. It's never been a spoken language, but one used solely for the arts."

"That's fascinating," Ahsoka said, returning his smile. "Do you write poetry, Chancellor?"

He chuckled and looked down, darkening with humility. "Oh, I dabble," he confessed with a smile. "It's a bit self-indulgent, of course, but it calms my mind."

"Nonsense, Chancellor," Plo assured him. "It is good to know that even in this period of war and violence, our leader makes time to create something beautiful for the galaxy."

Ahsoka was impressed. Plo could give Ob– Master Kenobi a run for his credits when it came to schmoozing.

"Ah, well," the Chancellor shrugged, his smile widening. "I doubt you called for an emergency meeting to discuss my poetry, dear. What can I do for you?"

Ahsoka sat up straight. "There has been a grave miscarriage of justice, Chancellor," she said solemnly. "Boba Fett has been placed into supermax alongside adults instead of a juvenile facility. He is a Fett clone, yes, but totally unaltered. He ages at a normal rate, not the accelerated rate of the troopers." She adjusted her projection to include a yellow ribbon of pity. "He's only twelve, Sir. Every second he spends in that place his life, his- his bodily sanctity is at risk."

Chancellor Palpatine went gray with surprise. "Oh, goodness," he said, immediately swiping away his poetry and summoning Boba's file up to the holoscreen of his desk. "Let me see here– ah." His holoscreen filled up with copies of legal documents, medical records, and crime scene holopics. "It seems that the judge presiding over his case determined that he was too dangerous to be kept in a juvenile facility." He glanced at her. "I cannot say that I disagree. He is unnaturally skilled for a boy his age, from what I have heard. He killed a Marshall Commander."

"Respectfully, Chancellor, Commander Ponds was murdered by Aurra Sing. Boba could not pull the trigger," Master Plo gently corrected.

"I understand the risks, Chancellor," Ahsoka said. "I would like to volunteer to serve as his legal guardian until I can reunite him with his father's Mandalorian family."

The Chancellor's eyebrows almost hit his hairline. "Jango Fett had family?" he asked, going a lighter gray with shock.

"In the Mandalorian tradition of found family, yes," Ahsoka nodded.

"So young Boba would escape punishment for his crimes against the Republic?" the Chancellor asked after a moment of curt silence.

"Boba Fett is but a child, Chancellor," Plo said peacefully. "He was manipulated by individuals that were once acquainted with his father and they used his grief to their advantage. They abandoned him at the first opportunity."

The Chancellor nodded, thinking. "That may be so, Master Koon, but he did kill hundreds of his fellow clones through his actions."

"He did, Chancellor, that can't be disputed," Ahsoka said softly, projecting strong amber amenability at him. "But he's an orphan, and he's twelve. He's exceptionally vulnerable to manipulation by adults that knew his father. They're the only connection he has left to him."

"The cadets that he infiltrated reported that he seemed reluctant to leave them to their fate," Plo piped up. "While his quest was misguided from the start, his target was Master Windu. The loss of clone life and the destruction of The Endurance was wholly unintentional."

"While sabotaging the hyperdrive of The Endurance, he had an opportunity to end the life of clone trooper Rivers," Ahsoka added. "He spared his life and stunned him instead. We truly believe that if not for the presence of Aurra Sing, Castas, and Bossk, he never would have taken that step."

"So you propose instead that I pardon the one who killed hundreds of clone troopers, naval officers, and support staff on account of his age?" Chancellor Palpatine steepled his hands underneath his chin and looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I cannot in good conscience do such a thing. Aside from the morality of it, the boy could wreak untold damage if he escaped your custody."

"I promise he won't!" Ahsoka exclaimed, leaning forward. "Please, Chancellor. I know he made a terrible error in judgment that cost many lives, but he's twelve."

"So you've said," the Chancellor said dryly, lowering his hands. "Ahsoka–"

Ahsoka impulsively reached across his desk and clasped his hands. "He needs rehabilitation, not a life sentence before it's even began," she said earnestly. She wouldn't go so far as to try and mind trick him, not with Plo right there, but her Empathy was stronger with physical touch. She let burnt-orange supplication roll down her arms and flow from her hands onto his. "Please, Chancellor," she said, popping her porg eyes. "Just give him a chance."

The Chancellor's aura flushed copper with affection-agreement. "You do make a compelling argument," he said fondly, withdrawing his hands after giving hers a squeeze. "The Great Negotiator has taught you well."

Ahsoka ducked her head with a small smile, trying not to let him feel the cold shock of hurt that Master Kenobi's nickname triggered.

"Very well." He raised his chin to look over Ahsoka's shoulder at his secretary. "Go fetch Commander Fox, please."

"Right away, Sir." The secretary scurried off and the Chancellor drew up a document.

"I shall grant Boba Fett a full pardon, effective immediately," he said, then glanced up at Ahsoka with a smile. He transferred something onto a datapad and handed it to her. It was a legal certificate declaring her the legal guardian of one Boba Fett.

Oh, kriff, she hadn't actually let herself believe that she'd get this far. She had a kid. She had a shabla kid. A shabla clone kid.

"Congratulations, my dear, it's a boy," he said with a small chuckle and a wink. "I do hope Anakin isn't too cross with you. I can't imagine that he expected to become a grandfather quite this early."

Ahsoka's stripes went hot. Her Master… was not going to be pleased with her, to put it lightly, but she just couldn't leave Boba in there a second longer than necessary if she could put a stop to it.

"Please, 'Soka, you have to get him out of there," Rex pleaded, staring at the screen with an aura gone stark white with shock-horror-outrage. "He's so little. They'll kill him, they'll– osik, what have they already done to him–"

She would have done it anyway, but Force if Rex's begging wasn't compelling. She'd break Boba out if she had to.

But really, Anakin was going to kill her once he got back from Toydaria with that Force-sensitive toddler.

"Commander!" Chancellor Palpatine said brightly over Ahsoka's shoulder. "Please escort Master Koon and Padawan Tano down to the detention center. Boba Fett is being released into her custody, effective immediately."

"Oh. Interesting. As you say, Sir," Fox said, then turned to Ahsoka and Plo. "Ready whenever you both are," he nodded.

"Take care, Ahsoka," Chancellor Palpatine said warmly, standing along with them. "And do be on guard with young Boba. From what I understand, the boy is quite crafty, despite his tender age."

"Oh I will, Chancellor, don't worry. I remember how much of a handful he was." Ahsoka bowed and tried to ignore the way the statues of the sages stared at her. "Thank you again. You've saved a life today."

"And my thanks as well, Chancellor," Plo added, bowing after her. "We appreciate your expediency."

"I wish you luck in your endeavor, my dear." Palpatine winked at her. "And don't be afraid to visit more often. I've got some stories about Anakin as a youth that you might enjoy."

Ahsoka's stripes flushed again and she picked at her thumb's cuticle.

"Alright, General, Commander. Let's get you over to the prison before sundown." Fox slung his carbine over his shoulder and led the way out.

Boba curled up tighter on his side, willing the pain in his sides to go away. After he'd jumped Hardeen it had been chaos. He wasn't sure if it was the guards or the other bastards he was locked in here with that had broken his ribs, but it didn't really matter. He needed to get better. He couldn't afford to look weak. Prison was worse than a jungle, at least an animal just killed you and was done with it. The predators here liked to play with their food, first.

"Come on, little man, come bunk with me. I know it gets cold at night, you must be shivering with only a lizard to keep you warm–"

At least in solitary Boba could focus all of his energy on healing instead of defending himself. He chewed on his split lip and readjusted his face against the wall so that his black eye was pressed directly against the cold surface.

"Time to go, Fett."

Boba was sitting upright and ready to respond in under a second. Nobody would know by looking at him that he was holding his breath so as not to scream from the pain. One meiloorun, two meiloorun, three meiloorun–

"Go where?" he asked after a few seconds, cool as a caniphant. Fox, on the other side of the bars, had two DC-17 sidearms, a DC-15A carbine, and two vibroblade hits sticking out from his gauntlets. Two pairs of cuffs hung from his belt next to a small canister of capsaicin spray.

Boba could get to the spray the easiest, kick the back of Fox's knee, twist his arm and grab the blaster–

"It's your lucky day, cyar'solus," Fox said, undoing the biometric locks on his cell.

"Don't call me that," he snapped. Damn it, Boba didn't want to go back to genpop yet, he was still too injured. The guards tried to watch out for him; some of them did, anyway, the ones who didn't hiss vod'kyramud when he passed them in the halls. Bossk usually stuck up for him but he was just one man. Boba already had a size disadvantage, but with his ribs fucked his speed suffered. He eyed the capsaicin spray at Fox's belt again. He'd get his ass kicked if he went for it, but they'd keep him in solitary longer. Fox had the frame of a gundark but he wasn't a shabuir, he would just give him another lump or two before locking his cell again instead of rebreaking things on purpose.

Fox snickered. "I'll call you whatever I want. Now face down on the floor, you know how this works."

Yeah, he did. Boba swallowed hard and carefully got on his belly, watching the canister of spray swing closer. The floor was hard but the cold felt good. He took a deep breath and prepared to make his move.

As if Fox knew what he'd been thinking, he walked around him in a wide circle and approached from behind before cuffing him. He pulled Boba to his feet, gentler than he expected. "You're being given a second chance, kid," he said quietly. "Don't kark it up."

"The fuck does that mean?" Boba asked faintly; even with Fox's careful grip, he wasn't able to draw in air properly with the way his ribs were screaming.

"You're getting out."

"What?" Boba tried to spin around and look at Fox, but he kept a firm hold of his cuffed hands and kept him from turning.

"Walk, squirt," Fox said in a bored voice.

Where was he going? Where were they sending him? It hit him then, what had to have happened; Aurra. He knew she wouldn't abandon him. She'd had to make a tactical retreat, that was all. Somehow she'd pulled in a favor or used her connections in the guild, or maybe even kidnapped a judge. He fought down a smirk as they walked past the other inmates, all howling and hissing and complaining about his special treatment.

He was foolish to have given up on Aurra. She really did care about him.

"Stand here." Fox started undoing the locks to the hall that led to the private interview rooms, the ones that prisoners used to meet with their attorneys.

Boba never had an attorney. He had gone through sentencing on his own.

"Alright, walk." Fox took him by the cuffs and shoved him forward through the door. "And be respectful."

"Respectful to who?" Boba grouched.

"Your new mum," Fox snickered, stopping in front of a door halfway down the hall. "Congratulations. You've been adopted."

Boba whipped his head up so fast that black spots appeared in his eyes. "I've been fucking what?" he squeaked.

Fox pushed him inside of the interview room while he was still reeling. Instead of Aurra, the two Jedi who had arrested him were waiting inside; a Kel Dor who towered over everyone, even Fox, and a scrawny orange Togruta with big blue bug eyes and two sabers on her belt. She was taller than he remembered.

"Koh-to-yah, Boba Fett," the Kel Dor said, bowing to him. "I am Jedi Master Plo Koon, and this is Padawan Ahsoka Tano."

"The fuck do you cunts want?" Boba spat, furious at himself for being so stupid that he thought Aurra would come for him. He was such a gullible di'kut. Of course she didn't really care. He was never anything but clout to her, just something of Jango's that she could show off.

The Tog blinked at him, obviously shocked. The little princess obviously wasn't used to bad language. "I, um, I…"

"Go ahead, Ahsoka," the Kel Dor said with a little pat on her back.

She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and then smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. He felt the tension in his back muscles ease a little, weirdly enough. "I want to get you out of here, if that's alright with you."

"Why the fuck should I go anywhere with you?" Boba asked suspiciously, then backed up so he could keep the both of them in plain view. "You're the cunts who put me in here. Why do you care?"

"We never meant for you to be placed in a place such as this, young man," the Kel Dor said apologetically.

"We want to help you find your family, Boba," the Tog said earnestly.

"Are you both fucking stupid?" Boba snapped. "I don't have any family. The Jedi killed the only family I had."

The Tog and Kel Dor exchanged looks. "I know, Boba," the Tog said. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

Boba looked at his feet.

"Why don't we be on our way?" the Kel Dor suggested. "We have much to discuss, but there's no need to do so on an empty stomach. I find myself craving a milkshake."

"Oooh, I could go for a milkshake," the Tog said with her brow markings raised. "How about you, Boba?"

"I don't want a fucking milkshake, I want to know what's going on!" Boba said, backing up into Fox. He… he needed to get away from these people. They had some sort of weird plan for him, he was sure of it. What if they wanted to send him back to Kamino? Maybe they wanted to string him up in a lab and use him to make more of their precious troopers. Without Dad the longnecks couldn't make them like they used to, and Boba was a perfect copy. "What did Fox mean? He said I was going to meet my new mum, what did he mean by that?"

The Tog bit her lip and looked at him. "That, um, that would be me," she said sheepishly. "I… I'm your legal guardian."

"You're my legal guardian?" Boba stared at her. She looked barely older than him, though she was a lot taller than he remembered.

"Yep," she said happily, rocking back on her heels. "So, what do you say? Ready to go?"

Boba glanced up at Fox, who gave him a reassuring nod. "Not like I have a fucking choice, do I?" he asked sullenly.

"No, you don't," the Kel Dor – Koon, Boba remembered he said his name was – said gently. "But I imagine that you would choose to leave the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center."

"Obviously," Boba said, frowning.

"So." Koon shrugged. "Shall we?"

The Tog smiled brightly at him. He realized that she was nervous, and for some reason that made him feel better.

"Fine." Boba rubbed his wrists after Fox unlocked his cuffs. Whatever. Fox didn't need to help him, he could do this on his own. He just had to stick with them long enough to get out of prison. The second the idiots turned their backs, he'd be out of there. Boba glanced up and met the Tog's nervous gaze. "But I'm not calling you fucking Mum."

Author's Notes:

MAOR-GRÁSTA TRANSLATIONS An deach thu às mo chiall?: Have you gone insane? Carson a tha thu a’ toirt eas-urram dhomh?: Why are you disrespecting me? MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS cyar'solus: beloved one, the clones' nickname for Boba since he was a special snowflake chosen baby (Thank you Squid_Ink 😘) shabuir: motherfucker vod'kyramud: brother-killer osik: shit OTHER NOTES Mace has a picture of all of his padawans and grand-padawans in his wallet and he shows everyone constantly. It's canon, George Lucas actually told me himself. Palpatine was pretty easy to convince, wasn't he? It's almost like he likes sowing discord between Anakin and his loved ones hmm odd yes very odd indeed Ponds was promoted for plot related purposes ✌️

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork @soliloquy-of-nemo Dividers: @saradika-graphics

[therealblondebucky]

Chapter 4 of Not The Only One - A Winter Soldier Story

Rating: Teen to Mature

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (with more specifics in the tags)

The jostling of the shipping container woke me up. With nothing else to do, I ate the unappetizing combo of canned meat and ration crackers. Once I finished them off, I was left feeling restless like a caged animal.

In a few hours, the container came to a full stop. Slipping down to the ground, I made my way through the train yard until I found the Lev Tolstoy and my target's train car.

When the train started to move, I punched out a window with my metal arm and came in through the now-open space.

The next moments were a blur as I sprayed mothers and their children alike with bullets from my submachine gun, bashed their heads, slit their throats, and threw knives into their bodies.

Eventually, there were only two people left. The woman leaned forward and her brown hair cascaded over her face and the baby daughter she clutched to her chest.

A few bullets later, my targets were eliminated. Now, I was the only one alive left in the car. I sat down, surrounded by bodies and covered in blood, waiting to pass the Vyborg train station.

When we neared my destination, I jumped off of the train, tucking my body into a ball before the inevitable impact with the ground. I lay stunned for a moment before getting on my feet.

I managed to find my way to the back of the train station without encountering anyone. Two soldiers stood waiting for me. After grabbing my arms, they put the black bag over my head and led me away.

I was completely numb. The world rushed around me without me being conscious of it.

The first thing I saw once the bag was taken off of my head was the man in the beret. He sat at a desk in a large green and white hallway.

"Отведите ее в душ и приведите в порядо," he ordered gruffly after taking a look at me. ["Take her to the shower and get her cleaned up."]

The two soldiers took me into a small locker room with a tiny shower. A crude brown bar of soap and a rough grey towel lay on a bench in the corner.

I stripped out of my blood-covered clothes and unbraided my hair, which was dark and crusty with dried blood.

One of the soldiers said something about hair being thick on my legs and elsewhere. The other replied that he would mention that I needed to be waxed.

Turning the tap revealed that the water was lukewarm at best, but I did not mind. It just felt good to have it flow over my dirty body. I leaned my head back and let it rinse over me.

As the water ran over my perfectly formed muscles, I had the strange feeling that my body had not always been like this.

Rubbing the bar soap on my head, I worked up a lather. I scratched my scalp deeply to get my hair as clean as possible.

Even though the soap was harsh, I scrubbed every inch of my skin with it. Who knew when I would be allowed a luxury like this again?

Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed my towel and quickly dried myself. A sports bra, a pair of underwear, a tank top, and a pair of cloth drawstring shorts were tucked into my towel. I put the all black outfit on and was led away by the two men.

We walked down a long hallway until we came to a room with a thick metal door. Inside, there were various pieces of medical equipment, cabinets, counters, and such, but what caught my attention was the bed with a tray on it.

My supper was a piece of still warm fish, a serving of canned pickled salad, and a slice of bread thinly spread with butter. The food quieted my stomach, but it could not quiet my mind.

When I finished, the men told me to lie down on the bed and fastened me to it. They flicked off the light as they left, closing the large door behind them.

Alone in the dark, I closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to take me far from the horrors the day had brought.

~~~

"Как она?" the doctor asked. ["How is she?"]

"В таком же состоянии, в каком она уехала," Colonel Karpov answered without looking up from the papers on his desk. ["In the same condition as when she left."]

The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Хорошо. Все наши тесты указывают на здоровую беременность и безопасные роды. А завтра мы проведем осеменение, если вы согласитесь." ["Good. All our testing indicates a healthy pregnancy and safe birth. And we will perform the insemination tomorrow, if you approve."]

To this news, the Colonel gave his phrase of highest praise. "Отлично." ["Excellent."]

After dismissing the doctor, Karpov dialed the Major General's number. "Женщина-солдат вернулась." ["Zhenshchina Soldat has returned."]

"Лично мне бы ничего не хотелось, кроме как стерилизовать ее и повесить вас, но это не подошло бы высшим силам," his superior snapped. ["Personally, I would like nothing more than to sterilize her and hang you, but that would not go over well with the higher powers."]

The Colonel hated to ask, but after a comment like that, he felt he must. "Сэр, а как насчет Детей Зимы?" ["Sir, what about the Winter's Children?"]

The Major General laughed. "Вы имеете в виду программу разведения? Полковник, у нас сейчас кризис. У нас сейчас нет времени вынашивать и рожать ребенка. Так вы действительно думаете, что у него будет время, чтобы он вырасти и обучился?" ["You mean the breeding program? Colonel, we are in a crisis right now. We don't have time to bear and birth a child right now. So do you really think there will be time for it to grow up and be trained?"]

Karpov took a deep breath. "Сэр, я думаю не только о сегодняшней битве или завтрашней войне. Я думаю о будущем." ["Sir, I'm not just thinking about today's fight or tomorrow's war. I'm thinking about the future."]

"Тогда вы должны знать, полковник, что будущего не будет, если мы не выиграем сегодняшнюю битву и завтрашнюю войну." He paused a moment. "Что заставляет вас поверить в то, что Дитя Зимы - это хорошо?" Major General asked in a tone that was almost sincere. ["Then you should know, Colonel, that there will be no future unless we win today's fight and tomorrow's war."] ["What makes you believe that a Winter's Child would be a good thing?"]

"Зимний Солдат и Женщина Солдат хорошо восприняли сыворотку и были ценны для нашего дела. Логично предположить, что их потомство поступило бы так же, если не лучше," Colonel Karpov replied. ["Zimniy Soldat and Zhenshchina Soldat have taken the serum well and been valuable to our cause. It is only logical to assume that their offspring would do the same, if not better."]

"Они оба были агрессивными и нестабильными. Зимний Солдат имеет долгую историю. А еще я слышал, что твоя любимая маленькая Женщина Солдат тоже недавно убила одного из наших лучших врачей. Что, если бы их ребенок унаследовал двойную часть этих качеств? Мы создали бы монстра для собственного разрушения, а не мощное средство для продолжения нашей работы. Действующая немедленно программа Дети зимы прекращена. И если вы попытаетесь пережить это, морская свинка Женщина Солдат не будет единственной, кто умрет в наказание," the Major General warned before the line went dead. ["They both have been aggressive and unstable as well. Zimniy Soldat has a long history of that. And I heard that your beloved little Zhenshchina Soldat killed one of our best doctors recently, too. What if their child inherited a double portion of those qualities? We would be creating a monster to bring about our own destruction, not a powerful asset to continue our work. Active immediately, the Winter's Children program has been terminated. And if you try to go through with it, the guinea pig Zhenshchina Soldat won't be the only one who dies as punishment."]

