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badpancakelol · 2 years ago

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After completing his second term as King of Naboo, Steve would say that there wasn’t much from it that he missed. Yes, he misses being able to communicate with the people of Naboo so easily — being able to use his title for something inherently good instead of for the sake of intimidation — but the countless hours spent doing paperwork and being held up in his ivory tower, seeing the people from afar, and not being able to take a hands on approach?

No, Senator Steve Harrington doesn’t miss it. He’s grateful to his people for their support and their love, trying to amend the laws to let him serve another term, but the traditions existed for a reason, and one continuous ruler was not the way to let their world grow.

The one thing that he very much did miss, however, was the royal transport (and some of the ornate clothing, okay? You caught him. However heavy the headpieces were, and however cake-y the makeup was, he missed being carted around and dolled up. The silks the sheer sleeves, the heels). Being able to skip lines and take direct hyperspace routes to planets — he misses it.

He enjoys piloting, sure, but not being the one in charge lets him work on all the different things he has to do on before he arrives… wherever he needs to go. Perfecting speeches, replying to comm messages, keeping in contact with his people, staying up to date with what’s happening in the senate, messaging Eddie.

It’s what brings Steve to the commute shuttle, the cold air, and the mostly empty seats, on his way to some Force-forsaken freezing planet that he was visiting to gain data on the war effort. Was it technically his job? No. But it was data that would help with his bill, and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to do it himself.

Sure, Hop had offered to continue serving for him, being his body guard and keeping him safe and flying him places, but Steve had just waved him off. Had told him that it wasn’t that big a deal, and that most people took the public commute anyway — why should he be any different when he’s representing these people?

“Caf, Senator?”

The woman strolling her hovercart down the aisle is polite in the way that she smiles — a twi’lek. Her purple lekku adorned with the intricate markings of her people. It was something that Steve had always found himself interested in. How there are so many different living species who had their own cultures around the galaxy; so different and so similar all at once.

“Do you have sugar?”

She nods and hands him the portable packets. Steve reaches for the smooth rectangular credits in his pocket, places it in the outstretched palm of her hand, and watches as she moves on to the next couple of seat in front of him. He has a lot of work to do, and yet he can’t stop himself from just— people watching. Seeing how all these little families were as complex as his own being. Dealing with drama and love and death all the same.

Maybe that’s why he’s so worried about the current political climate; with the Separatists and the Republic at war, the Kaminoans have started the production of clones. It’s not the actual process that he’s against — he’s heard that it’s actually quite nice growing up on Kamino, that you get to be with your own ‘batch’ of brothers, who stick with you well into your life and the war — it’s the way that everyone else has been treating them. He knows that the other senators don’t see them as anything but cannon fodder. They wear a bounty hunter’s face. They’re not really humans. They’re like those strand-casts. They are not citizens of the Republic.

They weren’t exactly subtle with their views.

It didn’t matter how many times the men rallied and shouted for the Republic! as they sent themselves off into a losing battle. The senators were not changing their mind. And, well. Steve has a real fucking problem with that. He’s looked at the fine print that the Kaminoans have given the senate, and he’s seen the way citizens of the Republic, of core worlds, sneer at the men when they are off duty. Nothing good will come from this. Steve feels in his bones that they are only set to fail.

He just wishes there was more he could do for them. Go out to every single on of them and tell them you matter, you are different, you are individual, you are alive. Because he had met some of them, earlier on. He had met a group of clones, seen the way that they were all different, the way that they had come up with names for each other and themselves, acting as their own fathers for that of the bounty hunter who had left them behind.

(“And what’s your name?”

“CT-7742, sir.”

Steve turns to look at the rest of the men — their armour adorned with a deep blue, different markings on each piece of armour. Some of them look more professional than others, but the Kaminoans had told him that these clones were new. That they were only so young.

“And you?”

“CT-3301, sir.”

Steve smooths down his robe from where he stands. Do these men not get named? He knows that the Kaminoans don’t let them have, well, anything. But surely they’re allowed this? They’re allowed to be named?

“Do you only go by your designated number? I’m not going to tell the Kaminoans if you like to be called something else.”

“No, sir.” CT-3301 says. “We are only allowed to be addressed by out CT number, or our rank—”

“But what do you want?” Steve stressed. “I’m not here to sing the Kaminoans praises. I’m here to figure out what you want, and how you want to be represented. You deserve to have someone advocating for you in the senate, so I need to know exactly what you want. Not what you were told to say.”

He settles his hands back into their long sleeves, the navy colour reflecting off of the white armour of the men in front of them. Steve had been informed about the accelerated aging in the clones, and how it was meant to be a ‘good thing’. How these men that had been on missions, had been moulded to be soldiers, were only ten years old. The senate had shied away from that fact, away from the idea of child soldiers fighting to keep them safe, while having less rights than the vehicles that carted them around their fancy Coruscant apartments.

