#Battalion's Backup

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Kids Anger Part 2

Part 1 ~ Part 3 Part 4

Kid X Fem Reader X Killer

It had been a couple of days since you disappeared and life on the Victoria Punk hasn’t felt peace since. Kid angrily stomped through the ship, breaking every door behind him and plenty of holes throughout the walls he passes. It was a stupid fucken fight. Kid was angry, he was pissed, He’d teach you a lesson about running away after he found you. He’d make sure you’d never be able to leave him again.

        Killer on the other hand had been the one actually handling the crew and ship, trailing behind his awestruck lover. He was anxious after not seeing you, and unlike Kid had noticed you were injured from the beginning. But he had thought, even with your hot headedness, that you’d treat yourself before doing anything stupid. The only evidence of you ‘dressing’ the wound was a bloodied shirt you had left behind, no medical supplies were taken.

        Heat approached Killer, avoiding the irrational captain, “We should make landfall in a couple hours.” Killer knew what this meant, the Vivre card he had handed heat to help track you down must’ve pointed towards to island. And if you were further, well they’d need to stock up on supplies before continuing, not to mention fix some damage to the haul that they barely fixed after the battle with the marines.

        “When we get there, we’ll go our separate ways, you get everything ready to depart as soon as possible,” Killer said gesturing down the hallway to where Kid had stormed off too. It should hopefully only be a matter of time now.

        “The island has a military base on it” Heat says while handing the blonde the vivre card back, Killer stops a bit. He looks at the card and notices it’s gotten smaller, the edges seemingly burnt and his stomach drops.

        “Get us there as fast as possible Heat” Killer makes quick steps to get to Kid, his trail of destruction leading the first mate to his workshop. He practically kicks the door open, ignoring the red head’s anger boiling over. Before Kid can get any real words out Killer lands a punch on him, “Get your fucken head out of your ass.” Holding up the vivre card Kid stares at it a bit more.

        “She’s the one that ran away” Holding onto his hateful pride still in the end, “If she dies that’ because she can’t protect herself.” Kid lets out a huff only to be met with another punch.

        “You’re the one that told her to leave Kid.” Killer kicked his captain. He was beyond pissed, “We’re breaching land soon.”

~~~

        You woke up in a dark cell, a chain around your ankle. After you had passed out on the row boats a backup battalion of Marines found you and captured you. They had blamed the entire incident on you and have tortured you for any information pertaining to your previous captain for a lighter sentence.

        You lay there, too tired to even sit up. The only thing you’ve had to eat since you left the ship was a moldy piece of bread and some water. The whip marks on your back ached and the wound in your shoulder has long since turned into an infection.

        The guards had mentioned your execution coming up and how you were stupid for not ratting out Kid to survive. You let your mind wander, thinking about how Kid would take up the entire bed by stretching out, or how what little room was left, was then taken up by how big Killer was. You missed snuggling in between them, in the crevices left between their bodies. It certainly would be more comfortable than this floor.

        You wonder if they are even worried about you. You’re sure Killer had a couple of words for Kid but it didn’t seem like he went after you either. You hear a jingle of Keys come closer and a loud kick against the bars jerk your eyes open.

        “Y/N, if you just give us some information we won’t execute you. In fact we’d be willing to ship you off to the West Blue and let ya live your life” The commander of the base stared down at you through the bars snickering at your predicament. “You’re gonna need some treatment if you want to survive… If you don’t want to tell me anything now you could, always offer something else.”

You watch as he unlocks the door and walks in, crouching down next to you, picking up your chin with one of his hands. He starts leaning in but before he can get any closer you spit in his face, “I’d rather die miserably than stoop to your level.” The man punches you before standing up.

“Face it y/n, the Kid Pirates sacrificed you. You’re nothing to them,” He stares down at you, placing a foot on your infected shoulder, putting slight pressure on it, smirking as he sees the pain in your eyes.

You gasp, gritting your teeth, “Just kill me already. I won’t tell you anything.” The man glares down at you. He kicks you in the stomach before leaving again. You hear the walls around you become silent as he leaves. Seeing black spots in your eyes you allow yourself to pass out.

~~~

        Kid and Killer were making a mess of the marine base, only stopping to take a breath after getting lost inside the building. When they got to the island, they had heard about an upcoming execution for one of the Kid Pirates and knew they were close to finding you.

        “Where do they keep coming from?” Kid yells while punching another marine straight into the ground, “Can’t the fuckers lay off for a second.”

        “We’re in this mess because of you” Killer grunt, slashing one out of the way. He grabs your vivre from his pocket, growing increasingly concerned at the smaller its getting. Kid grumbles before running in the direction the card shifted.

~~~

        You awaken to a loud thud of the door and groan; you didn’t have the energy to deal with him anymore. You didn't have energy anymore, you just want to sleep. You’re back towards the cell doors and with as much strength as you can muster, “I’m- Not. Talking,” You have to breathe a bit between each word, every movement more painful than the last, “Just kill me already.” You don’t hear anything behind you. You didn’t like this silence of being watched and slowly glance over your shoulder. To your surprise, you see Kid stunned silent, “That’s a first,” You mutter before letting yourself relax for the first time in days, your body falling limp.

~~~

        Kid finally managed his way to the cell block and surprisingly there were no guards around, must’ve taken care of them already, The onslaught of bodies behind him was a testament to how determined he was. He glanced back at Killer who was still taking care of a few guards and decided to run ahead.

        He broke open the door, slamming it open. There in front of Kid is what he can only assume to be a dead body, the deep gashes along the back only adding context to how the ground was so severely stained red. Kid takes a couple of steps forward when he hears you talk, his breath hitches and he can’t seem to move anymore. What did they do to you? He watches as you slowly turn your head to face him and he can only watch as you put on a smile to him and weakly say, “That’s a first,” before going limp, lying flat on your back.

[tesalicious2]

Command Clone Currency

The clones are unpaid and therefore broke. They can’t really pay each other to do things since they have no money so they go for a new currency: favors

Now, the CTs don’t really do it the same as the Commanders because they have to be specific. They can’t return a favor between battalions quickly, due to fighting/locations/schedule. They’re at the whim of the war and pick and choose their repayment time.

The Comanders are different. They trade and barter like crazy. It’s favors with a few cases of alcohol. They can trade favors they are owed to others all the time, so anyone can cash it. They can pull the strings to get their payment quick.

For example, Cody needed a save from a small squad. He knew Delta was on planet doing some mission and he needed a detour but he had no connection or favor. However, Fox (for some reason) did. Cody offered a case of spotchka and a favor Monnk owed in return for having Delta do the detour. Delta owed fox one less favor, Cody owed no favors (which is the best outcome, since Fox WILL cash it) and Fox got something on Monnk and free (very expensive) spotchka.

Few CTs knew they did it this way, and the CT captains such as Rex and Keeli had to quickly adapt to this way of thinking. Rex made the mistake of owing Bacara before anyone told him. Keeli was lucky enough to meet the SpecOps CC Blackout, who clued him in on the difference but left him high and dry when it came to implementing his knowledge. (Keeli ended up owing Blackout two mini guns for his ‘friendly advice’)

Though, when times are tough and there is little time to barter, it is common to put off the payment until after the act is completed. Though many hate doing this as the trading can become unfair. What often happens is the party in need already has a deal prepared and states their need and their payment, it is hardly ever contested (however the helper may tack on another fee which is accepted or denied).

For example, Doom needed backup from Jet’s flame troopers. He quickly called, stated his need, and his payment of a case of charges. Jet had found the payment (though correct in price, unpractical for his squad) and changed it to half a case of fuel (easier for Doom to get a hold of and just as useful as charges to a Demolition team). Doom accepted the terms and Jet’s squad arrived right on time.

Though the bartering is mostly physical, many deal in the intangible. Perfect examples are all of the Coruscant Guard and the Special Operations teams. These are the only two groups who has everyone (including CT shinies) in on this system. They have the least to offer when it comes to normal ops, after all what GAR commander needs to know where a random Senator is going to be at what time or who slept with who. However, this trading info is perfect for the Guard who constantly works with/against (yay embezzlement and blackmail) these same Senators and for the SpecOps who need to know political climates and interpersonal relationships for recon and assassinations.

Most trading goes on between those two, and their prices are often higher since the missions are higher stake. Often Commando Squads are up for bids (who doesn’t want a four man 100% mission completion rate squad in their pocket), blackmail on natborn officers, republic secrets, senators schedules, crime syndicates favor and areas of interest, etc.

For the Guard, their trading goes further. They work with crime syndicates to keep it off the streets while keeping profit up. Those who do not work with them, go down. They’ve gain control of the lower 2000 levels through this and those who do not conform are forced to by the Guard or the citizens of the lower levels who don’t want to deal with the Guard, (peer pressure and bullying at its finest.)

The commanders learned this from watching the Cuy’val Dar, who would often trade on Kamino. The Alphas picked it up and used it but the CCs truly made it valuable beyond belief. The trainers traded for free shifts and booze, the CCs traded for mission successes and heavy artillery.

Many CTs attempt to learn how this system works. However, as few know it’s different, even fewer see the affects; those that do, know well enough to leave it be.

Despite there being no real difference in intelligence between the CCs and CTs, witnessing the speed and weight of the trades, makes even the Jedi’s head spin.

The Padawans are one of the few outsiders to see it in action. They do not really like it, but many pick it up for lesser trades (help with this paper or answers for this homework). Cal Kestis surprisingly picks it up the best. He’s the youngest so very impressionable, eager to learn, his CC Commander Steel, is very good at it, and Steel is possibly the only one to teach their General’s Padawan.

Steel sees that Cal isn’t going to be on the field much (Steel agrees with this and makes sure he stays on the Venator). So, if Cal ever needs help, he knows how to get it. Steel has made him be present for several trades and even made him come up with theoretical ones. Cal becomes very good at it, but is unable to flex his skills much due to the other Padawans unable to match his speed or skill. They are several years older, see it as in-Jedi like or are bad at it (or their Captains are bad at it and can’t teach them well), their concept of value is off (Jedi don’t often put a price on things and those that do have a habit of underselling due to being nice), and/or they do not know the range of what can be traded.

It’s very personal, with different Commanders wanting different things. Knowing who wants what can often make the payment cheaper for the offering party.

For example, the Marines often need heavy snow gear and blankets. So, offering a box of heating blankets in return for a case of bacta and blaster packs. This is a much better deal than offering a case of mini guns for the bacta and blaster packs. In the second case, Bacara may say no the mini guns or want a case of something else along with the mini guns.

[phoenixyfriend]

New Fic: Follow Me Out of the Black

AO3 Link

Written for @sourfacedlemon in the 2024 Anakin-Clone Appreciation Exchange.

Fox/Anakin, Time-Travel fix-it, Kidnapping

Also I sent this discord message to a server I'm in

And was confirmed correct because reveals had sourfacedlemon tagging 'called it' lmao.

---------

Fox is not the most… personable of his brothers.

He’s not actively antisocial, or one of those clones who’s more comfortable with massifs than men, even fellow clones. He doesn’t have trouble meeting peoples’ eyes, or get nervous to hold a conversation. He’s not the best at people, but he’s not impeded by anything. He’s not incapable, just unwilling. A grump. Tired and a bit short-tempered.

That was before he spent the better part of a decade with his entire personhood filtered through the control chip that ARC trooperhad tried to warn them all about.

And, of course, before Darth Vader threw him out a window to his not entirely untimely death.

That, dying at Vader’s hand for a stupid reason that maybe would have been worth a demerit under a clone officer, is actually Fox’s last memory. In the moment, he’d thought it almost reasonable; his failure had led to the escape of a Jedi, at least momentarily, and then… who knows. Maybe Vader got her anyway.

He wakes up, and thinks wait, that’s a ridiculous reason to kill a high-ranking officer, and then promptly realizes he can think without something muddling him.

He stares at the ceiling, which does not contain several familiar scratches, and does contain some flimsi holopics taped where he can see them, which he distinctly remembers taking down after Order 66.

Which is an order that now does not make as much sense as it did at the time. Fox wasn’t close to any Jedi, but they were all unfailingly polite, and his brothers in high-ranking field battalions had largely had good things to say. Some of them loved their generals as much as a brother. They wouldn’t have turned as quickly as Fox himself had, and yet.

And yet.

Fox stares at the holopics, thinking about what he knows, about the Sith Lord that is the Emperor, about the Sith Lord that once was—is?—Anakin Skywalker, about how many of his brothers killed their Jedi despite Fox being quite certain they’d have rather died than do so. He thinks about the control chip he’s now fairly certain was an actual mind control device and not just an emotional regulator.

Fox stares, and thinks, and then gets out of bed.

Fox is not personable, and that’s okay.

He’s got other skills to rely on.

--

It takes Fox four hours of planning, six hours of setting traps for Sidious, three days of putting together backups, and two weeks of waiting for Skywalker to be on planet and visit the old bastard himself.

It then takes him thirty seconds to tell Thorn that he’s in charge for a bit, two hours to arrive at the Senate building, and about three minutes to let Skywalker say goodbye to the Chancellor and get out of the man’s sight. It then takes some forty-five seconds to approach him, ask for help with something, and lead the man into a dark service hallway.

Three hours later, Skywalker wakes up in the interrogation room cum holding cell that Fox has set up about thirty levels below CoCo town.

“What’s going on?” Skywalker mumbles. He notices the Force cuffs before he’s fully awake, and jerks a bit as he tugs on them. It pulls him awake faster. “Wh—fierfek, what have you done to me? You can’t be a clone, they—”

“Chancellor’s a Sith Lord.”

Skywalker stares at him. Fox takes off his helmet to show his face, just so Skywalker knows that he is, in fact, a clone.

“…what?” Skywalker manages. “You—”

“Chancellor’s a Sith Lord,” Fox repeats. “I don’t have real proof. You are going to help me get it.”

“The Chancellor,” Skywalker says, slowly, like he’s convinced Fox is the crazy one, “is not a Sith Lord. The Jedi would know.”

“Jedi are busy, and Sidious is a good liar,” Fox dismisses. “You, he likes you. He wants to make you his next apprentice, after he has Dooku taken out. He’ll call you Vader. The armor is going to be stupid.”

Skywalker just stares at him.

“I’m not crazy,” Fox says, even though that does in fact make him sound crazy. “I’m from the future.”

That probably makes him sound crazier.

“The Chancellor is a good man,” Skywalker says. “I am sure this is all just some… massive misunderstanding, and if you let me go, I’ll get you to the mind healers and we can figure out what put these ideas in your head.”

Fox smiles. The word ‘mirthlessly’ comes to mind. “Nobody put ideas in my head until a Sith Lord activated a mind control chip, and then the idea was ‘kill all Jedi.’”

Skywalker stares at him.

“Including the babies.”

Skywalker keeps staring.

“But you—Vader—did most of the baby-killing, or so I heard. I was busy keeping the better members of the Senate from trying to investigate. Organa was a hard sell.”

“I would not—why would I kill Jedi?”

Oh good, he’s responding. “I don’t know. You joined Sidious for power, or something. Amidala was pregnant when she died, that was all over the news. I wasn’t listening to gossip, because my brain was all work, all the time, because of the mind control, but I guess it could have been yours.”

Fox doesn’t know what Skywalker and Amidala’s relationship is. Could be a one-night stand, for all Fox knows, but he thinks they’re close friends, at least.

“She’s pregnant?” Skywalker asks. He sounds a little broken. Plaintive? Is that the word?

“No,” Fox says. “She’d have gotten pregnant… a few months from now? I don’t know exactly how far along she was, or how natborns progress. She looked pretty big, though.”

Skywalker stares at him some more. Man, the guy’s got eyes like a holostar, or one of those cherubs on the Corellian churches. Fox bets he’d look nice crying.

“All of this hit the fan about a year from now,” Fox tells him. “We have time, but not much. Also, Sidious has a million backup plans, so we need to act fast, and be unpredictable.”

“So you had to kidnap me?” Skywalker demands.

“Of course,” Fox says. “He’d be suspicious if I just started palling around with you, or whatever it is the shinies call it.”

“You are maybe two years older than them,” Skywalker points out.

“More like twelve,” Fox corrects. “But that’s not the point. I also had to get you somewhere I could make sure he wouldn’t be able to spy on us, and where you couldn’t storm out because you were mad that I was telling you you’re destined to be a baby-killer or that your precious Chancellor is a Sith.”

Fox is pretty sure the only reason Skywalker isn’t doing that already is because he’s convinced Fox lost his mind and just needs to come down from the drugs or whatever. Fox can understand; he’d be tossing anyone saying this banthakark into a drunk tank or to the medics, himself. He certainly hadn’t taken that ARC seriously.

“Why me?” Skywalker asks.

Fox shrugs. “It had to be you, obviously. All else aside, getting you in my corner instead of another Jedi gives me an edge, because you are the one Jedi that Palpatine might hesitate to kill. He’s put a lot of time into making Vader happen, even already, and he wants to get you to be his Sith apprentice. That means he wants you alive, and on side, and maybe he'll try to talk you into joining him before going for the kill.”

“I won’t join a Sith.”

“You will,” Fox says, simple as syrup, “given the right pressures, you will. Our goal here is to make it so those pressures don’t come to pass, and that means cutting the head off the snake and sweeping the legs out from under the devil.”

Fox has, perhaps, read a few too many Corellian novels recently. He likes the ones about this ‘hell’ place. Seems cozy.

“If I let you go, will you hear me out?” Fox asks. He’s not planning on actually letting Skywalker go, but he can let the man stand. The cuffs stay on. “I’m going to get this chip removed now, while you’re here, so I have at least some evidence for part of the story. That way you can check it yourself for whatever code dictates the orders.”

“The chip. In your head.”

“I wouldn’t have brain surgery on a whim,” Fox confirms, “so I think it makes for a good proof that I’m not just staging this somehow.”

Skywalker actually gapes this time.

Fox waits.

“Fine,” Skywalker finally says. “I’ll stick around long enough for the brain surgery, and to decode the chip, and then we can… reassess or what have you.”

“Great.”

“Can I at least call Obi-Wan to tell him I won’t be making it to dinner?”

Fox waves a hand. “No, no, I already took care of that.”

The look he gets is almost insulting. It’s almost like Skywalker forgot that Fox is a highly trained military police officer with top-level security codes and the legal right to invade peoples’ privacy.

(Continue on AO3)

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 5

Part (5) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Btw, @youreababboon - sorry! I'm certain you were on my taglist initially! I must have goofed at some point 😘

Warnings: fair bit of medical procedures in this one: blood, needles, big needle, body horror, brief mention of child prisoner

WC: 3,578

“Uh… She…” I barely had time to notice that he’d somehow found his helm, and that he was using Crosshair’s rifle as a crutch, all but confirming his brother still hadn’t woken else I was sure I’d be able to hear him shouting at Wrecker even through the roar of the fire. He’d just begun to speak when something in the cockpit blew. The flash briefly overloaded my HUD, blinding me even through the visor, and the shockwave that followed nearly knocked me and Tech to the ground.

“Later!” I dismissed sharply, starting forward once more. “Is there anyone else in here?!” He shook his head, already turning to follow me out of the ship, and, despite the threat of dread stiffening my throat, the horror at realizing how close I’d come to leaving the small girl to the mercy of the flames, I let out a short huff of relief.

