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sinisterexaggerator · 27 days

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Tech and Hondo Ohnaka (Part 3)

Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)

Warning: Pain mention, fishing (death of animal for food), Plan 99 mention. Small bit of angst. Use of drugs / weed equivalent in the Star Wars universe.

Fic Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.

Word count: 5.1k

Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired my Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone,." :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.

Chapter 1, 2 | Read on Ao3

Many a swipe of Hondo’s vibrocutlass cleared the path laid out before them, the brigand chopping down branches as if they had personally offended him. Eriadu’s jungle had thickened the deeper and deeper they strayed into the forest, the pirate at once assuring his partner in crime that the sound of flowing water somewhere beyond them was indeed a good sign, as it meant the lommite mine was not too far off.

Tech was relieved to see it, albeit blurrily -- clean water, serpentine, a bubbling stream winding up into the mountains with a waterfall at its head.

Perhaps it was the sound, reminiscent of rain or the calming waves of the ocean back on Pabu, that finally gave Tech pause both physically and mentally, the weary clone swaying on his aching legs as he came to a stop beside the water’s edge.

“We are so very close, my friend. Not tuu much farther, and—” Hondo picked up a motion just behind him, turning in time to see the Republic clone fall onto both knees like a ton of duracrete bricks against the soft earth below their feet. Gray eyes widened beneath four-sided frames, though the Weequay was hesitant to make any move to aid him. “—Hm?”

“I…” Tech trailed off, lethargically sliding off his pack as he sat down fully on his haunches. One arm came to lie against the bulk of his belongings as he leaned against it for support, chest expanding and contracting with each labored breath he took. “I must rest,” he conceded, mostly to himself.

Hondo sheathed his blade, birds scattering at the sudden unfamiliar noise that reverberated through the trees, high-density metal taking its place at his side. He gave Tech a cursory once over, though Hondo was surprised he had made it this far in his condition, expecting the clone to collapse long before now; he had to admit he was impressed.

“Here? Out en de open?” Hondo asked with an exaggerated, questioning lilt to his voice. He made a show of pointedly looking to the left and right as if checking for traffic, then sighed dramatically, lowering himself onto one leg so as to face the wounded man.

“Ef only we had a stim-shot, ah?” Hondo suggested, both the Weequay’s striated hands reaching out to grasp either side of Tech’s definitely-not-standard-issue helmet. Instinctively, he jerked back, Hondo’s fingers left stretched before him. He did not retreat, tilting his head inquisitively to the side. “Trust me, yes?”

Tech stared at him blankly through the cracked head-up display; it was his only means of viewing his surroundings. Against his better judgement, he did not move again; he was much too exhausted to protest any further.

Hondo set Tech’s unusual headgear off to the side, carefully, and almost with a kind of reverence. A helmet was indeed a thing of great import, and Hondo would treat it as such; he had not touched another’s besides his since Jango. Those in his employ did not bother to use such things, nor did he often come into contact with soldiers, conscripted or otherwise, that he wished to have for company for any length of time.

This, however, was a special circumstance, and one with a high payout!

“Hm…” the Weequay uttered, a low sound registering at the back of his throat. Tech found it somewhat difficult to lift his head, so the Weequay did it for him, two fingers guiding him upward as stormy irises pierced through transparisteel with severe intensity.

Hondo concernedly studied this…variant of his old friend's face, finding it hard to believe he shared the same DNA as the long-dead bounty hunter. He often thought of Boba, wondering if he would ever see him again, or if the younger Fett had no time for the old Weequay now that he was out to follow in his daddy’s footsteps.

Hondo tutted. Or was it more of a tsk? Tech did all he could do; he sat there and breathed, dark brown eyes never once faltering as the pirate observed, though he was unsure exactly what he was looking for. He supposed he was still a bit worried he would be left here on his own with the wild animals of the wood, not to mention the TK Troopers that were bound to not give up; should the last squad not return to base, Tech was positive another would be ordered to follow suit.

“Yes… “ Hondo drawled, releasing Tech from his grasp so suddenly that he had to steady himself, head lulling downward as his neck refused to wholly cooperate; his body felt entirely too heavy.

“We shall rest,” Hondo agreed.

---

“That is not wise,” Tech informed the man who was presently hunched over, Hondo’s crimson coat fanning out like the splendid feathers of some pompous bird - in either direction - behind him. The scoundrel squatted easily alongside a pile of varied twigs and branches that he himself had gathered, turning to speak from over his narrow shoulder.

