#holonet transmissions. ( asks. )

[operattic]

❛ stop asking me if I’m ok I’ll literally make out with you. ❜ - obi-wan to cody KDJHFNDM

cody looks up at the general through his lashes.

cody bites down on the general's shoulders. he feels a mixture of overjoyed and selfish. the mark on the general's skin is real. maybe for this moment, he can pretend to be a normal person who might deserve to be there. he bites down again.

once again, cody looks back up at his general with through his eyelashes. he wraps sturdy arounds kenobi's middle. pulling him closer and into his lap. " so if i keep asking you, you'll kiss me? "

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water”

Chapter Fourteen: Old Enough to Fight

The Bad Batch x Reader

Nar Shaddaa – Lower District, Off-Grid Apartment

After the Battle of Geonosis

It had been weeks since Geonosis lit up the Holonet.

Three weeks since the Jedi had officially named Count Dooku the leader of the Separatist movement.

Three weeks since the Republic’s clone army—the one you had helped raise—stormed the planet’s surface and bled for the first time under real sun, real fire, real death.

You hadn’t contacted the Batch. You couldn’t. Not after what happened. Not after Kamino.

You hadn’t seen Jango either.

Until now.

Not in person.

But on a transmission loop, being broadcast in every cantina, pawn shop, and Holonet terminal across Nar Shaddaa:

“JANGO FETT — KILLED IN ACTION ON GEONOSIS.”

“JEDI MASTER MACE WINDU REPORTEDLY ENGAGED AND KILLED THE INFAMOUS BOUNTY HUNTER IN OPEN COMBAT.”

“BODY CONFIRMED VIA DNA ANALYSIS FROM CLONE DATABASE.”

You stood there, the flickering blue holo casting long shadows over your face.

Your hands didn’t shake. Not outwardly. But you felt something inside collapse in on itself—like armor failing under too many hits.

Jango was dead.

Your last tie to Kamino—dead.

Your oldest friend—your oldest enemy, maybe—dead.

The man who had tried to kill you, who had nearly succeeded, who had let you go in the end… was gone.

The bartender watched you from behind the bar, quiet. He knew you. Knew better than to speak.

Your fingers clenched tighter around the edge of the booth.

“Keep playing it,” you said, voice low.

The bartender didn’t argue.

The holovid played again. You watched the same blurred footage—Mace Windu, igniting his saber. A flash of silver. Jango lunging. The moment of his death wasn’t shown, of course. The Jedi didn’t broadcast beheadings.

But you knew it.

You could feel it.

That man had once looked you in the eyes and told you he’d have to kill you. And you had believed it.

He hadn’t. Not in the end.

He’d watched you fall into the ocean and climb out again, bloody and half-dead, and he let you go.

And now he was dead himself.

“Shab,” you muttered.

You stood abruptly and left the bar without paying. The bartender didn’t ask.

⸻

The streets of Nar Shaddaa were no quieter than ever—neon lights blinking like false stars, sky traffic roaring above, the stink of oil and ozone and ten thousand lives hustling to survive.

You pulled your hood low, hand drifting instinctively to your blaster.

You weren’t afraid. But you were… lost.

⸻

Back at the apartment, you dropped your gear by the door, peeled off the gloves, the gauntlets, the sweat-soaked cowl.

You stared at your reflection in the dirty mirror over the sink.

Bags under your eyes. Faint bruising still on your ribs. You hadn’t healed properly since Kamino. You hadn’t rested. Not really. Not since the night you cut your own lifeline and fell into the sea.

You thought of Boba. The last time you saw him, he was five. A quiet child. Curious. Watching everything. Jango had taught him well.

Who had him now?

Was he safe?

Did he know?

You sat down heavily on the edge of the cot.

The war had begun. The Republic had rallied its shiny new army, an army Jango had helped build for reasons that still didn’t sit right in your gut.

The Jedi had killed him.

And all across the galaxy, clones that looked just like him were dying under the Republic’s banner.

You didn’t cry.

You couldn’t.

There was no space left for tears.

Only a slow-burning dread.

A gnawing guilt.

And one truth you couldn’t shake:

You didn’t believe Jango had deserved to die on Geonosis. But maybe he’d known he would.

Maybe that was why he let you go.

Because he was already a ghost.

And now, you were one too.

⸻

Kamino, Clone Barracks

The halls felt wrong without him.

That was Wrecker’s first thought when they lined up for briefing. No one said it, but it was there. The hole Jango left behind was deep—silent, but impossible to ignore.

They didn’t talk about what happened on the platform. About the water. About you.

They hadn’t said your name out loud in weeks.

But they felt it.

And now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the barracks briefing chamber, listening to a Kaminoan administrator list deployment statistics, they felt something else too:

They were finally going.

Clone Force 99 had a mission.

Real orders.

Real gear.

Real war.

Crosshair chewed on a toothpick like it was someone’s neck. Wrecker tapped his fingers against his knees, boots bouncing with anxious energy. Tech stood still, but his eyes flicked between the datapad in his hand and the monitor flashing above the briefing console.

Only Hunter looked calm. But calm didn’t mean at peace.

“Assignment: Reconnaissance and sabotage operation,” the Kaminoan said, long fingers flicking through data streams. “Planet: Anaxes. Target: Separatist listening outpost. Command structure: Independent. Objective: Disable communications infrastructure. Extract before detection.”

“Wait, wait,” Wrecker said, raising a hand. “So we blow it up and run?”

“Correct,” the Kaminoan said without even blinking.

He beamed. “Now that sounds like a good time.”

Crosshair scoffed. “Only if you can keep up.”

“Can it, both of you,” Hunter muttered.

Tech’s brow furrowed. “This deployment is unorthodox. Most clone squads are dispatched under Jedi leadership. Why are we being assigned solo?”

The Kaminoan didn’t answer. Not directly.

“You are not like the others.”

“We know,” Crosshair muttered, half under his breath.

“We’re expendable,” Hunter added more flatly.

“Unique,” the Kaminoan corrected, with a glimmer of condescension. “A test of viability. Your success will determine the future of further enhanced deployments.”

There it was.

A test.

Always a test.

Hunter gritted his teeth.

“We’ll get it done,” he said. “Like we always do.”

⸻

They moved like clockwork.

Tech double-checked every piece of equipment twice. Crosshair calibrated his rifle in complete silence, jaw tense. Wrecker slapped armor plates on like a kid excited to play soldier. But Hunter noticed the smallest things—the little tremor in Wrecker’s hands, the hesitation before Tech slotted his helmet on.

He felt it too.

Something had changed since the arrest.

Since your fall.

Since Jango’s death.

They were orphans of a machine now. Nothing to hold on to but each other.

Hunter exhaled and clipped on his final piece of armor.

“You boys ready?” he asked.

Wrecker grinned. “Been ready.”

Tech nodded crisply. “Systems all green.”

Crosshair just loaded another round into his rifle. Click. “Always.”

⸻

Hangar Bay – Deployment Platform

As they marched out toward the transport, the other clone squads watched them. Some with disdain. Some with open hostility.

“Freaks,” one reg muttered, not even bothering to whisper.

Crosshair didn’t even blink. “Takes one to know one.”

Wrecker just waved at him. “You jealous, shinies?”

Hunter rolled his eyes but didn’t stop him.

Delta Squad was standing nearby, already prepped. Sev gave Wrecker a nod. Fixer locked eyes with Tech for a moment and offered the slightest incline of his head. Scorch made a dramatic pouty face when Crosshair walked past.

“Try not to blow up each other, will you?”

“Only if you don’t trip on your own ego,” Tech replied dryly.

Boss looked to Hunter. “We’ll see you out there.”

Hunter gave a single nod. “Let’s see who gets more done.”

Delta boarded their own gunship and lifted off a minute later.

Clone Force 99 followed suit.

⸻

It was the first quiet moment.

Helmeted. Armed. Alone in the roar of engines.

Hunter closed his eyes for a second and listened.

Not just to the noise—but to the feeling.

The air felt heavy. Like the eye of a storm was spinning just out of reach.

And somewhere, at the back of his mind, a voice whispered.

Something’s still missing.

She’s still missing.

He didn’t say it. But he knew the others were thinking it too.

Because no matter how far they went from Kamino…

…they hadn’t left the ghosts behind.

⸻

Anaxes – Separatist-Controlled Region

The sky was blood-orange. Smoke from scorched treelines dragged across the horizon, and the hills of Anaxes—once terraced with green—now glowed with the violet shimmer of Separatist shields.

They were crawling, belly-flat through the ash and dirt, helmets dull from soot, comms silent.