“Echo, we’re ready for pickup.” I called out over my com.

“Copy.” There was a tension in his voice that reminded me about the still untreated shot he’d taken to his shoulder, and, for just a moment, I felt a temptation to falter beneath the overwhelming work still to come. They all needed help… and we were so far behind enemy lines that there was no backup; no nearby flagship we could run to for supplies or safety. There was just me…

“Tech, I’m going to sit you down beside Crosshair, okay?” I said, voice nearing something of a gentle whisper as I noted how quickly he was breathing, how much he was clearly struggling to stay upright. He gave a weak nod, and I carefully helped him the rest of the short distance to that ditch and eased him down before turning to Wrecker.

“Alright, give her to me and sit down before Cross sees what you’re doing to his rifle – I don’t need any more work patching you guys up.” A barely muffled chuckle escaped him as he leaned down to pass the young girl to me, but he still used the Firepuncher to limp the rest of the way to his brothers before collapsing to the freshly upturned earth.

She couldn’t have been older than six. Tawny brown hair dangled to her shoulders in twin pigtails decorated with soot-covered jewels and metalwork. Dark shorts revealed skinned knees and small but vibrant patches of burned skin dotting her legs. It was the thin bead of blood slowly outlining the subtle curve of her brow that worried me, however.

Words automatically left me in a gentle, reassuring murmur as I began an initial assessment; telling her my name and title, reassuring her that I was there to help, and voicing my every action before I did it. It didn’t matter that she appeared unconscious. I was a stranger, and I didn’t want her to be afraid.

As the scanner hummed softly, I glanced up to see the rapidly approaching transport, a wave of ineffective, crimson bolts following in its wake from the battalion below. A quiet chime drew my attention back to the screen, pleased to see nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own. Still, I knew her burns would be painful, and we had enough bacta on the Marauder to spare.

There was a moment as we waited, maybe as little as a handful of seconds, in which I found my gaze turning back to the ruined shuttle behind us, and I didn’t fight the memory of that sloppily painted loth cat on the tail. I remembered her laugh just before the alarms blared. I remembered the feeling of her hand in mine. And I felt the desperate need to venture once more into those flames; to fight my way back to the engulfed cockpit that I might find her; that I might whisper her name if only to say goodbye.

But then the scream of engines wrenched my attention back to the present, and I granted myself no further time to waste on fables as I gathered the girl into my arms.

As soon as the transport touched down, I could hear rapid footsteps echoing within. Echo was waiting before the doors had begun to open, chest jerking around quick breaths, and I couldn’t ignore the subtle gleam of moisture darkening the fabric about his shoulder. Still, a small huff of laughter escaped me at the obvious confusion in his stance as he noted the small form in my arms.

“Who’s”

“You’ll have to talk to Wrecker.” I interrupted with a tiny chuckle, “How’s Hunter?”

“No change.” He answered, voice heavy. I didn’t press as I tread passed him. The faster everyone was loaded, the faster I could check him over myself.

By the time I’d secured the girl into a crash seat, Echo was already helping Wrecker into the ship, and I winced at the barely audible grunt that occasionally caught between ground teeth as the massive clone hobbled unsteadily beside his brother. I wanted to offer my help, to lessen the strain on his injured leg, but every second brought the droid army closer, so I darted back into the cool night air.

“Tech, you still with me?” I asked, words rushed as I kneeled down next to him. He only managed a weak grunt in response at first, eyes reluctantly opening behind soot-smeared, topaz lenses. “Hey, honey – Echo’s here.” I explained softly even as I carefully slid my arm beneath his shoulders to begin easing him up. “Can you walk?” He frowned as he looked around us, lips pulled into a weak scowl from some wretched cocktail of confusion and pain.

“… I…” I could see him struggling to remember, to formulate an accurate response, and that was all the answer I needed.

“It’s alright. I’ll help you, okay?” I murmured, body bracing against his before slowly hauling him upright. A strained groan only just caught on his tense exhale, but it was enough to force me to pause, debating if I needed to carry him outright. He took the first step, however, so I tread with him, arm locked around his waist to offer what support I could.

“I'll get Cross.” I said as Echo started back down the ramp, adding, “I don't want you straining that shoulder anymore,” when his helm tilted in confusion. I didn’t need to see him to picture the subtle, unamused frown as his head sank down ever so slightly. “He’s the lightest one between the lot of you – just make sure Tech doesn’t bleed out before I get back.” I added dismissively with a scoff, words just touched by the hint of a smirk on my lips, still, he let out a short huff before turning inside.

It wasn’t until after hoisting his lithe form over my shoulder that Crosshair finally began to stir.

“… the kriff…?” He muttered groggily, body tentatively moving in weak, unsteady twitches.

“About time you woke up.” I teased warmly, carefully hiding the breathiness from my voice as we entered the ship. The weary confusion with which he called my name left my heart dancing violently in my chest. “Don’t worry,” I whispered, “everyone’s here. Just need to get you strapped in, and then we’re leaving.” His head shifted slightly for a moment as though he was trying to look around before pausing, attention briefly locking on the still form of the child, but then he seemed to abandon even that minuscule effort as he went limp once more.

Echo had another wad of gauze pressed against Tech’s arm, attention flitting between his brother and the cockpit, as I reentered. Wrecker’s gaze flicked only briefly to me before darting back to the young girl, jaw taut with a worry he made no effort to hide, and Hunter hadn’t moved, body leaning faintly into the harness while his chest jerked with quick, shallow breaths.

“How long before we’re in firing range?” I asked, mind racing to remember how long we had before reaching the Marauder, to triage the injuries of those around me, and to prepare myself for the weight of juggling them all at once.

“Not long.” Echo replied, glancing at me for just a moment as I eased his brother into a nearby couch before he leaned over to press his scomp to Crosshair’s chest. I said a quick “thanks” as I secured his harness, jaw aching from how firmly my teeth ground together as my gaze wandered toward Hunter.

“I’ve got him.” I murmured, reaching over to clasp my hand around Tech’s arm. “If you can find a spot to land for a few minutes, let me know; otherwise just… hurry.” As I said it, words lowered into a tense whisper, I nodded subtly toward the Sargent. Echo nodded, offering no further recourse before pushing himself up to all but sprint toward the cockpit. Within seconds, the ship lurched to life, leaping sharply from the ground before rocketing away from the black site below, again making me snatch at a harness to steady myself.

Releasing a short breath, I turned my attention to the man before me. Tech’s skin was pale. His head hung listless toward his chest, sweat dripping down his forehead, along the sharp curve of his cheeks, and soaking into the already damp fabric clinging to his form, and the rapid dance of his chest beneath too-quick breaths left me subconsciously tightening my grip on the still bleeding wound.

“Tech? Tech, come on, I want you to stay awake – stay with me.” I instructed, voice rising slightly in hopes of catching his attention even as I quickly jostled myself out of my medbag’s uncomfortable straps. He didn’t respond, instantly drawing a curse from my lips.

“Anythin’ I can help with?” Wrecker asked, an odd meekness to his words, and I instantly felt some of my tension fall away at the innate gentleness of him.

“No,” I said softly, glancing back toward him with a smile I knew he couldn’t see. “I just hate seeing you guys get hurt… but he’ll be okay.” I added warmly. “Let me know if those pain meds start to wear off, okay?” He nodded, and I turned my attention back to the injured pilot, carefully pulling away the gauze just enough to study the already subsiding blood flow. It was steady. Not an arterial bleed, at least, but I needed to repair any ruptured major vessels before I could remove the tourniquet, and that wasn’t something I could do during flight. Securing the additional gauze with more bandages, I moved to his other arm and quickly stripped it of armor before cutting through the fabric at his elbow to reveal the thin skin below.

“What you can do,” I started, calling back to Wrecker once more as I began prepping an IV, “is explain why we went down there for a Senator and came back with a child.” He let out a quiet chuckle, the deep, familiar sound an effortless balm to my worries.

“Not sure.” He answered far too nonchalantly for the severity of the situation. I almost scoffed, but bit it back in favor of listening, attention split between him and quickly placing the IV. “Tech figured out where the guy should’a been, but, when we got there, we found her instead.” He explained, shoulders rolling fluidly to emphasize his own confusion before motioning to the girl.

“Was she conscious when you found her?” I didn’t want to think about how she might react to suddenly finding herself surrounded by strangers…

“Oh yeah.” He replied emphatically, head nodding. “Came running right up to Tech an’ wouldn’t let go – he thinks she recognized his armor.” Maker, I would have given anything to have seen Tech’s face in that moment… I wondered if Wrecker saw how still I went, even if only for the few seconds it took to fight the image of Tech, utterly frozen, arms flared, jaw agape as he stared at the tiny girl clinging to his leg in pure shock, from my mind.

“Did she tell you what happened?” I could hear the barely restrained laughter just tinting my words.

“Nah; wouldn’t say anything. Just held on to Tech ‘til the droids started shootin’ at us; then he had to carry her.” He explained, voice still oddly quiet. That humor faded, replaced with something far softer as I glanced once more toward Tech’s still lax face. “When we met up with Cross, Tech got her to stay in the cabin with him – she didn’t like me much. Pretty sure you can guess the rest.” He said it so dismissively, as though the words were meaningless, but I instantly stilled. That was the reason he hadn’t been wearing his helmet… why he’d so carefully kept his voice hushed and sat quietly rather than ignoring his injury in favor of insisting I let him help, and my heart broke for him.

I wanted to go to him, to cradle his hand between mine and whisper promises that he’d done nothing wrong, but time was a luxury not often granted in moments when even a few seconds of stillness was so desperately needed.

“You saved her life.” I whispered instead, attention pointedly trained on securing Tech’s injured arm to his chest before dragging my bag with me as I moved toward Hunter. He didn’t respond, head tilted down as his fingers picked thoughtlessly at the straps binding his leg. There was no uncertainty in the quiet that settled between us as I began scanning Hunter. He didn’t need to explain how the girl’s fear had hurt him in a way that would never stop haunting him, how it gnawed at a wound he wanted to pretend didn’t exist despite how effortlessly it crippled him, and I knew that no amount of heart-felt reassurance or affectionate words would dull that pain.

“How is he?” He asked somberly as the scanner went quiet.

“Stable, but not great.” I answered, quickly glancing over the results. “It’s stopped now, but he was bleeding internally, and that’s putting pressure on his lungs.” I didn’t mention that the bleeding could start again from even gentle movement; that the collected blood would soon begin to clot; that I was shocked his lung hadn’t collapsed already, and that I found myself counting every passing second, certain his body would suddenly jerk beneath some instinctual panic as his breathing all but stopped.

I let out a tense breath and glanced uselessly toward the cockpit before activating my com.

“Echo, any update?” I called, loathing the subtle plea that I couldn’t fully silence.

“We’ve already had to dodge a few patrols.” I heard the apology in his voice, the note of a guilt we both knew was unavoidable.

“Think you can keep us level for a minute?” He didn’t answer immediately, and I could only assume he was scanning for any hint of danger before answering.

“Do it quick.” There was a warning in those short words, and I didn’t waste a moment, quickly tossing my helmet onto a nearby seat.

“Wrecker, if you can move carefully, I could use your help.” I murmured, attention focused on retrieving the right supplies. In truth, I could have done this on my own, but there was comfort to be found for us both in sharing this burden. He responded merely by undoing his harness and hobbling across the small cabin toward me, one hand absently pressing against the roof to steady himself.

“Help me get his cuirass off.” I was already reaching out to begin undoing his armor, loathing the seemingly endless steps needed to gain access to his torso. Wrecker readily lowered himself into the seat beside his brother and followed suit, quickly piling the dark plastoid into a pile at his feet, and I couldn’t unsee how his jaw had tensed in that first moment after pulling off Hunter’s helmet. Deep bruises painted what skin wasn’t already darkened by his tattoo, leaving both eyes nearly swollen shut, and the gauze I’d secured to his nose was soaked through with now dried blood.

It wasn’t until I eased him toward me, balancing him against my chest as I kneeled on the floor in front of him to start carefully removing the heavy cuirass, that Hunter began to stir, a groggy hum catching weakly in his throat.

“Welcome back.” The warmth in my whispered words veiled the regret sinking through my chest at having woken him.

“…where…?” The question only just found breath to tumble from barely shifting lips.

“We’re all headed to the Marauder.” I answered calmly, stomach churning at the choked grunt he only belatedly managed to bite back as Wrecker shifted his arms to guide through the holes of his armor.

“Sorry, Sarg…” Wrecker muttered remorsefully. That flare of pain seemed to drag him further into a cursed awareness, head turning slightly to take in the dimly lit cabin.

“Wh… wha’ happe’ed?” He asked, voice thick and strained, trying vainly not to fight us as we maneuvered him out of his armor.

“A lot, but everyone’s onboard with us.” I said before Wrecker could offer a far more frightening answer. A low, tense groan caught in his throat as we gently leaned him back.

“…Doc…” The short word left in something closer to a cough than true speech. I hated the subtle tension in his brow, the faint creases it formed about tightly closed eyes, but I wouldn’t let myself stop, moving quickly to unwrap the plackart from his torso. “Pretty hard t…hard to b…breathe.” He huffed weakly, and I granted myself just a moment to wrap my hand around his, fingers twining together in a silent offer of whatever comfort that touch might grant him.

“I know, hun. I’m going to fix that right now. Okay?” He paused, as though processing what I’d said before a new tension stole through him, grip tightening around me for mere seconds before he forced himself under control. “I’ll give you something to take the edge off, and it’ll be quick.” I promised, squeezing his hand once more before releasing him.

“You want somethin’ to bite down on?” Wrecker asked as I retrieved the autoinjector. Hunter answered only with a small shake of his head, but his entire body jerked slightly when my fingers brushed along his lower ribs.

“Not ticklish, right?” I teased, earning a short, scoffed chuckle. In the same beat, I laid the injector against his side. Something akin to a growl escaped lips pulled into a weak snarl, fingers locking around the harness now hanging loosely around him, and Wrecker instinctively laid a massive hand over his chest. We all knew that gesture was meant to hold his brother still just as much as it was to offer support, but it was easier to pretend otherwise.

“Big poke.” I allowed him barely a second after the warning left my lips before piercing his side, automatically following the way his body bucked away from the intrusion to slip the catheter over the long needle. A strangled grunt morphed once more into that near growl before faltering into a shuttered sigh as a gush of dark blood shot between my hands onto the seat beside him. It quickly subsided to a slow drip, and the way his next breath broke with something too close to a whimper beneath a relief I knew too well left me straining to keep my own breath steady, eyes taking in the way that tension abandoned him into a boneless heap beneath his brother’s hand.

“Good,” I murmured, “just take a few deep breaths, and try not to move around too much.” He gave a small nod almost as an afterthought as I quickly secured the line to his side with an abundance of tape lest it jostle and cause even more damage. “How’s your throat feel?” He didn’t respond for a moment, tongue absently dragging out to wet his lips before wearily opening his eyes.

“It’s…” His hand shifted vaguely toward the bruised flesh in an almost dismissive gesture, “…sore?” He offered, but it was clear that whatever thought he’d given toward the answer was far less concerned by that than he was with the bliss of finally managing to fill his lungs with the crisp, nighttime air, and I couldn’t help but grin softly at him.

“Okay, let’s get you strapped back in, but let me know if anything gets worse.” He seemed to melt even further into the crash couch at my quiet whisper, eyes falling shut once more as Wrecker and I secured the harness around him.

“You, too.” I added with a smirk, my eyes shifting to meet Wrecker’s. He seemed surprised for a just a moment before his lips pulled into a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Really doesn’t hurt that bad.” There was no earnest fight in his feigned objection, and he let out a quiet chuckle as my brow hitched in a silent order, hands already pulling his own harness snugly around him.

“Alright; I need to check on Echo. Can you keep an eye on everyone back here?” The question wasn’t meant to placate whatever sense of uselessness his injury may have given him, and, as I held his gaze, I didn’t doubt that he understood that. He nodded, and I knew I could trust him to call me the instant something changed, freeing me to retrieve my pack once more before starting toward the cockpit.

Next Chapter

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[boinkingbattlemechs]

Valkyrie

The Valkyrie was originally planned for use by the Star League Defense Force, but production of the BattleMech did not begin until 2787, after the fall of the Star League and the start of the First Succession War. This was mainly due to legal entanglement with Harvard Company, Inc. who claimed the VLK-QA was a "nearly wholesale" copy of the WSP-100A Wasp LAM. Because of this odd twist of fate, and because the only factory to produce the Valkyrie was located on New Avalon, the only nation to possess a large number of Valkyries was the Federated Suns. During the Succession Wars the Valkyrie became the standard light 'Mech of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns, often replacing the lighter Wasp and Stinger 'Mechs in many units and given to experienced MechWarriors to pilot. While not as fast as either design, the Valkyrie has an almost comparable jumping distance, heavier armor, and longer-range weaponry. Capable of maintaining a high rate-of-fire while jumping as often as it liked, the Valkyrie gained a reputation for tenacity, and once on the attack "it stays with you until either you drop or it does."

The Valkyrie has as its primary armament a Devastator Series-07 LRM-10 launcher with one ton of reloads mounted in the left torso. While an unusual weapon on a light 'Mech, and carrying only enough missiles for two minutes of continuous fire, it gives the Valkyrie a long reach and respectable damage, especially against other light 'Mech hunters. As a backup weapon the Valkyrie carries a Sutel IX medium laser in its right arm. This mix of long and short-range weapons allows the Valkyrie to soften up other 'Mechs from long range then move in for a kill.

11 single heat sinks allow the Valkyrie to fire its weapons and use its five jump jets, two each in the legs and the fifth in the rear torso, to jump up to 150 meters at a time without worrying about heat buildup. It also carries six tons of armor to absorb a decent amount of punishment. While only boasting a cruising speed of 54 km/h, it is capable of outmaneuvering and, when working as a team, taking down heavier opponents.

Corean Enterprises was able to maintain a steady production rate of 130 Valkyries per year during the Succession Wars, reaching almost 200 per year during the desperation of the First Succession War. With its location in the heart of the Davion realm, that rate was rarely under threat, although the possibility of the automated factories breaking down for good remained a growing concern during the technological decline of the Third Succession War. Every regiment, and nearly every battalion, had at least one Valkyrie 'Mech under its command, with some recon companies equipped with entire lances of Valkyries. The Davions were also willing to sell the 'Mech to mercenary outfits contracted to serve them, while relatively few found their way into the hands of the other realms through battlefield salvage. Valkyrie production made a major expansion around this time, as Katrina Steiner helped Defiance Industries strike a licensing deal with Corean, a deal which would persist at least until the end of the Jihad. One major setback in Valkyrie production did occur during the Fourth Succession War, when the Draconis Combine captured Marduk, site of Norse BattleMech Works and producers of the 'Mech's Norse Industries 3S jump jets. Production fell behind for the next few years as Corean tried several other jump jet models without success, until finally settling on HildCo Interplanetary's HildCo Model 12 line of jump jets.