~~~

I woke up to the man in the beret and two soldiers opening the door. After undoing my restraints, the soldiers locked their arms under my armpits and dragged me into a room with metal railings and some type of device in the center.

I was fastened into the strange metal chair. Machinery whirred, and two metal pieces made contact with my head. A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from my throat...

~~~

I was held in some strange type of metal chair. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around me. A man in a military uniform with a crimson beret stood in front of me.

A dark red book held the words he read aloud to me. "Создание. Убегая. Принуждение. Мать. Огонь. Вечер. Второй. Разрушен. Рейс. Лезвие." ["Creation. Fleeing. Duress. Mother. Fire. Evening. Second. Shattered. Flight. Blade."]

He closed the book and set it down. "Доброе утро, солдат." ["Good morning, soldier."]

After an undersized breakfast of a bowl of porridge and a small cup full of sausage, the man in the beret led me down a long hallway until we came to a room with a thick metal door.

Inside, there were various pieces of medical equipment, cabinets, counters, a bed, and such, but what caught my attention was the man in medical scrubs.

"Вы готовы, доктор?" the man in the beret asked him. ["Are you ready, doctor?]

The doctor replied, "Я думал, что программа Детей Зимы свернута." ["I thought the Winter’s Children program had been terminated."]

"Я не вижу необходимости в том, чтобы продолжать работу по плану," explained the man in the beret. ["I see no need for us to not continue according to plan."]

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, the doctor said, "Я не хочу попасть в беду из-за этого, полковник." ["I do not want to get in trouble for this, Colonel."]

"У вас не будет никаких проблем. Даю слово. Вы будете отмечены, когда поможете вывести на свет первого чистокровного суперсолдата," the man in the beret assured the doctor. ["You will not be in any trouble. You have my word. You will be celebrated when you help bring the first purebred super soldier into the world."]

The man in the beret then turned to me. "Сегодня для тебя радостный день. Вы безупречно выполнили свою первую миссию. Теперь вы готовы к следующей миссии, чтобы ввести в мир больше суперсолдат." ["Today is a glad day for you. You completed your first mission flawlessly. Now you are ready for your next mission, to bring more super soldiers into the world."]

"Я буду смотреть, как Зимний Солдат тренирует остальны��," the man in the beret informed the doctor before leaving. ["I am going to watch Zimniy Soldat train the others."]

The doctor had me take off all my clothes and put on a flimsy gown made of paper that tied in the back. He made me lay down on the bed and spread my legs for him. Apparently pleased with what he saw, the doctor went over to one of the counters and began busying himself with the items over there.

Several minutes later, the man in the beret burst in, holding a gun to a man who had a metal arm. The man in the beret's eyes revealed how deeply terrified he was. Even the cold, steely face of the man with the metal arm showed he was shaken. They had met Death and barely managed to escape.

"Я думала, мы собираемся искусственно ее оплодотворить. Или вы хотите, чтобы он делал это по старинке?" the doctor asked, motioning to the metal armed man. ["I thought we were going to artificially inseminate her. Or do you want him to do it the old-fashioned way?"]

The man in the beret shook his head. "Ни один. План изменился. Удалите один из ее яичников." ["Neither. The plan has changed. Remove one of her ovaries."]

~~~

I woke up to seven men in SWAT gear opening the door. After undoing my restraints, two of the men locked their arms under my armpits and dragged me into a huge room with five golden chambers along the outside and metal railings around some type of device in the center.

The man with the metal arm was fastened into the strange metal chair and the man in the beret stood nearby. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around them. Machinery whirred and two metal pieces made contact with the metal armed man's head. A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from his throat as I looked on, unable to do anything else but watch him writhe in pain.

A dark red book held the words the man in the beret read aloud to him. "Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на родину. Один. Грузовой вагон." ["Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car."]

He closed the book and set it down. "Доброе утро, солдат." ["Good morning, soldier."]

"Я готов отвечать," the metal armed man answered and was released from the torture chair. ["Ready to comply."]

The man in the beret ordered, "Зимний Солдат, обезопасьте ее." ["Zimniy Soldat, secure her."]

Zimniy Soldat came from behind me and grabbed my left arm with his left arm, making it his metal against my flesh. I knew somewhere deep down inside that I could overpower him, but I did not-

Before I finished my thought, he pressed a gun to the nape of my neck. It was as if he could read my mind and was challenging me to give him a reason to pull the trigger. I bristled at having a weapon turned on me like this, especially by him.

"Полковник, разве вы не хотите, чтобы некоторые из нас пошли с вами?" one of the men in SWAT gear asked. ["Colonel, don't you want some of us to come with you?"]

"В этом не будет необходимости. Зимний Солдат обеспечит меня всей необходимой защитой, пока ее не казнят," replied the man in the beret. ["That will not be necessary. Zimniy Soldat will provide me with all the protection that I need until she is executed."]

So, I was to be executed. Somehow, this thought filled me with relief rather than dread. At least it would all be over soon.

Zimniy Soldat followed the man in the beret as he left the huge room. We walked through a series of hallways until coming to a room with a large metal door. Inside was a laboratory, a man in a lab coat, and a sizable machine in the far right corner.

"Зимний Солдат, отпусти ее," the man in the beret commanded and Zimniy Soldat let go of me. ["Zimniy Soldat, release her."]

The man in the lab coat handed me a bodysuit made of a specialized material.

The man in the beret barked at me, "Надень это." ["Put it on."]

After removing my old outer clothing, I suited up in the new garment.

The man in the lab coat directed me to lie down on the table in the far right corner. He typed away at a computer making thick metal clamps come around both my arms and my legs. This man then came over to me, sweating and trembling. He struggled to put a mask on my face and attach wires to various places on my bodysuit. The man in the lab coat returned to typing at his computer, causing the table to begin tilting upwards until I was vertical.

"Спасибо за службу и счастливого Рождества. Я надеялся, что все пойдет иначе," the man in the beret stated before shooting the man in the lab coat twice in the head. ["Thank you for your service and Merry Christmas. I had hoped things would go differently than this."]

A moment later, a large glass and metal tube came down around me. Frigid white fog descended, and everything went dark.

[burnwater13]

The droid teacher was droning on about hyperspace travel and smuggling and Grogu wondered why she didn’t just hand each of the children in the class room a blaster pistol and an eyepatch. They were all going to be pirates or smugglers based on what she was teaching them. 

He sighed. He was bored. His dad had dumped him at the school and gone off on an adventure without him and he didn’t really want to be pirate or a smuggler. Nope, he wanted to be a starship pilot. And not something crummy like a Tie Fighter pilot, where your ship didn’t even have a hyperdrive. Nope, he wanted to pilot something awe inspiring and useful, like a S-161-XL. 

You’ve never seen one? No surprise there, not many were made. A luxury yacht with a rotating wing design, their purpose was to make your friends green with envy. Or just filled with envy. Either way.  

What’s useful about a star yacht? First they have a great galley and a persevere and droid chef built in that could make any kind of food for any kind of person. No more ration packs and dried packets of stuff that turned out to be mostly made from vegetable fibers. 

Second, a star yacht has cabins with the most comfortable beds known to exist in the whole galaxy. Soft, slippery, bouncy, and warm. Importantly, there were at least two of them on the S-161-XL, which meant that Grogu wouldn’t need to listen to his dad snore unless he was missing that sound. Trust him, that’s not a sound you miss. 

Third, one of the cabins had a private privy and fresher. And they were custom designed to the owner/operator’s needs. Grogu wouldn’t have to use the Force to access switches, buttons, and valves any more. That would be a welcome change of pace. 

Fourth, beyond the creature comforts he’d just described, the bridge of the vessel could also be custom designed with his needs in mind. While he initially thought of the whole thing being made to his person specifications, he realized that he wanted his dad to be able to fly the ship once in a while as well, so instead of a tiny bridge, it would have a gliding pilot’s seat for him that allowed him to access all the necessary controls and would still give his dad room to move around. That seemed like a fair compromise. 

Fifth, most of the starships Grogu had ever seen were dull, like those stupid Tie Fighters buzzing overhead. Not the shooting and flying part, the black paint job part. An S-161-XL could be painted any color he wanted and if he wanted it to be painted like the lava flats, or Tatooine’s Dune Sea, he could get that at a small, extra cost. 

That was the sort of thing that Grogu knew that he couldn’t let his dad help him with. Din Djarin was perfectly happy with ship’s grey. Something about bounty hunters not wanting to stand out. Grogu always laughed at that considering how shiny his dad’s armor was. You could see reflections off him in a dark cabin. There was hiding being a Mandalorian for him. 

Finally, Grogu liked the esthetics of the ship’s design. It spoke to him. It said things like, ‘I’ll feed you well, keep you warm, give you a place where you belong, and help you reach your destination, safe and sound’. Grogu liked those things. 

Not that the Razor Crest hadn’t been a great ship in its own right. It had. But it’s best days were behind it. How many times could it be rebuilt and not show the signs of wear and tear. Especially tear. Spiders, X-wings, even Tie fighters, had left a mark on the ship. Then falling into the ocean. Being repaired by Mon Calamari, or as Din Djarin described it, ‘being redecorated as a Mon Calamari all you could eat seafood bar’. A score of other insults to the hull’s integrity, the ship’s reliability, and Grogu’s diminished willingness to fall out of his hammock had ruined his affection for the craft. It was a pity. 

But at least it wasn’t a Tie Fighter. 

[bullet-prooflove]

Chasing Fires - Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek: Chapter Four

Brian Zvonecek has spent most of his adult life fighting fires, now it’s time to chase one.

Follows on from Million Reasons but is a stand alone fic.

Tagging   @orileyfiction for all her help and support! Also @me-ladie​ for being the wonderful person she is and betaing.

It was late morning when Brian finally woke up. His alarm clock said 10.35am, which was unprecedented since he was usually up by 5am due to his insomnia. He usually snatched a couple of hours here and there, but he hadn’t had a solid block since God knows when. He lay on his back for a second staring at the ceiling. His muscles were aching but in a good way, they felt tender and well used. By the time he was back on shift tomorrow, they would be as good as new. He knew that had been Kat’s plan all along, burn off the excess energy, work him until he was practically nodding off, which he had done in the car a couple of times until his head had thudded against the passenger side window. 

He tilted his head, his eyes coming to rest on the prescription bottle of tablets sitting alongside a glass of water. He had never considered taking antidepressants, he never thought he’d need them. It caused a conflict inside of him. The firefighter in him rivalled against it but the other more rational side admitted that he was drowning out there in the world. He’d take all the help he could get.

When Doctor Charles had first prescribed them, Brian had felt like a failure, at his career, at life. Taking that little bottle in his hand made his chest ache and his heart hurt. He felt broken, fragile. He’d been angry, he’d almost tossed them in the trash before he’d jammed them in coat pocket. He was careful to read the instructions, to make sure they wouldn’t mess with his ability to do his job. 

Doctor Charles had explained his PTSD as a filing cabinet that refused to shut, it kept sticking at the same memories refusing to file them away into storage. No matter how much he wrangled it, those intrusive thoughts wouldn’t go away until he finally figured out a way to deal with them. By taking the pills he would be boosting the serotonin levels in his brain in order to regulate his mood, appetite and sleep cycles, which helped with one part of the problem. The other part was his treatment plan was far more daunting. Doctor Charles had suggested he undergo EMDR therapy, which involved accessing the trauma through talk therapy and stimulating the brain with eye movement in order to process it. The results were usually quicker than other treatments, but it wasn’t for the faint of heart. 

Truthfully the thought of reliving those events made his chest tighten. He had spent such a long time forcing them down and piling things on top of them, the prospect of facing them terrified him. His first session was later on this afternoon and the thought of it made him feel on edge. 

On the opposite side of his bedroom door, he could hear his roommate Joe Cruz clattering about the kitchen. He knew it was time to make a move, to start his day. He opened the medicine bottle and poured one of the tiny white pills onto his palm. It was smaller than he thought, it seemed nuts that this tiny tablet could contain something that was potentially going to help him in the long term. He popped it into his mouth before taking a sip from the glass of water to wash it down. 

It was gone before he knew it. 

He climbed out of his bed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was clad in an old grey Battlestar Galactica t-shirt he’d had since his twenties and fleece lined pyjama bottoms. His comfort clothes. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, sticking up in all directions. He looked brighter though, the shadows under his eyes not as pronounced as they usually were. 

He opened the door of the bedroom, before heading to the kitchen. The scent of fresh coffee was in the air, the large cafetiere full to the brim and perched on the breakfast bar. One of the best things about living with Joe was the fact that he was a fellow coffee snob, the two of them loved sampling blends from all over the world and there was always a stock of them in their cupboard. 

“Ahh the dark roast from Indonesia,” Brian said as he slipped on to one of the stools. “Known for its creamy, chocolate overtones.” 

“It was a tossup between that and Guatemala,” Joe informed him, using two fingers to push the plunger. Brian watched the loose powder swirl like a blizzard as it was slowly packed into the bottom of the device.

“This is my favourite part of the morning.” He told Cruz, lining up his Chewbacca mug alongside Cruz’s NFL one.

“You’d have better mornings if you invited Kat to stay over every once in a while.” Joe teased as he poured coffee into each of the mugs. “You need to make a move before she thinks you’re not interested.”

“She knows I’m interested.” Brian said, adding a scoop of sugar and a liberal amount of cream.

“Have you told her that?” Joe asked, tilting his head to one side with a sardonic expression on his face. “Otis?”

“Not in so many words.” Brian demurred, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“When was the last time you took a girl out? I mean on an actual date…”

“Katie,” his tongue stumbled over the name before he forced it out through his lips. “It was Katie.”

Her face snapped into his mind like a ghost, those memories seeped under his carefully erected barriers. The purple bruising on the left side of her face, how small she had looked in that hospital bed, how pale. The light had died in her eyes when she spoke, clasping his hand telling him she was going back to Colorado. She didn’t feel safe here in Chicago…

His thoughts strayed to Keeler, the anguish, and the rage he felt towards the animal that had brutalised her. The nights he’d sat in his car, watching, planning, waiting for the right moment. A moment that never came because it was snatched away from him by someone else. 

He felt himself slipping away, like he was still in the room, but he wasn’t not really. It was something that happened sometimes when things got too intense, when he didn’t want to remember.

“Man, I’m sorry.” It was the clasp of Joe’s hand on his shoulder that brought him back.

He felt like he hit the cushion of his seat with a bump as he was suddenly back in the present, cup of coffee clutched in his hands. Brian blinked rapidly, before sucking in a deep breath. 

“Water under the bridge.” He said, draining his drink before standing up and putting his mug in the sink. “I gotta go get ready.”

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The corridor outside of Doctor Charles' office was quiet at this time of day, Kat didn’t mind the silence. It was a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of the station house she’d just come from. She’d pulled a novel out of her bag, Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng and set it in her lap. It was her book club read for this month.Mouch had proclaimed it was riveting and he wasn’t wrong, it was just she couldn’t focus on reading it just now.  

Her phone lit up, the speaker chiming as she stared down at the name.

Kenny Rixton. 

She declined the call before switching it onto silent. She couldn’t deal with him right now. 

Kat flicked through the pages of her book, the noise of them rustling together both soothing and satisfying at the same time. She did it again, and again and again before she glanced at the clock and realised a chunk of time had simply disappeared. She hesitated for a second, feeling the compulsion in her fingertips to do it again before the door to Doctor Charles' office opened. Brian stepped outside; his thumbs hooked in the loops of his jeans as the door closed behind him. He looked up as she rose to her feet, shoving the paperback into her satchel. Those dark eyes of his were stormy, a tempest wrapped up inside of a man. She reached out, her arms looping around his waist and drawing him close. He buried his face into her shoulder, the stubble on his jaw grazing her cheek as he clung to her. 

They stayed like that for a moment, him holding onto her like she was the final point of call at the end of the earth before he drew away clearing his throat, his eyes moist. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, wiping the back of his hand across his cheeks. 

“I thought you could do with a little company.” She told him, pursing her lips together as she rocked back on her heels. “I can go if I was wrong…”

“No,” he said quietly, reaching out and clasping her hand. They fit together perfectly, his fingers entwining with hers as he looked her in the eyes and spoke. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Come on,” Kat said, tugging him in the direction of the exit. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[alderaani]

dangerous games

Sliding in under the line with something for @foxiyoweek and the Day 3 prompts: affection/pining - this is somewhere between the two and is literally all vibes no plot. Rating T. 

AO3 link

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The look on Fox’s face when the men pull out a box of slightly dusty bottles from behind the utilitarian couch is nothing short of thunderous.

“This is a safehouse ,” he growls, having barely just shut the blast-proof doors and coded in to headquarters to assure them that, no, they didn’t die en route.

��And we’re celebrating having safely escorted Senator Chuchi here?” Rys tries, cringing as Fox’s bucket swings towards him. Riyo muffles a laugh behind her hand and after a moment takes pity, nimbly stepping between two of the Guard and fishing into the box.

“I think it’s a nice touch,” she says, examining the label on the bottle she pulls out. Not a brand she recognises, but that’s hardly surprising. She’s not versed in anything much beyond Pantoran fare or whatever is served in the Senate refectory. It’s perhaps a more embarrassing fact about herself that she’s never been very adventurous. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

“ Senator,” Fox looks at her and Rys retreats gratefully, huddling back into the group of four other troopers. “We can’t protect you if -“

When she realises why he’s worried, she can’t quite muffle the giggle. “If you’re spaced on sugar? It’s just juice, Commander.”

Fox’s bucket swings back to Rys. “You could have led with that.”

Rys’ whole body jolts. “You think we’d drink on the job? Sir.”

He sounds so heartbroken by the implication that Riyo has to stifle another giggle.

Fox lifts off his bucket and rolls his eyes. His grey-streaked hair is plastered to his skull with sweat, and as Riyo watches it starts to perk up into tight curls. Her fingers itch with the need to touch, so she goes back to picking at the bottle label instead.

“Do all the lucky senators that have to hide here get such special treatment?” She asks, bypassing the brown couch with its even darker, mysterious stains to sink down against the wall. She feels better with something at her back, better when she’s facing the door. Better still now that Fox is here. She can feel his eyes on her, the warmth of his gaze like armour plates on her skin.

“Only our favourites!” Carbine says with a wink, then jolts. “Hey!”

There’s a scuffle as he presumably kicks somebody back. Fox sighs and looks towards her, expression softening as he takes in the smile on her face.

“Alright,” he says, holding out his free hand. “Give me one of those. Just…please don’t tell me where you got them.”

*

It takes five hours, but eventually they wind up playing a drinking game.

Riyo has her knees drawn up under a blanket someone found in one of the cupboards, her hairpieces discarded beside her. Some of the guard have removed paltry pieces of armour or heavy weapons, but most of it remains in place. She hopes they aren’t suffering too much - she’s seen how much the armour chafes.

“- if she was a princess then I’m Jango Fett,” Jeeves snaps, pointing at Cricket across their little circle. “Drink, you cheat.”

“Hey, she said I made her feel like a -“

A piece of ration bar bounces off his forehead.

“Keep it in your bucket, vod.” Rys hisses. “Think about the company.”

“And my ears,” Carbine adds, sniggering when Cricket flushes.

Fox has remained rigid and almost silent during the whole game, alternating between taking tiny sips and staring at the door. Riyo can see his fingers twitching against his thigh plate - he does it at night sometimes when he thinks she’s asleep, his fingertips drumming a staccato rhythm against her spine.

“How about you, Sir?” Jeeves asks, young and bold and unafraid. The other four flinch.

