#Canon check scanner

[liketheletter-l]

Guys. Guys he didn't actually want to go to space guys it was a JOKE

had sm fun with this one, details under the cut please check them out! (my scanner did a great job thank you canon mg2500)

[onechicagolife]

prayers

summary: prompt 33 - in which chicago med goes on lockdown

requested? yes by anonymous (x2)

word count: 1426

warnings: active/mass shooting (i know this is canon with the triggers of the show but this is a particularly tough topic; there is nothing explicit or descriptive other than gunshots being heard)

want to be tagged? link in bio <3

You make your way back towards the emergency department with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, the cafeteria coffee being surprisingly better than whoever stocks the doctor’s lounge with some weird, flavored crap you can’t keep down. This feels like the longest shift of your life, rarely getting a break from the craziness of a Chicago hospital. You take a long sip, savoring the taste when your pager beeps on your waist. You groan to yourself, not wanting to have to toss your coffee and run to the ED, even though it is a relatively short distance now. When you finally tug the pager free from where it is clipped to your scrubs, your breath hitches in your throat as you read the letters staring back at you.

CODE SILVER.

Racking your brain for an email about a drill that you may have skimmed over, you can feel your heart hammering in your chest like an anvil on metal sending a ringing through your ears. This has to be a drill. You learn about what to do in active shooter situations, but you never thought one would actually happen at a hospital. The small hope that this was somehow not real squashes when three quick shots ring out and your head shoots up, the sound scaring you so bad that you drop the cup in your hand. Coffee splashes on your feet and the brief shocked silence is suddenly filled with screams.

You’ve been trained for this. You’ve been trained for this. You’ve been trained for this.

Everything you learned flew out the window the second you heard those shots sounding too close for comfort and you stand there, frozen. You only snap back to yourself when a frantic woman bumps into you as she runs by with her young child in her arms. It works like a bucket of cold water on a sleeping form, and you start taking in your surroundings. Your eyes dart in every direction, watching as people run and attempt to hide as more shots ring out.

When your eyes land on a door that has a locked card scanner, you kick it into gear. You run over and swipe your access card, watching the red light turn green and waiting for the click to open the door. Glancing back over your shoulder, you spot a group of people trying to shield themselves poorly behind furniture, and you call out to get their attention. When one elderly man meets your eyes, you check both ways to make sure the coast is clear before gesturing them over.

Once everyone in sight is ushered inside, cramming as tightly as possible in the uncomfortably small storage space, you close the door and sit with your back against it. Closing your eyes for a second, you let out a long breath through your nose to try and slow your breathing. One woman’s sobs reach your ears, and your eyes fly open. You bring a finger to your lips and shush her, feeling bad for the harshness but knowing now is not the time for niceties. Someone has to be in charge, and it’s going to be you.

Now that you’ve had a moment to catch your breath with the solid barrier between the rest of the hospital, the severity of the situation hits you. Immediately, you pull out your phone from the inner pocket of your lab coat. The brightness is stark in the almost pitch-blackness of the room and you hurry to turn the brightness all the way down before it can be seen through the space under the door. Eyes adjusting to the screen, you notice the dozens of text messages and missed calls.

Will Halstead: where the hell are you

Will Halstead: there’s a shooter in the ED

Will Halstead: WHERE ARE YOU

Maggie Lockwood: There’s multiple people down in the ED.

Connor Rhodes: Locked in the hybrid OR with Will. Shooter somewhere in the hospital. Where are you?

Maggie Lockwood: Are you safe?

Jay Halstead (14 missed calls)

You respond to the texts first, assuring that you are safe and exactly where you are. It takes a few moments longer than usual due to the shaking of your hands that you can’t gain control of. You’re a doctor, your job relies on steady hands. Yet here you are, struggling to construct a sentence that makes sense. Once you manage, though, you tap the call button on your boyfriend’s contact. Bringing the phone to your ear, you listen as it goes straight to voicemail without even ringing. Meaning his phone is off. Hopefully meaning that he’s responding to this very scene. Hopefully meaning you won’t die without being able to tell him that you’re in love with him. You close your eyes shut to hold back the tears, knowing that if you break down, there’s no way the other dozen people in here will be able to keep it together.

It feels like hours go by in harrowing stillness, but in reality, it was probably shorter than that. Truthfully, you have no idea. It could have been days or seconds, and you wouldn’t know the difference. The sobs around you have quieted, with some of the people falling into silent prayers and hugging the complete strangers beside them. You even pray yourself, to any god or being that will listen, to get you out of this and back to the people – the person – you love. But the silence is interrupted when footsteps echo through the halls outside where you’ve found shelter, and the sobs of a few come back in full force, others trying their best to smother the sounds.

You bring a still-shaking hand up to your mouth, stifling the short breaths as your strength fractures and a few tears trail down your cheeks as the footsteps get closer. When they seem to come to halt just behind where you sit, there's only two inches separating you from whoever is outside. 

You hold your breath.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of the love of your life’s voice. You quickly move to stand up when a young girl, maybe ten, tugs harshly on your pant leg. Glancing down, you meet her frightened eyes and do your best at a reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” you glance around the room with a soft nod, “that’s the police.” Heavy gasps and relieved cries fill the room as you manage to spin around in the cramped space, gripping the handle and yanking the door open.

Immediately, your eyes land on Jay, and a sense of peace washes over you. The feeling is mirrored in his eyes as he takes you in, checking you for nonexistent injuries before you all but launch yourself at him. His arms circle your waist as yours wind around his neck with a grip so tight you’re nearly choking him, but he doesn’t even mind. Jay lifts you off the ground slightly to move out of the way, allowing the other dozen people to come out and be helped by the various other officers. 

“Thank god,” you choke out, tears now flowing freely.

“It’s okay,” Jay mumbles into your hair, one hand migrating to cradle the back of your head, “You’re okay.”

After a few moments of being calmed in his embrace, you pull away just enough to meet his eyes. “Is everyone okay? Did you find Will and th—” you start to ask, words tumbling out of your mouth faster than you can think them.

“Everyone’s okay,” Jay assures, both hands moving to cup your cheeks, “A few bystanders and a nurse were shot, but everyone is going to live. I found Will in the ED; he told me where you were.” 

You close your eyes and nod at his words, signaling that you understand them.

Swiping a tear off of your skin, Jay says your name like a prayer and you open your eyes once again. “When you didn’t answer your phone, I—I thought,” he struggles to get the words out, “I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You are so important to me, you are such a big part of my life, that I just… I can’t imagine you not here. I love you, Y/N.”

The words hit your ears and it’s a melody you want to listen to for the rest of your life. Jay has never said that to you before and now you never want him to stop.

You manage a watery smile, leaning in until your forehead touches his, “I love you.”

tag list: @talicat713 @nevaehstreater18 @hehurst23 @jesseleesofferupdates @stephanie708 @harleyquinnpuddin @mrspeacem1nusone @nilspettersson @romanogersendgame @gerardssword @the-fan-18 @nobodycanknowus @frenchyjuju @toomuchtv95 @atarmychick007 @imtoanonymousforyou @renataficrecs @ossypooh @haynsey @euphoria257 @hajrakhan @brookerz122493 @sophie10626 @mrshalsteadxx @alexxavicry​ @itserickalove​ @livstilinski​ @sia2raw​ @bebataylor84​ @sande5098​ @withakindheartx​ @i-spaced-sorry​ @star017​ @camillyb​ @munteanmiss @halsteadloversworld​

[dindjarindiaries]

Senator's Shadow - Chapter 5

summary: Hunter navigates the sweet haunting of your stolen moment in the secret base as the conflict on Eirus rages on.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x fem!reader

rating: mature (18+)

tags: bodyguard romance, forbidden love, fluff & angst, emotional & physical hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, trauma, eventual/mild smut

word count: 6.624k

chapter 4 ⟸ series masterlist ⟹ chapter 6

chapter 5 ⟹

Hunter woke with a start, his heart racing loud enough to thump against his eardrums as he gathered his bearings. He had to look next to him to make sure he was really alone in bed.

Because in his dreams, he had been in that secret base with you again, chasing the sweet taste of your affection in endless succession.

Hunter exhaled and ran a hand over his face. He glanced down and checked on the wound over his left side, lifting the secure wrap to see that it had made quite a bit of progress in healing overnight. Tech was going to want to check up on it again, if only to update the data he had already started to collect.

His comm chimed repeatedly on the bedside table. Hunter sighed and reached over to grab it, lifting it to his haunted lips as he spoke. “Yeah, I’m awake, Tech.”

“Good. Before you take over, it would be wise for me to do another analysis of your wound.”

Hunter smiled to himself. Even after all this time, it still amazed him how well he knew his squad. “Sure. I’ll let you in.”

Hunter set aside the comm and grunted as he stood from the bed. He was pleased to learn that he could walk without hunching over, a small yet crucial step in his healing. Hunter opened his door just as Tech walked up to it, and Hunter stood aside to let his brother enter.

“How was your shift?” Hunter hoped his strong concern wasn’t evident in his tone. He followed Tech inside of the room and sat on the end of his bed.

“As uneventful as usual.” Tech spoke while he worked, holding his datapad in one hand and a medical scanner in the other. “I imagine it was the same for Wrecker, who is now switching with Crosshair.”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. “‘Imagine?’ Do you know that for sure?”

Tech sighed and paused what he was doing, his helmet tilting at the sergeant. “Hunter, you cannot act as if it is a strong or even likely possibility that something has gone astray without us already being informed about it. We have, so far, had zero issues during our watch shifts.”

Still, Tech’s gaze softened at Hunter behind his goggles.

“Though I do understand that recent events have likely made you even more wary. You experienced a very close call.”

Hunter was the next one to soften as he reached forward to set a reassuring hand on Tech’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Tech.”

Tech lifted the scanner. “We have yet to prove that.”

Hunter huffed and let his hand fall back to his side. He took the wrap and moved it aside, letting Tech have access to the wound. The scanner’s red, gridded light assessed the skin while Tech fixed his attention on his datapad.

“Remarkable.” Tech’s eyes were wide with approval as he studied the data. Hunter lifted his brow. “The wound has healed almost exponentially overnight.” He gestured absentmindedly to the wrap that Hunter was beginning to secure back over his skin. “It would seem your effective work with the bandaging has paid off.”

There was a longing ache that struck deep within Hunter’s chest at the memory he hadn’t even been awake for. “I wish I could take the credit for it.”

Tech froze, his stare finding Hunter’s. “What do you mean?”

Hunter exhaled a soft breath and prepared himself for what was to come. “I wasn’t the one who wrapped it.”

Tech’s eyes narrowed before they widened even more than before. “Oh.” The skin around his eyes wrinkled as he no doubt smiled to himself underneath his helmet. “So, the senator had to gain access to—.”

“How else would she have done it, Tech?” Hunter couldn’t keep the defensive edge out of his tone as he raised an eyebrow at his brother. He shrugged and averted Tech’s gaze. “I wasn’t even conscious when she wrapped it, anyway.”

It was hard to miss Tech’s amused snickering. “Your wistful tone implies that you wish you had been.”

Hunter’s stare snapped back to Tech’s. “Wistful? That wasn’t…” He stopped, acknowledging his defeat. Hunter sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows upon his knees. “I’m just not happy about the fact that I was out.”

“Understandable. To be in such a state of helplessness is difficult for anyone, especially a leader such as yourself.” Tech’s hand gestured to Hunter even as he continued to tap around the datapad. “I can imagine it was even more undesirable when you had the senator in your care.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened. That was something he had been trying not to think of. “I would feel the same if it was any of you.”

Tech shot Hunter a quick glance. “Certainly.” Before Hunter could even try to argue, Tech went on. “I have to say, this does explain the dazed behavior you exhibited during our return to the capitol. I had assumed it was from the loss of blood.”

“It was.” Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. All he found behind his eyelids were the same hauntings that had filled his dreams. “The lack of consciousness didn’t help, either.”

Tech hummed. “That is a fair assumption.” He set his datapad on his belt and nodded. “According to this data, you should be just fine to complete your normal activities, so long as you keep the wrap on for now. I will check on it again later this evening.”

Hunter relaxed his posture again and smiled at his brother. “Thanks, Tech.” He gestured with his head to the door. “Go get some rest.”

Tech offered a two-fingered salute before he turned on his heel and left the room. Hunter stayed where he was for a moment, hanging his head as he forced himself to focus on the day ahead. The galaxy couldn’t stop all because of a single, stolen moment with you, even if neither of you had even gotten the chance to talk about it yet.

Hunter was quick as he suited up, though he continued to mind the wrapping on his side. It was hard not to remember the way you had helped him with this process just over a day’s time ago, but this was also something Hunter had been doing on his own for years, and recalling the mundane routine made it just a little bit easier to get through.

His helmet was already on as he stepped out of his room, taking over the empty place where Tech had been before at your doors. With his back facing them, Hunter shut out everything except the farthest spaces to which his senses could reach, threatening to overwhelm them completely in favor of drowning out his own mind.

It had been long enough for a small throb to invade both his temples when he finally heard movement just behind your doors. Hunter shut down his senses, but still waited until the doors opened to turn around. As soon as his visor found you, he picked up on a skipping heartbeat, but it was impossible to tell if it was yours or his own.

Your first moment alone together since…

“Good morning, Sergeant.” Your voice was as kind as ever as you bowed your head at him, though your gaze never left his. There was a confusing mixture of emotions hidden within its depths.

“Senator.” Hunter returned the gesture. “I hope you slept well.”

Your eyes flashed with a light Hunter couldn’t quite catch, but you smiled nevertheless. “I did.” Your brow furrowed as your stare lowered to his side. “How’s your wound?”

The corners of Hunter’s mouth began to rise at your evident concern. “Much better. Tech said it’s almost completely healed.” Hunter dared to take just a small step closer to you. “He also said the effectiveness of the wrap had much to do with it.”

You beamed at him, maintaining your intense stare. “That makes me very happy to hear.” Some of the light in your eyes faded as you embraced your vulnerability. “I was very worried.”

Hunter’s chest ached for you. “You don’t have to worry about me, Senator.”

This time, you were the one to take another step closer to him. Hunter tried not to consider how little room there was left between the two of you. “But I do, Hunter, just as you do for me.”

And there it was, the simple utterance of his name that filled Hunter with an unprecedented rush of warmth. It was only the second time he had heard you say it without his title, and it made him remember the first—that sweet, pleased sigh of longing that could get him to do just about anything for your sake.

The sound of a door opening snapped the two of you out of your shared haze. Both your heads turned to face Echo as he stepped through the threshold of his room. Hunter’s visor looked down at his feet as he stepped back to make room for his brother, though he could feel the burn of Echo’s observant gaze even through his own helmet.

“Sorry if I… interrupted something.” Echo didn’t bother to hide the smug smile in his voice. “I thought I heard some voices out here.”

“No apology necessary, Echo.” You were able to keep your voice even, something Hunter couldn’t trust himself to do, as you smiled at Echo. “The sergeant was just about to do the wake-up call.”

Your words were his reminder to do just that. Hunter lifted his fingers to the side of his helmet and spoke. “Time to get a move on, boys. Crosshair, you can head inside.”

Crosshair’s cool voice was quick to respond. “Goody.”

“What are you up to today, Senator?” Echo asked the question Hunter wanted to, but beat him to it. “Anything exciting?”

You huffed. “I’m afraid not. I have to try my hand at more diplomatic resolutions today.”

Your brow had furrowed with a weariness Hunter recognized all too well. He was captivated by an urge to reach out for you, but he tightened his fist to keep his hand at his side. “How’s that been going?” Hunter at least used his words to check in on you.

Your gaze slid over to his, and what he found there was less than promising. “Exactly how you’d imagine it would.”

Hunter tilted his helmet at you. It was the only gesture of reassurance he could offer with Echo, and soon to be more of the squad, around. “Well, we’re hitting the ground running today. We’re heading back to the village to check in with the residents and see if there’s anything we missed.”

“Thank you.” Your stare softened at him. “I wish I could go with you, but… duty calls.”

Hunter released a gentle exhale as the sounds of doors opening surrounded them. “As always.”

“Mornin’, everyone!” Wrecker sounded as joyful as usual before he clapped a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. He grunted, but stood his ground and turned his helmet to face his brother. “You actually joining us today, Sarge?”

Hunter nodded in Tech’s direction. “He cleared me for action.”

Tech pushed his goggles up and kept his finger lifted. “To be clear, it was the scanner that provided the data. I simply analyzed it for the most accurate results.”

The doors to the senator’s suite opened, and you stepped aside as Crosshair joined the group and somehow responded to Tech’s statement. “How many times are you going to explain that to us?”

Meanwhile, Hunter sighed at Crosshair’s actions. “I told you all already, we shouldn’t be reentering through that passage unless we have to. We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to it.”

Crosshair lifted his helmet to show Hunter his unimpressed look. “And having one of us standing directly outside the secret door isn’t drawing attention?”

Hunter tightened his jaw. “I just don’t think the senator would appreciate us coming and going from her suite unannounced.”

“I trust you all, Sergeant.” Your voice captured Hunter’s attention, and he turned his helmet to face you. “If it calls for less suspicion than reentering through the main exits, then it’s fine by me.”

“Ha!” Wrecker nudged Echo, who was closest to his other side. “She really is one of us, now.”

Hunter furrowed his brow at whatever unspoken conversation Wrecker was referencing, but you continued before he could ask about it. “I don’t take that compliment lightly, Wrecker. Thank you.” You beamed at Wrecker and set a hand on his armored shoulder. Hunter smiled. “I should get going, as should all of you. If you need to report,” you paused and turned to face Hunter, “you know how to reach me.”

Hunter nodded dutifully. You offered one last smile before you began to walk down the long corridor, where some of your personal guards were already waiting. He watched you until you reached them, his chest weighing heavier and heavier the further you got.

“Hunter?” Echo’s voice snapped Hunter’s attention back to the squad. He faced Echo, whose helmet had tilted at him. “Our orders?”

“Right.” Hunter had an easy time focusing back on the mission. He had yet to lead his squad into a single mission failure, after all. “We’re heading back to the village. We’ll do a sweep to make sure the hostiles are gone, and we’ll take any information we can get from the locals. We have to figure out where and how they’ll strike next.”

The squad nodded, and Hunter led them out of the capitol. Silence sat between the group until they reached the woods that surrounded the village. Wrecker was the one who walked up to Hunter’s side and started to speak. “So, Hunter, you’re really feeling better?”

Hunter tilted his head towards his brother. “Yeah, Wrecker.” He patted his hand against Wrecker’s back. “It was just a partial hit. Don’t even worry about it.”

“But it still led to a great deal of bleeding,” Tech insisted. “Had it not been for the senator, it is quite possible you could have bled out.”

“Had it not been for who?” Echo’s interest was clearly piqued.

Hunter sighed and palmed his helmet. He should’ve known better than to think he would be leaving all this back at the capitol.

“It was the senator who bandaged Hunter’s wound.” Tech’s matter-of-fact tone only made the information sound even worse somehow. “He told me so this morning after I had assessed it.”

Crosshair’s tone had just as much amusement as Echo’s did. “Were you going to tell the rest of us that too, Hunter?”

“If it ever became relevant, then yes, I would have.”

Wrecker suddenly gasped. It alerted Hunter until he heard what his brother had to say. “Wait… so that means the senator had to see—.”

Hunter wasn’t going to let him finish that sentence. “We get it, Wrecker.”

Tech couldn’t help himself from providing even more of the context Hunter had given him earlier. “Hunter was not conscious at the time.”

Crosshair huffed. “Bummer.”

Echo was next. “Do you wish you had been?”

Hunter chuckled. “Why would anyone rather be unconscious?”

Echo gave his helmet a quick tilt at that. “Fair point.”

Wrecker shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s kinda nice sometimes.”

“Not when it happens like that.” Hunter gave him a quick look. “Trust me.”

“It does at least explain your long absence before our rendezvous.” Tech, as always, was trying to do the math. “Though I can’t imagine where you could have possibly kept cover for so long.”

“An old base.” Hunter pointed to the far distance. “From the senator’s freedom fighting days. She got us both there.”

“While you were out?” Wrecker let out a whistle. “Wow, she’s even stronger than I thought.”

Hunter smiled to himself. “Yeah, she’s full of surprises.”

Crosshair’s voice was low as he responded. “You would know.”

Hunter curled up his fists at his sides, but said nothing. The group snickered amongst themselves as Hunter reached out with his senses. He was met with the familiarity of the village, which threatened to bring back memories he couldn’t afford to dwell on—especially not while he was alone with his squad. “We’re here.”

Hunter stopped the group and turned to face them. His straightened posture alone caused all of them to follow suit, turning themselves from teasing brothers to focused soldiers.

“The first priority is sweeping the village, and making sure the people are still safe.” Hunter scanned the group. “Wrecker, Crosshair, and Tech, take the western half. Echo and I will take the other. Rendezvous back in the middle if you haven’t found anything.”

“Roger that, Sarge!” Wrecker gripped his blaster tighter and followed Crosshair and Tech to their side of the village. Hunter nodded at Echo before they headed for their half. He tried not to dwell on what had happened the last time he was there.

But Echo knew him well, even if he hadn’t been around as long as his other brothers. “Hunter.” His voice was low, almost like a warning, as Hunter used his senses to scout the area. “What really happened at that base?”

Hunter shot Echo a quick look. “What are you talking about?”

Echo huffed. “I know we’ve been getting on your case about the senator ever since we started this mission, but this morning was different.” He tilted his helmet at Hunter. “I felt that tension.”

Hunter tightened his jaw. “You’re reading into things too much.”

Echo scoffed. “Am I?” Hunter didn’t respond to that. Echo took his silence as an invitation to go on. “Look, Hunter, they didn’t make me an ARC trooper just because of my skills. It was also because of my ability to read people and situations. And that?” Echo let out a curt laugh. “That situation was easier to read than any plan I’ve ever had to decipher.”

Hunter exhaled. The heaviness of it all began to weigh on his shoulders as they pushed on through the village. “Don’t worry about it.” He had been doing enough worrying about it, about you, for the two of them—for all of them, if he was being honest.

Echo remained silent for a minute or so before he spoke out again. “Did you kiss her?”

Hunter’s helmet had never whipped around faster than it did then. “What?”

Echo met his brother’s gaze. “Is that what happened in the base? Did you two kiss?”

Hunter considered his next words carefully. Of course it had to be Echo, the one member of the squad he could never get away with lying to, who would figure it out first. With a small breath, Hunter prepared to answer. “Even if we did—.”

Echo set a firm hand on Hunter’s chestplate, keeping him from walking ahead. He leaned his helmet close to Hunter’s, keeping his voice low for the sake of privacy. “So, you did kiss?”

Hunter’s helmet tilted. “I said even if we did, it wouldn’t matter.” His gaze fell, though his visor remained where it was, as he spoke the same truth Echo had warned him of days ago. “The senator knows the rules, and so do I.”

Echo dropped his hand and gave his head an incredulous shake. “Come on, Hunter. Fuck the rules.” He pointed his finger into Hunter’s chestplate, near his heart. “You’re in love.”

“Love?” Hunter raised both his hands and shook his helmet. “Echo, that’s a big reach.”

“Is it?” Echo crossed his arms. “I know what I saw this morning.”

Hunter exhaled and set a hand on his hip. “Were you not the one reminding me of the rules just a few days ago?”

Echo chuckled. “Maybe I just wanted to know that you were serious about this.”

Hunter’s visor fell as he began to think through it all. It was an impossible task, especially with Echo’s expectant gaze on him. “I… don’t really know what to make of it.” He raised his gaze back to Echo’s. “All I know is that the senator has a duty to fulfill, and so do I.” Hunter gestured with his helmet to the village around them. “That’s what I have to focus on.”

Hunter started to walk forward past Echo, but he was stopped by Echo’s hand on his armored shoulder. He turned his helmet to face his brother. “Just remember, Hunter.” Echo nodded, giving Hunter’s shoulder a gentle pat. “You deserve to be happy, too.”

Hunter was too shocked by Echo’s words to say anything in response. Thankfully, Echo didn’t expect him to. He dropped his hand and continued walking, remaining in stride alongside Hunter as they continued their search. His words, however, were seared into Hunter’s memory, clouding each sense that he tried to reach out with.

Happiness wasn’t a luxury he had granted himself ever since he was put in command of his squad countless years ago. Could it really be something he prioritized, especially in a situation as delicate and dangerous as this?

That wasn’t a question he could answer, at least not now. Not when it felt like this village was still smoking from the explosion that had taken both you and him with it. No one was hurt this time around, but if Hunter didn’t focus on the task set before him, then people—your people—could get hurt next time.

Not to mention the fact he had his own squad to look after, his brothers. They were quite literally bred for war, and until he got them all onto the other side of it safely, he would continue to focus on them above all else.

Even if his mind, and his rapidly beating heart, would often drift back to you.

Hunter and Echo’s search was fruitless, and it wasn’t long before they met back up with the others in the middle of the village. The people there were frightened, but Hunter didn’t blame them. He still tried his best to coax them into conversation, attempting to get anything that would be useful. It was a vain effort.

“Hunter.” Echo’s sigh broke Hunter out of another pointless conversation. Hunter nodded at the villager to dismiss himself before he turned to his brother, who had removed his helmet to reveal his furrowed brow. “We’re not getting anywhere with this.”

Hunter exhaled a deep breath of his own and removed his helmet as well. “I know.” His gaze scanned the area as he thought through their next steps. “Now that they know someone’s countering these attacks, they’re being even more secretive.”

Crosshair slid into the conversation with a tilted helmet. “I still think somebody’s hiding something.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow at him. “We’re not gonna interrogate these people, Crosshair. We’ve already been bothering them enough.”

“They will not offer us a solution, anyway.” Tech was tapping away on his datapad as he joined the quickly forming huddle. “Considering our sweep for hostiles directly after the blast came up fruitless, they had already retreated at that point. Clearly, they were not ready for such a failure, and falling back was their best option.”

“Because they weren’t trained fighters.” Echo’s stare looked off into the distance as he spoke. Hunter’s brow knit together, but before he could speak, Echo returned Hunter’s stare and continued. “That’s what the senator said that night.”

Hunter ached just thinking of you. His jaw tightened as he continued to hold Echo’s gaze. “What are you getting at, Echo?”

Echo lifted a hand to gesture to their surroundings. “This place was an easy target for non-trained fighters. All they had to do was plant a bunch of explosives and set them off. Hunter…” he paused to convey his severity, “they’re saving their trained fighters for something.”

“Or someone.” Tech finished the thought Echo hadn’t spoken aloud. Hunter went cold, an icy chill running along his spine and souring his stomach. “An ingenious theory, Echo, that is quite sensible.” His attention went back to his datapad for a moment. “It is very likely that the trained fighters will strike the senator’s home village next. It would not only be a desirable target, but it would also achieve their goal of drawing her out.”