Following the formation of the Federated Commonwealth, its nascent military force was faced with the problem of combining two entirely separate militaries into one unified whole. Part of the solution was commonality of equipment, and the Valkyrie was chosen to be a standard light 'Mech of the AFFC. Following the discovery of the Helm Memory Core, the New Avalon Institute of Science was able to restore the Valkyrie industrial complex to its full Star League era production rate, while Corean was able to utilize lostech components to construct the new VLK-QD model starting in 3049.

The FedCom Civil War took a particularly heavy toll on light 'Mechs, and the Commonwealth was in desperate need of replacements; unfortunately Valkyrie production had halted when the St. Ives Compact was conquered by the Capellan Confederation, and HildCo was no longer willing to supply Corean with jump jets. At the time the company was in negotiations with Vicore Industries about reviving the Valkyrie design with two new variants, the VLK-QD1 and VLK-QD3, and Vicore just happened to have the solution to their problems. The company had secretly negotiated to build HildCo jump jets under the Vicore name, and was willing to sell these components to Corean in exchange for the right to build both variants. Corean agreed, and Valkyrie production restarted on New Avalon and Demeter, with new units reaching Davion forces by July 3067.

[rexscanonwife]

First Impressions

The galaxy was in pure chaos. She wasn't one to shy away from a bit of chaos now and then. In fact, some would say she was something of an expert back in her padawan days! This was different, however. Ever since The Battle of Geonosis, everyone from the outer rim to the heart of Coruscant was in a tizzy to say the least. Drawing lines, choosing sides, making plans, and in the middle of it were the Jedi. Once they were the galaxy's humble peacekeepers, now they were expected to fight this war for the citizens they had sworn to protect.

A/N: I suddenly got in the mood to write a little something about the day Kepler was assigned as Brea's padawan because I don't think I've talked very much about how everything started! No warnings for this one, just a short drabble and some dialogue to sort of establish their relationship dynamic at the beginning to set the stage. Maybe I'll add onto it and include their first mission, maybe not, but for now here it is! (Divider cred. @/cafekitsune)

Brea’s foot tapped anxiously against the spotless floor of the temple as she wrote out the report on her last mission, her boots leaving slight scuffs on the pristine marble in the process. She'd developed the nervous habit over time after suddenly finding herself in the position of Commander, less than a week after becoming a Jedi Knight to begin with.

She had no battalion to command. When she was deployed on missions, it was usually either as backup for a Jedi General who'd gotten in a bit over their heads as they attempted to push back Separatist droids with their clones, or she went out solo. Using her skills to scout out potential threats, in which case she was solely responsible for the outcome of such missions…and for all the paperwork. Her least favorite part of the job.

Getting shot at by droves of nasally-voiced droids was somehow preferable to this. Her eyes strained against the walls of text on the datapad before her, a headache beginning to form from blue light exposure. Her focus started to wane as she wondered how a droid could have a nasally voice anyhow? What kind of person would program them with that particular kind of voice box? Was their intention to annoy the Grand Army of the Republic to death?

“Speak with you, may I, Young Callisto?” An unmistakable voice and speech pattern shook her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, Master Yoda! How can I help you?” She said, lowering her datapad to reveal the short, green Jedi before her.

He was not alone, however. A young boy stood awkwardly just a few inches behind him. His small frame was emphasized by his posture, shoulders slightly hunched as he looked nervously between her and the back of Yoda's head. Though his robes were disheveled and seemed to be just a bit too big for him and his signature braid was done rather sloppily, he was obviously a padawan. Seemed the right age, probably between 12 and 13 years old. He wore thick goggles that obscured most of his face, but behind them his brow was furrowed, and he had slight wrinkles under his eyes that he was definitely too young for.

She didn't have to use the Force to know that this was a kid who didn't want to be here. That begged the question, why was he? She looked back towards Yoda for answers.

His large ears twitched as he leaned against his cane, always taking such a long time to say what he was going to say. She tried to remind herself that she was in the presence of someone much older and wiser than her and to not get impatient.

“Young Callisto, a very important task for you, I have. As you know, spread thin across the galaxy are the Jedi. Yes. Very thin.” He started pacing slowly, his cane tapping against the floor as he did so. “As many hands as possible, we will need to win this war.”

Finally, he gestured to the boy. “Introduce yourself, young one.”

He seemed unprepared, as he suddenly snapped upright and his hands fumbled to clumsily grip at his robes. “O-oh, me do it? Ok, uhm…my name is Kepler Quinn, Master Jedi!” He punctuated this with a quick and shallow bow, more akin to a nod than anything else. His small voice had an extremely distinct squeak to it, as though it couldn't decide whether the pitch wanted to settle up or down.

“Well, it's uh, nice to meet you, Kepler!” She smiled invitingly to try and set him more at ease, “Heh, so polite. Thank you, but I'm not a Master.” wait…

Brea began to piece together just what Yoda was suggesting and was stunned into silence for the briefest of moments. Not long ago, Anakin had told her about how a padawan was suddenly sprung onto him without so much as a warning, and in the middle of a battle no less. Sure, she had thought about perhaps someday in the future taking on a padawan learner herself, but she always thought it would be a long time from now and that it would be her own choice. And with the war going on, she just didn't have the time.

“Master Yoda, I- I- don't know…how good of an idea this is. I mean, I've only been a Knight for how long?” She stammered, not wanting to sound like she was just outright rejecting the kid when he was standing within earshot. “Do you really want me to be a master?”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin “a strange and unusual time this is for us all, Young Callisto. Do things the way we have in the past, we cannot. Learn to adapt, we must. And learn from you this youngling will!” He pointed at her with his cane for emphasis.

“In need of help, General Skywalker and his men are. You and Young Quinn will go to the front lines and assist them. Yes, that is your task.”

Brea perked up just a bit upon hearing this. Ever since seeing Anakin on Geonosis what seemed like only yesterday, the two were as thick as they had been as younglings, but with how the war was going they hardly had any time to spend together. They usually ended up posted in totally separate star systems and always seemed to be running off to a new mission. This would be a good opportunity to catch up with him, once she was done saving his butt, of course.

She breathed in deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth, resting her free hand on her hip. This was classic Yoda. He wasn't allowing her a lot of time to consider it, if Anakin needed her help, then she would never be the one to keep him waiting. “Well, Kep. What do you say?”

“I guess I don't really have a choice, so…” He replied with a hint of bitterness, his eyes not meeting her gaze. This gave her a bit of pause.

“Hmm, decided then, it is.” Yoda glanced up at her knowingly. She hated when he did that, like he had some sort of trick up his sleeve in order to teach her a lesson. “If unsure you still are when you return, another master we will find for the youngling. There is no time to waste. Leave immediately, you must!”

“Yes, Master Yoda.” Brea said in unison with the boy, as they watched the ancient one shuffle down the temple hall and out of sight. There really was no arguing with him in the end, and at least for now, it seemed Brea had a padawan of her own.

—--------------------------

That was how she found herself where she was now. Her ship was roomy enough to comfortably house two people, but she had been so used to riding alone that she couldn't help but feel a sort of…weight in the Force around them. She sat arms crossed in the pilot's seat and watched the lines of blue and white light streak past through the cockpit window. There were few places as good to strike up conversation in than hyperspace.

She looked over at Kepler, who sat stiffly and silently in the co-pilot's seat, as though he was afraid to move even a muscle for some reason.

“So, this is your first time off-world, isn't it? it's exciting, huh?”

“I dunno. I feel more nauseous than anything.”

“Eh, that's normal! It'll go away after a while.” She said with a wave of her hand, a deceptively blasé gesture to hide the fact that she was actually floundering just a bit. She'd been trying to break the ice between them for a little while now, but had only managed to get similarly dry responses from him thus far. She was normally so good with younglings. When she visited the initiates when they had a break from their studies to play in the courtyards, they had lots of fun. But this one was so different. Most children raised in the Jedi Temple never see anything else until they reach padawanship, the little guy should be ecstatic right now!

But she wasn't sensing any sort of joy from him right now. Not a hint of excitement. He sat disgruntled and the slightest bit on edge like he was waiting for something terrible to happen at any moment.

“I hope you're not worried about it being your first mission, too. I promise, it won't be that ba-”

“You don't have to keep trying to talk to me, you know.” He said suddenly, cutting off her train of thought.

She quirked an eyebrow, eyeing him from the side as she idly flipped a switch here and there on the control panel to keep the hyperspace jump running smoothly. “I want to talk to you. It seems like we're gonna be spending quite some time with each other from now on, right?”

“Sure. If you say so…” He said under his breath, but just loud enough that Brea heard it over the hum of the ship's engines.

If she says so? That was more than a little concerning to say the least.

“Well, did anyone say otherwise? Come on, we're in this together now.”

He stayed quiet, retreating into himself both physically and emotionally. That wasn't good, she needed to get him to elaborate more so she could finally figure this kid out. What would her Master have done if she needed her to open up to her…?

“Well, this reminds me of my first mission as a Padawan. My Master Yora Tos was a very powerful Jedi, and she had such a kind soul. But she was also such a chatterbox. There we were, it's my first time entering hyperspace, I'm trying to focus be amazed by it and she just would not stop yammering on and on and on and on and on-”

She heard him heave a rather large sigh. Bingo.

“Alright, I'm sorry, it's just…I don't have. A very good track record with this sort of thing.”

“What, with hyperspace?”

“No, with my Masters.”

Masters…plural? It wasn't necessarily unheard of for a padawan to be reassigned once in a while. Sometimes the matchup just didn't work out for one reason or another. It seemed like what was bothering him ran a little deeper than that, though.

“How many…Masters have you had?” She pried carefully, not wanting him to clam up again. She was worried she'd made a mistake by asking when he didn't reply right away, but after a few moments and another large sigh, he did.

“Three.”

She blinked. Three previous Masters? Ok, now that actually was a little bit unheard of. Now she was starting to understand him a little bit. She only ever had one, so maybe this wasn't a matter she could relate to personally, but she felt that she could at least try to sympathize with him.

“Jeez, that's rough, buddy. Why did you drop them? You didn't like em?”

He turned away from her, leaning against the arm of the seat and resting his chin on his hand. “I didn't. They dropped me. Because I'm, well… I'm not really cut out to be a Jedi.”

Her head swiveled towards him, “Hey, don't say that! I'm sure it's not true.”

“Well, I mean? I kinda tend to fall behind, someone is always having to wait for me to catch up. My saber technique needs work. I can barely move a pebble with the Force. And on top of that I'm always getting sick.” He emphasized this with a wet-sounding sniffle and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe. “I'm not exactly a star pupil.”

Brea exhaled through her nose as she pondered this. All of that stuff had always come so easily to her, she couldn't imagine how frustrating it must be to struggle so much with it.

“Well, everybody has stuff they're not so good with. It just takes time. And the right guidance! Who were your previous Masters anyway?”

“Well, there was Master Tiin, and Master Koth, and I guess most recently Master Windu.”

“Whew! Well I can hardly blame you, kid.” She said raucously, “That one definitely wasn't your fault.”

He tilted his head to the side as he turned towards her, suddenly seemingly interested for the first time since they met. “What do you mean?”

“Listen, Master Windu has always been bit of a hardass.” She began, leaning back in her chair. Surprisingly enough, this got what she thought was actually a snort out of him. It was almost laughter. Not quite, but close enough. “Ha, that's probably why he's on the Council now, so I doubt much has changed since I was a youngling. His standards are so high you couldn't reach them if you were at the highest point of Cloud City.”

“Yeah…” He turned away, his expression starting to fall again.

Shoot. She dared to reach over and tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch ever so slightly. She retreated a bit, but suddenly it seemed like a new resolve had settled in her mind. Somehow she wasn't convinced that this kid was the problem here.

“Listen…if becoming a Jedi was easy, then everyone would do it, right? If you're here then it means you have every right to be.”

He said nothing, merely humming a noncommittal reply in return before looking ahead through the cockpit window. Her eyes turned in the same direction. The star streaks that had been shooting past them at impossible speeds suddenly slowing until they stopped entirely and returned to their natural shape as points of light in the far distance. The whole ship shook slightly as they were finally dropped out of hyperspace.

Brea sighed and rolled her neck to pop her upper vertebrae before turning her attention to the control panel, switching the ship from autopilot to manual controls again.

“Alright. Let's get down there and save Skywalker's skin!” they began their descent and soon they would be breaking the atmosphere. “In my experience, hands-on learning is way more useful than anything you can learn from silly old books anyway!”

She glanced over at him and saw how his eyes widened as he watched the planet's surface slowly approach them. His lips pulled tightly in a sort of grimace as he was no doubt imagining what sort of scene awaited the both of them there. So, he was a bit nervous about his first mission. In an ideal world, it wouldn't have been under these circumstances, but at least one thing was clear to her. She wasn't gonna let anything happen to him.

“Remember, I got your back out there, kiddo.”

He swallowed harshly and turned, throwing her a thumbs up and some semblance of an awkward smile, revealing that he had a gap between his two front teeth. Something she hadn't noticed before now.

Fear response or not, this was the first smile she'd seen from him this entire time, and as she returned her focus to the ship's steering apparatus and prepared for landing, she smiled back.

[im-a-wonderling]

Rescue Me, Part 2 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Dedicated to @sassysaxxy for quoting my own writing at me, showering me with compliments, and sending me your screams and other genuine reactions to my snippets. Your enthusiasm as a reader ignites my enthusiasm as a writer. I hope you enjoy this! 💗

Summary: Y/N is succeeding as Obi-Wan Kenobi's padawan, but who knew succeeding brought other kinds of difficulties with it?

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: war

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

I swiped at my forehead, wiping the moisture that had collected there away with my sleeve. Obi-Wan warned me about the thickness of Felucia’s climate, but I hadn’t realized this was how it felt to breathe in equal amounts of water vapor and actual air. I felt as though a mesh swatch had been implanted in the back of my throat, making me work twice as hard to gain half as much oxygen. 

All the Coruscant patricians spending hundreds of credits on expensive moisturizing hair and skin treatments just needed to visit here. 

Obi-Wan’s voice flowed through the comm in my ear. “We need more fire towards the east!” 

“Units C3 and 4, fire three clicks east!” I shouted over my shoulder. The brief telltale clatter of the artillery units calibrating behind me was nearly deafening. 

“Yes, sir!” two clones chorused. I twisted my neck slightly at the sound of it. All Jedi were called ‘sir’, but that didn’t mean I would ever get used to it. 

“How’s the view from up there?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“It’s stunning. Too bad you can’t see it.” His huff made me grin as I raised my binocs to my eyes, looking out at the southernmost front in some hope of catching sight of him. But the only thing I could see were the white flashes of clone armor and the streaking red and blue blaster bolts. “How’s the view from down there?”

“Clanky.”

Droids. 

“How many of them?” 

I heard the telltale sound of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber slicing through metal. “One less now,” he grunted. 

I sighed. “Only a few hundred thousand to go.”

The war continued to gnash its way through the galaxy, and few planets were as devastated as Felucia. Sparsely inhabited, the value of the planet came from nysillin. The Separatists and the Republic had been battling for months over control of the precious healing herb. My master and I had only been here for a few days to resolve the current standoff, but I was ready to leave the moment we were allowed to. 

Directly in front of the mountain I stood on was Master Plo Koon’s battalion, arguably the most important part. If the middle of the field was lost, the battle was lost. To the south was Obi-Wan’s battalion, steadily gaining ground, in no small part because of my master. 

The northern regiment, the smallest group of the three, was currently at a standstill. Commander Cody reported no action and no sightings of the Separatist forces, and so, that battalion was currently out of combat.

My position with the artillery gave me the perfect vantage point, not only of all three fronts, but of the village at my back, one of the only villages the Separatists hadn’t managed to pillage. It would stay that way, if the Republic had anything to say about it. 

My master’s voice crackled in my ear. “There’s more trying to cut through the mountains.”

“Unit B, two clicks to the south!” I relayed to the closest artillery gunman. 

“Yes, sir!” He immediately started punching in calculations for trajectory, and I preemptively clapped my hands over my ears to try and hear Obi-Wan’s next words. 

“When the droids fire up their backup generators-” My master’s voice garbled, becoming unintelligible amidst the horrid clatter from behind me.

“Repeat orders!” I requested, pushing my comm-link further into my ear in the hopes of hearing better. But instead of getting clearer, the words got softer and more garbled before completely cutting out.

“Obi-Wan?” No response. “Obi-Wan, can you hear me?!” No response.

I waved over at the comms technician. “I’ve lost Master Kenobi. Can you restore the connection?”

“Right away, sir.” The clone’s helmet tilted down as he started tapping on his screen. Then, his fingers stopped. “Uh…sir?”

My brow furrowed. “What’s the problem? Is the machine malfunctioning?” 

The helmet shook from side to side. “No, sir, it’s not the machine, it’s something external.”

“What about Master Koon? Can we reach him?”

“No, sir, I can’t locate any signals on any frequency, much less hone in on what they’re saying.”

“No other signals?” I said under my breath. Surveying the ground below me, I searched for any suspicious movement, anything that could resemble a jammer. But the battlefield resembled how it looked before with conflict on the central and southern fronts. Desperate, I panned to the north. My eyes caught sight of the glimmering of the shiny, gray armor of battle droids.

“Oh no.” I quickly adjusted the settings on my binocs and let out a gasp. 

Four clicks ahead of Commander Cody’s battalion, the Separatist AATs were charging. And because of the foliage, Commander Cody wouldn’t be able to see the tanks until they were already within range.

“Scrag!” I ripped the binocs from my eyes, breathing heavily as I stared out at the valley. 

“What’s going on?” one of the clones asked. 

I didn’t reply, still staring. What was I supposed to do? Communications were down. If Commander Cody’s unit was overcome, the Separatists could easily incapacitate the artillery before storming the village.

It’d be a massacre.

And they didn’t even appear to have a jammer with them.

The group marching on the front were still a few minutes away from firing distance, which meant I had a chance to act. How should I seize it? How could I seize it? I was here, with the artillery, removed from the battlefield. 

“Obi-Wan,” I said weakly into my comm, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. “What do I do?” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm down.

In the darkness, Obi-Wan’s wisdom came back to me.

From the Force were we formed and to the Force will we return, he once told me. Sitting cross-legged, his tone perfumed with his seemingly infinite patience, even as I struggled to master the elusive practice of meditation. The Force is your ally. Let it use you, and it will let you use it.

Sentiments that appeared contradictory, but instead formed a perfectly balanced harmony, like the Force itself.

The beginning and ending of all things.

I took in a deep breath, inhaling the humid air before breathing out, letting the cacophony of worries and what-ifs go.

I am here, I thought. 

And the Force answered.

“Commander Y/L/N?”

My eyes flew open to reveal a nervous looking clone.

“What is going on?”

“Communications are down, and there’s a massive force about to reach the 3rd regiment.”

“What are your orders, sir?”

“Fire two kilometers in front of the 3rd regiment’s line and keep firing!” I gave a strained smile. “You’ve just gotten a promotion, trooper.”

There was no path leading up or down the mountain. The artillery was only set up here after being transported by a slow carrier, and I wouldn’t be able to land that thing down on the field. A target that big would be shot down by the Separatists immediately. 