“Two droids on the ridge, southeast,” Tech murmured. His voice was quiet but confident, filtered through the soft static of their squad channel. “They haven’t seen us.”

Hunter twitched his fingers once in reply. A signal to wait.

They didn’t speak beyond that. Your training had drilled it into them—words give you away. Signals save your skin.

Crosshair lined up a shot from the brush and took one of the droids out with a soft crack. Wrecker’s hand flexed beside him—he wanted to move, not wait. But he waited. Because you taught them to.

The second droid started to turn.

Too late.

Hunter was already moving. Knife drawn, quiet as a shadow, he slit the droid’s main power cable and caught the body before it hit the ground.

He looked up to the others.

“Let’s move.”

The Separatist listening post was built into the side of a rock face—metal scaffolding jutting from the stone, walkways lit in flickering blue, towers scanning the ravine below.

Standard regs would’ve tried a frontal breach.

Clone Force 99 didn’t.

“You taught us to think sideways,” Tech muttered as he keyed into the base’s external access point. “Not run in like dumber brothers.”

“Is that a compliment?” Crosshair deadpanned.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Just shut up and open the door.”

Tech’s hands flew over the interface. A quiet click-hiss later, the door popped open—and they vanished into the steel corridors beyond.

It was chaos on the inside.

Droids on rotating patrol. Thermal scanners and pressure-sensitive floors. Security nodes hardwired to local AI, not networked command—meaning slicers had to be faster than the system could panic.

Tech made it look like a game.

Hunter laid out hand signals from the front. Crosshair covered the rear.

Wrecker was the sledgehammer waiting for a target.

They were moving better than ever before. Smarter. Faster. But it wasn’t from the Kaminoans. Not from the data they studied.

It was you.

Every slide through a corner, every breath held in unison, every reckless trick that worked when it shouldn’t—you taught them that.

“You realise we’re doing this just like she would,” Tech murmured over private comms.

Hunter didn’t answer.

Wrecker’s breathing was getting heavier. He was lagging. Not physically—but something else.

When they reached the main communications tower, they had to scale it from the inside—an access chute that extended nearly 90 meters up into the structure’s spine.

“I’ll slice the door at the base,” Tech muttered, already moving toward the panel. “Then we climb.”

Hunter gave a quiet nod. “Quick, quiet, no comms chatter.”

“Alright,” Hunter said, clipping into the magnetic ascent rig. “We go up quiet. Disable the dish, plant the charges, get out before the rotation shift.”

One by one, they clipped in.

All except Wrecker.

“I’m not going up there.”

The others turned.

He stood a pace behind them, arms crossed, jaw tight. That usual cocky grin was gone. He was staring up into the shaft like it was a sarlacc pit.

Tech blinked. “Is there… an obstruction?”

Hunter took a step toward him. “Wreck?”

He stared up at the tunnel of darkness and metal. His voice came in low. “How high we talkin’, again?”

“Does it matter?” Crosshair muttered.

“Uh. Kinda.”

“Wreck—” Hunter turned. “You alright?”

Wrecker’s fingers twitched near his belt. “Yeah, I just—uh… I don’t like climbs. Since…” He swallowed. “Since she—y’know…”

There was a beat of silence.

They all knew.

They’d all seen it. Your armor disappearing into the waves. The cable going slack. The silence that followed.

Wrecker hadn’t looked down from height since.

Wrecker’s voice dropped. “I saw her face. When she let go of that line.”

He sniffed, louder than he meant to. “She looked so sure. Even when she knew she was fallin’. Like she wasn’t scared.”

Tech didn’t scoff. For once, he was quiet. Respectful. “Fear of heights is logical. Particularly when it’s linked to a traumatic association.”

“Don’t need a lecture, Tech,” Wrecker mumbled.

Hunter stepped back down. “Hey.”

Wrecker looked up at him.

“She would’ve been scared too. But she still jumped.”

Wrecker nodded, biting his lip. “I know.”

Hunter grinned. “But you’re braver than her.”

Wrecker blinked. “I am?”

Hunter slapped a hand to his shoulder. “You’re gonna prove it.”

“You remember what she told us in that obstacle sim? That lesson we hated?”

Wrecker grunted. “Which one?”

“There’s no such thing as fearlessness,” Hunter said. “Only courage. And courage is doing the thing even when it scares you.”

Wrecker stared at the climb again.

“I ain’t scared of much. Not even droids.” His voice shook a little. “But when I’m up high, I hear the wind. Feel the air shift. And I see her fallin’ again.”

Tech was quiet now, looking away like he was giving him space.

Even Crosshair had stopped his usual barbs.

Hunter gave Wrecker’s shoulder a light smack.

“You’re not her,” he said. “But you are brave.”

Wrecker swallowed. “You really think so?”

Hunter gave him a crooked grin. “You’ve been brave for the rest of us since day one.”

Wrecker hesitated, hand hovering near the rig’s mag-cable. “You’ll go first?”

Hunter nodded. “Always.”

He clipped into the line and began the ascent, silent and sure.

Wrecker took a breath. Then another. His chest rose and fell once—twice—before he finally hooked in.

Step by step, he started climbing.

Tech followed behind, keeping pace. “You’re maintaining excellent vertical distribution. Good form.”

“Not helpin’, Tech.”

“Just saying—statistically speaking—falling is very rare with this model of rig.”

“Really not helpin’.”

But Wrecker kept going.

Higher and higher, past the point where the air started to thin and the shaft narrowed. He didn’t look down. He focused on Hunter’s boots above him, and Tech’s quiet encouragement behind him. He thought about you—your voice, your smirk, the way you used to tug him forward during sim drills and say, “Come on, big guy. I believe in you.”

It echoed in his mind now.

I believe in you.

Wrecker’s foot slipped slightly near the top. His heart jumped.

But the mag grip held.

He muttered under his breath, “I hate heights…”

Then louder, “I hate heights!”

At the top, Hunter reached down. “I know. You’re still here.”

Wrecker let out a breathless laugh and took the offered hand.

When he pulled himself into the final chamber, there was a full second of silence before Tech said:

“You did well.”

“I didn’t puke or nothin’,” Wrecker added proudly, panting.

“Low bar,” Crosshair said as he climbed in after.

But even he looked faintly impressed.

And Wrecker?

Wrecker smiled. Just a little.

⸻

The control room was dark. Old. Half-abandoned — but still connected to a relay dish on the far side of the roof.

“Wrecker,” Hunter said softly, “hold the entry.”

The big clone positioned himself by the hatch, panting slightly from the climb but clutching his DC-17 like it owed him credits. His eyes darted to the open window behind them — just a slit that revealed the hundreds of meters of empty space between the tower and the valley floor.

He muttered: “Don’t like this place. Feels like it’s starin’ back.”

Tech had already crossed to the main control panel, fingers ghosting over the ancient interface.

Crosshair covered him from the side, half-shadowed near a ventilation pipe.

Hunter leaned over Tech’s shoulder. “Can you disable the comms array?”

Tech adjusted his goggles. “Eventually. This system is archaic. Likely built during the old republic era. I must bypass at least three firewalls manually.”

Crosshair snorted. “So… we’re going to be here a while.”

Hunter moved to the viewport and crouched, scanning the landscape. “The point is to sabotage the relay before reinforcements arrive. Quietly.”

Tech didn’t look up. “Then I’d suggest a tactical silence for at least five minutes.”

Wrecker groaned softly. “Five minutes? That’s forever…”

“Can you sabotage faster if he stops talking?” Crosshair asked.

“Yes.”

“Then shut it, Wreck.”

A light flickered. Tech muttered something in Mando’a under his breath, probably a curse he’d picked up from you, and leaned in.

“Almost there…”

The panel sparked once, then twice.

Then all the lights went dead.

Wrecker blinked. “Tech?”

“Hold,” Tech said, unmoved. “I simply diverted the backup—”

An alarm blared.

“…I may have tripped the power redundancy system.”

Crosshair growled. “You think?”

Hunter cursed. “Positions. We’ve got hostiles inbound.”

Sure enough — the horizon was lighting up. A patrol droid banked hard toward them, coming fast. Too fast.

“Plan?” Wrecker asked, back against the wall.

Hunter turned. “We’re not finished. Tech, give me something to blow.”

Wrecker perked up. “Blowin’ stuff up? Now that’s a plan.”

Tech pulled a data spike from his pouch. “Here. Plant this on the array. Once you’re clear, I’ll trigger the signal overload. Should destroy the dish and fry their entire local network.”

Crosshair checked his scope. “Window’s closing.”

Hunter grabbed the spike and slapped it into Wrecker’s hand.

“You’re faster,” he said.

Wrecker blinked. “Me?”

“You’ve got this.”