“Buddy.” CT-7742, Buddy, says. “The Jedi that we served under — he didn’t like the idea of calling us numbers, either. So would call me Buddy. And then it stuck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Buddy.” Steve nods, and smiles. “What about the rest of your batch?”

“Ace.”

“Sev.”

“Fetch.”

“Per.” He says. “Pronounced like the fruit, spelt without the ‘a’.”

“Because he wanted to be ‘special’.” Snorts Fetch.

“There’s already two other clones I know called Pear! I can’t just go around taking their name.”

“You know, my partner and I have very mundane names. There are over a thousand humans called Steve or Eddie.” Senator Harrington said. “So I think one out of three is pretty damn special. With or without the ‘a’.”).

They are as alive as any other being, in Steve’s mind. In his heart. And they needed to be recognised as such in the eyes of the public and the senate. For the men that he met, for the ones that he will never get the chance to.

Senator Cunningham was on his side for this. She was a stern believer in clone rights, despite never having met any of those who served, but not as vocal as Steve was. And he doesn’t blame her, really. Her reasons are as valid as they come, with the way that her partner influences her votes, the way that he commandeers her speeches, the way that her whole family aches of rot. There’s more to the Cunningham’s than what meets the eye, and from the small moments that he’s shared with Chrissy, he’s worried for her.

He sighs. This is all too much to be thinking of on a public commute. He needs to keep working on the draft for clone citizenship and realisation of them as living beings in the eyes of the council. He doesn’t need to go on a tangent that nobody will hear, that nobody will take the time to consider. Steve needed to be articulate and smart with his word choice — things had to be put plainly enough for him to gain the public vote, and nuanced enough that the senate saw his reasoning.

“Next stop, T-minus, two standard Coruscant rotations.” The droid’s voice whispers over the intercom.

It was gonna be a long ride.

— — —

“Steve?”

He grumbles, tucks his head further into the corner near his window seat.

“Stevie?”

He feels fingers through his hair, a warm laugh as a pushes himself closer to the touch.

“You know, for a senator, you’re pretty careless about your own safety. Not even a guard around here?”

“Eddie?”

“The one and only.”

Steve opens his eyes to find his partner, his lover, adorning the seat that used to be empty, beside him. He sees the way that his eyes are soft despite the tiredness surrounding his being, the way that his shoulders slump forward into Steve’s space — trying to give him parts of his own warmth. His time on Tattooine had tanned his skin, slightly, not as much as Steve’s natural tone was, but enough for him to not be as piercing as the Hoth weather. He’s missed this. Being able to touch. Being able to see each other in the colour that holos don’t provide.

Steve pushes himself up from his slumped position against the window and into Eddie’s space, revels in the way that he tucks his head into Steve’s shoulder.

“Missed you.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know you were going off-world? I would’ve asked Hop to pick you up and we could’ve gone together. Or I could have flown.”

“You’re a terrible pilot.” Eddie laughs, and the movement sends a comforting rumble down Steve’s spine.

“And you know that’s a lie. Self-projection isn’t the prettiest look on you, Eds.”

They seperate, and the stars from the window reflect against Eddie’s dark eyes. Sometimes they seem as if they are an endless inky pool — as wide and diverse as the universe itself. It’s cliche, Steve knows it is, because he’s read it in about every romance series on his datapad, or heard it be said in every holodrama. He should be able to come up with a better way to articulate it, what with his whole job being about convincing people with his words, but he can think of no other way to say it. Maybe it is cliche, but even with all the starmaps of the universe, he would still get lost in Eddie’s eyes.

“Force, you know how many clients gave me bantha crap for being a mechanic who couldn’t fly properly? It’s honestly ridiculous.” He does the same thing he always does when this is brought up. Eddie leans forward and then dramatically slams himself into the back of his seat, arms crossed, eyes rolling throughout the action.

“Well, maybe it’s time that you re-learnt how to fly?”

“I’ve got my republic-mandated license, thank you very much.”

“You’re actually lying out of your ass right now. We both know that the republic has tried — and failed — to mandate flying tests. There’s literally no such thing as a republic-mandated license.”

“S’not the only thing the Republic has failed to do, recently.” Eddie sighs.

Steve shifts in his seat watches as the they move passed the stars beside him. The warmth that Eddie offered through his layers, his flight suit, shirt and jacket, were still there, but there was a sense of finality to the way that he was speaking that said I know what is going to happen, I’m scared.

