#bix x brasso

[b2emo]

BIX & BRASSO | 1.12

[starwarsshipsbracket]

Round 1 - Bracket #16

[jyndor]

Bix and Brasso is such a cute ship, I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought that xD

He is such a lovely guy and looks like everything Bix is looking on a partner: loyal, caring and selfless, just like her <3

ikr? and brasso is, like bix, rooted deeply in ferrix. plus like idk I just want her to have peaceeee

[roguesones]

HOLD ME LIKE A GRUDGE - CHAPTER SIX

by k2cassian Pairing: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso Fandom: Rogue One

Chapter SIX Summary:

"Why did you leave that night?" She asked quietly. Guess she was starting this, then.

[candyfloss5000]

Syril Karn is such an underrated babygirl

LOOK AT HIM

[mosylufanfic]

Salvage Operation

Joplin Sibtain is 53, so I figured making Brasso about ten-ish years older than Cassian fit. 

Salvage Operation

When he got home and the house was dark, he knew what he'd hear even before he called out, "Bee? Where’s Bix?”

“L-l-left," the little droid said from his charging station. "S-s-sorry.”

“Not your fault, Bee. I’ll go get her.” He ran a hand over the top of the old droid's casing. "Any idea where?"

"Sh-she just s-said out."

"Right." He'd barely started calculating where she might have gone when the house comm buzzed. With a mix of relief and dread, he answered. 

"Brasso, right? This is Cal at the Doktam's head. Come get your girl."

"Right," he said. "On my way. I'm sor - "

The click sounded in his ears. He put the comm away with a sigh. He didn't think he'd ever get used to living somewhere that everyone he spoke to hadn’t known him for decades. 

He had some tenuous goodwill built up, from his job. It wasn't hard for a man built like a brick shithouse to find work. It wasn’t salvaging; they didn’t do that here. He missed it sometimes, the careful and patient work in the wreckage of old ships, finding what was still good. But that was back on Ferrix and he wasn’t there anymore,

His new job was at the docks, loading and unloading, but he'd always learned fast and he was willing to work hard. So the other dock workers said, "Brasso's a good sort. Quiet. That girl of his, though . . . "

Bix was not doing well.

Sometimes he thought he'd like to go back to when she would lie, catatonic, in the bed under the window, staring out at the sea birds wheeling over the shore. Even the nightmares, he knew how to handle - just hold her and let her feel the warmth of another body against hers, the pressure of his arms grounding her until she remembered that she wasn't in that hotel room in Ferrix, with . . . whatever it was they'd done to her. 

She'd never talked about it. 

The screaming wouldn't always stop right away, but it worked eventually.

This new phase, though . . . 

Often it was drink. Sometimes it was spice. Sometimes she would just disappear and he'd scan the shore for her body, his heart in his mouth, for a day or two before she turned up, refusing to tell him where she'd gone to. 

"You're a good lad, Brasso," Jezzi had told him before she left.

"Lad?" he'd said. "I'm pushing forty."

"And I've seen it come and go," she shot back. "What's your point?" She'd turned serious again. "Those bastard Imperials broke something in our Bix. And it's not your job to put it back together again. You can't do it, and that's a fact. Only Bixy can. And only she knows if it's possible."

"I'm not trying to do it for her," he said. "I'm just trying to be here."

"She's not your father," Jezzi had said. "And she's not Cassian Andor. Being here isn’t going to fix her. You need to know that."

"I do know that," he'd said very, very evenly. 

"Do you?"

He did his best. He scanned junk stores for the kind of things Bix had repaired back on Ferrix and left them on the table. He scraped together money to take her to the kind of doctors Gangi Moon offered. He scraped harder for the medications they prescribed and tried to make her take them. 

She sometimes fixed the things. Sometimes she destroyed them. Sometimes both. 

She went to the doctors and refused to talk. She only wanted the sleeping tabs, and she wanted those more often than he was comfortable with. 

The Doktam's Head was about the only place that hadn't barred Bix already, and he had a feeling that was about to change. It was a shitty little box of a place with shitty alcohol, but even they had their limits.

She was slouched in a booth toward the back, head lolling back into the corner made by the booth and the wall. There was a smudge of blood under her nose and a puffy red mark on her cheekbone. On the table was a mug lying on its side, and the puddle next to it smelled of spotchka, the cheapest thing you could get around here. 

At least she was inside. It would have been heartening if there hadn't been people scattered around the bar, nursing bruises and glaring at him. 

"Bix," he said. "Hey." 

She didn't respond.

"Bixy?" He rapped the table.

Nothing. 

Cautiously, he shook her shoulder. Touching her without prior warning was how Wilmon had gotten his nose broken. Poor kid. He hadn't held it against her, mostly.

But she still didn't move. 

"Did she take something?" he demanded of the bartender, presumably Cal, who'd wandered over to look on. 

He shrugged. "How should I know?"

Brasso sighed through his nose and tugged one side of her shirt open. Shifting to block the bartender's view of her chest, he rubbed his knuckles hard along her sternum. 

She coughed, and her face crumpled. She swatted at his hand. "Stoppit."

"Bix," he said, pulling her shirt closed again. "You've got to get up."

Her eyes peeled open and she glared at him. That was a good sign. It was more worrisome when her eyes were empty, as if all her Bix-ness had just rolled itself into a ball somewhere deep inside. "Don't want to."

"I know. But you've got to." He checked her eyes, confirmed the pupils were the same size, and got an arm around her back. He half-helped, half-hauled her out of the booth.

"She can't come back," Cal said. 

"Okay," he said, trying to get her on her feet.

"Hear me? And you owe - "

"Tell your boss to talk to me tomorrow." The last time he'd paid Cal off, none of it had made it to the owner of the bar. 

"No, now."

Brasso straightened himself up to his full height, still holding Bix against his side, and glared down at Cal. 

"Tomorrow's fine," Cal muttered.

“Wan’nother drink,” Bix said.

“No,” Brasso said, and took her out.

It was tempting to heave her up on his back, but the walk to their rented house in the cold air might work some of the drink out of her system. It was slow going, but by the time they reached their street, both her eyes were open at the same time and she was moving under her own power. Even if she was swearing at him as she did.

“I just wanted a damn drink. That’s all. Didn’t need you playing savior.”

“You got in a fight.”

“Some ass wouldn’t leave me alone. And he had friends.”

He stopped walking. “He touch you?”

“Only once,” she said with a certain grim satisfaction.

He let out his breath and started moving again. “Was it the bartender?”

“Nah. Some shithead.”

"You're out of there, you know," he said. “Banned.”

"I heard him."

They made their slow way almost to their door. He stopped because if they had this talk inside, it would distress Bee.