Wrecker swallowed, then grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, I got this.”

He took off, barreling toward the exterior rooftop where the relay dish towered like a skeletal claw. The wind hit him immediately — screaming, howling — and for a heartbeat he froze again, the ground impossibly far below.

But he held tight to your voice in his head.

I believe in you.

He didn’t look down.

He climbed.

He leapt.

He planted the spike.

And then he ran like hell.

Blasterfire cracked around them as the patrol arrived, droids descending by zipline from the skiff. Crosshair was already firing, targeting cables mid-air with pinpoint accuracy, dropping droids like falling dominoes.

Hunter laid down suppressing fire.

“Tech—now!”

Tech slammed the spike trigger.

The tower exploded in a chain of arcs and surges, sparks bursting from every panel. A blinding flash lit up the valley.

The relay dish shuddered, then collapsed — crashing down in a spectacular avalanche of durasteel and flame.

The shockwave hit the rooftop. Hunter ducked, shielding Tech. Crosshair cursed as debris flew.

And from the edge—

Wrecker’s howl of joy cut through the chaos.

“I DID IT!”

He barreled back inside, grinning from ear to ear, clothes scorched, hands blackened from the circuit burns, but glowing with pride.

“Did you see that?” he yelled. “Boom! Like the whole thing went pow pow crackle—”

“Not the time, Wrecker!” Hunter grabbed his arm. “Rappel, now! We’re exfiltrating!”

Crosshair clipped into the descent line first, gliding smoothly down into the brush. Tech followed, then Hunter.

Wrecker paused at the top.

He stared out at the remains of the destroyed dish, sparks and smoke curling skyward.

“…That was for you,” he whispered. Not to anyone present. But to a memory.

Then he clipped in and dropped, wind howling in his ears.

⸻

The official report called the mission a success.

Delta Squad even sent them a one-line transmission after hearing about the op:

“Not bad, freaks.” —Scorch

Crosshair scoffed at it. Wrecker taped it to his bunk.

None of them said it out loud, but they all knew:

This was their first real op.

And it wouldn’t be their last.

Not anymore.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[etoiline]

that thing you used to be

(read with tags and characters on AO3 instead)

“I’m gonna go record a bedtime story for Kata,” Bode says, and Cal reaches out to snag his sleeve before he can turn.

“Stay,” Cal says, emboldened by their hug. “You can tell me a story too. Force knows I need some sleep.”

Bode looks down at Cal’s hand, his whole posture stiff. When he looks up at Cal, his lips are pressed so tight the skin around them turns white.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Bode says, finally, and Cal feels like there’s something he’s missing. The Force is silent around Bode, even when Cal reaches out for him.

“Stay,” Cal says, and pushes himself upright, so he can take Bode’s gloved hand. The leather is soft under his fingertips, worn smooth in the divot between thumb and forefinger where the grip of his blaster would rest. Cal traces it and smiles, thinking of the callus that’s forming on his own gun hand.

Then he looks up at Bode, lips parting as he catches the intensity in the older man’s eyes. Cal doesn’t know what he’s done to merit such a look, but he tries to match that dark gaze, stroking over the leather. A relter calls from deep into the ruins, and Cal is glad of the excuse to tear his eyes away. His cheeks are warm, even though the Jedha night is cold as it edges toward dawn.

“If you really wanted me to stay you wouldn’t ask me to give up Tanalorr to the Hidden Path,” Bode says, his voice so quiet he might have just been talking to himself.

Cal’s mouth falls open, but he’s not sure what to say. Bode had been so accepting of the idea earlier, he’d thought, and the joy that coursed through him then, that he was doing the right thing, for the Jedi, for the galaxy, what had gone wrong?

Bode shakes his head as if he can hear Cal’s confused thoughts. “I have to keep Kata safe,” he says, staring past Cal into the desert. “There’s no way she’s gonna be safe if the Empire finds out about Tanalorr. And they will find out, Cal, if we’re flying the hyperlanes with fugitive Jedi. The Empire already knows about this planet, and they’re so close to finding the Jedi right under their noses. All it takes is one stray transmission, one spy in your ranks—you don’t know, one could be here already.”

“What are you saying? Bode, no one here is a spy,” Cal says. “And it’s not like we’re going to blast a map of the route to Tanalorr all over the holonet. We’ll keep folks safe there. Even Kata. But I thought she was with friends? Someone’s taking care of her, makes sure she gets those bedtime stories you send all the time, right?”

Gloved hands suddenly squeeze Cal’s shoulders, tight enough that he wonders if he’ll bruise. Bode’s expression is wild, broken, the remnants of the fire flickering across his face. “You don’t understand, scrapper. I made a deal to keep her safe. And I thought that Tanalorr was a way to get out of that deal, but not if you want to open up this haven. If it was just us—then we could survive. But the moment we start ferrying more people there—void, the second we start supplying the place, because we don’t even know what in the seven hells is on that rock—you know the Empire will find us.”

Cal frowns. “I don’t think it could be that bad,” he says. “We’ll be careful, disguise our movements, vet the people we work with; they haven’t found us yet.”

Bode closes his eyes, exhales, the breath stirring Cal’s hair. “They already have, scrapper.”

He drops his hands from Cal’s shoulder and reaches into one of the pockets on his belt, holds out the holopuck he’d shown Cal on Coruscant. Cal takes it, brushes over the control to send the wavering blue image of Bode’s daughter spinning in the air. But there’s something else shining on the puck, an echo, tightly curled against the duraplast. It’s a bleak and angry one, Cal can tell, without even touching it, and dread curdles in his stomach. But he can’t resist an echo, so he lays a finger on it, because he has to know.

“...there, Denvik, you know everything about Jedi terrorist Cal Kestis. He thinks we’re best friends. Now let me talk to my daughter.” It’s Bode’s voice, the echo burning his anger through Cal’s veins.

Denvik chuckles, and Bode imagines the man to be steepling his fingers in that metal-filled Imperial office, and Bode wants to reach through the commlink and choke the life from him. “It sounds like you’re more than friends,” Denvik says, the words oily even through the spotty connection. “I find myself wondering if you’ve lost your way, Bode. If you’ve fallen back into old habits.”

Bode seethes, but he can’t say anything in protest, or Denvik will realize just how close to the truth he is. “Remember, Bode, the ISB is not an organization to be trifled with. I took you back because I trained you, and it would be such a shame to lose your skills. But if you continue to string out this...this infatuation with the thing you used to be, well. I’m afraid your daughter will just have to wait a little longer for her bedtime story, hmm?”

Cal is quite surprised to find the holopuck still intact in his hands as the echo breaks. Bode’s rage shudders through him, and there’s only one thought swirling through the white haze in Cal’s mind. Bode is an ISB agent. It’s on repeat, a holoprojector stuck in a bit of code. Bode is working for the Empire.

He realizes he’s shaking when his knees buckle, but Bode’s strong hands are there to catch him, to hold him, and Cal wants to sink into that hold, but he keeps thinking Bode=Empire like he’s a glitchy droid and pulls away.

The rock wall at the edge of the platform is right there, and Cal sags against it. The holopuck echo still pulses in his hand and he wants to throw it away, smash it to the ground, let it shatter against the boulders far beneath, but it’s Bode’s only link to Kata, and no matter how much he hates—yes, hate is the right word here, even if it breaks Cal’s heart to think it—at this moment, Cal can’t bring himself to destroy that tether.

Cal sets the holopuck on the rock, so gently the duraplast doesn’t even click against the stone. The Jedha sands stretch out before him, red rocks turned purple in the false dawn. False. More than friends. Lost your way. To think, Cal had wanted him to stay, the longing thick in his voice however he tried to hide it. Bode is working for the Empire.

The man is a strange warmth at Cal’s back, close enough to feel but holding an artificial tension between their bodies. Cal could break it with a breath, could draw his saber in a Force-quick motion and spin before Bode could stop him. Bode would heave back, hands up, the yellow blade close enough to crisp the leather of his holster. All this time, Bode was a spy.

“Was any of it real?” Cal says, and hates the way his voice breaks on the last word. A scrape of boot on rock and Cal sees Bode come up next to him, placing a hand over the holopuck, his fingers millimeters away from Cal’s. It might as well be parsecs, Cal thinks, as streaks of light appear over the horizon. His eyes slide to the gloved hand next to his, and he wonders if the Empire provided those gloves, if anything about how Bode presents himself is real, or just a skin provided by the enemy.