“Juuust because your brain es bigger dan de rest of us does not mean I du not know what I am doing,” Hondo snapped testily, flicking the flint of his igniter stick in an unsuccessful attempt to light his recently collected bundle of kindling. The clone was ungrateful, if anything; Hondo had gone to quite a lot of trouble!

“Starting a fire in the middle of the woods by which the enemy will find us is undoubtedly a poor choice; it does not take a large brain to see the flaw in your plan, though brain size has a surprisingly small impact on intelligence and behavior; the relationship is tenuous at best.”

“Well, I can tell you are feeling better,” Hondo offered in complaint, not at all happy at being so discourteously reprimanded for something he had done a thousand times, on a thousand different planets! He had allowed the clone to close his eyes for over an hour, watching apprehensively Eriadu’s sun getting lower in the sky.

“I, for one, am hungry, and IIIIIII suppose you may be as well. Ef we are tu stop here en repose, den I shall utilize my time wisely and procure for us some delicious fish, ah? No need tu thank me, dhough et would be appreciated,” Hondo finished flatly, at once a bouquet of Mandalorian orange flames sparking to life like the blossoming of some alien, incandescent flower unfolding before his very eyes.

“I have a spare ration bar in my pack,” Tech answered dryly, though he would not trouble himself to check quite yet, finding that he was irritated by the Weequay’s blatant disregard of his urgent warning.

“En fact, you are less likely tu see de fire in de daylight. Ef I wait any longer, poor Hondo will starve while you eat your nasty, chewy, flavorless nutrient—" he stalled, thinking of an appropriate term to emphasize his disgust, “—brick.”

“I am in no position to swiftly vacate the premises should the need arise,” Tech responded, reminding him of the predicament he was in; to not be at his best when TK Troopers – or worse - could be lurking anywhere nearby was disheartening. Tech was not used to being unable to fend for himself.

Tech was not sure if he had been heard, as Hondo kept his back to him, busying himself with something in one of his many pockets. It was impossible to make out what it was, and Tech would not bother to try, though the air was now inextricably pervaded by the smell of something sweet, and pungent.

The Weequay stood, complaining about his back as he straightened out, two fingers pinching the end of what looked like a hand rolled cigarra as he languorously sucked off the end. “Yes, I can see dat,” Hondo finally replied with a dismissive wave, smoke exiting through his broad nostrils.

Tech pulled a face, opposed to the distinct odor that now permeated the vicinity, his eyebrows furrowing to give off the appearance of two displeased caterpillars inching their way toward the bridge of his nose. “Is that necessary?” he asked sharply.

“Marcan herb,” Hondo offered without answering his query, another plume of smoke diffusing outwardly as he exhaled. “Would you care for some?” Hondo questioned, what could only be described as an impish grin spreading across the entirety of his face.

“No,” the clone returned, his tone laced with obvious distaste.

“Pity—” Hondo faked a pout, one foot rising so that the heel of his boot could press down against the top of the other; he was beginning to kick them off in preparation, Tech imagined, the unlit end of the tightly rolled cigarra being held down within his easy reach, “—it might… help with de pain, hm?”

For a moment, Tech wondered about it. He was never one to partake of illicit substances, but the amount of pain he was experiencing was substantial. Still, he would not let that override his common sense, head turning so as to avoid the brunt of its biting stench. “Absolutely not,” he stated with resolve. “It is important we keep our faculties intact and remain on high alert.”

“Make nooo mistake, my friend-- we will be high. Another reason tu try et.” Hondo’s grin grew wider, though how this was possible, Tech was unsure. However, this did not elicit a response, Tech’s deadpan expression the only reply Hondo would receive.

The Weequay shrugged, working to dislodge his other boot; the socks came next, much in the same manner. This left him barefoot, Hondo placing the Marcan herb back between his lips as he once more unsheathed his cutlass to stick it in the ground, hilt up. “I can tell you aren’t any fun,” he flippantly insulted, “probably de least fun out of all your brothers.”

“Fun is subjective,” Tech returned, beginning to fiddle with the crushed bits of metal and circuitry that made up the remnants of his datapad. “While this—” he held up the broken components for Hondo to see, “—is fun for me— that —” he made a gesture toward the water and where Hondo was now rolling up one pant leg at a time, “—may be fun for you.”