So I stepped right to the edge of the mountain, looking down below. 

I reached out with the Force, took a few shallow, bracing breaths, and jumped.

One of the clones let out a cheer, but the sound whipped away as I free-fell, gaining speed. The wind whipped past me in a roar, and my eyes watered so badly, I had to shut them.

Blindly, I reached out for the Force and felt its aura surrounding me, imparting soft comfort instead of hard, cold fear. The wind around me slowed. I suddenly felt as though I were floating instead of tumbling. I opened my eyes, and I could see the whole valley. 

A searing warning came, and I immediately tucked in my head, bent my arms and legs, and waited for impact.

My feet touched the ground, and I immediately rolled forward.

I stayed there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest as I fought against the water vapor to catch my breath. 

Then, I took off running, ripping through the Felucian vegetation as I sprinted towards the northern front. 

No other planet I’d been to had plants which compared to the size of the ones on this one. The cyan pitcher plants, shaped like the bulb of a flower, stretched far above my head while long, wispy red growths bent and curled every which way. The dangling parts of the yellow plants made them seem like they dripped with sticky yellow syrup. The dull light from Felucia’s yellow sun was colored by the translucent nature of the plants, shining all manner of different hues around me. All the plants grew so fast, it was all the Republic forces could do to keep clear paths between battalions. If I hadn’t been on the mountain looking down at the battlefield a moment ago, I might’ve taken a wrong turn. As it was, I knew precisely which paths to take.

My heart raced when the white tents and equipment came into sight. I tore through the camp. “Where’s Commander Cody?” I asked the first clone I found. He wordlessly pointed, and I rushed in the provided direction. 

A helmetless Commander Cody stood above a projected map of the area, the very view I’d just seen from my position. The commander looked up, clearly surprised to see me. “Commander Y/L/N? What are you doing here?”

I skid to a stop. “I saw the Separatists moving on this position, they’ll be here any minute.” My own voice sounded so even, a marvel considering how out of breath I should’ve been. 

Commander Cody cursed. “That’s why the long range comms aren’t working.”

I nodded.

“We have to hold this line while Master Koon and Master Kenobi are informed and push their lines forward.” Cody turned to one of the clones standing beside him. “Take my speeder to inform Masters Koon and Kenobi of the situation!” The clone nodded and ran the direction I’d come. 

“How long until the troops can be deployed?” 

Commander Cody’s face went grim. “There’s only a platoon assigned to the front. The rest are sleeping or eating. The clankers will be here before I can get them ready.”

I started running towards the front. “I’ll buy you that time!” I called over my shoulder.

Subtly reaching out with the Force, I let the life forces of the clones ahead of me guide my path, and it was a good thing I did. 

The only reason I recognized the edge of the battlefield when I reached it was the gradual dwindle in the number of large pitcher plants, allowing for a slightly more unobstructed view ahead. Heart pounding, I dodged the ferns and giant mushrooms, waiting for the thick air to suddenly fill with blaster shots.

SCREECH!

That was my only warning before a shell screamed over my head. My heart dropped, because I knew I hadn’t reached the squad in time. 

“AATs ahead!” the voice of a clone yelled, and all hell broke loose.

The air filled with blaster shots, and I was surrounded by the high pitched whines following their discharge and the heat that followed them. I deflected as many shots as I was able, trying to reach the platoon. I spotted the camouflage helmet of a clone scout trooper and bounded towards it. 

“Where’s this fire coming from?!” one of the clones behind me cried from his defensive position. “We didn’t hear a warning!”

I managed to reach whom I assumed was the squad leader, an ARC trooper I recognized as being called Driver. “Commander Cody is rallying the troops now!” I shouted over the noises of combat. 

Driver gave a curt nod before crouching out from behind the pitcher plant to fire a few shots at the Separatists and then rolling back to safety.

I glanced around at the other clones I could sense, all valiantly returning fire. Nine clones and a Jedi had no hope of winning against the infantry corp that was bearing down on us, but we just needed to buy time.

Another shell barreled towards us, and I threw my hand out, diverting it into the trees. Sending a glare at the AAT that came so close to destroying the platoon, I deflected every blast I could. “Hold your ground!”

But it couldn’t last forever.

“Dank’s been hit!” one of the other squad members yelled.

Distracted, I looked behind me to see the white-clad body of a clone on the ground, not moving. Turning away to parry another shell, I reached behind me with the Force to feel Dank’s life.

I felt nothing.

And in that nothing, suddenly, everything slowed down.

A shell came hurtling towards me, slowly rotating in the air as it came closer and closer. With a yell, I threw out my hand, sending the shell back in the direction it’d come from. 

The explosion of an AAT made the corner of my mouth twitch up. Take that, I thought with satisfaction. 

“Engage!”

I dared a glance over my shoulder to see scores of clones running out of the foliage, taking cover behind the pitcher plants and returning fire.

Commander Cody joined me behind the pitcher plant I was using for cover. “Took you long enough!” I called over to him. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing my teasing. “Have either of the masters sent back word?” The commander shook his head, and my heart sank. To win this battle, it was imperative that the other two battalions pushed forward. Cody could hold the line, but he wouldn’t be capable of pushing the Separatists back. 

I ducked behind another pitcher plant, gripping my lightsaber in front of me as I panted for breath. “Obi-Wan,” I said quietly. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here?” I shut my eyes, tuning out the commotion around me.

I am here.

The Force rose up, the crackles of energy surrounding me.

Obi-Wan. I need Obi-Wan.

The answer was a grab of my consciousness. The Force dragging it at top speed, not bothering to weave through the trees and fighters. It was an odd sensation, to fly through solid things and feel only the energy that knit them together.

Then, I felt the light.

“Obi-Wan,” I breathed, my own voice sounding far away. “You need to attack.” The light didn’t react, and I knew he hadn’t felt me. Reaching out with my conscience, I prodded the light sharply. “Attack.”

Suddenly, I got ripped away, flying back to the confines of my own body. I opened my eyes, once again hearing the blasters firing.

Had he heard me?

I wasn't sure.

I peeked over the edge of the plant. The hundreds of droids were nearer, and with it, the crowd of AATs. I was about to turn away when an AAT in the middle caught my attention.  Standing with its top half outside the hatch of an AAT, was a droid, tapping onto a large, welded addition to the AAT.

It could’ve been anything, but I knew better. 

Eighty meters away, there it was.

If I were still with the artillery, I could order them to fire on that AAT, but I was in the battle, and my options were limited.

I scanned the field. The fighting was thick, but the foliage was thicker. With Cody holding up the rear, I might be able to sneak past the droids, get to the jammer, incapacitate it, and turn the tide of the battle.

I’d need back-up.

My eyes fell on Driver, and the plan started to form. “Driver!” I called. The ARC trooper turned, and I waved him over. “On me!” Without hesitation, I started on a zig-zag path, darting from cover to cover, never staying still enough to be a target. Driver and two other clones followed me.

It was harrowing, leaping from side-to-side, hoping that no droid would notice us before we got around. Finally, we got to the edge of the battlefield.

“What’s going on, sir?” Driver asked.

I peeked over the tree we hid behind. “We’re going to take out the AAT that's jamming our comms,” I told them breathlessly.

Driver and the other two clones exchanged looks, but none of them raised an objection. They nodded at me, and together, we snuck through the foliage, trying to keep the battlefield within sight, but remain unseen.

Finally, we reached as far as we needed. Maybe fifteen meters into the battlefield, and we’d reach the AAT.

I singled out the AAT with the welded addition. “That’s the one!” I shouted above the clamor on the battlefield. 

“Click,” Driver yelled, “you’re up! We’ll cover you!”

One of the clones nodded, his hand drifting to his belt where a number of dangerous looking items lay. He took off in a zig-zag jog, ducking around droids and staying low to the ground.

I watched him, my anticipation rising.

Click reached out to lay a hand on the AAT when suddenly his body contorted. I caught sight of a blaster mark in the center of his chestplate before he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Horror rose up in me, and with it, the distress of the two clones standing with me.

I shook my head. Time to do my job. My eyes shifted to the thermal detonator on Driver’s belt. 

“I need your detonator!” I hissed at Driver. 

Driver’s helmet shifted slightly, and I could feel the sense of duty that tugged at him. “Sir, I should be the one to–”

“Driver, now!”

Grabbing the detonator from his belt, he tossed it at me, and I caught it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sprinted into the battlefield, the air around me filling with red and blue blaster bolts alike. I didn’t check my surroundings to see if the droids or other AATs had noticed me, trusting the Force to warn me of an impending threat. 

I felt the blaster bolt before I saw it and ducked, the bolt whizzing over my head. I didn’t bother to look in the direction it’d come from, solely focused on my target. 

Finally, I reached the AAT and jumped onto it, throwing open the hatch door. Hitting the activation button, I dropped the detonator into the interior and slammed the hatch closed. 

I slid off the AAT as fast as I could. Dropping beside Click’s body, I hooked my arms underneath his armpits and yanked. 

Another clone appeared beside me. “Sir, we need to lea–”

The detonator blew. 

The vigor of the blast threw me backwards. I landed hard on my back, my head snapping back.

“–and do it now!”

I nearly cried with relief upon hearing my master’s voice through my comm. 

“They’re retreating!” said Commander Cody’s voice in my ear. “Push forward!”

I lifted my head up in time to see droids retreating…right in our direction.

The clone beside me let out a groan, and I caught sight of the bashed side of his helmet. I was on my feet in an instant, slinging his arm over my shoulder and practically dragging him with me. 

Driver ran from the tree, coming to the clone’s other side. 

Together, the three of us reached cover, just in time to hear the shouts of victory and aggression as the clone forces ran forward, chasing the Separatists away. 

Driver and I leaned the clone against the tree. I could sense his pain, which only increased my guilt. This clone had just been trying to get me to safety and ended up injured because of it. I was not going to let him die like the others. I crouched in front of him, reaching out to inspect his helmet. “What’s your name?” I asked softly. The clone didn’t respond; his arms were out to the sides, as if he were trying to balance himself. Resting a firm hand on his shoulder, I asked again. “Soldier, what’s your name?” 

“CT-7563.” Even through the modulator of his helmet, I could hear that he tripped over the numbers. 

My eyes flicked to Driver, who now kneeled beside me. “What’s his other name?”

“We call him Exit,” Driver answered. 

I grabbed both sides of the helmet, preparing to ease it off. “Okay, Exit, I’m going to take off your helmet so I can see your wound better.”

I could feel Exit’s hesitation, but when he raised no objection, I gently tugged on the helmet, pulling it off his head. 

The right side of Exit’s head was already swelling, and there was a nasty gash oozing blood into his buzzed hair. Exit blinked rapidly, and I wished I had a flashlight to check his pupillary response. But I didn’t have a flashlight; I didn’t even have a bandage to stop the bleeding.

I glanced around to see what was available to me, and my eyes fell on a red spotted plant—the very plant responsible for this skirmish. “Here,” I said. I delicately plucked a leaf. “Chew this, it’ll help.” 

Disoriented as he was, I didn’t expect Exit to hold up his hand. “I s-shouldnnn’t.” 

I threw him a stern look. “There’s more than enough to go around. Chew it.” Exit obediently put the plant in his mouth, and Driver knelt down to help him up. “Help him back to the FOB, will you?”

“Yes, Commander Y/N.”

Another clone joined them, and together, they brought their injured brother onto the battlefield, towards the camp. 

I stopped, crouching onto the ground to take a moment. As my adrenaline receded, the muscles of my neck started to ache from the detonator’s kickback. I could only hope for no more explosions in the near future. 

Click’s body still lay where I’d abandoned it, and the sight made my chest feel tight. 

“May the Force be with you,” I murmured under my breath as two clones walked up to their brother, rolling him onto a stretcher so they could carry him off to the field. Had he died on Coruscant, his body would be cremated. But I’d been in this war long enough to know his body was headed for a mass grave, marked only with the helmets that no longer had anyone to claim them.

The only funeral rites these warriors were likely to receive.

A hand patted my shoulder. “You did good,” Commander Cody said. Through the thicket of gruff and stern words, I could make out the undertone of pride. 

I sighed, knowing it was undeserved. “I deserted my post.” I reflexively tightened my grip on my lightsaber. “I was supposed to stay with the artillery.”

“You saw a problem no one else did, and you acted before it was too late.” Commander Cody glanced over at where the Separatists had been minutes ago. “Your leadership prevented the worst case scenario and turned it into a victory.”

I straightened. “We can only hope my master agrees.” 

“Padawan Y/N!”  Master Plo Koon approached. Normally, his presence was a calming one, but at that moment, I was unnerved by the inability to see his eyes.

“Master.” I bowed my head, ignoring the twinge from my neck muscles.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, master.”

Master Koon and Commander Cody started for the camp, sharing information on the battle as they went.

The sound of humming light filled my head, causing me to look up.

Obi-Wan walked straight towards me, dirt covering his grim face and unignited lightsaber clenched tightly in one hand as he crossed the field with his long, uninterrupted strides. He looked tired, but uninjured. 

I walked to meet him, a soft smile on my face. “In one piece, old man?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Of course it would be too much to hope the Separatists might’ve goaded you into holding your tongue.”

“Well, they couldn’t goad me into holding onto my thermal detonator.” I grinned.

“Equally as explosive,” Obi-Wan muttered, shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide a small smile. “Come, we must go check on the village while the troops secure the field.” 

Obediently, I fell into step behind him. “How long do you think the Separatists will take to regroup?”

“No way to know,” Obi-Wan answered as we strode through the camp. “They took a hit today, but it’s just another step in the dance.”

I lowered my eyes somberly, the day’s victory coming into perspective. He was right, as always. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single time when Obi-Wan had been wrong about–

“Master Kenobi?” a voice from behind us said.

Commander Cody stood there, his arms folded in an imposing stance. 

“Yes, commander?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Commander Cody jerked his head to the right. “The village is that way.”

I pursed my lips to keep from smiling.

-

“Don’t put any weight on that leg, y’hear?” I said, playfully narrowing my eyes at the Felucian villager as I wrapped bandages around her wound.

She laughed, bending her long neck sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s get you up.” I helped her shift to the end of the rickety cot in the med tent, hoisting her up onto her right leg.

“Thank you,” her husband told me, bowing his head as he reached his arm around his wife, helping her balance. 

“No problem,” I replied, watching the two of them hobble towards the mess tent to join the other villagers that had joined the Republic camp to receive some nourishment. Judging by the tightness around the villager’s eyes, she was still in pain, but her husband watched her with such tenderness, as if he was counting himself lucky to be nothing more than a crutch.

“How’d she get injured?”

I jumped, then relaxed when I recognized the voice as Obi-Wan’s. I’d been so focused on the villager, I hadn’t noticed the nearing of his light. “She got caught in a Separatist trap and nearly lost her foot. Unfortunately for her, the village still hasn’t found a shaman to replace the last one.” I walked over to the makeshift sanitizer, quickly cleaning my hands. “Honestly, she still might lose the foot if she’s not careful.”

When my statements were met only with silence, I glanced up at my master and caught sight of the calculation on his face. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Nothing. Shall we go eat?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was thinking something, and he was thinking something about me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He let out a little sigh, his mouth curling into a smile. “Seeing you acting as a healer. It’s…satisfying.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Well, don’t go getting any ideas about jumping in a Rathtar den again, ‘cause I’m not patching you up this time.”

Obi-Wan laughed easily, clearly aware that I would patch him up every time he needed it regardless of my complaining. “C’mon, let’s go eat.” 

Perhaps when the clone wars ended, there would be things I missed. I would miss getting to explore new planets and meet new people. I would miss the demands of battle, whether it demanded more energy where there was none or ingenuity in the face of stress.

I would not, however, miss the rations.

I popped another sweet energy cube into my mouth, chewing it and trying not to grimace. 

Opposite me, Obi-Wan was staring at the cube in his palm with great distaste. The delighted cry of a child filled the air, and a stampede of them started to run past in the strange waddling way of Felucians. 

Obi-Wan slyly reached out to them, allowing one of the children to pluck the cube off his palm and into her mouth with a grin. 

I sent him a sideways glance as the children ran out of the mess tent. “You’re going to go hungry.” 

Obi-Wan conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Better an empty stomach than a stomach with that stuff inside it.”

I snorted. “I’ve fought on an empty stomach. Trust me, it’s no good.”

Obi-Wan’s face fell. “Krell?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to, Obi-Wan already knew more than I’d ever meant for him to know. Instead of dredging up the past, I looked down at my plate. "Agh," I blurted at the burst of pain that ran up my neck.

Obi-Wan tensed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no." I rubbed at the sore spot. "Caught the wrong end of an explosion and earned myself some whiplash."

"I think I saw some cream in the med tent." Obi-Wan started to get up, but I grabbed his arm.

"I'm fine."

Obi-Wan didn't ask me if I was sure, he simply fixed me with his classic I-know-better-than-you look.

"It'll clear up on it's own," I insisted. "Save the supplies for the clones and the villagers."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

“Are you ready, Master Kenobi?” Master Koon approached our table. “The council is waiting.”

My master threw me another look and then got to his feet. “Yes, Master Koon.”

“Your padawan will have much to tell us,” Master Koon said. 

I shot upright in my seat. “What?” I looked at Obi-Wan, hoping he would provide me with insight, but he was staring at Mast Koon as well, a slightly wary expression on his face. His Force light was flickering with uncertainty.

“What am I telling?” I asked Master Koon.

“We will want to speak of your actions today,” Master Koon replied, seeming absolutely calm. 

My…actions?

An uncomfortable tension settled in my stomach, and the souring of the previously sweet energy cubes made me wish I’d followed my master’s example and refrained from eating. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Master Kenobi.” Master Koon left us, walking towards the erected tent for the council meeting.

Obi-Wan didn’t move for a moment. He kept his eyes on Master Koon’s retreating back, but I could feel the buzzing surrounding us, like the Force was flocking to my master. Whatever he was thinking, the Force was drawn to it. 

Obi-Wan started walking towards the tent, not sparing me another glance as he left me alone in my panic.

If Master Koon thought my actions deserved a place in a council meeting…perhaps my desertion of my post in the battle was a bigger deal than I thought. 

Of course it was. What had I been thinking? I must’ve been possessed by some maverick spirit, urging me to leap into battle without instruction from my superiors. Perhaps the spirit of Skywalker, I thought nervously to myself, except I don’t have the role of the Chosen One to cushion my fall. 

Now I was to defend my actions in front of the council? Not once in all my appearances before the Jedi council had they asked me to speak. Every time, I stood in Krell or Kenobi’s shadow, keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. 

The longer I waited to be summoned, the greater the buzzing of the light grew. Only Master Koon and Obi-Wan were physically inside the tent. If the Force gathered around any of the other members, I wouldn’t be able to feel it, not this far away from Coruscant. What could the council be discussing that would send Obi-Wan into such a flutter?

After what felt like ages, Obi-Wan poked his head outside of the tent, making eye contact with me. 

I sucked in a breath, slowly rising to my feet.

But then Obi-Wan’s eyes moved to something behind me. “Commander Cody, the council wishes to speak with you.”

