#what if repcomm wasn't a tragedy. what then.

[arliganzey]

part two: juno.

(part one: bed chem)

“Will you be all right until Etain gets here?”

Darman looks up from his datapad. It’s still a shock to see Bardan as he is now—no robes, green beskar’gam, helmet under his arm. He’s gone a few days without a shave, cut his hair to a manageable length, and had Darman not known better, could have been mistaken for a born and bred Mando’ad.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Bard’ika.”

“Be back in three hours.” Bardan disappears behind the helmet, now a faceless Mandalorian. He pauses, and Darman looks at him, half-expecting him to say one more then. But then he turns and leaves, and Darman is alone.

He waits. He’d much rather have met up with Etain when she returned to the barracks, walked with her down the skywalk to take a transport to the apartment. Maybe hold hands like the couples he’s seen milling around Triple Zero. But this is what they signed up for: a clone and a Jedi general couldn’t be together, so they had to meet in secret.

At least the squad knows. In fact, maybe too many folks are well aware of his and Etain’s relationship. There is some comfort knowing they aren’t the only ones–Atin and Ordo had their respective partners, too.

Before long, Etain pings his datapad I’m here. And the door opens.

Darman crosses the room as Etain drops her bag and heads straight for him. They crash together, Darman scooping her up into his arms and lifting her off the floor. Her arms tighten around his shoulders, her head turns to pepper the side of his head with kisses. He doesn’t put her down, carrying her to the couch. They fall onto the couch and Darman pulls Etain into his lap. They say nothing for a good, long while, letting their kisses and hands do the talking.

“Dar,” Etain says, interrupted by another urgent kiss. “Darman.”

It occurs to Darman that she may not be repeating his name out of desperation, and actually has something to tell him. His hands frame her hips, dark eyes peering up. “Yes, Et’ika?”

She takes a deep breath. She seems burdened by what she wants to say. Her jaw tenses, her lips pressed together. He inhales, and she cups his cheek, an apology waiting in her wide eyes.

“Etain. Please.” Darman’s heart starts to sink.

“Dar, I’m pregnant.”

His heart does something different, stopping for a beat. “What?”

She blinks, the corners of her eyes are wet with tears. “I’m pregnant.”

“With a–child?”

“Yes, Dar.”

“Our child?”

“Yes.” Etain’s eyes well up and she inhales sharply. “Our child.”

“Oh.” Darman scrambles to hold onto reality. A child. Their child. Our child. “You’re pregnant?” he confirms, his voice lifting.

Etain takes his face into her hands. “Yes, Darman. I am pregnant. With our child.”

Darman looks down as if he’s confused by the lack of any indication of the pregnancy on her person. “How?” He knows how. “I mean–when?”

“I’m twelve weeks along, which means…” Her face turns red. After a moment of reflection, Darman remembers where they were twelve weeks ago, too.

Darman breaks into a grin. Etain watches his face, still teary-eyed. “Right,” he says with a faint smile. In war, pleasant memories come few and far between. His smile fades when he looks into Etain’s fretful eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Dar, I don’t know what happened. I thought I could prevent this.”

Darman turns his face into Etain’s hand and kisses her palm. He’s at a loss for words. His heart starts to pound in his chest as his mind works over the details. What are they going to do when the baby comes? Won’t Etain get into trouble with the Jedi?

“Dar, talk to me. Please.”

“I’m still trying to…” A baby. He’s never interacted with a baby before, only seen them through glass. “I’m in shock.”

Etain’s hands move to his shoulders, her fingers clutching red fabric. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Darman pulls Etain close, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her against his chest. The future has always been uncertain for him and this is no different. All he knows is: “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Etain sniffs.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Etain tightens her grip on his shoulders and he hears her hold back a sob. “I understand if you don’t–want this–but–I do.”

Her words punch him in the gut. “Et’ika.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I can feel in the Force that this is right.”

Darman rubs a soothing hand over Etain’s back as he considers her words. How can it be right, when they have to hide their relationship? How can it be right, when Darman himself has no rights? How can it be right when in less than 48 hours, they would both be redeployed to fight in a war?

“Darman?”

He’s asked and answered all of those questions, and he chose Etain every time.