“No, et es a necessity,” Hondo snapped, the ridges of his brow furrowing in annoyance as he pulled another drag from off his herbs without it ever leaving his mouth. Hondo retrieved his sword, the vibrocutlass humming like the buzzing of a busy bee as Hondo waddled ankle-deep into the cool stream, this time the Weequay’s expression contorting toward something unpleasant–- he did not like the cold, nor being in the water. It was at times like these that he missed his hot, dry ball of dust; Florrum would always be considered home-sweet-home.

Tech sighed, inspecting a loose wire. “I am willing to share.”

Hondo would have laughed, but it would frighten the fish, so he refrained, voice deepening as it came out a dark gravel. “Not until Mustafar freezes over will I eat dat.”

“Well, you certainly have your priorities in line,” Tech said offhand, reaching for a tool that would aid him in his repairs; he sighed again when he realized it was not there. It must have been lost in the fall or during one of the subsequent misadventures he had since meeting this odd fellow.

“And you do?” Hondo asked disdainfully. “You are tinkering with your toys when you should be resting, ah? Dis es why we stopped, es et not?”

“It is not a toy,” Tech chastised him, “it is a highly complex electronic device used for inputting, storing and displaying information – this one is customized to my own specifications and is useful for all manner of things, including communication.”

“And et. es. broken,” Hondo stressed, lunging at the water only to come back empty-handed. “Stop talking! You are scaring away my prey.”

Tech did not say anything one way or the other. He was fine not speaking to the pirate, as all conversations seemed to wind up as petty arguments.

Hondo broke the silence barely ten seconds later; it appeared he was the one unable to be quiet for any length of time. “Tell me, what else du you du for fun, hm? Dis… fleeing from de Empire must be a favorite little pastime of yours.”

Tech smirked as he finally began digging around for that ration bar he was positive he had in his pack; being constantly on the move and expending copious amounts of energy meant the mostly tasteless, nutrient-dense foodstuff was a must to keep on hand. “Are you asking a legitimate question in an attempt to get to know me, or is this a ploy to find out why I am a wanted fugitive?” he inquired matter of fact.

Hondo scoffed like an affronted dandy, flicking the ash off the end of his joint. He adorned a little smirk of his own to counter Tech’s, taking another jab at something just beneath the surface. “Can et not be both?” he asked.

“There are many things I find ‘fun’ or intellectually stimulating,” Tech informed him plainly, “though living each day as if it might be my last is not of particular interest to me.” He frowned, as he was unable to locate the edible item he had been set on eating within the next few minutes. Everything had its place he reminded himself, although his pack was somewhat in a disarray as was to be expected.

As if cashing in on the interconnectedness of Tech’s statement with that of the task he had set out to perform, Hondo slung his arm back and around to dislodge a rather large fish from off his blade. It flew forward, landing in the dirt near the clone’s feet; it was both bleeding and gasping for air. Tech was at least able to make out that much, the pirate having pierced the gill-bearing vertebrate through its belly seconds prior.

“Dis es an issue of skill, a lack of comprehension on your part,” the scoundrel returned, “for even dhough you might not be chased by de Empire tuday, tumorrow, or en de weeks dat follow, someting will kill you. Eventually. Like dis fish, ah?” He gestured toward the flopping creature. “Be et soldiers en white armor, food poisoning, a knife en your back from a beloved friend—” Hondo made a stabbing motion toward the water for emphasis, “— or perhaps ef you are lucky, old age.”

Tech did not claim to know everything, though this was one insult he took to heart. He knew exactly what he had intended; it was the Weequay who did not comprehend his meaning, and he deigned to correct him, even though he was confident it would be a wasted breath. “I know what life is, and the inherent meaning therein. What it is to live, and how fortunate it is that I have been gifted a life at all. As for aging, ours is accelerated. I shall meet my end sooner than you are likely to meet yours.”

Hondo feigned extreme concentration, though he heard every word. “You are missing de point,” he retorted breezily.

“Perhaps you assume clones are not in touch with their own mortality, being programmed as soldiers.” At that moment, Tech remembered; he had given the last of his rations to Omega the week before. Their arrival to Ord Mantell had been delayed, and she had been hungry. He thought it was the right thing to do, though unsure why it had taken him this long to recall the event; Tech was beginning to wonder just how hard he had hit his head. “I can assure you we are destined to think more on it because of that fact, not less.”