“What?” Fox asks tonelessly. If she didn’t know him well Riyo would have flinched too. Jeeves doesn’t even blink - she’s not sure whether that’s brave or stupid.

“You haven’t gone a round.”

Fox raises a slow eyebrow, the barest hint of amusement playing round his mouth. “Good try trooper, but I don’t think so.”

And it’s reckless, so reckless and stupid, one rumour could be the end of them but -

“Go on Commander, live a little,” she says, almost shrivelling under the sudden weight of everyone’s eyes and then - his brown eyes flash whiskey-bright in the lamplight.

It hits her low in her stomach. It makes her brave.

“One round won’t hurt you. Or are you that afraid for your reputation?”

There’s a sudden, delighted hush around the circle. Fox’s other eyebrow joins its pair in a slow rise.

“Rather the opposite, actually.” He says, dry. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Then why not?” She goads just a little more, and sees the moment he breaks, his tongue swiping over his chapped bottom lip.

It takes him a while to come up with his options, and for a moment she almost feels remorseful, worrying she’s truly made him uncomfortable.

But then he looks up at them all and folds his arms.

“Well?” she asks.

“First, I pretended to be Commander Cody for three days when we were cadets,” he says, and Rys actually yelps with glee. “Second, the first bone I ever broke was my ankle. Third...my favourite colour is blue.”

He’s looking directly at her when he says it. She’s breathless, and she knows that his second one’s a lie, that the first bone he ever broke was his nose on his fourth week of active duty, but she doesn’t know what the others pick because all she can do is focus on remembering how to be the person she has to be when they aren't alone together.

He raises the bottle to his lips and swallows, Riyo unashamedly watching the way his throat flexes as she thumbs the label on her drink. As he puts it down he catches her eye, expression flashing with warmth for just a second, and instantly she’s transported to sunlight filtering through the blinds in her office, the smell of caf curling through her hair, the soft press of her lips on his. Stolen seconds sweet in the early morning, the way the light turns his tired eyes molten, expression lazy and open in a way it so rarely is.

She sighs, shaky, and takes a fortifying sip of her own as Fox’s brothers mutter and elbow each other.

“Come on, Senator, now you give us one,” Ostar grins, flipping a bottlecap and catching it lazily with the same hand. He’s always fiddling with something; like Fox, he’s never still.

She jerks back out of her daydream with a sharp breath.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Fox stiffen and try to rise, but she subtly tilts her head the negative and he settles back, but doesn’t relax. She wonders if his men notice, and what they make of it if they do.

*

The night ends with her protection detail dozing on the floor. Only she and Fox are still awake, sitting either side of the kitchen table. He looks dreadful under the flickering strip lights. She suspects she does too.

“The sun will be coming up soon,” she mumbles, breathing in gratefully over the caf he’s made her. She doesn’t know what power he possesses, but he always makes even the worst instant pods taste good.

“You should have slept,” Fox says, his voice roughed by the long hours.

“Too late for that,” she says. “Any word on how Reem’s doing? And Senator Amidala?”

Fox shakes his head. “Amidala’s unharmed. Addressing the Senate this afternoon about this attempt on her Committee, apparently. Last I heard Reem had gone into surgery.”

He doesn’t offer any platitudes. She’s always loved that about him.

“Padme isn’t in a safe house?” Riyo squawks, only remembering to lower her voice at the last moment.

“Believe me, we tried to arrange one. She wouldn’t go,” Fox says, then very obviously rolls his eyes. “Besides, Skywalker’s on planet. No point.”

Riyo grins, and feels the expression grow as he sighs again and throws his head back, thoughtlessly exposing the column of his throat to her. She takes it for the privilege it is, tucking the image of him so gently undone into her heart.

“Regretting coming with me, Commander?”

Fox tilts his head lazily and smiles, reaching across the table to catch her hand, just long enough that the warmth of him soaks through the glove that separates them.

He looks straight at her, so many unsaids teeming in simple words.

“Not at all, Senator.”

taglist: @flybynite19 @amukmuk (i think you guys asked for a tag in future stuff last time i wrote for foxiyo - let me know if that’s changed!)

[whump-a-la-mode]

“Good Boy” - Starvation Whump

Summary: A desperate villain sacrifices everything, just for a little food.

CW//Starvation, cold, isolation, solitary confinement, imprisonment, collapse, dehumanization, humiliation

Their cell was getting colder.

That was the only way that Villain could rationalize it. It wasn’t them-- they weren’t growing weaker, of course they weren’t. No. It was the room. Someone, somewhere, turning down a knob, ever so steadily. Sending ever stronger chills through their bones.

That had to be it. It was the only reasonable explanation.

The only source of warmth available to them came in the form of the rough, purple-hued bruises along their arms, where the hands of guards had gripped them. Thrown them in here.

How long ago had that been, now?

On unsteady legs, Villain stood. The room was terribly small-- if they stretched out their arms on either side of themself, their fingertips brushed the walls, both long and shortwise. At the very least, it meant they did not have to travel far to reach the concrete bench chained to one wall.

Somehow, the bench was colder. They spent most of their time on the floor.

The guards had taken their shoes, at the same time as they had forced them to change in their thin, grey prison uniform. Without the slightest protection from the cold, they shivered as they climbed onto the bench.

Villain looked out the window; a tiny hole in the wall, half a foot in height and two feet in length, a layer of glass guarded by thick iron bars.

Between them, they could only just barely see the city. The sparkling lights. Somewhere out there, somewhere among those countless streets, there had to be someone who cared about them, right?

Right?

No. Probably not. They were happier, now.

Or was that just the fuzziness in their mind talking? They tried to breathe in, imagine what the air of the city would taste like, feel like in their lungs, but they only caught the stale scent of their cell. The vent, too, was covered by a row of bars, leaving the air stinking of old metal.

Villain’s legs shook. They had been standing for too long. They took one last glance out the window, before-

The clinking of metal. Their chest seized. They had only heard that sound once since the start of their captivity-- the one time they had been allowed water.

The sound of the door being opened.

They scrambled to get back to the floor, off the bench, refusing to be in such a vulnerable position. In their haste, they forgot just how horribly weak their legs had grown.

The moment their feet struck the ground, they lost their balance, collapsing heavily to the concrete floor. A new array of bruises to add to their collection.

A slamming of metal on concrete. Villain’s heart lurched to their throat, flailing limbs somehow managing too get them to their hands and knees, though no further than that. They stayed in that position, panting, having expended their minuscule energy reserves.

“Bowing for me?” That stupid, arrogant voice came. “How nice.”

In Villain’s chest, fury replaced energy. They scrambled to their feet, not needing to keep their balance, as they flung themself forth, at the intruder.

Leader chuckled, moving out of the way with leisurely ease. Villain slammed again to the concrete.

“They told me that you were a little... fierce. Guess they weren’t lying.”

As though moving a piece of debris from their path, Leader pushed aside the fallen Villain with a foot. Distraction removed, they reached just outside the door, dragging in a chair. Metal legs scraped on concrete, screeching.

Leader closed the door, positioning their chair in a corner. Atop it was laid a plate, at least of some sort-- its contents obscured by a wrapping of foil. They picked up the platter, sitting in its place, amused gaze casting down to the floor.

“You’ll at least get up, won’t you? It’s rude to sleep when you have guests.”

Villain wanted to tear their face off, but their limbs ached far too much to consider even standing.

“I didn’t realize you’d be so... weak, I suppose.” Leader flicked their tongue across their front teeth. “I thought a villain of such status would be a little bit more resilient.”

Six days. Five nights. Six times the sun had rose, five it had fallen. Trapped in this stupid box.

But they were a villain. They weren’t weak. Leader was right, they needed to get up. To...

They were just getting upset. They knew that. But they had no energy left to suppress such emotions. No energy left at all.

Yet, they got up. Slowly, shakily, they got up, crawling onto the bench like a survivor to a lifeboat. When only their arms were upon the concrete seat, they could not continue, forced to rest a moment, gasping, before they managed to clamber their way up entirely.

“That’s better.” Leader spoke, voice still tinged with that terrible amusement. This was a joke, to them. “Now, it is only polite to greet your guests.”

“Why-” Villain gasped. “Why are you here? What do you want with me?”

“I only came to visit. How have you been finding it? I figured you should get a little rest, after your capture. It was quite harrowing for you, wasn’t it?”

“You left me in here for a... a week.”

“Only to let you catch your breath. I only want to be a good host.”

“Shut up. What do you want?”

“Well, if you are going to be rude about it. I thought we could have lunch.”

The word alone made Villain’s terribly empty stomach twist in on itself.

“L- Lunch?”

“Of course.” Leader’s hands moved to the platter upon their lap, uncrinkling the foil wrapping.

The smell alone... Oh god. Villain wiped the beginnings of drool from the corner of their mouth. A pile of freshly prepared meats and steamed vegetables, garnished with fruit chunks.

Leader took a fork, slicing off a chunk of meat. Looking to Villain as they chewed.

Their stomach knotted, squeezing around food that had long since been absent. They had given up on stopping their drool, letting it drip off their chin.

“Please.” It was their stomach speaking more than their mind.

Leader swallowed, looking up with a smile.

“Repeat that, please? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Please. They haven’t fed me-”

“Well, did you earn it?”

Villain blinked, gritting their teeth.

“You can’t expect food if you don’t pull your own weight, of course. Have you earned a meal?”

“N- No. I’ve been here. What was I supposed to do?” Desperation clouded any sense of dignity they had left. “You locked me in this stupid box!”

Leader could not contain their laughter, even though it only slipped out in the form of small chuckles.

“Let’s just say it was a trial period.” They smiled. “Now that you have had your rest, perhaps you’re a bit more... amiable. Would I be correct about that?”

“Anything. Please. I’ll do anything.”

“Now, Villain, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Now, hm...” They hummed. “On the floor. Lay down.”

“L- Lay down?”

“On the floor, yes. I should not have to ask you twice.”

Villain’s gritted teeth shook in sheer fury.

They dropped to the floor.

“Good.” Leader smiled. “Now, roll over.”

“Wh-”

“Like a dog. Roll over.”

The smell of food overtook their mind. They rolled over.

“Good boy.” The words were tinged with terrible laughter. “Come here, now.”

They did so. When the morsel of food was offered in Leader’s palm, they did not hesitate to devour it.

Food for dignity. Their dignity for their life.

Was it really worth it?

[obi-troll-kenobi]

Something I noticed on Swearyshera:

1. Scorpia made tiny cupcakes for her friends, it’s so caring and cute <3

2. But how the hell she had cupcakes in Fright zone? I remember in the comic she made various food like sandwitches out of ration bars, but these cupcakes are lovely pink, not grey.

3. I actually like the idea I’ve read in some fanfic (probably) about contraband food.

[msfett]

✨ Chapter 4: Law of Refraction

Boba Fett x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ only

C/W: Explicit Language, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn (wasn't kidding folks 😉), Angsty McAngsterson, Hurt/Comfort, Generalized Tension 😁 Eventual Smut (almost there)

Some Stuff 😊 Thank y'all so much for your interest in this saga! Your kind words and likes mean the world to my heart! If you prefer AO3 (msfett_ifyourenasty), this series is cross-posted there. If you're enjoying this fic, please feel free to reblog and share 💕

🎶 Musical Motivation/Lyrical Inspiration: African Sun by Naïka

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Most nights are dreamless, a welcome respite for the mind. But there is one that will repeat itself, as if on cue, when it’s needed the most.

**********************

The night breeze is cool as you burrow your toes into the residual heat released from the ground. The sky is exceptionally bright, a rare occurrence with all three moons in their full phases. You stare at the sky with the kind of wonder only a child can possess as you hear his approaching footsteps, boots padding upon the sand until he settles next to you.

“Master, when can we go back to—“

“No, no,” he softly corrects. “It’s Uncle, young one, Uncle. You must become used to calling me that.” At the mention of returning, you feel his flare of anxiety escape before quickly tamping it down for you. “Right now it’s not safe for us out there.”

He gently tries to smooth the frizzy hair around your face to no avail. You are infinitely trusting of the twinkling blue-grey eyes looking down at you. “But I will do everything in my power to keep you safe here.”

In awe of the night sky, your eyes are wide with curiosity, continuing to gaze at the glittering constellations. “The stars are so pretty. I never saw any on Coruscant.”

“Yes, well there aren’t any city lights out here to hide them. You can see them just as they were intended.” He patiently brushes grains of sand off his robe every time you fling your feet up from digging.

“They’re so bright. I wish I could see them in the day, too.”

He places a reassuring hand on your small shoulder. “The stars are always there, but in the daytime, they are overpowered by the suns that provide all the light we need. At night, when there is no light, the stars can shine brightest in the dark sky. That’s when we need them most, to help light our paths.”

Scooting closer, you snuggle against him. His robe smells of sun-baked earth as your little fingers grasp the worn material, repetitively rubbing it soothingly.

He doesn’t typically condone outward affection. But no matter what external limitations he establishes now, he knows your unique attachment will only grow stronger over time, as his will to you. Relenting, you feel him sigh, releasing a wave of compassion over you as he exhales.

“You are destined to be like one of these stars, little one. A bright, shining light for others when everything else is dark.” The weight of his sincerity is comforting, just like the arm wrapping around your tiny shoulders. “Because where there is light, there is hope.”

It feels so beautifully real.

Because where there is light, there is hope.

Your eyes snap open to glaring fluorescent lighting.

The cold, hard durasteel under you is sharply contrasting as you reach for remnants of your dream. It’s passing too quickly from memory.

Instead a coarse, scratchy material is being draped over you, and startled, you snatch the blanket.

He straightens, but does not back away. “Easy. Thought you were sleeping.” His frown deepens, disgruntled that you’ve caught him in a moment of…kindness? “Gets cold down here.”

“Not used to anyone being there when I wake up.” Rubbing away the sleep gathered in the corners of your eyes seems to quash any remaining wisps of the dream.

The packaging on the ration bar he offers you is incredibly wrinkled, the Aurubesh letters so aged the print flakes off upon tearing it open. It’s even more stale than it looks, like attempting to crunch down on a rock. "Have you tried to eat one of these lately. You know they do have an expiration date.”

“Sorry, princess,” he grumbles flippantly.

“Don’t,” you caution, pointing the bar at him for emphasis. “Don’t ever call me that again. Just because I want food that’s edible doesn’t make me a royal snob. My life has been anything but charmed.”

You stick it in the corner of your mouth hoping it may dissolve with enough time. "How do you feel?” The taste is so bitter you remove the offensive flavor before it can coat your tongue.

“Fine.” Dark purple bruises on the bridge of his nose have begun to fade into shades of green and yellow. “Haven’t had my nose broken since I was a kid.”

“Sometimes it has to be re-broken it to fix it.” He does not find this to be amusing as you do. “You’re welcome.” Have his facial muscles forgotten how to smile?

Reaching up, you lift the bottom of his shirt over his prior wound and he immediately recoils. “Hey, just want to see how it looks.” So he allows you to trace your fingers over the wide scar, inspecting areas of redness. The inflammation is mild and non-painful as you notice minute hairs standing erect on his skin under your touch. Though not visually perfect, the scar tissue will hold stronger than the adjacent skin.

He continually questions any considerate act of yours. “Why do you care?”

“Never said I did,” you say dropping the hem, trying not to let the words sting your tongue. “But it’s been a while since I’ve healed anyone. Want to make sure I haven’t lost my touch.”

You begin to unravel one of the bandages on your hand. Ever since first waking in your incoherent state on the ship, the discharge has remained consistent. The laceration coupled with the bolt burn makes for difficult natural healing.

“Why don’t you fix yourself then?”

“I’m not afraid of physical pain.” That lesson had been particularly challenging to master. “It’s a reminder for you to do something different, something better next time.”

There’s still a single central non-healing lesion on your palm that no scab has been able to adequately cover.

He mirrors your cross-legged position to sit and yanks your hand away from your prying fingers only for you to pull it back, scowl mimicking his.

“Let me see.” It’s a rough jerk, like two headstrong children fighting over the last pallie fruit. “Maker, you’re stubborn. I tried to get most of the glass out. Must still be a piece stuck in there.”

Foot flat on the floor, his knee is bent so that you can comfortably rest your wrist atop. He places one set of fingers over yours, unconsciously rubbing your little finger between his thumb and index fingers as he searches for a tool in his belt pouch.

He leans over to thoroughly assess each layer of skin. Your eyes dart to his face, watching how diligent, how precise his large fingers are looking for a tiny shard of glass that may not even be there. He likes concentrating on a task. It keeps his mind focused on something relatively fixable.

“You’ve gone through a lot of trouble to ask me some questions, which you haven’t even done.” What does he really want?

He lets out a sigh, briefly glancing up through dark lashes. “I get the feeling you don’t have the answers I’m looking for.”

You raise an eyebrow in response.

“Fine.” His tone is skeptical, suggesting otherwise. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name,” you state plainly.

He gives a slight pause at that. “Who are you?”

“I’m no one.” It sounds so strange the rare times you’ve spoken it aloud.

“So it’s going to be like that.” His voice hints at rising irritation, pressing harder as he retracts the edges of skin.

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong questions.”

Irritation leans in to its more dominant partner, anger. “Are you a Jedi?”

“You’re definitely asking the wrong questions.”

Anger is glad to stand firm, quickly escalating the duel. “Are you or aren’t you a Jedi?”

You pivot. “You don’t strike me as a man who obsesses over the technicalities of titles.”

He advances. “The saber. Where did you get it?”

But you parry. “I don’t owe you anything. The debt is the other way around.”

He lunges first, closing in. “Whoever raised you did a horrible job of —“

Your arm seems to be moving of its own accord as your palm strikes his cheek.

He barely flinches. “I thought Jedi were supposed to have better self-control.”

He captures your other wrist halfway before that hand can make the same mistake. “Don’t,” he warns, sharply twisting it back to his knee, “ever do that again.”

It comes out in a huff. “Well, you’re too controlling. You don’t know how to be flexible. You live by some rigid, self-imposed set of rules and expect the rest of the galaxy to fall in line just because you say so.” He’s successfully been able to get under your skin in every sense. “Persistence is one thing, but obsession? With obsession, you’ll never be satisfied.”

He snorts. “Soon you’ll be the object of someone else’s obsession. We’re almost there.”

“Where?” You’re fairly certain this is the longest time you’ve been under artificial light. It feels like he’s toting you across the galaxy into Wild Space.

“Your final destination. I may not have gotten Starkiller, but incidentally, I have you. I’m sure he’ll find you to be a desirable replacement.” His words are vague, just like every other statement he makes.

“You really didn’t think this whole thing through when you decided to come after me.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. Each day spent in the force cage continuously suppresses your connection, greedily siphoning away energy. “It doesn’t matter if you turn me over, kill me, or hells even release me. Justice will be served when they find you. “

“Who are they? The Bothans? Sector 13?” He sneers, digging deeper into your hand. “Certainly not your honorable Jedi. They lack the conviction to even save one of their own.” He’s mercilessly scratched away at the sore spots.

His anger is contagious, and you cough up a defense. “You will be hunted down and you will be destroyed, which is what I should’ve done that night in the first place. Don’t think for second you get away with your life when this over.”

You rip your hand away just as Fett has managed to locate a piece of glass, dislodging it from your hand. A fresh trickle of blood seeps out, the body’s way of cleansing.

He stands, his voice rising with his height. “Neither do you, and if you keep this up, I’ll gladly end you myself. Why did you even bother to help me if I already had a death sentence?” His eyes flash darker as his intensity gains traction. “You really do think you’re better than everyone because you can do that magic.”

He pelts you with a slug of directed anger, an onslaught intent on more than maiming. “You may not have swung the blade, but you have blood on your hands. Centuries of it. You’re just like the rest of them. Too arrogant to realize how many lives have been destroyed because of some delusional quest in the name of righteous justice!”

His bomb of hatred explodes, screaming. “Now are you or are you not a Jedi?! Say it! Answer me!”

Panting, he vibrates with the heat of rage as you shiver from the coldness of his presumption, breathless.

“Yes.” It slips out with your exhale.

Decades in the making, he expels the built up pressure, an attempt to annihilate you in the fallout.

But after the initial shockwave, you recover enough to assess the damage Fett has left in his wake and realize he has not escaped unscathed.

Your own anger has abated as you carefully pick up shattered pieces of his hate-driven turmoil, the first step to provide relief after the upset of disaster. Scattered through the devastation you find causes of destruction, steeled pain and adamant refusal providing a stalwart structural foundation.