“We need to find out when this attack will happen.” Hunter’s response was immediate. He had to put one foot in front of the other and continue planning. His mind was given no other option. “When it does, we have to convince the senator to stay behind.”

Wrecker was the one to chuckle at Hunter’s words. “Good luck with that, Sarge. She almost loves action as much as I do.”

Hunter couldn’t even entertain the thought of you being there. “She’ll do what’s best for her people, and her people need her alive.” He nodded at the four pairs of eyes that looked upon him. “She’ll stay.”

“It is also possible that they will send a group to the planetary capitol in the event that she has stayed behind.” Tech offered up this information so nonchalantly that it added even more fuel to Hunter’s panicked fire. “Without us there, she would be more vulnerable to such a targeted attack.”

Hunter’s armored shoulders rose with a breath as he fell upon the realization. “That warning they sent during the banquet… this is how they’re making her choose.”

“It’s a lose-lose.” Echo looked around the group, but pointedly at Hunter, as he continued the sergeant’s train of thought. “If she stays, she’ll be at risk. If she doesn’t, then they’ll know she’s countering their attacks.”

“Why don’t we split up?” Wrecker offered the idea with a lilt of hopefulness. “One or two of us can stay at the capitol, and the rest can fight.”

Hunter shook his head. “We can’t split our forces. We have no idea how many fighters we’ll be against at the village, and that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. These aren’t battle droids.”

Hunter worked his jaw, quieting the volume of his worries to focus on a new plan—but there was nothing he could, not without you there to offer your own input. He couldn’t speak on your behalf when the stakes were this high.

“It’ll be her choice.” Hunter narrowed his eyes as he looked at his squad. “And whatever that choice is, we’re standing behind her.”

Everyone nodded. Hunter smiled with satisfaction and turned to face Tech.

“How far is the village from here?”

Tech was quick to map it out. “About a standard hour on foot.”

Hunter nodded and slid his helmet over his head. “Get ready for a scenic walk, boys. We should at least make sure this theory of ours is true.”

Wrecker grumbled, but didn’t make any other protests. Hunter led the group with Tech, and they remained silent the entire way there. Hunter’s mind was much too busy for him to say anything, and he was working overtime not to dwell on his worries for you. This would only put more pressure on you, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Once Tech had given him the warning of their proximity to the village, Hunter reached out with his senses. It wasn’t long before he held up his fist to stop the group, lowering himself closer to the ground and sifting the dirt through his gloved fingers.

It told him a story of fighters on foot, boots running through the soil in a nearly endless stream. When he closed his eyes, he could hear the rumblings of a massive camp, nothing distinct enough to make out but surely enough to confirm their presence.

“There’s a camp.” Hunter rose back to his full height and pointed to the source. “Let’s try to scope it out.”

He quickened his pace, and the squad followed suit. When they got close, Hunter stopped them again, instructing Crosshair to get up high. The rest of them waited, and Hunter drew out his binocs to see if he could catch sight of them at their lower position.

“I see it.” Crosshair’s words captured everyone’s attention as they looked up at him. “Good call not splitting our forces, Hunter. I’m clocking at least two dozen of them here.”

Hunter sighed, lowering one of his hands from the binocs to tighten it into a fist. “And they probably have more forces doing patrols.” He slid his binocs back into his pack and motioned for Crosshair to climb down. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us. We’ll come back tomorrow to see if we can get an estimate on when the attack will happen. For now…”

Hunter paused, staring at the sky through the trees. With all their searching and traveling, he hadn’t realized just how quickly time was passing.

“We have to head back. Once we’ve gotten some chow, I’ll brief the senator.”

With that, Hunter began to lead the way back to the capitol. The silence on the way back was solely centered around Hunter, as he heard the chatter of the squad behind him throughout the journey. All he could do was plan out exactly how he would confess this to you.

There was only one thing he knew for certain: satisfying his own desires had just become even less of a priority.

Hunter remained lost in his thoughts even as they returned to the capitol and had a meal. He was working out countless plans and strategies, seeing if there were any scenarios in which you wouldn’t have to make such a choice. Time and time again, he came up with nothing. They had crafted a brilliant strategy. It made Hunter miss fighting battle droids.

Tech and Echo were the first two on watch, with Echo joining Hunter outside the doors to the senator’s suite. Tech had already made his way to the secret door on the outside. Hunter exchanged a nod with Echo before he knocked on the doors, preparing himself for a briefing that was going to be harder than any other.

Your doors opened in short order, and for a moment, Hunter enjoyed the sweeping wave of relief and comfort he earned simply from laying his eyes on you. The way you beamed at him suggested that you were doing the very same. “Sergeant.” You bowed your head in greeting before turning to Echo. “Echo.”

“Ma’am.” Echo returned your slight bow.

“Senator, I have our briefing ready for you.” Hunter gestured with his gaze to the inside of your suite. “May I?”

You stepped back and lifted your arm. “By all means, Sergeant. I’m eager to hear what you have to say.”

Hunter tightened his jaw, and he struggled not to make it obvious. He could feel Echo’s stare burning into the back of his head until the doors closed, leaving you and him alone inside your suite. If he wasn’t holding such a new, heavy weight on his shoulders, Hunter would have had half a mind to continue what you both had started in that secret base.

“How did it go?” It was your hopeful voice that drew Hunter from the dark depths of his mind. His stare found yours, and the way your expression started to fall meant that he wasn’t as good at hiding from you as he hoped he would be.

Hunter focused on the positives first. “There wasn’t much in the village, but you’ll be happy to hear that everyone there is okay.”

You exhaled a heavy breath and closed your eyes, lowering your head for a long moment. “Good.” Your eyes reopened and settled back on Hunter again. “I really needed to hear that.”

Hunter was able to manage a small yet genuine smile. “I’m glad I could deliver some good news.”

Your brow furrowed. “What’s the bad news?”

Of course you still saw that written all over him. A single smile wasn’t going to fool someone as intelligent as you. Hunter took a deep breath and looked to the side for a moment, waiting until he had regathered his thoughts to take a step closer to you and speak in a low voice. “We know where the next attack will be.”

Hunter paused, giving you time. You said nothing, but the way your fingers fumbled together over your middle spoke for you.

“They’re targeting your home village.”

You stared at him in pure disbelief for a few breaths. Hunter searched every inch of your gaze for something, but what he found instead was the quickened pace of your heartbeat. It was different from the way it had drummed so rhythmically against his ears when your lips were on his; this was a panicked beat, one that Hunter was used to hearing so much more often.

You raised a hand to your lips before you spoke. “When?”

Hunter shook his head. “We’re not sure yet. Our goal for tomorrow is finding that out.” He sighed, making sure you had nothing else to say before he went on. “That’s not all of it.”

Your brow rose, but the defeat in your gaze was hard to overlook. Hunter wished more than anything he didn’t have to say the words, even if you had to hear them.

“They’re the trained fighters you once fought with. We found at least two dozen at a camp by your village. Right now, our biggest theory is that on the night of the attack, they’ll send a few fighters here to go after you.”

Hunter gave you time to process his words, and that’s when he saw the defeat completely overtake you. “That means…” You couldn’t bring the truth to light.

Hunter would do that for you, too. “They’re going to make you choose, Senator, just as they warned you at the banquet.” His gaze fell from yours. “Either they’ll find you here, or they’ll find you there.”

When Hunter gained the faith to look at you again, his chest constricted at the sight of your hand covering the side of your face. Your eyes were closed as if you were in pain, and the way your free hand was gripping your arm suggested the very same thing. Hunter took another small step closer to you.

“I’m sorry you have to make this choice. I know I told you before that you wouldn’t have to.” Hunter nodded, even if your closed eyes kept you from seeing it. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re standing behind whatever decision you make.”

You continued to remain where you were for a few more moments. When you reopened your eyes and lowered your hand, Hunter saw the sparkling tears at your waterline. His brow wrinkled together as a familiar sense of strong concern washed over him.

“Senator?” Hunter’s voice was soft as he spoke. He reached a hand towards your face, but hesitated, instead resolving to set it upon your shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Your breath caught, the tears shining in your eyes even more as you avoided Hunter’s gaze. “Nothing is working. Diplomacy is failing, they’re outnumbering us in combat, and I just… I don’t know what to do.”

You paused, your stare slowly sliding to meet Hunter’s again. His own heart crumbled apart when he saw the pure devastation and desperation in your eyes.

“I never wanted any of this. They were the ones who chose me.” You closed your eyes and shook your head. “I’m tired, I’m angry, and…” you paused, your eyes reopening to meet Hunter’s as your voice lowered to a broken whisper, “I’m scared, Hunter.”

You reached out in a subtle movement, but Hunter understood it and accepted it before could even make sense of it. He set his helmet aside and took you into his arms, letting you hold tight to his middle as your head fell into the space between his armor and his neck. One of his hands pressed upon your back as the other held your head in place, and his chin rested upon your head as he reached out with his senses.

You were taking small breaths to steady yourself, though it at least didn’t sound like you were crying. Your heartbeat was still faster than usual, but so was his, and he had no doubt that this intimate touch was responsible for it. But Hunter couldn’t, and didn’t, dwell on that. What mattered most was putting you at ease.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Hunter closed his eyes for a moment. “I wish I could make it stop. I had hoped my whole squad could make that possible.”

“It’s not your fault.” Your voice was slightly muffled by Hunter’s armor as you responded. “You’ve helped in more ways than you know.” You paused. “You all have.”

“And we’ll continue to.” Hunter gained the faith to ease himself away from you. Still, he kept himself close, and he finally let himself touch your face. His gloved hands held either side of it as he nodded at you. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not as long as we’re here.”

Your hands found his wrists and held them tightly. Hunter was pleased to see the ghost of a smile tugging on your lips. “Thank you.”

Hunter returned your small smile. “No need.” His brow furrowed as he returned to a state of soft severity for you. “You don’t have to make this choice yet. There’s still time for that. What you need to do right now is rest.”

He caught your gaze flickering to his lips for a moment before you nodded. “I’ll try my best.”

“Good.” Hunter bent down to kiss your forehead before he could think better of it. For as new as the action was, it was instinctual, and he didn’t have to give it a second thought. He pulled away and dropped his hands from your face as he instead turned to grab his helmet again. “I should get some rest, too. Tomorrow could be a long day.”

Hunter saw you nodding once again in his periphery. “Yes, that’s a wise decision.”

Once his helmet was tucked underneath his arm, Hunter stopped and caught your stare. For a long moment, he considered staying and allowing you to drown your worries in the pleasure of what you had shared just two nights ago. Then, reality fell into place once again, and he remembered the burning feeling of Echo’s stare as he had entered the suite. Hunter bowed his head and spoke in a low voice. “Goodnight, Senator.”

Hunter turned and began to walk towards the doors, but your voice stopped him in his tracks. “Hunter?”

He turned on his heel, making himself face you again. You walked up to him and caressed the tattooed half of his face, pressing your lips against his other cheek. The skipping heartbeat he heard was no doubt his own as you pulled away with lingering lips and a warm smile.

“Sweet dreams.”

Hunter nodded, returning your smile before he summoned all his strength to turn around and keep going. There was a lot that awaited him on the other side of the door: a smug Echo, a long night of restless sleep, and an early watch shift that would no doubt be full of more planning. But it was the warmth of your words and actions that would make it all bearable, even if Hunter couldn’t let himself ask for more of it just yet.

chapter 4 ⟸ series masterlist ⟹ chapter 6

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb

senator’s shadow tag list: @violetlilly2020 @jellybeanstacey0519 @dindadjarin

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy

Happy Bad Batch Eve! I'm obsessed with the new season but the content isn't coming out fast enough so I felt like I needed to write my own.

Tech's not dead and Crosshair rejoins the team partway through Season 2 after Mayday's death rather than being imprisoned by the Empire, but this is otherwise canon-compliant. No Season 3 spoilers.

Fic Summary: While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Chapter One

“We will be landing on the outskirts of the city ruins shortly. Scanners indicate that it is abandoned, but there is an Imperial outpost located ten klicks East, in the next valley over. This should be a relatively simple operation: make our way to the city center, locate the cargo, and return to the Marauder.” Tech was at the controls of the ship as usual, setting them down in an open, overgrown area where the ruins of the city—little more than rubble and scrap now, haphazardly heaped stoneworks and scorched earth where once there had been homes, streets, marketplaces—were fewer and further between. The remaining members of the squad did their final checks of their equipment, adjusting armor and securing weapons as the hatch hissed open. Wrecker was the first out.

“Woah. What happened here?” The largest member of the squad looked around incredulously. The destruction was not recent; a thick layer of soot, grime, and overgrown weeds was evidence of the neglect that the ruins had been left to. It did not seem that anyone was deeply interested in rebuilding.

Tech had the answer, as always. “A particularly destructive battle toward the end of the war. The city was occupied by Separatist forces. Citizens who were unable to evacuate before the droids moved in were held in a makeshift camp on the North side of town. Luckily, this means that many of them made it out alive once the Republic regained the territory. Their homes…were less lucky.”

Crosshair, Hunter, and Echo followed the pair down the ramp. “What cargo could there even be left to recover in all this?” Crosshair asked skeptically. His voice, as usual, dripped equal parts disdain and boredom.

“Cid’s intel says mostly expensive droid parts,” Echo intervened. “The town had a factory. When the Separatists occupied it, they planned to begin shipping the parts off-world to help with production of their army. The Republic moved in too quickly for them; the factory was destroyed, but the crates were being housed underground awaiting cataloging. As far as Cid’s source knows, they’re still there.”

Hunter looked thoughtful. “Anything to worry about with that Imperial outpost, Tech?”

“Doubtful,” the other replied, examining his datapad. “The cargo is not significant enough to merit their attention, and forces are largely dedicated to patrolling a nearby spaceport, where it would seem most of the refugees have relocated.”

Hunter nodded seriously. “Alright then. Crosshair, get a good vantage point on the hilltop where you can keep an eye on us and any activity from the outpost coming our way. Everybody else, let’s locate that cargo.”

Their forces divided, the rest of the squad beginning to pick their way among the ruins toward the city center, while the slender sniper hiked in the opposite direction. The hills were dotted with trees—not heavily forested, but enough cover for him to dig in and wait. Soon, he crested the peak, settling in at a good vantage point where he could watch the outpost in the middle distance through his scope. Activities at the facility were regular and rhythmic; troopers on patrol, units coming and going from the nearby spaceport. Nothing extraordinary.

“In position. All clear,” he reported over his comm.

“Acknowledged,” came Hunter’s reply. With any luck, the others would retrieve the cargo within a number of hours. He waited, patient and disinterested. He was good at waiting.

Some time later, his comm crackled to life again with a status update. “Cargo located.” It was his turn to acknowledge their progress. For a brief moment, he thought idly about whether he preferred missions like this one—smooth, uncomplicated, if a little boring—or those where everything seemed to go right to shit. At least, he smirked to himself wryly, the latter required more significant use of his skills.

When he heard the screeching sound of failing engines and saw the dark plume of smoke trailing behind the ship on its downward trajectory, all he could think was that the galaxy must have been listening in on him.

It crashed down northeast of his position, the impact of the wreckage echoing out across the valley. The response on his comm came through almost immediately.

“What the hell was that, Crosshair?”

“Downed Imperial shuttle. Drawing attention from the outpost now. Get moving.”

“Well, with any luck that’ll keep them occupied long enough for us to get outta here. Stay outta sight,” Hunter replied. Crosshair shifted his scope from the troopers mobilizing at the outpost toward the crash site, just in time to see a woman emerge from the ship, coughing in the smoke. He had expected a detachment of troopers to come stumbling from the wreckage, not a lone woman. She was human, silver haired, staring back at the shuttle with a look halfway between rage and despair. She slammed her fist against the ship’s hull in frustration, and he smirked a little as she winced, rubbing her hand in pain. She ducked back into the ship, emerging momentarily, pulling a poncho over her head as she strapped a blaster to her hip and pulled on a pack.

He scanned the area around her as she began marching south from the crash, glancing furtively in all directions. She was heading on a trajectory that would intersect any moment with two troopers on speeder bikes. She was moving too slowly, limping a little. This should be interesting, he thought dryly. He was sure the Empire were very welcoming to unauthorized crash landings of stolen shuttles near their facilities.

When the woman and the troopers came face to face, he could only imagine the dialogue accompanying the silent pageant he could see through his scope. The woman slowly raised both hands, throwing a flattering, charming smile at the troopers. She thought she could talk her way out of it, he reasoned. So the flash of the blaster bolt caught him by surprise when she snaked one of her hands behind her head, grabbing a concealed weapon off her shoulder, and fired off a shot.

“Is that blaster fire, Crosshair?!” Hunter demanded over the comm.

“Not mine,” he replied calmly.

“Then who?!”

The round had caught one of the troopers in the chest, toppling him off the speeder bike. The woman took advantage of the confusion to dive for cover behind a tree, exchanging fire with the remaining trooper. What she couldn’t see, of course, were the other half dozen Imperials making their way toward her position. Any moment now, she’d be surrounded.

“Status?” Crosshair queried over the comm.

“Making our way back to the Marauder.”

The woman managed to get a good shot in on the remaining trooper, and he toppled to the ground. However, just as she made a dash for the speeder bikes, two green bolts flashed by, wrecking her getaway vehicles and forcing her to dive once more, losing the smaller blaster. She recovered quickly, unholstering the larger piece at her hip and taking shots at the oncoming troopers as she ran for cover again. It was pointless, he thought. She didn’t stand much chance of escape, alone, on foot. Not this close to the outpost.

From his vantage point, he could see the troopers fanning out, boxing her in. She had the hillside to her back; the elevation would slow down her retreat, even if she could keep up enough cover fire to out-maneuver the speeder bikes. And—the only part that mattered to him—she ran the risk of drawing Imperial attention to the adjoining valley before they finished loading up the marauder.

However, before he could further consider the implications of her retreat, he saw her move to fire off another shot from around her cover. In the brief moment she was exposed, a blaster bolt from one of the troopers clipped her side, propelling her forcefully to the ground. She was close enough for him to hear her strangled cry at the hit, echoing out against across the valley. She scrabbled backwards in the dirt, blaster thrown out of reach. One of the troopers swung off his speeder bike, approaching her slowly as he took aim. They weren’t planning on taking her prisoner. He couldn’t hear whatever words they exchanged, just see the snarl on the woman’s face before her features calmed, peaceful, as she closed her eyes before the inevitable.

Crosshair dispatched the trooper closest to her, expertly, just before the Imperial could squeeze to pull the trigger. He followed it up with three more in rapid succession, the troopers falling dead before they could hope to locate the sniper’s position or find cover. The final two, he saw with some surprise, were caught off guard by the woman, who had managed to crawl over to her lost blaster in the confusion.

She was attempting to limp her way over to one of the abandoned speeder bikes when he caught up to her.

“Stay back,” she warned him, eyes glinting as she aimed her blaster at him.

“Are you even sure you could ride one of those things by yourself right now?” He drawled back at her.

“Of course I can,” she snapped. As if to prove it to him, she gripped the handle of the first one she came to with her left hand, knuckles white, right hand steady as she kept her blaster trained on his chest. She swung her leg and mounted the bike. He watched her grip on the handle loosen as the shock and pain caught up to her, her eyes rolling back in her head as she collapsed.

Next Chapter

[talshiargirlfriend]

@hjea said we deserved more adorable half-Vulcan baby and that is 100% correct. So here’s what can be considered a missing scene or if you prefer you can say 🖕 to canon and consider it the opening of a fix-it.

Phlox had been notified of their imminent arrival, but nothing could have fully prepared him for the sight that greeted him as the doors to Sickbay parted. A pinched-face Commander T’Pol clutched an infant protectively to her chest as she strode in, flanked by Captain Archer and Commander Tucker. Commander Tucker had a hand on her back and concerned eyes focused on the baby’s profile. A brief look of pain flashed across his face indicating to Phlox that he may soon have two patients. Captain Archer wore his fight face. Behind them trailed a stricken Ensign Mayweather and a stoic Lieutenant Reed. All of them appeared dirty and dishevelled. 

The tiny girl stared at everything around her with wide blue eyes reminiscent of her father’s as she chewed one chubby fist. It brought to mind Sim as a baby, but of course there was no time to dwell on that now. The upswept brows and delicately pointed ears were all her mother, the doctor noted. 

“Well, what have we here?” Phlox greeted T’Pol when she stopped before him. He passed a handheld scanner in front of his young patient. 

“She is gravely ill, Doctor. Her immune system appears to be severely compromised,”  T’Pol informed him as she gently bounced the baby in her arms. It was somewhat less graceful than her usual movements in Phlox’s estimation, but he could nonetheless see the care in her touch. The baby gave a rattling cough as if to confirm her mother’s assessment. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask everyone who is not a patient - or the parent of a patient - to leave,” Phlox ordered as the scanner whirred. 

Lieutenant Reed nodded at T’Pol and Phlox, and then whispered something to Commander Tucker before giving him a supportive squeeze on his shoulder as he passed. The resulting grimace on the engineer‘s face confirmed Phlox's earlier suspicions about patient count.  Ensign Mayweather had evidently already had the good sense to slip out unnoticed.

 “You’ll inform me as soon as you know anything,” the captain confirmed as he briefly caught the doctor’s eye. “I’ll check on you all soon.” 

T’Pol gave no acknowledgement as she rubbed the baby’s back rhythmically to soothe her. 

“Take care, Trip,” Jonathan added with an encouraging smile. 

“Aye, Cap’n,” Trip responded with the ghost of a smile as he briefly tore his eyes away from T’Pol and their child. 

Phlox glanced down at the scanner in concern before he addressed the new parents. “She has a respiratory infection. We’ll start with some medication - a mild analgesic, antibiotic, and expectorant. I’d like to see that fever reduced quickly. Depending how she responds over the next hour we may move onto a more aggressive treatment for her lungs including placing her in an oxygen rich environment.” 

As he moved across to the cabinet to prepare the medication Phlox could hear the soft timbre of Commander Tucker’s voice. “She’s heavier than she looks. You want me to take her for a bit?”

“I’m fine,” T’Pol said softly. Trip must have looked ready to argue because she continued quickly, “you are injured, Trip. I will hold her… but perhaps you’d like to touch her or speak to her?” 

When Phlox returned he was loath to interrupt the scene before him. The two parents stood close with their heads canted toward each other. The baby had dropped her head against her mother’s chest and was drooling peacefully as her father stroked her hair and cheek and whispered quiet words of reassurance. In less fraught circumstances Phlox would have taken amusement in the sight of the normally impeccably groomed Vulcan with a patch of spittle spreading on her clothing. 

“I’ve got an injection ready,” he said as he approached the family. “This should ease her discomfort and allow her to sleep more soundly. I’ll also take a blood sample.”  

The child made an irritated squawk when the needle pierced her skin and she shifted her head to give Phlox the most dignified look of pouty-lipped disdain he’d ever seen on a baby. 

Apparently she would take after both her parents in temperament as well as appearance, Phlox thought wryly.

 “Shhh now, you’re all right, little one. I know it’s no fun getting jabbed, but the doc here is gonna help you feel a lot better.”

T’Pol turned pleading eyes toward the doctor as she gently rocked the baby. 

He would certainly do his best. 

“Commanders,” Phlox said gently as he prepared to analyse the blood of Enterprise's newest resident. “This will take some time. I won’t ask you to rest now, but it would be a good idea to refresh yourselves somewhat and get comfortable…” he trailed off as he nodded toward the chairs along the wall. 

Their reluctance to leave was palpable. Phlox could understand it well, but they would be better able to care for their newfound daughter if they first looked after their own needs. 

He glanced back to see the two commanders locked in an apparent staring contest. Before he could make a stronger appeal, Commander Tucker gave a faint sigh. 

“All right. You two go sit in one of Phlox’s comfy chairs.  I’m gonna go wash the moon dust off and grab a cup of coffee. When I get back I’m gonna bring you a change of clothes and a cup of tea, and you’re gonna take a break for ten minutes,” he informed T’Pol rather intensely.  Phlox expected Vulcan indignance, but instead she only nodded in response. That was interesting. 

Satisfied, Trip leaned down to gently stroke his daughter’s cheek. “I’ll be right back. You be good for your mama,” he whispered. T’Pol’s eyes widened slightly, and he gave her a faintly bewildered smile. “I know. It's surreal. But you’re her mom.”

“And you are her father,” she replied seriously. 

A bright grin spread over Trip’s face. “I am,” he said, wonder evident in his tone. His voice dropped back down,”You’re doing great, T’Pol.” He rubbed her arm. 

“Ok, Doc,” he said a bit louder. “Keep an eye on these Vulcan girls for me. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, tops.” He paused to kiss the sleepy infant on her head and the startled mother on her lips. 

Phlox politely averted his eyes and hid his grin as he focused on the screen at his workstation.  “Commander,” he called out as Trip reached the door. “I'm going to take a look at that shoulder when you get back.” At the dark muttering he heard in response, Phlox allowed himself a small smile before frowning at the data loading before him. 

The baby’s eyes were starting to drift closed, and he could hear T’Pol speaking quietly to her as she paced.

“Your father is very physically affectionate.” There was a pause. “We will adapt.”

“You still need a name,” T’Pol murmured to the child. “I have something in mind. We will discuss it with your father when he returns.”

[notgonnaedit]

Healer's Heart

War-Mantle

Summary: When Order 66 ushers in a new era, Althea and the Batch must find their place

Pairing: Bad Batch x Teen!OFC (clones being good brothers/dads)

Chapter summary: A mission from Rex goes awry

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, TK-Troopers, falling from tall heights, prisoners, injury, Althea worrying (If I miss a tag LMK)

Master list

Hunter sat in one of the console chairs, flipping his blade between his fingers. It took him years to get as good as he was now. He was almost envious when Althea learned the ways of a blade in a matter of months. She had shrugged it off, saying in was probably because she used her hands for drawing and other delicate procedures.

Omega sat in the floor, helping Gonky with a repair. Hunter watched her out of the corner of his eye, taking note of the way she tried to twist her tool in her fingers like he did with his knife. 

It was a different approach than Althea had taken. The ebony haired girl had point blank asked Hunter to teach her, not that he minded, instead of observing as the young clone in front of him did.

Speaking of Althea, her voice carried through the ship, calling them to the cockpit. "We're being hailed. It's....Rex." Her tone held surprise.

Hunter flipped his knife into it's sheath on his forearm before standing and heading into the cockpit, Omega by his side.

Everyone in the cockpit turned to the center where a hologram of the cloaked Captain. "Hello, boys. Sorry to cut right to it, but I could use your help."