"Bixy," he said. "You can't keep doing this. Drinking and drugging and fighting. I know you're in a bad place, but you're not making it any better. What would Cassian think, huh?"

"Cassian's not coming," she spat.

It shocked him into silence. He'd known that. Almost since the moment his old friend stepped off the ship before they left Ferrix, he'd known that.

He just hadn't known Bix did.

"Bixy," he said gently.

"Don't call me that. It makes me feel like a damn child."

"Well, then, stop acting like a child!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. That was - I shouldn't've shouted."

"Don't apologize," she said. "It's what you think. Poor little broken Bixy. Aren't you the big strong man, hanging around to pick up the pieces."

"It's not like that."

"Isn't it? Then leave. Go on," she snarled. "Leave. Everyone else did."

"Cassian . . . was going through a lot."

"Aren't we all," she said bitterly.

He persisted. "Wilmon joined the Rebels. And Jezzi wanted to go back home. It had nothing to do with you. Is that what you want? You want to go back home?"

She went pale.

Another sin to be added to the Imperial Bastards' tabs. They'd taken Ferrix away from Bix, who could count six or seven generations on the wall and now couldn't even think of the planet without folding in on herself. 

He wasn't so sure he could go back himself, even if he wasn't probably wanted for his part in the riot at Maarva’s funeral. The Empire had cracked down after that. There were stories of hangings on Rix Road, interrogations, imprisonments. And they hadn't let anyone who'd died in the riot get a proper funeral.

Someone said the Empire had demolished the wall. But that couldn't be right. 

He shook himself. This was no time for a spat. Bix was drunk and miserable. In the morning, she'd be . . . probably still miserable, but probably not drunk.

"Come inside, Bixy."

She shook her head. "And don't call me that."

"You need to sleep it off."

"I can sleep it off out here."

"You'll freeze to death out here."

"Fine by me."

"You don't mean that, Bixy."

"Don't tell me what I mean," she snarled. "And stop calling me Bixy."

"Everyone called you that for fifteen years," he said. "It's a habit." For some reason, he added, "Bixy."

"Call me that again. See what happens. Go on."

He leaned forward until their noses brushed. "Bixy," he said.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed her lips on his.

She tasted of shitty alcohol and blood and she kissed him hard enough to grind his lips against his teeth until he tasted his own blood, too. But he forced himself to stay still, hands dangling at his sides, until she dropped back on her heels and glared up at him. 

"Is this it, then?" he said softly. "The next cudgel you're going to use to beat yourself until you feel something?"

“Go fuck yourself,” she snarled, and slammed the door open so hard it stuck. 

Bee said, "B-bix? B-brasso w-went to look f-for you."

"He found me. I'm going to bed."

Brasso stepped inside. "I'm here, Bee, it's fine."

"Sh-she's an-gry."

“At him!” she yelled from behind the curtain around her bed. “Not you.” The bed creaked as if she’d thrown herself on it.

Bee didn’t say anything else, but swiveled his head until his single eye peered at Brasso.

“It’ll be all right,” he said quietly. “She’ll pull through.”

He examined the door, found it had bounced off the track, and pushed it until it clicked back and creaked closed. Then he leaned back against it with a heavy sigh, wishing with all his heart that he hadn't wanted to kiss her back. 

FINIS

[hyperfanpod]

The gang chats about the prison arch and Cork makes the case that everyone is in their own prison, including all of Ferrix. Listen to "Andor: The Prison Arch" at https://www.buzzsprout.com/1371367/12231200-andor-the-prison-arch

[dameronscopilot]

Pretending (or not)

Cassian Andor x reader

Summary: Given Cassian's perpetual distaste for all things merry and festive, his offer to be your fake date for your company's holiday party is surprising, to say the least.

Word Count: 1.3k

Content: modern au, fluff, fake dating, first kiss

Prompt: Fake dating for a work holiday party + confessing feelings

DECK THE HALLS MASTERLIST

Cassian Andor is not a fan of Christmas.

He hates the commercialized commodification of it all.

He hates the bustling madness of the city in the weeks leading up to the holiday.

He hates the soul-crushing anxiety of gift shopping and the unrealistic expectations that accompany it.

He hates the explosion of glitzy decor that decks every hall and the endlessly cheery music that he can’t seem to escape. 

And it’s this knowledge that makes his presence at your side now at your work’s holiday party completely and utterly baffling.

–

Last week, Cassian, Bix, and Brasso were gathered in your living room with several boxes of pizza spread out across your coffee table and a movie playing in the background. After peeling away a stray mushroom that had found its way onto the slice in your hands, you’d groaned as your phone screen lit up with an email reminder about the party in question. 

“I thought you said Luthen throws great parties, aren’t you usually excited?” Bix had asked.

At that, you’d told them all about your coworker that, as of late, is utterly incapable of taking the hint that you simply aren’t interested in conversing with him, much less spending time with him outside of work. You’ve yet to find a moment to inform your boss of what a bother the man has become, and thus you weren’t keen on subjecting yourself to an entire extracurricular evening in his vicinity. You’d resigned yourself to the only surefire avoidance tactic: skipping the event entirely. 

And then Cassian had suddenly spoken four words that left the room's occupants silent for a beat—

“I’ll come with you.”

Brasso had choked on his drink mid-sip, and Bix turned down the volume on the television as she gaped at him. 

Despite the fact that everyone in the room was entirely certain that Cassian would never be caught dead at a Christmas party, much less any other festive gathering, he had the gall to shrug as he took in the surprise on the faces surrounding him.

Snatching the abandoned piece of crust on your plate as he often did, he'd taken a bite and shrugged, swallowing before adding, “Well, you need a fake date, right?”

–

The sounds of partygoers animatedly talking and laughing bounce off of the museum’s high ceilings, which are strung to and fro with an exorbitant amount of garland, bows, and soft white lights. You steal a glance over at Cassian, who’s ignoring the assortment of alcohol-fueled, holiday-themed games in the boardroom that the rest of the guests are flocking to in favor of observing a new exhibit that was installed earlier in the month.

Given that he’s far too absorbed reading the placard for the antique biplane roped off in front of him, you let your gaze linger longer than usual on his form for once. You’ve always appreciated Cassian’s rugged winter look—his hair long with rogue, wayward strands and a full, glorious beard adorning his face. After you assured him that he by no means needed to dress up this evening, he’d opted for a dark green flannel shirt that you’d given him for his birthday last year. Paired with black pants that hug his thighs far too well and his brown leather boots that you hardly ever see him without, Cassian just looks really fucking good. 

And well, he always looks good.

It’s something that you can’t help but notice, regardless of how desperately hard you try to tamper down the way you feel about him. They’re feelings that fizz out of control like a shaken bottle of soda at times like these, threatening to come pouring out—gravity be damned—should you lose your precarious grip on the lid.