“I trust you,” Darman says. “If you want this. If you think I can be a good father.”

“Of course, Darman. You’ll be a great father.”

Etain sits up and when Darman looks into her earnest eyes, he could be persuaded to believe her. He smiles. “We’re going to have a baby.”

[kungfuslipper]

All Our Demons

For Repcomm week, day 2: Casualty

Niner / Darman

angst / handjob / character death / suicide / dubcon

Mature, 18+, explicit sexual content

Niner, Darman, Rede, Ennen, (mentioned) Bry, (mentioned) Roly Melusar

Text exchange between IC-1109 Niner and IC-1136 Darman, approximately 2200 on the day of IC-4447 Ennen’s death:

IC-1109: Come back in one piece, will you?

IC-1136: fff Niner nu draar. Im leaving somethingg here.

IC-1109: are you drunk, mir’sheb?

IC-1136: I alrrady left sth here

IC-1109: what are you on about?

IC-1136: Joint op.. Quibbuus. Theres aroom I cant forget about.

IC-1109: … that’s a different place.

IC-1136: same place in my shabla heaD.

IC-1109: come back and tell me about it.

IC-1136: fevkin Ennen,,, vodd.d What a shabla dikut. I ccclda done th sAME THING.

IC-1109: you didn’t.

IC-1136: i hd you.]

...

“Sir, I apologize for what I’m about to say. IC-4447 is dead.”

Roly Melusar did not react. Niner may as well have said he’d submitted his squad’s annual performance evaluations. “How did he die?”

Melusar looked right at Niner, holding eye contact for a moment that ticked by too slowly. His tone was even, but Niner suspected the question was rhetorical.

“Suicide. We … we found him. He’s been examined by medical and taken to the morgue. You’ll have the police report in a couple of hours.” 

Niner had never had to report a squadmate’s death before, but there was a first time for everything. Blaster bolt to the temple. His own weapon. We were just outside when it happened — Dar was inside the ‘fresher. 

Yes, you can ask him. Dar, the MPs need to take your account. No, we didn’t touch anything. 

Melusar rose from where he sat behind his desk. He leaned over the polished surface, supporting his weight on his fingertips. He nodded once, then walked around the desk. “How’s Forty taking it?”

The new squad name went in one ear and out the other. Niner had gotten used to Omega, and he'd get used to Forty, too. 

But he wouldn't get used to the absence of Fi and Atin.

Darman wasn’t taking Ennen's loss well. He’d disappeared off base by himself. He'd always been the type to process things alone, but still, for a commando, isolation wasn't a good sign. 

Rede seemed shocked. Niner could only hope he'd eventually adapt to this tragedy as well as he had to everything else he'd been put through so far. 

“Hard, sir. But we’ll handle it.”

“You always do. Take the next couple of days to yourselves. Don’t worry about the details for now … we’ll find a replacement when you’re ready.”

Niner had come to expect fairness and genuine support from their commander, but all the warm words in the world didn’t make the situation any easier. He felt hollow and robotic. “Thank you, Sir. One other request – Ennen was Corellian. He would have wanted a cremation.”

“Yes of course. Once I receive the formal report we’ll proceed with those arrangements. That won’t be the end of it, unfortunately. We’ll have to endure an investigation – don’t take it personally. Investigation is routine when something like this happens."

The only thing Niner had ever taken personally was his squad’s welfare and performance. He took a breath and clenched his jaw tightly.

"I don’t have to tell you to keep your squad within recall distance.”

“No Sir.”  

“Take care of yourselves, Sergeant. I’ll contact you when I have an update."

Niner saluted, about-faced, and strode out of the office. He’d find Rede and they’d walk the base, kicking up dust and pretending to be doing something other than trying to forget about Ennen.

…

Laundry. Rede stared at Ennen’s pile of hand-me-downs — worn blacks, fatigues, a few civvie shirts and pants. “What will happen to them?” Rede asked suddenly, toeing a red T-shirt. Rede hadn’t been through this before – the coming home to a barracks room and finding nothing but items which had nowhere to belong. Or the rote solemnity of tasks performed to force the emptiness into a structure. Filling the time so you’d make it to tomorrow. Senior leadership misunderstood how soldiers worked, Niner thought. All free time ever did was remind you where you’d gone wrong. 