"What do you need, Captain?" Hunter asked.

"I received a distress signal from a clone trooper, but I'm a bit tied up at the moment to retrieve him."

"You want us to recover a reg?" The Sergeant asked, his voice carrying light skepticism.

Rex nodded. "He's an old friend, and he's in trouble. I need you to get him out."

Hunter paused, considering Rex's request. There was one piece of information that he wanted. "Out of what exactly?"

A rapid beeping sounded on Rex's side of the transmission. He looked panicked. "Can't talk right now. Sending you his signal. I'll be in touch." He ended the transmission, leaving almost everyone on board a different shade of confused.

"What was that about?" asked Wrecker.

Tech spun in his chair, tapping at the controls of one of the screens. "The distress signal sent by CC-5576 is originating from Daro, a terrestrial planet in the Outer Rim with no known settlements or installations."

"What's he doing all the way out there?" Althea asked, an Outer Rim native who knew how remote it was.

"Well, does it matter?" Echo asked. 

"We've gone on missions before without much intel." said Hunter. "But this would be stretching it."

"Yeah, and from the sound of it, there's probably gonna be Imperials there." Althea pointed out.

Wrecker nodded. "Hmm. Thea's got a point."

"Rex wouldn't ask for help if it wasn't urgent." Echo countered.

"Echo's got a point." Wrecker agreed.

Tech adjusted his goggles. "May I remind you that we are in the middle of a job for Cid. If we deviate, we will not be compensated. No money means no food."

Wrecker nodding in realization. "Oh, yeah. Tech's got a point."

"But Rex's friend is in trouble." Omega said, her soft brown eyes shining with concern. "That's more important than getting paid."

"Well, the kid's got a point." The demo man said.

"Who's side are you even on?" Althea asked him, reading Hunter's exact thoughts. The Sergeant looked at Echo, who leaned forward, daring him to say "no".

"Fine." Hunter conceded, no longer able to bear Echo's determined gaze. "We'll check things out. But–" he let out a sigh. "–I don't like it."

                   •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"We are approaching Daro's atmosphere." Tech informed them as they dropped out of hyperspace. "I'll bring us in low to avoid any possible tracking scanners."

"We're banking a lot on a clone we don't even know." Hunter said softly.

Echo folded his arm and a half over his chest. "Rex trusts him. And I trust Rex."

Tech landed the ship in a clearing in the dense forest. It seemed to cover the entire surface of Daro, save for the pillar-like mountains that jutted up from the ground.

"The signal is coming from that direction." Tech said as they exited the Marauder. "The beacon should be right ahead."

Omega ran forward, a few steps ahead of him. She ran to a fallen tree, squatting down low. When she stood, she held a small beacon. "Found it." she said with a small smile.

There was a beacon, but no clone. Hunter took off his helmet to get a better understanding of their surroundings.

"So," started Wrecker. "where's this reg?"

Hunter walked a few steps before kneeling to examine a broken twig. He picked it up, bringing it to his nose. It smelled of hounds. The foilage ahead of him was matted down and had ruts of dirt throughout. "We're already too late." He said as he stood. "The clone was being hunted. He was dragged." He slipped his helmet back on and pointed in the direction of the ruts. "That way."

Following Hunter's lead, the squad made their way through the dense forest. They ran up a steep hill, stopping not too far from the base of a mountain. Hunter knelt down, his hand running over the rough earth.

"Hang on." He said. He felt vibrations. Faint, but there nonetheless. "There's something here, inside that mountain."

"I believe you are right." Tech said as his datapad made an error noise. "My scans are being jammed."

"You said there was nothing on this planet." Althea said.

"That data appears to be inaccurate."

Hunter looked up at the mountain. If they were to get close they would have to use stealth. He knew that Echo, Tech, and Althea would do fine with that. But Wrecker had never excelled in being quiet, and Hunter wasn't going to risk Omega being around Imperials.

The Sergeant stood and turned to his squad. "Wrecker, you and Omega wait on the ship."

Omega looked up at him. "Wait, why can't–"

"Coming here was up for debate. This isn't." Hunter replied sternly.

Begrudgingly, Omega went with Wrecker back to the Marauder as the rest of them made their way to the base of the mountain. 

As the got closer, Hunter halted, kneeling to the ground once more.

"What is it?" Althea asked.

Hunter let the dirt slide through his fingers. "A shuttle landed here."

Echo looked up. "What exactly is in that mountain?"

Hunter let out a sigh. "Only one way to find out."

The climb up the mountain was rough, but it could've been worse. Could've been completely vertical.

Once they reached the summit, they found themselves looking at a deep, circular pit with metallic walls. A singular entrance could be seen, a docking bay.

"This looks like some sort of military base." Althea noted.

"Not one that I've ever heard of." Tech remarked.

A shuttle flew overhead, causing the small team to duck down. They watched as it landed in the bay. 

"Come on." Hunter said. "Let's get a closer look."

They slid down the ridge a ways, stopping on the metallic surface of the ring.

Echo raised a pair of binocs to his visor. "I'm clocking a couple of commandos and squads of clone troopers." He said.

Hunter nodded. From where they were, the troopers looked like a white blob, but with his enhanced senses, Hunter could make out the faint shape of the commandos' armor.

"And they've updated their armor." The ARC added.

"Let me see." Hunter requested. Echo handed the binocs to him, giving him a ear view of the squads waiting and the ones that arrived in the shuttle.

"The mountain's natural composition makes this base well-fortified and nearly impenetrable." Tech said.

Hunter pulled the binocs away from his visor. There were too many Imperials. Too many for them to handle if they got caught. They were capable, but the Sergeant wouldn't risk Althea.

"This is no longer just a simple extraction." Hunter said. "Let's get back to the Marauder and leave word for Rex." 

He stood to leave, Althea and Tech right behind him.

"But, what about the mission?" Echo asked.

"We do not know for certain if CC-5576 is even in there." Tech told him.

"Or if he's even still alive." Althea added.

"We'd be going in blind without any reinforcements." Hunter told him.

Echo looked at them for a moment, his helmet blocking his expression. "You did that on Skako Minor when you rescued me. I'd still be trapped in that place if you hadn't. If there's a chance that trooper's being held against his will, we have to try and get him out."

Deep down, Hunter knew he was right. He remembered when Echo joined and the days before, when they spent what seemed like forever tracking him. But this was different. Back then, they were soldiers of the Republic, now they were wanted men. Going in would mean entering a hornet's nest. Silence would be the maximum sound they could make.

He pressed the side of his helmet to contact Wrecker and Omega. "Wrecker, do you copy?"

"Yeah, we hear ya." Came the demo man's voice. "Did ya find the reg?"

"Not yet. But we did find an Imperial base built inside this mountain. We're going in."

"Wait for us!" Omega said eagerly. "We'll help."

"Negative." Hunter told her. "Stay on the ship. You're our backup. Comms will be jammed once we're inside, so keep alert."

"I'll need to tap into the central database to pinpoint CC-5576's location." Tech said.

Althea looked down. "There are entry points we can access in the lift shaft. That's our way in." 

As she spoke, a lift came up to their level. They jumped on to the roof, staying quiet as the doors opened inside to allow passengers to scale the facility.

"Get ready to jump." Hunter said as they neared their destination. They lept on to the building, clinging to the wall as a commando and his squad passed by. 

Once they were gone, they climbed on to the walkway. They had breached the facility. They slunk through the dark halls until they found a terminal. Echo scomped in, Tech by his side waiting to help, and Hunter and Althea standing guard.

"Anything?" The Sergeant asked.

"This encryption's new." The ARC told him. "This might take awhile."

Althea stood by a door, peeking her head out to see if anyone was coming.

"This doesn't make any sense." Echo grumbled. "The muster report lists 50 clones commandos and 1,000 TK troopers."

"TK troopers?" Tech asked. "I'm not familiar with that designation."

"How much longer?" Hunter asked.

"Almost got it." The ARC spun his scomp. "Found him. Cellblock 25, four levels down."

With their info gathered, the team of four made their way to CC-5576.

                    •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A clone commando sat in a cell, his pauldrons and helmet lost when he tried to escape. He lay down on the bed, a metal sheet rather, his arms behind his bed.

One of the new troopers passed by, causing the commando to sit up. "Hey, newbie," he called. "How about you be useful? Get me some food."

"Quiet, traitor!" The trooper snapped before walking away.

"That's Captain Traitor." The commando mocked. "Insubordinate plebe."

Sounds of a scuffle reached his ears. He looked up beyond the ray shield curiously just as a man in grey and red armor ran up, one of his arms replaced by a scomp.

"Are you CC-5576?" He asked.

The commando narrowed his eyes. "That depends. Who's asking?"

Three more troops appeared, one of them a teenaged girl. The one in white unlocked the door.

"Rex sent us." Said one with half a skull painted on his helmet.

The commando chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "In that case, the name's Gregor." He stood. "Now let's move out."

Hunter took point as they sneaked through the halls, but the way they came was blocked by several commandos.

"They're gathered for inspection." Gregor explained. "There's no way past 'em."

"If we can't reach the lifts, we can't get out of here." Echo worried aloud.

"I can redirect them." Tech said, moving to the terminal. 

As he worked, Gregor observed them. "Armor like that, I take it you're CCs like me?" He asked. "Well, I know you're not." He said to Althea.

The medic rolled her eyes. "You're right. I'm not part of their little CT-99 family. I'm adopted."

"Defective clones?" The commando chuckled. "If you ask me, it's the ones who want to stay here who are really defective."

"What was your assignment?" Asked Echo.

"I was an instructor–"

Alarms blared, cutting Gregor off. "What's going on, Tech?" Hunter asked the pilot.

"I keyed a Code-16 to redirect their forces." He said, his tone holding an unusual panic. "I don't know what happened."

"Clone codes don't work here." Gregor said. "You just triggered a security alert."

"Intruders on level six!" A new voice shouted. A clone commando appeared with a squad of regs in new armor, firing at them. Hunter threw a smoke grenade and he and Gregor took out some with hand-to-hand while the others used stun.

"Is there another way off this base?" Althea asked after the troops were taken care of.

"Only one way out. Up." Gregor told her.

"Look at this." Tech said. He had taken off one of the regs helmets, revealing a man that wasn't a reg at all. "These are not clone troopers."

Gregor scoffed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. These are our replacements. If you can believe that."

Hunter grabbed something from the unconscious commando before they took off running. They stunned troopers as they went, not wanting to waste blaster bolts.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Tech asked Gregor as he led them through the winding halls.

"Hey, I'm the one who escaped her before." The commando retorted.

"And you were captured."

"After I got out."

Hunter blasted a few more troops with ease. "I thought you said you trained these guys?"

"I didn't teach them everything." Gregor said. "That wouldn't be very smart, would it?"

They ran down another hall, finally reaching a lift. Tech tapped at the controls. "We need an authorization code."

"Got it." Hunter tossed him the card he grabbed from the commando he took out. Tech used it, taking the lift up and giving them a break.

"These new troopers," Echo started. "What do you mean they're our replacements?"

Gregor leaned against the wall. "Well, we clones are soldiers of a Republic that doesn't exist. These recruits come from all over the galaxy. They swear loyalty to the Empire. They're not as skilled, but there's an endless supply of them."

"Numbers aren't everything." said Hunter.

Just then, the doors opened, revealing several TK troopers and a commando with yellow and grey armor.

Althea reached out past Tech, pressing the button to close the doors and drop the lift. "You were saying?"

Gregor rubbed the back of his neck. "We'll, uh, take a detour."

                •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Omega paced around the cockpit, her bow on her back and Lula clutched tightly in her arms. "How can you be so relaxed?" She asked Wrecker, who sat reclined in a chair.

"Oh, I'm preparing." The demo man said. "I'm chargin' up before I charge in."

That didn't help the girl's anxiety. "We should've heard something by now. What if something went wrong?"

"I'm sure they got everything under control." Wrecker assured her.

                    •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"How did this all go so wrong?!" Althea yelled as she blasted at the troops chasing them. The yellow and grey commando was hot on their heels.

"Hunter!" Tech tossed a smoke grenade to the Sergeant, who then threw it at their pursuers.

Althea didn't know how long they ran for, only that the commando kept up with them. There was a reason they were better than the average trooper. Gregor groaned and Althea realized he had been hit.

Shoulder wound, missed his heart but he would need bacta ASAP.

Hunter took care of the commando, finally stopping him with three stun blasts.

They made it to a control room, where Althea examined Gregor, despite his protests.

"How bad?" Hunter asked.

Gregor laughed. "Ha! Don't worry about me. This is nothing. I got blown up once and survived." He chuckled. "I can survive this."

Echo tapped at the console. "They have all access points to the central ring blocked off."

Tech looked at his datapad before pointing to a vent above them. "There. Those pipes are reactor conduits."

"And?" Althea implored him to continue.

"Well, they should lead to the main reactor's externl exhaust port. That is out path to the outside."

"The exhaust vent's halfway up the mountain." Gregor said. "We can't survive that jump."

"No, but we would be able to signal our ship." Without another word, Tech activated a detonator and tossed it up on to the grate, blasting it off in a small explosion.

Hunter jumped up there, with the help of Tech, and took point.

As the slunk through the vents, Gregor leaned on Echo, Althea nearby.

"How did you even end up in this place?" The ARC asked.

Gregor let out a sigh. "I was sent here with other commandos–" He coughed shakily. "–and quickly realized I wanted out." He chuckled breathily. "It turns out the Empire doesn't take to kindly to desertion."

"Yeah, no kidding." Althea murmured.

"Wrecker, Omega, come in." Hunter said into his comm. 

"We read you, Hunter." Came Omega's cheery voice.

"We have the target, but we can into some trouble. We need a pickup."

"On our way!"

                   •°•°•°•°•°•°•

They finally reached the exit. It was a steep drop all the way down the mountain with little room to move.

"Ohh," Gregor chuckled. "Glad we're not going that way."

"We are on approach!" Omega said.

In the distance, the Marauder flew to them.

"We see you." Tech told her. 

Fighter ships flew up from inside the cylinder, threatening to attack their ship.

Just then, more troopers and a commando appeared, blasting at them. They hid on the walls, stunning them when they could. Luckily, Wrecker came to their rescue, blasting at their attackers from the lowered ramp.

It seemed Omega was piloting the ship, or are least doing her best. Tech jumped on to the ship, followed by Gregor, quickly releiving Omega.

He had to fly away, with Wrecker on the tail gun.

Althea blasted at the troopers. "We're coming back around. Be ready!" Tech said over the comms.

The ship zoomed back over, Omega in the doorway. "Jump!" She cried.

Echo did as she said. Althea and Hunter blasted more troopers. "Thea, go!" The Sergeant ordered, him on her heels.

The medic made a mad dash for the ship, but something yanked her back. She let out a yelp as the commando gripped her back, just before he was shot by friendly fire.

Hunter was almost to the ramp when he hear her yell. He turned just as he was about to jump. He lost his footing and slipped down the mountain.

"Hunter!!" Omega screamed.

Hunter wasn't sure how he was alive. He remembered grabbing on to whatever he could, trees, rocks, maybe a bird?

He saw the Marauder in the distance, smoke coming from the thruster. Where was Thea? She was taken, he remembered. He stood and Tech's voice clicked through the comms.

"Multiple system failures! We cannot take many more hits!"

"Get the ship out of here." Hunter ordered. "I'll find Thea and we'll make it back."

"Negative. The odds of escape are not in your favor."

"Go, Tech! That's an order!"

In the background, Hunter could hear Omega demanding to go back. His heart broke at the sound of her desperation.

"No! Turn around! We have to go back for them! Hunter, tell them to come back! Order then to come back!"

A shuttle landed full of troops. Hunter took his knife, ready to fight. "Sorry, kid. I can't do that." He sheathed is blade, realizing he was outmanned.

                  •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Althea paced the floor of her cell. She was sure she would wear a hole in the floor, but she didn't care. Did the make it out okay? Was Hunter still ali–?

A trooper in walked past, Hunter at gunpoint. He shoved the Sergeant into the cell, tossing his helmet in with them.

"Hunter!" Althea said, her voice breaking with relief. She went to him, scanning over him. "I saw you fall. I-I wasn't sure if–"

"I'm okay, kiddo." Hunter said, offering her a soft smile.

Althea swallowed thickly, averting her gaze so he wouldn't see how watery her eyes were. "A-and the others?"

"They made it out. Althea," Hunter brought his hands to her face, gently bringing her gaze to his. "We'll get outta here."

"Yeah," the medics voice came out as a raspy whisper. "Yeah, I know."

                        •°•°•°•

Hunter sat on the bed, his helmet on his left. Althea sat next to him, leaning her back against his arm.

"Day 32 in the vault." The medic joked, having overcome her initial shock. "We haven't been given food for days, I fear we may have to–"

"Thea," Hunter sighed. "Stop reading those books on Tech's datapad."

"So you want me to stop my pursuit of knowledge and culture."

"Yes."

Footsteps sounding down the hall stopped Althea's snarky reply. A trooper in black armor and a green visor stood in from of their.

The medic and Sergeant sat up a little straighter at the sight of Crosshair, their guard up.

"I figured you'd show up." Hunter said.

Crosshair took off his helmet, revealing a large burn scar on the side of his head. Althea's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.

"I was hoping for the whole squad," the sniper said. "But you'll do."

<- Previous

Next ->

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 20

Sorry about the cliffhanger last time, it will all be resolved now! Also, I know very little about hospitals so don't come at me please...

Chapter 21

Series Master List

Word count: 5.6 k

Warnings have their own post and contain spoilers. This chapter is very heavy on the blood but in general, this is TLoU so expect canon typical violence. No age gap, no use of Y/N.

Benny gets to her first, yelling over his shoulder again for a medic, as he pulls up her hoodie, the orange fabric stained dark with blood and with a single entry hole up high on the side of the fabric. Frankie gets to her second, stumbling to his knees, as he cradles her head, yelling at her to open her eyes, to look at him, to not fucking do this. Pope rips the field dressing from the hands of the approaching medics and kneels next to Benny. He curses under his breath as he sees the entry wound on her abdomen, just beneath her ribs. 

“Did it go through?” Pope asks, ripping open the field dressing and pressing down on the wound. 

“Yes, but, fuck,” Benny curses, lifting her up and checking her back, glancing over at Frankie's panicked face. “She’s lost a lot of blood, she’s losing color fast.” He pulls up her hoodie higher and Pope tightens the dressing around her waist, still pressing down firm on the entry wound. 

“Cariño, wake up, open your eyes, baby, c’mon, c’mon, wake up,” Frankie’s gripping her shoulder, her head in his lap, as he gently slaps her cheeks, trying to rouse her. He’s biting back the urge to scream, to shake her, to kick something, to do fucking anything to force her back.. 

“We’ve got to move her, get her to the hospital, figure out a blood transfer,” Benny says, looking back, “Where’s our fucking stretcher?!” He moves to the other side and crouches down, “Move, Frankie, I’ll carry her to the hospital, it’ll be faster.” 

Frankie shakes his head, his jaw clenched as he pushes Benny to the side, “No, I’ll carry her.” Cradling her head he scoots his other arm under her knees and grunts as he takes her weight, carefully getting to his feet. Her head lolls against his arm, her eyes still closed and body limp. 

“Don’t fucking do this to me, cariño,” he mumbles, looking down at her as Benny turns around and leads the way. Pope’s at Frankie’s side, his hand pressed down on the field dressing, keeping pressure on.  

“Run to the ER, alert them that we’ve got a gun shot victim coming and we’re gonna need blood transfers!” Benny yells towards the medic who’s still milling around. The man nods and takes off running.

“Do you know her bloody type, Fish?” Benny asks over his shoulder as the trio hurries towards the gate leading into the QZ. 

“She’s O neg, same as me,” Frankie says, glancing up at Pope, “You’re O neg too, right?” 

“Yeah, I can donate to her, just hook me up.” Pope says, his brow pulled together with worry as he looks down at her limp body in Frankie’s arms.. 

They’ve reached the gate when an officer steps forward with an infection scanner in his hand. 

“Miller, they need to be scanned before they can enter, you know the protocol.” 

“Hurry up,” Benny waves the man towards the other, “We need to get her to the ER, just scan them.” 

The officer quickly places the scanner against Pope’s neck and after a few seconds it comes back negative. Frankie is next and when he’s cleared the officer places the scanner on her neck. 

While waiting for the all clear Pope takes her wrist in his hand and feels for her pulse, “Still fighting,” he says, looking up at Frankie, “but she’s weak, she’s lost a lot of blood.” 

The scanner blinks green and Benny urges them forward through the gate, rushing them across a square lined with low concrete barricades.  “The ER is just beyond the square, almost there, Fish.” Benny looks over at the woman cradled in his friend’s arms and grits his teeth. 

The three men rush in through the entrance and are met by medical staff with a gurney. Frankie gently lays her down, stroking her hair back with his hand as he places her head on the white paper cover. 

“I’m here, cariño, hang on.” 

The gurney is rolled to one of the makeshift trauma bays that line the walls, and Benny grabs one of the nurses. 

“She’s gonna need blood, she’s O neg and these two,” he points to Frankie and Pope, “can donate, they’re O neg too.” 

The nurse nods and motions for the men to follow her to two med bays further in. 

“Benny, don’t leave her side!” Frankie calls after the younger man, and Benny raises his hand.

“I’m on it, I’ll come get you if anything changes.” 

It takes the experienced nurse only a few minutes to hook the two men up to a couple of blood bags, needles in the crook of their arms. Frankie’s fingers won’t stop drumming against his legs as he twists in the chair to catch a glimpse of the trauma bay she’s in. Pope reaches out a hand and puts it on his friend's shoulder.

“Fish, she’ll be-” 

“Don’t say it, don’t fucking say it, Pope, you don’t know that!” Frankie snaps, his eyes squeezing shut as he aggressively rubs his free hand over his face. “We never should’ve gotten the transfer, she was safe in Franklin, I should’ve fucking stopped this, and not…and now…she’s dying and I’m…and I’m…I can’t keep her safe, I can never keep them safe, fuck!” Frankie’s voice increases in volume and the last word comes out as a shout, making the medical staff around the ER look up at the two men. 

“Frankie, hermano, this is not your fault, Lucía was not your fault,” Pope tries to reassure him but Frankie shakes his head, chin on his chest. 

“Pope, if she…if she doesn’t make it, what the fuck do I do?” He looks up at the other man, “I can’t live without her, what do I have if she’s not here?” 

“Frankie…” Pope grips his shoulder tighter, he doesn’t know what to say, and Frankie groans into his hand rubbing over his face. He can feel his heart rate increasing, nausea creeping up, and something sits on his chest, cutting off his air. 

“I can’t breath,” he croaks, bile rising in his throat, he claws at the needled in his arm, “get this off me,” he says, his volume rising, “Get this fucking thing off me!” he roars, making Pope jump and the nurse comes rushing over. “Get it off, get it off! I have to see her, I have to…I have to, just….” With a sharp tug he rips the tape holding the needle in place and yanks it out, a rivulet of blood staining his skin as he swings his legs off the chair and stumbles towards the trauma bay. Benny’s got his arms out as Frankie staggers into him, trying to get past the big man but he gets his arms around Frankie  and stops him. 

“Catfish, you’ve got to calm down, let them do their job, man.” 

“I’ve got to see her, Benny, let me see her!” He’s shouting, panic clawing its way through his chest, fraying his vocal chords as his voice breaks.

“She’s there, Frankie, she’s right there, she’s still with us.” Benny’s arms are firm around the older man, holding him back but he turns sideways to give him a better view of the bed where she's on her back, a trauma surgeon bent over her abdomen. Frankie’s eyes fix on her chest, searching for the slight rise and fall of it, the breathing shallow, but still there. He looks up at her face, closed eyes, bloodless lips, and he can’t take his eyes off her. Benny tries to turn him, get him back to the seat, but he’s rooted to the spot, staring at her face. If he looks at her she can’t leave, she can’t die while he’s looking at her. His logic tells him that’s not true, but he can’t stop looking. Benny waves at the nurse who’s next to Pope, wiping up Frankie’s spilled blood from the floor. 

“Bring that blood donor equipment over, we’ll set it up here,” he motions to the wall opposite the trauma bay. 

“Frankie, c’mon man, sit down here, just keep looking at her ok, you can do that here.” Benny gently pushes Frankie towards the seat behind him and sits him down. The nurse quickly hooks up the blood bag, Frankie doesn’t even notice when the needle goes in again. His eyes don't leave her and he doesn’t see the worried look Benny exchanges with Pope. 

“Ok, Frankie, just sit her for a little while, they’re gonna need all the blood you can give her, ok?” 

Frankie nods and Benny gives his arm a quick squeeze before he walks over to Pope who’s just about done, the nurse pulling out the needle and telling him to apply pressure. 

“His PTSD is spiking, Pope,” Benny says in a low voice, glancing back at Frankie. 

“Yeah, I didn’t realize it was this bad, but considering Lucía and their trip from Denny’s cabin to Franklin, I’m not surprised.” Pope smiles a thank you to the nurse as she places a bandaid in the crook of his arm.

“It was bad?” Benny asks. 

“Yeah, very, especially Lucía, I’ll tell you later. She told me what happened but Frankie can’t talk about it. I didn’t know he’d spiral like this though, he’s barely holding together.” 

“How was he when you were under fire? In control?” 

“All business, in control and doing his utmost to keep everyone safe, like usual. I think he would’ve been fine but with this happening,” Pope motions over towards the trauma bay where Frankie is still sitting stock still, eyes on her, “he can’t handle not being able to keep her safe and he blames himself.” 

“I know he’s been working for FEDRA, but should he even be on active duty right now?” 

“I don’t know, I wasn’t in FEDRA in Franklin.”  Benny sighs and turns to look at Frankie again, “We’re gonna have to keep a close eye on him, FEDRA will want him here, he’s an excellent officer. But we can’t let him spiral, we’ve got to help him get the PTSD under control again.” 

Pope nods, getting up from the seat, feeling slightly woozy after the blood donation. Together they walk over to where Frankie’s sitting, the nurse now withdrawing the needle from him too and patching him up. He barely notices as his friends come to stand by his side, his eyes are still on her, flicking down to her chest to check her breathing every couple of minutes. As the three continue to watch the doctor and nurses move around the still body, preparing the blood transfusion and deciding on a course of action for the wound in her abdomen. One of the doctors steps over, greeting the three men. 

“We’re taking her up to surgery now, you can follow and wait outside.” She looks at Frankie, his eyes are anxiously flitting between his girlfriend’s still form on gurney, and the doctor. “She’s responding well to the blood transfusion, we just need to patch her up without complications and she’ll start stabilizing, try not to worry too much.” She puts her hand on Frankie’s arm, giving it a light squeeze before she turns back to the trauma bay. 