Distracted by your own thoughts, you nearly jump at the feeling of a hand wrapping snugly around your waist. And though you begin to relax when you realize it’s just Cassian, you immediately tense up again at the warmth that crawls up your spine in reaction to the way his fingertips press into your hip bone through the fabric of your dress. 

“That’s him, right?”

Your breath hitches in your throat when Cassian brings his lips to the shell of your ear to ask you the question, his breath hot against your skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Syril Karn, who’s predictably overdressed as he begins to make his way over to you.

“Yep,” you groan quietly, tone laced with dread.

“Look at me,” Cassian murmurs, letting his fingers skate across the curve of your jaw.

Silent warning bells echo in your head as you turn to him, heart leaping at his close proximity when his nose brushes against yours. It would be far too easy to ki—

Cassian beats you to the punch, his mouth seeking yours out in a slow, tender kiss that sets your insides alight, your nerve endings tingling as his hand slides down the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin in a gentle caress. 

Your hand finds its way to one of the pockets on the front of his shirt, your fingertips pressing into the cool metal button holding down the flap. Momentarily forgetting that this is all a festive ruse, your mind reels at the feeling of Cassian’s tongue darting out to meet the seam of your lips, and you fist your hand in the material, pulling him closer. He cups the back of your head in return, his soft lips sliding against yours for another moment before you’re interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, followed by your name.

The two of you break apart, and you will the erratic beating of your heart to slow as you turn to glance at Syril, though your face heats up as you feel Cassian take one of your hands, threading his fingers into yours.

"Syril," you acknowledge him evenly.

“I’m pleased you could make it, I know last week you said you weren’t certain about your plans for the evening,” Syril observes, straightening his collar, though it’s already ironed stiffly enough to poke someone’s eye out. 

“Oh. Yeah, it ended up working out. This is Cassian, by the way.” You awkwardly gesture to Cassian, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Syril nods in his direction. “Ah, are you a friend?”

Cassian stiffens beside you. “Boyfriend, actually.”

He tries to hide it, but Syril blanches for a split second, though he quickly composes himself, clasping his hands together. “How lovely. Is this...new?”

On the drive over, you’d come up with a vague story about getting together recently, if anyone were to ask. But just as you go to open your mouth to tell Syril exactly that, Cassian interrupts, “Not at all. It’s been a few years, actually.”

Syril’s clearly deflated at this point, shoulders drooping, and after another few minutes of failed small talk, he mumbles an excuse to make himself scarce, ambling away in the opposite direction. 

You turn to Cassian, almost annoyed by how easily it had been to ward off Syril in comparison to every other overbearing interaction you’ve ever had with him—as if your lack of interest alone wasn’t enough of a valid reason without the addition of a fake relationship. Crossing your arms, you’re on the verge of griping about it, but the words die on your lips when you catch the odd look on his face.

“I can’t pretend anymore,” he breathes out.

Your heart sinks. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, we can go—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Cassian takes your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles, and he continues, “I can’t keep lying to myself about the way I feel about you.”

You sway slightly on your feet. Carefully, you ask, “And…how do you feel about me?”

He leans in, his chest brushing against yours as he brings a tentative hand up to the side of your face. “I want to kiss you when nobody’s watching, too. I want this to be real.”

His mouth hovers near yours, a breath away. Waiting.

“It is,” you whisper, a tidal wave of emotions thrumming in your chest as you close the distance between your lips and his.

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» CASSIAN ANDOR MASTERLIST

[yuristarwars]

Bro after Andor S2 they should make a LEGO Andor/Rogue One video game. I would love to play missions such as:

Reckoning (The end of EP 3 where you fight corpos with Luthen in the warehouse)

The Eye (Episode 6 where it starts out as a stealth mission and then you have to kill Imperials, before you escape with the credits in the box ship. Playable characters are Vel, Nemik, Skeem, Gorn, Tamaryn, and Cassian)

Politics (Play as Mon Mothma and Tay Kolma at her dinner party where you try to recruit more and more senators)

Announcement (Episode 7 where you play as Cassian and B2 running around Ferrix trying to pay back his debts)

One Way Out (Episode 10 where you can play as Cassian, Kino Loy, and Melshi, all escaping the prison)

Segra Milo Escape (Episode 10 where you play as Luthen and Two-Tubes destroying the Cantwell-class cruiser)

Nasty Narkinians (Fight the Narkinians as Cassian and Melshi while trying to get to the Quadjumper)

Rix Road Riot (Play as Cassian, Bix, Pegla, Willimon, Brasso, and B2EMO as you try to escape the planet and fight stormtroopers, death troopers, and destroy a tank.)

Assuming Andor S2 would have 7 levels as well, that leaves about 6 levels for Rogue One, which I think is appropriate. (Saw’s Rescue, Escaping Wobani, Attack on Jedha, Erso’s Assasination, Battle of Scariff, Vader’s Control)

There are different “classes” in this game, but they’re more loose like TCS. Bix has mechanic abilities, Luthen and Willimon have explosive abilities, B2 can access droid panels, Imperials like Gorn and Dedra can access Imperial control panels, and politicians like Mon Mothma and Tay Kolma can pay off invincible guards to let them in places. Characters would include all of the Andor main cast and all the Rogue One main cast along with special missions to unlock side characters.

Possible unlockable ships are Cassian’s Y-Wing, The Rebel U-Wing, Narkinian Quadjumper, Luthen’s Fondor Haulcraft, Preox-Morlana Troop Transport, TIE Boarding Craft, TIE Fighter, Aldhani Box Ship, The Andors’ Scavenging Ship, Two-Tubes’ X-Wing, Krennec’s Shuttle, and Niamos Prison Transport.

Explorable planets would be: Ferrix, Scariff, Yavin IV, Jedha, Coruscant, Aldhani, Kenari, and Narkina 5. On Ferrix you can go around the city and hotel, along with the scrapyard. On Ladhani you can either visit the highlands or the Imperial Base. On Jedha you can go to the Temple or Jedha City. On Kenari you can go to the Camp, mining site, or crash site. Yavin IV, you stay at the Temple. On Scariff you can visit the tower or the beaches. And finally on Narkina 5, you can visit the Narkina Mountains or the prison.

Feel free to add whatever you think would make this game better!

[b2emo]

hear me out… brasso x bix 👁️

[flythesail]

Me heading into the Bix x Brasso tag to look at the five (5) posts there

[jyndor]

Okay I need Bix and Brasso to survive and stick together because I think they are adorable 🤭

agreeeeeeed im like girlie please have better taste in men (not that cass is not good taste LOL just that he's not good taste for HER)

[andorerso]

You know... Bix x Melshi is something I never considered before. 👀 Hahaha, and as a multi shipper I'll add it to my list of rare pairs, next to Bix x Brasso.