You rise cautiously, not wanting to stir unnecessary dust. Bringing your hands up to hesitantly frame his heated face, a deluge of tormented memories floods into you, but despite the strong current, you’re able to hold your ground, hold him steady.

“I’m sorry.”

And you are. The Jedi are not infallible. You know this all too well. He’s still shaking as your eyes search deeper, reminiscent of when you healed his physical wound.

“I am truly sorry for what happened to you,” you breathe as your thumbs smooth over his cheeks, your gentle touch still so unexpected, and you press your lips to his forehead.

It’s time. It’s safe to let go.

His head relaxes in your hands, releasing pain, and it’s overwhelming but you’re capable, sending back empathy, imploring reconciliation until you feel traces of acceptance, a bridge to emotional catharsis.

You allow space for him to feel as you begin to draw out the poison of hate, the very salt of his skin turning bitter on your lips.

But hate consumes the person it controls, and with no warning, he refuses your impassioned antidote, wrenching your wrists and throwing them down to break the spell he believes you’re casting.

“I don’t want your disingenuous sympathy.”

And you’re sighing, incredibly frustrated, but there has to be more. What does this man need? What can be strong enough to cut through?

“Fett, that was real. That was truth. Fuck.” Squeezing your eyes closed, you massage the pulsing pounding at your temples. “That wasn’t sympathy.” You want him to look at you, really look at you. “My words are those of empathy. I don’t feel sorry for you, but I am capable of sharing sorrow with you. I take it you’ve never received either.”

He’s shut you out, fiercely guarding his thoughts. “In.” He points to the force cage.

And you try one last intervention. Bending, but not breaking. “Loss can be the inspiration that keeps you going. It may be the end of one thing, but it also means a new beginning for something else, a fresh start, if you allow it.”

Doesn’t he want that?

Reigning in chaos is not simple, but you’re not alone in this as enlightenment provides a skilled guide.

Surely someone else has wanted that for him.

“That little boy back on Geonosis stopped growing, stopped learning.”

You have his attention.

“A father wouldn’t want that. Parents raise their children to be better versions of themselves, to learn from their mistakes, to carry out a legacy far greater than that of any bloodline. You must know that.”

Fly or fall. You’re bracing for either possibility.

“Stay out of my head. Start worrying about your own.”

Shields up. Ship down.

**********************

The holo-recording blinks off. Boba’s eyes focus beyond the last image of Starkiller’s escape from Kamino.

“The target is not the real Starkiller. He is a renegade clone of my late apprentice.” The deep voice always has the effect of sounding more machine than man.

“After his impressive show of destruction on Cato Neimoidia, it would be unwise to have you track Clone Subject 1138 again. He is too powerful,” the Dark Lord admits.

“Instead you will find Captain Juno Eclipse of the Rebel Alliance. This failed clone of Starkiller shares my apprentice’s infatuation with Eclipse. He has become obsessed with finding her and he is bent on keeping her safe.” The black cape flows as he turns to stare out the transparisteel window at the downpour of rain, ominous lightning crackling brightly against the darkened sky.

“Love made my apprentice weak and blind.” His booming voice sounds sickened by the idea. “The clone will share the same fate as Starkiller. Find the woman and bring her to me. Wherever she goes, the clone will follow. I will deal with him myself.”

“I’ll need a squadron of stormtroopers. They won’t be coming back.” The ruthless statement leaves Boba unaffected. But the apparent cruelty has become strikingly noticeable in other interactions, even to him.

“The Empire will provide anything that you require.” Except for the hiss of his respirator, Vader is silent for a long moment.

Boba can feel a more invasive, insistent probing. It’s nothing like the recent soothing touch to his mind…and he tries to think only of the new assignment, intricate details to occupy his thoughts instead of…

“Bounty hunter, who have you brought with you to Kamino?”

“No one. I have an acquisition on my ship, but she is of no consequence.”

Vader can sense Boba’s briefest hesitancy. “Is that so?” He pauses despite knowing the bounty hunter will say no more than necessary. “Very well.”

**********************

“You said that was my final destination.”

“Changed my mind.” He absentmindedly runs a hand through his messy black hair. “There’s not enough time to take you all the way back to the Core, but I’m making for the Corellian Run. We’re nearing the Arkanis Sector. Any requests?”

“You’re letting me go?” you ask, astonished.

He somehow seems even more solemn, rifling through crate after crate in his weapons cache. “You can’t run forever, but I’ll not be the one that stops you. My debt is repaid.”

He looks so natural picking through a pile of thermal detonators. “Whoever you send to hunt me down, make them aware I’m the only one involved.”

“No one else?”

This is the first time his eyes have met yours since departing the wayward planet, the heavy electrical storm creating an incrementally worse sense of dread. “There is one other, but he fears you. Greatly. He will say nothing.”

“Name.” Your voice is firm with the succinct phrasing echoing Fett.

“No. I’ll not break my commitment to him.”

It’s dark even before it has left your lips. “I could easily pluck his name from your mind.” 

“I know you could.” His voice quiets, drifting as you feel a shift in his mindset. “But you’ve proven you’re not that kind of person. Your magic holds no ill intent.”

His softness continues with conviction. “I want you to know that your secrets will die with me. You’ll remain a ghost. I give you my word, if that’s the last honor I have.”

Your response is reduced to a nod. It’s not a formal apology, but it is an authentic admission, a roundabout acknowledgment of preformed judgements, and you can accept that.

“Tatooine. Reroute for Tatooine.”

“You have connections there?” he questions, tapping a wrist gauntlet.

“You could say that.” Even the thought of scorching desert heat can’t seem to shake the presence you’d felt on that far off planet. “It was cold there. And dark. Not only because of the rain.”

“Kamino. Met my client there.” He takes hold of your wrist punching the security code on the shock bracelet. “Turns out it wasn’t Starkiller that brought down Tarko-se. It was his clone. One of many.”

The revelation feels like a blaster bolt has solidly burned through your chest, aiming for your heart with deadly accuracy. There will be a reckoning.

The click of the cuff releasing almost startles you as you try to refocus. He puts it back into his utility belt, lowering your wrist, still holding your fingertips. His calluses are rough, pronounced, but feel soothing as your hands also share the scars from life’s lessons.

“You were going to hand me over. But you didn’t.”

He’s cautiously considering. “I realized it’s not you I hate. At least, not for the same reasons.”

The ship shudders as it changes course during hyperspace, jostling you toward him. The duraplast chest plate is cool to the touch as you brace against him. He seems accustomed to the abrupt rerouting as only his fingertips lightly graze the outside of your thighs.

“And why is that you hate me, Fett?” Curiously he’s said it twice, and as much as you might want to traipse through his field of thoughts, trespassing in this moment would feel unfair.

His voice resembles what you determine to be a light-hearted impression as he repeats the words you’d said to him. “You’ll have to find that out for yourself.”

But there it is. The smallest upturned movement in the corner of his mouth. His facial muscles aren’t as paralyzed as he’s lead you to believe. Then it vanishes, and you’re trying to convince yourself it wasn’t an involuntary spasm.

There is something, a warmth in his dark eyes you haven’t seen before, bordering on…acceptance. And this only serves to accentuate his handsome features; the deep tan of his skin, the dominant line of the arch of his eyebrows, the solid angle of his bold nose, the chiseled edge of his plush lips.

A conflicted confusion sets in as you remember his previous adverse reactions to your kindness. He’d mistaken it for something else.

You don’t want to keep struggling to stay afloat after you’ve been tirelessly treading in his dark waters only for him to eventually hold your head under, leave you gasping for oxygen. But it feels different this time, like he’s actively poised, waiting for your signal to jump in, to render more aid than just the extension of his hand.

The flash of hidden vulnerability momentarily glints through his intent eyes, the apprehension of not knowing what to expect, that if he cracks open the door the light will be scorching, delivering a painful, lasting burn. Despite a life centered around the rush of adrenaline, you sense his intrinsic uncertainty in this moment, and it restores confidence to know you’re not alone in this fear.

He’s doing it again and you furiously fight inertia as his eyes target the parted swell of your mouth like an unspoken question, heart accelerating. Your blood is roaring in your ears so loudly that you almost don’t hear the soft, beckoning voice he unknowingly projects from his mind. His lips feel like a magnet, exerting an invisible pull, attracting your face to tilt up to meet the fractional lowering of his.

And stars, his mouth is infinitely tender when it contacts yours, that if not for the hint of heat flushing your lips, you would feel nothing, holding so still but for gentle, breathy rubs of his warm lips against yours.

His palms mold to the curve of your thighs, increasingly sure of their place. He is motionless except for his index finger, nervously tracing up and down, like he’s waiting for you to lay out the rules of engagement before he pulls the trigger.

And unlike his calculated methods, he fires unexpectedly, and it feels so good to be the aim of his scope. His mouth is achingly slow against yours, lips coaxing you into a heady, narcotic state of mind. You despise him for making you feel this way, for dragging you into his disaster of a life when you already have your own host of demons to keep in check.

But your lips betray you as they relax against his, and he feels the inherent invitation keenly as warmth slides like liquid fire along the underside of your skin. He readily accepts with a sweep of his tongue, entering, seeking, moving deeply beyond your lips.

His large hands glide up from yours thighs to your shoulder blades, skimming back down over the curves of your body, the bend of your waist and lower over your hips just before reaching the swell. His fingers strongly press into you, encouraging, pulling you up, deeper into the arc of his firm body. A wave of heat erupts from deep within your core, the splash seeping outward into blood vessels and trickling down the center of your body.

Your fingers are curled around the corners of his chest plate, trying to pull him forward, but he’s wearing that damn armor, and this adds to the irritation you feel toward him right now. Part of you wants to yell at him for discovering how to push the right spots that aggravate you so skillfully. His stubbornness, his damn tenacity. But he’s also drawn emotions from you that you thought had been buried, locked up for your safety.

Your projected dialogue is so loud you wonder if that’s his reason for slowly releasing your lips, for cradling your face in his hands just as you had done with him. The huff of your breath is rhythmically skewed with his, the tip of his nose grazing against yours releasing warm air in punctuated puffs on your lips.

If this is a trap the hunter is luring you into, the bait he’s feeding you is wickedly mouth-watering, the snare gradually tightening to portray the illusion of a gentle demise.

There is a sudden sense of haste filtering through his haze of thoughts when you hear the whine of inertial dampers dialing back as the ship enters realspace.

What now, what’s next repeats in your mind as his urgent fingers grasp at the fine tendrils of hair adhering to your face. But the ship makes the decision for you, indicating impending descent into the atmosphere.

He’s already disengaging from your body, mind frantically attempting to follow suit. “All your things are next to the ‘fresher.”

It feels like a second bolt of energy is searing through you and internally you’re screaming, plummeting, until you’re presented with validity that maybe the second shot is for the best.

So you blurt out, “Go to Mos Taike.” It’s not what you want to say. “You don’t need to land, just drop me on the south side, about a klick out. I’ll walk the rest.” But it’s what you need to say.

“Are you sure? The nearest port is in Mos Entha. It’s much safer there.” His implied concern does not go unnoticed. His eyes seek to convey what his mouth can’t.

“I know. I’m sure.” Yet both statements stem from habit as you desperately try to rip out the roots of truth before they can germinate.

**********************

The double sunset is breathtaking as one then the other slowly sinks behind the horizon. In the fading light the sand turns colors of gold, russet, and brilliant red-orange as the sky darkens with the ensuing purples of night.

“Wait,” Fett jogs down the ramp, spurs clinking with each footstep. “I know it’s not as small as yours was, but it’s the only one I have.”

He holds out a sonic detonator in his gloved palm.

“Take it.”

The direct glare from the suns behind him makes you squint, but you can tell he’s looking at you expectantly, lips tight with hopeful apprehension.

You notice that his hair is sticking up in messy tufts, helmet tucked under an arm like he’d quickly decided to remove it. Hidden by your mask, he can’t see the little smile that creeps across your face at his notion of a destructive weapon posing as a peace offering.

His fingers stick to yours for a protracted moment after accepting the detonator, creating a poignant pause, and it feels like more than just the friction of leather against leather. Both pairs are well worn at this point.

His clenched jaw has the appearance of holding back, but he gives you a final nod as you jump off the ramp. The brutal desert heat stored in the sand warms through the layers reaching your toes with a comforting familiarity.

You convince yourself not to turn around, to not look back at the receding suns. They’re too bright.

It would only hurt.

Instead you walk toward the buildings of the seedy city already shrouded in the cloak of night, seeking refuge until dawn. The first hint of starlight twinkles in the dusky twilight as a warm breeze whips through strands of your hair.

Master, I’m home.

Walking over the dune, your boots sink in heavily, waiting.

You’ve been away for far too long, but I would know your light anywhere.

[ericamzdm]

Food and The Horde - The Canon

Our first - and really only - window into the Horde's food economy presents us with a sort of paste, which comes in all of two flavors ("brown" and "grey").

We're also told, directly and indirectly, that said food is strictly rationed - if they want extra for a project, someone is going to have to go hungry. If you don't show up at meal times, you don't eat.

Here's the trick: All of this is coming through the lens of institutionalized children.

Treating this as normative for the entire Horde is a bit like watching Oliver Twist and believing that the entirety of Victorian England subsisted on one bowl of gruel a day.

Ration bars are a part of life in the Horde - It's what Shadow Weaver is fed as a prisoner, and pretty obvious that's what Entrapta made 'soup' with - but there's absolutely no reason to believe that they're the only kind of food you can find there.

(Entrapta doesn't have any difficulty getting a supply of tiny cupcakes after her defection, after all)

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (8/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 9.012

Summary: Jamie  just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian  Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught  up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

read it below or read it here on AO3

VIII.

—

Getting to the planet’s surface was the easy part. Jane was told to wait in orbit, while they boarded Rebecca’s ship and flew down. They were all crammed into the tiny cockpit of Rebecca’s ship, where without enough seats to go around most of them had to simply hang onto whatever fixture they could find and pray. Jamie herself had been relegated the space at the very front, which in the event of a crash would’ve sent her hurtling straight through the reinforced glass windows. The Republic military feed they had cottoned onto earlier barked at them down the line, demanding their authorisation codes or threatening swift retribution. Rebecca acted quickly, keying in a sequence on her ship’s dash and sending it off with an expert flourish.

“Calm down, Sergeant,” she said in a cool tone, and her voice was run through a modulator so that it sounded low and raspy. “This is shuttle hotel charlie two five niner with the Third Fleet. I’ve been called from logistics as backup.”

A crackle of static followed, then, “Hotel charlie two five niner, you’re earlier than expected. You’re cleared for landing. Please proceed with caution. Do not engage hostiles until the rest of your squad arrives. I repeat: do not engage.”

Rebecca hit the button to respond. “Copy. Hotel charlie two five niner.”

And without further ado she began the sequence for final descent. 

“Well,” said Owen. “That was efficient.”

Rebecca did not look up from where she was guiding the ship to the surface when she replied in a distracted tone, “I’m very good at my job.” 

“Clearly,” Hannah said. 

When they got within a certain distance from the planet, Dani straightened from her place jammed into Jamie’s side and tried to peer through the glass. The mountains of Alderaan were jagged caps of blue and grey and white. A rather dramatic landscape, if Jamie were being honest; she was far more interested in the way Dani pressed up against her seemingly without meaning to do so. 

They swooped around a mountain peak, the spear-point parapets of House Thul coming into view. Below, people scurried about the ground like insects shooting pinpricks of red blaster fire at one another. The air was filled with enough smoke that it was difficult to make them out, but when Jamie squinted she could just see that the main doors had been breached and the attackers were attempting to push their way inside. 

The ship was pinged by someone on the ground, and Rebecca accepted the transmission.

“Unidentified spacecraft,” growled a voice down the comm in an Imperial accent, “state your allegiance and business immediately, or we will not hesitate to shoot you from the sky.”

This time when Rebecca replied, she did not modulate her voice through the computer, though her tone was just as calm as before. Perhaps with a bit more of a bite. Definitely with a smoother Imperial accent that would’ve fooled Jamie herself if she hadn’t known what Rebecca really sounded like. “Corporal, this is Tau Gamma Three. If you delay my landing on the eastern high ground, I will report you to my Rear Admiral for contempt.”

The corporal responded very quickly, “My apologies, Commander. Your transponder code has just been confirmed. Please proceed with all haste. I will personally greet you on the ground and act as your escort.” 

“Copy. Tau Gamma Three,” Rebecca said, then took her finger off the transmission button and whispered in her usual accent, “Fuck.” 

“Think you over cooked it that time,” Jamie said.

Rebecca gave an exasperated shake of her head. “Damn boot-licking Imps.” 

She guided the ship towards where Dani had indicated earlier, landing in a rumble and jerk before cutting the engines and unstrapping herself from the captain’s chair so she could be the first down the gangway. 

“Let me handle this,” Rebecca told them.

She smacked the button to lower the gangway to the ground, while outside three people in Imperial grey strode up the hill towards the ship. One, the corporal, had a single red tab of rank on his chest, while the other two bore plasma rifles and shiny black chest plates. Jamie, Hannah, Owen, and Dani all squeezed themselves into a corner of the cockpit so they could peer out the side of the ship and watch. 

The corporal saluted as Rebecca walked down the gangway, his mouth moving but his words unintelligible from where Jamie and the others watched. If Rebecca responded, they could not hear her. Without breaking stride, Rebecca unholstered the pistol at her waist and fired three shots. The corporal and one of the infantrymen dropped to the ground. The remaining infantryman fell, but turned over and tried to crawl towards where he had dropped his firearm. Rebecca stalked forward, stepped on his hand, and shot him in the back. 

He stopped moving. A hole through his chest cavity smoked gently. 

Turning back towards the ship, Rebecca saw them all gawking at her from the cockpit, and gestured for them to come out. 

“Where did you meet her again?” Owen asked in a slow, slightly awed voice. 

“Nar Shaddaa,” said Jamie.

“Huh.” Owen nodded. “You know, I don’t think you’re cool enough to be her friend.”

Jamie stepped on his foot and glared. 

Rebecca was re-holstering her blaster pistol when they all emerged from the ship. “I did my job,” she said, then gave a nod to Dani. “Where to next?”

Dani pointed towards a building complex about five hundred meters away. “This way.”

Jamie made a gesture for her to lead, and Dani started off in the direction she had indicated. They walked briskly, and every time Jamie heard another blast in the distance — some Imperial or guardsman of House Thul throwing firepower at one another on the ground below — she winced and quickened her step. It was nice to see she wasn’t the only one, until the five of them were rushing into the guard complex, slightly out of breath. 

When they reached the shut doors, Dani placed her hand on a panel. It scanned her biosignature and flashed green before the doors opened with a hiss of pressurised air. They ducked inside, and Jamie breathed a sigh of relief when the sounds of fighting faded slightly through layers of metal. 

“The checkpoint is just around the corner over -” Dani was saying as she led them further down a set of steps, but when she rounded the corner she froze. 

Where before the entryway had been completely empty of people — signs of a great hurry evident, upended chairs and half eaten rations — now there was a single guardsman staring at them just down the hall. His face was white as a sheet, his livery of House Thul scuffed and scorched, and in his hands he clutched a blaster rifle, which he pointed at them. 

“I don’t suppose you know him?” Owen asked in a low voice to Dani, who shook her head. 

With raised hands, Jamie took a step forward and said, “We’re just here to -”

Before she could get more than a handful of syllables into a sentence however, the guard fired. Jamie flinched, squeezing her eyes shut, but the smell of acrid smoke and burning flesh never came. Instead there was only a strangely familiar buzzing sound. When she peeled open her eyes, one after the other, it was to find that Hannah had moved faster than the guard could pull the trigger. A dark scorch mark marred the floor beside her feet, and Hannah held the purple blade of her lightsabre extended at a perfect angle. 

Hannah straightened, lowering her lightsabre but not sheathing the blade. The guard staggered back a step, hands trembling around his rifle. 

He stared at them for a split second, and then fumbled for the comm unit strapped to his shoulder, pressing the transmit button. “This is Ardi in Post; I need -!” 

Hannah waved her free hand, and his own hand suddenly wrenched away from the comm, both of his arms snapping to his side as though he were coming to attention. His wide panicked gaze dropped to his own arms, and he made a weak terrified noise when he could not move. 