Commander Cody appeared as aghast as I felt. “As the council wishes,” he said finally. He got up from his chair, shooting me a look before ducking into the tent. I stared at the tent flap. Why did they want to speak to Cody? Was it simply for a report on the battle? Or were they asking Cody to give a report about me? 

Altogether too soon for my tastes, the tent flapped opened as Commander Cody came out. I searched for something in his face to clue me into what he’d said about me, but his stoic face revealed nothing.

“Y/N.” My master stood, holding the tent flap open. “We’re ready for you.” I stayed where I was, trying to read his face, but the words there were in Shyriiwook. 

“Hells,” I muttered. “Here comes the heavy weather.” After lingering a moment to lift my chin high, I walked inside the tent.

Master Koon stood off to one side while Obi-Wan moved to stand at the other. In between them, life-sized holograms of each member of the Jedi Council was projected. With the glitching and imprecision of the transmissions, it was impossible to tell what expressions they wore. 

“Padawan Y/N,” Master Windu began, “the 3rd Regiment went into conflict under your discretion, correct?”

Aware of Master Windu’s deep distaste for excuses, I erred on the side of brevity. “Yes.”

“And you joined them once the comms went out?”

“Yes.”

“Can you please tell us why?”

“When the comms went out, I surveyed the battlefield with binocs, and I spotted the enemy making a move towards the 3rd Regiment in force. Knowing they weren’t expecting conflict and being unable to communicate with them, I left orders for the artillery to fire upon their position while I got to the line as quickly as I could.”

Master Fisto tilted his head. “Commander Cody informed us you arrived on foot.”

It wasn’t a question, and yet there was still a suspicious silence. “I…looked for a speeder of some sort, but the only ship with the artillery was the command platform, and I wouldn’t be able to land that by the front without it getting shot down.”

“How did you get down off the mountain?” Master Windu asked.

“I jumped.”

The humming of the light dissipated for a moment, and it took everything in me to keep my focus on Master Windu. 

Master Windu cleared his throat. “So once you…jumped…and you reached the northern front, then you took control of the regiment?”

I hesitated. “No.”

“No?” Master Tiin asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Sweat gathered on my palms. “I told Commander Cody of the oncoming fighters, and once a messenger was sent to Master Koon and Master Kenobi, I went to the front line to buy enough time for the regiment to deploy.” A few of the masters glanced over at each other, and I couldn’t keep quiet. “I didn’t give Commander Cody orders. I informed him of the situation and gave him the time he needed to rally his troops.”

“But you did take three clones with you to bring down the jammer.”

“Yes.”

“And you brought it down how exactly?” 

I swallowed hard. “A thermal detonator.”

“Why didn’t you go to Master Koon or Master Kenobi directly when the comms went out?” Master Mundi asked. 

I hesitated. It felt like a trick question, but it was impossible to know what the masters wanted me to say, so I opted for the truth. “Protecting the village was the most important. That’s why the Republic is here, to defend life. There was very little time, so I trusted my–”

Gut, I very nearly said, but Jedi didn’t make decisions on gut feelings. 

“I trusted my training.”

No one spoke, and a skittish feeling scratched at the walls of my stomach. To stand in front of the most powerful Jedis while none of them spoke? How royally had I screwed up?

“Impressive,” Master Yoda muttered, stroking his chin. “Impressive, very.”

…impressive? 

Did he speak of my disobedience? Were my actions a kind of wrong of epic proportions, it was impressive someone could have behaved so poorly?

My hands started shaking. 

“Padawan Y/N, have you started preparing for your trials?” Master Unduli asked. 

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, unsure of where the question was leading. “I’ve been studying for months.” A strange, shuddering pulse of light shot through the Force like a bolt of lightning, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my master. His stony face offered no insight. 

“I don’t think you’ll be studying for your trials much longer,” Master Unduli said.

Desperation rocked through my core. I knew it, I thought. Abandoning my post would get me kicked out of the Jedi Order.

“The way I see it,” Master Unduli said, looking over at Master Windu beside him, “Padawan Y/N acted as a Jedi Knight in this situation and turned the tide of the battle.” My mouth fell open as murmurs of agreement rippled through the tent. I quickly closed it, hoping none of the masters had noticed it.

“We commend you on your quick thinking and serenity under pressure,” Master Windu said.

Commend? Serenity? I hardly dared to believe it. “Thank you, masters.”

“The jogan doesn’t roll far from the vine, eh, Master Kenobi?” Master Fisto asked, and appreciative chuckles rippled through the room. Not even my years of strength and endurance training kept me from smiling. They were comparing me to Obi-Wan? That was surely one of the highest compliments in the galaxy.

Aching to see the approval on my master’s face, I dared a peek at him.

But instead of a beam of pride, Obi-Wan’s brows were furrowed and his lips downturned. My stomach flipped. Was he displeased with me?

“We’ll be keeping our eyes on you, Padawan Y/N,” Master Mundi said, drawing my attention once more. “As for right now, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, master, thank you, master.” I bowed low and left the tent, leaving Obi-Wan and Master Koon to finish up their business with the council. Once the tent flap closed behind me, I breathed in the heavy air, trying to process what had just happened.

“Well?” Commander Cody asked from his chair, helmet off and eyebrows raised. “What did they say?” 

“They’re pleased with me,” I answered, surprised by my own words. “They commended me.”

Commander Cody rose from his seat to clap me on the shoulder, celebrating with me in his own grisly way: without saying a word. No reassurances or comments.

“I thought they were going to kick me out of the Order,” I confessed. “Or give me some consequence, not…not tell me I did well.” I smiled at Cody. “But they did.”

Cody went back to his chair. “I’m sure your master is very proud.”

I stopped.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem proud. In fact, he hadn’t said a single thing about the battle. If I’d done something right, Obi-Wan would’ve given a quick affirmation before we went to the village. If I’d done something wrong, we would’ve been knee-deep in a lecture instead of spending time with the children. But Obi-Wan hadn’t done either. If I didn’t do anything right and I didn’t do anything wrong…then what had I done?

Was the Jedi council being generous in their commendation? 

No.

The Jedi Council showing kindness to me had never been much of a priority before, so they must’ve meant it. 

Why was it, then, that Master Windu of all people praised me, and Obi-Wan hadn’t even smiled? Was Obi-Wan simply withholding his pride to save it for the right time? Or did he disagree with the other masters? Did Obi-Wan believe that I’d acted rashly and deserved to be scolded for my disobedience?

I felt weirdly jittery, as though my bones were shaking underneath my skin.

“Safe travels, Master Kenobi,” Master Koon said as he and my master came out of the tent behind me. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Obi-Wan replied. 

With a nod in my direction, Master Koon walked off in the direction of the mess tent, and Obi-wan brushed past me to walk in Commander Cody’s direction.

I caught up to Obi-Wan. “We’re leaving? 

“The council is pulling us out,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me. “The Separatists have pulled back, and the Felucian platoons can advance without us here. Master Koon will remain to supervise until this heats up again.”

Dreams of Coruscant filled my mind. The tall buildings, the tempered weather, the crowds. “Are we returning to the temple?” I asked hopefully.

“No, they're assigning us to a diplomatic mission.”

“Diplomatic mission?” I echoed, coming to a stop. I’d never been on one. They were rare these days, and in the days when they’d been common, Master Krell would most certainly not have been the council’s first choice to go, which meant I wouldn’t have been either.

Obi-Wan, the great Negotiator, would be. 

My master and Cody exchanged quick words.

“Y/N, let’s go,” Obi-Wan said, his every word clipped.

There was no point in telling me to gather my stuff; the only things I possessed with the robes on my body and the lightsaber at my belt.

Cody flicked two fingers out from his forehead in a tiny salute. “See you later, kid.”

“Next time you see me,” I said with a smile, “I might be a Jedi Knight.”

“About time,” he said gruffly.

I could’ve hugged him for his words, and I stood for a moment, debating doing so.

“Y/N,” said a firm voice behind me.

Ducking my head, I followed Obi-Wan towards the rudimentary spaceport. His light was casting uncertain shadows through the Force. I tilted my head, honing in on the flickers, but the nearer I got to it, the more light skittered away from me.

How strange that I'd felt him as clear as day across a battlefield, but now I couldn't when I walked beside him.

When we reached the ship, I wordlessly went to the cockpit, preparing to take off. According to the rumors, Obi-Wan was an excellent pilot, but I only saw him occupy the pilot’s chair when we were under fire. If we were simply navigating from one planet to another, he left the piloting to me.

“Where are we going, Master?” I called behind me.

“To Taris, in the Outer Rim.”

Taris.

A planet of overgrown swamps and yellow smog that choked the atmosphere. And if we were headed there for a negotiation, we were headed to the far side, where all the wealthy lived. 

Fantastic.

-

The ship’s engine hummed as it hurtled through lightspeed. 

I settled myself on the floor, ducking my head to catch sight of what I needed in the mirror I’d propped up against the wall. I lifted the pair of scissors in my head, grabbing a section of hair.

“What are you doing?” 

Obi-Wan stared down at me, the grime gone from his face. He must’ve washed it.

“My hair’s too long, so…I’m cutting it.” 

A strange heaviness shot through the Force, as if Obi-Wan’s light had tumbled to the ground with a loud and hollow thunk. Before I could try to reach the light, Obi-Wan turned away from me.

His Force signature was confusing me left and right today. The exorbitant turmoil I felt through the Force seemed disproportionate to the lack of words coming out of his mouth. Usually when I sensed this much distress in him, we dialogued about it.

Perhaps the issue now wasn’t with him, but with me. As the battlefield on Felucia had shown, sometimes the receiver was a problem just as much as the transmitter. 

I shook my head softly, raising the scissors again to make the first cut.

“You’ve been my padawan for less than six months,” Obi-wan said suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin. He stood above me again, his lips pursed. 

Why was he mentioning our timeline? “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, the words curt, “that you were studying to take the trials.”

“Oh.” I looked away, my scissors hovering uncertainty as I tried to decide whether to go ahead with cutting or put them down. “Well, I’ve been a padawan for years.” Obi-Wan said nothing. I shifted to face him, gripping the scissors in my lap. “I’m twenty-two. Everyone I trained with as a youngling has passed their trials already, and some of them even have padawans of their own now.”

“Right,” came Obi-Wan’s unenthusiastic reply. 

“Do you think I’m not prepared?” I asked worriedly.

“No, no!” he burst out. “I mean, yes, you are, you’re capable, to be sure.” He scratched his chin. “I guess I thought I had more time…” he trailed off, his expression troubled. “More time to…to teach you, to help you…improve.”

“What do I need improvement on?” He didn’t answer, sending my anxiety through the roof. I got to my feet, abandoning the scissors on the floor. Obi-Wan took a step back so as to keep us from colliding. “If there’s something I should be working on, something that would hold me back, I would like to know.”

“There’s…” He paused, his eyes darting all over my face. Why did he seem so…uncertain?

Then it dawned on me, the reason he was reluctant to speak. I crossed my arms, trying to hold the pieces of myself together through the implosion of disappointment. “It’s because of Master Krell, isn’t it? No one wants me to pass the trials because no one trusts me.”

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply.

“It’s because of what I did with the regiment, then. I should’ve found some way to contact you first."

“Y/N-”

“Or maybe it’s my combat skills, I know I’m not the best fighter–”

“Y/N!”

I bit my lip, keeping the flood of words from bursting forth. 

With the opposite problem, Obi-Wan didn’t form any words, didn’t move. He just…examined me.

“Why am I not ready?” I asked, slowly and clearly.

“It’s…you’re…I think…” Obi-Wan visibly wrestled with the words coming out of his mouth, seemingly unsure of which sentiment to land on. Finally, he let out a large sigh. “You’ll be a good Jedi Knight.”

I blinked. That was not the answer I was expecting, nor was it a true answer to my question. When Obi-Wan minced words like this, he minced with great care. So what was the hidden meaning, the intent hiding behind his words?

Obi-Wan shuffled towards the cockpit, leaving me alone with the burgeoning company of my thoughts.

He had doubts. He must’ve, for why else would the echoes of his thoughts fall so heavy?

It was strange. Obi-Wan fought for me, fought to overpower my reputation within the Order and establish me as a true Jedi. The council had always been skeptical, and it hadn’t hindered him one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. 

Now I’d received affirmation from the council, yet Obi-Wan had doubts?

I returned to my reflection, trying to resume my planned activity. But my hands were shaking so much, I couldn’t hold the scissors straight. Every time I worked up the courage to make a cut, the scissors faltered.

-

Part 3

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013

[mvshortcut]

number two 🫡 obviously do whatever you please but the sillier the better lmao I love a crack fic :)

crack you asked for and crack you shall get 🫡

read on ao3 here

“I have acquired a pigeon,” Number Two announced.

Behind her, the van tilted side to side on its wheels with the force of a bomb about to detonate.

“Ah,” said Nicholas Benedict. “A pigeon? Singular?”

“There is at least one pigeon in this van,” Number Two announced.

An ominous cooing filled the air.

“And how did you acquire this pigeon?” Nicholas asked.

“My mission required the fullest understanding of pigeon behavior, culture, and movement patterns. I’ve spent weeks integrating into their community, gaining their trust—”

“She used a giant net,” said Rhonda.

“—stealth and secrecy were of utmost concern, which is why I opted to reveal my betrayal at the point of no return, when it was too late for them to summon backup—”

“She chased them into the alleyways screeching,” said Rhonda. “With a giant net.”

“Hm,” said Milligan, mysteriously.

“Your dedication is admirable as always, Number Two,” Nicholas began tentatively. “But might I suggest that, for the purposes of sending messages to our future operatives at the Institute, one or two trained pigeons might be less conspicuous than a full battalion of them?”

“We’ll need backups,” Number Two pointed out. “In case our original pigeons are strangled, snatched, dismembered, kidnapped, arrested, or otherwise mauled—”

“You forgot beheaded,” Rhonda added. “They could be beheaded.”

“That falls under ‘otherwise mauled.’”

“Number Two!” Nicholas interrupted the growing squabble with a grand sweep of his arms. “The time is upon us. Release the pigeon(s).”

Number Two backed away several paces from the van. Nicholas flinched and covered his ears. Milligan shifted into a battle stance, just in case.

Number Two whipped out the car keys, aimed them at the van, and decisively pressed a button.

The van’s back door began to inch open with a thin beep … beep … beep …

Rhonda cleared her throat.

The trunk inched open some more.

“Hm,” said Milligan, mysteriously.

Beep … beep … beep …

Nicholas checked his watch.

With a final measly beep, the door reached its peak.

All was silent.

Then—

A tornado of feathers shot out from the back of the van. With a coo of triumph as loud as a freight train, the cloud of pigeons surged forward, engulfing Milligan’s prized rose bushes in their path. When at last the endless wave of iridescent feathers cleared, the rose bushes had been blasted completely clean so that only twigs and thorns remained.

“Hm,” said Milligan, mournfully.

“Ah,” said Nicholas. He seemed frightfully calm as he gazed upward to what he knew used to be an oak tree. Now, however, its leaves were completely buried beneath a thick coating of feathers. The top of the tree drooped ominously. 

“Are there any other uses for pigeons?” Rhonda mused aloud. “Maybe we could put them to work in a coal mine?”

“How dare you,” Number Two hissed. “They are unionized.”

“They are also edible,” said Milligan. “I do not know how I know this information. But I do.”

“Do you recall if they’re at least somewhat appetizing?” Nicholas asked.

Milligan did not reply.

Nicholas studied the pigeon-encrusted oak tree before him. “I have a feeling we’ll need that giant net soon,” he sighed. “Number Two, where is it?”

“It is Occupied,” Number Two announced.

“Occupied by what?”

“By whom,” Number Two corrected. “I have also acquired—”

She stopped mid-sentence and pressed the button on the car keys again. The van door began to inch closed.

Beep … beep … beep …

“Was this strictly necessary,” Nicholas said.

“For once, I agree with her methods,” Rhonda said. “The reveal is all for nothing if she can’t whip the van door open with a flourish.”

“I’m not exactly feeling flourished,” said Nicholas. “Milligan, are you feeling flourished?”

“Hm,” said Milligan, presumably stunned speechless by the flourishment.

The van door closed. Number Two turned on a heel to face them.

“I have also acquired the Sender,” Number Two announced. She pressed the button once again.

Beep … beep … beep …

“Sorry, you’ve acquired who?” Nicholas yelped.

“It’s him,” Number Two said. “Undeniably.”

“Though he’s a bit encrusted with pigeon droppings at the moment,” Rhonda said. “Milligan, will you fetch the hose?”

“He’ll need the pressure washer.”

“Hm,” said Milligan.

Beep … beep … beep …

“And how have you determined that this arbitrary individual you netted in the middle of Stonetown is the Sender?” Nicholas asked.

“A foolproof method.”

“Which is?”

“Vibes,” Number Two announced.

The van door clicked fully open.

“Vibes?” Nicholas all but shrieked.

“Yes. His vibes were rancid.”

“He had an aura of menace,” Rhonda confirmed.

“I was picking out lemons at the farmer’s market, you wench!” The muffled voice echoed from inside the van. “Unhand me at once!”

Nicholas squawked. “Nathaniel?”

He leapt forward for a better look. Unfortunately, he also leapt straight into unconsciousness. Milligan caught him on instinct.

“Who in all the earth’s hells is Nathaniel,” Rhonda wondered.

“Probably one of the pigeons,” Number Two said.

“Hm,” said Milligan, mysteriously.

Silence fell again. The pigeons cooed ominously. Milligan tapped his foot.

“So you really don’t think the Sender looks like Mr. Benedict?” Rhonda asked. “Not even a tad? A teensy bit?"

“Don’t be absurd, Rhonda,” Number Two sniffed. “He’s wearing blue.”

[hesthermay]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝐏𝐓 𝟏)

PAIRING: sergeant hunter x fem!oc reader

SUMMARY: the assignment of miri rocksled to clone force 99 brought an even higher success rate than the two groups presented on their own; in the times of the clone wars a well working and formidable team was necessary for the republic, but little did it know that the decision would become the biggest thorn in the empires side. master rocksled had never been like other jedi, and the bad batch had never been like other clones, and as they navigate the end of everything they had known and the beginning of something dark those traits are put to the test. rules no longer exist, lines are blurred, and forbidden waters are tread as the bad batch fight the great fight for everything they deserve.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

RATINGS + WARNINGS: general audiences, mature themes, angst. female oc, use of she/her, mentions of death and order 66. eventual series. follows the bad batch timeline.

NOTES: bada bing bada boom another one?! what?! im just fuckin good like that (im really not this has taken me a bit but im done and now im ready for you all to see it)

STAR WARS MASTERLIST THE GREAT FIGHT MASTERLIST

The scene that Clone Force 99 and their General walked into was familiar to them at this point. 

Chaos, in its entirety, had consumed Kaller as Republic forces fought off Separatist battle droids coming from every direction. The ground, covered with snow, was black with ash from the repeated firing of weapons; this battle had been long, and it was not over yet. 

Depa Billaba had requested backup, and though these were not the fighters she had wanted, they were all she was going to get. The Republic was stretched thin, it had seemed they had reached the climax of the Clone Wars and though it was only an inkling, it felt as if something was just over the hill. 

