#we got to crawl up in an engine and open these hatches with wrenches and then clean them out and close em up

[sallytwo]

*grits teeth* i donttttt… want to be an engineer..

[gumnut-logic]

The Cane (Part 2)

@flyboytracy​ asked:

Steampunk AU: five uses for a cane and one time Scott used it for its intended purpose 😘 

Part 1 | Part 2

And here we have number two :D A bit longer than expected and I will be falling face-first into bed shortly, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Many thanks to @janetm74​ @tsarinatorment​ and @scribbles97​ for all their help and amazing support of my crazy. And to @flyboytracy​ for asking in the first place.

Use Number Two...

-o-o-o-

2.

There are places in the ocean where the natural forces of the planet cause a lack of wind, a becalm that is the bane of wind reliant seafaring vessels.

Thunderbird Five had no such issues and in times of need, these quiet, still places were a refuge for tired bodies and minds.

A series of rescues off the coast of Chile that saw not only strenuous physical activity, but also almost violent politicking on John’s part. The world agreed, in the majority, to the advantages of an International Rescue organisation, but there were some outliers.

Suspicion was high in a few countries and while John spoke a multitude of languages, not all the brothers had managed as many and the grapevine had identified their country of origin to be English speaking.

Not everyone loved the English speaking world.

Regardless, International Rescue persisted. There were lives at stake and they needed saving.

Sometimes it wasn’t easy and this was one of those times.

Grandma had called for time off, and it had been with some relief John steered his ‘bird out into the expanse of the eastern Pacific into one of those pockets of beautiful calm.

They were lucky this time. The ocean surface was gentle, the swell minimal and Five had been able to surface. A careful manipulation of her propulsion system and she was maintaining a stable hover. Her huge expanse had her forming an island in the middle of calm sea.

Waves brushed against her flanks.

From her dorsal hatches a weary crew crawled out into the sun.

Grandma was adamant that they all receive regular sunshine and here in the sub-tropics, there was ample.

Scott climbed the ladder, cane in hand, body aching from the roll down a mountainside it had endured the day before. He had bruises on bruises and Virgil was hovering like a flying bug that just wouldn’t go away.

His fingers gripped the edge of Five’s hull and he clambered out on to the damp cahelium.

She was already warming in the sun, her stealth-dark, midnight blue skin sucking in heat and drying quickly.

Scott straightened, stretching his back. His cane hit cahelium with a thud.

“You watch you don’t scratch John’s ‘bird. He’s upset enough after having to deal with that governor.” Virgil poked his head out of the hatch behind Scott, following like the shadow he was.

Scott couldn’t complain too much. Virgil had been the one to pull him off the side of that mountain and he had received quite a scare.

The hovering was the result.

A whine from within in the submarine. “John, you’ve got an obstruction in the dorsal hatch. Have you got a torpedo I can borrow?”

Virgil twisted and glared into the hatch below. “Gordon!”

“You have a tear in your breeches, dear brother. I’m seeing things that would have Grandma blushing.”

Virgil grunted, twisting again. “Very little makes Grandma blush. She has seen you in your birthday suit multiple times, after all.”

“Move your derriere, Virgil. I need some sun.”

Scott turned his back on the both of them and limped across the top of his brother’s ‘bird.

Dividing the massive expanse was her huge dorsal fin. It served a dual purpose. There was, of course, the stability it supplied to her underwater flight, but it also provided a division between the two hidden launch platforms embedded in her structure.

Five needed to surface just like this to deploy two of her sister Thunderbirds. On the starboard side a huge section of her hull opened like a door to the sky...which is exactly how it felt when Scott was sitting in One and Five’s hatch levered her vertical enabling him to launch into the blue.

On the port side, the hull would slide back and the floor of the hanger would angle up, pointing Thunderbird Two at a forty-five degree angle so Virgil could fire her engines. She launched in as spectacular a fashion as her sister, engines clawing into the stratosphere.

But neither hatch was open right now. Both One and Two were hidden in their hangars, ready for new deployment as soon as it was needed.

The mud they had had to clean out of their ‘birds had taken a long time.

He exhaled and let his shoulders relax just a little. The salt in the air was ever so refreshing.

“How are you feeling?” Virgil’s voice was quiet behind him.

Scott fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Perfectly well, Virgil.” He may have been leaning on his cane a little more than usual, but that is what the thing was for, wasn’t it?

His brother grunted, eyeing him. “Do you want to sit down?”

A glance at Virgil and his eyes were caught by Gordon behind him, hauling several folding chairs out of the hatch, followed by a chattering Alan.

The sounds were rather homey and reassuring.

Grandma appeared with food and drink and Scott actually smiled.

Their grandmother was an amazing woman. Not only was she a medical doctor, one of the first women to take on that traditionally male qualification, she was also determined to look after them despite the fact they lived on a submarine.

Scott could have argued that Thunderbird Five was no place for a lady – if he wanted his intestines served up to him on a plate.

He didn’t.

His grandmother was a staunch supporter of the women’s suffrage movement. Scott couldn’t help but agree with women’s rights when he had such a capable and strong example right before him.

That and she could cook like she was heaven sent.

His brothers spread out the chairs and a few tables. Grandma had obviously picked up some supplies from their stop over in California the week before.

Scott took a seat and both a small stack of sandwiches and a tall glass of lemonade appeared beside him. He would have complained about the smothering, but he was distracted by an argument brewing between his two youngest brothers.

The lemonade was divine.

“She is big enough.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Yes, she is. I bet you fifty dollars.”

“Gordon, if you think Johnny is going to let you play baseball on the back of his ‘bird, you are off with the fairies.” Virgil was striding over to both of the youngest who were hovering off to one side, obviously conspiring.

The thought of a baseball match was amusing when he pictured John’s response.

But for once, he let it go. Virgil had it in hand, his second discussing the topic with Alan and Gordon in a low but strident voice. Trusting his brother, he ignored them, focussed on his lunch, and drank more of that delicious lemonade.

At some point, Grandma sat down beside him and they discussed their next movements – whether to follow the weather or centralise ready to respond as quickly as possible wherever they were needed.

It became very obvious that his grandmother had picked the topic for a reason as she eventually made her point that they needed some extended rest time.

She even informed him that Virgil had also been injured the previous day. Mildly, but a wrenched shoulder was an injury nonetheless.

His grandmother had held him back and hissed at him to keep it quiet. Virgil was taken care of, but he and the rest of his brothers needed time to recuperate.

Scott seethed that his brother, who was still frowning at Gordon, hadn’t informed him of the injury. Grandma claimed that Virgil had come to her for some of her creams and she had no wish to betray his trust, but they needed to slow down for a little while.

Scott shifted where he sat and his entire body complained.

Perhaps she had a point.

He sighed, swearing under his breath enough for her to frown at him, but he nodded in agreement. Three days of rest.

His grandmother had a beautiful smile.

Especially when she achieved her goals.

She patted his leg gently before standing up. A shadow passed over the sun and Scott looked up to find her propping up one of her parasols on the back of his chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Too much sun can burn. You know that. But you need the fresh air.” Her purple satin skirts rustled about his shoulder and they triggered memories of his younger self spending time with her.

It was comforting.

Enough for her to secure the parasol and scamper off to do the same for John, who had fallen asleep three chairs over, before Scott could object further.

His red-haired brother was exhausted, and his head had fallen back, gaping at the sky. In that position, it was likely his tongue would get sunburnt.

Grandma was right…as usual…they needed time to recover.

Alan, Gordon and Virgil were still huddled off to one side and the murmur of their discussion, combined with the warmth of the day and the lap of the ocean, melted him just a little. His muscles unwound. The aches in his leg and his bones were still there, but with the thought of time to rest, some of the tension began to slip away.

He must have dozed off at some point because he was startled awake by the sound of breaking glass.

“Oh, hell.”

“Alan, you clutz!”

“Gordon!” Virgil’s admonishment had Scott blinking into full consciousness.

The remains of that amazing lemonade lay spread across the table, his pants, and Five’s hull.

There was glass everywhere.

“What?”

Alan came hurrying over. “I’m sorry, Scott!”

He stared wide eyed at his little brother. “What were you doing?”

“Uh, playing baseball.”

Scott stared at him before turning to see both Virgil and Gordon looking rather sheepish on the far side of the submarine. Gordon had what appeared to be a length of wood in one hand.

Grandma bustled over and handed Gordon a rag and an empty bowl to gather up the pieces of glass.

There were stern words.

Scott’s brain was still trying to connect the dots, his brain slow to cycle up.