The comm at his shoulder crackled, and a voice said, “Come in, Ardi. What’s the problem?” 

He opened his mouth, but Hannah spoke before he could do so much as squeak. Her voice was like a riptide, like a set of strings attached to a wooden frame. “You will not panic, and you will tell them nothing is wrong.” 

The guardsman blinked at her, his eyes going fuzzy and unfocused, while his shoulders and jaw went strangely slack. Then his hand drifted up to the comm. He pushed the button and said in a flat tone, “Nothing is wrong.” 

His hand dropped back to his side and he gazed blankly at Hannah for further instruction. 

“You will go about your duty,” she said. “You did not see us.” 

“I did not see you,” he mimicked in that same tone, then he strode forward, walking directly past them and continuing on his way. They turned to watch him go. 

“Always creeps me out when you do that,” Jamie muttered. 

Hannah sheathed her lightsabre, but kept the hilt at the ready. “Needs must. Miss Clayton, you were taking us inside?” 

Dani snapped her mouth shut from where she had been gaping at the scene. “Oh,” she said, then started forward. “Right! Yes. We just need to go down this hall here.” 

Thankfully, the next hall was completely empty. They jumped the barriers at the checkpoint and continued down another hallway leading to a set of armour-reinforced doors, which Dani opened with the press of her hand. The doors slid open, and suddenly they were face to face with a whole squad of Imperial soldiers. 

Jamie didn’t know who was more shocked to see the other. Them. Or the Imperials. One member of the squad was kneeling down by the corner of the door, trying to hack his way through the system to get the doors open. 

Jamie shot him, while at the same time Dani slammed her hand back down on the bioscanner to shut the doors before the Imperials could react. 

“Right,” said Rebecca, who had also taken out her blaster pistol and was ready to fire at the next thing that moved. “Any other ways in?”

Dani shook her head.

“Front door?” Owen offered. 

With a low groan, Jamie shifted her grip upon her blaster pistol and jerked her head at Owen and Hannah. “Knights up front.”

Sighing, Hannah and Owen nevertheless dutifully stepped forward and unsheathed their sabres, purple and blue blades between the two of them. 

Dani hovered her hand over the bioscanner, but hadn’t unsheathed her own lightsabre. “Is this really the best idea?”

“Too late now,” Jamie grumbled.

“I told you,” said Rebecca.

“Shut it.” 

“Open it,” Hannah said to Dani in an exasperated tone of voice. 

Dani did so. All of the Imperials had retreated to find cover behind massive pillars and big statues that lined the great hall. The moment Jamie saw one of their stupid grey caps poking around a pillar, she took aim over Owen’s shoulder and fired. Bloody Imps fired back, and soon the air was filled with a volley of blaster fire ricocheting off stone pillars and archways, sending chips of stone spinning across the floor.

Hannah and Owen deflected anything coming their way with an almost lazy indifference, as though they were swatting a few pesky flies out of the sky. An Imperial soldier was hit by his own blaster fire and fell to the ground. Jamie nailed another one in the shoulder, and he swore loudly, crouching back behind cover. 

Ducking down slightly, Rebecca nudged Hannah’s shoulder. “Can you two advance? Slowly?” 

Owen nodded and the two of them walked forward in step with one another, deflecting incoming blaster fire as they went. Realising what was happening, the Imperial squadron began to panic. A handful tried to make a run for another pillar further along the hallway in an attempt to put ground between them and leaving behind a few of their injured peers in the process. Owen reached out his hand, made a pulling motion, and it were as though three of the fleeing soldiers were yanked back on wires. Hannah chucked her lightsabre — Jamie really couldn’t think of a more eloquent way to describe it apart from ‘chucked’ — and the blade went spinning forward through the air, slicing clean through the soldiers before returning straight to her hand in time for her to sweep aside another attack. 

The only soldier left alive was the one Jamie had shot in the shoulder. He was pressing a hand to his wound, sitting on the ground with his legs sprawled and his back leaning against a pillar base. Rebecca rounded the pillar and cocked her blaster pistol.

“Please,” the soldier whimpered. 

“Don’t try that shit with me,” Rebecca hissed. “I know what you do to POWs.”

When she raised her pistol as though to whip him with it, he flinched, but the blow never came. Hannah had reached out and the air seemed to solidify into a jelly that held back Rebecca’s arm.

“Miss Jessel,” said Hannah, “Forgive me, but I will not be complicit in the mistreatment of prisoners of war.” 

The muscles stood out on Rebecca’s jaw, but she nodded and the sensation of being held underwater rushed from the air. Jamie felt at her own chest and cleared her throat. 

“Is it safe to come out yet?” asked a distant voice.

With a frown Jamie turned to find that Dani had remained behind in the hallway, and her head was poking through the door, peering left and right for any sign of lingering danger. Jamie waved her over and Dani quickly crossed the room to stand beside her. 

Meanwhile Rebecca shook her head and holstered her blaster pistol. “Last time I saw you, you made mince of seasoned soldiers.”

Ducking her head, Dani shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably, her grip tight around the unlit hilt of her lightsabre. “I wasn’t really myself then.” 

“Clearly.”

Jamie nudged the injured soldier with the toe of her boot. “Oi. Where’s the Sith gone?”

At the mere mention of the Sith, his face went pale, his dark eyes glancing between the five of them standing over him. His voice trembled when he spoke. “We - We were just supposed to hold ground behind him.”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Owen assured him. “Just tell us which way he went.” 

The Imperial soldier lifted a shaking hand and pointed at a door further along the hallway, branching to the left. Dani sucked in a sharp breath.

“What’s that way?” Jamie asked.

“Lord and Lady Wingrave’s quarters,” said Dani. 

“There are others,” the soldier said. “My squad was just supposed to flush out any stragglers.”

“Any other way in?” asked Rebecca. 

“Uh -” Dani bit her lower lip and glanced about the great hall. “That wing has been shut for years, but I think - I think so. Yes.” 

Jamie made a shooing gesture. “Lead the way.” 

“What about me?” said the Imperial soldier. 

“Owen?” said Hannah.

“Right,” said Owen, and he leaned down to tap the soldier aside the head, upon which the soldier immediately slumped, head lolling to one side, fast asleep. 

“Useful, that,” Jamie mused. “Can you do that to me next time I’ve had too much stimcaf late in the evening?”

“Only if you want a migraine when you wake up,” Owen said dryly. 

“Mmm. On second thought -” 

“Come on, you two,” Rebecca said in exasperation, already following closely after Dani and Hannah down another hallway. 

Leaving the wreckage of the main hall, they hurried after their guide. Dani led them through twisting corridors and broad rooms, the house like a vast labyrinth of doors sprawling in all directions. At one point they passed through what was clearly a little girl’s room — at least, if all the dolls and the miniature estate were any indication. Jamie accidentally trod on something, and she glanced down.

It was a handmade doll. Pale-skinned. Grey-robed. Long and dark-haired. And completely faceless. 

With a faint shudder, Jamie kicked the doll aside and continued after Dani who had taken them to — of all places — a walk in closet. At the far end of the closet was a floor-length mirror. Dani froze so suddenly that Jamie almost walked into the back of her. 

“What’s -?” Jamie started to ask but never finished. 

Looking over Dani’s shoulder, she could see all of them reflected in the glass, except Dani. In her stead, a grey-gowned shadow with a face worn smooth by time and memory. 

“Dani,” Jamie murmured, staring at the reflection. When she touched the small of Dani’s back, Dani jolted and the apparition vanished like a wisp of smoke. 

“It’s fine,” said Dani too quickly, her voice tight as a clenched fist. 

“Is something wrong?” Owen asked, peering over the tops of their heads for a better look.

“No,” Dani insisted. “It’s nothing.” 

Feeling vaguely sick, Jamie opened her mouth to speak, but Dani had already stepped forward, approaching the mirror with a trembling outstretched hand. A press of her fingers and the mirror swung forward on hidden hinges, revealing a dark passageway yawning beyond it. Inside there echoed the sounds of blaster fire, of grenades and men screaming in the distance. 

“Yeah - uh - no offense,” said Rebecca, “but I do not want to go in there.” 

Dani steeled herself and took a step inside. When she peered back at them, one of her eyes gleamed golden and owlish from the shadows. “It’s the only shortcut to the Lord and Lady’s wing. I discovered it by accident one day.”

And without further ado, she turned and vanished into the narrow warren. When the others all stepped forward to follow Dani into the darkness, Rebecca groaned and trailed after them. Jamie lost all sight when Rebecca shut the mirror behind them. Owen unsheathed his lightsabre, holding it up into the air to light the way as though he were carrying a blue torch. Dani was already far ahead, walking without the aid of light, a silhouette through the murk. 

The sounds of battle grew louder the further they delved. At one point Jamie nearly jumped out of her skin when a bang made the wall to her immediate left vibrate and shed flecks of plaster. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Jamie gasped, clutching her chest in one hand and her blaster pistol in the other. “Can we please get out of here? I think I’m going to have a heart attack.” 

Dani walked a few more steps, then stopped before a section of wall that looked like all the other sections of wall. That was until Owen drew close enough that the light from his sabre revealed the faint outline of an old mechanical panel. Dani placed her hand upon it and glanced over her shoulder at the others.

“Ready?” 

Hannah pushed the button to unsheathe her lightsabre, and she and Owen took up post on either side of Dani, while Rebecca and Jamie stood behind them, blasters at the ready. Dani gave Jamie a questioning look, waiting for a nod before she drew a deep breath and twisted the panel to a horizontal position. 

The wall rumbled slightly, then swung outward with a groan of hinges. The room beyond was not, as Jamie had originally suspected, a bedroom. Instead it was a sprawling lounge. Once lush and wood-panelled, the walls lined with old paintings, now filled with smoke and blaster fire. Guardsmen in House Thul colours scrambled to hold ground in this last bastion of the manor, while Imperial soldiers crowded the only entrance chokepoint. 

Neither side had yet noticed the ragtag group of Jedi, smugglers, a gardener and a governess that had walked through an enormous painting along the wall. 

Jamie didn’t need to be told this time where the Sith had gone; it was clearly evident in the path of destruction in his wake. Dead guardsmen in various states of dismemberment. Great gouges raked along the floor and walls, the stone still simmering with the faint glow of embers. A pillar had been cut completely in half and was sprawled along the ground. The room was a scarred and smoking ruin barely clinging to life, leading up a set of sweeping stone staircases, and the path curving out of sight beyond a cavalcade of slashed portraits. 

“Rebecca,” said Hannah in a brook-no-nonsense tone. “With me. We will hold off the Imperial troops. The rest of you -” She looked at the three of them, ending with a softer glance towards Owen. “Find the children. And come back to me.” 

Owen nodded and his moustache twitched in a tell tale smile. Then he looked back at Jamie and Dani, jerking his head towards the staircase. “Follow me.” 

Rebecca was already going through the motions of checking her blaster pistol to ensure it would shoot without error. 

“Are you keen to kill a few Imperials, Miss Jessel?” Hannah asked, sounding amused.

Rebecca smiled and cocked the pistol. “Always.”

Hannah made a gesture towards the fight. “After you.” 

And they were off to the races. Jamie shook her head after them, then followed Owen, who was already hurrying up the stairs with Dani. There were no soldiers here, neither Imperial nor Thulian. The door to the sleeping quarters was open, and the sound of muted conversation issued forth, as of two people discussing a mundane topic over a drink. Steeling herself, Jamie stepped into the room just behind Owen and Dani. 

The room sprawled, as large and opulent as the rest of the estate. A four poster bed stood proudly at the far end. Portraits continued to dot the walls at all levels. There were a few armchairs and a plush couch, and in the centre of the very room, two men.

The Sith wore a black and fully self-contained suit, complete with a red-eyed mask and tubes that hooked over his neck and shoulder into some sort of apparatus at his back. Jamie had only ever seen someone wear an outfit like this once before, and it was to combat the Rakghoul plague on Taris. His speech was interspersed with sporadic coughing fits, but his movements were steady. He held up Lord Wingrave in the air with the Force as easily as though holding up a cup of tea. 

“You cannot hide them forever,” he was saying, his voice altered through a respirator. “I will tear this manor apart, limb from limb. And that gift which to others hath been a boon shall to you be a very bane."

Owen hefted his lightsabre and said in a commanding tone, “Let him go.” 

The Sith glanced over his shoulder and turned. The eyes of his mask were scarlet half-moons that gleamed through the darkly paneled space. Behind him Lord Wingrave continued to choke, face purpling. 

The Sith tilted his head, sizing up his unexpected company. Then to Jamie’s shock and confusion, the Sith bowed to them — or, rather, to Dani. 

"My Lady," he said, straightening. "Your presence humbles me. We shall find for you a more suitable host in due course."

Dani stared at him in absolute horror, saying nothing. 

Owen stepped forward. “Your fight is with us, not him.” Owen gestured towards Lord Wingrave with his lightsabre, and he repeated, “Let him go.” 

“But of course,” said the Sith. He unsheathed his lightsabre — red as a bloody dawn — and held it to the side so that when he released the Force, Lord Wingrave fell directly upon the blade. 

Dani cried out, but Jamie held her back before she could move forward. Lord Wingrave slumped, his body pierced completely through the chest. He choked on an inhalation, and then the Sith deactivated the lightsabre, and Lord Wingrave crumpled to the floor. 

The Sith stepped over his body, approaching them and coughing, a wet and sickly rattling of his lungs. When he spoke, he addressed Dani alone, as though she were the only person in the room. “The Force has brought you to my side. And I will not let such an opportunity slip between my fingers.” 

At the front of the group, Owen kept looking between the approaching Sith and the man dying in his wake. He did not turn around to ask Jamie, “Think you handle this?” 

Jamie glanced at Lord Wingrave. His chest was still rising and falling, but his breaths were shallow and growing weaker by the second. 

“No,” said Jamie. “But go anyway. I’ll cover you.” 

With a nod, Owen sprinted forward. Jamie fired several shots at the Sith, not aiming to hit, just to distract. The Sith, of course, deflected every blaster fire with his lightsabre as though batting aside a particularly irritable fly. However the cover fire served its purpose, and Owen was able to slip by without the Sith engaging him in combat directly. 

Indeed, the Sith seemed utterly uninterested in anything else in the room that wasn’t Dani. He continued to stride forward, steps slow and sure and steady as the tide. Behind him, Owen dragged Lord Wingrave into the far corner beside the bed, lightsabre sheathed, and began to tend his wounds. Jamie wasn’t well versed in the healing arts — never would be, truth be told — and honestly it seemed like all Owen was doing was meditating beside Lord Wingrave’s body. Must’ve done something, though. At least, she hoped it did.  

And all the while, the Sith was striding towards them with singular intent. 

"You can start shooting again now," Dani muttered to Jamie.

"Do you remember blaster fire being useful against you?" Jamie asked, incredulous, even as she holstered her pistol. 

“No,” said Dani. Even so, she pulled out her lightsabre hilt, ready to unsheathe the blade at a moment’s notice. 

The Sith stopped a few paces away. Close enough that Jamie could see the scars on his armour, the ragged hems of his robes, the piercing quality of his mask’s eyes. When he spoke, it was only to Dani, as though Jamie weren’t there at all. 

“Your love for these people makes you weak. You are ruled by your own fear, rather than taking control of it. If only you had the stomach,” he hissed. “You could be so much more. But as you are, you’re not fit to play host to The Lady.” 

Dani’s hands trembled around the hilt of the lightsabre, but her voice was steady and clear. “You know nothing about me.” 

The Sith’s laughter was broken by coughing, his broad shoulders shaking, yet for all that he never appeared any less commanding a presence. “Your emotions betray you. Lay you bare. I can taste your fear, feel your anger.” 

He circled round her with slow footsteps and Dani turned to follow him with the tip of her lightsabre. She shook her head, eyes unyielding, jaw tightly held. 

“No?” he asked, his tone amused through the rasp of his respirator. “Then, prove me wrong.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jamie said, low and warning. She could see the way Dani’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, but otherwise Dani did nothing. 

“What are you waiting for?” he growled, and in a motion too quick to follow he hefted his lightsabre — the blade a darker, muddier red beside the pure crimson of Dani’s kyber — and slashed at Dani’s feet with a snarl, making her leap back and leaving a smouldering furrow in the ground. “Strike me down!”

Dani regained her footing and brought her lightsabre back up into a defensive position.

“I will kill all you hold dear. I will make you watch as they die. I will take you to my master on Dromund Kaas as a prize, and you will know such suffering. Until we pry the soul from your lungs. Until the very end.” The Sith stalked to and fro like a great animal pacing its enclosure, dragging the tip of his lightsabre on the ground behind him so that sparks scattered at his footsteps. “Your name will be a blight on this house, a mark of its end. I will find these children and make them instruments of the Dark, and they will know that you were the reason why.” 

Hands tightening around the hilt of her sabre, Dani’s eyes darted away from him and towards one of the paintings hung low on the far wall. The Sith paused, then followed her gaze.

“There you are,” he murmured. 

He reached out a hand and the painting was ripped from its hidden hinges on the wall, revealing a small chamber beyond, just enough for people to hide objects of value. Except in this case, there were two children huddled and crouched. The elder of the two — a boy — saw Lord Wingrave sprawled on the ground, attended to by Owen, and he cried out, “Uncle Henry!” 

“Miles, don’t -!” Dani shouted.

The Sith caught him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him close. Miles struggled and kicked, but the Sith’s grip was iron. 

“My, look at you,” the Sith said, tilting his head as though appraising a piece of fine jewelry. “So wrathful for one so small.” 

Miles tried to claw at the Sith’s respirator, and for this he was backhanded so hard he staggered and fell, clutching his cheek. Both Dani and Jamie took an abortive step forward. His sister raced forward to make sure he was all right. 

The Sith gestured to the children behind him. “New apprentices for my master. Or perhaps, only one is needed.” 

When he raised his lightsabre, Dani moved before Jamie could stop her. She caught the blade with her own, parrying it aside and putting herself between him and the children, lightsabre raised and ready, eyes hard. The Sith tested the edge of Dani’s blade, the sound of two lightsabres running against one another like nothing else, electrifying the very air, and they began to circle around one another like a pair of vultures over a carcass. 

The Sith moved with the swiftness of a snake, striking with sure movements that Dani could barely deflect, her brow pinched in concentration. As they moved about the room, Jamie sprinted forward, avoiding the fight so she could crouch down beside the children.

Miles was fine, though addled and shaken. His breath came shallowly and he trembled more from fear than anything else. The girl meanwhile was putting on a brave face.

“Hey. Hi. I’m Jamie,” she said, slightly breathless. “Can you stand?” she asked Miles. 

He nodded, but struggled to do so. She picked him up and half carried him towards a more sheltered corner, urging the young girl to follow her closely. Jamie checked Miles for any other wounds, but there was nothing but the bruise blooming across his cheek. 

“You’ll be right,” she murmured, cupping said cheek and giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. 

Behind her, Dani was losing ground, giving ground, defending rather than attacking. The Sith seemed to be toying with her, darting his blade in various directions to see how she would react, testing the waters and thoroughly enjoying himself if his creepy fucking laughter was any indication. 

“Stay here,” Jamie said in a low tone to the kids, eyes fixed upon the Sith. 

Her blaster pistol was next to useless in a fight like this. Jamie patted herself down. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her slacks and withdrew the small mining laser. Its blade extended maybe only a few centimeters in length, bright green and hot. 

Glancing up, Jamie watched as Dani and the Sith circled one another like two wary predators. She adjusted the mining laser in her grip and waited until the Sith’s back was to her. Then, drawing a deep steadying breath, she rushed forward before her courage could fail, and stabbed into his back. The laser’s tip pierced through one of the hoses wrapped around his neck and shoulder. Instead of oxygen leaking out, a billow of sickly yellow smoke streamed from the ruptured section of hose, smelling strongly of sulphur. With a snarl, the Sith turned and slashed his lightsabre in a raking blow. Jamie ducked to the side but not fast enough. 

The last time Jamie had been on the wrong end of a lightsabre wound, it had burned a hole straight through her shoulder as though her bones were made of softened butter. This was a similar experience, and one she had hoped to never feel again. The tip of the lightsabre whipped up, missing her arm and torso, and instead scoring her face. 