“I never lied to you, Cal,” Bode says, rough. “but I never told you everything, either. I was just trying to keep Kata safe, and at first the way to do that was to feed my handler information. But you, and your crew—I made myself into the person you needed, and it felt good. And then I made a mistake, Cal. I fell for my own line. And for a while I let myself believe that it didn’t matter, that I could keep going that way, that I could let myself fall for a while. But then you wanted to give away our haven, and—and I couldn’t pretend. My life’s in your hands now, Cal. Mine and Kata’s. I have to hope that it’s enough to at least make you think about the consequences about opening up Tanalorr.”

Cal closes his eyes against the brightening dawn, against Bode’s revelations, against the chill that rushes over his skin. He’s been spying on us since the beginning. But he won’t be able to do that anymore. Can’t spy on your mark when the mark knows you’re spying. Bode is useless to Denvik now, not that the man knows it yet. He’s lost, and a tiny smile sneaks past Cal’s guard to think of it. A blow to the Empire without having to fire a shot.

Sunrise is nigh; Cal can feel it in the Force, a held breath planet-wide. He narrows his focus to the man beside him, testing the borders of nullity. Bode feels the same to Cal’s senses as he always has. Nothing about him has changed since Cal’s learned the truth, only Cal’s understanding of him.

So Bode has likely reported on their movements, given his handler their profiles. So far, nothing has been done with that information; there’s been no chatter to suggest anything in the works. But soon enough, if Bode stops reporting, there will be, Cal is sure of it. And Kata will pay the price of her father’s defection. Determination rises in his chest. He won’t let that happen.

But not using Tanalorr as a base for the Hidden Path? It’s not up to him anymore. Preparation has already started. Maybe—maybe Bode was right, though. They really don’t know anything about Tanalorr other than it exists, and is presumably habitable to most species, from Cal’s dizzying walkthrough of Dagan’s memories. Maybe someone should go check it out first. Makes sense that a Jedi should do it, especially one who’s been there before, even if it was only in echoes.

Fog rises around them as the incipient sunrise warms the rocks, and everything turns soft and dreamlike. The two of them seem like the only solid things on the planet, and even Bode’s form, so close to Cal’s, seems to waver, a void in the Force where there should be light.

Needing assurance that this is real, Cal lets his pinkie finger move just that little bit so flesh meets the tiny strip of skin between Bode's glove and his sleeve. Even Denvik noted they were more than friends. Maybe Cal can figure out a way to move past Bode’s lies—or omissions, as it were. But that oily voice had also said old habits, and the thing you used to be, and what is that supposed to mean?

He stares down at their barely-touching hands, and sighs. “What was the thing you used to be, Bode?” Cal says, his voice lost in the fog. It seems important to know, if Cal is going to try to trust the mercenary again. “You owe me the truth, I think."

Bode inhales beside him, but doesn't say anything for a long moment. Call realizes he can feel the man's anxiety, but before he can parse that, Bode seizes his hand and pulls Cal toward him. Cal can't resist his strength, doesn't want to, but all he can muster is a palm to Bode's chest. Which doesn't really help the dizziness he's feeling, honestly.

Because Bode cradles his face in his hands and touches their foreheads together, and Cal's senses are filled with Bode, as the man opens himself to the Force.

Cal gasps, fists his fingers into Bode's collar, his other hand flailing until it lands on Bode's waist, holding on like his belt is an anchor in rough seas. The sensation washes over Cal like a wave as the sun finally breaches the horizon and makes him squeeze his eyes shut against the sudden brightness, and he revels in the glorious connection and loses his breath to it and asks why why why as his throat closes over hurt cries.

“I couldn’t tell you before, scrapper, and you know why,” Bode says, so quiet. “But you asked for the truth. Stars, you reached out so many times and I couldn’t reach back, as much as I wanted to. But if you’ll—if you’ll just think about what I’m saying, like I think you are, then it’s worth it, to stop hiding.”

How and how could you and you know I wanted to find other survivors swirl in Cal’s head and into the Force and wrap around Bode in a complicated cloud, and Bode chuckles wetly. “So many questions, scrapper, but look—it’s dawn. Things are already moving. What are we going to do about it?” he says, and Cal can feel his uncertainty in the Force. He can feel Bode in the Force, and Cal swallows his anger and disappointment and betrayal and just soaks in the sensation of a fellow Force-sensitive as the fog burns away around them.

Of course the sun has come up again. Of course time moves forward. Cal can only sway there in Bode’s arms as they embrace like they did before the sunrise, feeling like everything has changed.

Bode tightens his hold on Cal, then releases him and steps back, a wondering smile curving his lips. Cal keeps their hands tangled and knows he has a similarly silly grin on his face. The rising sun halos Bode’s head and makes Cal blink away tears. Bode wipes them away with gloved thumbs, and places a gentle kiss on Cal’s forehead.

Cal closes his eyes and listens as they breathe together, coiling his aura around another, awestruck to feel Bode reach back the same way. The sun warms his forehead as the last of the fog drifts into nothingness. His questions can wait for another sunrise, he thinks, and captures Bode’s lips in a kiss.

[not-so-allegiant-general]

Part 5 Invitees for @kyluxwedding

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4

Ren laid down next to Hux on the bed. Redhead was looking at the celling. Ren recognized this mood... Hux was exhausted, to tired to sleep, to tired to not sleep.

"Armitage. "Hux just rolled closer to him " You should rest tomorrow."

"I am still working on the invitees list."

"Ah yes. The list of the most awful politicians in the Galaxy you mean." Hux sighed and wanted to move away but Ren held him "Sorry. But... Don't you think you should invite someone who's presence have a meaning for you? Not just people you want to impress?"

"Like who?" He said, his face looked like the slight suggestion that he have friends offended him.

"Like... Mitaka. You didn't see him since you gave him his own ship. He deserves an invitation not an order to attend or holonet transmission. He is your friend."

"Is he?" Kylo sighed heavily.

"And Phasma."

"Hm." Was the only answer Kylo got. "What about you?"

"Oh i am inviting knights."

"All of them?..."

"Yes. All of them." Kylo shook his head in disbelief. Hux closed his eyes and Ren thought he fell asleep.

" I will invite Mitaka and Phasma. And Opan." Kylo furrowed his brows."What? He killed quite a lot of people for me. "

"Tell me you are not planning to poison any of those politicians on our wedding day." Hux smiled amused.

"Why don't we combine business and pleasure?"

"I am afraid to ask but.. Do you consider poisoning someone business and our wedding pleasure or the other way?"

"Oh darling. Does it really matters?" Hux kissed him. Kylo would be worried, but he loved this man too much not to be amused.

[andorerso]

Rebelcaptain Whumptober: Day 6

for the prompt recording (warnings: recorded torture, nothing too graphic)

When Cassian’s tracker was turned off, Jyn could tell something was very wrong.

Let it be known, she was against this from the start. When one of their agents discovered an underground crime syndicate called the Glorious Dawn before going MIA soon after, it fell to Cassian to find out more. It wasn’t an extraction mission; Agent Varga was presumed to be dead. But what little he’d disclosed about the Glorious Dawn before his disappearance was unsettling enough to warrant a thorough investigation.

Kidnapping people to be tortured for show. Broadcasting their death-struggle over the holonet. Letting viewers bid and choose what happens to those poor souls — and if that wasn’t horrific enough, large parts of that money went into the Empire’s pocket to fund their weapons and tech development. Bad news all around. An operation that needed to be stopped. Jyn understood that.

She also understood the horrible fate that had more than likely befallen Agent Varga, and she was damned if she let it happen to Cassian.

She couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that churned in her stomach on the whole journey to this small, backwater planet, but she dismissed it — tried to dismiss it as natural. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to worry about Cassian’s safety on a mission; it’s just what happened when you loved someone. Perfectly normal for her to be antsy. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow different. Dangerous. Foreboding.

Jyn resolved to bite her tongue and keep her thoughts to herself. Cassian was an intelligence officer, and he didn’t need her to baby him. He was a far cry from a novice; that’s why Draven had chosen him. Because he was the best for the job. And he certainly wouldn’t have resigned from the mission regardless. Jyn didn’t think he’d ever told the rebellion no (Galen Erso and Scarif notwithstanding.) He’d happily carve out his own heart from his chest and serve it to the figureheads of the Alliance on a platter if that’s what was required of him. She’d only make it worse if she expressed her fears.

Because someone had to do it.

But why did that someonealways have to be him?

With mounting resentment towards Draven, towards the rebellion, towards this entire fucking operation, Jyn sent him off with a kiss and a plea to stay safe. She’d wanted, so badly, to ask him to check in as often as he could, but knew it would be too risky. He’d give sign of life when it was possible without compromising himself. And she’ll wait until he returned, or…

Well.

Jyn was just back-up, only to intervene if something went wrong.

Something like his tracker getting disabled a few weeks into their assignment.