“Master Rocksled!” Someone called from the treeline. The young Caleb Dunne, sent to retrieve said backup, watched in awe as the stories he had heard came true right in front of him. 

Miri Rocksled was not like other Jedi, and in very fitting fashion, her troopers were not like other clones. Master Billaba had told him that was why she was assigned to them, and together they were the odd ones out of the GAR. 

Caleb’s words had been lost in the noise, but eventually the last droid had been smashed and all attention was on him. “Master Rocksled,” he repeated, breathing slightly heavy. 

“Commander Dunne, it looks like we’re your reinforcements,” she replied, grinning slightly as she walked closer towards him, the clones following suit. “What’s it looking like down there?” 

After a plan was devised, the padawan was sent back to his master with the promise that they were right behind him. There was doubt, and a lot of it, upon his return. It did not look promising, him showing up empty handed with talks of five clones and one Jedi, but he asked for trust anyways. And it was not in vain, as the giant boulder that had caught the attention of the droids came crashing into view, making for a grand entrance. 

Clone Force 99 made quick work of things with detonators, blasters, their very skilled sniper, brute force, strategic maneuvers, and one orange bladed lightsaber.

“I don’t believe it,” Captain Grey started, lowering the binocs as he watched. “That’s Clone Force 99.”

The two Jedi turn their heads to glance at him, and then one another. “And that’s Miri Rocksled,” Caleb whispered to his master, eyes blown wide. 

……..

“Master Billaba,” Miri greeted, sheathing her lightsaber and clipping it to her waist. For a split second she gave thought to the second saber she was set to receive soon and the excitement to have an addition to her signature handle.  

“If you’re done hiding down there, I suggest you launch a counterattack,” Hunter interjected, helmet under his arm. “Another droid battalion’s approaching.”  

Grey stepped forward, on attack mode in the presence of clones who regarded the protocol he was held to as merely a suggestion. It was even evident in the way they had just addressed a Jedi General, someone who outranked them all as an army. “The General is the one who gives the orders around here.”

Billaba held out her hand, an effort to ease the clone's frustrations as they were not needed, nor helpful.“He’s right, Captain. This is our chance,” she nodded her head slightly, sure of her words. “Launch the counterattack.” 

With that, the men were sent on their way and Master and Padawan came out into the open. “There you are little Jedi,” Wrecker stated, pushing his way to the front. “You missed all the fun.”

Caleb, who pulled his hood off, grinned. “Watching your team in action was all the fun.” Miri was reminded of being a padawan and being in awe of some of the Masters when she watched them spar, or went on assignments with them. 

Billaba stepped forward, placing a hand on the young boy's shoulder. “Care to introduce your new friends, Caleb?”

“Yes, Master. This is Wrecker,” he gestured to each one as he named them off. “Hunter, Echo, Tech, and Crosshair.” He turned back to her when there was only one left. “And, you know Master Rocksled, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I do,” she affirmed with a slight smile before turning her head back to the rest. “While I’m not sure ‘fun’ is the sentiment I would express, I agree with my Padawan. Your exploits were quite impressive. The Council was right when we assigned you to them,” she directed at Miri, who only shrugged one shoulder. 

“Exploits?” Wrecker questioned, confusion written all over him as he looked around. 

Behind him, Crosshair walked by with his rifle propped on his shoulder. “Don’t overthink it, Wrecker,” he commented, as snide as ever. Crosshair had been an acquired taste, but his attitude was tolerable with some time. 

“Thank you, General,” Echo stepped up, almost as straightlaced as ever. As a reg, Echo expressed different traits than that of the experimental unit when it came to working with others, but that was not a testament to his place within the Batch. Echo had found a home in Clone Force 99, one that he had not thought he would get a chance at after the Citadel. 

Master Billaba’s inquisitive eyes were once again on her fellow Jedi. “Would you care to explain where my actual reinforcement are, Master Rocksled?” 

Miri sighed ever so slightly, for her answer to that question was not a good one, nor a helpful one. “Rerouted to the capital. I’m afraid we’re all you’re getting, my friend,” she replied lowly. 

“Ha! We’re all you need,” Wrecker boasted, hands on his hips. And for almost the first time since this interaction had started, Tech looked up from his device. 

“Actually,” he held up a finger, a signature pose for the brainiac of the group. “If my intel is correct, the General will not need any of us. The Clone War may soon be over.” 

Intrigue trickled down from the crown of Miri’s head at his words. Her feeling, the one that had been nagging and nagging, that something was to come entered the forefront of her mind. She did not hear the responses to Tech’s statement, but she did hear him begin once again, more information to unload. “I am referring to the encrypted comm chatter. Clone intelligence is reporting that Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi has found and engaged General Grievous on Utapau.”

“No way,” Miri whispered. This had been something her, Obi-Wan, and Anakin had been trying to chase for ages now, and it would seem one of her friends had finally reached their goal. General Grievous was the answer to ending the droid army that upheld the Separatist’s defenses. 

“If he captures or kills Grievous, the Separatist command structure will collapse,” Echo affirmed her thoughts. 

“And most likely the droid armies along with them.”

“A fascinating theory,” Master Billaba cut in, “yet unfortunately not something we can control from here. I suggest we focus on the task at hand.” 

Hunter glanced at Miri before looking back at Billaba. With a shrug of his shoulders, he stepped forward. “Any orders? Or shall we do what we do?” Helmets were placed on heads, and Wrecker cheered, boisterous voice filling the space around them.  

“Let’s blow something up. Yeah!”

Caleb had watched them this entire time with a smile on his face, and it made Miri feel giddy. She always got a kick out of impressing the younglings and padawans. “Well, Caleb, shall we let them do what they do?” Master Billaba questioned, as if she had seen the same thing. It was nice, to see her Padawan smile in these trying times he was forced to grow up in; a welcome change when circumstances permitted. 

“Only if I can go with them,” he countered eagerly, looking up at his mentor. 

She glanced over at Miri, who only nodded before the woman grinned. “Very well,” she conceded. 

“Hey, kid, you ready for this? We move fast,” Hunter emphasized, deep voice coming out gravelly through the modulator.

“Good,” Caleb shot back with a quirked brow, “that’s the only way I know.” He earned a laugh from Wrecker before they started to dart off, but Miri remained where she was. It was Hunter who shot her a look over his shoulder, a silent question. 

“I’m going to speak with Master Billaba for a second,” Miri answered, playing off the heaviness on her shoulders. “Go on, Sergeant. I’ll catch up,” she smiled, hoping it would be enough to send him off. She was his general, and technically she had given him an order that he could not go against, but things were different in the Batch. 

Things were different between Miri and Hunter. 

As inappropriate and forbidden as it was, the pair had found themselves harboring something of a romance. It was not spoken of, it couldn’t be spoken of; but it did not need to be. Miri knew she was special to Hunter, and he knew he was special to her. It was as simple as that, for the Jedi Order would only let it be so. 

It had worked, however she knew she would be questioned later. The pause before he nodded told her he had picked up on whatever it was she was trying to keep at bay, and even though he ran off after one final salute she still felt his presence as she turned to her colleague. 

“What is it, Master Rocksled?” Billaba questioned, eyes still trained on her padawan in the distance. 

“Do—” she started, but had to rethink her wording once again. “Do you feel like something is about to happen?” She asked, sincerity written on her face because she was desperate to know why she had grown heavier by the minute. Billaba’s focus had now moved to her, squinted eyes watching the young woman as her question hung in the air. “Like…like we're at the top of the hill, but what’s on the other side isn’t what we’ve been expecting?”

“Miri…” She whispered, shaking her head ever so slightly as her mind registered and her thoughts raced. She never got to continue, however, as behind her Captain Grey received a message through the commlink in his helmet. As Miri’s eyes watched him turn away from them, she grew ominously cold. Dread poured over her body, and in her peripheral she saw Master Billaba cautiously look over her shoulder, as a hologram activated. 

A cloaked figure, hunched over with a voice almost familiar to them, spoke directly to the clones. “Execute Order 66.” 

Captain Grey did not respond verbally, but he did comply by putting the holo device back on his belt and staring at the Generals before him for a moment longer, before drawing his weapon and firing two shots off, both aimed at their heads. Lightsabers were drawn as the pair dodged the blaster fire, but more troopers were closing in. 

Depa Billaba and Miri Rocksled found the same weapons their soldiers used against their enemies aimed at them instead. In the back of her mind, Miri knew this was it. The crest of the hill they’d been climbing for three years, the cause of the sick and twisted feeling in her stomach, and the ultimate demise of the Jedi Order as a whole. 

In the distance, it would seem that the same feeling had reached Caleb; the dread had stretched through the air and clouded around him through the Force, and he slowed his pace until he was still. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he heard the sounds of saber blades deflecting blaster shots, and he slowly turned. 

Troopers, his troopers, drawing in on the two Masters, shots aimed to kill. His ears began to ring and he sprinted toward them, drawing his own saber. “Master!” He shouted, a desperation in his voice he knew would raise brows, but he didn’t care. Horror filled his body Billaba and Rocksled were separated, and the distance between the troopers and the Jedi was growing smaller and smaller. He stopped in his tracks as his master risked a look at him. 

“You must run!” She screamed, hand held out in a desperation she knew would be frowned upon, but she didn’t care. As his feet remained glued to the ground, her eyes remained on him. With her back exposed, a shot landed on her shoulder that rendered her arm almost useless as she tried to defend herself. “Run, Caleb!” She cried out, words echoing as her padawan turned and followed her orders. 

Miri had been pushed far enough away that the Bad Batch couldn't see her when they turned and watched the kid run towards the brutal scene, but she was close enough to still see the fall of Jedi Master Depa Billaba, and every emotion that she had been warned about filled her to the brim. Fear, horror, anger, grief, they washed over her until her limbs felt like they were made of stone. Sweat covered her face despite the snowy climate of Kaller, and she felt every burn from a grazed blaster shot, every bruise from trying to fight them off, and when the first successful shot landed on her left thigh, she fell to the scarlett stained snow. As they drew in closer, like predator hunting prey, one hand reached out on instinct. The Force, a power not to be trifled with yet one she was not even sure one would come to her, pushed them back but did little to stop them. 

One opportunity, that she was lucky enough to have given herself, to escape. To where, she did not know. With whom, well, she knew it would be nobody. She was on her own, and she deliberately pushed the existence of Clone Force 99 out of her mind. She could not afford to think of them participating in this betrayal, could not afford to feel the debilitating heartbreak of her boys turning on her. Instead, she grunted as she struggled to rise from the ground, the cold seeping through the gaps between the bits of armor she wore as she held a hand out towards where her friend lay. Depa’s lightsaber flew to her and smacked against her palm, and she grasped it with a tight fist as she retreated. Pain radiated from the wound on her leg, and her skin stung as it rubbed against the fabric of her clothes, but she used it to push her forward, to fuel her escape as she attempted to form a plan in her hazy mind. 

The treeline was the obvious choice, more things to hide behind, more things to block their view as they aimed at her. She skirted through the woods, not caring for the prints she left behind; she was too weak to hide in the treetops to avoid the snow so she did the best she could to make up for the trail leading them right to her. Trickery.

They would find her, and they would shoot at her, and to them they would succeed. Miri Rocksled would fall at the hands of the Cone Army, and it would be logged somewhere for someone to keep track of.

But this would not be so, as the drop off before her filled in the gaps of her plan. She would need to pull out some theatrics, rather unconventional for a Jedi but she never claimed to follow the grain, and perhaps she could pull off this scheme. 

And so, when the shots started firing in her direction once again, she did not dodge them. She ran towards the drop off, feeling the heat from the blaster fire as it got closer and closer, and once the edge was in sight she drew Depa’s saber, turning as if she was cornered and this was her last chance to fight. Convincing, as the troopers took her bait and opened fire directly on her, and she only put up as much of a fight as she needed before the real test began. Her focus drifted from the men before her, and the outside noise drowned itself out. The Force, as present as ever, was all around. It was one with her, and it was always with her. 

Her heart slowed in her chest, and it seemed as if things moved in slow motion as she let Captain Grey shoot her in the abdomen, the pain harsh but dulled with the rest of her senses as she used the Force to put her body in a state of comatose. She dropped the lightsaber, using the momentum from the shot to send herself over the edge. She let herself plummet towards the snowy abyss below, slowing herself slightly. When her body collided with the ground, clouds of powdery snow erupted around her, almost shrouding her as the clones looked over the edge. 

Her eyes weren’t quite shut, lashes touching as she lay with her head rolled to the side, arms splayed out. Her heart was barely beating, her body mimicking all signs of death in the very name of preservation. In her mind, she thought of her own clones as the ones above confirmed that they had taken out both Jedi Generals. They scooped up the lightsaber before retreating, the presumed dead woman left to freeze on Kaller only a small blip in their minds.

Memories of her squad replayed in her mind as time passed, the coast long since clear as she remained stuck in the icy hold of the world around her. Memories of Hunter, of how beautiful he really was to her, how much he wanted to protect her. 

If you don’t move, you’ll die. 

His voice, just a whisper of him, echoed in her ears when all noises had been blocked out by the ringing silence. 

You are going to freeze. You are bleeding out. 

Wake up, Miri. Wake up. 

It was with the last snap of his words that all her senses rushed back to her at once, jolting her from her stupor. She gasped, eyes wide as her body worked to resume its normal functions after such a pause. Pain seeped in as much as the cold, and she reminded herself that she was fighting the great fight; she did not have time to dwell on such things. Escape was imperative, and time was dwindling. She had been trained for this, her whole life had been learning how to survive against all odds with the gift she had been given, and this was not going to stop her. 

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my content as your own.

[laurabwrites]

WIP I'm Accepting I Will Never Write

My brain has been generating too many Star Wars ideas for me ever reasonably get around to writing all of them, so I'm going to start dumping them on here (maybe AO3 as well, not sure yet) once I've accepted it's an idea I won't get to. So, to start off:

Anakin got Arrested at the Start of the War

In this one, Anakin's massacre on Tatooine was revealed shortly into the war (Qui-Gon Jinn's ghost, A'Shared Hett or Padmé having a conscience, doesn't matter it's not the point of the idea and I don't think it affects the plot). Anakin goes to Jedi jail in the Temple and the war proceeds apace.

At the end of the war, when Palpatine sets off Order 66, the Temple Guard who in another timeline became the Grand Inquisitor lets Anakin out. They would be killing all the Jedi, but somehow the Jedi have been alerted and the Temole seems strangely light on clone troopers they could be using as backup. The Grand Inquisitor knows this, Anakin doesn't. He's been in Jedi jail and has no idea what normal operations in the Temple have looked like for the past three year. They manage to get to the atrium of the Temple with the objective of getting out and rounding up some clone troopers to come back with. Except there's this Tortuga fighting both of them. She's not getting in any hits in on them but this scrappy, can't be more than 16, 17-year-old is holding both of them off while simultaneously organizing the Padawans and Initiates to grab younglings and run.

Then the 212th enters, Cody and Rex frog marching Obi-Wan in.

Which gives Anakin the opportunity to villain monologue about the Jedi Order not understanding emotion, they threw him away, Palpatine recognizes his true power, Obi-Wan will see the destruction of everything he holds dear, blah blah blah. Basically entitled white boy I did no wrong (ignore the dead children), you'll regret being so mean to me (enforcing the consequences of my own actions), ranting regurgitating Palpatine's bullshit about Jedi.

Meanwhile, the Grand Inquisitor is noting that a lot of kids are safely getting the fuck outta Dodge and the 212th is getting some good lines of fire. Why are they letting Anakin monologue instead of enacting Order 66?

Finally as Anakin is winding down, Obi-Wan speaks up: yes but, you see, you made one critical mistake.

Anakin, sneering: oh what's that

Obi-Wan: you hurt your Padawan-sister

Obi-Wan Force pushes Ahsoka and every remaining kid out of range while the entire 212th opens fire on Anakin and Grand Inquisitor.

Inquisitor is dead on the ground (sorry buddy, you were just a plot device to get Anakin out of his cell and show off how badass Ahsoka is with Soreasu mixed into her Jar'dai (I think I spelled those right...)). Anakin is on his Force bullshit, not quite dead, as Obi-Wan, Cody, and Rex come over to check.

Anakin: you won't finish me off, you're a Jedi, you're too weak.

Rex putting three rounds in his chest and three in his head: I'm no Jedi, slaver.

Backstory to get to this scene that slammed into me like a ton of bricks months and months ago:

212th never split the 501st off since Anakin wasn't there to get Knighted. Therefore Fives went to Obi-Wan when he found the chip. Obi-Wan got Shaak Ti to distract the Kaminoans, so Quinlan (or another Shadow, but I like using Quinlan for the known connection to Obi-Wan) could dig in Kaminoans' files and find documentation as well as an emergency counter signal. Obi-Wan dechipped his battalion anyway, not wanting to rely on the counter signal being permanent. They then jammed Coruscant's communications when Cody got the Order from Palpatine. 212th then uses the counter signal on the Corries, as they go to the Temple to grab whatever Masters were on planet. The clones and a fourth of the Council go kill Palpatine as he's declaring the Empire on the floor of the Senate.

[tenderjock]

like the moon moves the tides [agent carter werewolf au]

part i. hackles raised

It takes Peggy approximately thirty seconds to sniff out the other wolf in the SSR office.

It’s definitely a him, not one of the phone girls or an odd female assistant or interviewee. And it’s someone who is a frequent fixture of this building. The office smells of him, like he’s been marking territory – not literally, she hopes, since the last thing Peggy wants to deal with is a wolf that thinks it’s acceptable to piss on walls. He smells young. There’s something almost, well, not hostile, exactly, but combative about the scent.

She ignores the comments from the human men, appreciative or mocking or both, and places her briefcase down on the desk Chief Dooley had indicated was for her. It’s way in the back, across from the table with a paper shredder and pencil sharpener and farthest away from the commissary.

Colonel Phillips had told her, when he’d given the recommendation, that the Howlies had been the exception rather than the rule in the SSR. Dooley knows she’s a wolf, but part of her contract involves not telling anyone else in the office. Humans may know about their furry cousins, but even after the war, when whole packs mixed in battalions alongside humans, there was a fair amount of discomfort between the two races.

Peggy hadn’t particularly expected to find another one of her kind among these men in New York. It’s no big surprise that the other men are already dismissive of her on day one; she’s worked with humans before. It’s no surprise she’s been relegated to a secretary role. It’s no surprise, it’s just – frustrating.

A clunky, stepping sort of noise catches her attention. Peggy glances up without moving her head, and sees the bottom half of a man using a crutch to walk. He stops at her desk.

She finds herself resisting the urge to growl reflexively. It’s not this poor fellow’s fault that she’s in a new environment, without allies and quite literally cornered. Swallowing the aggression, she looks up.

He’s handsome enough, she notes, with dark curls that are fighting a liberal application of pomade and a shy, slightly awkward smile. He extends a hand, oblivious or uncaring of the way half the office is staring at them.

“Hey there,” he says, tone friendly. Peggy inhales subtly; there’s a hint of arousal there, but not too much, no more than would be expected from a human man seeing an attractive woman in any casual context. More than anything, he smells hopeful, anticipatory, eager to please. “Daniel Sousa. Welcome to the team.”