Gordon elbowed Virgil in the ribs and whispered something at him. Virgil glared in return.

Grandma reappeared with a broom and Alan was marshalled into sweeping Five’s hull.

Scott closed his eyes and shook his head before grabbing his cane and levering himself to his feet.

Everything creaked.

A stride or two towards his guilty-appearing brothers and his body loosened into its more familiar flexibility. “What exactly are the two of you trying to prove?”

Gordon stuck out his chin. “That baseball can be played on the back of a giant submarine in the Eastern Pacific.”

Scott stared at him a moment before dismissing him as a lost cause and turning to Virgil, who he had thought was much smarter than this.

“Your excuse?”

Virgil shrugged. “Just having some fun, Scott.’

And there it was – the likely reason Gordon and Alan had involved the engineer. Virgil never did anything without a logical reason and when asked he always…always…had the answer that softened Scott to the point of forgiving almost anything.

However…

“What about John?” He glanced over at his brother and found him still down for the count. Ever so tired. “You could have hit him, or Grandma or me. Baseballs are not soft. You could have done some serious injury.” It was very much unlike Virgil to take such a risk. Even Gordon wouldn’t do such a thing.

“That’s why we didn’t use baseballs.” Virgil held up a round white object which he then proceeded to squash between his fingers. “I used some of our aerated rubber solution to make a dozen or so soft balls. They float, have low impact damage, and Gordon is planning on a swim to collect every single one after the game.”

Logical and always had the answer.

Scott picked the ball out of Virgil’s hand. It was soft, very squishy and made from the rubber foam they stored in Two for stabilising structures.

He squeezed it again.

It was rather satisfying to watch it reinflate.

“Want to play?” The dark eyebrow that arched up at him knew exactly what it was doing.

Scott pressed his lips together.

Virgil fought back a smile.

Damnit.

“Fine. Who’s pitching?”

Gordon snorted a laugh. “That was Allie and he took out your drink.”

“It wouldn’t have broken anything if you were half capable of hitting a ball.” Alan sounded very put out.

Grandma urged him to keep cleaning.

Scott broke into a grin. “How about I give it a go and you pitch?”

Gordon matched his expression and stole the ball out of Scott’s hand. “Sure. Batter up.” He held out the chunk of wood that was apparently serving as a bat.

Scott frowned. It looked suspiciously like a table leg. Hmm…

“No, I think I’ll use this.” He held up his cane.

Gordon arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

Scott smirked a little. “Yes, really.”

His brother shrugged and threw the table leg down with a clatter that had John muttering in his sleep.

Scott dug his little brother in the ribs.

“Oops, sorry.”

That earned him a grunt.

They ended up moving the game further away from their sleeping brother. Gordon complained that he would have to swim after all the balls and every single one was likely to end up in the water.

Virgil said it would do him good and might even be fun.

Gordon’s response was enough to earn him a glare from Grandma.

Scott bit his lip to stop grinning harder.

Virgil set himself up as catcher. Gordon paced out a distance and curled up in a way that was somehow what a pitcher was supposed to do. The brass of his prosthetics shone in the sun.

But then Gordon had always been an odd pitcher.

Scott levered his cane onto his shoulder and tensed, ready to hit the ball.

Gordon grinned somewhat devilishly.

“Bring it on, fishboy.”

-o-o-o-

John had slept very well. Fresh air often did that for him. By the time he woke, the sun was starting to dip towards the horizon.

“How are you feeling?” Grandma was sitting beside him, a small smile on her face. A book lay in her lap.

“Good.” John returned the smile. The breeze had picked up a little and he could hear it in the waves as they sloshed against the side of his ‘bird.

A frown. “Where is everyone?”

“Hiding.”

He sat up. Most of the tables and chairs were missing and he could only assume they had been tidied inside.

“Why?”

“Because Scott apparently doesn’t know his own strength. Or how to play baseball.”

John’s eyes widened. “What?”

Grandma pointed up at Five’s giant dorsal fin.

The very top of it was bent over to one side.

“How on Earth…?”

“I would think it was the cahelium Virgil worked into your brother’s cane. Virgil says he’ll have it fixed within the half hour.”

John stared at her. Five had rammed ships in the past with barely a dent.

His grandmother smiled and patted his leg. “All will be well, dear. Don’t you worry.” She rose from her chair, turned and folded it, heading towards the hatch obviously go inside. “Don’t stay out too long.”

The wind tousled John’s hair as he stared up at the damage to his ‘bird.

He had no words.

-o-o-o-

Next

[stars-trash-18]

Adventures of Mando and his girlfriend chapter 4

A/N I think I forgot to mention that this fic series has absolutely NO order. My brain skips around so ya’ll can buckle up and enjoy the ride of how I think these adventures go, think of it as a ride Yoda built, backwards. Also I write a female character since this is me shamelessly writing myself into this universe. I’m working on a non-binary story but I need to do some research before I release it.

Trigger warning: injury, minor cursing, choking (not the kinky kind), blood, stitches, death (RIP Davan)

You were gonna kill someone, and that someone was a twi’lek who couldn’t keep her eyes off your man and had a laugh that sounded like a dying Bantha on helium. Apparently Mando could tell because he had to gently maneuver the large wrench out of your white-knuckled hand and hide it along with your other tools. (Mando to this day wonders how you pick up that wrench like it weighs nothing because he sometimes struggles to hold it with one hand like you do)

 “So where’d he drag you from, little mechanic, some back-water planet?” she asked, that stupid grin on her face making your blood boil. You don’t get angry but something about Xi’an made you beyond mad.

“Actually he dragged me from the imperial college, where’d he get you, a hutt’s whorehouse,” you bit back, as soon as those words let your mouth you had a blade to your throat but a durasteel shard to her’s (Din wondered where the hell you got it) The tension in the place could be cut with a lightsaber but Burrg laughed with glee watching two women fight. Mando and Mayfield quickly jumped in to break you up, they hated each other but both men knew that when women fought, they fought to the death. So Mando entrapped your arms in his and pulled you to your little work station that was behind the carbonite capsules.

“Y/N you need to calm down, Xi’an is doing what she does best and that’s getting under your skin,” he huffed, using his hands to turn your face to his, resting his forehead against yours so he had your full attention. You know he wasn’t mad, just stressed so you receded and relaxed in his hold. Resting your hand on the back of his neck and fiddling with the fabric there.

“I know Mando, but what she’s saying about you makes me wanna eat my wrench. She's disrespecting your entire creed and I can’t stand it,” you grumbled, feeling him tighten his embrace. You both stood there for a moment before you had to return to the others. 

Everything was fine for a few minutes before they tried to take his helmet off, revealing the child. You barely moved in front of him before Mayfield took him in his arms making your heart stop. 

“Did you two make this?” he jested, the child looking at you and stretching his arms for you to help him. At that moment Zero decided to drop out of hyperspace sending everybody into the walls, you barely managed to catch the child before Mando shoved you both to the floor and shielded you with his body. You and the child clung together until the shaking stopped. That droid better pray that he didn’t shake anything loose or you’ll use his limbs as towel racks.

“You alright little one, nothing hurt?” you cooed looking over the child for any injury, but finding none you placed him back in his room with his stuffed frog and moved to your station, collecting your knuckle dusters and a dataspike before making your way to the hatch.

-------------------------------Star Wars transition theme song---------------------------------

“I told you we shouldn’t have trusted them Mando, but do you listen to me, NO!” you ranted, punching his shoulder, only to regret it since it’s beskar. Now you’re trapped in a cell and might have broken your hand on your boyfriend’s beskar. Just great.

You admit everything was fine at first, sure you got pinned by republic droids, but you got to watch Mando take them down and that was hot. But then you ran into your old academy buddy Davan and Xi’an murdered him in front of you. After rescuing Xi’an’s hutt looking brother you and mando got shoved into the cell, you narrowly missed getting shot by Mando’s richoted shot. While lost in your own universe Mando managed to get a droid's arm to unlock the cell, you made a mental note to get better hand to hand training from Mando.

You both rushed through the ship to the control room, you took a moment to close Davan’s eyes before Mando shut the doors. 

“Pretty boy lock down the ship and take care of everyone else, I have a score to settle with Xi’an,” you said hopping up into the vents and disappearing.

----------------------------------------transition music-------------------------------------------

You crawled through the vents for a good few minutes trying to find the twi’lek and when you did you slipped your knuckle dusters on before dropping in behind her, her reflexes were faster than you thought because one of her knives grazed your cheek before you even regained balance. But you shook your shock off before taking a running leap at her, dodging her knives as you landed a good hit to her chest with your uncovered fist.