The nurses start rolling the gurney through the ER and the three men follow. Frankie takes a few quick steps forwards and grabs hold of her hand on the bed. It’s cold to the touch and he rubs his thumb over the back of her icy skin, willing her to feel him there, as he walks next to the rolling bed. 

“Estoy aquí, cariño,” he whispers, estoy aquí, mi amor.” 

When the gurney reaches the OR door, he quickly bends down and kisses her forehead, before he has to step back, watching the doors close behind the bed. Pope puts his hand on Frankie’s shoulder, grabbing him lightly. 

“C’mon man, there’s a couch over here, let them do their job now.” 

It takes Frankie a few seconds to get his body to respond, he can feel his heart beat in his ears, a whooshing beat that pulses loud enough to almost drown out the sound of his friend’s voice. His legs are lead weights as Pope walks him towards the couch, Benny behind him, a hand on his back.

“Come on, Frankie, we can’t do anything more for now,” he says, watching with concern as Frankie stumbles into the seat, dropping his head down between his shoulders as he hunches his back, his head cradled in his hands. From underneath the shaggy curls falling over his forehead they can hear shallow, ragged breaths, his fingers digging into his scalp. Benny gives Pope a worried look and Pope sits down in the seat next to Frankie. 

“C’mon, Fish, breathe through this ok, remember what the therapist told you, breathe in a square,” Pope puts his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and it makes him snap. 

“Breathing in a fucking square doesn’t fucking help!” he roars and launches himself out of the seat,  shaking off Pope’s hand. “She’s dying ten fucking feet away and I’m fucking useless out here!” Frankie slams both hands on the opposite wall, making a childish picture of sunflowers rattle.

“Frankie, you’re spiraling,” Pope tries to keep his voice calm as he stands up, “you know she’s in good hands, they’re doing everything they can a-”

Frankie growls, a strangled sound half way into a scream, and slams the wall again, the picture rattling. 

 “I got her shot! I got her fucking shot!” He pulls back his fist and punches the wall, repeatedly, the dry plaster cracking under his onslaught, “I got her shot! I got her shot! I got her shot!” he roars while punching the wall, the skin on his knuckles cracking, staining the plaster red. Pope and Benny rush forward, grabbing hold of Frankie’s shoulders, pulling him back. People are looking out of the OR, alarmed faces staring at the scene in the waiting room. Frankie roars and continues to shout as they wrestle the man back from the wall. 

“I got her shot! I got her shot! I, I, I shot! I shot!” he cries out, his voice breaking around the last words, “I shot her,” he wails, stumbling back, the fight draining out of him, “I shot her, I shot her,” he cries, the strength goes out of his legs and he crumples to the floor, Pope and Benny’s holding him under his arms, sinking down on either side of him. Frankie’s breathing hard, his voice shattered as he continues to pant out the mantra he can’t shake from his head. 

“I shot her I shot her I shot her I shot her” 

His voice is weaker, his pulse racing, hyperventilating under Pope’s arm on his back, his eyes blown wide, staring at nothing. 

Benny crouches down in front of Frankie, seeing his eyes, but they’re blank, not responding. 

“Frankie, I need you to listen to me.” Ben keeps his voice calm but firm. “I need you to breathe with me. Frankie, look at me, focus on me now.” He begins to breathe deeply in and out, exaggerating his breaths for Frankie’s benefit, keeping his eyes locked on his friends. Frankie blinks, staring past  Benny, the words still tumbling from him, a torturous mantra spinning in his head.

“Come on, Frankie,” Benny says, keeping his eyes locked on him, ”In…Out…In…Out...” 

Slowly he sees Frankie’s eyes start to focus, the panic fading and eventually the painful mantra dies with a long exhale. Frankie’s breathing begins to match Benny’s and Benny remains crouched on the floor in front of his friend for several long minutes, breathing with him, bringing him back. Pope gently helps Frankie up into the seat on the couch and Frankie leans his head back against the plush headrest and closes his eyes. He feels like he’s run a marathon, the images are still swirling in his head, the knuckles on his right hand stinging as he balls his hands into tight fists. 

“Just rest, Fish,” Pope says in a low voice, “Just keep breathing, in and out.” 

“I’m gonna go get something to drink for us all, some water, maybe something warm, ok?” Benny looks over at Pope who nods, signaling that he’ll stay with Frankie. 

He returns a few minutes later with a canteen of water and three coffees and a packet of cookies. 

“I ran into the lady who handles the supplies in the hospital. She likes me, so I got some cookies, I’m thinking we might need them.” 

The three men sip their drinks, Frankie’s got his elbows on his knees, holding the warm mug between both hands. The heat from the ceramic seeps into his fingers, burning his fingertips, but it grounds him. Keeps him breathing steady. He can still feel the adrenaline seeping through his veins, slowly receding, making his legs shake as it wears off, the mug trembling in his hands. 

An hour passes, Frankie chews his lips, feels the taste of iron in his mouth. His eyes keep flicking to the OR room, flinching every time the door is pushed open. At long last, the door opens and the surgeon steps out, looking down the hall at the three men. Frankie immediately flies to his feet, walking with long strides to meet the surgeon in the hall, Pope and Benny follow closely. 

“Is she ok?” Frankie asks before the surgeon has a chance to say anything and to his relief she nods and smiles. 

“Yes, she’s doing fine. I closed her up but it took longer than expected. She had an internal injury that we realized  would cause her to bleed heavily so we had to address that first. Once we had it under control we could patch her up without any issues and she’s stable now, but still sleeping.” Frankie exhales, a long, deep shuddering breath that seems to come from his toes, and he visibly shrinks as the tension drops from his shoulders. 

“Can I see her, be with her when she wakes up?” 

The surgeon nods, “Yeah, they’ll be bringing her out any minute, just follow them to the recovery room.” She looks over at Pope and Benny, “But only the fiancee, ok?” 

The other two men nod, “We’ll wait here, Frankie,” Benny says, “Come find us when she’s awake.”

Frankie nods as the door to the OR opens up again and the gurney rolls out. Over the top of a sheet they can see her face, eyes closed and still sleeping off the general anesthesia. Frankie hurries over and follows the rolling bed down the hall as Pope and Benny watch. 

“I heard your friend shouting all the way inside my OR, Miller, what was that about?” The surgeon looks at Benny with raised eyebrows and he sighs. 

“He’s had a rough time since the outbreak, he’s just been under a lot of stress.” 

“Haven’t we all,” the surgeon scoffs, “but most people don’t punch the wall bloody,” she points over at the blood stains clearly visible next to the picture of sunflowers. “You know I have to report this to FEDRA, Miller.” 

Benny nods, “Do that, and if they don’t want him, it might be the best thing for him.” 

The surgeon nods and then turns, walking back towards the OR. 

Benny sits down on the couch and looks up at Santi while he sinks down too. 

“What was that Fish was shouting about ‘I shot her’, what did he mean?” 

Pope sighs and rubs his hand over his face before he leans back, “When they found Lucía she was infected.” 

Benny inhales sharply and a quiet Fuck slips from him as he frowns.

Pope gives a slight nod, “She and her mom had been evacuated, heading for Franklin, but there were infected on the bus so the military executed them all.” Pope sighs again and gives a small shake of his head, glancing over at Benny. “They found the bodies on the side of the road, and Lucía was underneath her mom. Frankie saw her move and thought she was still alive but she had already turned. He…” Pope squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back, “He had to shoot her.” 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…” Benny breathes out, his voice low and shaky. “I can’t even…Frankie must be going through hell.” 

Pope nods, “Yeah, she told me a little about how it was before they got to Franklin, he shut down completely, barely ate, didn’t sleep, didn’t talk, she had to keep him alive.” Pope looks over at Benny, “She said she thinks he would’ve killed himself if he’d been on his own, it seems he had this idea that he had to keep her safe, once he got her somewhere safe, he could leave and just end it.” 

“Fuck, Frankie…” Benny sighs, “I had no idea it was that bad.”

“She said he started coming back a little after they got to the QZ. But this,” he motions his hand at the OR, “obviously set him off again.” 

“We’re gonna have to keep a close eye on him, Pope,” Benny says, looking down the hall where Frankie had gone, following the gurney. “While she’s in recovery, we can’t let him slip back into that.” 

Pope nods again, putting his hand on Benny’s shoulder, “He’s our brother, he’s saved our asses more times than I wanna count, we’ll get him through this, even if I have to kick that flat ass of his myself.” 

They roll the bed into a small room, and tell him where to go if he needs any help.There’s a couple of chairs in the room and he takes one and puts it next to the bed, by her head. She’s still sleeping peacefully and he bends over her and gently pushes a strand of hair from her forehead before cupping her cheek. She’s warm to the touch, back to her normal temperature, and he breathes out a sigh of relief as he strokes his thumb over her soft, warm skin. He leans in and places a light kiss on her forehead, another on the tip of her nose, before he brushes his lips over hers, warm and dry to the touch. 

“Estoy aquí, hermosa, estoy aquí,” he mumbles to her, hoping she can hear him through her drug induced sleep. 

He sinks down into the chair, scooted close to the bed, and takes her hand in his, his thumb stroking circles across her skin. She’s breathing normally and he feels himself relax a little bit more, the stress and strain of the day starting to wear on him. He folds his arm on the bed and puts his head down, still holding her hand he closes  his eyes. 

You feel the heavy weight of your tongue first, sticking to the roof of your mouth as you try to swallow. The feeling is uncomfortable and tugs at the corners of your sleep heavy mind. Then the dull ache in your abdomen sinks in, your hand twitching to the area, but you’re stuck, your hand trapped under something heavy. Your eyes finally peel open and you squint at the bright light, flickering fluorescent lights overhead and late afternoon sunlight streaming in through badly closed shutters. You blink your eyes, trying to remember where you are and why everything seems to hurt, tentatively you move your toes, lifting your head up to see them move under the pale blue blanket, a hospital blanket your mind registers before you spot Frankie next to you. Your heart jumps at the sight of him, his unruly curls chocolate dark in the golden sunlight. He’s fast asleep, his mouth hanging open, the pink tip of his tongue resting on his lower lip, and, the explanation to why your hand is stuck, his head resting on your hand. You reach over with your free hand and gently stroke his curls, softly letting them slip through your fingers. 

“Frankie,” you try to whisper but it comes out as a croak, your throat parched and unused, but he hears you so fast you wonder if he was even asleep.. Blinking his eyes open he lifts his head and looks at you with relief. 

“Cariño,” his hand comes up and cups your cheek as he smiles, “you’re awake.” His thumb is caressing your skin, you can feel the warmth of his hand and fingers permeate your sleep hazy mind and you lean into it, closing your eyes again. 

“No, don’t go back to sleep, hermosa,” Frankie coos softly, his other hand coming up to grab yours, tugging it gently. “You need to stay awake now.” 

“Where are we?” you mumble, forcing your eyes open again. “I’m thirsty,” you add, trying to lick your cracked lips. Frankie stands up, stepping away to a table by the wall and comes back with a glass of water. 

“Here, drink carefully, just a little at first, cariño.” He holds the glass up to your mouth, his other hand helping you sit up enough to drink a few mouthfuls. 

“We’re at the hospital in Arlington,” he says, putting the glass down and gently lowering you to the pillow again. “Do you remember the transport over here?” 

“Yeah, we were attacked,” you say, your voice steadier after the drink. “I remember us getting here but then nothing.” 

“You were shot, hermosa,” Frankie says softly, his hand finding your cheek again, he’s still standing, leaning over you and looking at your eyes, trying to see how much you’re still out of it. “The adrenaline in your system during the attack stopped you from feeling it, but when we got here you collapsed as you stepped out of the truck, you’d lost a lot of blood.” He moves his hand gently down to where you’re bandaged up under the white hospital gown. “They had to stitch you up in surgery but it went well, and you’ve had several blood transfers. From me and from Pope, we’re both the same blood type as you.” 

You go quiet for a while, taking it all in, your own hand drifting down to lay on top of Frankie’s above the compress, feeling the dull pain radiating out from the spot. 

“So you’re telling me, I have Pope’s blood in my body?” You wrinkle your nose and Frankie chuckles.  “And mine, you’re practically half latina now, hermosa,” he smiles at you for a few seconds before he moves his hand up to your cheek again, leaning in and pressing his lips softly to yours. 

“I promised Pope and Benny to tell them when you woke up. I’ll go get them and let the doctor know you’re awake, I’ll be right back.”

You nod, his mouth is still close to yours, his warm breath skating across your lips, and he presses another gentle kiss to your lips, and then your forehead, before he leaves. 

Not many minutes pass before there’s a low knock on the door and Benny peeps through with a grin. 

“Hey! There you are!” He pushes the door open and Pope follows behind him, smiling wide. Benny bends over the bed and carefully puts his arms around you, you wrap your arms around his neck and smile when you feel him give your cheek a wet kiss.

“You scared the shit out of me, don’t do that again!” He gives you a mock scolding look as he lets you go, sitting down on Frankie’s chair. Pope moves to the other side of the bed and gives you an equally gentle hug. 

“Yeah, you really scared us, hermana,” he mumbles against your shoulder, pulling back to give you a smile. 

“Sorry about that,” you can’t help but grin sheepishly, “I didn’t even realize I was shot. Frankie said the adrenaline stopped me from feeling anything.” 

“Adrenaline is one hell of a drug,” Pope nods and puts his hand on your arm. “How are you feeling now, any pain?” 

“Yeah, there’s a fair amount of dull pain from my side,” you motion down at where you were shot, “but it’s not too bad.” 

“Fish is looking for your doctor and said he’d get you some pain medication too. Not sure what we still have left,” Benny says. “He and Pope gave you blood too, it was lucky they’re both O neg.” 

“Frankie told me, he says I’m half latina now,” you smile at Pope who looks delighted. 

“You’re my actual blood sister now, hermana,” he grins, giving your arm a squeeze, “family.” 

The door opens up and the surgeon steps in, followed by Frankie. 

“Hello, nice to meet you while you’re awake,” she smiles at you and you immediately like her, her professional confidence clear just from the way she steps into the room. “So, we had a bit of a scary time with you there, but it’s all good now,” she says, standing at the end of the bed while Frankie comes over and stands by your head and you reach your hand up for his, your fingers wrapping around him. 

You listen while the surgeon talks you through what’s happened to your body while you were out of it, gratefully accepting the painkillers she hands you with instructions on how to take them over the next few days. 

“Ordinarily I would give you more, but we’re rationing all our supplies, as we don’t know when we’ll get more.” She puts down the chart she’s been holding onto and gives you another smile. “We’ll keep you here for a couple of days before we let you go to your new apartment. Your fiancee can stay, we’ll roll a bed in for you,” she nods to Frankie, “God knows we have enough bed to spare,” she gives a weak smile, “it’s the staff, patients and supplies we’re short on.” She shakes her head and waves a short goodbye. 

“I think Pope and I should head off too,” Ben says, standing up and giving you a smile. “I need to show Pope where he’s staying and then we’ll get some dinner. Frankie, you can go down to the mess hall on the first floor and get food for you both there.”

Frankie nods and looks down at you, “Are you hungry, hermosa?” 

“Starving, actually,” you say, the more you’re awake, the more your body starts reminding you of how many hours it had been since you last ate, “but I’m still really tired.”

“Get some more sleep, we’ll come back tomorrow,” Pope says, “bring you some supplies too Frankie.” 

“Oh yeah,” Frankie looks up, “our bags are still on the truck, we never grabbed them.” 

“I’ll get them for you,” Benny replies, “don’t worry about it, I’ll bring them here tomorrow.” He bends down and gives you a gentle hug. “I’m fucking happy you’re alright, sleep well, ok?” 

“Ok, Benny,” you give him a tight squeeze and smile into his shoulder. “Thank you for everything.” 

“Don’t mention it, you’re my family too.” Benny steps to the side and Pope comes in for a hug. 

“Dormir bien, hermana, make sure Frankie takes extra good care of you, ok?”

“He always does, Santi,” you smile, looking over at Frankie behind his back and he rolls his eyes at Pope. 

“Ok, get out of here already,” he chuckles and Benny pulls him in for a bear hug, lifting Frankie off his feet under loud protests from the older man. 

“Fucking good to have you here, Fishsticks!” Ben exclaims, “I even missed you.”

“Don’t call me that,” Frankie laughs, “Get the fuck out of here now.” Still chuckling Benny and Pope leave with a few final waves and Frankie comes back to the chair, sitting down next to you. His hand finds yours straight away, his fingers lacing between yours and he pulls the back of your hand to his lips. You tilt your head to the side so that you can get a better look at him. He looks bone tired, dark circles under his warm brown eyes that are smiling up at you. 

“Frankie, lie down next to me please,” you say, carefully scooting over to the opposite side. 

“No, I won’t fit, they’re bringing another bed for me,” he says, his thumb running over the back of your hand.

“Please, Frankie, I need to feel you next to me,” you beg him, scooting closer to the edge, your hip pressed up against the metal guard rail, and Frankie sighs with a smile, shaking his head.  “I can never say no when you ask like that,” he says, leaning down to untie his boots before kicking them off. “But if the nurse comes in and yells at me I’m telling them you forced me.” 

“I’m the patient, I do what I want,” you chuckle as Frankie carefully climbs onto the bed, lying down on his side. You’re still on your back, the dull throbbing in your side lessening thanks to the painkillers, and he snakes his arm under your head so that you can rest yourself on the soft cotton of his flannel shirt. His other arm crosses over your hips, holding you close to him and he drops his head down close to yours, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“Now I’ll sleep well,” you mumble, closing your eyes, breathing in his warm scent as you feel your body relax against him. 

“Me too, mi amor, te amo,” Frankie whispers, his lips brushing over your cheek in a feather light kiss but he knows you’ve already drifted off with your face against his neck. 

Chapter 21

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk

[skullythefriendlyskullface]

A Turtle's Guide to Escaping Midtown Precinct South

This is another entry for @tmnt-write-fight. Today I am attacking @misshowdoyoudo, who provided the following writing prompt:

Raph does something REALLY dumb and his brothers have to break him out of jail for it.

I'm going to be upfront: this fic is going to be very long and have multiple chapters. And because I'm going to be busy traveling this month, I can only work on this fic 2-3 chapters at a time. But, good news, I've updated this. It's now at 5 chapters and it's about 60 percent of the way done! The next update will likely be on September 21.

Words: 12,520 (so far)

Rating: Teen

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Police Brutality, Tasers, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Plot, Plot Twists

Iteration: 2003 (during season 3)

You can also check out the fic here on AO3!

Enjoy!

//

The first step to breaking out of Midtown Precinct South is to not get caught in the first place. Your best bet of getting out of jail in one piece is to stay out of it completely.

Leo hiked up the collar of his jacket, hoping to keep the freezing rain off the back of his neck. The sleet pelted his head and shoulders relentlessly. Worse, it congealed on the sidewalk, forming large patches of black ice. He had to tread carefully to make sure he didn’t slip and fall on his way to the subway station.

“Remind me why we’re not taking the Battle Shell to April’s place?” Mikey whined.

“Because someone,” Don said, shooting him a nasty glare, “got the transmission stuck in reverse.”

“I told you, it was like that before I got behind the wheel!”

“Oh, sure, Mikey. The gear shifter just magically broke on its own,” Raph said, his biting sarcasm exacerbated by the miserable weather.

“Will you all quiet down?” Leo chided. “We need to keep a low profile, remember? We’re already exposed as it is.”

The persistent sleet had made it too dangerous to go rooftop hopping; the last thing they needed was for one of them to slip on some ice and plummet several hundred feet onto concrete below. And the icy conditions had sealed shut many of the manholes in Manhattan. With the Battle Shell out of commission, the only way to get to April’s apartment now was through the subway system.

They finally reached a station and carefully climbed down the steps. The brick walls did little to keep the cold out, but at least it sheltered them from the wind and rain. As they approached the bottom of the stairs, Leo could feel his heart drum heavily in his chest. At ten in the morning on a Tuesday, foot traffic was relatively sparse, but they still ran the risk of some curious human discovering that they were giant mutant turtles. And on top of that, the station offered little in terms of escape routes if they needed to make a break for it.

“Keep your heads on a swivel,” Leo muttered quietly to his brothers. He surveyed the surroundings and mentally took note of the people closest to them: a couple holding hands, a college student, a mother trying to herd two rambunctious kids. When he scanned the area past the turnstiles, he frowned. Two police officers leaned against the wall on the other side, acting nonchalant and talking to each other in low voices. Their eyes, however, carefully followed commuters as they pushed past the ticket turnstiles.

“Don, you got the MetroCard, right?” Leo asked, keeping his eyes on the cops.

In response, Don reached into his jacket and pulled out a flimsy yellow card. “Right here,” he said. He swiped the card at the turnstile, pushed through, and handed it to Mikey.

It took him swiping twice for the scanner to properly read the card, but at last, Mikey joined Don on the other side. “Your turn!” he said, passing the MetroCard to Leo.

Leo swiped the card and heard the click of gears shifting as the arms of the turnstile unlocked. He pushed through and handed the card to Raph.

Raph swiped the card and tried to push through the turnstile, but the arms remained locked in place. He tried again, only to achieve the same results. “Hold on,” he said. He cupped his hands around the dusty screen on the side of the turnstile and peered at it. “Out of funds.”

“Are you sure?” Don said. “I thought I put enough money on it last time.”

“Yeah? Apparently, you didn’t,” Raph said flatly.

“It’s fine, we’ll just put some more money on it now,” Leo said, already rummaging through his pockets. “I think I have a ten in here somewhere…” He ran his fingers across every fold in his clothing, only to come up empty handed.

“I don’t have any cash,” Don said with a shrug. He turned to Mikey. “You?”

“Nada,” he answered. The three of them turned to Raph and looked at him expectantly.

“Well, this is just great,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Turtle luck, runnin’ true to form.”

“Hold on, we’ll think of something,” Leo said. But if he was being honest, he was coming up short on ideas.

“Screw it,” Raph said. “Do me a favor and take a step back, Leo.”

“Why do I need to…” Leo started. He watched Raph step back a few paces, then the realization hit him: his brother was going to jump over the turnstile. Nearby, the pair of police officers watched in silence. Raph had no idea that they were there – or maybe he didn’t care. “Wait a minute, don’t –”

It would have been bad enough if Raph had gotten caught fare evading, but what happened next was far worse. As he made his leap, a corner of his jacket snagged on one of the arms of the turnstile. It yanked him backwards, and the sudden change in momentum caused part of the jacket to tear with a loud ripping sound. Raph landed on his stomach, groaning as he crashed into the floor. With half of his jacket torn, part of his shell was now exposed.

The police officers barreled towards them. “Hey! Stop right there!” one of them boomed.

“Shit,” Leo muttered. They needed to get out of there. He reached down and grabbed one of Raph’s arms. “Get up!”

The cops were growing closer by the second. Leo let go of Raph and balled his hands into fists, ready to throw punches if the situation escalated. Then two pairs of arms wrapped around his torso and dragged him out of the way.

“Hey! What –?” Leo was baffled to find Don and Mikey pulling him away from Raph.

“Low profile, remember?” Mikey said. The usual humor and lightness in his voice was gone, and his eyes were wide with fear.

Leo shot a glance back at Raph. His brother had a defiant look on his face, one that silently told him to run, that he would catch up with them later. Then he jumped to his feet and clocked the first cop that reached him squarely on the jaw. The second one dodged his punch and got close enough to press a flashlight-looking object against his chest. A buzzing sound came from it and Raph seized up, screaming in agony as he dropped to the floor.

“Raph! No!” Leo yelled.

One of the police officers knelt over Raph’s listless body, pulling his arms behind his back to handcuff him. The other one spoke into a handheld radio that was clipped onto his ballistic vest at the shoulder. Then he turned to find Leo, Don, and Mikey still standing nearby, and he marched towards them. “NYPD, I’m gonna need you to come with me,” he said, flashing a badge.

The pressing danger was enough to break Leo out of his shock. As much as he didn’t want to throw Raph to the wolves, he couldn’t let the police arrest Don and Mikey as well. He gripped his brothers by the sleeves of their jackets. “Run!” he said as he tore down the subway station.

The three of them weaved between the small crowd, sprinting as fast as they could. The police officer followed close behind, futilely commanding them to stop. “Do we take the F line southbound?” Don asked, shouting above the din of the crowd.

That would take them closer to the lair. Leo’s mind raced as fast as his legs did. “No,” he said. “We’re taking the A line north. This way!”

They dashed across the platform, heading straight for the tracks that the A line ran on. The subway had already pulled up to the station, and the doors were slowly closing. With all the energy and strength he could muster, Leo pushed his brothers into the closest subway car and squeezed between the shrinking gap. The police officer slammed against the closed doors a few seconds later.

Catching his breath, Leo glared defiantly at the cop through the windows as the subway pulled away from the station. The police officer stared back at him with an even gaze, then turned his head to speak into his radio. There was no doubt that he was calling for reinforcements at every stop on the A line. Traveling through the subways without getting caught by humans was going to be a lot harder now.

Leo clenched his jaw to keep himself from screaming in frustration. How could Raph be so stupid? How could Don and Mikey just abandon him? And most importantly, how could he let this all happen? If he had just gotten to Raph faster, then all four of them could have escaped together. If he had quickly found a way to pay the fare, then his brother wouldn’t have tried to jump over the turnstile. Or better yet, if he had just double checked to make sure they had enough funds on their MetroCard in the first place, then the whole disaster could have been averted.

He could feel his emotions coming to a boil. Thankfully, there were only a few other passengers on the subway, and none of them seemed particularly interested in the crisis that he was having. Still, Leo needed to keep himself under control. He sat down on one of the empty benches, held his head between his hands and angrily blinked back the tears that threated to well up in his eyes.

Don took the seat next to him and rested a comforting hand on his back. Mikey sat down on the bench across from them. “What do we do now?” he asked helplessly.

Right. At the end of the day, he was still their leader, and he needed to come up with a way to undo the mess they had gotten in. Leo took in a deep breath to clear his mind and silently began brainstorming ideas. “We’re gonna head straight to April’s apartment,” he said. “Each station will be crawling with cops, so we may have to jump off between 72nd and 81st street. Maybe even earlier if they board the subway. Either way, we’ll need April’s help to spring Raph out of whatever precinct they’ll hold him in – her and Casey.”

Don stared at him, as if trying to study his features through the shades and layers of clothing that he had on. “So, you already have a plan?” he asked.

Leo shrugged. “A half-baked one,” he admitted. “Which is better than nothing, I suppose.”