Someone snickers and it’s like a light has been turned on in Peggy’s head. She’s lived in packs her whole life, first her family and then the Howlies; human hierarchies aren’t so different. Of course, the crippled man would be at the very bottom of the office’s pecking order. Her existence just boosted him one step further up the ladder.

At least he’s being polite about it. Without looking at the snickerer, she takes his hand and gives it a firm shake.

“Peggy Carter,” she says. “I appreciate it.”

Sousa doesn’t linger, just gives her one last smile and a nod and crutches back to his desk, which is a few in front of hers. She watches him go, thinking, then starts to unpack her things and start work. Putting away her meager belongings – a few fountain pens, a notebook and an emergency, backup lipstick – doesn’t take much time. After a few moments, Peggy supposes she cannot put off the inevitable any longer, and she turns to the stack of reports that Dooley wanted her to retype and file.

As she’s bending over the first file, the male wolf steps into the room.

Peggy can’t help it. Her head snaps up. The wolf is in the doorway leading into the bullpen, stock still, nostrils flared. The whites of his eyes are showing all the way around, and there’s a hot, heady flare of adrenaline-fearsubmission-anger.

Peggy stares at him. He stares back. No one else in the office seems to pay them any mind – if this were a wolfpack, Peggy thinks, people would be circling for the fight. She doesn’t stand up, because that’s just going to make a young, male wolf who is unsure of his place angrier and more volatile.

The scent marking makes more sense, now. He’s a submissive kind, unused to work around humans, perhaps? Overcompensating for it, and he’s taking her as a threat rather than as a potential friend.

Even though it takes every ounce of willpower she has to stay in her seat, to stay woman-shaped, to not bare her teeth and snarl, Peggy remains where she is, watching the wolf as he approaches her. His posture is casual, now, slouching with his hands in his pockets, but his scent is still writhing with emotion.

He comes to a stop at the end of her desk and leans a hip against it. (Peggy can’t help herself. She flashes a quick hint of fang. He only smirks.) She looks up at him, eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t realize Dooley was getting us a typist,” he says, sounding smug. At least, his tone sounds it; his blood pressure smells like it’s through the roof and he’s sweating. His fingernails are sharper and a touch longer than they should be, and his pupils are glinting yellow.

Here’s the thing: if Peggy were any other female wolf – or even quite a few male wolves – she would be finding herself defensive, intimidated even. But she’s fought in battles most of the men here would have no words for, and her last pack had been led by a person that could tear this wolf apart with his bare, human hands. She’s certainly not going to back down from this pup, but she’s not going to pick a fight on her first day of work, either.

“Agent Margaret Carter,” she replies rather sternly. “I’m a transfer from the European field office.”

The claws slowly sink back under his skin. His scent settles, a little, but not as much as Peggy would like it to. “Right,” he says. “I’m Agent – ” the word is mocking “ – Jack Thompson. There’s some more filing that needs to be done on the Skaneateles case. But since you look all settled in, how’s about refilling the coffee pot? Or do they not do coffee in Europe?”

She glares at him, well aware that there’s nothing she can do. Thompson’s well aware of it too, judging by the self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Thanks, Marge,” he says over his shoulder, and saunters away, a definite tinge of amusement in his scent. Peggy clenches her hands, with their perfectly manicured nails that she was loath to ruin scraping his blond hair off of his head, into fists.

So much for having an ally among all these men. She consciously ungrits her fangs, and gets up to make some coffee.

[corrieguards]

Cody x reader Summary: Cody's in a sour mood, injured both in pride and flesh. So when a cute medic comes to check up on him, they are faced with one grumpy Cody. Word Count: 1,9k T/W: none, just Cody being a little shit

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

Today had not been a good day for Cody.

His first misfortune of the day happened when General Kenobi was transferred over to reinforce another battalion, right in the middle of his own raging battle. Not only that but he also took both his medics along with him, leaving Cody as the sole commander of 600 men, some of them seriously injured.

To make matters worse, when he sent a request for backup, the Council replied by dispatching the only other available battalion. And when the gun ships arrived, a relieved Cody rushing to meet them as they landed, who did he see stroll out of them?

Anakin fucking Skywalker. 

Hopes crushed, he reluctantly began to brief the general on the current situation and offer up some of his own opinions on counter attacks only for Anakin to dismiss them. Plans he has spent all kriffing night making replaced with another one of Skywalkers idiotic ideas that was probably going to get them killed.

Then, to add salt to the wound, half way through the battle he got caught in the crossfire of a thermal detonator that some shiny had accidentally thrown too close to him. Not only did he get thrown across the room, but a piece of shrapnel hit him in just the right spot between his armour platings, getting firmly and painfully lodged into his side.

So here he now sat, safely in hyperspace on the way back to the capital. His dignity wounded not only by the fact that Anakins' stupid plan had actually worked, but also because he, Marshal Commander Cody, had got wounded in battle. And not by a clanker or a seppie, no. By a fucking shiny.

All he wanted to do now was take a weeks long nap, but instead he was stuck in the med-bay of the Resolute waiting impatiently for a medic to show up. But apparently even the medics of the 501st were horribly unorganized.

Scowling at the time display on his wrist comm, he scoffed, already itching to get up and leave. Maker, how much longer was this going to take?

He didn’t even need to be here for kriff sake, he was fine. He still had piles of reports to sign off and injured men to check up on. But Rex had made him promise that he would at least let one of his medics take a look at him and Cody was nothing if not a man of his word.

Sensing a movement out the corner of his eye he turned lazily towards the door a bored look on his face.

“Hi, I’m here to be your medic” you smiled as you made your way over to your patient.

“Fucking finally” he muttered under his breath. Your head shot up from your datapad, raising an eyebrow at the trooper in front of you. What was his problem?

Brushing the comment off you plastered on another smile, admittedly less genuine that the first one.

“Ok then, let’s get started shall we?”, you introduced yourself to him, telling him your name and finishing it off by offering him a handshake.

He glanced down at your outstretched hand then back up at you face, eyebrows raising before slowly accepting your offer. His hand engulfed your own as he gave it a small shake, pulling back almost as soon as your hands had touched.

A couple beats of silence passed as you looked at him expectantly. His frown deepened “We gonna get this over with or what?

Your eyes widened, taken aback by his bluntness. Seriously, what was this guy's problem?

“I was waiting for your name...” you said, but this only made him look even more confused.

“Y’know, I tell you my name, you tell me yours…” you explained hesitantly “at least that’s how introductions usually work.”

“I know how they work” he scoffed “I just assumed you already knew who I was. Most people do.”

“Oh. Well I’m kinda new around here. I haven’t even really worked with other battalions outside of the 501st yet”

“Clearly.” he grumbled “The name’s Cody. Marshal Commander Cody.”

Ok so he was definitely wayy to full of himself.

You flashed him an awkward smile “Ok then Cody, how about you lay down for me and we can get started?”

Turning, you started rummaging through ypu med pack when he scoffed, making you look up abruptly only to find him still sitting on the edge of the bed with a bored look on his face.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked harshly.

"Well, that really depends on how bad your injuries are commander, I-"

"Great" he cut you off "then I believe we're finished here” He jumped of the bed, wincing slightly and clutching his side but quickly recovering and playing it off

You caught the movement and opened your mouth, beginning to protest “But commander, you're obviously injured-“

“I’m perfectly fine” he said, pointedly cutting you off yet again “Now if you’d just sign me off I’ll be on my way.”

He held his hand out expectantly, already looking down at his comm as he waited for you to hand him the med report card.

This guy was getting on your last kriffing nerve.

When you didn’t react he slowly looked up at your face “I said-“

“I know what you said” this time you cut him off. He raised an eyebrow at you before straightening up to his whole height and taking a step closer to you.

“Good, then how about you follow orders and hand me that report card, medic”

Oh so this is how this was gonna go. Ok then, two can play that game Cody.

Matching him you took a step closer, now almost chest to chest “I don’t care if you’re Marshal Commander or the fucking Chancellor, when it comes to medical care I outrank you”

He looked taken aback by your outburst but maintained his firm gaze nonetheless. Refusing to back down you glared straight back up at him. Eventually he scoffed “Fine, but make it quick.”

“It will take as long as it needs to take Commander," you replied snarkily “Now please if you would be so kind as to lay down.”

He let out a small huff of disbelief, but settled back down onto the bed anyway. You had balls he’d give you that.

“Not many people talk to me like that y’know” he said as he watched you set up your supplies.

“Yeah? Well maybe they should” you scoffed, making him narrow his eyes at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You seem like you could be taken down a couple notches is all." You shrugged, gentle hand begining to detach the armour plating covering his chest and stomach. Then as an after thought you added “No offense.”

“How the hell is that not offensive?”

You smirked, an odd satisfaction at getting under his skin.

He sucked in a sharp breath as you carefully peeled up his blacks, your own breath hitching as it revealed the wound hidden underneath.

“And you said you were fine?”

“I am fine” he replied through his teeth. “Minor wounds are an occupational hazard. I’ll live.”

“Cody. This isn’t a ‘minor injury’. This is an open wound that, if not treated correctly will get worse”

“S’nothing I haven’t dealt with before”

“I don’t care if you’ve dealt with it before, right now it’s my job to take care of you and you’ve got to let me do it”

He shot you an annoyed look but settled down nonetheless “Fine”

You nodded satisfied and walked over to the sink, Cody’s eyes following your every move as you picked up a cloth, letting it soak completly under the tap before carefully wringing it out.

Turning around, you jumped slightly upon seeing the commanders gaze watching you intently. You cleared your throat, walking back over to him and taking a seat on the stool next to the bed. Gently, you pressed the cloth to his skin but quickly pulled it back when he hissed. 

“Sorry” you mumbled “Is it too hot? Too cold?”

“No, no it’s fine, just stings a little”

Nodding you carried on rubbing of the dried blood and dirt spread around his wound, making a conscious effort to be as soft as you could. Once you were satisfied you lent in, taking a closer look at the now clean wound. You hummed and began rummaging in your med pack as he watched you closely.

“What? What is it?” he asked almost as if he was... nervous? No, it couldn’t be.

“It’s just gonna need a couple stitches that’s all, nothing to worry about”

He swallowed as you carefully threaded your needle and lined it up near the start of his cut. Taking one last glance up at him to make sure he was ok you found him clenching his fists tightly by his side, eyes firmly shut and chest rising and falling quickly. 

Who knew he would be so nervous about a tiny needle. You shook your head smiling softly at his nervousness before slowly pushing the needle in. Immediately he flinched, sucking in a breath and clenching his jaw. 

You stilled, glancing up at him again “Hold still for me please.”

“I’m trying” he muttered angrily, “but you’re fucking stabbing me”

You chuckled, focusing back on your work “On come on now, I thought you were ‘big tough Marshal Commander Cody’. People won’t find you nearly as intimidating when they find out you can’t handle a little needle and threat”

“I can handle it.” he growled. 

“Sure doesn’t seem like it” you smirked finishing up the last stitch and tying a careful knot. “But no need to worry Cody, I wouldn’t dare tarnish your reputation like that”.

Taking out a bacta patch you ripped the wrapping off.

“It can be our little secret” you teased, sending him a wink. He rolled his eyes at you, only making you smirk wider when you saw him trying to hide a smile. Huh, maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

You lined the bacta patch up, before giving him a warning “This is gonna sting a little”

He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut as you pushed it down, looking up at him apologetically and muttering a quiet “Sorry”

Finally you straightened up, dusting off your hands “Okay the Cody, you’re as good as new” 

He groaned as he sat up, watching you fill out the report card before finally signing it off and handing it to him. He took it from you muttering out a quiet “Thanks”

Smirking, you put a hand behind your ear teasingly  “Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that”

He rolled his eyes at you, ghost of a smile gracing his lips “I said” he enunciated each word carefully “Thank you”

“My pleasure Marshal Commander” you grinned, giving him an exaggerated bow. He let out a small huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh before re-attaching his armour and heading towards the exit.

“Oh and Commander” you shouted when he was half way out the door. He hummed, turning to look at you.

“I’ll see you around Cody” you winked playfully. He shook his head, rolling his eyes but not trying to hide the smile rising on his face.

“Sure, I'll see you around” he replied, winking back before slipping out the door.

You stood, staring dumbly at the empty space where he’d just been standing, feeling a blush slowly creep up to your cheeks.

Did- did he just wink at you?

---

Pt.2 here

A/N: I can't shake the feeling that I didn't get Cody quite right in this? Idk something just feels off. So please feel free to send me some constructive criticism. Key word being constructive. I will most definitely cry if you are mean to me lmao

Anywho, hope y'all enjoyed it anyways ❤️ :D

my masterlist

[clu-ven]

White Lies are just Truths covered in Snow

Summary: After arriving on a barren planet to steal the Empire’s hidden cargo, you go along with a lie in the hopes of completing your mission (Mayday x gn!reader)

Word Count: 2.7k

(currently going through my drafts and found this! decided to finish it off even though I initially started this right after the season 2 Mayday episode came out ;-;)

You look down at the planet’s desolate appearance. Despite being nestled in your ship, the very idea of facing the chilly weather makes a shiver creep up your spine.

The comm in your ship momentarily crackles before a familiar voice fills the small cockpit. “Tooka, this is Jaig checking in, are you on schedule for pick up?”.

In other words, it’s Rex, using the code names you all agreed on as a precaution. Even though your comm channel is private, Rex is a cautious man, preferring to stay vague and use code names while on comm channels. The last thing anyone wants is to accidentally give vital information away to anyone who could intercept your line of communication.

“Roger roger” you reply, biting back your smile.

You hear an audible scoff but it’s as if you can hear the smile in his voice “Stay focused, Tooka”. 

A muffled voice is heard in the background before Rex continues “If you run into any complications, let us know and we’ll provide backup. This should be a simple mission but stay sharp nonetheless… oh, and Rishi wants me to tell you he says good luck”.

Your heart warms at that. Echo has only recently decided to join the fight and although you haven’t admitted this to either Rex or Echo, his return is also the reason you’ve decided to do this mission alone.

You’re more than qualified to do this simple pick up of some cargo stored here. The cargo is rumoured to be something that can aid your fight against the Empire and with how dire things are, you’re more than happy to optimistically follow this rumour. 

With Echo still adjusting from being with the Bad Batch to now fighting the Empire on the front lines, you thought some quality time between just him and Rex would help ease him into it. 

Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

Manoeuvring your ship to land, you peer out at the abandoned base, a thick sheet of snow covering the grey building. It’s not a welcoming sight. In fact, you’ve seen places on the lower levels on Coruscant look more welcoming than here… and a whole lot warmer. 

“Don’t worry, Jaig, I got this” you assure him.

“If you’re sure,” Rex sighs, worry lining his every word.

You laugh, casually sitting back in your seat as the ship descends to the platform below “I think I can handle stealing a few crates, Cap- uh, Jaig”.

“I know you can,” he replies “just remember to lift with your back”.

That earns another laugh from you “You’re kidding me, right? This place is bound to have some droids that can do all the heavy lifting… well, that’s if they aren’t completely frozen”.

After another amused scoff and a brief farewell, Rex disconnects, leaving you alone with your mission.

It takes a few more seconds for your ship to land, giving you the time to peer out at the base. It stands alone. No signs of a local village, a cantina or even grazing wildlife nearby.

The base is truly the only thing here. 

The wind that immediately greets you as you exit your ship is great motivation to pick up your pace and head straight for the building, not wasting time anymore time in surveying the area. The hanger has been left open for all to enter, as if the base is trying to coax the cold winds to follow you inside. 

Huffing, you pull your tattered jacket tighter around your body and walk deeper into the vast space. The dark outlines of empty crates line the hanger, probably full of medical supplies or food for whichever battalion was stationed here long ago.

There is an eerie silence to the place, punctuated by the sound of your own footsteps echoing off the walls. It looks utterly deserted. Now it’s nothing more than another relic of the Republic, frozen in time.

Maybe that’s why you become so rattled when you hear it.

“About time you arrived” the voice takes you completely by surprise, your hand immediately hovering over your holstered blaster.

As much as you want to unholster it and prepare yourself for a fight… you can’t, not when you recognise the voice. It’s the same voice that you know is capable of killing you, a voice that has experienced so much tragedy and the same voice of some of your closest friends. 

A clone. 

And so you simply hover your hand above the blaster, deciding to take your chances without instantly resorting to a standoff. 

You stay rooted in place, eyes darting to each visible nook and cranny, waiting for the clone to reveal himself. Movement catches your eye, your head snapping to the side as you're greeted by not just one clone, but three.

“We were expecting this cargo to get transported 6 months ago,” the clone in the centre states “any reason for the delay?”.

For a moment, you merely stand there, trying your best to comprehend the situation you’ve found yourself in. It’s hard to think of an answer to his question, caught off guard by the unexpected company. 

“Well, uh…” you begin, your eyes trailing down his armour, decorated with ribbons of bandages wrapped around each part of his plastoid gear.

Next, your gaze travels to the clones at either side of him, both with their blasters in hand but thankfully not aimed at you

“Get lost on the way here?” He offers up an excuse. Although his face is covered, his wrapped helmet obscuring his expression, the sarcasm in his voice is thick. “Or did the almighty Empire forget about us already?”.

“A bit of both?” you answer but your uncertain tone makes it sound more like a question. 

Clearing your throat, you try again, this time trying to sound more confident. “They’ve been updating files back at the uh… main base… some data was overlooked, so we’re behind on some missions that should have been completed months ago. Sorry to um… to have kept you waiting”. 

That sounded good, right? And technically it’s not all a lie. Ever since Echo came aboard, he’s been helping Rex gain access to Imperial records thanks to a few tricks Tech taught him. 

The clone replies with a shrug “At least you’re being honest”. The words sting, making you want to wince but you don’t, your expression staying neutral. If only he knew how honest you were truly being. 

“C’mon, I’ll show you where it is,” with the flick of his hand, the clone signals for the other two clones to lower their blasters completely, with one even holstering their weapon. A silent sigh of relief falls from your lips as you step closer to the troopers. 

“Hexx, Veetch, watch the perimetre,” the clone orders, bringing his hands up to detach his helmet. Once his helmet is off, he looks at you, your eyes properly meeting his for the first time as he instructs “This way”.

He takes a few steps forward, venturing deeper into the dim facility and indirectly showing off his mullet to you. His beard was a surprise to see too, though you’ve noticed beards have come into fashion lately within the clone world… mullets on the other hand, well, you’re positive this is the first and last time you’ll ever meet a clone bold enough to try the look and successfully pull it off.

“You coming?” he asks, glancing back at you with one of his brows raised “or did you just stop by for a chat?”.

You silently follow, hoping the less you say the better. 

“Name’s Mayday, by the way” he makes idle conversation “Commander Mayday”.

When you reply with your own name, he nods and leads you through the maze of tall, metallic shelving units. “I know this might be above my…” Mayday lets out a low chuckle “well, above my nonexistent pay grade but what’s in those crates?”.

You choose your next words carefully. Surely this is some type of test and the Commander knows what’s in there, right? Truthfully, you weren’t sure.

All you know is that it’s cargo the Empire won’t let go of, something they feel the need to hold on to even if it means their troopers are freezing to death to guard it.