If they’d been a regular infantry unit, service droids would have cleaned up all evidence that Ennen had ever existed. But commando squads took care of their own – increased autonomy meant self sufficiency. Not a steep price to pay when it meant you could hold on to those you’d lost.

They divided up Ennen’s clothing between them wordlessly. Rede took the civvies and folded them, lingering reverently over his footlocker as if the precision of the folds would make things right. Maybe they wouldn’t, but Rede would have his first pair of civvies out of it. There were plenty more jarring things than seeing a vod in a dead man’s clothes, Niner told himself. That’s how things were done in the squads.

Niner took Ennen’s fatigues for himself and left the backup bodysuit on Darman’s bunk. Dar needed a new one, but superstition dictated wearing your first one until it became more of a hazard to wear it than replace it. Dar's blacks were Bry’s old pair.

Niner rubbed his forehead wearily and beckoned Rede out the door. “That’s sorted. Let’s eat.”

The sun was setting behind the spacescrapers, casting a forest of cool shadows over Core Square. It had been a hot day. The ferrocrete blacktop had begun to release its absorbed sunlight, warming their boots as they walked, like shadows themselves in dark imperial armor. The katarn, an effective insulator, kept them cool enough, and their bodysuits did an adequate job of adapting to body temperature. Niner could feel his sweat being wicked away even as his brow furrowed in worry over Darman’s radio silence. He focused on Rede’s profile as they walked. Under his bucket, Niner knew Rede’s face still looked smooth and youthful. His eyes, normally expressive, sat high and deep under his brow bone. No eye bags, no lines yet, no gray hair. Age would come for Rede, too, but Niner had somehow hoped that he would be spared just a few months longer.

The few years between Rede and the older commandos were enough that Niner noticed. Seeing Rede was like seeing himself as he thought he was, and then realizing he was not that younger man anymore. A few years did a lot to a clone – some of it visible, but most of it not. 

…

Lights out had come and gone, and Darman stumbled into the bedroom, a darker shape in a dark room, briefly illuminated by light filtering in from the hallway. He blundered into the bunk he shared with Niner and put one foot on the ladder’s middle rung. Niner, up to his chin in covers, reached out and grabbed his calf. “Hey. Down here. Rede’s up top.”

“Whaa?”

“I offered,” Niner explained in a hoarse whisper.

“‘Course,” Darman agreed, but he groaned, unstuck his foot from the ladder, and crawled heavily onto the narrow mattress next to Niner, still booted and clothed. Niner turned towards the wall, taking up as little space as possible. “Sorry.” 

He didn’t mind that Darman had to scoot in close to him, or that he rested his hot forehead between Niner’s shoulder blades, huffing as he settled down. Rede snored above them, a loud rattle that drowned out background sounds of sky traffic and the laundry room down the hall. They could have an entire conversation without him hearing.

“Oh fuu, m’ clothes,'' Dar slurred suddenly, and Niner caught a whiff of beer on his breath. Darman sat up, thunking his head on the bunk above. Rede snored on, undisturbed, and Darman continued thrashing and huffing as he tried to pull his shirt off.

“Help me, vod’ika.”

Niner reached blindly for his brother, bumping into bare skin and grabbing onto what he realized was Darman’s back. He slid his hand up, wiggling his fingers experimentally where the edge of Darman’s shirt cut into skin. It had gotten stuck around his lats. “How did you stuff yourself into this?” He asked helpfully.

Darman sighed. “It fit fine earlier. Just get it off me.”

The CSF Social Club, known for its loaded fries, had obviously bloated him on both sodium and booze. 

Niner had to roll over and straddle him from the front, edging his fingers in deeper, before he finally worked Darman’s shirt up and over his head.

“Di’kut,” Niner murmured, pushing him back down onto the bed. He rolled off Darman's lap and settled onto his side again, feeling better about everything with Darman close. He closed his eyes, intent on falling asleep. Dar's chest rose and fell against his back, but he kept moving and twitching, bumping Niner’s legs with his knees.