The first thing she did was pull up that forsaken holosite on her datapad where they broadcasted their sick little game to their bloodthirsty audience. The site was strictly exclusive and carefully hidden on the holonet, not something you could stumble upon by accident — or at all. The password changed every week, but Cassian had forwarded the latest one in his last encrypted transmission two days ago. Which meant Jyn had access.

A part of her wished she didn’t. Because for the first time since they arrived, a new show had been announced.

An image of Cassian strapped to a chair greeted her. He was unconscious, his head lolling forward and his hair shielding his face from view. The buttons on his shirt were undone, sweaty skin and dark wisps of hair peeking out from underneath. But he seemed unharmed. For now.

Various tools and gadgets and syringes lay scattered on an equipment table next to him, and the words under the feed read “Show starts in two hours! Place your bid now!”

Jyn nearly threw her datapad at the wall, wanting to hurl.

Two hours. Two hours was all she had to find him before…

She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in deeply. Tried to push down the fear and panic rising from the core of her, threatening to overtake her executive functions. She needed to keep her head clear. Stay alert. Figure out an action plan. But all she saw behind her eyelids was Cassian’s figure strapped to that chair, helpless and vulnerable, and the comments she read under the feed. Asking for him to be drugged, to be beaten, to be hurt.

It started out tame, as it always did, but the worse ones… The ones she couldn’t even speak.

A wounded sound rattled in her chest, her entire body shaking so bad she nearly dropped the datapad. She didn’t need a weapon, she would slaughter them all with her bare hands.

She just needed a location.

And she knew where to start. Agent Varga’s contact on the planet had to have known something. Jyn would make him talk, whatever it cost.

Opening her eyes, she ran her finger across Cassian’s figure on the screen and tried to summon all the strength she possessed even as she felt like crumbling to the floor. She couldn’t lose her composure now; he needed her.

“I’ll find you,” she whispered, a promise he wouldn’t hear. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

xxx

Agent Varga’s contact was a Rodian male who was proving to be rather unwilling to talk when asked nicely.

And Jyn had tried. To ask nicely. But time was limited. She wouldn’t leave Cassian to be cut apart piece by piece like a slab of meat.

So if violence was the only language the Glorious Dawn understood…

The Rodian squirmed in the chair she’d tied him to, blood dripping down his face from a large gash on his forehead.

“Tell me where he is,” Jyn said again.

“They know who is,” the Rodian spat, ignoring her question. “A spy for the rebellion. They’ll make it slow. Your man is coming home in tiny boxes.”

He laughed, loud and gleeful, and Jyn clenched her fists as she tried to control her rage. He was egging her on. Trying to get a reaction.

She had to be in control here, even if all she really wanted to do was beat his face to a pulp.

“If they know who he is,” Jyn said through gritted teeth, every word an effort, “then they know an intelligence agent is not the ideal target. They’re trained to withstand pain.”

The Rodian laughed harder, something almost maniac in his tone.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“You’re mistaken. That makes him more interesting. Makes it fun to see how far we can push him before he cracks.” His mouth curled into a wicked grin. “The other agent cracked easier than we thought. Maybe this one will be more resilient.”

Jyn punched him, foregoing her batons this time. The idea of beating him to a pulp was looking more and more appealing by the second.

“Where is the base?” she snarled, no more room for the illusion of patience.

The Rodian spat a mouthful of green blood at her feet, but this seedy little motel room was so dirty, it hardly made a difference. “They’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“I will kill you.”

“I’m more scared of them.”

Her lips curled into a sharp, threatening smile. He had no idea what she was capable of. But he’d find out.

“Big mistake.”

xxx

Jyn twirled the bloody blade in her hand as she watched the last rays of the sun cast the landscape in a pinkish hue. She was losing time. The show would start soon, and Cassian would not survive the night.

He might hold out for a while, but she didn’t want to take the risk. Didn’t want to let anyone touch even a hair on his head.

Behind her, the Rodian was coughing and gasping for air around the blood in his mouth. She had to slow down before he actually died on her.

“So? Still nothing?” Her voice was coldly detached. She’d shut down, stopped feeling anything about twenty minutes ago. The only thing that still sparked a flicker of emotion was the thought of Cassian. Her partner. Her love. Her home.

If she didn’t find him soon…

“It’s too bad you’re a rebel bitch,” the Rodian wheezed, “you’re good at this. You’d fit right in with us. Not so different after all, huh?”

A cheap shot. Jyn let it roll off her like water.

“Don’t deflect. Where’s the base?”

“How much time can you waste on me? The show starts soon, and they’ll tear him to tiny pieces. Varga squealed like a little pig, you know. I wonder what sounds your man will make when they’re digging in his guts. I can get you VIP seats if you want.”

He laughed, though it was a strained sound. No longer so confident; a dying man grasping at his last semblance of control. Jyn tuned it out, her gaze trained on her datapad which lit up with a notification. A signal.

Heart hammering in her throat, she watched the pulsing red dot on the map. Hope flared in her chest, tentative but persistent. Cassian’s tracker. They turned it back on.

Which meant it was a trap. She wasn’t stupid. They were baiting her. But she had to go.

It was her only lead; and regardless… It might as well have been guaranteed death.

She’d always come for him.

“You’re right,” Jyn said, cutting off the Rodian mid-sentence. She had no idea what he’d been saying, but with a flourish, she turned and fired a blaster bolt between his eyes. “I don’t need you anymore.”

xxx

It took her less than fifteen minutes to arrive at the location where Cassian’s tracker had pinged outside the city limits. An abandoned imperial compound greeted her, imposing with its high walls and tall towers.

Jyn hopped off the speeder she stole and listened. Something was off.

No guards posted at the entrance. No movement from the yard. No sounds from inside. Only the wind whistled through the trees, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

Ghosts were the only thing frequenting this building now.

But there was one window, on the third floor, where light streamed outside into the brisk, darkening evening. Jyn eyed it warily, that feeling of wrongness only expanding. The light seemed to almost beckon her, — come closer, come see — but she couldn’t shake the thought that this whole thing was off. The tracker being activated, the absence of living beings anywhere, that single light spilling from the window…

Jyn swallowed, shook her head. There was no time to waste. Blaster in hand, she made it inside the yard, more and more unnerved by the lack of resistance she found.

Trap, trap, trap, her mind screamed, but she ignored it and kept going. Cassian needed her. Her brain latched onto the thought of him, lending her strength and ignoring everything else.

She was furious enough to put up a good fight if they did ambush her. Let them try, let them fucking see what the daughter of Saw Gerrera was capable of.

She, too, was more than ready to give them a show.

More silence greeted her inside the compound. Jyn crept through the quiet halls, eyes flicking in every direction, but no one was hiding in the shadows, no one was trying to stab her in the back. Her footsteps were almost soundless as she made her way up the stairs towards the room where she saw the light. So close now. But as she reached the second-floor landing, muted sounds interrupted the eerie silence.

Heavy panting. A struggle. Something creaked.

Then, a cry of pain.

Jyn picked up her steps, no longer caring if someone heard her. There was only one objective hanging in front of her: find Cassian. Get to him before he was hurt. Protect him. The urge overshadowed everything else.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t realize what was happening until she pushed the door open with her blaster.

The room was empty.

Jyn’s blaster slowly lowered as she stared at the scene before her with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Only a single holoprojector stood in the middle of the room, showcasing a sight she never wanted to see. Next to it, a forgotten tracker lying in the dirt.

It wasn’t a trap. It was a distraction.

Cassian was awake now, still strapped down in that chair, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. The world tilted around her, her legs trembling, but Jyn couldn’t take her eyes off him. Unable to stop seeing what they were doing to him. One of his fingers was trapped in a vice, and a masked man wearing dark robes was in the process of tightening the tool.

Jyn stood, rooted to the spot, unable to move or breathe or think. It felt like it was happening to someone else. She stood until she heard the crunching of bones, the tearing of skin, and another pained shout tore free from Cassian’s mouth.

With an angry scream, Jyn kicked the holoprojector, sending it flying against the wall. The image cut off, and dead silence followed.

Time had run out.

“You fuckers!” she yelled before crumbling to the ground, all her strength gone. She’d failed. She didn’t find him in time, and now he was… Now he was…

Shivers wracked her body, the image of Cassian’s hand in that vice burned into her mind. That would be far from the worst of it, she knew. They were just getting started. The Rodian wasn’t kidding when he said they’d tear him apart bit by bit.