“They didn’t inform you? Despite you being the Commander here?” You bat a question back at him.

“Clone Commander, they don’t tell us much these days…” he amuses drily, his sentence trailing off as he stops in front of what you assume to be the crates. 

Mayday pats the top of one, quick to change the topic of conversation “Well, I guess these are your problem now”.

You nod, biting your lip as a sudden wave of guilt washes over you. It seemed simple to take the crates when you thought no one else was here. You would even grab them and take out a few droids if that’s what was guarding the cargo… but even the idea of deceiving these clones makes your stomach churn.

You mirror his movement and put your hand on top of the crate too, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“Well then, I best comm the other two and get them moving this out to your ship” he lifts up his comm, giving Veesh and Hexx their new orders. 

While he does, you take the opportunity to look up at him again. You pray he doesn’t notice your guilty expression. By the time he’s off his comm, you’ve already tried to think of a few alternative plans. Would it be possible to persuade them to come with you? Would they be open and understanding when you explain the inhibitor chips and would they willingly get them removed? But then you hear Rex and what he would say:

“We can’t save all of them… but we can fight for all of them, one way or another”.

That’s what he said to you when he told you about what happened with the 501st. You could hear the pain in his voice when he said it and standing in front of Mayday now, it’s like you can feel that same pain making your throat close up.

Mayday seems to notice your shift in mood, a glimmer of curiosity flickering across his eyes. 

“You know, the ship you came here in, it’s pretty small for cargo transportation… not a model I’ve ever seen the Empire use either'' he keeps his head facing downwards but his eyes are locked on yours. The tone of his voice is so balanced, you can’t tell if he’s genuinely being curious or if he’s about to confront you.

A million thoughts race through your head. Should you simply ignore his obvious inquiries? Would that only add to how suspicious you’ve been already? Kriff, are you taking too long to answer?!

“Remind me,” your voice comes out croaky, the words desperate to get stuck in your throat and yet you force them out “when was the last time you were on one of the main Empire bases?”.

Mayday is a contradiction to you. His chocolatey brown eyes are warm and inviting to you and yet his position of Commander during the Empire’s newfound reign makes you apprehensive. The look he gives you isn’t sceptical, nor is it the hardened look of a soldier that you expected. 

“Fair point,” he concedes, his gaze unwavering “so you’re taking them?”.

“That’s what the Empire sent me here for” you lie with the flash of a smile, hoping that’ll win him over. 

You’ve been in worse situations than this, both during the war and afterwards. All you have to do is play along with a lie and despite a few hiccups, you think you’re doing okay.

Kriff, this isn’t even your lie. Mayday’s the one who just presumed that you’re here to collect the cargo for the Empire. 

“And they sent you to retrieve the cargo while you’re off duty?” he gestures to your clothes. 

It’s hard to tell if Mayday is teasing you or if he’s sizing you up for a fight, the smooth tone of his voice disarming yet eerie in the current situation. 

While your clothes aren’t what any civvie would wear, they are quite scruffy and far from the Empire’s pristine uniforms. You tilt your head, eyebrows raised as you feign shock “Commander, are you dissing my style?”.

That earns a laugh from him and you can’t help but feel a spark of pride. “Not at all,” he shakes his head, though his smile stays in place “I just thought the Empire had stricter dress codes”. 

You shrug “I was told this planet experienced extreme weather and I didn’t want to get my clothes dirty… but I do wish I wore something warmer, I knew it would be cold but this is worse than I imagined. I couldn’t even bear the thoughts of living out here and dealing with all you have”. Your tone shifts to a much more solemn note as you say that last part, memories of the war creeping up on you.

There’s a shift in Mayday’s gaze, a cloud of hesitation flickering past his eyes. So close to saying something and yet he stops himself, instead opting to simply nod in response.

It makes you nervous, your brain getting whiplash from constantly going back and forth from being convinced you’re in trouble to thinking Mayday has no idea what your true plan is. 

Instead of commenting on it, you focus on walking in step with Mayday, trying to act calm and bury your instinctive desire to sprint to your ship desperately. Making your way out of the facility, the two other troopers come into view, both of them hauling out one of the crates.

Glancing back at Mayday, you say “I’ll start up the ship, thanks for helping out”.

He gives you a small smile, a telling one though you’re unable to decipher what exactly he’s trying to tell you. Giving him a nod, you pick up your pace, your sights set on your ship. 

Behind you, you hear the Commander reply. “Sure thing, Tooka” he says it so nonchalantly that you almost miss it. 

Your feet jitter to a stop. Suddenly the chill of the wind seems sharper, cutting through you as you slowly turn around to look at him.

“How do you…” you trail off once you see the blaster in his hand, pointed directly at you.

“I should thank you,” Mayday begins, his tone just as smooth and calm as before “listening into your comm channel was the most entertaining thing I’ve heard in months”.

“Mayday, wait just-” you begin, unsure what kind of explanation you're going to give him but determined to at least try. But before you can even attempt to bargain with the Commander, he pulls the trigger. 

A flash of light shoots from his blaster, his aim perfect as you fall to the ground. Before you lose consciousness, there’s only one thought that runs through your mind — at least he has his blaster set to stun.

Mayday approaches you with his blaster held tightly in his hands, his firm grip unwavering. He’s seen it take three or even fours stun blasts to take down insurgents during the war and so he stays prepared, ready to deliver another stun if necessary.

When he reaches you, Mayday lightly nudges your leg with his foot, carefully watching for any movement. You stay still, completely knocked out and he leaves out a long, shaky breath. 

He didn’t want to do that.

And usually in situation like this, he wouldn’t even consider stunning. If any personnel enter the facility without being cleared by the Empire, then they’re trespassers and considered insurgents. In that case, it’s a shoot to kill situation, not shoot to stun. 

But as he watched you clamber out of your ship and survey the base when you first arrived, Mayday could tell this was different, that you were different.

Although every fibre in his being is reminding him that there’s distinct look for raiders or insurgents, you didn’t exactly seem like one. Nor did you act like the other raiders Mayday is forced to deal with on a week to week basis.

Holstering his blaster, he looks over at the other two troopers. “Hexx, go bring the crate back inside. Veetch, go get the binders,” Mayday orders, a satisfied smile creeping up on his face as he announces “boys, we’ve caught ourselves a pirate!”.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟����🧟🧟🧟

147 my god!!!!! This is over 1000 words

---

It feels as close to the experience of a hospital waiting room as probably exists anymore. 

Bobby nods. “It’s resolved. Not to worry.”

“The radio?” Athena asks.

“No longer transmitting. We don’t need anyone else finding this place,” Bobby explains. “I’m just glad it was you and not someone we don’t know.”

Athena nods. “The end of the world brings out the worst in people.”

“Enables the worst in them, certainly,” Bobby agrees. 

“Though I suppose not everyone,” Athena adds. “Look at what you’ve done here.”

Bobby smiles, gesture feeling slightly forced. “Thank you. We’re getting by.”

“Looks more like thriving, compared to some of what I’ve seen.”

Well, that’s fair. Bobby hasn’t seen as much. He’s happy not to know. Happy not to be part of a larger, more dangerous world. He can’t risk losing another family. 

Before Bobby can reply, Hen and Chim walk out of the utility closet where they’ve been treating May. 

“How is she?” Athena asks, rising to her feet. 

“She has an infection,” Hen says. “But not the infection. Likely, something got in the wound. Or, the zombie that scratched her had something gross on its hands.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Chim says. “If it gets worse, we’d have to take the leg.”

Athena gasps. 

“We’re not there yet, Athena,” Hen assures her. 

Athena takes a deep breath. 

“I trust you, Hen. Do what you have to do to save my baby. She’s more than a leg.”

Bobby swallows. His mind can’t help drifting to his own kids. He feels a desperate, nagging need to prevent her from experiencing his agony. He doesn’t know her kids at all, but he wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone. It’s completely unnatural. Completely soul-changing. So very hard to survive. 

“It’s a waiting game for now,” Chim tells her. “You and your son should rest. We’ll keep you updated, and you can see her.”

Athena sighs. “I can’t rest now. I have to go check the old house. See what I can crab. See if there are any signs of Michael.”

“Town’s not so bad for zombies anymore,” Chim tells her. “They’re mostly all dead.”

Bobby still feels a pang of anxiety at the thought of her going out into it alone, anyway. 

“You want backup?” He offers. 

Athena smiles a little ruefully. “I never did work with a partner, captain.”

“We’ve got an electric vehicle,” he shrugs. “Don’t waste your gas.”

Pragmatism often wins out over ego, he finds. Or just a desire to be alone. 

She nods. “Well, alright then. Thank you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Before the outbreak, Bobby had been a truck guy. Maybe that was just familiarity with the battalion trucks at work, maybe it was a lifetime of driving on snowier, rougher roads. The immediate halt of gasoline production changed that, of course. Hard to appreciate a gas guzzler when each refill is a chore. Siphoning is one thing. Locating gas to be siphoned? Another. 

Luckily for them, the community center already had one of the town’s only public EV charging stations. And a few of the more affluent residents, all of whom died fairly quickly, left behind their expensive cars. It was Karen who proposed they take as many as they could. She could work with their computer systems, and the rest of them were handy with vehicles on account of the job. So now Bobby finds himself driving a Tesla, covered in looted bumper stickers from the dollar store that Denny has artfully arranged. There’s a number of absurd slogans. I love my Bichon Frise. My kid is an honor roll student. Who rescued who? Coexist. Go green - go vegan. Athena reads them all as she climbs in the car. 

“We’re more pescatarian at this point,” Bobby says when he catches her eyeing the last one. “Buck catches a lot of fish.”

“You don’t strike me as a bumper sticker guy,” Athena smirks, climbing in the passenger seat and buckling up. 

He appreciates someone who uses their seat belt even post-apocalypse. It had been an argument with Buck until Chim made him watch a DVD copy of Zombieland. Not as funny of a film when it’s your reality. 

“That’s all Denny,” Bobby replies, chuckling. “We had to draw the line at someone’s NRA sticker.”

Athena laughs. “I’m guessing he didn’t understand?”

“No. We took the guy’s guns, left his agenda.” 

“Fair enough,” she chuckles.

“Where am I headed?” Bobby asks.

“Montalvo Drive,” Athena says. 

Fancy neighborhood. Damn. Not something she’d afford on a police salary. 

“You got it.”

A quiet falls over the car as Bobby drives. He knows very little about what happened between Athena Grant and her husband, Michael. A man Bobby has never met.  Hen knows. Karen knows. But they’ve never said. There wasn’t a reason to, after the outbreak. And before, it was a private matter. One day, they were called to an motorist accident, a different sergeant was at the scene who Bobby didn’t recognize, and Hen quietly told Bobby and Chim that Athena had taken the kids and gone to her parents. He found he missed seeing her at calls, as strange as that is to say. She has an energy about her, maybe. 

“What did your husband do?” Bobby asks finally, after five minutes, when they pull onto the street. 

“Architect,” Athena explains. 

Well that accounts for that. 

“He was - is, I don’t know - good at it, too.” Athena continues. “Successful.”

He’d have to be, to buy the home she ends up directing him to. Ocean view. Two stories. Big gates and a pool. Athena probably didn’t have to work at all. Let alone a dangerous, demanding job. Which just goes to say, she’s the kind of person that needs to. He understands that. 

Bobby parks outside the gate. He grabs the shotgun he brought with them as Athena checks the gate codelock. You never can be too sure. 

“The batteries in these things are supposed to last years,” Athena mutters as she punches in the code. 

The gate clicks open. 

“We can leave the security company a testimonial,” Bobby tells her. 

“Customer reviews are everything,” Athena agrees flatly. 

They slip through the creaking gate. It doesn’t have the power to automatically open. From there, it’s a short walk up to the front door of the home. The walkway is that flat, river stone look. It must once have been polished and beautiful. Now, it’s growing through with weeds and a little dusty. Athena sighs when she looks at it. 

[thegreenlizard]

Really not Obi-Wan’s first slave uprising

Obi-Wan has a hobby of taking down slaving rings.

Stand-alone or related to “Not Obi-Wan’s first slave uprising” and/or “Qui-Gon’s gambling doesn’t pay off” (where Obi-Wan is presented with a battalion of slave soldiers, says please and thank you, and starts plotting how to take down the slavers).

Obi-Wan has had an unusual number of instances of being captured/sold as a slave during his padawanship and later knighthood. His favoured method of getting out of slavery is to stage a slave revolt and get *everyone* out of slavery.

The first few instances were proper accidents and properly traumatising… the next dozen or so, not so much. The Jedi missions might not have a mandate to free slaves the Jedi happened to encounter during their mission—in fact, freeing random slaves often came with extra political headaches. But what Obi-Wan had realised early on was that no one could blame a Jedi for freeing themselves from slavery.

By the time Obi-Wan encounters A) Anakin on Tatooine, or B) the clones on Kamino, he has refined the process down to an art form.

Plus

- The council, the politicians could blame him all they wanted, but they couldn’t make it stick—which was more to the point.

- Obi-Wan aiming wide blue eyes at the council “well honoured council members, obviously if they were targeting force sensitives, they seemed dangerous and the best course of action was to take out the whole organisation”

- Obi-Wan using his baby face to its full potential as a lost youngling/easy prey act, accidentally wandering off to shady places to get kidnapped. Why, he never knew that could happen!

- Fix-it option: at this point, Obi-Wan is an old hat at freeing slaves and just assumes that people trading sentients have slave chips or another backup method for controlling them. The clones coming up clean on the first scans makes him think “hidden/hi tech” not “nothing”.

[miseries-mistress]

CHOICES AND CONSEQUENCES | COMMANDER CODY

Synopsis: It's been two years, give or take, since the Empire first rose to power. Those years were more often than not filled with desolate loneliness, longing for the Cody you once knew to return to you as his former self. Only that day came sooner than you imagined. 

Warnings: gender-neutral reader, TBB S2 EP 3 SPOILERS, some angst, some fluff, bitter-sweet endings bc he deserves one. W/C: 1309

Notes: this is all over the place... just don't pay too much attention to it

star wars masterlist

The flowers on your bedside table were long dead. You hadn't bothered to replace them- touch them is more accurate since Cody first put them there what feels like a million rotations ago. 

Your room was small, with nothing but a bed and a bathroom, but you should be lucky that the Empire provided this much after you were relocated from the 212th. Your refusal to leave the military was forged by the consequences of doing so because, despite your hatred and burning rage toward the Empire, you didn't have any kind of backup outside of this job. You're sure if you resigned, the Empire would make sure that one of their finest medics never gets a job again, forcing you to rely solely on them for any false sense of stability. In fact, they might not even let you leave at all, given how long you've served the Republic. Though, it didn't matter, for there was another part of you, another reason you refused to leave...because of him.

You worked as a field medic for the last two years of the Clone Wars for the 212th battalion. The job wasn't easy, but the company of the men made up for all the gore and death you had to witness and fix. It's how you met Cody, after all, how the flowers of your relationship bloomed, the petals stretching wide to reach new heights and opportunities like your smile once did. The relationship you and Cody shared was beautiful. No matter how much secrecy it caused the two of you, you flourished under the circumstances, just relishing in the feeling of being his while it lasted. Now it was all lost, the petals rotting and decaying, curling in on themselves with the stench of death, and you didn't have the heart to throw away your only physical reminder of what once was.

You don't see him much anymore. 

When the Empire first rose from the ashes of the Clone Wars, Cody was no longer the same. More noticeably, his eyes were dark; the bright gleam of life you had grown accustomed to seeing was nowhere to be found, his irises devoid of anything other than an end. Nevertheless, it had encouraged you to ask questions when he visited you about a headache, prattling on and on about the Empire and the Jedi turned traitors to all he stood for and fought for; what he was bred for. 

You listened with open ears as you did x-rays and scans, only to frown at the lack of results that something was abnormal. You knew Cody wasn't one to complain, especially when it came to pain- a clone commander's stubbornness- but there was nothing amiss, and that should have been your first sign that something was horribly wrong. 

Cody protested, insisting that something was definitely not right as you sent him off with a smile and some pain medication. Since then, the Empire has kept him busy shutting down rebel insurgents, gaining control of star systems, and making Cody dirty his blood-soaked hands further with the victims of the Empire. As a result, his visits grew far and few, never sharing the same connection you and he once had. However, it doesn't seem to matter to him. No matter how often you tried to talk to him and get him to open up in desperation to return to some sense of normalcy between you two, he reassured you that he was fine, just following orders. You didn't believe him. 

There's an unsteady and frantic knock at the door, echoing loudly throughout your room with a loud thump. You narrow your eyes at the entrance, but somehow, amongst your melancholy, you manage to rise from your bed, already dressed for the day, to greet your visitor.

It's Cody. 

You haven't seen him in six months, and even then, his last visit only lasted a couple of hours before he was deployed again, yet the first thing you notice is his armor. It's stripped of all its former color; the color of freedom he and his brother proudly sported has been leaked from every crevice of the one thing he's allowed to own. A testament to his enslavement to the Empire. 

The door is pulled shut, his shaky hands finding your shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world, as if it's still you and Cody against the galaxy, not the other way around. You don't know what to feel as he searches your face, drinking in the sight of you with wild distress, and that scares you most of all.  

Your head is pounding as you watch Cody's mouth form words you can't entirely comprehend. A mission, Crosshair, droids, the governor, the finer details go over your head as you're still staggering from Cody's presence in front of you, as though no time has passed since his last visit. He's here and talking to you like he did when droids were the enemy. A weight lifts off your shoulders at the very thought of your Cody, the one who would lay on your chest and let you run your hands through his hair, returning from the darkness he's been hiding in. 

While his explanation is rushed, his tense body continually moving in a state of anxiety, his eyes wander from yours every once in a while to scan the room to ensure his safety. You recognize the look in his eyes, and things begin to click into place; he's scared. 

"Will you go with me?" he concludes his long-winded explanation, and you blink at him. After his strange behavior and detachment, he's come back and asks you to desert the Empire with him. To leave everything you know and hold behind, your lives, family, everything, all to build a better one for yourselves, a life together.  

You swallow the lump that had inexplicably formed in your throat, your blood pumping with newfound energy and purpose, and you collapse into his armored chest despite yourself. He returns the embrace as you crumble into him, offering you the comfort he was unable to provide before, offering every apology he can within his strong arms, providing you safety and security within his wiry muscles underneath his hardened exterior. You can't remember a time when you felt so cared for. 

You have questions, so many goddamn questions, but they all evaporate the moment he sees your lips moving to form words, uttering his own that leaves you reeling.

"Trust me."

And you can't help but do exactly that. You bite back every warning and concern, pushing it to the back of your mind because you will have time for them later. Time. 

You have time with him.

So while Cody holds you tenderly like he's afraid you'll break, you agree, practically sobbing in his chest with relief that after all this time, he still cares for you. Even when he is abandoning his brothers, the once Republic that fabricated him, the very thing he would have died for, he came to you and asked you to commit treason with him. The gesture speaks more volumes than any flowery language or touches ever could, conveying his belief and trust in you that after all that had happened, he's choosing you, and that's worth all the time in the world.