Niner sighed patiently and focused on the sound of Rede’s snoring. He was interrupted again a moment later by a metallic jingle right behind him. It had to be Darman’s belt buckle. Niner turned, waiting for his eyes to re-adjust to the dark again. He could just make out Darman’s hands fumbling with his belt and then with something else between his legs. “What. What are you doing?”

Dar hissed in frustration, palming himself, yanking on his pants. “Gotta take care of this.” 

This turned out to be his half-hard cock, which was nestled in his open fly. Niner watched, frozen, as his hand dipped into his pants and moved up and down a few times. Then Darman stopped, his face turned toward Niner’s in the dark. Niner swallowed. A brother taking care of himself in the same room wasn’t unusual, but Omega Squad had always given their sergeant a respectful amount of distance when it happened.

Darman seemed to have forgotten this unspoken etiquette, or maybe their relationship had evolved enough that he felt it no longer applied. “Could you … could I – I mean –” he stuttered, face tipped toward his dick, which peeked out of his fist. 

Niner’s mouth dropped open. He probably misses Etain, and I’m the best he’s got. “I don’t think –”

“Fine. Forget I asked.”

Darman sounded tired now, and resolute, and vulnerable in a way Niner had not heard since before …

“You want … me?” As soon as the words left his lips, Niner’s chest began to pound. He’d never been propositioned before. He couldn’t even say where Darman would fall on a list of possible partners, because he didn’t think he had a list. Everyone he met was more or less the same to him – just people, and they all had a job to do. 

“Your hand, maybe?” 

This wasn’t part of the job. Or at least it hadn’t been until now. 

“I don’t know, Dar,” he said, as gently as he could. “I’m probably not the best person to ask.” 

Darman growled, frustrated, and his hand snapped up and down, as if he were trying to yank the stiffness out of his erection. Then he lay down on his side behind Niner, his forehead warm and solid against his back again. Niner sighed. Darman hadn’t pulled his pants back up, which meant the door of opportunity was still open, and all he could think about now was how Dar was lying there behind him with an abandoned boner. 

Niner didn’t know what to do. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he muttered. He grabbed a blanket, rolling onto his elbow to sit up.

“Lay down,” Darman snapped in a loud whisper. “‘M not that drunk anymore. I know what I’m doing.”

Niner wasn’t convinced. It was difficult to tell which Darman he was dealing with. Was this grieving Dar or couldn’t-care-less Dar? But Niner lay down again, for reasons beyond rationality. They breathed quietly for a minute, each with his own thoughts, and then Niner felt Darman shuffle closer and rock into his backside. He was still hard. And his hand pinned Niner’s hip firmly against his own.

“Udesi, vod,” Niner bit out, but a little shiver crawled up his spine. Something was happening. Maybe he’d never had a list before because no one had ever come quite this close. And Darman wasn’t anyone. He wasn’t just one of his brothers anymore – or even just one of his closest brothers. After Shinarcan Bridge something had changed. The playing field had leveled out in a way that made him want to respond to Dar’s insistent advances. 

Niner reached back, not knowing exactly what he meant to do, and found Darman’s head. He pulled Dar in close, turning to face him, caught by the need to keep him where he was.

“Let go of me, then,” Darman breathed, fanning Niner’s neck with warm air. 

Niner didn’t move.

“You want this, don’t you.”

Niner shuddered, and Darman felt it, because he relaxed, face buried in Niner’s neck. “Please.”

Of all the days, of all the times, Dar.

Darman’s lips on his neck made everything feel fuzzy. He didn't want to let go. So he held on, folding Darman close, breathing deeply against him. Warm little curls of desire unwound as Darman's hips arched into him again, and before he knew it he was letting Darman hump his thigh, and then his open hand; all he had to do was close his fingers.

He had his vod’s cock in his hand on the same day he’d lost another one to his own demons.

All our demons.

Dar’s gentle huffing noises turned tight and desperate as Niner worked him. Then they went ragged and wet with tears as he came, effortlessly, into Niner’s hand. 

Rede hadn’t stopped snoring. Vor entye Manda. He’d seen enough for one day.

Darman drifted off to sleep, and Niner didn’t move for the fresher until he was sure he wouldn’t wake.

@officialrepcomm