You moved around her like a violent dance, dodging her knives and landing a blow where you could. Xi’an’s knives nicked you several times, one of them went a little deeper on your side so you had blood pouring. The only sounds being the various hits the other lands, your grunts as you dodged, and Xi’an describing very lewd scenes of her and Mando (which you knew were fake but you hated how she disregarded his creed and only spoke of him as an object). 

She managed to dig a knife into your shoulder but when you ripped it out you threw caution to the wind and grabbed her lekku into your hand and twisted it like Gida taught you and yanked her head back, using your weight to throw you both to the floor, your knuckle duster landing harshly landing into her shoulder, you heard a sickening crack. She fought like a loth-cat and raked her nails down the other side of your face and used your shock to throw you off her and into the wall where she wrapped her hands around your throat.

“Mando can’t save you now little mechanic,” she seethed as she tightened her hand as you felt around your belt for anything. Hand landing on one of your little inventions, causing you to smirk much to her confusion as she loosened her grip slightly.

“I didn’t just study mechanics in the academy, I double majored as an explosives engineer ge’hutuun,” you choked out before quickly pressing a shock puck to the back of her neck and activating it. You got some of the electricity but you only enough to cause spots to dance in your eyes, while she was knocked out cold. Xi’ans body falling backwards as her muscles convulsed and you sucked in fresh air like a dying man.

You slid down the wall you had been pinned to moments beforehand, your eyes catching the reflection of your Mandalorian’s armor as he rushed over to you. His words were garbled together and you couldn’t focus on what he was saying before you blacked out.

-------time skip brought to you by my laziness of writing the rest of the scene---

When you woke back up again you found yourself on your makeshift cot in the cargo hold. Your face burning with the telltale signs of bacta on the nail marks. You dragged yourself to sit upright but hissed as you felt the stitches in your shoulder rip open and the blood seep out onto your shirt. The sounds of you waking up must have reached the Mandalorian because he quickly made his way over to you and rested a gloved hand to your face, his thumb gently brushing over the stitches where the knife sliced into your cheek.

“What happened mando,” you asked, whining when he went to pull his hand away.

“What happened Cyare, was you fighting like hell against Xi’an and winning,” he said pridefully, before being replaced with worry as he saw the blood blooming on your shoulder, “you got several nicks that the bacta closed but your shoulder and cheek had to be stitched, i’m sorry but I have to lift your shirt to repair the stiches,” he noted. You blushed at his care and consideration for your privacy, helping him remove your shirt so that only your breast band remained. He went to work silently for a moment, answering some of your questions after you passed out.

“ I saw from the cameras that she was taunting you and you answered them, you never answered taunts,” he observed as he took the broken stitches out and thread the needle.

His obvious inquiry caused you to suck in a breath before replying, “she wasn’t taunting exactly she was saying lewd things about you, about what you two supposedly did back in the day and it angered me,” you paused to bite back a groan as you felt the needle dig in. “she was insulting you when she was describing what she was, she insulted your creed and I couldn’t handle that, insults to me are one thing but insults to you are another,” you explained as Mando continued until he was done stitching.

Mando didn’t say anything while he helped wrap your shoulder and gave you one of his shirts since all of yours were dirty. When he did finally speak he rested his helmet to your forehead, “thank you but next time please try not to get hurt so bad,” he breathed before pulling away and moving towards the ladder.

“Please you enjoyed watching me kick her ass,” you jested, a smile overtaking your face to lighten the heavy mood. Din just groaned and tilted his head down before climbing up, leaving you to inhale his scent from your new shirt (he’s never getting it back now).

Mando would never admit it, but he did find it a little hot to watch you handle yourself like you did. That he felt himself heat up listening to you spit out that Mando’an insult before outsmarting your target. He always found you beautiful, but watching you fight and outsmart Xi’an the way you did made you even more attractive to him. He thanked the universe for letting you run into him in the blaze of fire that you did on Canto Bight.

Taglist: @soradragon

[capricornus-rex]

A Test of Wills (7 - End)

Requested by Anon. Prompt:

What about...Cal x reader fic, getting stuck on Jakku because the Mantis needs repairs?

Cal Kestis x Reader

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | Masterlist

7 of 7

From your periphery, you hear the humming sound of Rani’s landspeeder—it was the only vehicle that made that particular noise. You saw that Rani had a passenger: it was Cal.

He was dismounting the vehicle when you came rushing towards him.

“Cal?”

“Hey, [y/n],”

You caught his arms, supported him as he was still in pain.

“You should’ve just waited for me, you know that?” You scoffed.

An awkward pause lingered, you didn’t know what to say or where to start.

“Rani told me everything. Thank you… for saving my life,”

“I’m sorry it got you into this mess—my­ mess,” you mumbled under your breath, ashamed.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. For what it’s worth, I should be the one apologizing. I just didn’t want you getting hurt again like in your past,”

You didn’t speak anymore, you caressed his cheek and beckoned him to follow you to the cart full of parts; the three of you approached Unkar’s errand boy and double-checked the parts you asked for. The errand boy hooked a tow cable onto the landspeeder’s winch, you tipped the helper, and sped out of the outpost.

Greez and Cere huffed out sighs of relief when they finally saw you and Cal come back to the ship—with the parts, no less. You even introduced Rani to the rest of the crew, Merrin especially had an endearing curiosity towards your friend. Rani helped you load in the parts into the Mantis and put it down in the engine room. She was impressed with the interior of the ship as she strode in carrying the parts in her arms.

“I guess this is where we part ways again, Rani,” you said in a melancholic tone.

“Hey, I’ll see you on the other side of the galaxy—like we always do,”

“Thank you again for your help, my friend. We couldn’t have done it without you,”

Rani smiled back and clapped your shoulder, she turned to Cal, “Take care of her, will you?”

“Of course. But I think she’s pretty busy taking care of me,”

Rani heartily laughed at Cal’s response. You embraced your friend one last time before she left the Mantis.

The sound of her landspeeder receded into the distance; as for you, there was work to be done. You volunteered to crawl into the narrow gap of the engine while Cal hands over the parts you needed.

Cal found you awfully quiet while you worked. He sensed the guilt within you and the anger that you’ve imposed on yourself.

“You still mad at me for not waiting for you?”

No answer. Your hand poked out of the open and pointed to the wrench. You got impatient after three seconds until Cal willingly handed it over and followed up with another question.

“Still mad at me for sneaking out?”

You shake your head while you fitted the first power cell into the hatch. You asked for the next power cell but Cal didn’t hand it over; you tilt your head up and see him leaning against the thin bannister that separates the quarters from the engine hatch.

“Come on, Cal, give it to me,”

You hopelessly hopped up with your arm extending upward.

“Don’t make me come up there!”

“Or?” he cooed, waving the power cell in your face tauntingly.

“I’ll pull you by the legs and make you land on your ass so hard you’re gonna ache all over again,”

Cal didn’t seem to be intimidated by that threat, although the thought of aching all over again somehow scared him. He almost felt like an old man with the sore joints and limbs. You hopped again, but Cal easily dodged your grasp, the part is still within his clutches.

“Ah-ah-ah, come on, you weren’t even answering my questions!”

You sighed in defeat. Attempting to snatch the power cell from his hands would be too difficult—he literally has the high ground, while you’re inside the engine hatch of the ship.

“I’m not mad. Just upset. Upset that you had to go into the ring when you shouldn’t be,”

“You weren’t exactly doing a good job in hiding your intentions,”

“But I never said anything!”

“Uh-huh, but your mind did. You tend to forget that your feelings and thoughts are as vocal as they can be, especially when you’re—what’s in a word?—passionate about something.”

“Really, Cal?”

Your response was both a general reaction to both his child-like way of stalling you from work and his colorful choice of word. He gave up and then handed over the part, to which you gave a grateful smile—albeit having a mischievous hint in it—and continued on with your work.

The metal gave out loud clangs as you tried to fit together the parts like a jigsaw puzzle.

“What the—I don’t get it!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, this one power cell won’t budge in. I put it in the same way I did with the first one, though. Strange.”

Cal jumped into the engine hatch. You hugged the wall while Cal examined the power cell, he loosened the clamps and tried putting the power cell in a different side. Obviously, with the both of you there, the engine hatch was a tight squeeze.

“Here we go, you didn’t fully loosen the clamp on the bottom side—that’s why it won’t budge in,”

“Oh, my bad,”

“The calibration tube needs a bit of refitting too. Hand me the soldering iron, will you?”