She’ll burn this fucking city to the ground —

Lightheaded, Jyn buried her head in her hands and allowed herself to weep. Though it hadn’t been her who was taken, who was tortured, she felt like her hand was in that vice too, crushed under its cruel grip. Paralyzing fear weighed down her limbs, making it impossible to think straight. For a wild second, she thought she might throw up, but she pushed the bile down, her fingernails digging into her own leg as she tried to find some sort of anchor to hold onto. Something to ground her. Anything.

She’d give anything —

Her thoughts spiraled.

She had to find him. She had to. It wasn’t too late, she could still — she could still save him, she could still bring him home and make sure he was safe, make sure he recovered, make sure nobody ever hurt him again. She had to find him. She had to.

Jyn lifted her head, taking deep shuddering breaths to get her pulse under control. Back to business, no time to fall apart. Get yourself together. She wiped away her tears, her hand coming back smudged from her eyeliner. Her heart rate slowed, a little bit. She needed a plan.

As appealing as it was to burn down the city, it wouldn’t help much. She couldn’t go knocking on door to door either, and the Rodian was dead.

It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. She didn’t have time to find anyone else associated with the group; let alone capture and interrogate them. But she had access to the live feed, though her stomach revolted at the idea of bringing it back up. Maybe she could get some clues from the show… Maybe she could pose as a bidder? Try to wrangle something, anything from the comments?

As her brain whirled with ideas, each one more desperate than the other, something else on the ground caught her eye.

Next to the tracker lay something small… Something purple.

With a frown, Jyn stood and examined it closer. It was a flower. She picked it up, turning it in her hand. A pang of familiarity washed over her as she stared at the purple petals with pink streaks. She’d seen that flower before.

Varga’s last transmission. Made from a room in a brothel downtown. The flowers on the wall behind him. Morning glory, it was called. The whole place was decked out in them.

Morning glory… The Glorious Dawn?

Jyn crushed the petal in her hand, determination hardening her features. Cassian had left her a clue, and she knew where he was.

She was coming.

[spell-cleaver]

The Protégé Chapter 35: Fighters Like You

Conversations are had, a truth is revealed, and... at least one person is forgiven?

When Leia was summoned by her parents again to a strategy meeting, she already knew what it was about. Every Rebel in the galaxy must have seen the Empress's transmission by now. She didn't bother avoiding the topic when she marched into her mother's study.

Breha was sitting behind her desk, staring at the datapad she must have watched the broadcast on. Bail was pacing. Leia took the chair he had vacated and got right to it. "How does this change our situation?"

"It doesn't," Breha said. "Not practically."

"Practically, no," Bail agreed. "But it does change it. The galaxy is in uproar about the news. If even a hint of suspicion is leaked to the holonet that Alderaan may have been the ones to kidnap the darling new prince, we will have much more to worry about than just Vader."

Hearing Vader referred to as just Vader really hammered the danger home. "Why?" she asked. "Why has her speech been so effective?"

"Her propaganda campaign is unyielding. She has heartfelt interviews, pictures of Luke edited to be as appealing as possible. He had already been a fairly popular figure as a senator; she's capitalising on that. The amount of references to her motherly love and how important family is, to her and to the galaxy… it's a potent mix for most citizens. We should know."

Read the rest on AO3 or on FFN!

[purplefangirl42]

Plant Yourself in My Heart

Summary: While doing research at the Jedi Temple, Tech meets someone that makes him realize that he is not alone in his passion for knowledge.

Pairing: Tech/Jedi! OC (Anaj Rotz)

Warnings/Tags: First Meetings, Plant Related Adventures, Mentions of a Bar Fight

A/N: This is the Star Wars half of my follower celebration, which was voted to be the Tech/OC piece by my lovely followers. This takes place within the same fic verse as all the rest of my Star Wars fics, sometime after chapter 8 of Bad Timing. Thank you to @juniper-sunny for beta-reading! Divider by @djarrex.

AO3 Link

“You would think the holonet would have more information on things you should avoid,” Tech grumbled as he scrolled through the limited results his datapad had given him. “It is essential for people to know these things.”

“Most people probably just stay away from the jungle,” Hunter offered, twirling his knife in a circle.

“Can’t say I’m too fond of them myself,” Crosshair said, not looking up from his rifle cleaning project. “Hard to get a good vantage point with all the vines hanging in the way.”

“Especially when you’re hanging from them!” Wrecker shouted from the back of the Marauder.

Crosshair shot a glare towards his larger brother before focusing on his rifle again. Tech threw his datapad onto the co-pilot set in disgust before turning to the control panel in front of him. They were nearly to Coruscant after spending many hours in hyperspace. He needed to get access to a place that would have information on the plant life he was researching. Surely there would be somewhere on Coruscant that would hold the knowledge, or at least someone that could point him in the right direction.

Just as they exited hyperspace, the indicator light on the control panel lit up, telling them they had a message. Tech pressed the button to acknowledge it, starting a hologram of Commander Cody. Hunter sheathed his knife and walked to the front of the cockpit.

“What can we do for you, Commander?” he asked.

“I was calling to let you know that your mission details have been finalized and to see what your ETA was.”

“We have just arrived in the space above Coruscant,” Tech said. “We will begin our landing as soon as we are given clearance.”

“I guess I’ll see you when you arrive then,” Cody said. “See you soon boys.”

The transmission cut off and was replaced by the call for landing clearance from one of the towers near the military port. Tech entered the correct code and then followed the directions he was given to an open hangar. Once the landing cycle was complete, he shut everything down and gathered his datapad off the seat, placing it back in its correct location in his pack.

“Maybe Cody can tell you where to look for that information you need,” Hunter suggested. “We aren’t supposed to leave for our mission until tomorrow, so I’m sure you’ll have time to find it.”

Tech made a humming sound and adjusted his goggles.

“It’s not likely that Cody would know where to find it, but I’ll ask anyway.”

The four of them descended the ramp from the ship and made their way across the hangar. Cody would be waiting for them in the briefing room he had sent his transmission from. When they arrived, they found not only Cody waiting for them, but also General Kenobi.

“Gentlemen,” the Jedi said in greeting. “It’s been a while.

“General,” Hunter said, bowing his head respectfully. “Always a pleasure.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tech heard Crosshair mutter quietly behind him.

Tech glanced over his shoulder, giving Crosshair a warning look. Ever since their mission with General Orim and their chance encounter with her afterwards, Crosshair had been sour towards General Kenobi. He hadn’t offered any explanation other than “I don’t have a good feeling about him”. Tech had a feeling it had to do with how upset Lena had seemed in the hallway that day. She seemed to be the main thing on his brother’s mind as of late.

Crosshair being smitten was unexpected, and his bitterness towards Kenobi even more so.

Tech shook his head in annoyance and focused his attention back on Cody and Kenobi. They were talking to Hunter about the mission they had just completed.

“You won’t be leaving for your next mission until the day after tomorrow. I trust you got the mission brief I sent you?” Cody asked.

Teche grabbed his datapad and held it up, indicating that he had the information.

“There are a few things that will require some research before we depart,” he said. “I understand there is some flora that would be best to avoid, but I could not find sufficient information on it on the holonet.”

Kenobi rubbed his hand over his beard, as if he was thinking deeply about what Tech had said. “There is a rather extensive research division into plantlife at the Jedi temple that may have the information you require,” he said. “I can grant you access to the Temple so you can consult with them.”

Tech was surprised and excited by the General’s offer. Having access to the vast stores of knowledge within the Jedi temple was something that he longed for. There were things compiled there that not even the greatest academies in the galaxy had access to.

“I would greatly appreciate it, General.”

“I will give Cody the clearance codes and have him pass them along to you,” Kenobi said. “I will leave you gentlemen to the rest of your briefing.”

With a final goodbye to the Commander, General Kenobi left the briefing room. Cody turned his full attention to the men before him.

“Since Tech already has the mission brief, I’ll only summarize and add the things that have been added since it was issued. Then, you are free to go until your departure time. Hopefully, you’ll be able to have some fun while you’re here on Coruscant.”

Tech knew that he would enjoy himself at the Temple and he had no doubts his brothers would take the time to visit 79’s for some drinks. 

Later in the afternoon, Tech was ready to head for the Jedi temple. Cody had given him the necessary clearance codes and had made a list of things that he intended to research. As he exited the cockpit and headed for the ramp, Wrecker called out his name.

“Where you goin’? Aren’t you gonna come to 79’s with us?” he asked.

“First of all, it’s the middle of the afternoon. A bit early to be going to a bar. Secondly, as much as I’d love to spend time dragging you back home after you’ve had entirely too much to drink, I have more important things to do.”

“Like what?”

“He’s got research to do, remember?” Hunter cut in.

“Boring!” Wrecker shouted before returning to lifting their helpless GNK droid onto his arm.