P.S.: Can you recommend me any other SW rare pairs to consider? 👀

hmm my ultimate one is Mon/Draven, I just love the potential of that dynamic. I've also seen the OT3 version of them with Merrick.

Then there's Saw/Luthen or Vel/Kleya, though I'm sure you've seen those before. I also saw Mon/Kleya, oh and Mon/Lyra once in a ship bingo and tbh, obsessed with that idea. Mon is just very shippable I think.

I'm very fond of Bodhi/Luke too, and some other RO/OT pairings could be Cass/Leia and Jyn/Leia. I know Han/Jyn and Luke/Jyn also exists, though I'm personally not a fan of either, but hey, you do you! Maybe Cassian/Han? I've also seen Cassian/Draven before.

There's also maybe Lyra/Saw (you could throw in Galen for an OT3). Jyn/Cinta... Kleya/Leia? Their names kinda make it weird but I kinda dig it.

And as a bonus, two absolute wild cards that I just came up with on the spot: Lyra/Draven and Brasso/Jyn.

[imogenkol]

Pairing: Imogen Kol (oc) x Bix Caleen Word Count: 6,454 Rating: Mature Warnings: Depictions of violence, trauma Tags: gay rescue, traumatic backstory, angst, hurt/comfort, *checks* yeah the repressed feelings are still here Read it on Ao3! / Previous Chapter

Summary: Imogen comes to Bix's rescue after her arrest and torture

“Bix Caleen!” The booming voice of an Imperial officer shouted as soon as his line of sight made contact. 

Panic flooded throughout Bix’s system. She glanced desperately at Brasso who managed to barely keep a neutral expression. 

“Get to Zorby’s,” he said under his breath. “Run.” 

“Kol,” Bix signaled in a tense whisper. 

Brasso gave a single, subtle nod. “Go.” 

With the Stormtroopers closing in, Bix quickly turned on her heel and sprinted through the crowd. Escape was futile, she knew. Bix only had one hope now — a ruthless former Inquisitor who had as many reasons to run from the Empire as anyone. Imogen wouldn’t be able to arrive in time to stop what was going to happen, but she made Bix a promise, and that’s what the mechanic held onto.

–

“Tell me what you plan to do,” Brasso’s gruff voice said through the comms. “I can help.” 

“Stay out of my way,” Imogen answered impatiently. 

“You can’t expect to do this cleanly by yourself,” he argued.

Doing things cleanly was never an option, which was why she needed Brasso to steer clear of the situation. One way or another, Imogen would get the job done. “Then you know nothing about what I’m capable of.” 

“If you get her killed –”

“If you continue to question me, Brasso, the Empire will be the least of your worries.” As irritated as the scrapper made her, Imogen managed to keep her tone leveled. “Do your part in the funeral and keep the Imperials distracted. That is what you must focus on. I won’t allow anyone else to hurt her once I get there, that’s all you need to know.”

Before Brasso could say another word of protest, Imogen switched her comms off. In the quiet solitude of her ship, she slumped forward with her head in her hands. Imogen spent so many years burying any emotion attributed to weakness that she nearly forgot how constricting fear could be. An invisible hand that may as well have been her own grasped her by the throat and made it difficult to swallow. In the discomfort, her heart sped up in sporadic bursts, pounding hard inside her ribcage like it needed to break out. 

This is the price of compassion.

Imogen attempted to convince herself to cut her losses. She’s abandoned more for far less. Yet the thoughts were weak and fleeting. Nothing – not even the Empire – could stop her from setting a course for Ferrix immediately. Fear may have gained ground in her mind, but she will not give up her mechanic. Not to them.

A few months ago, Imogen would have surprised herself with how little time she wasted. There was no shortage of creative ways to deal harm in the Empire. Her own hands once enacted cruelty with merciless purpose in their name. In a different life not too far from this one, Imogen could have easily been the one to inflict untold horrors upon Bix. The fabricated scenario fueled a familiar pit of rage within Imogen. A rage she willed to eclipse her weakness. A rage to be weaponized against any who stood in her way. 

Under the cover of an overcast night sky, Imogen inconspicuously landed The Crimson Huntress on Ferrix. Maarva Andor’s funeral would begin not long after the sun rose. That was her window. Cassian slighted the Empire, coincidentally giving Imogen the opportunity to exploit their arrogance. With all eyes on the service, she would get Bix out safely.

Imogen sensed an unspoken echo in the silence that settled in Ferrix. Something more malevolent than squads of Stormtroopers had reared its head since she last visited the planet. She felt it seep through the very soil beneath her boots as it coiled inside her. Dread has never been a stranger in her heart, but this feeling left her more disturbed than previous experiences. Imogen balled her hands into tight fists and held her head higher in preparation. 

In the empty square where the hotel stood, Imogen noticed a silhouetted figure suspended by a rope. She stopped dead in her tracks as her blood went cold. Everything within her willed it not to be Bix. Anyone but Bix, her desperate heart prayed. Imogen will not accept being too late. 

As she cautiously forced herself to approach the figure, she soon made out the details of a vaguely familiar man. Relief relaxed some of Imogen’s tenser muscles, but her steps still faltered before the body of Salman Paak. She had never regarded the man with anything other than indifference. Honestly, Imogen couldn’t have cared less about him, yet she stared up at his lifeless corpse swaying gently in the breeze and scowled thoughtfully. 

No. Salman Paak would not haunt Imogen… but he would haunt Bix.

The hotel sat in the vicinity of where Paak had been hanged. Bix might see his body in their escape and the thought didn’t sit well. Against her every instinct and judgment, Imogen took a moment to cut the poor man down. She moved his body out of the street for someone else to recover him. Perhaps that eventual someone would spare Paak’s son from the grisly sight as well. Imogen felt surprised she even thought of the boy at all. It wouldn’t matter if he saw his father like this or not. The man was still dead.

Now that she had wasted precious time on a foolish endeavor, Imogen steeled herself and headed for the hotel. Nighttime came with more than just the advantage of darkness. A skeleton crew of no more than half a dozen Stormtroopers guarded the entrance and patrolled the perimeter. Imogen easily slipped past them and found the tunnel Brasso mentioned. 

After she settled into a semi-dry corner with a view of the street through an old grate, Imogen had nothing else to do but play a tedious waiting game. 

To pass the time, she decided to reach within herself and meditate. The old Jedi practice had been one of the few things instilled in Imogen from childhood that she couldn’t shake. Whenever doubt poisoned her resolve, she found a rare solace in meditation. 