“Why not take the time to come up with something better?” Mikey said. “I mean, it’s not like Raph’s going anywhere. And New York prisons can’t be any worse than the Triceraton ones we’ve been through, right?”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Leo said. “Sure, we were fugitives on the Triceraton homeworld, but they had no problems with us being giant turtles. The humans, on the other hand, just witnessed an alien invasion only a few months ago. The NYPD will probably assume that Raph is a Triceraton and get excessively rough with him. Or worse…”

“…The EPF will get wind of this,” Don said, eyes widening with realization. “And then Bishop will take him off the police’s hands.”

Uneasy silence hung in the air. “How much time do you think we’ll have before that happens?” Mikey finally asked.

“If we’re lucky?” Leo said. “Ten hours, maybe nine.”

Mikey and Don exchanged glances. Despite not saying a word, Leo could tell that they were thinking about how bad their luck had been of late. “And if we’re unlucky?” Don asked. Leo gave the question some thought. “Four,” he answered.

Next

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 6: The Boy

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: You and the Mandalorian are working well together. But as you try to move away from your past, it comes to you.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, canon-typical violence, it's a cantina scene folks. Reader has a past lover and nicknames. Uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: I'll make a master list page or something at some point. Halp. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, A03. Thank you for reading! (Edit: one Masterlist, chef.)

--

A matrix of dust motes hangs in the doorway of the old cantina, swaying on the hot breeze that toys with the air. A skewed rectangle of harsh sunlight paints the floor of the entryway. The bar is scattered with weary folks, their hardness loosened steadily with each drink poured. 

Although not loose enough that every blaster in the place doesn’t swivel to the door as the feared and revered bounty hunter, clad head to toe in armour and bristling with weapons, steps across the threshold. The figure struts passed several readied muzzles and leans against the bar.

A cocky, acerbic bark of laughter erupts from a ferocious looking man in Tuskan threads, who stands from the table he’d been counting credits at. He’s the only one not pointing a weapon at the towering presence, who is looking at him with unreadable intent. The leader just rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck a few times, confident his crew has his back. Every one of them answers to him or finds an unpleasant end.

‘Seriously, man,’ his loyal 2IC spits. He’s closest to their adversary, weapon cocked and ready. ‘To just stroll in and not think 30 blaster sights would be trained immediately on that shiny, pretty kit you’re in? Like we haven’t been watching for you from second one!’ 

The Mandalorian cocks his head, the angular features of his helmet glinting in the harsh light. 

He speaks.

‘It was not me you should have been watching for.’

‘Beep, boop,’ you chime from behind the squared off gang leader, pressing the scanner to the rigid veins of his neck.

‘Ow!’ He jerks around while slamming a huge, grimy hand to the spot. He takes you in, hood pulled low over your hair and a patterned green scarf over your nose and mouth, eyes dancing with amusement. ‘Who the goddamn, fucking, hellish—’ He curses as you check the little read-off and smirk, tossing the unit to the 2IC standing next to Mando.

The guy catches it, checks the screen and goes red. ‘Oh you asshole!’ His pistol swings to point squarely at his boss. The rest of the room hesitates. ‘It’s fuckin’ positive.’ He holds the scanner screen aloft.

Every other blaster makes the same move. The ‘leader’, Kemor is his name, whirls around, taking in the change of situation. So quick, his people have turned. He rounds back on you. ‘You little, fucking, asshole!’ He roars, telegraphing a huge roundhouse swing at your head.

You lean back to let his fist take in the air where your head was. Converting to a light crouch, you take three quick jabs up into the side he’s exposed to you. He exclaims in surprise, rights himself and makes to lunge straight at you. Easy. Feet shift and his momentum is carried across your shoulders and into a stack of stools, pointy ones. He shouts a litany of expletives and threats about what he’ll do when his hands get on you as you hop lightly from foot to foot.

Over by the bar, the 2IC watches, positioning his aim to and fro as Kemor lunges about the place. He leans slightly to Mando. ‘Aren’t you going to, like, help her or anything, man?’

‘She has it handled,’ he replies, amusement in his tone.

In front of you, Kemor sets his stance and grips his hands into a heavy hammer fist. He makes to raise it over his head, getting ready to smash it down onto you. Every single pressure point on his body is laid before you and you move lightning fast to lay waste to his tender joints. You lift a foot to jam into the backs of his knees to help him into a kneeling position as you spin behind him.

‘Beep, boop,’ you say again and drop a mechanical circlet around the crown of his head. It sinks over his ears and eyes and he goes still.

‘What, wha…’ He wrenches around in distress. ‘Help! Help? I can’t see; I can’t, I can’t hear! What the fuck have you done to me!’ He starts to whimper.

You touch a notch on your wrist brace. Kemor straightens up and tilts his head to the side. 

‘Oh my god, man. Fine. You can hear now, okay? Just chill.’ The quarry doesn’t even fight you locking a pair of cuffs across his wrists behind his back. 

‘Huh, impressive,’ the 2IC huffs out a laugh.

The Mandalorian finally steps forward and hauls the now-captured bounty to his feet. Grogu rises in his pod from the booth you and he had previously been sitting at, munching on a fistful of biscuits. ‘Let’s go,’ Mando says. ‘I assume that will not be an issue?’ He tips his helmet back toward the new leader by the bar.

‘Psh, take him man. Get this fuck out of my sight.’ As you stride past him you motion for the scanner. He tosses it back to you, muttering, ‘Fucking let him stay with my mother with that shit in him. Hope he fuckin’ rots.’

--

Outside, Din frog marches the bounty in front of him, who’s still whimpering and craning his head to and fro while stumbling every few steps. He’s thinking to himself he should probably give you a more generous cut of the reward on this clown. Seems fair since you handled yourself so well in there. 

You two had worked a few jobs together since the agreement. Although you’d been content to hang back and learn the ropes. This job had Din stumped for a while, wondering at the best approach, and you’d had the decoy idea. A very tidy method. Although your sense of style may be something to comment on.

The imposing, beskar clad bounty hunter looks over at you strolling beside Grogu, light-heartedly trying to steal one of the biscuits from the squawking kid.

‘Did you really say… “beep, boop”?’ Din startles as the child bursts into a high-pitched fit of giggles. ‘What’s so funny, kid?’

You’re chuckling too. ‘I told him I bet I could get you to say that.’

The long-suffering sigh and slight shake of the head makes you crack up even more.

‘Hey!’ A shout from behind registers but he takes no notice, watching you wipe the mirth from your eyes. ‘Hey, hey wait!’ Footsteps running. Then Din hears your name.

Your head snaps to him, eyes wide. You punch at your brace. Your bounty startles a little.

‘Lady! Hey lady! I can’t hear again please!’ He’s shut up by Din kicking him to his knees and laying a firm hand to his shoulder. ‘Oh, oh- okay, I’ll just wait here for a minute.’

You both spin, spying a figure with an arm raised jogging from the direction of the gang’s cantina.

He comes to a stop in front of the three of you. 

‘So…’ The figure straightens up. ‘That was cool back there.’

The hubbub of the town centre floats around your little group. You’re stood stock still. Din waits for your move. 

‘Oh, come on, you recognise me don’t you? I know it’s been a long time but still.’ He pops his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, a gesture Din seems to find loathsome on instinct. ‘Although,’ the guy continues, eyeing you from head to toe, another motion that scratches at Din’s hate reflex. ‘It seems things have changed a bit for you. You’re a friggin’ bounty hunter? Wow.’

Din looks to you, clocking your rigid shoulders and narrow eyes. He bets if he checked your heart rate it’d be thundering. He makes to manoeuvre into an angle beside you for ease of leaping forward in defence. But you take one massive stride toward the stranger, so forcefully the guy steps back a little.

‘Yep,’ you grit. ‘So it would be wonderful if you didn’t shriek my name in the street like an asshole?’

Hands go up in a surrender gesture. ‘Shit, right. Yeah, sorry. That was pretty stupid. But damn was I floored when I saw you in there. You! Miss Five-Dresses-Per-Season-Party, rocking a Kevlar jumpsuit and going all hands with this fucker here.’ He makes some weak martial arts motions then points at Kemor. ‘You know I knew he was stimmin’ that shit? Was waitin’ to make my move, but oh well.’ He shrugs.

‘I almost didn’t believe it was really you! But,’ he leans in, ‘I’d recognise that feisty little voice of yours anywhere.’

Din kills out of necessity. Could eliminating skeevey leerers bothering you be considered a necessity?

You step back.

‘Well, we’ll be on our way, you ready?’ You turn to Din and stride forward, brushing arms a little. He hadn’t noticed he’d been edging closer to you. He hauls the bounty up again, who gives a little yell of surprise.

‘Woah, woah, wait! Hey, hold up!’ calls the stranger who knows who you are. You don’t stop. ‘Heyyy, hey, hey, hey, come on. I could have a job for you!’ You pick up the pace and Din shoves your prisoner forwards. But the creep just keeps hopping along behind you both.

‘Come on, this is serious! I guarantee just listening to me for a few minutes will be worth your time!’ He singsongs, ‘Just a few minutes of your time!’ 

Then, ‘I promise you’ll want to hear about this job Mando.’

--

That scheming, hopped-up, irritating jerk. What the hell would he want with Mando? Why’s he here? What’s his play? What are the odds? Gods, you didn’t think your old life would go and track you down out here.

And wow, he hasn’t changed one bit. Still those boyish curls and sparkling eyes… All this and more rushes through your mind as the three of you face each other again.

Torre has the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen. And you’ve seen him serve plenty of smirk.

Mando seems to be waiting for you.

You turn to him. ‘Do you want to hear what he has to say?’ you ask. He looks between the two of you.

‘It may be wise,’ he says, voice dangerous. ‘I would like to know what he knows of me.’

Torre – the prick – waves a hand. ‘We can get to that. But I’ll cut to the point. How would you like to join me in pulling off an awesome, honest to riches, fucking ship heist?’

You scoff. Mando regards him steadily. ‘We are bounty hunters,’ he says. ‘Not loth-cat burglars.’ 

That makes you give a ‘Ha!’ and you both move away again. 

‘Huge score! Massive!’ Torre calls. 

‘Not interested,’ you toss over your shoulder, turning into an alleyway cutting up to the marshal’s house.

‘You’ll be set for good! The old life, huh?’

That will not get a response out of you, although the temptation to turn back and knock his shit in is strong.

He’s stopped chasing after you though, so you prepare to breathe a sigh of relief and start to wonder how you’re going to explain this encounter to Mando.

‘How about a not insignificant cache of imp-minted, genuine article beskar?'

Fuck.

When you reluctantly turn around, the quarry is standing motionless on his own in the middle of the street. Grogu hovers uncertainly by your side, humming in concern. The Mandalorian is already right in Torre’s face. 

‘What ship?’ His modulated voice is deadly low but still carries to your end of the alleyway. 

‘I will be happy to tell you all about it,’ Torre says easily. ‘And more. If you agree to partner with me.’ 

You can see Mando shift his stance, moving into one of violent intent. This can’t escalate right now.

‘Hey! Heyyy! Fellas?’ They both look at you, one steely visor and one infuriating grin.

‘We have to get this guy in and settle up,’ you motion to the loan figure now swaying like he will tip over any second. ‘Can we talk about this someplace else?’

‘Great idea! Here,’ Torre takes a fob from a pocket and lofts it over Mando toward you. You catch it and look, a villa key. ‘That’s where I’m staying, come find me when you want to hear what I have in store.’ He takes a few steps backwards, out of Mando’s range, and pivots to saunter off.

Great.

When you are later standing on the steps of the marshal’s house, the mood is quiet and pensive. Mando is looking off to the side, still as midnight. He hasn’t said a thing since walking out of that alley. You had to do all the talking in there just now. It was weird. Grogu seems unsettled by the atmosphere as well, staying quiet. You sigh, just get into it.

‘We have to do it, don’t we?’

‘Who is he?’

‘We have to at least try; it’s too important to your p—Sorry?’

‘Who is he?’ His intimidating visage swivels to you.

Butterflies erupt in your belly. You feel a fresh burst of sweat on your neck that has nothing to do with the hot evening air. With your mouth suddenly full of cotton you decide to just burst the bubble.

With a heavy sigh, you say, ‘Ex-lover. From the Estate. Years ago I fucked him over, and he vanished. Thought I’d never see him again, to be honest.’

A stony wall of silence.

‘His name is Torre. He was a, they called it minsoliar, a highly skilled undercover house guard, acting as an artist in residence. I didn’t know it was an act, but precious heiress niece shouldn’t have been fucking with either anyway. Chose the Estate over him in the end.’

Is that all you should say?

‘He’s a born schemer, making plays and fancying himself a real spycraft agent. Won’t let go of a plan if it’s suitably juicy either.’

Stop now. Stop there. Just stew in the silence for a bit.

After a not insignificant portion of stew, Mando finally speaks up.

‘You are right,’ he says. You wait. ‘We do have to obtain that beskar. It is sacred to my people.’

Even though you knew it was coming, your shoulders slump a little. But you straighten quickly, hoping he didn’t notice. He gives nothing away.

‘You don’t trust him,’ he states.

‘Gods, absolutely not.’

‘Then we have to be careful.’ He stands and waits for you to head in the direction the fob indicates. You think nothing’s for it and get going.

--

Prev | Next

[normanbateswife]

the warehouse aftermath

mark hoffman x reader

warnings: typical canon violance, saw five spoilers, plotless comfort

The silence was the worst of it. You could feel yourself needing to speak to comfort yourself. The situation seemed neverending. How long would you be stuck in this loop created by a man who knows nothing but pain. A man you had never agreed with but had gotten your boyfriend in his grips and wouldn’t let him go. It felt deafening. It felt like being cold and suddenly very warm, like a relief that you know was ill conceiving. 

You watched the warehouse with intense eyes. He had run you through it. He had told you exactly what would happen, over and over again. You enjoyed seeing him sober but it felt like he was drunk in some other vice. He was not doing this alone. He was creating half of his life with you and the other half with some shrouded mystery. Something you understood only portions of. 

“You got here fast,” you heard someone say beside you. You turned, removing your thumb from your mouth. You had been chewing at your nails anxiously, picking at the loose keratin. You recognized the face in front of you only abstractly. You knew you had seen him but you were aware of the fact that you never bothered to learn his name. Maybe you had seen him in passing on the way to Mark’s office. Maybe you had seen his picture on the wall of decorated officers. 

“I have a scanner in the house,” you said, voice more confident then you felt. Your eyes remained on the warehouse but you could feel the man looking at you. You turned to glance at him. He must have been aware of your relation with the hostage. With the kidnapper. “He didn’t answer my call. I went looking.” 

“I’m sure he’s okay,” the man said, lying through his teeth. This was Jigsaw. Jigsaw. How could he even have the heart to lie to you right then? Your distaste must have shown on your face as you moved a step forward, watching the doors. 

Finally it opened, crashing, loudly. You welcomed the break in the silence of your mind. You recognized the face of the man, despite a little girl half blocking it. He was gripping her tightly, the fear on his features half sincere. You wished you could question anything except your own relief. You pushed through the crowd and right past the man who took the little girl out of Mark’s arms. 

“What the hell man? What happened?” the man asked, a man you recognized but another you didn’t know the name of. “Where’s Riggs?” 

“I tried to help,” Mark said as you walked up. “He didn’t make it. Nobody made it.” The officer turned to grab a shock blanket for him and you wasted no time in throwing yourself into his arms. He caught you with ease, almost giving up his composure of fear. The relief of having you in his arms was genuine. It was over. It was over now. 

You didn’t speak, scared that whatever you would say would give information you didn’t mean to. He shamelessly buried his face in your neck. 

“Made it,” he grumbled against your skin. You could feel each breath reach your lungs. You could feel how cool it was, suddenly realizing just how icy the night was. You could think again. You could process information again. 

“We got a live one!” A blanket was shoved onto Mark as you pulled away in surprise. You both turned around, eager to see the survivor. Peter Strahm was on a gourney but he was alive, breathing, barely. A loose end. You glanced at Mark’s face. He was even keeled, too even. He needed to have more reaction. 

You put your hand on his shoulder. He looked back to you. 

“Let’s get you checked up,” you said, gently. He nodded once and realized his slip up as you spoke. He followed you, staying close. There was press here now, taking pictures, their bulbs flashing in your face like a mockery of your emotions. Someone sat him on the back of an ambulance. 

“I don’t need to go. I’m fine,” he said, more to the pushy nurses crowding him than to you. You knew that wasn’t true if things had gone how he planned them. Hours of sitting next to a dying man, gagged, tied, near death if one thing went wrong. 

“You need to go,” you argued. He looked up at you. You weren’t used to being higher than him but as he sat you were now subject to his gaze. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to bed. “Let them take your vitals, make sure nothing is broken. All I have at home is a first aid kit and a high school health class,” you said gently. He smiled a bit, in exhaustion. 

The paramedics waited anxiously around you.

Mark nodded, halfheartedly. 

The pounced, holding up stethoscopes and taking the blanket off his shoulders. You took a step back, watching everything unfold. You searched for the little girl in the crowd but didn’t find her. Strahm was gone already. They had rushed him away. 

What was his trap? 

They blended together in your mind after a while. 

The water box, you recalled. You looked back at Hoffman who looked distant in his own failures. You looked at his hands through the paramedics, hands that had set someone up to die so many times. The cold ate at your skin. You move aside for a few moments, to allow for some space. 

“Hey.” You were looking away when he spoke. You breathed evenly as you fought back through the small crowd. “Can we go home now?” You looked around at the paramedics. They looked sympathetic but not worried. That made you feel better. 

“He’ll live. To be safe he should come in, in case there’s anything internal we can’t account for,” one of them said. You looked back to Mark who had pleading eyes. You weren’t worried he would create an internal injury himself. 

“I’ll monitor him like a hawk,” you promised evenly. You put your hand on his elbow, helping him stand, not that he needed it. His button up was soaked with sweat. It was drenched in the dry blood of others. 

You were walking together, slowly, to where you had parked your car. Hoffman was quiet until the doors were shut and you were both inside the silence once more. This time you were together. 

“Strahm,” he grumbled, putting his hand to his forehead. “Fucking Strahm.” He hit the dashboard and you tried not to jump. You were pulling away already, in hopes no one would see the outburst. “I locked him in there. There was no way he could-”

“Let’s not worry about that right now. They don’t know if he’ll live through the night and I doubt he knew or saw enough to puzzle piece things together.” 

“Do you always have to be the voice of reason?” he questioned, though his voice wasn’t with a tinge of anger. He was tired. You had observed that plenty of times in the few minutes he had been back to you. You needed to get home. 

“Yes,” you answered, after a long bout of silence. 

-

The home you shared with Mark Hoffman was nice, though it wasn’t fancy. It was a home. It was just his to start. It was clear now, that it was a home of two. Your things melded together. You had nothing of your own. Mark was protective and all consuming. 

It wasn’t healthy, but you didn’t mind. 

You turned the lights on as he walked in front of you. You hadn’t grabbed anything in your desperate attempt to leave the house for the warehouse. All you needed to drop was your keys and your shoes. The air inside felt stagnant, unlived in. How often were the two of you even here at the same time? At night? When your breathing was even and you were unable to revive the air? 

He discarded his clothes as he walked. The door of the bedroom opened and you followed, wordlessly, silently. The master bathroom door creaked as he pushed through it. You weren’t going to push or say anything but regardless he stopped in the archway. He had lost the once white button up already. You observed his silence. He was looking down, not directly down, but just away. 

You were opening the dresser drawer. He walked back to you and breathed heavily through his nose as he engulfed you in his arms. Your arms were folded up to hold his back, palms down against his skin. 

You recognized his breath. Deep. Slow. He was coming down and you weren’t even sure what he was coming down from. You closed your eyes, just happy to have him here again. You could be content with this right now. There was so much to be discussed but there had been enough worry for one day. 

“Go clean up before you go to bed,” you muttered against his chest. He didn’t speak immediately, nor did he move. 

“I’ve been tied up all day,” he grumbled. “Just let me stand here.” You smiled. 

“Mkay,” you hummed. You could feel the heat emanating off of him. You started to recognize the traits. The adrenaline in the thumb of his fingers, the fear in the tightness of his grip, and the accomplishment in a job done. 

You waited, quietly, for a couple moments before kissing his collarbone. You left your lips there, chastly trailing kisses. 

“Don’t start something we can’t finish,” he whispered, his voice gravelly. He pulled away finally to look at you. He held you in his arms. 

“You all sleepy Hoffman? What, did the attempted murder really wipe you out?” You leaned forward to kiss him before he could laugh but when you pulled away he was smiling. “Take a shower Lieutenant.” 

He hummed but it sounded more like a guttural type growl as you moved away from him. 

You wanted him to go to sleep so you could rest. You saw his phone on the nightstand. Had he even taken it with him today? There would likely be phone calls waking you both up in the morning, Texts from superiors, asking for a statement. You wouldn’t know peace for a couple of weeks. He would get his promotion. There would be questions from Strahm, never ending correct accusations. Newspapers asking for a quote. He would come home later. 

“You stay where you are,” he said, quietly, tiredly. 

“I’ll be here when you get out,” you promised. He watched you for a moment, trying to memorize you and then he shut the bathroom door behind him. You started to fish for your own pajamas. 

He came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later. His hair was soaked, matted down onto his head. You were in bed, only the lamp beside you was still on. He crawled under the comforter beside you. He wore only his boxers, limbs aching from the stress of the day. 

You faced him, cozying into the pillow. 

He pulled you closer to him, till you were practically in his chest. You threw an arm around him. He liked having what he needed protected. You let your eyes close slowly. 

“I love you Mark,” you muttered, brain already hazy. He kissed your forehead and you thought he whispered it back before you fell into unconsciousness. 

[rosewaterandivy]

Through Me Prequel - i. the hanged man

Summary: Steve may be slow on the draw, but hand to god, he's sure there's something ... off about you. Or, the three times Steve was a witness and the one time he wishes he wasn't.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, eventual Steddie x fem!reader in the series

WC: 5.2K

Warnings/Themes: cursing, criticism of religion (catholicism/xtiantiy mostly), religious themes, canon-typical violence, death, idolatry via smut, blasphemy, heretical notions, angst, occasional fluff (as a treat), Biblical & western literary canon and media references/allusions

A/N: This is the first of three prequels centering on the three main characters. If you're up on your tarot know-how, you can glean some info from the banner, etc. 👀 Special shout out to my beloved Jo (@jo-harrington) for looking this over way back when! If you haven't checked out As Above, So Below, wtf are you even doing with your life!?

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not. This (*) is a singal to check the footnote at the end!

Enjoy! 💜

Masterlist | Playlist | Currently Spinning:

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"I don't care how many angels can fit on the head of a pin. It's enough to know that for some people they exist, and that they dance."

— Mary Oliver, "Angels"

Wednesday, November 9, 1983

You first meet Steve Harrington on a cold day in early November. A feast day, memorializing one basilica or another according to your latest missive— it was hard to keep track, much less whether it was one to be observed. 

A shrill ring from the phone in the motel room, this side of too loud and unfortunately, it’s enough to rouse you. 

“What?”

“We have some concerns regarding a small Midwestern town, Hawkins, Indiana.”

Blearily you sit up, “Yeah?”

“Just a drive-by should suffice.”

A sigh, “Got anything else for me?”

The voice paused, as if annoyed by your tone. “We’ll be in touch, as always.”

The sound of the dial tone did nothing to elevate your mood. While presently not on a mission, you bided your time by locating relics and artifacts for future use. Yesterday’s attempt turned out to be more burden than boon— not only was the pawnshop owner a shyster but a gun-for-hire. So, no relic to be had and you had to disarm the guy, what a waste.

Luckily, Hawkins was only four hours drive from Lebanon and sounded like a pretty easy day. 

But no one bothered to tell you that a boy and teenage girl were missing.

Driving down main street, the town seemed fairly normal. But the gooseflesh running up your arms and legs told a different story. As did the telltale scent of bleach in the air, signaling the presence of some high-voltage electrical discharge— ozone.

Flipping on your police scanner, you were able to glean the address of a witness and potential suspect. Consulting the map on the passenger seat, you turn off the main drag and head toward the outskirts of town. 

In the driveway, there are two vehicles, one black sedan and one maroon BMW. Parking in front of the house, you grab a pen and a notebook along with a badge. After checking your hair briefly in the side-view mirror, you pull on a trench coat and knot it at the waist.

Walking up the pavement, you note the police tape against the double-doors and tire treads from other vehicles. Based on the number, you’d have to guess a party of some kind was thrown the night before. 

Three quick raps on the door.

“Police, open up!”

A harried, but well-kept woman opens the door. “Yes, can I help you?” She asks politely, with a slight tremor in her voice.

“Are you Mrs. Harrington?” She nods. “Very well ma’am. I’m Detective Constantine with Hawkins P.D. May I come inside?” You display your badge for her viewing.

Another voice sounds out from the house, perturbed. “Tell her to come back with a warrant.”

The woman’s eyes blow wide, hesitant to refuse her husband. Her mouth opens to explain.

You sigh, pocketing the badge and raise your voice. “Sir, considering that a girl went missing here on your property last night, I am well within my rights to search your home without a warrant.” You smile, trying your best to remain civil. “But I am more than happy to radio the Chief from my car to relay your sentiments.”

The sound of shuffling papers and a creak from an old office chair. The door opens wider, revealing a man, Mr. Harrington, bags under his eyes and tie loose around his neck. 

“I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” He says with a tight-lipped smile and opens the door wider.

With a nod, you enter, notebook out and pen ready. Assessing the home, you take a few cursory notes. Walking from the foyer to the living room, through the dining room and out onto the patio you stop— a young man in a pool chair grabbing your attention.

He looks dazed, staring at the covered pool. Legs pulled to his chest and chin resting on the tops of his knees. Dressed in a teal sweatshirt, sweatpants and socks you wonder how he isn’t shivering from the cold. 

In an attempt to gently alert him of your presence, you softly clear your throat. His head jerks upward quickly, panicked eyes locked on you. “It’s okay,” you say, sitting on a chair to his left. “I’m just here to ask you some questions.”

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving you. A dull buzzing rattling in his chest. 

Briefly consulting your notes, you lick your lips. “It’s Steve, right?”

“Y-yeah, Steve Harrington.”

“Great!” You smile and nod. “I’m Detective Constantine. Can you tell me about the party last night?”

He nods gaze fixed on you, on the hazy glow that seems to encircle your head; he blinks and scrubs a hand down his face; the image gone. “It was just a small thing, me, Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and Nancy Wheeler.”

“And the missing girl?”

“Right, Barb Holland. Nance invited her.”

“Nancy Wheeler, she’s your girlfriend?”

Another nod. 

“Did you notice anything odd about Barb or anyone else last night?”