“Iiii never said any of dat,” Hondo said begrudgingly, capturing what was to be his second kill of the evening. He began to wade back toward shore, fish in tow, tossing it down to join its brethren beside the fire.

“Take me, for example. I am a pirate. What I du does not come without ets dangers, dhough I am of course highly aware of de gambles I take.” Hondo sat, crossing his legs. He placed his vibrocutlass in the dirt, then retrieved a smaller blade from out of one of his endless pockets; the Marcan herb was pinched on the right side of his mouth, hanging loosely from thin lips.

“Dat es what makes life so special, my friend - enjoyable - de not-knowing-what-es-going-tu-happen-next part. De risk dat death es waiting right around de corner! Et has taught me not tu take any moment for granted, not even dis one, en de company of a know-it-all who maybe knows less dan he tinks, hm?”

Tech only gazed forward, unable to differentiate between much of anything but the dancing flames and the vague figure of the Weequay whose hand was working at something in his lap. When a particular smell hit his nose, like brine, or seaweed, that is when Tech knew the fish he had impaled was being gutted open, Hondo cleaning the pair in order to cook them over the crackling campfire. “You are saying that I should find enjoyment in running from the Empire.”

“Not exactly, but yes,” Hondo grinned once more, slapping guts and bone down onto rich soil where it would decay and feed many creatures, as was intended by the great circle of life, “for ef you are running, dey have not yet captured you. Personally, de thrill of de chase makes me truly feel alive,” he finished.

“From a certain point of view, I suppose you are correct,” Tech admitted, never really thinking from that perspective before. Obviously, it was always deemed favorable to have one’s freedom, though he wondered what it would be like to relax – to have time to do those things he wished to do.

Being born and bred a solider did not mean Tech particularly enjoyed the missions that he was assigned, or only insofar as he could learn from his travels across the galaxy, but on the other hand stationing himself somewhere, like Pabu for example, would also be beneficial; less time fighting meant more time for research into those realms that truly awestruck and inspired him.

“Of course I am!” Hondo belted, jolting Tech back to the present moment; the pirate refitted the now clean fish onto the tip of his sword. “I did not make et dis far being wrong. Besides—” Hondo added, plucking the rolled herbs from his mouth, “— I am sure joy finds you en every daring escape. You have a family tu consider, yes?” Hondo gave Tech a sidelong glance as he flicked the butt of his smoke into the fire; it sizzled in indignation before settling back down into a controlled burn.

Tech replaced the broken bits of his datapad back into its holster the best he could, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position so as to squint at the Weequay who was a blob of red some few feet away. “Yes,” he responded dejectedly, thinking on how worried they must be – more than that. Tech presumed he was thought to be dead, and he supposed he ought to be if not for this perplexing pirate. “At least I do not have to worry about them searching for my remains.”

“Hmm, indeed… “ Hondo rotated his wrist, turning the fish he had skewered on the end of his cutlass so as to roast them evenly throughout. “You mentioned earlier de source of de explosion… Perhaps dey think you nothing more dan ashes?” Gray eyes scrunched as if he was deep in thought, “I found you very far from dat… place on de mountain with de bad, bad men… Es dere a way down from dere dat leads intu de forest?”

The Weequay’s inflection was inquisitive, yet also riddled with skepticism. Tech felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he may have to once more tell a little white lie, not sure how the pirate would react to knowing he was the inadvertent cause of his ship’s destruction. Although, they were beginning to build up a rapport. Hondo had said to “trust him.” Tech wondered, could he be trusted? He remembered at one point doubting Phee.

“Not precisely,” Tech started, though he was betrayed; his stomach growled, interrupting him. He was almost glad of it. Perhaps it would be enough of a distraction so as to derail the current topic of conversation.

Hondo’s head turned, slowly, as he simultaneously twirled the fish clockwise so as to cook its underbelly. “And just where es dat bland bar of excrement you were so excited about?”

“It seems I was incorrect,” Tech said, voice quieting, “I gave the last of my rations to Omega.”

Hondo tutted, laughing lightly as he shook his head. “You clones and your fancy names.” Then, he changed his tune, reminding himself of his past. “I suppose I cannot blame you, for I also chose my own name. You see, Weequay have no need for names outside our clan. Et es only when we live amongst non-Quay we take on a personal name. I liked Hondo. Et es a good, strong name.” A partial tale; Hondo would keep the more intimate details to himself.