Breathe, Imogen, the ghost of her old master’s voice echoed in Imogen’s mind. Let your thoughts fade away. Strip yourself of purpose. There is only you and the Force. Each slow inhale and exhale silenced even the barest whispers at the back of her consciousness. Trust that the Force will guide you. 

Suddenly, a memory pooled like blood behind her closed eyelids as clear as the very day she lived it.

The once peaceful temple fell into the corruption of war. Screams of agony and calls for aid bounced off the walls. Blasterfire hung so thick in the air that it stung Imogen’s eyes and burned her lungs. She could barely discern the shadows of her brethren losing the desperate fight for their lives all around her. Destruction sunk its relentless fangs into seasoned masters and naive padawans alike. Mercy seemed a lost concept. 

This was no war, Imogen realized. This was a slaughter. 

“Imogen, this way,” Rejna commanded as she led them through the chaos. 

Imogen sensed her master’s despair at the carnage that unfolded. She knew it made Rejna unfocused. Vulnerable. Weak. Contagious as any disease, those demons made a fervid attempt to consume the young Jedi as well. To protect herself, Imogen closed her mind to her master’s emotions and rushed after her. 

She deflected incoming blaster bolts with her green-bladed lightsaber as they made their escape, but the clone troopers were endless. Both master and apprentice knew it was only a matter of time before they, too, would succumb to the treachery of their former allies. 

Fury pushed against the desperation driving Imogen forward. How could she allow herself to be fooled? How could Rejna not see this outcome? How did it slip by every wise master on the council?

Feeling the rage in her apprentice, Rejna threw a stern glance. “Control yourself, Imogen.”

Of all the times to be scolded like a misbehaving pet, this had to be the worst. Imogen never understood the Order’s aversion to anger in the past and even less now. After all, anger was simply a tool like any other – one that could very well save her life in the face of this merciless destruction.Yet the ever astute master would rather devote precious time and energy to chastise her ward. 

Anger gave way to something more poisonous within Imogen. Disdain.

Searing pain exploded throughout her shoulder and down her arm. Imogen cried out in agony as the scent of her own scorched flesh made her stomach spin. A second blaster bolt flashed across the hall and grazed the back of her hand as she attempted to deflect it with her saber. The shot knocked the weapon out of her hand and sent it clattering across the floor. 

As Imogen struggled to stay on her feet through the blinding pain, Rejna sent the clone trooper’s next volley back at him with her lightsaber. Red bolts clashed with her blue blade and tore into the soldier’s armor. Imogen seized the opportunity to retrieve her own lightsaber.

The young padawan scrambled forward and fell to her knees, her uninjured hand grasping for the hilt half hidden in a brown robe. Imogen noticed her saber had rolled against the body of another padawan. They appeared around the same age as her. She thought maybe they had been present during some of her lessons. She wondered where their master was – if they were dead like their apprentice. She wondered if she and Rejna would be next. 

There is no death, there is the Force.

Imogen froze as she stared into the blank faces of the bodies around her. A part of her she tucked away long ago envied them, for they had been freed from the confinement of the Jedi Order. They could no longer be stripped of passion or identity. They wouldn’t have to endure shame for feeling different. Was their end not the will of the Force? Did true balance not require a clean slate to start over? 

Then, like the parting storm clouds, Imogen saw a way out. 

The firm hand of her master clasped onto her upper arm and yanked her to her feet. “Do not lose focus! We must –”

In the blink of an eye, Imogen ignited her lightsaber and drove it into Rejna’s chest. A look of utter disbelief shattered the trance Imogen had been in and she realized exactly what she had just done. She pulled her blade back and watched in shock as her master sank to the floor. 

“I-I didn’t mean…” the words trailed off. She did mean it. As the life flickered out of Rejna’s eyes, Imogen realized she’s meant it for a very, very long time. 

Clarity lifted a weight off her shoulders and Imogen accepted the profound relief that settled deep within her chest. That is until a thick shadow crested over her head and silenced the madness of it all. Imogen watched it consume the ruined temple, a chill coiling around her bones as it refused to spare her. Even the bright green light from her lightsaber got snuffed out, but it quickly returned as a blade redder than the blood pooled around her feet. 

The darkness suddenly abated. Imogen’s gaze landed back on the corpse in front of her. The fatal wound inflicted by Imogen’s hand still tore a burnt hole through the body’s chest, but she did not recognize the face as her master’s anymore. Instead, the empty expression of Bix Caleen stared up at nothing, yet saw everything. 

Imogen turned away from the vision as sickness crept up her throat. She refused to give it power over her. The hilt of her lightsaber grew heavy – nearly too heavy to hold. Her fist shook with the effort, but she held on. 

She did not care if this was the will of the Force. Imogen had a will of her own and it wouldn’t be the first time she made others bend to it.  

Every steadied beat of her heart sharpened the drive towards her current goal. The former Jedi became utterly determined in the dark, damp tunnel underneath the hotel. 

She was ready.

The distant sound of instruments caused her eyes to finally open. Sunlight streamed in through the grate and warmed her cold face. Imogen noted a battalion of Imperial Stormtroopers stood at attention for the funeral proceedings. Whether Cassian Andor intended to show or not, Imogen couldn’t say, but at the very least the Empire did not expect her presence. She intended to be gone with Bix before Maarva’s brick even touched the memorial wall. 

While the secret entrance gave Imogen easy access into the building, Imperials still occupied the hotel. An officer sat stationed at the front desk. Two Stormtroopers flanked him, but there were likely more than that on the upper levels. The officer straightened at Imogen’s unexpected arrival and the troopers immediately aimed their blasters at her. 

“The funeral service is being held on the main street and the hotel is off limits at the present time. I must ask you to leave,” the officer stated. 

Imogen approached purposefully, keeping her gaze locked on the officer. 

His voice adopted more authority. “This is your final warning.”

The hunter closed in on her prey. There was a shrill crackle. A bright flash of red. Two brief rushes of air. Both of the Stormtroopers at the officer’s side crumpled to the floor, beheaded. Before the officer could react, Imogen held the humming crimson blade a mere inch from his throat. His head flinched away from the lightsaber, but he otherwise froze in terror. 

“Where is Bix Caleen?” she asked calmly, almost conversationally. Her cold, focused expression was anything but.

Whatever confidence he had disappeared in the red light reflected in his irises. “I don’t know who that is.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Imogen saw the man try to subtly reach for his comlink. “I wouldn’t bother, you’d be dead before you utter a word.” She leaned in, letting the heat of her blade singe the surface of his skin. It seemed to hum a little louder with bloodlust. The officer grimaced and held his breath. “I will ask once more. Where is Bix Caleen?”

The Imperial officer waited until his lungs gasped for breath. “They’re holding her in room eighteen. On the third level.”