“Sure,”

As you stand on the tip of your toes, half of your face barely pops out in the open but you can still see the tools lying about. You reached for the soldering iron and fall flat on your feet again. Just as when you were about to turn around, it almost came out of nowhere—in a split second, a bright spark nearly blinded you and the electricity crackling took you by surprise.

Cal suddenly trapped you with his hands stuck to the wall on both of your sides, shielding you from the wild crackling with the broad of his back, and his chest blocking your view from the blinding light.

“I hope you didn’t damage anything. I want neither of us to fight again!” you exclaimed.

“Sorry. Don’t worry,” Cal slowly pulled away and realized that there were only a few inches between the two of you. “It was just a circuit that kinda… hotwired.”

“Did it?”

“Come on, we can find another part if ever,” he tried to console you, the volume of his voice now hushed and secretive.

“It won’t be that easy,”

“What’s so bad about that? I think I can handle myself pretty well,” he smirked confidently.

You chuckled in a scoffing manner and then rolled your eyes, “Yeah, and be like a scoundrel like the rest of them out there?”

“You don’t like a bad boy?”

You shrug, avoiding his gaze shifting between your eyes and your lips as he nestled your chin atop the knuckle of his thumb.

“Depends…”

“Oh, depends,” he echoed.

He slowly tilts your chin up to his level, your heart was racing—any moment now it could burst right out of your chest—and gets faster with every second that Cal closes in.

“Cal, not now—”

You were cut off by the brush of his lips against yours; the grip of your fingers around the soldering iron’s handle was loosening up. Cal’s one hand slithered down from the wall, tracing your curves downward until he secured your waist; he pulled you in, your hip brushed against his crotch, he wanted to make sure you could feel it. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t even realize your leg was rubbing up against his thigh, your flesh sank as his bare fingers groped you and the intensity of his lips rose.

It was unsure who between the two of you withdrew first. You pulled away, returning to your senses and catching your breath—all the while your heart is still pounding through your breast; there was the brief moment filled with gasps, while you tried to bring feeling back to your numbed fingers around the soldering iron.

“Well,” you cleared your throat. “I think I should get the hyperspace compressor fitted in the cockpit now.”

You slipped under the other arm that Cal still had planted to the wall. The side of your arm hid half of your face, there you smiled and pursed your lips in secretly as you climbed out of the engine hatch. Before leaving the engine room, you peek through the banister’s gaps.

“Oh and for the record, we’re good. See you at dinner!” You winked.

Cal listened to your footsteps until they faded out. He looked blankly at the floor and smiled to himself like a dork. He bit his lip while smiling and putting away the tools.

[experimentalmadness]

Cin Vhetin Ch. 12: Breakout

Synopsis: Din Djarin is hunted by a new mercenary, when they are forced to work together they slowly realize they are stronger together than apart.

Chapter Summary:  Zethu and Cara help Din Djarin and the child escape Imperial custody. 

Pairing: Din x OC/Reader (however you prefer to read it)

Masterlist: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11

Ao3 Link

“I’ve scrambled our signal,” Zethu grunted. “Are we up past their viewports yet?”

“Almost,” Cara said through gritted teeth as the two of them tried to occupy the same space. 

Zethu was hovering over the controls, balancing precariously as the ship tilted into a sharp climb. Two pairs of hands were better than one in a time like this. Cara focused on getting them up and over the lone Star Destroyer while Zethu prayed she had hidden their signal in time. The damn ship had come out of nowhere as soon as they had past planet Lasan. They hadn’t even seen it at first hovering in dark space. 

Zethu did not feel any better about being right. 

“I don’t think they spotted us,” Cara exhaled in relief. 

They hovered well behind the stern of the Destroyer, out of the line of sight of most viewports. After a few more tense moments of silence, Zethu gave a nod of agreement and stepped back from the controls, letting Cara up from the pilot’s seat. 

“How did you know they’d be here?” She asked with a jab to her chest. 

“You should be more focused on how we get in,” Zethu moved the accusatory finger away from her as she made her way to the ladder. 

Cara snorted like that was the easiest question in the world to answer. “Auxiliary port.”

“What?”

“Open vents right below where I parked us. I open the hatch and we have about 6 seconds when the vent opens beneath us. That’s when we jump.”

“That’s great, how do we get back out?” Zethu imagined that if she could carry every single blaster rifle Greef had given them before they left Nevarro it still wouldn’t be enough to take out every Imp in the Destroyer. 

“Figured we’d improvise,” Cara grunted as she landed in the belly of the ship right behind Zethu. 

“Oh, I hate the sound of that,” Zethu laughed wrly as she tossed Cara a blaster and a couple of detonators. 

“Not much choice. You ready?” Cara’s hand was inches from the hatch doors. 

No she was not. All of this was so wildly beyond her Zethu felt as if a scream was stuck halfway up her throat. Taking on an entire Star Destroyer with just one ex-Rebel soldier? Rescuing a bounty that had already been paid for? This was suicide. No, worse, it was crawling with insanity. She already felt exhausted just from the hyperspace trip over. No time to dwell on that, or why her instincts seemed to be consuming her. Zethu gave Cara a nod and the hatch split open with a rush of oxygen. 

Zethu sucked in a breath as the ship depressurized only slightly. With the hatch over the ventilation ports, there technically was air still pumping up through the opening. Barely. She watched as the narrow opening shut and closed to the count of exactly 6 seconds as Cara had predicted. Cara was about to make the jump when Zethu shot out a hand to stop her. The soldier looked rightly annoyed, but Zethu signed for her to wait. 

There were troopers in the hall below. She knew that. She must have...she didn’t know...seen the whites of their armor in the quick flash of the port. Air was getting thin, and Cara was getting impatient judging from how she kept hitting her arm. 

They were gone. 

But Zethu’s headache was back. 

She released Cara and the soldier went diving right through the port as it closed swiftly behind her. Zethu made her own count before dropping in after. The sterile gray bleakness of the Imperial ship stood out in stark contrast with the grimey, well-lived in Razor Crest. They both had blasters out, but the corridor was entirely empty, thank the stars. Distant droid chatter and the hum of engines were the only sound in the area. The two women gave an understanding nod and began a steady, stealthy march ahead. 

As much as Zethu knew the Rebel soldier hated her, Cara Dune fell into sync without a word. When they turned corners, they both knew to instinctually take up either end of the curve to watch their backs. And when Cara wanted to shoot out the surveillance cameras, Zethu was able to silently convince her to simply let her hack them into repeating their footage. 

“This would be easier with a droid,” Cara mumbled out of the side of her mouth as the walked. 

“Holding cells are always at the lowest end,” Zethu whispered. “I don’t need a droid to show me a map for that.”

“Stars, it’s so quiet,” Cara steadied her grip on the blaster. “Trust me, I’m not complaining this isn’t exactly a full batallion, but I was expecting—you know—at least a little more resistance.”

“I’ll take quiet anxiety over fighting a  whole legion of troopers any day,” Zethu said as they took a sloping corridor down the next level. “Not all of us are soldiers.”

So saying Cara slammed Zethu back against the corner of the wall just as a block of stormtroopers went marching past the hallway adjacent to them. Once they passed they resumed their search. “So, I look for Din and you get the kid?” Zethu whispered.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near him, merc.”

“Ok, I get the kid and you get Din, how’s that?” 

“I hate it even more,” Cara grunted. 

“Well which do you hate less?” Zethu snapped as they approached the detention levels. “Because we’re going to cover more ground if we split our efforts. And how many times do I have to tell you, this isn’t a set up?”

“If it wasn’t for you neither of them would be in this situation. Fine, you get the kid. I’ll get Din. We'll meet back here at the entrance to the lifts.”

The detention level was wide and as silent as the rest of the ship. When the corridor branched into two separate hallways Cara went right and Zethu left. They were flying blind. There was no good indicator to predict if Cara would run into Din’s cell first or the child’s. She had to know that, but Zethu supposed the intention of finding him ahead of her was what mattered. Whatever helped her get the job done. As she turned down another blind corner she stumbled back quickly at the sight of three troopers guarded a cell block door. Given the state of the mostly empty Destroyer, a guarded cell seemed a likely spot to find either the kid or Din. 

Three of them, only one of her. Honestly, it didn’t even seem fair. The only problem was the hall was open with no places to hide as she made her approach. She’d risk running, but not even she was that fast. At least one of the soldiers could trip an alarm. She sheathed her blaster and pulled out one of the smoke grenades attached to her belt, and lobbed it as far as she could down the hall, praying that the sound wouldn’t also set another alarm off. Zethu took a deep breath as the thick, cloying smoke obscured the hallway. 