Tech rolled his eyes and descended the ramp, Hunter following close behind. Crosshair stood outside, leaning against the side of the Marauder.

“Off on your plant mission?” he asked.

“Unless you would like to be digested by an unknown plant rather than just hanging from one like last time, it is vital that I know what we’re getting into.”

“It’s not my fault I fell into the vines,” Crosshair said, pointing his toothpick at Tech. “The tree branch already wasn’t stable before the herd of whatevers stampeded by.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Cross,” Hunter said before patting Tech on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourself, but don’t get buried too deep. We might need you later.”

“Do try to keep Wrecker from getting into another drinking match with any regs. I know he can drink a lot, but he can still get hungover.”

Hunter let out a soft laugh and shrugged.

“I’ll try my best, but you know what he’s like.”

Tech shook his head as he thought of the mess that he would likely have to deal with in the morning. He walked away from his brothers in the direction of the speeder bikes at the edge of the hangar, stopping when he heard Crosshair call his name. He looked up and saw him walking towards him, looking over his shoulder at Hunter as if to see if he could hear him or not.

“If you see Lena…” he started.

“If I happened to run into a specific Jedi in a giant building full of them, I will be sure to tell her you said hello. The chances of that happening are low, but I will keep it in mind.”

Crosshair scowled at him for a few seconds before turning around and heading back to the Marauder.

He could at least say thank you.

Tech climbed on the speeder bike and started in the direction of the temple, following the instructions he was given to the hangar when he arrived. He proved his clearance codes and flew into an empty spot. As he turned off the bike, his attention was grabbed by the presence of a person he knew across the room.

Apparently the cosmic forces of the universe are aiming to prove me wrong.

Despite only knowing her for a short time, he would recognize the long, orange, striped lekku of Lena’s padawan, Keebo, anywhere. He crossed the hangar in her direction, calling out her name as he approached. She turned at the sound of his voice and gave him a wide smile.

“Tech? What are you doing here?” she asked.

“General Kenobi gave me permission to come speak with the members of the research division about plant life from a planet we are heading to.”

“Oh! I can take you to where you need to go!” she said, gesturing for him to follow her.

Tech and Keebo walked together down the hall, passing many Jedi. Some of them gave him strange looks as he passed, while others simply smiled or bowed their heads in greeting. Keebo talked to him as they walked, asking after the well-being of his brothers and if they had been on any interesting missions lately. 

Tech was pleased that someone actually wanted to talk to him for longer than a minute and listened to him when he spoke. Keebo had been kind to him before, but it was still nice to experience. He could understand why the 394th valued their Jedi COs.

Eventually, they came to a door that consisted mostly of a frosted window. He could see quite a bit of light coming through, which led him to believe they had reached a greenhouse of sorts. Keebo turned to look at him, gesturing toward the door.

“This is where most of the plant study happens. I’m not sure who’s around right now, as things have been a little mixed up with the war, but I’m sure whoever is here would be happy to help you.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Keebo gave him another wide smile and turned to walk away.

“It was good to see you, Tech!”

Tech turned to face the door, but suddenly remembered his other mission. He quickly turned around again and called out to Keebo. She paused, giving him a questioning head tilt.

“When you see your master, could you pass along a message?”

Keebo smirked at him in response.

“Let me guess, Crosshair says hello?”

Tech felt his eyes widen. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

“How did you know what I was going to say?”

“Lucky guess. I’ll pass along the message,” she said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for in there!”

Tech watched as she walked away, her long lekku swaying behind her. He wondered if she had read his mind and known what he was going to say or if his brother’s infatuation with her master was just that obvious. It must be if Tech had noticed it himself. He shook his head and moved to swipe his hand across the entry pad.

As soon as the door opened, Tech was hit by a blast of warm air. He stepped into the room, allowing the door to slide closed behind him. He found himself in a small entry, which held a few desks with chairs placed haphazardly around them. Datapads and plant pots were scattered over the surfaces of the desks.

Would think Jedi scholars would be a bit more organized.

Tech walked further into the room, his eyes scanning the immediate area for any people that could offer him assistance. He saw another door, this one transparent as the windowed walls around it. The room beyond was a riot of colors and foliage. He crossed the space to open the door, wondering if there was someone in the main greenhouse. As soon as he entered, he heard someone shout.

“Close the door!”

Tech rushed to follow the instructions, stepping through and closing it. Just as he did, a small furry creature appeared in front of him. The top of its head was just below his knees, and it was covered in brown fur. Big black eyes stared up at him as the large ears above them twitched nervously. The creature squeaked at him and flicked its fluffy tail.

“Hello there little one,” Tech said, remaining very still so as to not spook the creature.

With the creature focused on him, it didn’t see the person sneaking up behind it with a net. A woman with dark skin and a head full of braids appeared from the nearby row of plants and scooped up the creature before it could escape again.

“Aha! Got you!” she exclaimed.

The creature squeaked loudly as it thrashed about in the net. The woman that had caught it smiled triumphantly and nodded at Tech.

“Thank you for distracting it so I could capture it.”

“My pleasure,” Tech replied.

“I caught the Bogling!” she yelled to someone else further down the row of plants.

“Oh, thank the Force,” a second feminine voice said. “I was afraid it would eat something it shouldn’t.”

A second woman appeared from behind the plants, a tall Nautolan with purple skin and yellow markings. Some of her long head tendrils were twisted together in front of her, held together with braided bands of red, green, and white that matched a larger one resting above her forehead. As Tech scanned her form with his eyes, his gaze drifted to her feet, which were bare.

“Hello,” she said, causing his gaze to lift back to her face. “I wasn’t aware I had another visitor.”

“I’ll leave you two to your business,” the other woman said. “Sorry about the Bogling. I’ll be sure to talk to Master Cordova about it.”

“See you later, Cere!” the Nautolan woman called after her departing companion.

Once the door closed behind the woman named Cere, she turned to look at him again. Her large dark blue eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at him. She extended her hand to him for him to shake, but Tech didn’t return the gesture. She simply shrugged and lowered her hand.

“Welcome to my sanctuary,” she said. “I’m afraid you came in a rare moment of chaos. My name is Anaj. What can I help you with, trooper?”

“My name is Tech. I was given permission by General Kenobi to make use of your vast knowledge of plant life from different planets.”

“What were you hoping to learn about?” she asked.

Tech pulled out his datapad and tapped on the screen. He brought up his previous search results that hadn’t gotten him very far before handing it to Anaj. She took a quick look at the screen before handing it back to him.

“I know exactly what plant you are looking for. They can be quite dangerous and are known for eating unsuspecting victims if they get too close.”

“That is exactly what my squad hopes to avoid. I thought that if I was able to thoroughly research them and the surrounding flora, I could be more prepared.”

“Wise choice,” she said. “I’m afraid that I won’t have much more information for you on the plant itself as they are very difficult to study as they are so dangerous. But I can help you learn what to avoid.”

“That would be sufficient.”

Anaj gestured for him to leave the greenhouse and return to the office space. Once they were back in the cluttered room, she grabbed one of her multitude of datapads and began scrolling through its contents. Once she found what she was looking for, she handed it to him to look at.

“This is what the roots look like. They are usually exposed and rest on the surface of the ground. You would be wise to avoid touching them, as that would alert the plant to your presence.”

“Much like certain vines on Umbara and Felucia,” Tech said as he scanned the information she had shown him.

“Precisely. It is possible the plants could be related,” Anaj said. “From what we’ve gathered, it seems that the plant is not native to some of the planets it has been found on. We think that some spores had been transported from other planets and taken root.”

Tech looked up from the datapad and met her gaze. While her smile remained, he could hear an annoyed tone in her voice.

“I imagine that is not a good thing?”

“The invasion of non-native plant life is never a good thing, no matter the planet. It leads to so many local species dying out as they compete for resources with the invaders. Not to mention the effect it has on animals that come across it…”

Tech watched Anaj’s face as she animatedly talked about the dangers of invasive species, both flora and fauna. The way her nose scrunched up in annoyance as she spoke of the irresponsible actions of the ones that transported the invaders made the corner of his mouth tick up in a half smile. 

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling,” Anaj said, stopping mid tirade. 

“That’s quite alright. You seem to care a great deal for life of all forms.”

The smile she had before returned to her face and she nodded.

“Yes, I do. I have a strong connection to all kinds of life, sentient or not. The Force flows through it all.”

“I’m afraid my experience with the force is limited,” Tech said. Until very recently, the only Jedi I knew personally were General Kenobi and General Shaak Ti.”

Anaj placed her hand on her chest and sighed softly.

“Shaak Ti was my master,” she said. “I don’t get a chance to see her often with her placement on Kamino.”