There was always a part of Steve that felt slightly responsible every time the senate made a decision that effected the Republic in a way that was horrible. On their weekly holo calls, they would try and avoid the topic of politics, because whenever it was brought up, Steve could see how it was wearing down on Eddie, who lived in the Outer Rim, and Steve has no doubt that Eddie could see how it was wearing down at himself, as he failed to deny the passing of a key bill.

He can’t escape it, now. Now that they’re face to face, with nobody else in this section of the starship commuter.

“You know about what’s happening with the war?” Steve asks, although he already knows the answer.

“How could I not?” Eddie huffs, and when Steve turns to look at him, he has a faraway look on his face that he saw reflected in some of the older clones. “It’s fucked, out at Tattooine. I didn’t want to worry you with everything going on, but—”

“I thought the attack wasn’t near the main town?”

“It’s everywhere.” Eddie says. “I know you can’t do anything about it — the Republic can’t do anything about it — but I couldn’t stay there. I mean, Force, Steve, I don’t really want to be fixing ships in the middle of nowhere for the rest of my life, you know? It’s good and easy and honest work, sure, but I’m not really doing anything. It’s all just— meaningless.”

“My door is always open. You could have just holo’d me and I would have come straight there—”

Eddie shakes his head. There’s a furrow between his brow that reads apologetic, and Steve just can’t understand why he would’t come to him for help. This was their plan for the long run for years. Eddie said that he wanted to work on Tattooine, gaining experience, knowing the Outer Rim as well as he possibly could, while Steve ran as King and then senator. And once they had saved up enough, and Eddie was tired of the two suns, or Steve was tired of arguing for his job, they would move in together.

Not on Tattooine, not on Coruscant, but somewhere nice that they would choose together to foster a new home. Somewhere that Eddie would find a job that he was content in, maybe somewhere like Sorgan, or somewhere that was close enough to Coruscant that Steve could take one hyperspace jump to the council. Maybe— he doesn’t know. Moving back to Naboo, if they have to.

But with everything going on — the war, the clones, the Kaminoans and the Separatists — Steve understands. He hates the way that Eddie didn’t try and tell him, but he knows how he is. Knows that he would have tried to convince him to stay in a place that he was getting sick of, to move to a place that was overcrowded and filled with stuffy suits and nepo-babies.

“You’re going.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, turns to look at Steve head-on. “You’re doing your part to help with the war from the council. I’ve seen the way you’ve advocated for those clones, Steve.”

“And you feel like you need to be doing more?” Steve asks, almost wishing it to be not true.

“Something like that,” Eddie sighs. “There was an opening — they need a mechanic to help teach some of the new clones the basics to their venators and other warships. I know my way around them since Wayne was so obsessed with what made them tick when I was younger.”

“I remember meeting him that first time, and all he wanted to talk about was looking at the ship I arrived on.” Steve reaches his hand across their shared armrest and tangles his fingers with Eddie’s. “Do you know where you’ll be stationed?”

“Someplace warm, they said.”

“Maybe they read your file and thought you couldn’t get enough sun.” Steve replies, hand brushing against the warm tones of Eddie’s cheek. He doesn’t want him to leave. He only just got him back — just got to see him in person for the first time in almost a year, and now he’s going to go to the front lines, with no promise of coming back.

“Those men you mentioned me to, that first time you met a batch of clones? Sev and Ace and Fetch and Buddy and—”

“—Per without an ‘a’?”

“Yes! The brief mentioned that they were going to be stationed with me. At least I’ll have some familiar faces, right?”

Steve smiles, pinches Eddie’s cheek. “The Republic would say that they’re all familiar.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“Yes,” He says, as he looks down to the datapad balanced precariously on his lap. The auto lock had turned on, password protected for miles on end, but if he looks hard enough at the black screen he can imagine the words of the drafted bill searing themselves into his brain. “You couldn’t be more right.”

Steve knows why Eddie has to do this. Because it is the same reason that he has to make sure this bill passes. It is the same reason why Steve hasn’t changed his last name, yet, despite not having a good or healthy relationship with his parents. Names held power, families held power, and he knew this all too well. Steve, Senator Harrington, knows that he wouldn’t have received his position if it wasn’t for his service as King of Naboo, where he was elected through the grapevine of knowing names and titles that held a stupid amount of weight for so little syllables. His last name holds more worth than his words about the clones, right now, and he will milk that curséd name for all its damn value if it means the clones get even a slight chance at being recognised as alive.

Their names — names that are not recognised by those who created them, are only given by those who care enough to ask — are not even names. They are designations. They are numbers. They are ways that the Kaminoans and the Republic and the Jedi can keep track of how many soldiers they have, elect to move certain batch numbers to certain bases for the sake of ease and replenishing the ‘stock’ that they lost after each battle. It is how they have been alienated from their humanity to the public, the reason why they are seen as a worthy sacrifice or a sacrificial lamb.