At the first exclamation of one of the stormtroopers she sprinted as fast as she could towards them, a vibroblade in either hand. She did not need to see her prey to know exactly where they were. Instinct took over. She brought her first blade up just under the gap between the man’s chestplate heard him gurgle out a death rattle before she spun away, tearing the blade free and bringing the alternate blade slamming down into the second trooper’s helmet. Bone and plastoid crunched against it. She didn’t have time to contemplate how Din Djarin’s blade could cut through armor. The third trooper had the advantage of being the last to fall. He was able to back away from her and fire off a single, damning shot. 

Zethu hissed in anger before shoving the trooper’s dying comrade hard into him, slamming him back against the hall. She drove both blades down on either side of his collar. He died without making another sound. 

Zethu waited for what felt like an impossibly long time in the silence. No alarms sounded. Either the blaster fire wasn’t loud enough to call down another patrol, or something was very wrong here. She’d deal with whatever came. The smoke was clearing in the hall now and Zethu waved tendrils of the gray mist aside as she pressed her face up against the cell doors. “Din?”

No response. Either he couldn’t hear her, he was unconscious, or she had the kid’s cell. Grabbing one of the fallen troopers hands she pressed it up against the scanner lock. Please be high enough level security, please be high enough level security. 

The cell door slid open with the galaxy’s most satisfying click and Zethu gasped in a breath of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her blades were still out in either hand as she stepped inside. The room looked more like a medical exam wing than a prison cell. A gurney with a vital signs monitor was against the far wall, the monitor emitting a few faint beeps. 

“Hey there, lil’ bug,” Zethu sheathed her weapons at the sleeping child’s face. What the hell were those imp freaks doing to the kid? It was strapped up in a metal collar, and Zethu could hardly understand the data scrolling up on the datapad along its front. She wrenched the collar off and scooped the baby up in one hand. The vital signs monitor quietly going about its job flatlined without its reading before it began screeching out a shrill, whirling high-pitched alarm and the hallway lights outside went red. 

***

The hatch was too small to fit a blaster through and there were no patrolling droids here to helpful hack through the inner lock. That hadn’t stopped Din from trying to force a way out since he got here. 

The cell door was battered, but the lock held firm. He had tried to look for a weak point in the seams of the door with no luck. His shoulders hurt from when desperation had kicked in and he had tried to bodily slam against them futilely. What could the rest of the imps be doing with the kid right now? It was the same question that had raced through him every single hour since being tossed in here. When he had broken the kid out of Imperial hold the first time they had had him strapped to some sort of machine. That Doctor Pershing had said he was the only reason the kid was still alive. 

Maybe the child was already dead…

Din took another run into the door, slamming full force into it with a grunt. He’d blow the entire Destroyer to atoms if that was true. But not before he had Gideon’s head. And then after, he’d go after the merc responsible for this. 

He did not want to think about Zethu Desh, but the Offshoot’s face kept springing unbidden into his mind’s eye. He’d let his guard down. And she, dangerous and cunning as ever, had counted on it. Must have counted on it. He hit the door with a gloved fists as the memory of sad, gray eyes and her huddled, bereft form wormed into his head. Just an act, he reminded himself. And look where that had gotten him. 

Failure was the fear that dogged most Mandalorians. Failure of clan, of family, of self. The child had been counting on him to keep it safe, and he had failed. 

He almost wished the imps would just come and interrogate him already. 

He tried again to brute force the doors. Pointless.

“Well, at least you made this easy on me with all the noise,” came the most impossible voice from outside the cell.

“Cara?!” He pressed his helmet against the thin slates, straining to catch a glimpse of his friend. He could just make out her blue-green armor and the blaster rifle at her side. Modulated, rough later escaped him. “How?”

“Escape now, questions later,” Cara winked. “Stand back.”

Din pulled away from the door as she fired on the lock. The cell slid open with a splintering whine and he ran to his friend, the both of them clasping arms. “Crazy bastard, thought you’d have already broken out and I’d find you hijacking this ship,” Cara grinned, relief evident on her face. 

“Had to give you time to catch up, didn’t I?” Din was already moving. The imps had taken his weapons and he had had enough wherewithal to watch which direction they had stored them. The cell at the furthest end of the detention block was patrolled by four troopers, but Cara didn’t need a second’s excuse to take them out. It wasn’t quiet, but with no one else to raise alarms it didn’t matter. 

Getting the doors open and gathering up his things, Din felt a small amount of confidence return. “Did you find the kid?” he asked, clipping his blaster to his belt and sheathing the vibroblades. He grimaced as he hefted the blade he had exchanged with Zethu. It had been a mark of respect for her endurance and fighting prowess. Now, he’d take the first chance he had to bury her blade into her heart. 

“We’re on it,” Cara replied, kicking the corpse of a trooper aside to take his fallen blaster. 

We. 

“Who else is with you?” Had to be Karga, who else would be crazy enough to infiltrate a Destroyer full of Imperials? “Cara, how did you even know where I was?”

The shriek of an alarm set them both at high alert, weapons out. The stark white of the ship’s halls went red with the emergency lights. A blaster shot echoed from the far end of the detention block and the body of a stormtrooper went skidding into view, accompanied by a familiar, spine-rattling battle growl. 

To Din’s surprise Cara almost looked relaxed as she loosened her grip on her weapon and gestured with a roll of her eyes down the hall. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zethu Desh came careening down the hall, blaster in one hand and a carefully protected bundle in the other. The child. She had the child. Her eyes reflected the red from the alarms as she caught sight of him. Questions burst into his brain like laster fire but the only one he managed to speak aloud was: “You came back?”

She looked as stunned as he did, uncomfortably shifting her blaster in one hand and the kid in the other. Cara spoke for them both. “Came barrelling into Nevarro City, nearly tore her head off. You can have the honors later, but let’s get out of here before more troops come?”

Din took the kid from Zethu. It was fine. Sleeping. No visible markings or wounds that he could see. Second ago he had wanted to murder her. She stood silently before him, weapon out but not aimed for him. Her silver hair fell in front of her face, she could not or would not look up at him. Contrition was not something he ever expected to see on the normally brash and reckless merc. He had spent the last several days playing their reunion over and over again. Most of them ended with a blade in her throat, or a blaster through her heart. In none of those fantasies did he ever gently tilt her head up, look her in the eye and say, “Thank you.”

Zethu looked more shocked by that than by finding him alive. “You can...you can…” she seemed to be fumbling over herself. “You can thank or kill me later when we’re outta here,” and with that she turned to flank Cara at the end of the hall. 

The sound of pounding, approaching footsteps forced Din into action. He shifted his cloak so that it covered the kid, tucking him securely under his arm to provide some cover, he joined the two women. 

“Time to improvise?” Zethu asked. 

“If we can make it back to the airlock I can give you a boost up to keep the vent open,” Cara shouted as she fired off a shot. 

“Then we’ll need a clear path.”

Zethu launched herself into the fray. If the halls had been deceptively quiet they were no longer. A dozen guards stood between them and freedom. Din caught sight of the grim, deadly smile on Zethu’s face as she charged at them. The first guard she caught with the end of the blaster, batting him out of the way before she fired at the second wave. “Gideon send you out here to do his dirty work?” she taunted. “Holed up somewhere nice and safe? Too scared to say hello to an old friend?”

Din fell into step with Cara as they provided covering fire. This was the Zethu he remembered, racing through a hail of plasma bolts, killing indiscriminately and efficiently, no care at all for injuries—a bolt grazed her shoulder and it only seemed to make her angrier. It still felt surreal, her being here. The kid now safely back with him. He didn’t register the imps that fell before them, the fighting came instinctively. 

Cara and Zethu seemed to know where they were heading, tracing a path to the upper detention levels and beyond.  

“You sure about this?” Zethu shouted as they approached the airlock. 

“Nope!” Cara replied, downing another trooper. 

They moved in surprising tandem. Zethu crouched low and as Cara charged at her, she boosted her up through the vent as it opened. “Got it!” Cara grunted as she hauled herself back up onto….his ship? They had brought his ship out here? No time to dwell on it now, another wave of troopers was approaching fast. 

“Go!” Zethu snarled at him. “I can hold them off.”

For half a second Din thought about leaving her behind. It’s what she deserved, wasn’t it? But then he’d never know why she had come back. The kid stirred in his arms. And hadn’t he left this little one behind once before? 

“We’re getting out of here, together.” Din grabbed her and pulled her towards him, firing off the cabled grappling hook from his vambrace as the airlock vent opened once again. He felt the rush of air as it snapped shut, tearing off the very edge of his cloak and Cara lunged forward to decouple the Razor Crest from the vent. 