No sooner than the last word to leave his lips did Imogen swipe her blade clean through the officer’s neck. “Thank you for your cooperation.” 

Old habits die hard, it seems, she thought when a rush of power ignited her veins and comforted her like a long lost friend. 

Imogen climbed the stairs two at a time on light feet, her crimson saber practically singing for more carnage. If she found Bix as anything less than intact, Imogen would gladly feed any number of Imperials to her blade. This type of vengeful fire hadn’t burned this bright since her years as an Inquisitor. 

Consume me, she used to pray when the inferno roared from the void within her. Burn me up until there’s nothing left. Let them choke on my ashes. Let their clothes catch from the embers.

Now, as her focus remained solely on the retrieval of her mechanic, Imogen silently voiced a new prayer. Ignite me with strength. Fill my bones with flames. Make me unstoppable. 

Two Stormtroopers were posted in front of room eighteen. The lightsaber gave away her arrival, but it mattered naught. Imogen easily deflected the first blaster bolt that screamed towards her and dodged the second. A silent fury rippled through the Force and slammed into one of the troopers, rendering their body immobile as it pinned them to the wall. Not bothering to wait until she was within range, Imogen flung her saber at the other. Crimson light danced across the walls of the hallway as it flew. The blade sank into the Stormtrooper’s chest, his pained shout turning into a death rattle.

While still maintaining her hold on the first trooper, Imogen called her lightsaber back into her hand. She didn’t need to see their face to feel the sinking acceptance of death behind the white helmet. Neither did she need to hear whatever last words this person might have. Imogen’s outstretched hand closed into a clawed fist. The Stormtrooper’s armor caved in on itself and crushed the individual within. Their death came slower than their companion’s, but their scream was swiftly cut off. 

The hallway went still – the only sound came from the hum of her lightsaber. Imogen glanced around and listened for more troopers. It seemed that, for the moment, the coast was clear. In all likelihood, they set up a base on a higher level with their eyes and ears trained on the gathering below. Imogen could hear chanting out on the street.  

Without wasting any more time, Imogen opened the door and rushed inside. Sunlight streamed in through the grated window, but the graying day left a few darkened corners. Imogen lifted her lightsaber to illuminate the room and spotted a familiar presence curled away from the noise outside.

“Bix,” Imogen called. 

A flinch disturbed the stillness of the huddled form and she quickly approached. With her lightsaber held a safe distance away, Imogen carefully assessed the utterly broken image of Bix Caleen before her. 

There were no obvious signs of physical damage that Imogen could discern, but something terrible had been done to her beloved mechanic. She saw it in the shattered, empty look in Bix’s eyes – the ghastly pallor of her once tanned skin. She looked like a ghost, unpresent in her own body. No amount of denial could mask the pain of seeing her like this. Imogen softly called Bix’s name once more, but she weakly turned away. 

“Look at me,” Imogen requested as her heart pounded harder. She lightly placed the tip of her finger under Bix’s chin and urged her head up. 

As soon as their eyes met, some life flickered back into the mechanic. She blinked a few times and finally saw the other woman kneeled in front of her. “Imogen?” Bix whispered hoarsely. 

Imogen nodded. “It’s me.”

“You came?”

The question had been asked with such earnest disbelief that Imogen felt her chest seize for a moment. “I did,” She confirmed and brushed wild strands of Bix’s hair out of her face. A whisper so swift and quiet escaped Imogen’s lips on its own. “Oh, what have they done to you?”

“I thought I saw Maarva,” she muttered nonsensically. “Earlier.”

“She’s gone. She… left.” Imogen stumbled over the reply. They needed to leave. “Do you think you can walk?”

“I… I think I can,” Bix stammered as she shook herself out of whatever mental anguish clouded her mind. 

“Then get to your feet,” Imogen commanded in an attempt to rally the mechanic. She switched her lightsaber off and grabbed both of Bix’s clammy hands. “And do not leave my side.”

She nodded. “Okay.” 

With Imogen’s help, Bix slowly stood. She wobbled on her feet as if her legs couldn’t support her own weight. Imogen quickly wrapped her arms around the mechanic’s waist to steady her. The moment of contact only seemed to drain more strength out of Bix. Her body went almost completely limp as she buried her face in the crook of Imogen’s neck and released a devastating sob.

“I’ve got you,” Imogen murmured as she held Bix. A massive explosion suddenly rocked the entire foundation of the hotel. Imogen managed to keep the both of them upright, but debris rained down on their heads. Her arms tightened protectively around Bix and she spoke hastily against her ear “Listen to me, I will get you out of here and take you far away. All I need is for you to put one foot in front of the other.”

A few strained gasps pushed out of Bix’s lungs like it was painful just to breathe, but each exhale came out slightly more steady than the last. The increased sounds of chaos came from outside as a battle broke out. Imogen certainly asked for a distraction. 

“Okay,” Bix said. Imogen felt a bit of stability return to the woman in her arms as she cautiously found her footing. “Okay.”

The way out of the hotel was quick and clear. Whatever remaining troops must have left to aid their company. Bix stayed near as Imogen instructed. She kept one cautious hand on Imogen’s arm and the added balance fortified her weakened body with every step closer to freedom. In the few times Imogen glanced over to check on her mechanic, she saw Bix’s eyes wander to the corpses that littered the halls. Bix shivered and hugged herself closer as she stayed glued to Imogen’s side. 

“You killed them.”

“Of course I did,” Imogen said. 

“Good,” Bix replied bitterly. 

While she didn’t think Bix would ever mourn the deaths of Imperials, Imogen felt surprised by the ferocity in her tone. Perhaps she underestimated the woman’s capacity for vengeance. It reinvigorated Imogen’s purpose and she briefly fantasized about destroying more troopers if that’s what her mechanic needed – if that’s what would fix the damage inflicted upon her. She realized she would tear down legions if Bix asked her to. In fact, Imogen hoped that more dared to stand in their way. 

They made it safely to the underground tunnel, but it was no longer unoccupied. Imogen ignited her lightsaber at the same moment Cassian Andor aimed his blaster at her chest. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her blade at level with his neck.

“I came for Bix,” he stated. 

At the sound of her name, Bix perked up and quietly gasped. “Cass.”

Imogen took a subtle step to the side, further shielding her mechanic from him. “Clearly she doesn’t need you. I’d advise you to leave while you still can.” 

Cassian firmly shook his head, eyes darting to Bix desperately. “No, I’ll take it from here.”

“You will not,” Imogen warned. “She is safer with me than she is with you.”

“I don’t trust you,” Cassian growled low, body twitching as if he wanted to lunge forward and take Bix from her himself.

“I do,” Bix interjected as Imogen sneered dangerously at Cassian. She shouldered passed the bounty hunter and planted herself in between the two of them. “I trust her.”