Tech did not have anything to say to that, though he enjoyed learning this tidbit about his culture.

“Here!” Hondo stretched out his cutlass, blade first. “Eat,” he commanded sternly, Tech feeling somewhat apprehensive as the smell of fresh cooked fish invaded his nostrils.

“They are yours,” he responded.

“You were willing tu share, no? Well, tuday, so am I,” Hondo replied simply.

Tech hesitated a few seconds more, then extended his arm. It took him a moment, as he wanted to make sure not to cut himself on the pirate’s blade. “I thank you,” Tech stated in appreciation, removing one roasted fish for his consumption and leaving the other for the man who had made this meal possible; he took a bite. It was actually quite tasty.

Hondo severed a cord of flesh with his teeth, eating the fish from off his sword as if it was the leg of a nuna and the blade was its bone. The scoundrel studied the clone across from him, then took off his own helmet. He stood, then walked while eating, scooping up a generous measure of water within its bowl.

“It is good,” Tech offered in compliment, though he was not much of a conversationalist when it came to small talk. Still, he felt some sort of acknowledgement was warranted.

“It is, isn’t it?” Hondo agreed, walking back in Tech’s direction so as to douse the lapping flames into nothing but embers that would dwindle and die out. “Now, where were we?” he asked, setting his helmet on the ground. It was the first time Tech could see the whole of his head.

The clone paused mid-bite.

“Ah yes, so tell me, how did you escape? Dinner and a story - one of my favorite tings.”

Tech would take a moment to chew thoughtfully, his mind concocting something he could tell the pirate while also not fully incriminating himself. Lying was not a habit he wished to maintain, though he was still a mite unsure if he should tell the entire truth.

Tech took a breath, then began. “On the way out of the facility, we encountered some problems.”

“Yes, you mentioned dat…”

“Not only did the presence of Saw Guerrera complicate matters, but the TK Troopers did as well.”

“I can imagine,” Hondo affirmed with a mouthful of food.

“My brothers, sister and I were, how you say, making our ‘daring escape,’ when the railcar we were traveling in took on heavy fire and ground to a halt in midair.”

“A sister?!” Hondo asked enthusiastically. “Surely not biological?”

“Yes, Omega is an unmodified, enhanced female clone created from the genetic template of the Mandalorian bounty hunter Jango Fett.”

“Unmodified?!” Hondo nearly spat out what he had been chewing, “like Boba?”

“Boba. Yes. I have heard there was another.”

“Not just any other, my friend, Jango’s son.”

Tech paused, contemplating the complexity of that statement and what it could mean. Technically, this Boba would be another carbon copy of the donor, and ‘son’ was nothing more than an honorary title given to one particular clone left in Jango’s questionable care; he would be the Alpha to Omega. “I see.”

“Du you?” Hondo asked, leaning forward. “Why, what a marvelous ting. I wonder, did he know? Did Jango know he had a… daughter?”

Tech did not have the answer to that question. “I am unsure, though evidence points to no, as Omega has never mentioned her—” he paused, not liking the inaccuracy of the descriptor he was about to use, “—father. She has also never mentioned interacting with the template when he was living on Kamino.”

“Hmm…” Hondo hummed, taking another bite, “so very interesting. Anyway—" the pirate would save his thoughts for another time, “—continue,” he encouraged.

Tech did not want to continue, but he would do so anyway. “I was steps away from rejoining my squad when I was forced back by enemy fire; I left them temporarily in order to restore the power to the railway, but ultimately was unable to reach them.”

“Ah yes, de rail entu de mountain. I believe I passed under it on my way en,” Hondo interjected. “How unfortunate,” he added; Tech would be reluctant to confirm Hondo felt any true sympathy for his plight.

“The tail end of the railcar was pulled from off its track; it was weighing the other down, and I was caught beneath it, as during the explosion I regrettably slipped.”

Hondo’s eyes were widening incrementally, increasing in circumference with every new detail. “Yes, yes—”

“I was… trapped on the other side, hanging by a literal thread as Imperial V-wings would inevitably make another pass. Not only that, but a second car had stalled on the track opposite; it was filled with Imperial soldiers. The tram would have pulled all of us down had I not disconnected its coupler from the other car.”