A flare of white-hot pain. Jamie flinched and scrambled away, nearly losing her footing and only managing to catch herself on the edge of an armchair. The mining laser clattered to the floor. One hand reached up to test the left side of her face, and she grit back a hiss through her teeth. She had shut her eyes reflexively and was now afraid to open them for fear that one might not work anymore. Tentatively she peeled them open — one after the other. Her left eye stung, unable to see through the curtain of blood dripping down her face. She blinked and tried to wipe the blood away, but stopped when she accidentally touched the wound slashed from brow to cheek. 

“Are you okay?” asked a small voice through the din, close by. 

The boy, Miles, had crawled over to check on her, his face pale. Jamie nodded and tried to stand up, but felt woozy. Flashes of red and animalistic snarls. With her right eye Jamie could just make out two figures fighting tooth and nail in the centre of the room. 

Where before Dani had never attacked, now she never defended. Her lightsabre struck out, sharp and sweeping and reckless, always advancing, always taking ground, always seeking an opening, demanding an opening, finding an opening. The Sith stumbled back with a desperate parry, the air like a painting itself streaked with the red of their sabres and the yellow of sulphur and the bright, crucible gold of Dani’s gaze. And it was cold, a cold so deep Jamie could feel it congeal the blood on her face. 

Dani thrust out her hand, a wave of the Force slamming into his chest and forcing the Sith back until he was cornered against the foot of the four-poster bed. He held his lightsabre up to deflect another attack, but could not move as Dani rained down blow after wailing blow. No art to it now. Just mad ferocity. Hacking at him as if with an axe, teeth-bared, hair wild, terrifying to behold.

“Shit.” Jamie kept a hand on Miles’ shoulder, putting herself between him and the scene unfolding even as she fought the urge to shrink back, to grab him and run for the exit. 

Something darted just under Jamie’s sight, a flurry of movement past her bad eye. Before she could stop her, Flora raced over and jumped atop the bed, wide-eyed and terrified. “Stop it! Miss Clayton, Stop!” 

Dani froze, panting, lightsabre lifted overhead, mid-swing. She blinked, her face slackened, and she slowly lowered the lightsabre with a small shake of her head. The Sith at her feet was wheezing, wracked with intermittent coughs as the gas in his suit bled out. And when her guard was lowered just fractionally too much, he let out a sound like a growl and stabbed. 

Dani swept her lightsabre down in time to block the attack. What exchanged was a brief flurry of action so fast Jamie could scarcely follow it. Parry, riposte, and then they were poised in trembling finality, Dani’s lightsabre struck through his chest in a killing blow. 

The Sith’s hand trembled. He reached forward to clutch her close by the shoulder and whisper something in Dani’s ear. Jamie couldn’t hear what he said. She could only see the way Dani’s eyes widened, the way Dani sheathed the lightsabre and caught him before his body could fall to the ground, lowering him gently into death. 

Jamie let go of Miles, and he raced forward towards his uncle, kneeling beside him. Owen seemed to come from a trance, looking pale and exhausted. When Henry took a deep breath and sat up, Miles made a sound both choked and relieved, hugging him tight. Meanwhile, Lord Wingrave grimaced in pain, barely able to do more than wrap an arm around his nephew and send Owen a confused glance. 

Mopping up the side of her face with the sleeve of her shirt, Jamie stepped forward. Dani was still kneeling on the ground, supporting the weight of the Sith with a dazed expression on her face. The young Wingrave girl sat crouched on the bed, trembling and frozen in place. Jamie touched Dani’s shoulder, feeling the tense of muscle there, and urge her to stand upright so she could bring her into a swift and fierce hug. Dani breathed harshly in her ear, sounding dazed, sounding thready and disbelieving. 

“I’ve got you,” Jamie said. “I’ve got you. Well done.” 

Dani reached out a hand and pulled the Wingrave girl into the hug until the three of them stood there in vaguely puzzled bliss, unsure of how exactly they had escaped, unscathed. 

When Dani let go, the Wingrave girl jumped down from the bed to join her brother beside Owen, the three of them checking on her uncle. Dani’s gaze followed them, looking pained, even guilty. 

“Hey,” Jamie said, drawing Dani’s attention. She pointed at her own face. “We match.”

For a moment Dani simply blinked at her in confusion until Jamie indicated her own fucked up eye. Then Dani laughed, shocked, brief, and belly-deep. She reached up and gently stroked the side of Jamie’s face, her expression pained. “I’m sorry.” 

“Some things are more important,” said Jamie, lifting her hand to cover Dani’s. “Like: does it make me look dashing?”

With another incredulous laugh, Dani leaned forward instead of answering and kissed her. Jamie winced when Dani’s nose brushed against the burn on her cheek. 

“Ow.”

“Sorry! Sorry.” 

Dani pulled back and tried to pull her hand away as well, but Jamie held it where it was so she could press her lips to the centre of Dani’s palm. 

Owen was urging Lord Wingrave to his feet when Hannah strode into the room. Her lightsabre was hooked back onto her belt. She had a few marks on her otherwise pristine burgundy robes, evidence of the fight she and Rebecca had endured on the front lines. Rebecca herself was in deep conversation with a Thulian guardsman near the exit.

Dani spared Jamie a rare smile before she rushed over to Henry and the others when Jamie let her go. Touching the wounded side of her face, Jamie blinked through a layer of crusted blood and was gratified to find she could, in fact, see through her left eye. 

“How’d you get on?” she asked as Hannah stopped before her. 

“All’s quiet on the front,” answered Hannah. “The Imperial invasion of House Thul has been thoroughly cast aside.” 

“Happy fuckin’ days,” said Jamie, still exploring the wound on her face with a tentative press of her fingertips. 

“You look a little worse for wear,” Hannah replied, cocking her head to one side. “Though you seem to have done the job.”

Lowering her hands, Jamie gave a bitter laugh. “Not me. All Dani. I just stood there like a muppet half the time. And got injured, to boot.” 

Hannah made a soft sound in the back of her throat. “Pasha and his Troopers were looking for a Sith assassin.” She nudged the dead Sith’s robes with the toe of her boot. “This looks like a Sith assassin to me.”

“Yeah, but they were looking for someone of Dani’s description.”

“Unfortunate that,” Hannah sighed. “How easy it is for innocent people to be pulled into the undertow of Sith machinations. Lord Wingrave will say nothing of her, I’m sure; his debt is too great. The children are young; they will forget. And the overwhelming evidence will say that Danielle Clayton was never here.”

Jamie stared down at the Sith corpse before her. She mused over the possibility of tearing off his mask and looking upon his face, before coming to the conclusion that she would rather not know. That he was better in her memories as this — the awful caricature that he wished to be perceived as. With a shake of her head, Jamie tore her gaze away in favour of watching Dani across the room. 

Dani talking to the children. Dani talking with Owen. Dani tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and standing with hands clasped gently before her and an auspicious smile on her face. 

"Such a small thing. Such a little thing to house the echo of a soul," Hannah mused beside her. "It's got me to wondering about our dear friend Miss Clayton."

Jamie made a noise to indicate she was listening, even while both their eyes remained training on Dani, watching her chat with Owen and Lord Wingrave.

"Holocrons, you see," continued Hannah, "wouldn't make for very good receptacles of secret knowledge if they could be opened by just anyone. To open one requires use of the Force. A great deal of it, I might add."

With a jerk, Jamie tore her gaze from Dani to stare at Hannah. Then she turned her head back towards Dani, who was now crouching down to talk to one of the children — the little girl. Jamie watched as the girl threw her arms around Dani’s neck and something flickered, gold and bright, in Dani’s eye, her expression unreadable before she relaxed and returned the hug with an easy warmth.

“Does she know?" Jamie asked.

Hannah shrugged. "I have hinted at it, but thought it best to leave it at that for now. She should come to this realisation on her own. I'm telling you, because in the future the two of you might want to explore what she is."

"And what is she?"

Hannah smiled. "Herself, of course."

Across the room, Rebecca gestured from the main entryway and called out. “Pubs incoming. We should get a move on.” 

Dani straightened, hand lingering on the girl’s shoulder. She nudged Flora towards Owen, who was now talking directly to the Wingrave boy. Meanwhile Henry took the opportunity to pull Dani into a grateful hug of his own, making Dani go rigid all over then laugh nervously and pat his shoulder. As Jamie watched her, she felt something warm in her chest unspool. 

Beside her there came a slight cough. Glancing at Hannah with a frown, Jamie said, “What?”

Looking like she was trying to bite back a smile, Hannah shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, one hand toying with a gold earring. “Just nice to see you so unsurly for once. She’s a good influence on you, that one.” 

Jamie narrowed her eyes. She nudged Hannah’s elbow with her own and grumbled, “Shut it.”

Hannah chuckled, a low warm sound. When Jamie started towards the exit as well, Hannah did not follow. 

Jamie stopped. “You coming?” 

With an all-encompassing gesture towards their ruined surroundings, Hannah said, “Someone has to stay behind and spin a tale for the Republic Troopers. And doubtless there’ll be paperwork for Owen and I to fill out regarding our new Temple initiates.”

Jamie nodded. “Thanks. I owe you one.” 

“You and I both know that’s not how this works, dear.” 

“Right.” Jamie gave a rueful shake of her head and rubbed at the new scars on her face; they itched something fierce. “More Jedi bantha shit.” 

Rather than take umbrage with Jamie’s word choice, Hannah simply made an amused sound in the back of her throat. “The fact you think that doesn’t apply to you after all these years -” Hannah trailed off and waved Jamie away. “Laughable. Really.”

Jamie backed away towards the door in lazy strides. “We’ll see you soon?” 

“You had better,” Hannah replied in a warning tone. “Three years of nothing but pre-recorded postcards? The gall.” 

With a laugh, Jamie blew Hannah a kiss — which earned her an exasperated roll of Hannah’s eyes — before finally turning and walking towards the exit, headlong. Dani stood just outside the doorway, waiting. When Jamie drew near enough, Dani tangled their fingers together and gave Jamie a tremulous smile. 

“Okay?” Dani asked. 

Jamie squeezed Dani’s hand. “Yeah. Perfect.” 

Dani reached up but did not actually touch Jamie’s face. “We should probably get this looked at.”

“Later,” said Jamie with a dismissive shrug. “I bet Jane can’t wait to hold my head under a kolto tank until I drown.” 

“Jane likes you,” Dani insisted, dragging Jamie along so that the two walked after Rebecca and out of House Thul. 

“Do they, though?”

“Well,” said Dani, then she paused in consideration. “I think so, anyway.” 

Guardsmen of House Thul scurried about. They were taking prisoners and speaking into comm units to — presumably — incoming Republic troops. Dani and Jamie slipped past them all, doing their best to avoid all and any notice. Nobody stopped them, just as nobody stopped Rebecca, until the three of them had left the manor and stood before Rebecca’s ship. The three Imperial soldiers were still sprawled on the ground from when Rebecca had shot them. The Corporal’s eyes were glassy, his muscles rigid in death. 

When they had reached the ship proper, Rebecca holstered her pistol and turned. “Guess this is it,” she said. 

Jamie stopped and squinted at her friend. "If I hug you, are you going to taser me again?"

"Depends on where you put your hands." With a laugh, Rebecca pulled her into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around Jamie’s shoulders. Jamie returned the gesture, tucking her face into Rebecca’s shoulder before stepping away.

"I really need to dash before either the Pubs or Imps find out I've been here." Rebecca grasped Jamie's shoulder. "We even, now?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go on, then. Wait -" Jamie said when Rebecca took a step back. "How are we supposed to get off the surface without you?"

Rebecca made a vague gesture to the sky. "Jane has a transport shuttle. Just call for it."

"Jane has a transport shuttle?"

"Good grief, Jamie. I gave you one of my favourite ships. The least you could do is talk to it."

"I'll think about it." Jamie grinned when Rebecca rolled her eyes. "We'll probably head off to -"

"Ah, ah!" Rebecca shook her head and mimed covering one ear. "Don't tell me. It's better if I don't know."

Her dark eyes drifted over Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie heard light footsteps approaching, and Dani stepped up beside her. She smiled at Rebecca. “Just thought I should say thank you, before you go.”

“My pleasure. Really.” Rebecca held out her hands. “Don’t suppose you want a hug, too?”

With a shake of her head, Dani nevertheless stepped forward, smiling into the hug. Rebecca patted Dani on the back, her hand getting tangled up in Dani’s nanosilk cloak. 

Laughing, Rebecca stepped away, untangling her hand from Dani’s cloak. “How you manage to fight with that thing on is a miracle.” 

Dani straightened the cloak around her shoulders, grinning broadly. “Just lucky, I guess.” 

“From what I understand, luck has nothing to do with it.” Rebecca glanced between Dani and Jamie, her smile softening. Behind her, her ship lowered its gangway. Rebecca lifted her hand and touched her brow in a jaunty sort of salute. “Don’t be strangers.” 

Dani waved as Rebecca turned and boarded her ship. The gangway retracted behind her and the ship sealed itself. Jamie watched through the transparisteel windows of the cockpit as Rebecca strapped herself into the captain’s chair. The engines revved to life and with a burn of fuel, the ship rose up into the air, and she was gone. 

Jamie fished out a handheld transponder from her pocket. "Jane?"

The ship's computer spoke through the little speaker. "How may I be of assistance?"

"We need to get off the surface. Think you can help?"

"I am sending a transport shuttle now. Estimated time of arrival: two minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Please stand by."

Lowering the transponder, Jamie pocketed it right beside the small mining laser. Dani had her head tipped back to look at the sky to watch Rebecca’s ship go, shielding her face from the watery sunlight with the flat of her hand. With a smudge of dirt across her cheek and her hair a-tumble, standing amidst the rubble of a warzone, she was perfect.

"Do you think it's warm on Corsin?" Dani asked idly. When Jamie did not answer, Dani lowered her hand and tipped her chin back down to face her. She blinked in confusion. "What are you looking at?"

The cold mountain breeze toyed with the long curls of Dani's hair that had come loose during the fight. With a smile, Jamie gave a slow disbelieving shake of her head. Then she reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Dani's ear. 

“You,” she said. “Just you.”

—

—

The ship’s engines hummed steadily. Rebecca had set the computer to control autopilot, and now stood over a small table in what was supposed to be the dining area. She never used it for that. Only for storage. The place was littered with things most people would pass over with a sniff of disdain, but which years of experience had taught her could get her out of a bad scrap in a pinch. 

The table was cleared of everything except the frame of a square object, small enough to sit in the palm of her hand and made of a black gold metal. Inscriptions had been carved into each triangular section, the pieces carefully assembled into a diminutive and unassuming box. Reaching into her pocket, Rebecca pulled out a final triangular piece. For a moment she turned it over between her fingers, then set it carefully into place, so that the holocron was once more complete. 

The holocron hummed, filled with a brief intense light, then went out like a snuffed candle. 

“Well,” said Rebecca softly. “Shit.”

Behind her a light blinked at the terminal dash. With a grimace, Rebecca looked around before slinging a spare jacket over the holocron to hide it. When she touched it even through the fabric however, she could still feel a faint hum that tingled through her palm and all the way up her arm, an intense numbing itch. Shaking her hand free of the sensation, Rebecca turned around. She ran a hand over her hair and clothes to ensure her appearance was somewhat tidy. Then with a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and pressed a blinking button on the terminal. She tucked her hands smartly behind her back and lifted her chin as a holo flickered to life.

The projection was life-sized. A towering figure all in black. Black robes. Black hood. Face hidden utterly behind a black mask. Rebecca set her jaw and swallowed, tamping down the unsettling urge to look the figure in the eye, even though there were no eyes to look at. And though there were whole solar systems between them, she could not shake herself of the feeling that if the figure reached out, they could grab her by the neck and hoist her up into the air as easily as if she were a child’s toy doll. 

When the figure spoke, their voice was deep and crackling through the speakers of their mask. “Have you recovered the holocron?”

Rebecca kept her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze kept straight ahead at a space just over the figure’s shoulder. “Yes, my Lord." 

“And?” 

“Nothing,” she said. “It seems to be inactive, now that The Lady no longer resides within it.” 

“I find that disappointing,” said the figure. 

A brief terrifying silence followed, during which Rebecca counted her heartbeats, wondering when they would stop. She squeezed her hands together behind her back when the figure started to speak again. 

“Where is the host now?” 

“I do not know,” Rebecca answered.

The figure tipped their head slightly to one side and a red light gleamed across the mask. “Are you lying to me, Agent Jessel?” 

“No, my Lord.” 

“Quint thought he was a good liar. You’re not under such delusions, are you?” 

“No, my Lord,” she repeated.

Behind her, she swore she could feel the holocron hum. She had to dig her fingernails into the palm of the hand that had touched it through layers of cloth to ground herself. The figure’s head jerked towards the sensation, sightless gaze watching the space behind Rebecca as though they could see beyond the simple holo of herself she would have projected in return. Most days she was confident in the fact that she had coded her holo to not give away any of her surroundings, no matter where she was. Today, she was not so sure. 

The figure looked back at her. “You will return to Drommund Kaas to receive further instruction.”

“And the Jedi?”

“Are none of your concern, Agent. Report back immediately for a full debrief.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The holo flickered out of view. Only once the light had stopped blinking on the dash did Rebecca allow herself to breathe properly again. She inhaled deeply and shook her head. Then she turned and pulled the jacket off of the holocron. 

It was still unlit, but it hummed gently.

With one last look at it, Rebecca left the room and returned to the cockpit. She sat in the captain’s chair, keying in commands with practised ease. 

The coordinates to Dromund Kaas were set, and she hit the jump command to hyperspace. 

[bethagain]

I’ve enjoyed reading some conversations lately about whether Din Djarin would know anything about food. We've only ever seen ration packs on the Razor Crest. When he's planetside we see him order food for the child, but obviously he's not eating anything himself.

So, would good food be a new experience for him? A revelation, even? That’s the take in one corner of fandom, and it does make a fun foundation for a story. I got to thinking, though, and here's what I figure:

Din absolutely does know about good food. In fact, it’s kind of a thing for him.

Let’s look back a few years before Chapter One, when maybe he wasn’t quite so worn down by the galaxy or by his place in it...

Sure, when he's got days in hyperspace, he's eating shelf-stable rations. The Razor Crest doesn't have a refrigeration unit. There's no cooktop. He does have a coil rigged up to heat water so he can have caff in the mornings--or sometimes at midnight, ship's time, when life is being difficult and he's got to stay awake. The heating coil works more often than it doesn't. When it fails he dumps the powder in a cup anyway, shakes it up, and chases it with plain water so the grit doesn't stick to his teeth.

You might think all this means he doesn't know (or care) much about food. 

You'd be wrong.

He's not lingering over meals in restaurants or ordering dinner at the bar, that's true.

But he knows the best hole-in-the-wall joints for home cooking in half the systems on the outer rim. When he's on Alken Prime he'll make a point of touching down at the edge of the second city, just to hit up that place that does the fiery hot dumplings in Nestorian-style broth. Where the owner doesn't blink when Din's got a handcuffed quarry in tow. He knows when he counts the credits Din hands him, he'll find twice the price of the meal.

There's that little shack in that backwater town on Geel V, the one cobbled together out of salvaged steel panels, with coalfire smoke rising dark grey from the chimney at the back. The elderly Bothan cook always gives him an extra portion of barbecued mol meat, the end pieces blackened crisp at the edges, and packs the sweet sauce separately so things won't get soggy on the way back to his ship. Doesn't hurt that he lets her tease him. That he'll even flirt back just a tiny bit, just enough to make her giggle and shoo him out the door. 

Sometimes his work doesn't follow comfortable hours. Even then, there'll often be that one place open way past midnight, the kind with yellow light showing through a grimy window on a dark street and a crooked door that doesn't close all the way and doesn't need to, because the kitchen never shuts down. You have to know where to find it but when you get there there's always a line. He'll wait with the cleaners, the trash collectors, the security guards, the low-level spice dealers and their hollow-eyed customers. Sometimes there'll be another bounty hunter and they'll nod each other's way. It'll be the kind of place where no one knows exactly what's in the stew and the owner isn't telling, but it'll be loaded with vegetables and the sauce will be addictively spicy, and it probably comes with huge hunks of chewy brown bread perfect for scooping it up. 