Imogen was taken aback by the confidence with which Bix asserted her statement. She couldn’t remember the last time someone said they trusted her – if there ever was one. 

“Bix, I…” Cassian shifted awkwardly on his feet before he holstered his blaster. The absence of immediate threat caused Imogen to reluctantly lower her lightsaber, though its crimson glow still hummed in the tunnel. Cassian placed his hands on Bix’s arms protectively as she swayed on her feet. Pain twisted his features as he took her in. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Maarva, she…” 

“I know, Cass.” Her voice cracked.

The two of them tightly embraced. Imogen observed the deep, unspoken understanding that Bix and Cassian shared. The way his arms curled around her warmly. How her hands grasped at his jacket with remorse. While the romantic flame may have flickered out, a spark of love remained plainly enough for even someone like Imogen to see. Their intimacy was unique to them and them alone. Imogen never really envied Cassian for his history with Bix until this very moment. 

They disentangled and Cassian quickly removed his jacket. “Head for Gangi Moon,” he instructed as he placed it over Bix’s shoulders. “I’ll meet you there.”

Bix hesitated for a long moment before she finally nodded. “I know you’ll find us. Now, go. Help who you can.”

He nodded back with the barest grin across his lips. “See you soon.”

With that, Cassian turned on his heel and hurried out of the tunnel. As soon as he disappeared from sight, Imogen glanced at Bix, who lightly scoffed at her. “What?” 

Bix gave a halfhearted shrug. “Just the way you glare at him.”

Imogen rolled her eyes dismissively. “I glare at him like I glare at everyone.”

“Like they stole something from you?” Bix asked. 

The fact that Bix had enough grasp on reality to point such a thing out had to be a good sign. Imogen couldn’t decide on whether she should smirk or bite back with a retort. That is until another explosion created a massive crack in the ferrocrete wall next to them. She caught Bix before the mechanic lost her footing. “It’s time to go.” 

Imogen’s mistake was assuming every trooper would congregate on the main street. As soon as they exited the tunnel into a back alleyway, a flash of blue electricity came streaking towards her head. Imogen had just enough time to block the blow of an electrostaff with her lightsaber and came face to face with a jet black helmet. 

With a controlled effort, she pushed the trooper back. That’s when she noticed the others. 

A unit of elite Death Troopers clad in all black armor circled the two of them. In each of their hands, long metal staffs that crackled with electricity on either end. These were some of the few weapons that could contend with a lightsaber. Imogen knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Empire had expected her.

The former Inquisitor raised her saber. “Get to The Huntress,” she told Bix. “I’ll catch up.” 

“Fuck that,” Bix said. Imogen felt her hand grasp at her waist and pull the blaster free of its holster. “I’m done running.”

Imogen sensed a fury ignite within Bix the same way it had in herself. A quick inspection told her that Bix still struggled to stay on her own feet, but Imogen had enough experience with rage to know it could carry anyone through the worst conditions. She nodded. “Find cover and I’ll give you openings.”

Imogen lunged into action. 

She struck fast and precise, barely allowing her opponents any chances to counter. A part of Imogen felt offended that the Empire only deployed Death Troopers to finish her off. She had been prepared for years to face one of her former peers at the very least. Still, while the troopers weren’t exactly trained swordsmen, they were far from meager adversaries. They deflected most of Imogen’s attacks and shifted formation to flank her. 

Bix’s supporting blaster fire singed the air and Imogen was grateful for it. The two of them were outnumbered, but they made themselves quite a nuisance for even experienced troopers like these. The blood red saber streaked in all directions, blocking electrostaff strikes and cutting down foes when it could. 

Through her connection to the Force, Imogen’s counter attacks had more impact. She slammed two of the troopers into the far wall with a sweep of her arm. Even Imperial Death Trooper armor shattered against Ferrix brick. It took effort to continuously use the Force, but successfully breaking their line encouraged her brutal onslaught. 

Imogen parried a heavy blow and the trooper lost balance. As he tried to regain his footing, she spied an opening in the space between armor plates. With a rapid strike, she drove her blade into his chest and effectively pierced the trooper through his heart. Imogen noted with pride that she gained ground. But the blaster fire from her companion had gone quiet.  

“I need her alive!” a voice shouted.

Imogen spun around to see an Imperial officer commanding a small squadron of Stormtroopers. A couple of them managed to wrestle Bix to the ground and rip the weapon out of her hands. As they struggled to subdue and drag her away, Bix let out a haunting cry that pierced through the cacophony of war with the sound of broken desperation.

The Empire still needed Bix, Imogen realized. They intended to take her away again. And they would do exactly what they had been doing and worse. Over and over until nothing of her beloved mechanic remained. 

A white-hot rush of fury reached a rapid boiling point within Imogen. As if her form were the center of a detonation, an unseen force blasted back every enemy surrounding her. She reached a hand towards Bix and the air filled with the pungent scent of ozone. Bolts of lightning shot out of her fingertips, illuminating the entire alley in blinding light, and collided with every trooper in Bix’s vicinity. The volley left her completely untouched, but the Imperials affected collapsed in smoking heaps. 

Imogen locked eyes with Bix and everything froze. The mechanic looked halfway between terrified and awestruck. The bounty hunter was at a bit of a loss herself. It had been years since she conjured force lightning. She nearly forgot she could. 

Bix’s eyes flicked over Imogen’s shoulder and suddenly grew even wider. Without a word of warning, Bix scrambled for the blaster just out of arm's length. Neither were quick enough to react. The end of an electrostaff impacted with Imogen’s neck. Her entire body seized as the world disappeared for an agonizing moment. Imogen came to on the ground in time to see the Death Trooper go for another swing. She lifted a hand to push him back with her mind when three blaster bolts exploded his black armored chest. The trooper grunted and Imogen rolled out of the way as his body fell. 

Imogen jumped to her feet and glanced back at Bix to see smoke steamed from the barrel of her blaster. Despite the pain in her neck, Imogen actually smiled. She always knew the mechanic had more fight within her than she let on. With a silent call, the saber returned to Imogen’s hand, and she faced the battle once again. 

The alley had almost been completely cleared of enemies. Only two Death Troopers remained. Frantic citizens started to flee in every direction from the main street. Most took one look at the red lightsaber and swiftly retreated to safer escape routes, but others ran in between the quarrel as if they didn’t see them at all. The inconvenience caused a tense pause, letting everyone catch their breath. 

Imogen glared right into the black lenses of the trooper’s helmet before her. “If Vader wanted my head, he should have come to take it himself. Now I will take both of yours instead.”

They had no response for her. Imogen often wondered if Death Troopers were really droids under that armor or if opinions had been trained out of them years ago. She supposed it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, they were cannon fodder all the same.