“No, not really. She didn’t, uh, seem to want to be here.” He frowns, brows furrowing, a slight tremor runs through him, from the cold or the shock, who’s to say?

 “I think she cut her hand opening a beer, maybe?” 

Jotting down a few more notes, you nod. “But didn’t make a call or say anything about making plans to leave?”

“No.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Nance and I went inside, Barb stayed out by the pool. Didn’t hear anything from upstairs.”

Glancing up from your notes, you pause. Steve’s warmed up to you during the brief conversation, legs crossed in front of him instead of drawn to his chest. He looks tired, looks scared.

“Your room, I presume.”

He blushes at that, nods. Takes a tense breath in, inhaling the tangy scent and taste of newly forged metal - sharp and pure at the back of his throat.

“Can you point to where you last saw Barb?”

He does so, drawing your eyes to the far lip of the pool where the Harrington lot backs into the woods. There’s a tinge of ozone in the air, albeit fading, and a tang of copper. That’s to be expected from a cut on the hand, but the electrical discharge—

“There wasn’t a storm last night? Lightning or anything like that?”

Steve shakes his head, opens his mouth to say something when the sliding door opens. 

“He wants a lawyer!” Mr. Harrington shouts, “Steve, I told you to request a lawyer before speaking with the cops.”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns back toward the house, “It’s fine, dad.”

Before Mr. Harrington can get his panties in a twist, you decide to take your leave. Standing, you pocket your notebook with one hand and place the pen behind your ear with the other. Extending a hand toward Steve, you smile. 

“Thanks for your cooperation Steve.”

His hand clasps yours—warm and oddly familiar. “You’re welcome, I’m happy to help.”

Cocking your head, your eyes narrow to where your hand meets his. The feeling subsides, quelling any suspicions you may have had. 

“Mr. Harrington.” You drop Steve’s hand and nod to his father, “The precinct will be in touch should there be any further questions. Your patience and cooperation are appreciated.”

And with a turn of your heel, you walk away.

A few hours later, there’s another knock at the door.

Steve answers it, waking from a nap on the couch. Eyes slowly opening, mouth like dried cotton. 

The advil he’d swallowed earlier clearly did nothing to alleviate his headache, and the nap proved less than helpful. 

At least the buzzing had died down. The newfound shortness of breath, however, had lingered.

He pulls the door open with a huff to reveal none other than Chief Hopper and his deputy.

“Afternoon, Steve,” he greets, eyes scanning the entryway. “Your parents home?”

Steve shakes his head, rubs the sleep from his eyes. “A detective already stopped by, earlier today.”

Hopper’s lips pull tight. “Huh.” He nods to the deputy and they leave to assess the scene, “Well, s’it alright if was take a look around here?”

He sighs, growing weary. “Yeah, sure.”

“Get some rest kid,” the Chief says and turns on his heel to go.

Steve shuts the door and drags himself upstairs. Falls face-first into bed with hopes to sleep off his headache and exhaustion.

Doesn’t hear the phone ring or Nancy leave a message.

In fact, he sleeps for three days. Specters of light dancing behind the darkness of his eyelids, and wakes with dried blood in his ears.

Sunday, January 1, 1984

He recognizes the buzzing first, the reverberation lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Knows the headache is likely to follow and shoves his sunglasses on, as if that could possibly help.

Steve’s idling in the parking lot of St. Mary’s waiting for Nancy while she attends Mass. Something about a feast for Mary or the circumcision of the Christ-child, he stopped listening and looped the curls of the telephone cord around his finger.

Parents already gone after the Christmas holiday, never staying longer than necessary.

He’d hemmed and hawed at all the right parts, while scanning through the paper for showtimes. Circled Scarface— as if she’d see that, Silkwood— a maybe, if he’s being honest, and finally Terms of Endearment— god help him.

And now, it was 30 minutes to showtime, and she was running late. 

In the distance, he sees a bright flash of light. Hears the rattle and hum that follows.

Soon after, a black impala pulls into the parking lot. Correction, a smoking impala peels into the lot, sliding into a nearby parking spot expertly.

Well, that's new.

He watches as you exit the vehicle, slowly, casually, not with haste. Brushing the plumes of gray smoke aside flippantly, as if it wasn't cause for concern. A pair of sunglasses affixed to your face, frames and lenses dark resting on your nose and cheekbones. 

A tiny lift of your crimson mouth is all it takes to send the blood rushing to his head. You nod in greeting to the congregants as they exit the church, as they shake hands with the priest and visit in the narthex. 

You share a look with the priest, meaningful and urgent.

A tingling sensation as Nancy opens the door and slides into the passenger seat.

“Sorry about that.” She leans over to kiss him on the cheek, but Steve can’t stop staring at you.

Thank god for sunglasses.

“You okay?” Her voice is tinged with concern.

“Yeah, fine.” He says absently, shifting the car into gear, “Thought I was getting a headache but—”

“Another one?”

Steve sucks his teeth, he really doesn’t want to have this conversation again. “It’s not a big deal Nance.”

The tension in his neck and shoulders alleviated, a dull roar in his ears. 

Pulling out of the parking lot, they pass where you’ve parked. His sunglasses slip minutely, just enough for him to glance at you over the bridge of them.

Catching his eye, you send a redolent wink in response.

“Do you know her?”

He clears his throat, letting the pedestrians pass by. “Uh, maybe?” 

Nancy turns quickly, hazarding a glance, licks her lips while Steve clenches his jaw.

“Wow,” She breathes. “She’s—”

Steve speeds out of the parking lot like a bat outta hell. And Nancy never got to complete that thought.

Saturday, November 3, 1984

He doesn’t see you again that year, but Nancy does.

Saturday, June 29, 1985

The heat on this bus is oppressive. Offensive, even.

Even more so combined with the sweat 70-odd middle schoolers. The green ringer t-shirt with the unfortunate goldenrod yellow collar wasn’t helping things either. But, if you’d known all the particulars, you wouldn’t have taken the job.

Bagging hellspawn in the wilds of Wisconsin wasn’t worth dealing with a bunch of tweens who were hormonal and struggling to develop something called empathy.

They were mean in a scarily accurate and precise way.

“Okay twerps!” You raise a hand in the air, and count it off, “1, 2, 3, eyes on me!” 

You lean against the back of the seat, facing the kids as their conversations drop to a murmur. Clipboard in hand, you flip through the brightly colored papers before addressing them once more.

“We’ll be coming to our final destination of Hawkins, in a few moments.” You pause to wipe your brow, “Couple of things to keep in mind: take only your stuff and no one else’s. Locate your adult person, parent or guardian, and then…”

You wait as the bus hisses to halt in front of the high school. 

“Hey, sit back down Henderson, I’m not done yet.”

He grouses, crosses his arms and reluctantly sits.

“Right, so you find your adult and then check-out with me. Get it?”

“Got it!” They yell back and then it’s off to the races.

You brace yourself against the onslaught of tweens rushing toward the exit, clipboard clutched to your chest.

After the deluge, you scramble off the sticky plastic seat. “Thanks Larry!” You call to the bus driver and walk down the aisle, making sure no one left anything behind.

A radio crackles to life a few rows ahead of you.

“Dustin? Do you copy? Over.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab the hunk of plastic and thumb the call button. “Uh, roger that. Breaker one-nine. Henderson left his walkie on the bus. Over.”

Static and then.

“Shit.”

Shoving the behemoth in your back pocket, you step off of the bus, clipboard at the ready to check-out the campers.

Swamped with beleaguered kids and frazzled parents demanding medications and prescriptions, and mailing addresses and so forth, that you barley register the crackle and static from the walkie.

“Can you uh—” You wag a finger at an overly eager parent and pry the thing from your pocket. “What?”

“... Are you seriously mad right now?”

“Yes!” You sputter, rolling your eyes at the voice over the radio. “I’m kind of trying to do my job here.”

A laugh. “Funny, I thought you were a detective.”

You pale, a dull roar crashing through your ears. The voice is warm and melodic, slow like honey.

Handing off the clipboard to a junior counselor, you peer across the blacktop. And spy a figure leaning against the hood of a red car wearing black sunglasses. A smaller figure, jumping and waving at you in, of course, green and yellow.

“But then again.” The fuzz of static. “You were getting cozy with the padre, so maybe a change of pace. You a novitiate or just confessing?”

You refrain, with difficulty, from rolling your eyes.

“What’s it to you?”

Dustin whining when it clicks back on, “C’mon man.”

“Dinner.”

A scoff, “You wish.”

“Clearly.”

His response brings you pause, unusually forthright.

Lip pulled between your teeth, you leave him hanging for a minute and mentally sort through all the reasons why you shouldn’t.

Potential murderer - they never did find Barb Holland.

He apparently hangs out with Henderson—too many questions there to unpack there, but mainly: … why?

Already has a girlfriend, Nina… Nicole?

It would distract you from your work, but all work and no play makes you restless, and a little reckless. Speaking of which…

Pressing the call button down, you sigh. “Counter offer. I’ll allow you buy me a late lunch at the diner.”

You remember seeing a payphone somewhere around there and it’s public, so if it goes south you’ll have an easy out; you make plans to befriend the waitress, just in case.

The smugness radiates from his voice. “We have got to work on your negotiation skills.” 

A crackle of static. You make a big show of turning the walkie’s dial off and shoving it back into your pocket before going back to work.

Following the directions he’d sent down with Dustin when he collected his precious walkie-talkie, you pull up to a place called Enzo’s.

Scanning the parking lot, your lips pull into a scowl when you see him.

Ah. There he is. You slam your door shut. That motherfucker.

Grinning like he’s the cat that caught the canary and goddamnit, being that attractive when smug shouldn’t be allowed.

“This isn’t what I agreed to.”

“Huh.” He cocks his head, “You don’t say.”

“What’re you playing at Harrington?”

He shrugs, hands shoved in the pockets of his too-tight jeans. You make the mistake of keeping his hands in your eyeline, looking down as you do so, and audibly gulp at the sight. Those jeans sure are tight, aren't they?

“My eyes are up here.”

You frown, and he laughs. Walks you into the restaurant— holds the door, and pulls out your chair, like a real gentleman.

A waiter quickly stops by, taking drink orders and rattling off the specials. You glace around the dining room, feeling out of place amongst the off-the-shoulder tops and high heels. Crossing your Converse-clad feet on top of one another, you stow them under the table and out of sight.

At least you weren’t wearing the ‘CAMP KNOW WHERE ‘85’ t-shirt and shorts any more.

Small miracles.

“Oh,” You say before the waiter, Kevin, goes to his next table, “Is there a payphone around here? I need to make a quick call.”

“You can use the bar phone,” He points to the bar by the hostess station. “Chris will be happy to help you.”

“Thanks!”

Steve eyes you as you stand up to leave, “Better be local distance or Enzo’ll be mad.”

“Bite me.”

He sips his drink. “Only if you ask nicely.”

With a roll of your eyes you leave him at the table perusing the menu.

Rapping your knuckles on the bar top, you smile as the bar tender approaches. “What can I get you?”

“Kevin said I could make a call from here?”

“Oh, sure.”

He leaves to get the phone and slides it in front of you before assisting another customer. You punch in the 618 area code followed by the all-too familiar number and listen as it trills.

Murray, of course, answers on the final ring.

Asshole.

“Behold!” He crows, “She brings me good tidings of great joy!”

“I hate you.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, yeah. What else is new?”

You turn back to look at Steve, he, annoyingly, waves. You reply in kind, waving your fingers before flipping him off.

“Not cursed? Bloodsick? Howling at the moon?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Still a messianic specter, sorry to report.”

“Sooooo.” You drawl, “This is your way of telling me you’ve got nothing.”

“Uh, huh.”

“And there’s no news.”

“Yep.”

You sigh, resting your forehead against the smooth lacquered wood of the bar. No jobs, no prospects, just great.

“Where are you staying? I’ll give you a ring when I get something interesting.”

You hum and stand back up. “Dunno Murray. Was kinda counting on a job to get me outta this town.”

Chris slides a drink down to you. Tequila, if you had to guess. Down the hatch it goes. You nod in thanks.

“Well, call me when you’re settled. Who knows, a slow summer might do you some good.”

“Ugh.” 

You hang up the phone with a clatter and turn back to the table with a huff.

Under the evening sunlight scattered by a canopy of leaves and panes of glass, he rests his hand on your bare shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly.

Steve shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be as cavalier with his hospitality and his attention. Doesn’t know you from Adam and has already offered up the guest room.

He’s not normally this sloppy. But after things had gone sideways in ‘83 and then gone to shit in ‘84, Steve found himself slipping. Always looking over his shoulder, wondering when you’d blow back into town.

The detective turned nun turned camp counselor (Dustin swore you made the best s’mores) turned… well, whatever this was.

Not such a mystery anymore.

There is heat. There is the frame of his bed cracking. Carpet burns on his knees and back. Damp hairs on the nape of your neck. Bruises and bite marks and scratches all over him and strangely none on you, but not for lack of trying.

When he holds your torso against his, you grip him right back, and the pressure makes him feel like he could snap in half. It is wild and ferocious, tension sparking like a snarling animal ready to pounce.

He doesn’t call you darling or baby or sweetheart because those servile names feel so discourteous to what you actually are (and it’s only an inkling, but if he’s right—). He only pants and grunts and whispers fuck, fuck, fuck like a prayer.

“Don’t hold back on me now, Harrington.” You laugh, licking the sweat dripping down into your mouth. “You’ve always been honest. Go on, tell me what you want.”

He fists your hair from behind, pulls a growl from your throat, tangles his legs between yours as the two of you lie on your sides and goddamn it, he fucks you like he could die tonight. The sound of your ass slapping the smooth plane of his torso rings like a bell through the room. Your fist finds a handful of his hair and wrenches him away. You hold him down and crawl on top with a low chuckle.

“Tell me what you want.”

It’s futile to fight you. You are faster and stronger and beneath you, in the vastness of his own room, you could swallow him whole and he would let it happen.

“I want you.” Steve breathes, raspy and raw, grabbing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you down. You bat him away and lean back instead, propping up on your feet, knees apart, showing him the entirety of your body. Gorgeous. Marble smooth. Hard as granite, but flecked with gold and dappled light.

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat.

You look cold in the way a statue might, but in the center where you are hot and wet, he could devote himself to forever. 

“I want you now.”

With a savage grin gracing the transcendent beauty of your face, you allow him this request. Steve Harrington, merely mortal, succumbs entirely to your touch. His body melts into yours, shudders with reverence for your power and gravity, and he feels like he could burst apart inside of you.

Your breath is all he can hear. Your sweat is all he can taste.

You are ethereal.

And he will worship you to the end of his days.

Thursday, October 31, 1985

The bells chime on the door of Family Video before he can say that they’re closed and yes, they’re also sold out of Ghostbusters and Beverly Hills Cop.

Robin had already clocked out, picked up by some friends from band for a Halloween party, so it was just Steve closing up.

Too distracted by counting the till to acknowledge the buzz in his chest, the tension melting from his body. A distinct lack of headaches for a few months now too.

“Steve.”

A soft drip on the floor, like a leaky faucet when he glances up.

And you’re stumbling on the carpet like it’s moving beneath your feet. You’re trying to give Steve a reassuring smile and only getting across a grimace. 

From what he can tell, at least.

Because you are absolutely, positively covered, head to toe, in so much blood and viscera it’s no longer red but black, dripping off of you like sludge where it hadn’t already dried. The whites of your eyes and teeth are visible, and that is not an image he necessarily wanted to have of you.

Ever, really.

“I’m alright, Steve,” You attempt. Your teeth are chattering.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Steve replies, shutting the register drawer with a flick of his wrist and shoving the deposit in the safe.

“This, uh,” You glance down at your current state, frowning.

“Not yours?” He guesses, stepping out from behind the counter, paper towels in hand. “Well, I’d hate to see the other guy.”

You rasp a laugh that quickly devolves into a cough.

“Yeah,” You say once you’ve recovered, “Totally nailed him.” 

He can see as you waggle your brows, underneath the layers of blood, dirt, and grime— dried blood pulling your skin taut as it moves. Steve sucks his teeth.

“I don’t even wanna know, do I?”

Delirium is definitely sinking in because you laugh, recalling the nail gun and the thunkthunkthunk of steel driving into flesh, muscle, and bone. The screams and wails, followed by the death-rattle. His hands are on his hips as if he disapproves, worry evident in his brow. 

Being the liaison between humans and other beings (part-time, at least) means that the messenger should never have the urge to endanger a human or else it would totally compromise the position. And yet here you are, fantasizing about Harrington’s beautiful, well, everything.

Hazards of the job. Strictly speaking, the types of folk you deal with aren’t necessarily human. Technicalities, and all that.

“Okay champ,” He says, wiping at your face with a dampened towel. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then to bed.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from your throat. “I’m not human, therefore, I do not require sleep.”

“Sure,” Steve nods along with your yammering, paper towels coming away equal parts black and bloody. “Whatever you say.”

Steve never pegged you for a sleep-talker, or whatever the hell this was.

“JAIDA, DE BAB DE ILS, DLUGA UMADEA PAMBT STEVEN, OD TABAORI AQLO BRANSG NOTHOA STEVEN, DORPHAL TOX , ASOBAM ILS DLUGA IEHUSOZ.”*

Foreign language aside, he has no idea what is going on.

Bright shafts of white light emanate from your eyes, he can barely see your pupils anymore, in their place a gold band circling your temples adorned with rapidly blinking eyes, and he has to squint and shield himself with an arm from the illumination.

He backs away, slowly, so as not to startle you. But clearly your attention is drawn elsewhere, what with all the eyes and the—

The fuck?

The… hovering. Because you’re not seated on the bed anymore, the mattress doesn't even dip with the suggestion of weight. And there is a considerable distance between your crossed legs and the sheets.

He feels nauseous and dizzy. An ever-present buzz along his skin and thrumming from the inside out. Hears the beating of wings, the shuffling of feet. 

Steve clamps his hand over his ears, hating the damp squelch of it, just hears his blood rushing and heart beating instead. Wills his eyes closed, turning away, impossibly, from your glorious display.

Takes deep breaths and counts to 100. Again. And again. And again.

The touch of your hand on his arm is so light, that it doesn't even register. 

Steve comes to gradually, only to find you not covered with a halo of eyes and clearly abiding by the laws of gravity. 

Did he hallucinate all of that?

“Steve,” You whisper, hand rocking against his shoulder. “Steve, wake up.”

Was it just a dream?

He grumbles, half-waking and bats your hand away. “‘M’up.”

“Yeah,” You laugh. “Okay, you’re up.”

A shake of your head as you sit back against the bedframe. 

Steve stretches, skin skimming against the worn sheets and feels perfectly sated. Doesn’t recall falling asleep or how he got into bed though.

Remembers seeing you at work, he was closing… Your bright eyes and teeth… And not much else. Maybe something about blood, if he concentrates.

“So.”

You’re seated a careful distance away from him on the bed. Legs fallen lazily onto themselves, hands open and resting against your knees, like one of those yogis he’s seen around town.

“You gave me quite the fright there.”

“Could say the same to you,” He counters, voice raspy with sleep. “What was—”

“Meditating.” You’re quick to answer him.

He arches a quizzical brow. “Meditating. Really?”

Bottom lip pulled and worried between your teeth. “It’s a form of introspection. Communing with your higher states of consciousness.”

“Riiiight. We’ll call it meditating. For the sake of argument.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

He shrugs, rolls his neck and shoulders. “I never said that.” 

You squint, staring at him. Your hand comes up to grasp his jaw and slowly turn his head. Face remaining impassive, you cluck your tongue and rise from the bed.

“Stay there.”

The commands thrums through him.

Steve watches as you leave the room, heading across the hall to the guest bath. Hears the water running from the faucet, the wringing of a damp rag. Soft footfalls herald your return, plopping back on the bed and dabbing the washcloth against his jaw and ear.

A tap against his chin. “Other side please.”

You do the same to his opposite ear, humming to yourself under your breath. Thunder sounds in the distant night, a storm rolling through. 

Deeming it a job well done, you toss the cloth into the hamper. White terrycloth tinged rosy red. A cool hand turns Steve this way and that, your eyes darting across your handiwork.

“How’s your head?” You ask, voice soft.

“Fine.” Shakes his head, in proof, rattles his brain around. “No complainants.”

“Mmm.” You hum. “No migraines or auras?”

“Not for a while now.” He clucks his tongue, “But I didn’t tell you about those.”

Ah. Now he’s caught you out.

Your mouth hangs open, gaping like a fish. 

“Hey,” His hand settles over yours, warm and familiar. “It’s fine. You’re just … perceptive.”

A laugh, the rustling of wings somewhere. “Is that so?”

Steve pulls you toward him, the air punched from his lungs as your shoulder collides with his chest. You apologize profusely, rearing back and away from him. 

He tugs you back into his embrace, both arms settling around you and falling effortlessly at your hips. Feels a pleasant glow at your temples, sponges a kiss there. Catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, your image seemingly replaced with iridescent reflections of light. A crown of fire round your head. 

And is alarmingly at peace with it all.

Friday, November 1, 1985

The next morning you’d already left by the time he woke up. 

A glass of water, a crumpled scrap of paper, and business card were on the bedside table. He picked up the water, gulping it down readily and scrambled for his glasses. 

He grabbed the papers, the larger one seemingly covered in glitter, dust? Something golden getting all over his hands and sheets. Squinting because he never did get to wiping off his lenses, Steve read the business card first. Simple and to the point, nothing he didn’t already know.

The scrap of paper however, was beyond him. 

Well, shit.

He dials Robin, figures if anyone could translate, it’d be her. Then calls the number listed on the card as he waits for her arrival. 

An annoyed voice answers. “Ugh, this better be good, Harrington. I’m a busy man.”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“That’s not important.”

“What do you mean? How is that—” He sits up, cradling the phone between his shoulder and jaw.

“How did you get this number?”

“Uh, Constantine. How else?”

Whomever he’s speaking with roughly pulls the phone from their ear and mutters a litany of curses. Surprisingly few in English.

He takes a breath, waits for the conversation to resume.

“Okay, say I believe you Steve. How do you know Constantine?”

Steve arches a brow, devotes all of a few seconds to thought before saying, “Well, we’re uh, involved, I guess, and then she showed up to Hawkins dripping in blood last night.”

The next thing he hears is the sound of something smashing to the ground, quickly followed by a “Shit-cock dumbass motherfucking—” before the line drops dead.

*Highest God, of your dominion, give strong towers unto Steven, and govern your guard amidst Steven to look upon him, whom Thou givest mercy.

[miguelswifey04]

𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (chapter 2: locked in)

summary: he’s got an eye on you.

word count: 1,044K (not read proof)

earth 928: nueva york 298

in the control room, a tall muscular brooding man, looks over all the scanners keeping an eye close to all the events occurring in the multiverse simultaneously. he groans and pinches the bridge of his nose as he's bothered by the fact that this responsibility of being the leader of an elite force of spider people can be stressful at times. he's like the god of the multiverse only thing is he gets to keep everything in check and make sure canon events aren't being disrupted but carried out.

he aggressively clicks and flicks the scanners as a certain young woman catches his eye. his facial muscles relax as he's intrigued by this young woman. something strange takes over his chest. something he hasn't felt in such a long time. he doesn't understand why his heart flutters as he lays his eyes on you. he understands what you've gone through and he wishes he can help you but how? he knows your name, and even your abilities.

"interesante," he paused, "a spider person with telekinetic abilities..." he muttered to himself as he continued to do more research about you. deep down he wanted to get to know you more but he felt it was weird because he was "spying" on you, but technically that is his job right? he has to keep a close eye on everyone. not just you, convincing himself. he watched as you went out late at night from your dorm to fight crime and help out those who need it. it touched him when you were always helping the less fortunate, because he always did the same on his free time.

he clicked and pinched the screen of the scanner to get a closer look of you.

again.

he's been doing this for quite some time. yet you don't know a thing. you're not even aware of there being an actual universe where someone is keeping an eye close to you. you know there's a thing called the multiverse but do you actually believe it?

"jess!" he exclaimed as he breathed sharply through his nostrils. he motioned jessica drew to look at the scanners of you.

"yes miguel? what do you want?" she said sassily as she caressed her pregnant belly. she looked intently towards the scanners showing some short clips of you on campus, indicating you were a college student and fighting crime, indicating you were also a spider-woman just like her.

"don't tell me you want to recruit her?,"she laughed knowing exactly what miguel called her for. she waited for his response but he simply nodded as he was focused on viewing other spider people and keeping a close eye to make sure there isn't a canon event being disrupted.

he breathed out and side glanced towards jess who was waiting for him to vocalize his response. "yes. i think she will be a good facet to our elite force," he said with his slightly accented english, "she has telekinetic abilities too." jess hummed in response and pondered in thought because she would be the one to take a new spider-woman under her wing. jessica isn't aware of why miguel truly wants a new recruit. he hardly ever let anyone join without jessica's nagging. he's used to it but he trusts jessica's judgement after all she's his right-hand woman.

"okay." jess agreed as she continued to look in miguel's direction, studying his movements and facial expressions then glanced towards the scanner the said:

'y/n l/n earth 1218, year 2023'

"okay great. we will go visit her universe soon..." miguel slightly grinned but it wasn't actually very noticeable. jess nodded but a thought came into mind.

"miguel..how are you going to do that? you're gonna scare her." she laughed as she walked off back to whatever she needed to be.

"i'll figure that out, jess." he huffed as he put his hips on his waist. with that jess exited.

lyla, his personal AI assistant appeared on his left shoulder. "miguellll, you're so silly you know!! never in a million years would i have thought you'd liked someone ." she giggled as she spawned out of the blue.

"like? wait what? no, no way. you know i can't afford to care about someone like that again." miguel said in his monotonous voice as he brushed lyla off his shoulders.

"come on, pal. you can't deny what you're feeling. you can't avoid your feelings forever~" lyla said as she singed out her words continuing to tease him going in front in him and floating around.

"you're such a drag." miguel thought to himself he and couldn't help but admit he may have had possible feelings for her but he hasn't come to terms with it. how could he possibly fallen for you? was it because he related to you? or was it your hidden spirit that alluded him? something about you has him in a trance. maybe, it was a way for him to experience something new after losing his precious daughter, gabriella.

he sighed as he longed for his own daughter as he continued to torment himself watching clips of him and his daughter over and over again. he loved the feeling of sadness yet he hated that he could not move on from that very feeling that left him feeling shattered. losing gabriella that day was losing a part of his humanity. he faulted himself every day after that tragic incident but there wasn't anything he could do.