“Annnd… how did you accomplish dis?” Hondo asked, jaw working as he nibbled at another bite of roasted fish.

“Plan 99,” Tech said, a twist of sadness wracking his heart as he envisioned the devastated expressions of his siblings as he fell to what he thought would be his demise.

Hondo waited; the forlorn tone coating the clone’s voice was a clear indication that this was indeed a sore subject. The pirate could be patient when he wanted to be; it always paid off in the end.

“Self-sacrifice,” Tech further explained, “for the benefit of the squad.”

Hondo seemed to understand, his gaze hardening as his demeanor became all too serious. “A fall from dat height would… How did you…” he trailed off; Tech wondered if he had just answered his own question. Still, he thought it best to tell the truth regardless.

“I severed the connection. The railcar fell with me. I landed on top of your ship. The velocity at which you were traveling provided enough distance so that you did not suffer a direct hit, however your engines sustained enough damage that you lost control and ultimately crashed.”

Hondo’s face radiated displeasure, askance eyes tapering into pinched slits, yet for a moment he remained quiet; Tech took the opportunity to try and soften the blow.

“I dove over the edge at the last possible second in order to increase my chances of survival; I fell through the trees and wound up on the forest floor. That is when I awoke to find you attempting to rob me of my boot. It was a calamitous series of events,” Tech concluded, at least satisfied that overall he felt less guilty now that everything was out in the open.

Nothing disturbed the silence that sprawled between them except for the effervescence of the stream behind them. Tech could not read faces particular well, and much less so when he did not have his goggles. After a few more agonizing seconds, birds scattered as Ohnaka let his anger flow freely out of his open mouth.

“What!” the pirate shot up, jerking his arm downward with such intensity as he stood that the rest of his meal slid off his cutlass and hit the ground with a dull, muted smack. Then, he brandished the blade outward, the tip mere centimeters from Tech’s nose. “Den dis is all your fault!”

Tech could only agree. “It was not intentional,” he said, forcing himself to remain calm.

“My ship … my men! Dey are all dead because of you and your brother’s shenanigans!”

“I am sorry.”

“Sorry does not even begin tu cover et! And!” Hondo’s arm bat at the air in his exasperation, though he was gracious enough not to cut Tech’s head clean off with the sword held tightly in his hand. “You made me believe et was de Empire! Dat es almost as bad as lying!”

Tech found it hard to believe the pirate had never himself lied to anyone, though he was at a loss at how to thoroughly apologize when the whole ordeal bad been out of his control. “You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, or, the right time, depending.”

“Truer words have nevvvver been spoken!” he practically spat, Hondo taking to reclaiming his socks and boots right after he hastily sheathed his sword and retrieved his helmet.

“What are you doing?” Tech asked, a touch of nervousness lacquering his inquiry.

“Leaving! You! Here!” Hondo proclaimed, his outrage present in his hostile tone and erratic body language.

Tech shifted, retrieving his bucket to place it on his head, as if he himself might assay to stand and follow. “We had an agreement,” he informed him, as if he had forgotten.

“Dat was before I knew your gallivanting across de galaxy cost me my most favorite ship! And lives!” Hondo idled for a moment, a look of sorrow stricken across his face. “Fortune and Glory, will we ever meet again…”

Tech stood, ineptly refitting his pack, as Hondo began to march in the direction of what he assumed was the lommite mine without him. “I do not wish to be left here on my own,” he called after his retreating form, swallowing down the hint of anxiety that had begun to spread throughout his chest, joining the ache of his ribs.

“You told me to trust you,” Tech emphasized in a last ditch effort to appeal to his humanity, limping past the remains of the campfire as he ambulated awkwardly forward as quick as his legs allowed.

“And so you did!” the pirate said with a dry, humorless laugh. “Dat, my friend,” Hondo shot back bitterly, “was your second mistake.”

Tech could do nothing as he was left alone, a swirl of crimson the last thing he would witness as Hondo Ohnaka abruptly departed, taking what little hope Tech had left of getting off this planet along with him.

#Hondo Ohnaka #Tech #TBB #Tech tbb #The Bad Batch #Clone Wars #Star Wars #fanfiction #my writing #Friends in Low places #clones #pirates #AU #Tech's not dead #clone force 99 #galactic empire #eriadu

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