“They mentioned you, you know?” Eddie says, fingers fidgeting their way between Steve’s. “That little mission to Kamino you went on a couple months back — it really left an impression on all of them.”

Steve nudges his shoulder, “You’re exaggerating. I was there for all of two days.”

“No! I’m serious.” Eddie rummages through his rucksack on the floor, pulling out his pristine datapad that he had only recently bought. It’s covered in flecks of Tattooine sand, and dust and smudges, but also stickers and drawings and a personalised case. There’s always something about Eddie’s belongings that makes Steve want to stare at them forever — like an intricate maze or puzzle that keeps giving and giving the more he looks at it. If his wasn’t council-sanctioned, he probably would have asked Eddie to help him decorate his, too.

Eddie flips through a couple images, and Steve watches over his shoulder as his face moves by — stills from their last holo talk, an image of the two suns setting, an interesting and (maybe) cute small creature, and then—

“Here!”

It’s an image, yes, but not like the others. It’s marked as saved, showing that Eddie wasn’t the one who took it, meaning that one of the clones Steve had met up with had been given Eddie’s contact. But the image it’s, well. It’s of their humble barracks on warm planet’s base. The bunkbeds look rickety, and the mattresses look lumpy, and somehow, despite the dirt and the small space, it looks infinitely more welcoming than their ‘home’ on Kamino did.

Sev and Ace are stood back to back, arms crossed, posing next to the neatly tucked in sheets, smiles on their faces despite the war. Steve can see the reflection of Fetch in the mirror hung by the bedposts, taking the image. Buddy and Per are each on one knee, hands raised and bracketing a poster of— of—

Him.

“What?”

Steve pulls Eddie’s datapad closer, zooms in on the image that the two men are proudly showcasing. It’s one of the in-council-session photos that must have been taken only a short while after he had visited them. His robes are the dark blue that mirrors their armour, and he looks angry. Steve’s hands are on the floating platform before him, sleeve running down to his wrists, hair tucked behind his ears with the Royal Nabooian gold jewellery of the King that he was gifted on full display: earrings and headpiece shimmering in the council’s light. There’s a set to his jaw as he glares up towards another platform— out of view. If he’s remembering correctly, it was towards the new Chancellor — the blonde one who had all these horrible ideas on the war, that everyone seemed to be accepting without reason.

In the first time that Steve can really see what people mean when they say he looks powerful, and not just because of a name he didn’t want.

“It’s not just Per and his batch, either. It’s actually quite a lot of the clones, if they’re not exaggerating.”

“Who sent the message?”

“Fetch.”

“Well,” Steve sighs — but not of contempt or exhaustion, no. It’s something else. Exhilaration? Determination? “Then I better believe it.”

Eddie uncurls Steve’s fingers from the datapad, turns it off and places it pack into the rucksack. “They all watch your speeches. I think they’re finally starting to realise what it’s like to have someone who wants to fight for them, without wanting anything back.”

Steve rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, pretends not to find comfort in the way his hair still smells like the sun, pretends not to hurt at the realisation that his hair has grown longer since the last time they met in person. Was their life always going to be like this? Rotating suns and moons only meeting every millennia in some freak accident that was never, truly meant to be? Were they only to meet when the galaxies were ending, when they were at the beginnings and the middle of a war?

“The clones — all of them. They deserve so much more than this.”

It’s Steve’s way of saying I don’t want you to leave, but I know that there is nothing I can do to stop you. It is his way of saying you have such a large heart, and I wish it all belonged to me, but I know that you want to make as many people feel loved as you can. It is his way of saying I know.

And Eddie gets it. The same way Steve got it when he had to leave, first, when he was the catalyst of the long distance and the infrequent holos and the even more sparse in-person meetups, because of his kingship, because of his place on the senate.

There is too much to be said, but the droid’s voice over the intercom squirrels out a destination, a cold planet that Steve is underprepared for, that Eddie does not stop on, and their time is already up.

“Come back to me?” He asks, but he does not make him promise it, because Steve knows there is no way to truly make sure. Promises are worthless he had always been told. And yet, it still hurt when they were not fulfilled.

So he doesn’t make Eddie promise it. There is no way of knowing if he couple truly keep it.

“Always.” Eddie replies.

#stranger things april aus #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie x steve #steveddie #stranger things #more of the star wars au nobody (apart from one person) asked for!!#steddie star wars au #day five: flight au #aka: steve takes public transport because he wants to get work done #has a crisis about the clones #falls asleep #and then has his heart broken <3

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