"te extraño mucho, nena." he said to himself as he clasped his hands onto the desk being entrapped by his own agony and despair. he misses his daughter so much and he would do anything in the entire multiverse to bring briella back if he ever had the chance to.

regardless of thinking about his daughter 24/7 in his mind, you also became part of his thoughts. whether he realized it or not sooner or later he must come to terms with it but for now his duty is to send spider people on missions to fix any little mishaps and to figure out someway to encounter you to convince you to join his 'little' club of people alike.

…

a/n: this is just the beginning 🫡

[unwisemagi]

Parent Au: Introductions

im not done with this au yet! I have a ton of ideas and head canons... This one is a different format from the other stuff and maybe isn't the greatest? But I'm still proud of it so here you go lol

PO3

It was time. It couldn't delay this any further or risk problems in the future. It couldn't keep this hidden, even if the idea was tempting. It was finally time for the scrybe of technology to introduce you to its colleagues and dare it say friends. But first, it needed a plan. The scrybes were not all the same, they had varying ideals, thoughts, and personalities. It needed to do this right if it wanted to avoid any fights arguments or possibly something worse.

PO3 decided Grimora would be the first it told. Besides the fact she liked children, machine or not, she was very trustworthy. She could keep a secret if requested. It also got along the best with her, though the scrybe of the dead was able to get along with everyone. Funny how that ended up. Anyways, it knew Grimora would be very happy and supportive of it.

Magnificus would be the second one. The old coot wasn't very fond of children. It figured he would be indifferent to you at most. So long as you were not left in his lands (PO3 would never), he wouldn't care. So it would be fairly quick and easy to introduce you two.

As for Leshy, that was a bit more complicated. Everyone knew the beast scrybe adored children. PO3 had even caught him in town entertaining them a few times. The problem was that the two were rivals and got along the least of the scrybes. Not only that, but you were a machine. He didn't like machines and it didn't think it would change just because you happened to be a child. It would definitely talk to him last…

PO3'S careful planning was very quickly ruined.

When it had gone to Grimora (it had set a date before hand) it discovered that she was not alone. Sitting with her was Magnificus and Leshy, each with a cup of tea and serious looks. It felt itself start to heat up in panic. Those two were not supposed to be here. She had agreed to a private meeting. It had been staring for a bit too long, as Grimora noticed it and gave a soft smile.

“Welcome Dear. I apologize, something came up. I sent a letter but, I don't think you were in when it arrived.”

PO3 was able to calm itself down as she spoke. Of course she hadn't lied to it. Things come up and unfortunately, something had happened the day the two were to meet. It nodded to show it was not mad. “Hmph. I'll have to check when I get back. I suppose I can return later then”

Magnificus turned a weary eye to it. “Before you leave, you might want to check on your denizens bot.” He grumbled. He wouldn't question why the two had planned to meet. It wasn't his business and they all had private meetings with each other. It's how they bounced around ideas and improved their games. “Our own citizens got mixed up again.”

“Again? Didn't that happen last month?” 

“4 times.” Leshy responds.

It clicks in annoyance. Getting mixed up wasn't serious but it was irritating. It slowed down production. “Great. More interpretations.” PO3 mumbles under its breath.

The entire time, you were behind your parent, listening carefully as they talked about something you didn't understand. It was important, you could tell from the tone of your parent’s voice but at the end of the day you were a child. You couldn't stay in the same spot for hours on end (yet) and needed things to keep your servos active. This was not that. You whirl (an equivalent of a whine) and glance around the room. It was not very interesting, except for some of the symbols you spotted on the walls. Your screen lights up and soon displays question marks. Information was always wanted by you. You wanted to learn new things and advance. So you float away from PO3 and stare at the symbols, studying them. You just had to know what it was.

“Did you bring a scanner again Dear? You know you could just ask if you are so curious.” 

“What?” PO3 asks, confused. It definitely hadn't. The only other machine with it was . . . It's screen flashed multiple colors in alarm before it turned around. “Bitty bot!” He exclaimed, getting your attention. You beep and look back at it, before shrinking closer to the ground. You know that look and tone. It meant you did something you shouldn't have.

“Bitty Bot?” Leshy mumbles. That was a weird name, even for PO3.

Its screen starts to heat up and its fans whirl faster. It hadn't been planning to introduce you to them all like this. It hadn't wanted to introduce you to them all yet. But it had made the critical error of not leaving you something to engage with. It was panicking more, until Grimora gently tapped it's hand. It didn't like touch very much, but made an exception for Grimora.

“Calm yourself. Your screen is flickering.”

It made a distressed sound, but found itself starting to calm down. It helped that you returned to its side and grabbed its hand. You beeped and clicked at it, worried for your parent. It simply gave you a smile. “I'm fine bitty bot. But you can't wonder like that.” It scolded you. This made you sad of course. You didn't like being scolded or getting in trouble.

It eventually calmed down enough to face the other scrybes, including Leshy. This was not at all plan, but it knew it couldn't just write this off and pretend nothing had happened. “Thank you Grimora. I wasn't expecting that to happen. I suppose I should explain.” It cleared its throat and squeezed your smaller hand. “This, is not a scanner. This is my bitty bot, Y/N. They are very new and can only speak to other machines. They can understand us though.”

It took a moment for the scrybes to understand what this meant. When they did, they each had different reactions. Grimora's eyes brightened and she covered her mouth to hid her smile. Magnificus stared at it in disbelief and confusion. Leshy. . . The damn beast was smirking. It felt a rush of dread seeing that look and the twinkle in his eye. . . Turns out, that chill was a warning. The sheer amount of teasing and dad jokes from Leshy  had to be some sort of retribution for past actions, it was sure. At least you were received well and had trustworthy babysitters now…

Well maybe not Magnificus. He really didn't know how to act around a child and was horribly awkward. He tried though and that's what mattered the most.

[mxstellatayte]

metal, nuts, bolts, and a hell of a lot of blaster residue (chapter 3.)

din djarin x female mechanic reader.

chapter 3 word count: 5.2k

warnings/tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader is a mechanic, found family, din djarin speaks mando'a, din and reader are both very touch starved, i don't know how fictional money works, din djarin is a bottom, smut written and proofread by an asexual, din and reader have ptsd, canon is dead and i killed it, no use of y/n

The sound and force from the blast startles Din from his sleep, bolting to his feet and checking his hip for his blaster before he runs down the ramp and into your hangar. You’d been about to finish the soldering on a simple project the night before when he’d noticed how exhausted you were, insisting that you finish it tomorrow. And now he’s panicking, because your hangar is nearly invisible to see, the dust settling from the explosion. The dust and fog is so thick that even with the infrared sensors in his helmet activated, he can’t distinguish between your crumpled body and the fires burning all around him.

He can’t distinguish between them, that is, until he notices that one heat signature is not moving at all. His feet move before his brain processes it, and he turns you over onto your back. Your body is limp, and his glove comes away bloody from where his hand laid on your ribs. Din panics. Don’t. Calm yourself. Remember your training. Remember your experience. He takes a deep breath, letting his heartbeat be the only sound he can process at the moment, the adrenaline coursing through his veins putting him in hyperdrive, before letting his training take over. Secondary blast injuries are the most dangerous and have the highest mortality rate. Any shrapnel will need to be removed before recovery can begin otherwise blood poisoning could occur. Head injuries are more often than not invisible. Inner ear damage is highly likely, given your proximity to the blast. Every injury, down to small cuts, will need careful watch and repetitive bacta and interchanged gauze so as to not get infected and cause further damage.

His hands shimmy under your body and he carries you up the ramp, closing the door with his foot and setting you down gently on his cot. He’ll have to buy new sheets, but that doesn’t matter. Not when your life is on the line. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, to push it down and focus on the task at hand, but with your breaths becoming increasingly shallow and your heart rate dropping faster and faster, he can’t set it aside. Instead, he uses it to his advantage. With the added determination on top of his already high amount of stubbornness, he opens the med kit he keeps directly beneath his bunk and goes into autopilot. Leather gloves off, sterile latex gloves on. Bacta spray and sterilized scissors out. He hesitates slightly, realizing he’ll have to undress you to check your wounds, and his stomach warms slightly, the stirring feeling only increasing. No. She’s dying, you horny fuck. Think with your brain, not your dick. 

The scissors easily slice through your clothes and his breath catches as your shirt falls away from your chest- your abdomen is littered with shards of metal ranging in size from barely the size of his fingernail to the length of his palm. Remember your training. He focuses again, spraying your abdomen with bacta to sterilize it and pulling his tweezers and a metal pan out of his bag. Sterilize the tweezers. Move carefully but efficiently. Scan her body for extra metal even when you think you’ve gotten it all. His hands move out of his control, the only sound in the ship being your labored breathing and the occasional clink of another shard in the metal pan. Din’s not sure how much time passes, but all he knows is that his knees and arms ache once the scanner finally shows no remaining metal in your body- there were several shards stuck in your back and shoulders, a few pieces in your back, about half a dozen in your lower thighs and upper calves, two small ones near each other on the back of your upper right arm, one on your forearm and one in the palm of your left hand. He carefully wraps all of the injured areas after carefully stitching each wound closed, the black thread sticking out of your skin in ugly lines.

A careful lift and he gently places you in his cot, feeling his heart sink when you stir slightly as he covers you with his blanket. 

“Mando?”

“Sh. You need to rest.” He carefully pushes your shoulder down when you try to sit up, wincing in pain and pulling the blanket away. Your face blanches when you see your torso, covered in small flecks of the dried blood he couldn’t get away, but, more notably, the dozen or so bandages and gauze taped to you, likely covering stitched wounds to keep them sterile. 

“What… who?” You press a hand to your forehead, fighting a sudden wave of dizziness. Your ears still ring, an annoyingly high pitched squeal that you don’t think you’ll be forgetting anytime soon. “Who would do this?”

Mando squats next to you, his visor slightly lower than your head at this point, and you turn slightly, wincing again- you notice bandages wrapped around your palm and forearm and assume those were two more shrapnel wounds. “It doesn’t matter. You need rest.”

“Is it because I know you? Did you do something?” Your stomach drops, praying what little was left of the Empire hadn’t found you and decided to take you out, eliminating any secrets and knowledge with you. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’m not sure if it’s safe for you here, though. Not anymore. Not if they’re after you.” His voice is monotonous and uncharacteristically… worried? You’re not quite sure if that’s what it is, but between the ringing in your ears and his modulator, you could be hearing things. 

“Who’s after me? Why isn’t it safe?” 

“You ask a lot of goddamn questions, you know that?” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, and your stomach tightens slightly, worried that he might lash out like your supervisors in the Empire did. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, stands up, and turns. “You should rest. I’ll explain later.” You open your mouth to protest, but he beats you to it. “I’m not answering your questions until you sleep. You need it.” Before you have a chance to bite back a remark, the dizziness you were fighting earlier wins and you can barely settle yourself onto Mando’s cot (So this is what he smells like under the armor…) before your head hits the pillow and you pass out for who knows how long.

Din watches you sleep, going down the ladder every now and then, telling himself that he’s just making sure you’re still alive, making sure you’re breathing evenly, but even he knows that’s a load of bullshit. He’s watching you because despite his best efforts, he can’t shake the feeling he gets around you of something warm and fuzzy and stupid. He can’t tell himself what it is, having never felt something like this before, but all he knows is that he only feels it around you. He wishes he could fight it, push the feeling down his chest whenever he feels it, but he can’t and it irks him that he doesn’t know how. 

You wake a few hours after he first leaves you, groaning at a raging headache you can only compare to the hangover you had when someone tried to pass off Tatooine revnog as Bespinian, which was not a fun experience in the slightest. “Here, take this. The ringing is gonna be there for a few more hours before it’s tolerable but this will help with the headache.” Mando passes you a metal cup with water in it and you accept it alongside the small packet of pain relief containing two pills, tearing it open and swallowing the white tablets without a second thought. 

“So. I slept. I feel slightly worse but that’s probably just the headache. Now you have to answer my questions.” You prop yourself up, using Mando’s pillow (Mando’s pillow.) to support your lower back, and you pull your legs to your chest as much as you can without your wounds screaming in pain. “Let’s start with the obvious first question. What in fuck’s name happened?”

“Your mouse droid was rigged with a bomb. Some back alley, homemade, untrackable bomb that only a certain level of scum use in the whole universe.” His voice grows bitter at the second sentence, and you have a hunch that he knows exactly who planted the bomb on Squeaks. Your heart tightens; Squeaks had been your first major project after you’d defected, outfitting the small droid with extra compartments and programming it in specific ways to help you insead of performing its own tasks. The pride you’d felt when you’d finished and it had been successful had been unlike a feeling you’d ever felt before, and now the small droid was probably reduced to smithereens, having faced an unfortunate and unfair death. “I had to take the shrapnel out of your body.” You notice a metal container filled with medical garbage a few feet away, filled nearly to the brim with gloves, gauze packaging and bloodied fabric. 

“Do you know who did it?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it, the curiosity pulling at you too strong to control. You notice more pain in your back and shoulders; you were running away from the bomb, it’s no wonder there’s so much shrapnel stuck in your back.

“Pirates. Backwater scum that have no business being anywhere near this planet. But it’s not safe for you here anymore. Not while they’re here.”

“So you know them? Would it just be safer if I stayed, then?” Your face falls as you consider what would have to happen if you stayed on Nevarro, the only semipermanent safe haven you’ve known since the Empire kidnapped you. “Would it be safer if you… if you left? And didn’t come back?” Your voice is quiet and your hands wring themselves in your lap, needing something to do so you don’t look at his helmet and, beyond the visor, his eyes. You hope he can’t hear the weakness, the sadness, in your voice, something you so rarely show others. You hope he can’t see the tears threatening you to spill from your eyes, and you squeeze your eyes closed in an effort to not let them fall. “My hangar. How bad is the damage? Is Gonk okay? Was anybody else hurt in the explosion?” Before you let Mando try to stop you, you fling the covers off of your legs and gasp. The wounds are worse than you thought. Your upper thighs and shins are a) devoid of your overalls, your athletic shorts instead bunched up to where your hip meets your thigh, a fact you try not to dwell on too much as your face floods with heat and b) covered in more bandages. “Oh. The explosion was that bad?”

“I’m not sure you want to see,” Mando says, trying to cover your legs again, but you push his hands away.

“This is my business. I need to see what repairs I’m going to need to make.” There’s a stubbornness in your voice that you know gets the point across, and Mando stills, his hands still clutching the blanket over your ankles. You spot your boots next to the foot of the cot and you reach for them, groaning in pain as you feel stitches on your back about to pull apart, straining your skin. “Fuck.”

“Here. Let me.” And then Mando does something he’s never seen you do before. He gets your boots and kneels in front of you, motioning for you to swing your feet over the edge of the cot. You obey, watching in awe (and a little bit of shock) as he carefully eases your feet into the boots and laces them up while they rest on his thighs, loose enough so as to not irritate the wound just above your left Achilles tendon. He pulls the edge of the socks just above where the boots meet your skin and you can’t stop yourself before your mind is wandering again- would the Mandalorian be this obedient, this serving, in bed? Would he obey your commands, do just as you asked, all to please you? Or would he instead command you, ordering you every which way to his whim? You blink to clear your thoughts as he offers you his hand, standing again, and you pull yourself up, slowly but surely. 

The two of you slowly move towards the ramp before Mando presses the button to open it. Before it’s even fully open, though, you know it’s going to be bad. You can already tell because the instant the hatch is open more than a crack, the smell of smoke and dust fills your nostrils. Tears spring into your eyes again and you try to stifle them, but when you descend the ramp and see your hangar, dust still settling in the air, metal fragments scattered everywhere, and your beloved workbench reduced to splinters, a faint remnant of a structure the only evidence of its existence, your knees buckle, tears spill, and your walls break down. Every single hidden emotion you’ve kept bottled away, shuttered in the small compartment of your heart you don’t even let yourself acknowledge, comes spilling out in an ugly waterfall of tears, screaming, pounding the ramp you’re now sitting on, and body-shaking sobs. Mando sits next to you and you cry into his chest, the beskar chestplate shedding your tears like glass. They fall from your cheeks and run off the metal easily, leaving behind tiny droplets in their path. You’re not sure how long you sit there, crying amidst the graveyard of your hard work, but eventually the sobs stop shaking your body and you’ve cried so many tears your eyes run dry. 

“It’s all gone. Everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve done on Nevarro to try to put the past behind me. To put the Empire behind me. It’s gone.” 

“It’s not gone. We can find those filthy pirates who did this to you and make them pay. We can make them feel the grief and pain you’re feeling. We can do what they did to you to them.” Mando’s voice is fierce, his determination clear, but you shake your head.

“I thought you said that wasn’t safe.”

“All I said was that it isn’t safe for you here. I can protect you if you come with me. I can’t keep you safe if I’m out there hunting the pirates and you’re here. They know you’re here. That’s why they attacked this place specifically. They know the sentiment and attachment you hold to your hangar. If we’re tracking them and they don’t know it, how will they hurt you?”

“You’ve seen me shoot. I can protect myself well enough,” you fire back, your insistence on staying on Nevarro partially to repair your hangar but also because of the familiarity you have on the planet, as shithole-y of a place as it may be. 

“Not if a whole clan of pirates comes to capture you.” Mando sighs, his exasperation with your stubbornness evident as he shifts his body so that he’s facing you. “Who knows who they’re working for? They could turn you in to the Republic. Worse, they could turn you in to the hands of the last bits of the Empire. Do you really want to risk getting sent back to Gideon just to stay on Nevarro?”

You cringe when he mentions Gideon. You’d mentioned your defection from the Empire relatively recently, a detail you only shared with those closest to you, a detail that not even Karga knew. You don’t want to admit that he’s right, looking down at your hands as they fidget with your pants and chewing on your lower lip in worry. Even though you’ve built yourself a life here, you know it’ll be safer by his side. Traveling the galaxy. You smile a bit, your cheeks breaking the crusted paths of tears at the motion. The thought of traveling the universe with Mando and Grogu seems sweet. Domestic, even. In your time under the Empire, you’d never even have fathomed that your future would unfold in the way it has: defecting, starting your own business on Nevarro, succeeding in said business and building a large customer group. You didn’t picture yourself in that way, but hey, it might be something you’d go for. Not like you had much of a life on Nevarro left after this explosion, everything you could possibly salvage from it likely obliterated to ash and hunks of metal. There’s still your house though. Maybe the pirates haven’t gotten to it. Maybe that little pocket of the world- of the universe, even- is still safe. Your belongings and personal items might still be just that: personal. “My house. I need my stuff if I’m going with you.” 

Mando nods in agreement, his helmet tilted down at you. “Essentials only. We’ll go tonight.” At some point while you were crying, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you’ve just now noticed that it’s still there. You try not to overthink it, because he’s clearly just trying to comfort you because your life’s work was just destroyed in a matter of moments. That’s all. There’s nothing else about the gesture. It’s all comfort and no romantic feelings at all. No romance whatsoever. Nope. You nod, something strangely final about the whole situation. 

Several hours later, under the cover of darkness, you find yourself sneaking through the roads of Nevarro behind Mando, his blaster at the ready and your own in your hand, ready to fire at anyone hostile enough to challenge the two of you. A few times, you’ve come across other people and have had to play it off as something other than sneaking back to your house like a kid who’s missed curfew, but so far all have gone without any issues. It’s only when you turn onto your street that you see someone standing outside your door, and Mando freezes, grabbing your wrist. You follow suit, turning your body so that you’re hidden by a doorway that juts out enough to cover you. 

“Do you know them?” Mando whispers, his vocalizer barely picking up his voice. It comes out calm, but you can tell that he’s doing his best to hide the panic in his voice. 

“No,” you whisper back. You try to sneak a glance around the doorway, to look at the stranger a little better, but Mando shoves your shoulders back so they’re pressed against the rough concrete behind you, your elbows and wounds scraping uncomfortably against the still-warm material. Warmer still, however, are Mando’s hands pressed… against your shoulders… 

It’s only in that moment that you realize how close the two of you are to each other. His hands on your shoulders, your two feet between his own as your torso is pressed against the concrete, sunlight-warmed stone easing the goosebumps on your back, neck and arms. You hope he can’t feel the heat rapidly making its way up the back of your neck, spilling into your cheeks and shoulders in overflow. 

“Does your house have a back door? There’s bound to be more than one of them. Pirates travel in packs.” You look back up at his helmet, into his visor where his eyes would be, and shake your head.

“Nope. Shitty Nevarro architecture. Blame Karga or whoever he employed to design our apartment systems.” Mando sighs, and you have a sinking feeling that you know what’s going to happen next. “What’s the plan?”

“How accurately can you shoot that thing while running?” Mando says, nodding towards the blaster still gripped tightly in your right hand. 

And so, two minutes later, you find yourself running down the road to your apartment door as Mando shoots the pirates blasting aimlessly in hopes that they’ll hit either you or your companion who’s running just a few paces behind you. Once you make it to your door, you step over the body blocking the threshold and grimace, your fingers fumbling for your keycard. Yanking Mando through the door as you finally manage to unlock it, he practically topples on top of you as you shut the door behind you, grabbing your shoulders to steady you once he gets his own bearings. You can’t help but feel a warm tingling remaining where his hands were on your upper arms, brushing it off as the warmth from his body instead of anything romantic whatsoever. “Ow,” you hiss, lifting your shirt slightly. Some of your stitches pulled while you were running, one in your lower torso and another on the back of your right arm. Crimson blood slowly drips down from the wounds, soaking the thread holding them together.

“I’ll patch it up when we get back to the Crest. For now, pack whatever you can. I’ll keep watch. There’s bound to be more soon.” You nod and run to your bedroom, pulling a duffel bag out from under your bed and mindlessly shove as much stuff into it as you can-primarily clothes, but you manage to shove a couple of your comfort items and other special belongings into the exterior pockets. 

“Okay. Clothes, dice bag, earrings, data pad, headphones, blasters, weapon maintenance kit… what am I missing?” A blaster shot startles you from your thoughts and you hear Mando yell something unintelligible from your front room. “Tea leaves!” You spring up, run into your kitchen, and grab the tin of tea leaves you prepare each night before you go to bed, ducking with a yelp when a shot narrowly misses your hand. “Jesus, Mando!”

“You didn’t tell me you were running in there, idiot!”

“Okay, whatever,” you yell back, pulling out your blaster and shooting another pirate trying to force his way into your home between his eyes without a second thought. “Let’s GO!” You sprint back into your bedroom and hiss-more stitches have pulled, this time on the back of your left thigh. Ensuring that the tin is securely closed, you shove it into the top of your duffel bag and zip it closed, looking over at Mando and holding your elbows out so that he can hook his arms into your armpits. “You fly, I shoot.”

He looks at you for a moment, shooting another pirate trying to shove his way through the door before speaking up. “Your stitches will pull.”

“I don’t care. Just get me off this planet. I’ve suddenly found a strong distaste for some of its inhabitants,” you say, grimacing as he kicks over another body and pulls the coin pouch out of the pirate’s pocket. 

“Fine. Do you have room for these in your bag?” It’s in that moment that you notice his hand is full of coin pouches, ranging in size and color, all clearly very full with credits. Your jaw drops before you remember the task at hand-escaping Nevarro. You unzip the top of your bag and stuff the credit pouches in, then hastily zip it back up.

“Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here.” The two of you sprint out of your house, and in one smooth motion, you strap the duffel bag to your front, hold your arms out, and get swooped away, groaning when some of your stitches pull. You’re running on instinct, firing on any pirate either chasing after you or making their way towards your now-vacant house. Your legs dangle uselessly below you and your armpits and ribs slowly begin to burn, a low, subtle pain that will no doubt be stronger when the adrenaline wears off. Soon enough, though, the open ceiling of your hangar is visible and an inexplicable feeling of giddiness floods your body, the origin of which you’re unsure of. Either way, your feet touch down on the dirt floor and you’re running towards the open ramp on the Crest, Mando not three steps behind you. When your feet fall heavy on the ramp, running as fast as your injured body can muster, finally reaching the hull and hauling yourself up the ladder into the cockpit, the sense of relief you were hoping to overtake you doesn’t hit yet. Not when you’re still on Nevarro, the pirates chasing after you, trying to kill you in any way that they can. 

Somehow, you and Mando manage to take off from Nevarro and exit the atmosphere with minimal damage to the Crest- after running a quick diagnostic scan with the ship’s programming, you’re able to determine that the only components that were damaged are a few scuffs on the hull and a tiny bit of loss of shield integrity. Nothing five minutes on the ground won’t fix. Once Mando puts the ship into hyperspace and enters the coordinates for your next destination (“I have a friend there who’ll let us lay low for a bit,” he says,) he turns to you, resting his forearm on his thigh. “How are your wounds?”

You shrug the comment away, lifting up your shirt to inspect your ribs. “Eh, not that bad. They’ll heal.” It’s only then that you notice the thick stream of crimson blood streaming down the side of your abdomen- one of the larger wounds had pulled, and the gauze covering it was soaked through and oozing blood. “Ah, shit. That’s a problem.”

Mando sighs, then stands up and descends the ladder, reappearing a few moments later with his first aid kit tucked under his arm. “Come here,” he says, motioning for you to move towards him. “Sit here.” He pulls over a crate for himself to sit on, allowing you to sit in his seat. You obey, sitting down awkwardly and trying to not pull or tear any other fragile injuries. You flinch when Mando touches you at first, the strong adhesive from the medical tape peeling away from your skin, some of the string keeping your stitches together pulling away with it and the gauze. 

“Fuck,” you groan under your breath, the muscles in your abdomen quivering involuntarily at the pain. Sharp, stinging and obvious.

“Sorry,” Mando whispers, a sound likely barely picked up by the vocalizer in his helmet. He treats you like you’re made of porcelain, the touches of his gloveless hands barely ghosts against your skin. The scissors slice tentatively through the thin cord holding your cuts together, your wounds peeling open as the string falls away. “Hold this?” He hands you a small sterile metal tray, not unlike the one you saw at the foot of your bed when you woke up from the explosion. 

“Yeah.” You hiss through your teeth as he pulls the first string out of your cut, knowing that this is just the first of many open wounds-you can feel them. Blood slowly filling gauze pads under your clothes, seeping on to the cotton of your clothes. Mando’s clothes. The string falls into the pan and he quickly stitches the cut back together, his hands working swiftly enough that barely any blood drips from the wound again while it’s open. You marvel at the care and caution Mando puts into the stitching, ensuring every stitch of the cord in your skin is tight enough to hold your skin together but loose enough to not cause any pain or discomfort beyond what’s normal with stitches. He repeats this process seven times, sanitizing everything diligently and taking great care to ensure your safety. It’s almost like he’s become a different person, the hard shell of physical armor remaining but some of the emotional barriers you’ve noticed have faltered slightly. They haven’t fallen altogether, and you don’t expect them ever to completely fall, but some pieces of them have. That much is evident with the fragility he treats you with, with the touches of his hands covered with sterile gloves barely ghosting against your skin as he patches you up.