He'll carry the food back to the Razor Crest, careful not to spill the container or let greasy wrappings touch his armor. Sometimes it's just him on his own, and he'll flip down the little table in the hold and be civilized about eating, proper chair and a clean rag for a napkin and everything. 

Sometimes the job's done and he's got the quarry to deliver, and if they're civilized he'll handcuff them to a bolt well-anchored to the floor, leave them a portion of whatever he's picked up, and take the rest to eat alone in the cockpit. If not, he'll take the time to run a carbon freeze cycle and stow the slab away. He'd prefer not to have to, though, because by the time he's done the food's always getting cold.

When it’s been long hours and a tough job, especially--a hot meal, well-prepared, really helps with putting the day behind him. And being ready to face the next one. 

[ahopelessromantic]

Making Moves ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 2,5k

Warnings: none, Spencer likes being called doctor but what else is new

Spencer and you have been floating around in your own bubble for a while now. Maybe it’s time to let other people in on it as well.

After a long day of lectures and studying, your shower’s steady stream of warm water felt heavenly. With a happy sigh you leaned further into the stream, when suddenly a pair of arms snuck around your naked waist. You jumped up in shock for a second, and only then remembered that you had given your boyfriend the spare key to your apartment. “Hi.” You giggled breathlessly, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin of yours. Instead of returning your greeting, Spencer just buried his head in the crook of your neck. “Long day?” While waiting for him to answer you reached back to play with his curls. “Hhm.” He groaned. “The worst.” It was only then that you decided to turn around, cupping his face in your hands to take a proper look at him. The shadows underneath his eyes looked darker and his cheekbones stood out even more than usual. You placed an innocent kiss on his lips. “Take as long as you need, I’ll go ahead and make us dinner, okay?”His eyes softened, and for a moment the tiredness in his face was gone. Spencer nodded and made room for you to leave the shower, but only after pressing a kiss to your hand.

“So, what you’re saying is that theoretically, a TARDIS is possible?” Spencer threw his head back in a laugh. “That’s not what I said!” You faked a pout, poking at his ribs. “Well, explain it to me then wonder boy!” The two of you were cuddled up on your tiny couch, a soft blanket thrown over you and a doctor who marathon playing on the tv. The only way you could both fit on the sofa was when you were basically laying on top of each other, but you couldn’t really find it in you to complain about that. Your boyfriend didn’t seem to mind, either. He slightly sat up and lifted your chin with his fingers, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your insides melt. “You still didn’t explain!” You mumbled into the kiss, coaxing another smile from his lips. In your living room’s dim lightning his eyes looked like honey and there was a warmth to them you didn’t get to witness every day. “Can you… shut up and let me kiss you?” He almost shyly asked, trapped between two of his favourite things in the world: geeking out without being judged for it and making out with his girlfriend. Today, he seemed to be in the mood for the latter.You hummed, leaning into him. “I can do that, I guess.”

Unfortunately, evenings like these weren’t the standard for the two of you. Spencer worked an incredibly demanding job, and even though your university didn’t send you to crime scenes with a gun strapped to your hip it still wasn’t exactly easy, either. You were a law student, in the middle of specialising on criminal law to hopefully one day go into law enforcement. It was only ironic that your own boyfriend had turned out to be an FBI-Agent a few dates in. But then again, you were a firm believer that everything happened for a reason. You had walked into that bar during orientation week last year for a reason, and the first thing your eyes had fallen upon had been Spencer for a reason.

“I bet I can destroy you in that game.” You had boldly told the handsome stranger while sitting down across from him. He had looked at you in confusion for a moment, his mouth slightly open, but then seemed to catch himself. “That is highly unlikely.” He had stated, is if it were a fact. You had looked him directly in the eyes, encouraged by the gin tonic coursing through your veins. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Somehow, one round of rummy had turned into four, and somehow, you had actually managed to win two times, one of which with a glorious full house. At some point the conversation between you two had began to flow freely, and you could still remember feeling so incredibly fascinated over everything this man had said. Something about his way of speaking, the way he chose his words, the intelligence in his eyes, had pulled you in to a point of no return. You had kissed him on the cheek that very night, not knowing how else to thank him for walking you home. He had even insisted on it, not expecting the short walk to your apartment off campus to turn into a full-blown mini hike. Afterwards the two of you had stood in front of your door, his cheeks red and his hands inexplicably trembling. Spencer had later told you that he had never felt the way he had felt around you before, and that in that moment his biggest fear had been to never see you again. But even though you had exchanged numbers before saying goodbye you had run into each other again much, much earlier than expected. The very next morning, to be precise. When you had innocently walked into your forensic linguistics elective class and met eyes with one certain Doctor Spencer Reid, the day’s guest lecturer.

“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much coffee and ate more breakfast you wouldn’t basically pass out whenever I take you running with me.” You playfully scolded your boyfriend the next morning, shoving a croissant in his direction. He barely even looked up from his notes, blindly reaching for the piece of pastry. After breakfast you watched him getting ready for work. Spencer long had his own drawer of clothes in your apartment, his own ties and jackets hanging in your closet. The transition from barely sleeping at each other’s places to basically living with each other had happened so slowly and naturally that one day you had just woken up in his arms and decided that neither of you wanted it any other way anymore. You were probably once and for all going to officially move in with each other soon as well, but before you did that you still needed to sort out some things in your relationship. “Let me help you, Doctor Reid.” You smiled seductively after seeing him struggle with the knot of his tie. He chuckled nervously, a slight blush blooming over his cheeks. “Honey, you know I’m trying to get going to work, not get going in another way.” Smiling, you pressed a kiss to his nose. “Whatever, Doctor Reid.” Behind closed doors you loved teasing him, riling him up just to see him get all smiley and flustered. You had been in love before, but in comparison to the way you felt about Spencer all the ones that had been there before him faded into a dull grey. A part of you was convinced that you had been in love with someone before but had never really loved them. In a way, you liked to think of Spencer as your first and hopefully last love. Trying to seize every moment you had with him you even accompanied him to your door, childishly trying to keep him from leaving by placing kisses all over his face. “Baby, I have to go.” Your rational side knew he was right, but it was very hard to let that side come to light when your emotional side was looking at Spencer with an empty head and heart eyes. “I love you.” He murmured and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. You beamed at him. “I love you more. I’ll see you later in your lecture?” He nodded, and with one last kiss he was out the door.

Technically, you had long collected all the credits you could in forensic linguistics. But that didn’t stop you from still visiting your boyfriend whenever he guest lectured for a friend, silently giving him the support he was always so grateful for. Knowing you were there in the audience always gave him an insane boost in confidence, up to a point where now a whole group of girls in the class swooned over him on the regular. You loved telling him about them and loved even more how shy he got over it, forever trying to help him feel surer of himself and his skills.

“JJ, you got something to do right now?” Morgan asked with a grin, leaning over her desk. “Loads. Why?” She asked with a suspicious tone to her voice. “We want to go visit pretty boy at his lecture, see how he does as a professor. Even Hotch is coming.” With a heavy sigh, JJ closed the file she had been looking into. Goddamnit, if she wasn’t interested in seeing Reid in action. “Let’s go.” She just said, getting up to join the rest of the team in the bullpen. They all carpooled to the lecture hall, surprised over how many people and especially girls were there in the audience to watch Reid. “Looks like Reid’s got some fans.” Hotch murmured, the tiniest of smiles playing around his lips.

At the end of the lecture you packed your things and walked up to Spencer, politely waiting for the people in front of you to finish asking their questions. You noticed the way your boyfriend’s glance kept on distractedly landing on you only to refocus on his students again and couldn’t help the smile on your face. What were you supposed to do? You loved him, after all. “Doctor Reid.” You finally greeted him once he was done answering questions. He visibly straightened up upon hearing his title, giving you a contained smile. Even though you weren’t technically his student the two of you still preferred to not openly flaunt your relationship on campus, just to avoid getting into any form of trouble. “Did you like today’s lecture, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” He asked while shoving his things into the old leather satchel he always carried with him. You grinned. “I loved it. But it was terribly difficult to concentrate today.” Spencer just nodded in mocked thoughtfulness. “And why is that?”

Looking at the two of you from afar must have just looked like an overly nice student asking her professor some questions, but something about the way Reid smiled at this girl set something off in Morgan. The usually so awkward genius seemed oddly comfortable around the pretty girl standing in front of him, something that didn’t really happen often. Never, actually, now that he thought of it. “Guys, do you think that’s his girlfriend?” He hushed. The rest of his team whipped their heads around to look at him. “His what?!” Emily asked. “Come on, think about it. We’ve all noticed that he’s been feeling himself more than usual lately. He even comes into work looking well rested sometimes, when has that ever happened before?” Garcia’s chin dropped in realisation. “I saw him drive the opposite way of his apartment after work sometimes. I just thought he’s taking a detour or something…” Before any of them could continue to speculate about Spencer Reid’s private life, Morgan had already made his way down the stairs to the lecturer’s podium.

“Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Derek Morgan.” A handsome tall man suddenly interrupted yours and Spencer’s banter. You took his hand in confusion, looking over to your boyfriend for an answer to this situation. He just stood there frozen in place, eyes wandering between you and the stranger. So, he did know the man? “I’m (Y/N).” You hesitantly introduced yourself. That seemed to shake Spencer out of his stupor.“(Y/N), this is Morgan, part of the team at the BAU. Morgan, this is (Y/N), my uh…” He took a deep breath. “My girlfriend.” A wide grin spread across his colleague’s face, and a bright blush across yours. “I knew it!” He chuckled, clapping a hand against Spencer’s shoulder. “It is so nice to meet you.”

After that the rest of his team suddenly joined the three of you at the bottom of the stairs, attacking you with questions about their ‘pretty boy’. You set yourself a mental reminder to tease him about that later. “I hope you know that it’s our obligation to take the two of you to lunch now.” The extravagantly dressed woman that had introduced herself to you as Penelope told you determinedly. You grinned, your glance landing on Spencer. He looked like he had accepted his fate already and returned your gaze defeatedly. You had known that his team was close, a bond forged through danger and long nights of working on cases together, but you frankly hadn’t expected a bunch of professional fbi agents to be this close and warm.

“So, how did the two of you meet?” JJ, who was sitting across from you in the small Italian restaurant asked while cutting her saltimbocca romana. You looked down at your spaghetti shyly, feeling your ears grow hot under all the attention that was on you ever since Spencer’s team had basically ambushed the two of you. “I, uh… I tipsily thought I could beat him in rummy.” Morgan started laughing incredulously. “Okay, you’ve got balls. I respect that. Did he at least let you win once?” “I didn’t need to.” Spencer suddenly spoke up, slowly warming up to the situation. He liked how somehow, you seemed to fit right in with his team, and couldn’t help but wonder what it was going to be like when you one day joined the fbi yourself. “She won. Twice. One of which with the meanest full house I’ve ever seen.” His eyes met yours, and the look of respect and pure love in them made you feel all warm on the inside. A round of ‘oohs’ went through the team assembled around the table. From there on the ice seemed to be once and for all broken, and the more time passed the more comfortably you started sinking into your seat. You felt like maybe, this had been that one last step you had needed to go all the way in your relationship. Watching Spencer letting his guard down around his team, seeing him so happy around the people he loved, gave you an idea. You secretly started looking through your bag for a pen, scribbling a tiny note onto your napkin and shoving it to where he was sitting across from you. He didn’t even notice it at first, he only saw it laying in front of him after you shoved your foot against his under the table. You watched him read it in nervous anticipation, taking in the way his expression changed from confused to shocked to… happy? He leaned over the table to snatch the pen from you with a tiny smile, scribbled something onto the napkin and handed it back to you while mouthing ‘I love you’. With a beating heart you unfolded the note and felt the tiniest amount of happy tears prick at your eyes.

Move in with me?

Stood there in your writing, and underneath that in his:

Yes :)

[nyotasaimiri]

10/6: Luxury

((This was a very fun one! Sorry it’s late, but I hope it was worth the wait!))

Hot showers were a rare gift, a reward for enduring grueling training sessions or hard labor. Nothing soothed away soreness nearly so well as sweet, luxurious heat. It was the only time Nyota preferred water to a dust bath. The brief pleasure was worth the long wait for her thick fur to dry. 

She didn’t expect to enjoy them again after she fled. Earth proved a strange surprise. 

“This is some sort of bathing facility?” Nyota had to concentrate too hard on forming the unfamiliar sounds of Earth Common and didn’t quite manage to keep the wariness out of her voice. In her defense, it was a very odd room. She recognized the mats on the floor, at least, fabric placed to absorb water and keep the tile from getting slippery. But a mirror in the washing chamber? Impractical. And for some odd reason, there were similar mats hung on bars across the back of the door. Perhaps it was a novel way to store extras. The colors, she thought with a critical stare, were quite frivolous. 

“You’re blocking the door,” Marcy giggled. “Go on in. Nothing bites.” 

Nyota complied. Her little friend (could she really say friend? So difficult to admit how much she needed that right now) had been generous enough to offer her a new home here, after tending her so faithfully through the late winter illness. She had earned more than a little obedience. Perhaps… even trust. 

Marcy walked over to the largest and most intrusive feature of the room, which Nyota had not even begun to comprehend. “You can close the door. Are you still holding up alright? Dad said it should be okay, but I don’t want to keep you on your feet too long.” 

“I appreciate your concern,” Nyota said, in her automatic, near-robotic response, but was surprised to realize that she meant it. The door shut without a whisper. The tidy part of her mind approved. The paranoid side did not. 

The sound of running water turned her eyes back toward Marcy again. The little human was fiddling with some metallic knobs on the rim of the strange object. Water flow controls, apparently. Was it some manner of wash basin? But it was far larger than any sink that Nyota had ever seen. 

“I swear it’s not dangerous,” Marcy told her, and Nyota realized with a hot, mortified flush that she had let her apprehension show on her face. Nine months out and she had already gone so soft. 

“What is it?” she asked, and did manage to control her voice properly this time. 

“It’s called a bathtub. Do you not have them? No, I guess not,” Marcy said, answering herself as she caught sight of Nyota’s thick grey fur again. “I thought you might want to get washed up properly, though. We did our best while you were sick, but we don’t really know how to take care of fur right…” 

She trailed off, and Nyota gave her a small but encouraging smile. “You did well.” 

Marcy brightened a little. “Thanks. Well, here we are then. We have a shower too, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to keep you standing up for too long. The doctor said you would be unsteady for a while.” 

The doctor was right, Nyota could tell that all too well. Her legs trembled just with the effort of holding her upright. The illness had left her alive, yes, but by sheer luck and nothing else. “Thank you. You thought of everything with this.” 

Marcy grinned. “I tried.” She tested the water temperature, then looked up at Nyota. “Oh hey, apex are heat-sensitive, right? You should probably check this yourself.” 

Nyota complied, and had to restrain a happy little hoot that bubbled up in her throat. It felt so good on her sore, stiff joints. “It’s perfect. ...do you intend to stay?” 

“Oh! Uh-” Marcy’s dark skin hid the blush but Nyota could still hear it in her voice. “If you don’t mind. I can help you work out some tangles.” 

“I don’t mind.” Nyota began untying her shirt laces. “I just recall that humans get quite flustered by the sight of a naked woman.” 

She smiled quite wickedly at the sight of Marcy’s face. It had been far, far too long since she had last messed with someone like that. 

Marcy found her dignity by swatting Nyota’s elbow. “You are a naughty one. Isobu said so, and I didn’t believe him. Joke’s on me, then.”

“Isobu?” Nyota allowed Marcy to help her finish disrobing. She tried not to focus on how thin she was, how her ribs were visible under still-sickly skin, and focused on the sound of water instead. The tub was nearly full. “How might he know? I have not teased him yet.” 

Marcy shrugged. “He said it was just a feeling.” 

“Interesting…” Nyota started to file that away for later, but her thoughts melted on first contact with the water. She sank in up to her shoulders, her last tiny rational thought shocked that it fit her entire body so well. Every ache in her body seemed to swell for a moment, and then leech away. 

She realized, after far too many moments, that Marcy was washing her hair. Dangerous, dangerous, letting her guard down so easily. 

But really, did she care? Not in this moment. She hoped it would be a long, long moment. 

Marcy laughed softly. “You’re purring, you know that?” 

“Apex do this sometimes,” Nyota murmured, eyes half-closed. She wasn’t hungry, no aching wounds, and for the first time in months, she was getting truly clean. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this good… The purr intensified with a low chuckle as Marcy worked out a knot and smoothed her locks out. “We do it more often if you treat us right.” 

Marcy laughed again. “I guess you like hot baths.” 

“Yes.” The bath, the care, the feeling of trusting someone’s hands so close to her again. “I very much like this.” 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Wind Lord’s Stare

When she woke up the next morning, the Campus Red Alert was flashing in her messages. 

All students were to be aware of strange occurrences that they described as ‘elemental disturbances’ on campus and report any suspicious happenings on campus to Security immediately.

A few messages below the bulletin showed that people were suspicious that a dragon had somehow made it onto campus. But other people scoffed at that, because they weren’t even cancelling classes.

Below that, another headline was written.  The Gossip Channel had a report about Ru’Yi and Brian!

Turned out that the receptionist at the Campus security office had taken their photos while they hugged and sent them to the News Society! Her face turned completely red. “Oh my god...” She squeaked.

It was a nice picture... but she should have given it to her, not to the Gossip Society!

She flipped to her messages. “Brian! Did you see what was posted this morning?”

“Yes, I did. You must have gotten the report out. Good work. Stay inside today.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at this answer. “I can’t stay inside every day. Besides, I have my tracker. If anything happens, you’ll swoop in like Superman to save me right?” She laughed to herself.

She waited for him to respond, but there was no reply.

She just got dressed and prepared for class.

She stepped out, turned and knocked on Tom’s door. He opened up. He looked great in Cassell’s uniform. The purple really brought out the color of his eyes. “All ready to go?”

“Ready.” He said, holding out his arm.

They stepped out onto the street. It was a grey and blustery day. The chill wind made her shiver and gather her coat about herself. She felt Tom come to an abrupt halt. His hand slipped from her arm.

She looked up. He wasn’t next to her. She no longer recognized where she was. Her street was gone, replaced by an empty lot behind a grey brick building. “Tom?”

Fear gripped her and she let out a whimper. “Oh no!” 

She picked her phone up from her pocket. She dialed the number for Brian but nothing happened. She looked at the phone and the signal strength icon showed no bars. A cold feeling washed over her. She felt a strong urge to run, but she took a breath, trying to see where she was, any landmarks at all, but she was surrounded by a tall fence.

There didn’t seem to be anyway out.

She definitely sensed that something was watching her and she turned she saw the a person standing close to the building. Where had he come from? There were no doors! She backed away. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

The person gave a smile and a chuckle.

“Who are you?”

They were in a dark trench coat and sunglasses. They had a slight figure, but she couldn’t guess if the person she was looking at was a man or a woman. They were coming closer. 

She backed against the fence. 

Dr. Miranis’s words echoed in her head. She had to listen to her inner dragon. She knew that this person was behind her. She knew this person was dangerous. 

They were going to kill her. She was going to die. This was the person behind the disappearances. They were getting rid of her. “At least, tell me who you are.”

They were reaching into a pocket. Weapon! Run... run! She turned and sprinted towards the other end of the fence. A dagger sliced the air right where she had stood. 

She just kept running as fast as she could!

Jump.

She could jump the fence. She knew she was a hybrid all her life, she knew she could jump higher than anyone else in her class. But this fence was at least eight feet. Never in her life had she ever jumped that high, but something told her she could do it.

Her knees bent, her muscles tensed. She felt the incredible surge in her blood and she sprang upward, the ground retreating below her.

A frigid gust blew around her and swept her even higher! She screamed as she was carried upward in a powerful vortex.

“Gotcha!”

Once again, strong arms held her tight and she was looking, not into Brian’s silver eyes, but his bright golden ones. They were hovering high above the ground. The whisper of dragon language was carried on the winter breeze, sending the tiny snowflakes swirling around them.

Soul Skill: Wind Lord’s Stare. 

I looked back down. The person who was after her was already gone.

“You’re okay right?” He asked.

She nodded and he released his Soul Skill and they settled back to the ground outside the fence. 

She threw her arms around him. “Where am I?”

“I told you not to go outside.” He said sternly.

“You didn’t tell me they had laid a trap!”

“He sent you off campus. Without the tracker you could have been lost for good.”