Silence. The alarm still rang in his ears, but they were safe. And free. 

“You can let go of me now.”

Din unwound the arm he had around Zethu’s shoulders. She took a step back, holstering her blaster. “Is the kid alright?”

He pulled the sleeping child free of the cloak. “I think he just needs to rest.”

“Good on him, but if we don’t get a move on we’re gonna be space trash soon. I wanna be well out into hyperspace before the imps can get to their ships!” Cara was already moving towards the cockpit. “You can have your inevitable fight later, but right now, let’s get the hell out of here!”

[four-white-trees]

Hustle and Grind (part three - final)

Szilb gave DJ a rather curt send-off, but he still graciously provided the coordinates to his weapons dealer. DJ’s ship may not have been space travel-ready, but it managed to get him to a surprisingly secluded piece of Nar Shaddaa a couple thousand kilometers from Szilb’s home.

Touching his ship down at the edge of what looked like a very large junkyard, DJ prepared himself to meet with this dealer. He had a blaster but no ammo for it; nonetheless, he stuck it in its holster. When fortune favored him, DJ didn’t need ammo.

As of lately, fortune had not looked on DJ kindly. Still, fortune’s nature was change, and surely DJ was due for a change in fortune any time now.

Leaving his heavy coat in the ship, DJ stepped out of his ship and into the muggy air. He wasn’t sure he had ever stopped sweating since his sauna session with Szilb, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop sweating again. Perhaps he would gradually become a slimy slugman himself if he kept this up. The absurd thought made him smile as he walked into the junkyard.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around. No one sentient at least. Very large, slimy, ugly rodents rummaged through the metal scrap piled to the sky around the huge lot. DJ eyed several scrapped parts sticking out of the piles, recognizing them as useful for his own ship, or as rare pieces he could no doubt either use or sell for a pretty penny. Certainly this lot had to have some sort of security, even if he hadn’t encountered it yet. Nonetheless his fingers were feeling mighty sticky…

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and DJ spied a man rummaging through some scrap a few hundred yards away. He headed toward the man, but froze when he got closer and the man straightened up.

He was entirely naked. A human, his skin looked well-tanned from exposure. He was in exceptional shape, certainly not anyone DJ would want to tangle with hand-to-hand, clothed or not. The man was bald—in fact, his whole body looked pretty hairless, and he possessed a robotic right arm.

The man spotted DJ, and he approached. As he got closer, DJ saw he was young—probably half DJ’s age or more, although his skin looked to be aging prematurely.

“Whach’a want, stranger?” the man asked, his voice thick with a drawl.

DJ just met the man’s eyes and tried not to think about anything below his face. “Szilb sent-t-t me. About w-w-weapons.”

“Szilb, huh?” the man said. He put his mechanical hand to his chin in a thoughtful way. “Right, Szilb did send a message. Well. What’s yer name, stranger?”

“Call me DJ,” DJ responded.

“Call ya, huh?” the man said, eyeing DJ closely. “So that ain’t yer name?”

“It’s the name I g-g-go by,” DJ said, maintaining a light air despite all his mental alarms going off about this guy.

“Ah! I follow ya now,” the man said, smiling. It was not a comforting smile. Every tooth in his maw was sharpened to a point. “Well, then ya can call me AJ.”

“AJ. Quite a c-c-coincidence,” DJ said.

“My man, there ain’t no such thing,” AJ said, moving beside DJ and putting his robotic arm around DJ’s shoulders. “Come along now. We’ll have some ice-cold tea and we can talk about all them weapons ya want.”

They walked along the junkyard together. DJ wanted nothing more than to pull away from AJ, but AJ held him in a vice grip. Only when they had moved deeper within the junkyard to what looked like a makeshift hut built of metal sheeting did AJ release DJ.

“Don’t-t-t get many visit-t-tors, huh?” DJ asked as the nude man strode into his hut.

“Not as many as I’d’a like,” AJ called. “But the boss provides.”

DJ didn’t have time to wonder what that meant when AJ emerged from his hut holding an extremely large sledgehammer. At first DJ figured it was for busting apart scrap—until he realized AJ was swinging it at DJ’s head.

DJ dropped down, barely missing getting his head caved in, and he scrambled away. AJ was on him in a flash, moving way too fast in the humidity. DJ grabbed the shaft of the sledgehammer, grappling with AJ over it for a moment before AJ pushed DJ up against a pile of shredded sheet metal. Sharp ends pressed into DJ’s back, tearing the material of his shirt and into his skin.

AJ was bigger and heavier than DJ, and he pressed down on him more, positioning the shaft of the sledgehammer right over DJ’s throat. DJ chanced to let go of the shaft and groped behind him for the first piece of junk he could grasp. He thrust whatever it was into AJ’s shoulder, cutting his own hand in the process, but it worked—AJ howled in pain and DJ was able to push him away. DJ pulled away from the junk pile and put some distance between himself and AJ, although he didn’t dare turn his back to the madman.

AJ was panting, bright red blood oozing out of his shoulder. There was a bloody handprint on his chest where DJ pushed him, and AJ touched the handprint, licking the blood off his finger. “You taste purty good, boy,” AJ drawled. “I’ll haveta send the boss a thank-you card for ya.”

Drawing his blaster, DJ aimed it at AJ, whose eyes went to the blaster immediately. “I ain’t on th-the menu,” DJ growled. AJ dropped the sledgehammer and held his hands above his head—a rather empty gesture for someone nude, but appreciated nonetheless—but he smiled again.

“You got fight in ya,” AJ said, delighted. “I like a good fight.”

DJ knew exactly where his ship was. He saw the path they had taken clear in his mind. He just needed to get there. AJ’s smile remained in place, a creepy grin plastered onto that tan, insane face. “You’re g-g-gonna have to make new d-d-dinner plans,” DJ said, then turned tail and ran.

AJ laughed, a screaming peel of a cackle. DJ didn’t need to look behind him to know AJ was giving chase. Lungs burning, DJ ran as fast as his legs would take him, leaping over scrap metal on the ground and ducking under places where the scrap stuck out ready to behead or skewer him.

His ship came into sight, and DJ doubled down on his sprint. He heard AJ’s heavy footfalls close behind him, but he made it home. DJ jumped into his ship, slammed the hatch closed and ensured it locked. He jumped into the pilot seat, panting, black dots in his vision. He was so dizzy from exhaustion he didn’t immediately realize nothing happened when tried to power the ship on.

There was a grinding, crunching sound, and a particularly huge rodent crawled out of a vent, circuits in its drooling mouth. DJ stared at the creature for a moment, his exhausted brain catching up to the fact that his ship had been eaten from the inside.

A loud bang jolted DJ back. AJ was at the hatch, slamming that sledgehammer into it. DJ could see where the metal bent with every swing. He glanced around, his mind racing. Truth be told, DJ had “picked up” this ship from the selection of ships around the Nar Shaddaa casinos. Evidently he’d chosen a pacifist’s ship, as there was nothing in that tiny thing to use as a weapon beyond a wrench. Hardly match for a nutcase brandishing a sledgehammer.

The hatch buckled, and DJ saw AJ reach in and began to pull the metal door away. DJ was cornered, but he was not defenseless. It was immensely difficult, in such as state he was in, for DJ to focus on the energy surrounding AJ, particularly at his throat.

Somewhere in his mind, there was a part of him that felt a wave of guilt. He heard the whispers of people from a lifetime ago warning him against what he was about to do. The old mechanisms created by years of training were still there, as strong as ever.

But those people no longer existed. The person DJ used to be no longer existed. Now it was either DJ or AJ, and DJ knew there could only be one outcome to this situation.

As soon as AJ pulled that hatch off its hinges and put his bald head through the opening, DJ reached out through the Force and squeezed.

-

Lyra pushed that little skip as fast as it could go, and maybe even faster. It had been hours since DJ left. In all likelihood, the Butcher had already had his way with him. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She had to hold onto the hope that DJ was as much of a survivor as he always boasted of being.

She had become suspicious when she had observed Szilb composing a message to his nephew Ungu. He had recorded it in Huttese, and Lyra had picked up enough of it to know he wasn’t talking about securing the weapons Ungu had asked for.

After Szilb had retired for the night, Lyra wormed her way into his computer. Funnily enough, the techniques she had used to bypass the security protocols were things she had picked up from DJ over time. She had managed to find the coordinates Szilb had given to DJ.

Szilb had sent DJ right to the Butcher’s doorstep.