As soon as the crowd thinned, Bix drew their attention with her blaster. In a flurry of motion, Imogen feinted left and launched herself towards the opposite wall. It only offered a very brief opportunity, but that was all Imogen needed to flank them. She gracefully kicked off the stone and her crimson blade’s hum sang in her ears as she relieved the two Death Troopers of their heads with one stroke.

Sharp pain still crackled throughout her nerves, but Imogen ignored it. She hid away her lightsaber and grabbed Bix’s hand before more troopers arrived.

Together, they weaved through the panicked streets, blending in with the crowd and avoiding Imperial troopers. Imogen wouldn’t have minded raining down a little more carnage, but her priority remained with the mechanic. Even though Bix managed to keep up with Imogen’s swift lead, Imogen felt the rush of adrenaline begin to seep out of her. And she made a promise to take her far away from this mess.

The Crimson Huntress remained right where Imogen left it. She ushered Bix to the ship’s cot and sat her down. “Hang tight until I get us out of this system.” 

“Should we wait for –”

“No. They will have to handle themselves.”

“Imogen –”

The bounty hunter cut her off again. “Cassian is more than capable. I only came for you.”

The ever outspoken Bix scowled, clearly wanting to argue further. If she had more energy, she may very well have, but for now she relented. “Fine. Let’s go.”

With that, Imogen went to the cockpit. She did not intend to stick around for any TIE fighters. Keeping The Huntress low, they flew over the landscapes of Ferrix and eventually ascended through the atmosphere. As soon as she had a clear path, Imogen set a course for Gangi Moon and jumped the ship into hyperspace.

For the first time since Brasso contacted her, Imogen released a long sigh of relief. She finished the job while simultaneously antagonizing the Empire even more. Not a bad day’s work. Of course, she would have to lay low for a bit, lest they pester her with a vengeance of their own. Small sacrifices. 

The bounty hunter stifled a groan as the pain in her neck flared. Her hand instinctively put pressure on the wound, which only made it hurt worse. She grimaced as she stood and made her way to the small vanity adjacent from the cot. Bix had curled up on her side and stared off at nothing in particular. Her weary eyes looked heavy. Imogen figured sleep would take her soon and decided against bothering her for now.

Imogen flipped the small mirror open and turned her head to examine the marks on her neck from the electrostaff. The black epicenter looked like a small explosion had been detonated on her skin. Angry red track marks spiderwebbed outward and reached as far as her jaw and lower cheek. Hopefully they’d fade with time, but Imogen would have to live with the scars for now. With a displeased grumble, she began to treat the wound.

“I told them about you,” Bix admitted.

“I figured as much,” Imogen replied nonchalantly without glancing over. “They wouldn’t have stationed Death Troopers with electrostaffs if they didn’t know I would come.”

“I let so many people down. And for what?” The tremble in Bix’s hoarse voice grew more hopeless with every sentence. 

Imogen hated hearing her like this, but she forced her focus to remain on the mirror. “One way or another, the Empire always gets what it wants. That’s no fault of yours.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“No, I shouldn’t have,” the bounty hunter agreed. Then she turned to look at the mechanic. “But I knew what I might be getting myself into. And I would do it again.” 

Bix stared at her for a beat and slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She desperately searched for something in the other woman, but Imogen never yielded intent in her expressions. “Why?”

“You know,” Imogen stated. 

“Say it,” Bix begged.

How could Imogen claim words she didn’t understand? How could she give any meaningful admission justice? Imogen couldn’t even hold her gaze. “I prefer you alive.” 

Disappointment became evident in the way Bix’s exhausted shoulders slumped. Then she scoffed and shook her head. “Right. So that I can sell you parts… fix up your ship...” There was a charged pause before she continued bitterly. “Sleep with you.” 

Imogen fixed the mechanic with a hard glare, gray eyes colder than an unforgiving storm. A tense silence seemed to sap all the oxygen out of the ship’s cabin. Imogen rarely had reservations about using other people, but she did not go through such great lengths simply to take advantage of Bix in such a way. Once she sensed Bix’s resolve falter, she firmly said “You don’t have to do any of those things.”

More tears welled in Bix’s dark, bloodshot eyes as her face fell. Just like that, the fight went out of her again. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. I just… I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel lost.”

Her mechanic’s words managed to soften Imogen the smallest amount. At last, an emotion she could express sympathy for. “You’re not alone in that.” 

Bix carefully studied Imogen with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “You’ve never looked lost.”

“I’ve never been anything else.” 

It didn’t occur to Imogen until the words left her mouth, but she realized she had never admitted that to anyone. Yet the words slipped as easily as breath from her lips. Strangely, she didn’t feel very weak for how vulnerable she made herself.

The mechanic from Ferrix regarded the bounty hunter differently as if – for the first time – she saw something in Imogen that truly connected the two of them.

A chill of some sort gradually creeped its way up Imogen’s spine and she quickly occupied her hands with closing the vanity. “You should rest, Bix. We’ll arrive soon.”

“I’m not sure if I can sleep,” Bix replied. 

Imogen gathered a canister of water and some travel rations. “Then eat,” she said as she walked over and placed the items on the cot.

Bix stared mournfully at the sustenance beside her. “I don’t think I can do that either.”

Imogen pursed her lips. It’s not that she didn’t understand why, she just wanted to be rid of this useless worry eating away at her mind. She thought the foreign feeling would be banished once they left the planet. With a sigh, Imogen knelt before Bix and tore open the ration pack. “Start small,” she urged as she broke off a corner and offered it to her. “You’ll need your strength, Bix.”

The mechanic reached out, but not to accept the food. The tips of her fingers gently brushed the fresh scars on Imogen’s cheek. The tenderness of an unexpected caress caused the other woman to freeze. Bix followed the lines down Imogen’s neck almost methodically, causing an entirely different kind of chill to shake through the bounty hunter. 

“I dreamt that Cassian came for me,” she said. Imogen barely heard her. “But I hoped it would be you.”

There were many sentiments Imogen wished she could give voice to, but even the desire to lean into Bix’s touch seemed locked behind some unseen wall within her. It caused Imogen pain to push against it. There was an ache in her chest that had grown – an ache that she found herself craving, and it frightened her. So she gently pulled the mechanic’s hand away and placed the small portion from the ration pack onto her palm. 

“Eat,” Imogen requested softly as she straightened and took a step back. “Please.”

She returned to the cockpit, unable to bear witness to Bix’s expression after that. Neither could she bear the thought of leaving her behind for a second time once they arrived at their destination.

[andorerso]

Brasso x Bix

I don't get it personally, but I don't have an issue with it. they both deserve to be happy, I just personally don't see it with each other.

ship bingo