You’re not sure how much time you spend there, sat in Mando’s chair in the cockpit of the Crest as he tends to your wounds, but before you even notice, he’s re-stitched all of your cuts and injuries and is sending you back down to rest in his bed. “I really don’t need rest,” you try to insist, failing when a yawn forces its way up your throat and through your mouth. 

“Nice try. Go sleep. I’ll stay up here. Get settled.” You stare down his visor, eyebrows scrunched until another yawn forces its way out of your body and you give in. 

“Fine.” You climb down the ladder, kick your shoes off and follow the dim light from the overheads and climb into the bed, trying not to agitate any of the new or old stitches. As soon as your head hits the pillow (Mando’s pillow…) you’re overcome with exhaustion as the adrenaline and excitement wears off from the day and your body finally has time to catch up with you. So, by the time you can even form one coherent thought about leaving Nevarro, your eyes grow heavy and you eventually give in to the warm cover of sleep.

Little did you know, however, that Mando had been fighting a panic attack the entire day. His concerns about your safety hadn’t ceased until the Crest was in hyperspace with the destination being far, far away from Nevarro. He checks on you frequently, the nerves in his stomach not fully dissipating, even as he sees your chest rising and falling steadily and the heat signature in your body regulating to a consistently healthy temperature. 

He tells himself that he shouldn’t be so invested in your well-being, that he shouldn’t form emotional attachments to you because everyone he’s ever cared for has either died or left him, but he knows, in the back of his mind, that it’s far too late to back out of emotional attachments and possibly even attraction. So instead of facing his emotions, like a normal person likely would, he meticulously takes apart every single one of his weapons and cleans them until not a single speck of dust remains on any of them. Avoidance has always been his coping strategy when something goes awry and will continue to be his coping strategy. “If it ain’t broke,” he tells himself, yet he still knows that he is very much broken and needs some fixing. 

Maybe a feisty little mechanic from Terra could fix you, his mind rings, loud and clear before he can stop it. Maybe that feisty little mechanic from Terra that’s sleeping in your bed on your ship that you likely helped escape certain death- maybe she’s the one that can finally see you for who you really are and fix you.

Little did he know, however, that you had been watching him while he cleaned most of his weapons, your body unmoving yet your eyes wandering his body, mostly focused on how his hands ran over the metal of his blasters in a similar way that his hands ran over your body. Eventually, once he’s long put his weapons away and climbed back into the cockpit, you call out his name, hoping he’ll come down to the hull where you lie. You delight in hearing his footsteps almost immediately moving towards the ladder and seeing his boots, then his legs, then his chest and his helmet climb down the ladder. 

“How are you feeling?” You can barely open your mouth to reply before the lights go out, the ship falls out of hyperspace, and you’re left in silence, nothing penetrating the stifling lack of all sound but your and Mando’s breaths, yours slightly more ragged, panicked, and irregular, and his steady and deep. “Well, fuck.”

[silverwings22]

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 70: Waiting On the Sky to Change- Starset

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness Chapter warning: aggressive animals, reference to trauma

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Miria’s eyes were closed, her legs folded as she sat on the floor of the cargo hold with the team. Crosshair was standing next to her, fingers curling in her hair as he readied himself for this. Hunter was checking the final readouts, getting the final details sorted. 

Tantiss was almost in sight. 

When Hunter came down the lift, she finally opened her eyes and got to her feet. The last minute meditation was helping, at least. “I think we’re almost there.” He murmured, the four Batchers moving into a tight grouping to talk. 

“The planetary sensors will pick you up on approach.” Rampart huffed. “This is insane. You have to realize it.”

Miria looked at him with a quiet, measured look. “... I am disgusted to admit he has a point.”

“We’ll have to detach before then, and approach on foot.” Hunter nodded. 

“The jungle is dangerous.” Crosshair drawled. 

“Listen to him, if you won’t listen to me.” Rampart complained, rubbing his temples anxiously. The clones and Miria glanced at each other, but ignored him. 

“What about Echo?” Wrecker looked nervous. 

“He’ll figure it out.” Hunter wished he didn’t feel so heartless saying it. He was, of course, worried about Echo. He was always worried about everyone. But right now… he had to focus on the mission. He had to do this for Omega.

“Echo is an ARC trooper, and one of the finest soldiers we’ve ever known.” Miria put her hands on Crosshair and Hunter’s shoulders. Hunter nodded, putting his hand on Wrecker’s shoulder as well to unite them all for this. They had to do this, and they’d never make it without each other. 

Wrecker nodded. Rampart groaned. “Will none of you see reason?!”

“There is no other way. We’re going.” Miria took a slow, steady breath and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Get in position and get secure, Rampart. The landing may be… bumpy.” 

He sighed as Wrecker pushed him into a seat, and Crosshair and Hunter went up into the cockpit. 

Master, if you can hear me please watch over us. And… tell Tech we miss him, but we’re not quite ready to come see him. He’ll understand.

She strapped herself next to Rampart with her helmet on. He gave her an unhappy look. “There’s four of you. You can’t seriously believe you’ll be able to take on Tantiss.” 

“We’ll find a way.” She stretched her neck, fingers tight on the security bar. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. Haat, ijaat, haa'it.” 

“I have no idea what you just said.” 

“Clearly. It means ‘truth, honor, vision’. I’m not certain those are qualities you possess.”

“Coming out of hyperspace, Miri.” Hunter said in her ear over the former admiral’s offended noises. She’d told herself she would be kind to him. Not that she’d be his friend.

“Good. Brace, Rampart.” She tightened her arms as they lurched out of hyperspace a moment later, only a little pleased he’d smacked his face on his security bar. 

Their ship detached from the one they’d hitched a ride on, their engines engaging once again in the atmosphere of whatever Force-forsaken planet Tantiss was on. “How are we looking, Hunter?” She reached for her harness to come up there.

“Full compliment of air support is coming up on the scanner.”

She frowned, brow furrowed. She didn’t remember there being a lot of air support on Tantiss… it had then them a while to mobilize fighters when they’d escaped the first time. “Crosshair. Check their formation.”

“It’s not a standard patrol formation. They’re expecting us.”

She gritted her teeth. “Shit. Evasive maneuvers and go low in case we take damage.”

“We’re definitely taking damage, cyare.” Crosshair drawled, but they lurched to the side and dropped. Miria could hear laser cannons going off, the shots so close she felt the vibrations inside her teeth. Hunter managed to get them to the tree level, but there was no way the ship was going to make it when she felt a cannon blast hit the wing. “Deflector shields are failing.”

They went into freefall, Hunter spinning them around backwards to shoot at the Imperials on their tail. Miria would have found it far more impressive if she could actually see it, but as it was she was slightly space-sick and Rampart was flailing next to her like a scared reeksa root.

“Guess we’re stealing a shuttle to get out of here.” She gritted her teeth. “Wrecker, get the rappel cables, we’re going down.” 

Rampart blinked. “What does that mean?” 

Wrecker got up and pulled Rampart from his seat. “You don’t want to know.” 

“Autopilot engaged, we’re coming down.” Hunter and Crosshair were already to the lift and coming to her as she got her cable clipped to her belt. 

Crosshair and Wrecker clipped in and jumped out, dangling under the ship as they started to dip and head for the ground. Miria couldn’t look at them, hanging from a line as the ground came rushing at them. Looking like a tooka playtoy on a string, looking like Tech had an instant before he called Plan 99 and left them forever-

Focus. You can’t afford to panic right now.

She made herself meet Crosshair’s helmet as he looked, and he nodded to her comfortingly as he could be before he and Wrecker dropped into the forest. They’d practiced this maneuver before, dropping and rolling. It hurt, but they lived. They always lived.

They had to live.

She clipped in behind Crosshair as Hunter jumped, Rampart balking with terror in his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Would you rather stay as we crash?” Miria sighed. “Come on, I’ll go with you. One. Two. Three!”

He at least took encouragement well, and they jumped together. She dropped far lower, however, as his cable line snagged. The scream he let out was higher than Miria’s own voice, and his heartbroken pleading for them to help him was kind of pathetic.

Miria looked at Hunter and nodded. The sergeant lifted his blaster and fired twice, shooting the cable line until it broke. 

Don’t think about how much this looks like Tech. Don’t think about how you’d trade Rampart in an instant for chance to see Tech again. She had to coach herself, but held it together with only a searing pain lancing across her chest instead of total meltdown.

 Rampart went plummeting, and Miria swung and grabbed his belt, using his own momentum to pull him around and up by her side. He was still screaming hysterically, clinging to her like a terrified child, when she released her line at the same time as Hunter. They dropped into the jungle, rolling into the dirt with bone-jarring tumbles. 

Hunter sat up as soon as he stopped skidding. He could only hear a feminine scream, and headed towards it with his blaster up. “Miri?!” 

If Rampart had hurt her-

He found his little General getting to her feet with Rampart wrapped around her, legs around her waist and arms wrapped around her head in such a way her helmet was squashed into his chest. It wasn’t her screaming… it was Rampart. 

“... You good, Miri?” Hunter slowly lowered his blaster.

“I’m fine. Rampart…. Rampart. Rampart! Stop screaming!” She swatted the former Imperial blindly, catching his shoulder. He shut up so quickly his teeth clicked together. “Much better. Now put your feet on the ground, please. You’re a grown man a foot taller than me. Honestly.”

Chastened, Rampart slowly straightened his legs and let her go. He adjusted his collar, embarrassed. “... thank you.” He mumbled. 

Miria nodded. “This way towards the facility. Crosshair and Wrecker will head that way too.”

Rampart frowned. “How can you tell?” He tried to clear his throat and sound like he wasn’t about to piss his pants just a minute ago. 

“I believe I mentioned I escaped this place once. It leaves a scar on your memory.” She brushed her fingers against her saber hilt at her hip. It left more than scars, she knew that whenever the hand that held hers started to shake or her breathing started to stutter. 

Hunter lifted an arm, gesturing for her to stop, and she put an arm out to stop Rampart. Hunter spin around a large rock, blaster out, and found himself facing Crosshair and Wrecker. The sergeant breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Where’s Miria?” Crosshair demanded immediately.

“Right behind me.” 

“Did, uh, Rampart make it?” Wrecker chuckled. 

“Unfortunately, yes.” Hunter huffed. 

“I can hear you!” Rampart groused, stepping out with Miria as they rejoined the group. “You three really are defective clones.”

“I could hear you screaming in my ear.” Miria said dryly, reaching for Crosshair’s hands. “He sounded like a youngling who saw a spider.”

Crosshair snorted, moving to the rear of formation as she pointed the way. Hunter had the trail, so she could hang back with him. “You alright?” He murmured as they fell into step. 

She nodded, rubbing her chest plate like it would ease her breathing. “Not a fan of you hanging by a cable.”

“Me either, but I don’t think there's any part of this we’re going to like.”

“We’ll like getting Omega and Mayrin. That’s all that matters.” She agreed, stepping close enough their elbows brushed. 

He nodded. Rampart was listening and he knew it, so he didn’t say what he’d already told Wrecker. Omega hadn’t given up on him, and it was because of her that he had Miria back and Mayrin. He owed her more than he could ever repay… but this was a good start.

Miria seemed to understand anyway, and touched his arm gently. “Darasuum.”

He breathed as steadily as he could and shook his right hand out, the two of them staying close together. Rampart, still raw from his own descent into the jungle, eyed them sharply. “What happened?” He muttered to Crosshair. “You used to think good soldiers followed orders.”

“That depends who’s giving them.” The sniper said quietly, helmet turning slightly to look at Miria. Those were the only orders he was ever going to take anymore, he’d promised himself that a long time ago. It should have been the only ones he ever did to begin with, but he couldn’t undo the past. He could only move forward.  “The Empire betrayed both of us.” 

“This isn’t you. You’re only loyal to yourself, just like me.” 

Crosshair gritted his teeth under his helmet. “I changed.” He pushed ahead slightly, thinking Miria would catch up. She instead slowed down until she was even with Rampart.

“You don’t know him.” She said softly, helmet fixed dead ahead on Crosshair’s back. “Don’t pretend that you do.” 

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.” He sneered. “Don’t forget it wasn’t too long ago he was taking orders from me.”

“Is that supposed to be a reflection of his character? You took orders from the Emperor, and he had you arrested on live holo and declared responsible for a genocide on Kamino.”

He looked away, unable to look at her scrubbed beskar when she hit him to the core. “That’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Her words hung in the air. “People can change. I would suggest you look into it, or you’ll never survive being the Empire’s enemy. And make no mistake, you are their enemy. It’s your decision if you’re mine.” She jogged ahead to get back to Crosshair, looking up at him. The sniper leaned down quickly, touching his helmet to hers in a gesture Rampart didn’t have to be fluent in Mando’a to understand. 

The paused at a sharp incline, the two former escapees and their brothers taking a moment to figure out their approach. “Climbing’s no good, with dead weight.” Crosshair sneered over his shoulder. 

“It would be too dangerous to come out of the tree cover on this kind of terrain anyway.” Miria waved her hand nebulously towards the sky. “And there are dryax in this jungle. I can sense it, but it feels muted. It’s likely asleep, but by dark it will be active and we need to be in the facility.”

“Nightfall would cover our escape, but there’s already Imperials looking for us from the crash site.” Hunter sighed.

Rampart grumbled and walked to the side to sit down, more than a little chastened and frustrated. He didn't like being out of control, and this constant show of their camaraderie while he was being reminded how much they hated him-

The mossy rock he was leaning on rumbled, and he become horrifically aware that it was breathing. Miria and the clones were looking at him, helmets all fixed and unwavering. 

“Step away. Slowly.” Miria ordered, holding out a hand. “Don’t run.��

He swallowed, terrified again, and inched towards them. When he was close enough, he jumped and spun around. Wrecker immediately smacked a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming like a little girl again. The rest of them found themselves facing a huge dryax snarling at them.

“Shoot it! Shoot it now!” Rampart batted Wrecker’s hand from his mouth desperately. 

“Blasters will give away our position.” Hunter hissed.

“Damn our position if it eats us!”

“Shut up.” Miria ordered as the dryax started stalking towards them. “Back up slowly, give it ground.”

Rampart disregarded her and took off running, triggering the creature’s prey drive. It knocked Hunter over before he could get his knife into its neck, Crosshair hitting it as hard as he could with the butt of his rifle to keep it from killing his brother. Wrecker took a running leap onto it’s back, trying to get enough of a grip to choke it unconscious. For his trouble, he got thrown and swatted in the chest violently. Sparks danced from his chest plate and he went flying into a tree with a groan. 

“Get him and find Rampart.” Miria ordered sharply, planting herself between the dryax and her men, taking off her helmet to drop it to the ground. Both hands went up, eyes locked onto the lumbering and furious creature. 

Gungi had done it with the kinraths on Kashyyyk. Ventress had done it with the vrathean on Pabu. She wasn’t a padawan on the run, or the former Sith assassin desperately seeking the light. She was Miria Adeline Halcyon. She was a Master on the Jedi High Council. She was a General of Clone Force 99. She was the daughter of rebels and Mandalorians. 

She was the Broken Light.

She felt the Force take flight in her chest like the ice vulture on Baron 4, an indomitable survivor, and she pushed it into the dryax’s brain like a sledgehammer with a single thought.

Stop.

The creature froze, panting and rumbling with its eyes fixed on the woman in front of it, before going down on its belly with a whine. Miria took slow steps forward, letting it watch her, before she crouched and put her hand on its nose. They looked at each other, a silent conversation, before it stuck its tongue out and licked her glove. 

“Good boy.” She breathed, feeling the Force in every breath she took. She wasn’t sure what she’d just unlocked within herself… but something was wide open and running hot. She’d never felt like this, not even when she was on Thule. 

Both she and the dryax looked when she heard blaster fire over her shoulder. “Shall we go check that out?” She asked mildly, and the dryax rumbled, getting up and leading the way with her running after it.

[spriggan-lover]

Touch

WARNING: HINTED PAST ABUSE (NOT SPECIFIED)!!!! IF THE TOPIC MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, SCROLL PAST THIS!!!!

This is a self insert x canon ship fic. (And in this case it's about my Star Wars self insert, Lily x Kix.)

Summary: Lily is injured in a battle, but refuses to get her wounds checked by a medic. Kix confronts her about it and learns the reason behind it.

Drank too much coffee before bed, wrote an entire text in one go, accidentally deleted it all, had a mental breakdown about it and then managed to write it again trough sweat and tears. This is my first time writing stuff about my self insert, Lily and Kix. English is not my first language so there might be some errors, but I tried my best.

-

It had been a rough battle, but not rougher than usual, since the casualty list wasn't much higher than what it was after most of the battles ever since the war between the republic and the separatists had begun. Kix thought to himself as he walked trough what had previously been a battlefield just few hours ago looking for any wounded brothers in need of his help. In the distance he saw one of his brothers laying against a wall destroyed from a battle, being clearly injured. But there was also another smaller figure hovering over him. It was the new jedi healer, Lily, who had been assigned to the 501st legion as part of the medical reinforcements only about two standart months ago. Even from a distance Kix could see the faint blue glow coming from her hands, the tattoos on her face and the jewel in her dress as brows furrowing, she consentratedly used the force to heal his brother who had taken a hit in his thigh. Kix ran up to them to check his brother's condition just in case, because even if the jetii'la osik worked, one could never be too sure. But a quick look-over with the medical scanner showed that his brother was alright, altough exhausted. After seeing Kix make sure his brother was alright, Lily stood up and began to make her way to the next patient. When Kix turned from his brother after telling him to go take a rest he saw that the jedi healer had a rather nasty looking cut in her back oozing blood and staining her dress. The wound wasn't fatal, but it was bad enough that it needed to get checked by a medic. Despite Lily trying to act like the wound in her back didn't bother her at all, Kix was however trained to see when someone was injured and he could see that she was moving rather stiffly, meaning that she was clearly in pain. He ran up to her while she  walked forward.

- "You should get that wound checked by a medic." He said, putting his hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.

-  "My top priority is the health and well being of the men. I will treat my wounds after I've treated theirs." She said rather bluntly and kept walking without sparing a glance at him like she hadn't heard him at all.

For those two months since joining their battalion, Lily had gone trough quite a number of battles and had even gotten injured in some of them, but despite that Kix had never seen her in the medical tent for any other occasion than when she was healing his wounded brothers. She was clearly a self sacrificing sort of jedi, too stubbornly helping others and ensuring their well being while putting aside her own. Kix had heard from his brothers about the stubborness and self sacrificing nature of jetiise and it frustrated him.

- "With all due respect, ma'am you should go get your wounds checked by a medic." He said firmly, but gently to not upsed the jedi healer, but she kept staying silent and ignoring him.

- "The more you delay treating your wounds the chances of them getting infected increases with every hour. Please, go to the medical tent to get your wounds checked." He tried again, this time more assertively, but the jedi healer just kept walking and it made Kix even more frustrated.

- "I don't have time for this conversation right now, Kix." Lily said trying to sound as calm as possible despite her growing anxiety.

- "What is it with you and the jetiise not getting treated when they are injured? I am the head medic of this battalion and when it comes to the health of the men I outrank everyone, including you so you will go get your wounds checked. That is an order!" He said with a raised voice, his patience already running thin.

- "I will get my wounds treated, okay. I just first need to-" She pleaded, the anxiety tightening her chest and threatening to swell up too much like a balloon and then pop, but she didn't get to finish her sentence when Kix' patience had finally ran out and spilled over and he snapped at her.

- "Listen, if it's about some self sacrificing jetii'la osik or whatever, you don't have to put your own health aside just for your own morals. You have to get yourself and your wounds treated like everyone else. You can't just-" He didn't get to finish his tonguelashing when Lily suddenly turned around, her face radiating with frustration. The balloon inside her had swollen up too much and popped and she snapped at him in return.

- "It's not because of self sacrifice it's, because I'm afraid!" She raised her voice, but then her face quickly turned to look like she had just spilled out a direly sensitive secret and she went quiet. She looked away, not daring to look at Kix in the eyes. Her eyes were on the ground like she was suddenly interested in counting every grain of sand there.

- "You're afraid? Of the pain? Listen, there's plenty of ways to relief the pain and you don't have-"

- "I'm not afraid of the pain!" She snapped at him again. Kix could see that there was something else in her face this time. Fear. Shame. She still didn't dare to look at him in the eyes.

- "I'm afraid of being exposed and vulnerable. I'm afraid of........touch." She said the last part quietly and turned her back at him, trying her best to not let her voice quiver or let the tears in her eyes fall down on her face. Squeezing her shaking hands beside her into fists.

In that very moment everything made perfect sense to him. Kix wasn't too naive to not know why some people found the touch of another repulsive. Usually people who had faced abuse in their lives before did't like physical contant, because it often triggers the unpleasant memories. And now it was clear to him that she had been abused before in her life. He just didn't know when or how, but it was none of his business to pry. A wave of shame and remorse washed over him and he felt bad for raising his voice at her earlier. He walked over to her side in front of her, but kept his distance, this time not touching her shoulder to not make her even more uncomfortable than what she already was now. This time he spoke with a gentle tone in his voice.

- "I understand. I'm sorry for raising my voice at you. If I had known I would never had tried to push you. Listen, we can figure out a way to treat your wounds as what's most comfortable to you as possible. Is there anyone you trust enough to let them check you over?"

Lily sniffled once and wiped her face in her right sleeve and then finally raised her head, eyes still avoiding his and spoke.

- "I don't want to be a nuisance or delay anyone's job, but if it's alright I would prefer you to take a look at my wounds. But only if it's not too much of a bother to you." She said looking a bit bashful, her cheeks a little red and fidgeted with the hem of her wine-red colored dress.

- "Of course I can do that." He said with a fond smile and continued "Come on, let's get to the medical tent." He said and gently ushered her in the direction of where the medical tent was waiting for them.

-

They walked the entire short way to the medical tent in silence. Lily was quiet, understandably so. They entered the medical tent and Kix guided her to take a seat on the cot and pulled the white privacy curtain around them preventing any prying eyes from seeing them. He then began to prepare the small area for the medical procedure, giving Lily time to calm herself down and mentally prepare herself for what was ahead. He retrieved a pack of antiseptic wipeclothes, bacta spray and bacta patches from the first aid kit and put them on a small table next to the cot where he could reach them. Lily was quietly staring into the distance, deep in her thoughts. Kix cleared his throat in means of shaking her off her thoughts and it seemed to work, because she turned her head towards the source of the noice.

- "Everything's ready. You have to take any piece of clothing off from your upper body so I can treat the wound." Then he added gently "I promise I won't look at you at all."

- "P -promise?" Lily asked, her voice quivering and ocean blue eyes misty.

- "I promise." He said as firmly and gently as he ever could.

After taking a deep breath in and out, Lily started unbuckling and taking off the belt in her waist that held her blue lightsaber and tossed it aside. Then she started to wriggle out of her dress. She made a small pained whimper when the fabric brushed over the wound painfully. Kix was about to go to her side to help her get the dress off of her, but Lily quickly raised her hand, signaling him to stop and he did. When she had gotten her dress off, leaving only her black leggins and boots on, she took a seat on the cot, covering her chest. Kix could tell that she was being very nervous from how tense she was and the way her shoulders were shaking.

- "I won't touch you or do anything to you without your consent. You decide when we're going to start. I'm going to clean up your wound when you're ready. Alright?"

After a moment Lily hummed and nodded as a sign that it was okay for him to start treating the wound. Kix took one antiseptic wipecloth in his hand and started to wipe the blood and grime from around the wound. Lily flinched a bit when the cool cloth made contact with her skin. After cleaning up from around the wound he tossed the wipecloth away. Then he reached for the bacta spray on the table.

- "I'm going to spray a bit of bacta spray on your wound. It might sting. Nod when you're ready."

Another hum and another nod of approval. He sprayed the bacta spray all over the wound and when the substance landed on the wound it made Lily's entire body suddenly jolt from the pain. A choked gasp escaped from her lips and she hissed in pain, her fingers digging in the side of the cot. When the pain finally eased, she slumped in relief, panting a bit.

- "It's alright. It's over now. You did great." Kix said reassuringly. He took a bacta patch from the table and took off the protective layer and threw it aside and continued. "Alright, this is the last part. I'm going to put a bacta patch on the wound. Nod again when you're ready."

When he received the eventual hum and nod from Lily, he placed the bacta patch carefully over the wound so it was covering it entirely and gently pressed the corners of the patch so it would stick to the skin. After that he was done and just let the patch do its own work on helping speeding up the healing process.

- "Alright, it's done. You were staying still and behaved so well the entire time. I don't think I've ever had had a patient so well mannered." Kix praised, sounding content and put his hands on his hips, inspecting his own medical work and being glad that Lily had trusted him enough to let him help her. Then he began putting the medical supplies back to their places where he had previously taken them from.

Lily took her dress from the side of the cot and put it carefully back on. For a moment she was just sitting on the cot in complete silence, her thoughts and heart racing. Kix had been so incredibly considerate and gentle with her while respecting her boundaries. She felt her heart clench from the overwhelming feeling inside her chest. Maybe it was just the stress from the previous battle that had happened that day or just being so moved of someone treating her right after all the dark things that had happened in her past, but it was enough to make the dam burst. Her shoulders started shaking even more and she was unable to stop the sobs from coming out of her mouth or the tears from running down her face like a river. Kix heard the sobs and was by her side in an instant, standing in front of her, confused what to do.

- "Oh no are you alright? Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I swear I didn't-" But Lily stopped him from doting over her with a raised hand and spoke trough the hiccups and sniffles.

- "It's alright. You didn't do anything wrong. It's just that I've never really felt this safe or respected before in my life. Thank you, Kix. Thank you so much." She wept and nearly launched herself off the cot and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

Kix stumbled back a bit from the sudden, intensive hug and for a moment he was just standing there utterly confused. No one had ever hugged him like this before or showed such trust in him. No one had ever displayed such compassion and gratitude towards him. He felt like he really didn't deserve those things, because afterall he was just a clone, just another number among millions. And he wasn't even the most approachable one of them. He was often quite blunt or just outright mean, especially when he had to patch up his di'kutla brothers who had recklessly gotten themselves injured in the battlefield. But here he was getting hugged by a weeping jedi and feeling all warm inside. He didn't deserve this. After a moment of silence he finally gained his composure and wrapped his arms around Lily, hugging her back. In that moment he felt something new surface inside him for the first time in his life. He felt like he had just fallen in love. He stayed there with her for a long time, holding her close.

- "It's alright, mesh'la. It's alright."