The Butcher was Szilb’s go-to man for anyone he wanted taken care of. Lyra had no idea where Szilb had met such an extremely insane and dangerous person, but anyone Szilb sent to the junkyard never came back.

The junkyard was in view, and Lyra only gunned the engines of the skip more.  It shuddered a little but held steady as she scanned for lifeforms on the ground. She found one human one, unmoving, on the very edge of the junkyard.

Lyra had bounded out of the ship almost before it touched down. There was DJ’s ship, she saw, and in the shade of it, DJ himself sitting with his back to her. She rushed to his side, and she discovered him chowing down on some extremely foul-smelling meat.

Backing away, she cried, “What the hell are you eating?!”

DJ shrugged. “Dunno what-t-t they’re called,” he said nonchalantly between bites. “But this one at-t-te my ship, so I’m just ret-t-turnin’ the favor.”

Glancing around, Lyra said, “We should get out of here.”

“Worried?” DJ asked, looking up at her. Lyra shook her head, but DJ knew she was lying. “We don’t-t-t gotta hurry,” he said, then nodded to his ship. “See for yourself.”

Lyra looked at the hatch, or what had been the hatch of the ship. It looked as if it had been peeled off with a giant can opener. Just inside she saw a pair of bare tan legs dangling out, motionless. She gasped. “Is he…?”

DJ only chuckled in response. “The b-b-back meat ain’t too bad,” DJ said, holding up some of that reeking meat to her.

Lyra felt faint. “I’ll wait in the ship,” she said, and she slowly retreated back to her skip. When she got to the hatch, DJ sat up on his knees to look at her.

“Hey, Lyra,” he said, getting her attention. “We’re square now, yeah?” For a moment, Lyra wasn’t sure what he was talking about. But she quickly recalled when he said, “Cuz I sure as hell ain’t-t-t getting’ p-p-paid enough for this.”  

[youre-on-a-starship]

Prompt: “*softly* will the last imagine you posted, where you meet the triumvirate on the enterprise, have a sequel?” - Anon

Word Count: 3,046

Warnings: Explosion, mentions of being sucked into space.

Author’s Note: This one took a little longer than anticipated, but I think it turned out really well. I’m not familiar with polyamory personally, so I hope it sounds authentic. As always, constructive feedback is welcome! I hope you enjoy this one!

---

A warm arm snaked around your middle and pulled you in close. Groaning, you turned your head to the side and inhaled. It was Leonard.

“What time is it?” you mumbled.

He grunted in response. Leonard hated waking up on his day off.

“The time is 0500.”

You turned and saw Spock on the far end of the room making coffee with his back to you. Reaching up, you patted Leonard’s arm.

“I need to get up.”

Leonard groaned quietly and squeezed you before pulling his arm back. You swung your legs off the edge of the bed and stretched before getting up. You padded across the room and sidled up behind Spock, wrapping your arms around his hips.

“Good morning,” you mumbled into his shirt.

“Good morning,” he said, sliding a cup of coffee down the counter for you.

“Thanks,” you let him go and picked up the coffee cup, taking a long drink.

“You are leading the warp core inspection today?” Spock asked, turning to face you as he drank his own cup.

“I was supposed to, but Scotty swapped with me at the last moment. He gets really nervous when it comes to that thing. I’ll be supervising the repairs on deck ten.”

“The less desirable option to be sure,” Spock remarked, looking past you at Leonard still on the bed.

“I learned a long time ago not to argue with that man about his warp core,” you waved your hand past your head. “He’s practically married to that thing.”

The light in the room flashed bright red and the sharp emergency siren echoed through the room.

Leonard growled loudly from the bed. You put your coffee cup on the counter and touched Spock’s arm as he brushed past you for the door.

“Mr. Spock, you’re needed on the bridge,” Jim’s voice came through Spock’s communicator.

“I am on my way, Captain,” Spock replied formally as he disappeared out the door.

“Come on, Leo, it’s time to go,” you smacked Leonard’s leg as you hurried past the bed before diving into the closet to find your uniform.

“I know,” Leonard grumbled.

You found his shirt first and you tossed it over your head.

“Thanks.”

“Y/L/N, where are you?” Scotty’s voice roared through your own communicator.

Stuffing your foot through one of the pant legs, you hopped around to go for your device.

“Here,” Leonard appeared next to you, holding out your communicator to you as he reached past your hip to grab a pair of pants.

“Those are Jim’s,” you said as you took the device.

“So?” Leonard tugged them on and kissed the side of your head before rushing out the door.

“I’m coming, Scotty, I won’t be a minute,” you did up the button with one hand and rifled through the clothes. Clothing for four made finding yours difficult some days, particularly because there was so much blue in the closet.

“Don’t be more, I need you down here.”

“Yeah,” you snapped the comm shut and shoved it in your pocket as you started wrenching clothes to the side.

A flash of red met you from the depths of the rack. You grabbed it and yanked, pulling it and two of Jim’s shirts free. Tunnelling through the trunk of the shirt, you hip-checked the panel at the door and ran for the engine room.

--

“Mr. Scott?” you shouted as you circled the warp core.

“Y/L/N, I need you to get down to ordnance, they’ve just been hit,” Scotty shouted from somewhere above you. You looked up and saw him leaning over the railing, his hair in disarray.

“Aye, Sir,” you shouted and ran back the way you came.

--

The ordnance bay was a mess. The blue translucent field at bulkhead B-26 was active, shielding the remaining officers from the massive hull breach beyond.

“Lieutenant Commander Y/L/N,” one of the officers called as he ran toward you.

“Lieutenant, where do you need me?” you asked, looking between the officers struggling with the torpedos and the hull breach.

“Would you help load? If we can’t fire back, that breach is going to be the least of our worries.”

You nodded and followed the officer back to his station where he reassigned one of the other officers to a different loading station before guiding you back a step as a two-man team heaved another torpedo into position on a pulley system.

Just as you put your hands on the side of the weapon a massive impact threw you from your feet. In the air tiny pieces of debris flew past you, some cutting through your uniform and into your skin. A gut-wrenching suction suddenly reversed your direction.

You screamed as you tried to orient yourself, watching people, devices, and debris fly by. Something heavy impacted your back, knocking the air from you.

As suddenly as you changed direction you dropped, skidding across the floor with residual energy before stopping seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

Your head spun as you opened your eyes and tried to figure out where you were. There was a voice somewhere in the din. Turning your body over, you saw a blue translucent sheet of light directlly behind you. The field for bulkhead B-24. The voice came again, loud and demanding.

“Ordnance, report!” it was Jim.

Clumsily arranging your hands below you you pushed yourself up, met by a blinding pain in your side. You forced yourself through it with a guttural cry.

“Bridge to Ordnance, are you reading us?” it was Chekov this time, and his voice was coming from the computer terminal. You limped to it and activated the comms.

“Ordnance here,” you groaned, fumbling above you for a handhold to keep yourself aloft.

“Report,” it was Jim’s voice again. “Y/N, what’s going on down there?”

“We’ve been hit again, Captain,” you groaned as you found the handle to the terminal’s maintenance hatch. It wouldn’t open without a code, so you wrapped your shaking fingers around it and helped your legs hold your body up. “Everything’s lost between B-28 and B-24, Sir.”

“Survivors?”

You looked around, counting only four unconscious officers in your line of sight.

“Not a lot, Sir.”

“We’re switching to phase cannons, can you get yourself out of there?”

Craning your neck you saw the only exit left available to you in this area of the bay. The door had been concavely dented by a large piece of debris from the blast.

“No, the only exit’s been destroyed.”

“Shit,” Jim hissed. “They’re targeting the torpedo bay, but if we stop firing on them, they might stop. Sit tight, stay safe, I’ll get security down to you as soon as I can.”

“I’ll collect the crew. Y/L/N, out,” you punched the comms and collapsed.

Heaving at the pain in your side, you twisted your neck to find the crew members in your line of sight. One of them was in the process of standing up and shaking his head.

“Ensign,” you tried to call out, but all that came out was a strangled moan.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he crawled over to you. “Y/L/N, you’re seriously hurt.”

“I know. Listen,” you swallowed, “I need you to find as many survivors as you can. We need to hole up in storage until security can get us out.”

“Why don’t we just leave?”

You nodded at the ruined door.

“That’s our only way out,” the Ensign ran a hand through his hair as he looked.

“I know, now listen, get everyone together, can you do that?” you laid a hand on the Ensign’s shoulder. He nodded. “Alright, I’m going to open the storage room, okay?”

Your thoughts faded as a fresh wave of pain caused your whole side to cramp. “Just get everyone together, alright?”