She was shaking so hard she could barely stand up. She felt his hand on her hair. “Don’t worry. We caught the guy.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. It’s a bit above my pay grade. I’m just a student after all.” His eyes had reverted back to their normal coloration. “... but I have a feeling he’s part of a group of radical scientists who do experiments on dragons and hybrids. Remember when you almost got hit by that car?”

“Huh?” She blinked. “How do you know about that?”

“It was in the Executive Department’s report I received when you enrolled.”

She backed away from him in shock. “You... were watching me? The Executive Department head was the one who saved me!”

Brian’s eyes widened. “For real?!”

I described what had happened and he nodded.

“Sounds about right. His Soul Skill is Time Zero. He almost never uses it though. It must have been a really close call.” 

Facts started to click into her head. Her father’s constant concern. He was always asking her if she had met any boys. How much did he know? The strange words of the Executive Department head and the cautionary words of her mentor echoed in her mind.

Brian held out his hand to steady her. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But, we have to get you back on campus. You can’t stay out here.”

“What do they want with me?”

He shook his head. “I don’t try to rationalize the irrational. Let’s just get you back on Campus.”

He signaled to someone on the corner who nodded. “They’ll be bringing a car.”

His arm was around her shoulder and she leaned against him, her heart thumping uncontrollably. “I want to call my dad.”

“Sure. Go ahead.” He said softly.

By the time Chu Zihang picked up the phone, she was sobbing so much she couldn’t get the words out.

“Ru’Yi.”

His voice was quiet. She had to still her crying to hear. 

“I know you might want to see me... but I’m afraid you need to stay on campus. You’ll be safer there. We can FaceTime tonight. But until those people are gone, it’s not safe for you to stay home.”

“Is this why I was enrolled?”

“No. You enrolled because you wanted to. We were never going to do anything you didn’t want to. We moved to the island to protect you, but you wanted to leave, so we returned to Chicago and we stayed there. You wanted to go to a regular high school... so we let you.”

“I’m not sure when they got on your trail. But we were both relieved when you wanted to go to Cassell. It would be easier to keep an eye on you there.”

“Is... that why you just started saying I love you all of a sudden?”

His silence spoke volumes. Her father had said he loved her more in the past few days than she had had heard in her short lifetime. He was always so quiet but now he was always so desperate to talk to her, to hear from her.

The car came around the corner. “They’re here to pick me up.”

“Can you pass me to Brian?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “He wants to talk to you.”

He suddenly looked terrified. He held the phone to his ear. “Mr. Chu! Y-yes sir! Yes! Of course...I will sir. You can count on me. N-no sir, I’ll do everything I can!”

He rolled his eyes down at her, flinching. Daddy Chu was not happy at all. She couldn’t help but smile.

He handed the phone back to her and went to open the car door.

“Okay... I think things will calm down considerably. Just go to class, Ru’Yi. Don’t worry about what’s going on around you. Just like before.”

“Dad, that’s kind of going to be hard.”

“Yes, but it’s for the best. Some things... are best not ...”

He stopped. “...for me? Please? Just live your life.”

“Okay Dad. I won’t look into it.”

“Thank you. Okay... email me at 8 pm.”

“I promise.”

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Nineteen

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Adamus was a really scrawny kid. He wasn’t the fastest, or strongest, or even the smartest. He wasn’t really an introvert, but he was the quietest. Adamus knew what he was. He knew his limits. But instead of accepting himself as he was, it only motivated him. The boy became ambitious, almost to a fault, and knew he had to prove himself. But Adamus didn’t want to prove that he was just as good as his peers. Adamus wanted to prove that he was better than them. He wanted to prove that he was better than all of them.

Adamus grew into himself over the years. He was a little bit of a late bloomer, but that was made up for and forgotten about very quickly.

The scrawniness melted away, revealing a stocky body. He was naturally muscular under all that skin and bone. He got taller and taller, until he was finally slightly above the average man. His hair reached his neck, curling at the ends with natural waves. Except for his padawan braid, which he hated because it was so long and constantly hitting his shoulder. His eyelashes got longer, jawline sharper, and brain more aware.

Adamus had few friends in his Jedi years. One was a boy, Argos, who was clumsy and far more extroverted than Adamus would ever be. There was also Knox, a boy who was killed during the Clone Wars, and Ethin Edin, who was actually a distant relation of mine that I’d never learn about.

Adamus was close to his master, which was somewhat of a problem within the order. Attachments are frowned upon. Something I disapprove of. Adamus will deny that he looked up Fir Aro if you ever ask him, but I know the truth.  

Adamus tried saving him. Then he watched him die in a pool of blood, and not all of it was his own. Adamus blames himself.

Today, I wake up free of nightmares. For the past few nights, they haven’t bothered me at all. I guess my thoughts before bed have been so focused on Adamus and analyzing him that my brain hasn’t had time to cook up any new terrors for me. But I’m not so sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.  

No matter where the last thing I can remember takes place, I always wake up in my little nook. I usually assume that I either fell asleep at the table with my chin in my hand, or eventually drifted off while leaning against my door frame. Waking up in my nook would mean that Adamus puts me to bed, which honestly makes me feel quite guilty. I’ve already fallen asleep listening to him tell me about his deep rooted anguish, now he’s taking me to bed without even taking credit. I would thank him, but then something would change between us. Something already changed when he began to cry that night in my room, but actually admitting that one of us did the other a service is… different. I’m already pushing my luck by making eye contact with him during the day, why acknowledge the possibility that we’ve seen each other at our most vulnerable?

I rebraid my hair a little sloppily and shrug on a thin black  jacket over my outfit. I have to use the bathroom, so I do. I even flush. But I still refuse to shower.

The door slides open as I exit, and I stalk out in my usual demeanor. No smiles, head down, eyes apathetic as my weapon hits against my hip. People still stop and stare at me as I walk by, but their conversations still flurry through the air. The people don’t trust me. I don’t trust them either.  

I pass the control room, and take one of the hallways. Stretching my arms, rolling my shoulders back as I keep my eyes to the floor. It’s dark silver, and clangs under the weight of my boots. Even as I walk by, civilians of the Harbinger eye me with distaste. I let them. I don’t bother to let myself eye them right back because I know nothing can change the person I am. I’ve accepted that I’ll always be a threat wherever I go. That’s how I know I have to get away from these people.

The cafeteria is the same size as the medbay, I’m told. It’s lined with rows of tables with built in benches and counters. Volunteers serve slops of what’s usually nearly stale portion bread and ration bars. Sometimes there’s caf, but not usually. I wouldn’t take it anyway. Too bitter.

Adamus and Aheka are almost always sitting together in the mornings. At first I wondered about the exact nature of their relationship, though now I see it for what it is. They’re companions, close comrades, friends. Almost sibling like. Nothing close to romantic.

I pull my hood over my head as I walk by them, just missing Adamus’s kaleidoscope eyes of judgment by a single step. To the left side of the room is a long counter that serves as a buffet. Volunteers hand out the food, and today a yellow Twi’Lek gives me a slop of mush gray stuff on a silver tray with a distrustful scowl. I don’t bother saying a word about how I asked for the portion bread instead of whatever he just gave me. I know how to pick my battles, and this is one I won’t win. I don’t have the social skills for it.

When I turn to face the rest of the cafeteria, I gage out the seats I can take. There’s one at the opposite end of where Aheka and Adamus are, so definitely not there.

There’s another table at the very end of the hall, that’s almost completely empty except for one person who has his back to me. That will do.

Having my hood up makes me feel better. It’s not perfect, but it gives me the feeling of having walls around me, so I can feel more alone. I think that’s something I need. The world feels safer, more closed off. Like a room with three walls and then whatever’s in front of me. Like I’m a glitch in the simulation. Yeah… a glitch.

I set my tray down and slide onto the bench. The other person at the table- a man- is at the other end, on the other side. There’s no way we could be affiliated with each other.

With a cheap fork, I poke at the mush. It’s warmer than I expected- not hot, but not cold. I’ve eaten worse. I’ve purified my own piss and swallowed it down. This is not the time to get picky.

But I’m not hungry.

I look back up, glancing around to observe the surroundings of the room. There’s the counters where I got my tray to the right, the rows of tables ahead. Aheka and Adamus are about five tables up. There are some foot soldiers, one man I saw in Adamus’s meeting reading over some papers, a green woman carrying a crate. One of the lights over head is flickering so quickly, you wouldn’t even notice the sputter if you weren’t hardwired to notice everything.

And as for the man sitting at the table with me… well, it takes me a second to notice him.

I eye him for a few seconds, not for any particular reason, simply because I can. And then he tilts his head up and to the side, catching my orbs, which began to dilate with the beat of my heart.

Sharp jawline, heavily angular features. The slim eyes like a hawk, golden brown. Nose turned down at the bridge, arched brows, thin and chapped lips. And that hairstyle… I know it.

My lips part in realization. I can feel my heart stop.

“So-”

A tray slams down in front of me with a clang, startling me with a jump.

“Were you really going to try eating alone?”

I stare up at Aheka from under my hood. Her pale green eyes are staring into my own with that twinkle of compassion, but the corners of her lips are upturned with charisma.

Before I can respond or think of a response, Aheka slides her tray forward until it bumps against mine and seats herself in the slot ahead of me.

“I hope you slept okay,” she frowns. “You look sick.”

I catch her glance at my missing finger, causing me to jerk my hand back in embarrassment and anger. “Why are you eating alone?”

Under the table, my right hand twitches. “Didn’t want to disturb you and shit for brains,” I lie, watching Adamus’s back tense from behind him.

“You wouldn’t disturb us,” Aheka assures. “Here. This tastes better than that.” She nudges her tray against mine again.

“I can’t take your food,” I swallow. It feels like the inside of my chest is sweating.

“Come on. I’m not going to eat it, and I know how that slush tastes. This is the better option.”

Her plate has steaming golden chunks on it. It does smell better than the warm gray thing in front of me. “Thanks,” I mutter, staring down.

“So,” the Togruta begins. “I’ve got an offer for you.”          

I raise my eyes from under my hood to watch her face, which has a small, excited smile on it. It fits her pretty features.

“Okay.”

“You’re sleeping in the side medbay, right? I know that thing is small and well… I was thinking you could start to bunk with me. We’d have to talk to Adamus probably, but I have the space. I just figured it’s better than that tiny little thing. Warmer too.”

She adds the last part with a smile as if it were a cute little joke. I, on the other hand, can’t stop myself from inwardly cringing. My eyes flicker between her own, searching for the answer to my confusion.

“Why?” I question.  

Aheka crinkles her eyebrows. “Why? Well it’s… it’s the right thing to do isn’t it?”

…The right thing to do?

“Besides,” she continues. “It’s either me or bunking with Blitz, right?” She nudges her thumb at the man at the end of the table, and my heart attack starts all over again.

"Have you met?”

I stand up suddenly, my fists balled so tight my knuckles pale over.

“Keres?”

How could they… how could they let it in here? Don’t they know what it is?

The man at the end of the table turns to look at me slowly. His golden eyes meet mine.

A hand clasps on my right shoulder.

“Keres,” speaks Adamus. His tone is low, though not threatening or dangerous. In my core, it feels understanding. It feels… I don’t know. It feels like something I should listen to. Like the little voice of reason in the very back of my brain I so often try to mute.

It’s enough to snap me out of my daze somewhat. I turn my head over my shoulder to meet his eyes, which are steeled compared to usual. Usually, they’re a flowing billow of blue and green and grey, but now they are like steel, nothing but turquoise. Not even a circle of light appears inside of them to give a sense of security.

"I know,” he says. But no matter what he would’ve told me, I wouldn’t have felt like he knew.          

“Are you okay?” Aheka asks, slowly standing, eyebrows creased with concern.

No.

“Yes,” I decide. “I’m okay.” And then I push myself back into my seat, struggling to tear my eyes away from my newest problem.

“His name is Blitz,” Adamus tells me as he removes his hand. “He’s a soldier.”

“Where did you find him?” I mutter hoarsely.

“A cantina in the outer rim. He’s trustworthy.”        

I want to snap ‘no, he’s not’, but I decide to stay quiet.

“I know what happened to you,” Adamus says lowly. “I know what you’re thinking.”

I turn my head back to face him. “How could you do this?”

“Keres,” Aheka breaks. “What’s going on?”

I don’t get a chance to explain or lie. Adamus answers for me. “I’m ‘gonna take her to the meeting with me today. She can help in the vote.”

“Adamus…”

"It’ll be fine. She’ll see Blitz and we can use her.”

Now I’m the one out of the loop. How did it change from Aheka to me so quickly?

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she says with knitted brows.

Adamus looks between her light green eyes with a still face. After a moment, he pushes himself up out of his seat. “Come on, Keres.”

I watch him, not moving for a second. Then Aheka looks at me and nudges her head after the boy. “You should go with him.”

I breathe out through my nose before standing up myself. Aheka shrinks away behind me, sitting alone at the table with only the monster and a gray tray.

I push my hood off my head, keeping Adamus’s back in front of me. I think about killing him- sinking my blade through his flesh and muscles until he’s crumpled on the ground. I could. There’s no one down our current hallway but us. The lights are down low, if Circe is on the security camera’s, he’s not going to tell anyone what I did.

Murder. The very thought makes the blood rush through my veins faster and tighter, coursing and getting hotter and hotter. I wonder, if I kill him, will I get some of his power? He can do things that I can’t do. I don’t know what those things are exactly yet, but I know he can.

But if I kill him, then I’ll always remember the way that he cried in my room.

Do it.

Don’t.

My hand creeps down to my waist, trailing down my belt and to cool metal of the saber. Around us, the world closes in. The lights grow even dimmer. Adamus is directly ahead of me, walking straight with his fists at his sides. I can see the muscles in his back tensing under his shirt.

Kill him. Kill him, and then kill the Clone.

“Before we go in,” Adamus turns around to face me. For a second, I’m completely blown away. I lean back to avoid the flash of gold that overtakes his hair, and the shadows over his face that make him look just like Garreth. My eyes widen, but the boy in front of me doesn’t say a word about it.

“I need something from you.”

I blink, folding my arms over each other. “The General needs something from me? I’m honored.”

Adamus inhales. “I proposed something and I need you to vote it down.”

“What did you propose?” I question.

“I just didn’t… I didn’t think the whole thing through.”

I furrow my eyebrows in seriousness. “What was the original plan?”

“I-”

“General Adamus, Vagor,” a drawl voice takes me from my thoughts. One of the Admirals- a Chiss named Sirsal- walks toward us from the other side of the hallway. He’s been distrustful of me from the beginning- not that I blame him- and he’s been more than open about it. I’ve never talked to him one on one, but he doesn’t actually seem so bad. He’s just doing his job. It’s nothing personal, and if it was, I’m in no position to tell him off. “How lovely to see you. Are you ready to vote on the proposal?”

“Of course,” Adamus replies coolly. Always a talent of his, I’ve noticed. “I was just going over the plan with our lieutenant.”

Sirsal’s eyes look at me up and down in distaste. His top lip curls in disgust when he seems the mud on top of my black boots, the rip of my leggings on my right thigh, the beaten gauze acting as gloves around my arms. “Yes, of course,” he says slowly. He changes his gaze back to Adamus, his expression softening as he sees the boy is far more cleaned up than myself. “I wasn’t aware you had appointed her as Lieutenant.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

I can feel the annoyance radiating off the Chiss man. His mind burns with a single question: Why not me?

“I see,” he says instead. “Well, let us hope this newcomer is capable of leading us to victory.” His eyes linger on me once more to get his distaste across.

Sirsal disappears through the metal door with a hiss.

"I like him,” I say.

“That was your take away from that interaction?” Adamus questions, amusement shadowing his tone.

“He’s funny.”

Adamus’s face returns to stone. “Voting down my plan is the right thing to do. Do I have your word on this?”

I stare into his eyes for a moment. For just a split second, I think they’re blue. Then they return to a swirl of pale greens and greys and teals and I know I’m far off. Adamus hasn’t really… asked me for anything before. But this, this is a favor. A personal favor at that.

“Alright,” I shrug.

The door opens up. “I’ll owe you one,” he whispers in my ear as the uniformed men turn to greet us. His words send shivers down my spine, but not in a bad way. In a way that I only feel when something excites me- like a prank or some cruel joke I’ve thought of. It makes my stomach explode with butterflies and my… no. Never mind.

“General Adamus,” one of the men greets. “Hello.”

“The topic of today’s meeting is to vote on the proposed offensive plan,” Adamus says, ignoring him in his leader voice. He crosses to the center of the room, pushes a button on the holotable and watches as the men gather to look at the blue hologram. Three Imperial Star Destroyers, and a planet that seems strangely familiar but unrecognizable. I cross my arms and lean against the wall to stay out of their way. I can still see alright, and they don’t have to worry I’m close enough to stab them in the backs.

“There are three Imperial Ships around the planet Mustafar. I believe this one, Maker’s Thrall, is in control of the Imperial shield generator on Endor, and possibly another on Ryloth. I proposed that we engage the other two Destroyers in battle as a distraction, while a smaller force infiltrates and takes out the Thrall.”

A hum of approval and nods fall over the men. Honestly, it’s not such a bad plan. It might need some refining, more detailing, but it’s a good start. Decent.  

“However, I have obtained some new information.”

“Information from her?” one of the men jabs his thumb in my direction while the one next to him tries not to roll his eyes.

“No, Admiral Raincork, and I advise you keep your thumb to yourself. I came to this realization through my own conscious.” Adamus takes a pause. I can feel his heart beat in nervousness from across the room. “If the Thrall is to be destroyed, someone will have to stay behind and…”

A roar explodes through the men now. Adamus’s voice is drowned out in the gasps. “I know, I know. This would mean suicide for whomever does this, and we can’t ask that of our people. Nor should we.”

“Why don’t we just destroy it from the outside? Or plant bombs? O-or take out the shields?” a pink skinned man asks.

Adamus shakes his head slowly. “Destroying it from the outside is impossible. A mother ship like that has more shield power than you would imagine. Taking it out would give little to no time for the group to escape and bombs would be the same.”

A few of the men nod in understanding. I try to analyze each of them. The Chiss is unswayed by Adamus’s admittance and feels that loss of life is necessary. The Twi-lek thinks it would be wrong to ask anyone onboard to do such a thing. Aheka would more than likely agree, Circe would take the side of the Chiss.

And… honestly… I would too.

“What about the people acting as distractions? Won’t they be at risk of death too?”

“No,” Adamus says. “I won’t allow that. The mission will be kept short enough that no lives can be lost. They will not be at risk.”

Adamus… it was a good plan. You knew what had to be done. You always have. That’s what being a good person means.

“So, I call for a vote,” Adamus says lowly. “Those against the original proposed plan?”

Adamus raises his hand, more slowly following. The Twi-lek raises his and so does the one next to him. I count exactly half of the men calling for this to be stopped.

“Those in favor?”

Adamus drops his hand and Sirsal raises his. Admiral Raincork follows his lead, along with the other half of the men. Adamus counts them silently, eyes widening as they drop to mine. He sees what I’m about to do. His heart is pumping, mouth dry. Don’t, he begs me. Please don’t. You said you wouldn’t.

I raise my right hand in the air, earning some of the men whipping around and gasping. Sirsal raises his eyebrow as if he’s impressed I was capable of making such a decision.

Adamus’s eyes narrow. I watch his jaw clench in anger, his hand curling into a tight fist. His eyes are darkening like a cloudy sky. He’s pissed. He’s so pissed.

“That settles it,” he says, eyes not daring to leave mine. His enraged gaze goes straight to my heart and to the pit of my stomach, swirling up emotions I couldn’t name at blaster point.     “The plan will continue on at a later date. If you have any further questions, I will answer them tomorrow at the next meeting. Any more topics? Alright, meeting concluded.”  

The men begin to shuffle out of the room, talking to each other. Half of them gives me looks of respect and the other half is anger mixed with disappointment. I don’t care about any of them. I find that the only face I really care about right now is Adamus’s. He follows the men closely, not even looking at me as he passes.

I watch his back muscles contort through his outfit as he leaves me alone in the room. The door slides shut much louder than usual, even though it’s not possible to slam it. I want so badly to talk to him. I want so badly to reach out to him.

I find that the second thing Acer Adamus gave me is guilt about other people- guilt over the living.