The Ensign got up and started trying to rouse the other officers on the floor.

You flopped onto your front and started dragging yourself along the deck plating to the storage room. You propped yourself up against the wall and reach up over your head, putting in your access code backwards and blind. After two attempts, the door opened.

Your vision blotted out as your whole body was engulfed in pain.

--

“Y/N? Y/N!”

“Leo?” you breathed, swimming back into the moment. You opened your eyes and you weren’t in the hallway anymore, but at the back of the storage closet.

“You blacked out about twenty minutes ago, are you alright?” he asked as he waved his tricorder over your middle section.

“I think so. What’s, ow!” you cried as you tried tensing your core muscles to move.

“Don’t,” he stopped scanning you for a moment to rest his knuckles gently on your chest. “Just sit still, you’ve got some shrapnel stuck in your side.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I won’t be, you know that,” he resumed scanning. “M’Benga can handle this, don’t worry.”

“How’s our ship?” you asked, looking around the room at the six other officers that were assembled and being checked by members of the medical team. M’Benga met your eyes from the other side of the Ensign who collected the crewmen. You realized he was eyeing Leonard, who strictly speaking shouldn’t be touching you in any medical way whatsoever.

“More or less in one piece. We got away and Jim’s figuring out what to do next,” Leonard explained, tucking his tricorder away.

“Tell him to call for help,” you winced as Leonard gingerly felt the injured flesh before opening his comms.

“Mr. Scott, two to beam to sickbay.”

“Hands off, until I get there, alright?” M’Benga warned.

“I know the rules,” Leonard growled, holding your hand as the transporter engaged.

--

“ - would be more logical to -”

“Would you shut up about logic? I haven’t had a second to think, I just want to see Y/N right now, alright?”

“Jim, I think Spock’s right - much as I hate to admit it. You need to rest yourself, you’re running on empty.”

“Would you three shut up for a second?” you groaned, cracking your eyelids open and looking between the three concerned men standing around your bed.

“Hey,” Jim said, switching to a suddenly soft tone, reaching out to touch your hair.

“How d’you feel?” Leonard asked, coming up on your other side.

Spock stood back a few paces but he watched you with what you were reasonably sure was concern.

“I’m fine,” you breathed, reassuring them as effectively as you could manage. “I’m just tired. What’s the status?”

“It’s over. The Reliant and Vigilance came for the assist and it’s all over now,” Jim said. “We’ve stopped for repairs. Scotty’s hopeful.”

“He’s never hopeful,” you said with a grin. “How are you guys? You’re all in one piece?”

“Right as rain, darlin’,” Leo said, stroking your arm.

“What about you? You’re awful quiet,” you looked at Spock.

“I have been supervising repairs remotely,” he answered, taking a step closer to the bed, his hands remaining firmly clasped behind his back.

“Can I move, or..?” you asked Leonard.

“Yeah, M’Benga put you back together, good as new.”

“You’re so lucky, you know that?” Jim breathed as he and Leonard snaked hands under your back to support you while you came up. You felt them layer their palms between your shoulder blades.

“I can barely remember what happened. Just remember getting tossed around,” you said, looking between your partners as they watched you finish waking up.

“The torpedo bay was hit. You got thrown from your station, which was what ended up saving you. The payload in your weapon lit up and blew a hole in the side of the ship. That triggered the force field which ultimately caught you,” Jim said. “I… I reviewed the surveillance footage.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?” you asked, touching his free arm. He and Leonard hadn’t let go of you. Spock took another step forward, sidling in behind Leonard, looking for the closeness of contact without actually reaching out.

“I have to do stuff that I don’t like sometimes,” Jim said, manipulating your hand so that his fingers twined with yours.

“I would have had to watch it in his stead,” Spock spoke up. “We decided that, since we are both emotionally involved, we would watch it together.”

“So you’re the only one who hasn’t seen what happened?” you looked sideways at Leonard.

“I made them show me.”

You cursed and let your head fall back.

“I love you all, but you’re idiots.”

“Yeah, well, we love you too,” Leonard moved his thumb on your back as he exchanged a look with Spock next to him. “What’s with you? You want to get in here or what?”

“I am content where I am, Leonard. Given the current circumstances, you and Jim require more physical comfort than I. Y/N,” he looked at you with those shockingly deep eyes as he spoke. “I must look in on the repairs. I will return later.”

“Thanks. You know what, take these two with you,” you pushed back against their palms and they helped you sit back against the bed. “Get them working. I’ll be out of here sooner rather than later, you won’t miss anything.”

“You sure?” Leonard asked, looking between you and Jim.

“Come on, Bones,” Jim reached across and swatted at Leonard’s arm, urging the doctor to follow him out.

“Just take your time, okay?” Leonard touched your hair and bent down to kiss you before he left.

Jim pursed his lips and backtracked to kiss you as well. He smirked with sad eyes as he stood back up and stepped to the door.

You winked at Spock as the other men joined him in the hall outside your room.

Jim wound his arms around Leonard as the doctor buried his face in the captain’s neck, clawing at the back of the yellow shirt. Spock bowed his head with his partners as the door to your room closed.

--

The three men came home together that night and found you laying in bed, your PADD on your chest, as you scrolled through some paperwork forwarded on with a “Thanks for not dying” message from Scotty.

“He let you leave?” Leonard asked incredulously.

“You know as well as he does that I don’t need to be there, Leonard,” you let your PADD fall onto your stomach as Jim hurried around the bed and sat next to you. “The man does good work. The dermal regenerator really helped, too.” Leonard shook his head watching Jim being so smiley at your return. The doctor left his things on the table and went to the replicator to make his last cup of coffee for the day.

“Leonard, you asked me to remind you -” Spock began as he touched Leonard’s back.

“I’m breaking the rules today.”

“You alright?” Jim murmured, half-laying next to you and kissing you softly, only pulling back a fraction to let you answer.

“I am,” you smiled up at him. “How about you three? I know Leo’s not okay.”

“Bones has been better,” Jim nodded, touching his forehead to yours. “Spock’s been a little more touchy-feely, too.”

“And you?” you reached up and brushed his cheek with your fingertips. “You’ve got more on your mind than just me, Love.”

Jim looked down at your lips and exhaled slowly, before sitting up and starting to remove his boots.

“I’m managing.”

“You should talk to someone.”

“I will. Once all this has calmed down, I will,” he arranged his boots next to the bedside table and pulled his shirt off, laying down next to you.

“Promise me,” you whispered, noticing Leonard peeking over Spock’s shoulder at the counter. The Vulcan had the doctor pinned by his hips to the kitchenette counter, his hands on Leonard’s waist and their temples pressed together. Leonard held his coffee up at an awkward angle out to the side, fingers viced around the rim of the mug.

“I promise,” Jim looked at your face before following your gaze.

“Well now you’ve gone and promised, I’m holding you to it now,” Leonard said causing Spock to look back over his shoulder.

“Perhaps it would be wise to take tomorrow off, Jim,” he said.

“Perhaps,” Jim nodded. “But it’s not going to happen.”

“Jim -” Leonard warned.

“Would you three let me do this on my own?” Jim pressed his hand over his eyes. “I’m capable of doing my damn job, thank you.”

Spock let Leonard go and padded to the bed, removing his shoes before sitting and reaching out to hold your hand.

Leonard followed and took a generous gulp of his drink before sitting next to Jim, carding his fingers through the younger man’s hair.

“Come to bed,” you murmured, squeezing Spock’s hand. “We’ve had a really bad day and we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow to clean this mess up. Come sleep.”

Jim snorted and Leonard piped up.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have to go put this box back together in the morning.”

“Just you watch me,” you grinned, letting Spock help you gingerly turn over. “I’m marching right in there tomorrow. Mr. Scott’s gonna have to carry me back out.”

“Let’s just take it easy, alright,” Leonard said, holding out a calming hand.

“Please do not injure yourself further,” Spock murmured as he settled you on your stomach.

“I won’t,” you touched his fingers before he got up to change.

You closed your eyes and listened to your partners as they undressed and fell into bed one by one.

“Take your pants off, come on,” Leonard muttered as you felt Jim shift and stand up before you heard the jingling of his belt buckle. “And don’t flop down like you usually do.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Jim grumbled as he sat back on the bed, curling up beside you and laying a ginger hand on your back. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed as sleep started to take you down. Spock laid on your other side, on his back as usual, and you reached out with your fingertips and touched the ball of his shoulder.

The mattress depressed once again and Leonard started shifting himself around as you fell into the darkness of sleep.