“She is well respected by everyone on Kamino, I assure you,” Tech said. “She has always been kind to us. Something that you have in common, I see.”

Anaj looked down, a shy giggle escaping her. Tech could see her cheeks darken to a deep shade of purple as she blushed. He felt a light flutter in his stomach at the sight, which he didn’t understand. 

“Do you have any more information that could be useful?” he asked, trying to avoid thinking about the strange feeling.

“I can send you pictures of the plant life that can usually be found in the areas the dangerous ones grow. They like dark shady areas with a lot of tree cover, so those would be your first sign that you may come across them.”

“That would be appreciated.”

Anaj sent him the information, pointing at his screen to a small message that accompanied it.

“I included my comm frequency. If you have any questions about anything plant or animal related that you can’t find on the holonet, you can call me.”

“I will be sure to make use of that should the need arise.”

Tech stood from his seat and returned his datapad to its home in his pack. 

“Thank you for your assistance, Master Jedi.”

Anaj stuck out her hand again for him to shake. This time Tech reciprocated and gently shook her hand. 

“It was nice to meet you, Tech. I hope I see you again some time.”

Tech released her hand and left the room after bidding her farewell. He followed the path he had previously traveled with Keebo until he reached the hangar. Only once he arrived beside his speeder bike did he realize that he had been hoping to visit the library as well while he was in the temple.

Perhaps I can ask Cody to get me permission to use the library another time. It would make sense for me to have access to knowledge that could help us on our missions.

Tech filed that thought away, making a mental note to ask the Commander next time he saw him. He climbed on his bike and flew out of the hangar, heading back to where the Marauder was parked. The sky overhead had turned dark, the city around him full of bright lights. Tech had no doubt that his brothers would be gone when he returned, so he would have the ship to himself.

As he descended towards the hangar bay, he could see no lights coming from the Marauder and the ramp wasn’t extended, which confirmed his suspicions. Just as he landed, his wrist comm beeped, indicating that someone wanted to speak with him.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Can you swing by 79’s?” Hunter’s voice said from his wrist. “We need a pickup.”

Tech lowered the screen on his helmet to check the time. 

“It’s still early. What could have happened so soon?”

“Crosshair…”Hunter started.

Tech sighed, interrupting his brother before he could say anything else.

“Say no more. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Tech hung up on Hunter and climbed off the bike. He made his way over to a bigger speeder that could hold all of his brothers.

“Typical,” he muttered as he took off.

Leave it to Crosshair to start a fight less than an hour into the evening.

Soon enough, he arrived outside the bar to find his brothers waiting for him. Wrecker was holding Crosshair steady as the man in question held a wad of napkins to his bleeding nose.

“What did you do now?” Tech asked. 

Crosshair’s response was muffled by the napkins, prompting Tech to turn to Hunter for a clearer answer. 

“A reg said something rather crude about a short Jedi with a long braid. Crosshair felt it was his duty to get in said reg’s face. When he was told that ‘he had less chance than an ice cube on Mustafar’ when it came to having a shot with someone like her, Crosshair took it personally.”

Tech saw Hunter give Crosshair a look that was half disappointment and half pity. They all knew the reg was right, but no one wanted to say it. 

“Just take us back to the ship,” Hunter said tiredly.

Tech did as he was told, bringing them all home. As he flew he thought about the Jedi he had met. Before, he hadn’t truly understood why Crosshair had been so besotted with Lena, having never experienced something like that himself. As he pictured Anaj’s smile and the way she had talked so passionately about the thing she cared about, he felt like he could possibly understand. 

Even though he hadn’t been around to hear the reg speak the words that had riled Crosshair up so badly, Tech could still hear them in his head. They screamed at him loud and clear.

You would never have a shot with someone like her.

A/N: Give this a like, comment, and reblog and let me know what you think!

Tags: @monako-jinn-stories

[tempest-sun]

Forever and For Always Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Sound Heartbreak Makes

A/N: Here it is! Chapter seven of what was supposed to be a four-part mini series! I am still in disbelief that we are here at the “end”.

I want to take a moment to say a huge thank you to all of those that have stuck around and shown this story some love. I appreciate all of the likes, reblogs, and comments that you have provided me and left on this story so far. Thank you so so much <3 

Warnings: Just angst. Lots of angst.

Words: 3,270

Summary: You attempt to contact Rex to atone for your mistakes. The Galaxy hangs on the precipice as the Clone Wars come to an end.

Ch. 01 - Ch. 02 - Ch. 03 - Ch. 04 - Ch. 05 - Ch. 06

Back on Coruscant, you are back in your apartment after your failed attempt to catch up to Rex. Pacing in front of your living room window that overlooks the city, you press the button on your communicator that will connect you to Rex’s encrypted channel. The signal light blinks steadily, giving you hope that this time you’ll be able to hear his familiar timbre. Your hope is short lived when your communicator beeps indicating that the signal has been lost.

Where are you Rex? 

For the first time since you’ve known him, you have no idea where his latest mission has taken him. The technician at the hangar wouldn’t tell you since it was considered ‘classified information’. He took pity on you though at your crestfallen acceptance of his answer, supplying you with a general timeline of when the 501st was expected to return. 

Under normal circumstances, you could wait a few days but the anxiety that has seeped under your skin will not allow you to relax. You need to speak to him now. So, you press your communicator yet again.

Isn’t this what insanity is? Trying the same thing over and over hoping for a different result? 

You groan, tossing your communicator on the glass table. 

“Still no luck?” Dy asks, clad in a large bathrobe, towel drying her hair as she joins you in the living room. She clicks on the small HoloNet transmitter sitting on the counter. Soft music begins to play.

“No,” you flop down on the couch. “He must be somewhere where communications are either jammed or non-existent. Ugh.”

“Don’t worry love. He’ll be home soon.” She opens the cupboard, searching for a side to go with the roast you have in the oven. “Should we make gravy or…?”

A sharp, blaring alarm cuts through the air causing both you and Dy to jump. 

“We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with breaking news. We have just received reports that the Senate Building is under attack. We repeat the Senate Building is under attack. Separatist forces under the command of General Grievous have breached the Senate Building. More information to follow.”

The music resumes again. You and Dy just stare in silent shock. 

Something unreadable crosses her face. “I’ll be right back.”

You watch her disappear down the hall, her bedroom door swishing behind her. You pad over to the oven checking on the progress of your roast trying to calm your racing heart. 

Maybe this means Rex will be home sooner than scheduled. You chide yourself for thinking that given the seriousness of this brazen attack.

The alarm blares again and you turn up the dial so you don’t miss a single word of the latest report.

The reporter sounds out of breath. “We are receiving reports that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine has been kidnapped from the Senate Building in a stunning and bold move by General Grievous. The Coruscant Guard urges all citizens to remain planetside to allow the Republic fleet to defeat the Separatists. More information to follow. May the Maker bring the Chancellor back safely.”

The transmission ends. Down the hall you hear Dy’s muffled voice talking to someone. She sounds agitated. You go back to stirring the gravy when she re-emerges in the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” You ask her, hoping your tone comes across as conversational. 

“Oh yeah,” she waves you off. “I remembered that we had a new guy start at the diner so I wanted to make sure he knew how to lock everything down.”

She’s never lied to you before but why does she feel the need to? You don’t like where this train of thought is leading you. 

“Hopefully this lockdown doesn’t last long,” you turn off the stove once the gravy is thick enough. 

“Either way, the war might be over sooner than we thought.”

You awake the next morning to Dy watching the news with rapt attention. She is in the same spot as she was last night. Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her lips. 

“After a dramatic emergency landing, we are receiving confirmation that the Supreme Chancellor has been rescued and is unharmed. According to a statement by the Chancellors representatives, he was rescued by the valiant Jedi Knights, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, following a brief skirmish with Separatist Leader Count Dooku who was defeated at last.”

“I wonder what the seppies are gonna do without their leader.” You comment pouring yourself some juice. “If anything really.”

“Grievous will fill the role,” Dy shrugs, casually. Quickly, she says, “I’m assuming.” 

Right. 

She shuts off the news. “Since Skywalker is back, did you get a hold of Rex?”

“No. I tried it when I woke up but I think he has it shut off. The signal light wouldn’t turn on.” Your lips tremble. 

Maybe I did push him away for good. Maker, what have I done?

“Maybe he’s in a debrief?” She suggests.

“Maybe,” you say miserably. “Or he realised that it’s over and wants nothing to do with me.”

“I doubt that,” she tries to reassure you. “Just give it time. That’s all we can do. In the meantime, I’m gonna pop down to the diner.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s okay, I have some other errands to run and I don’t want to hold you up just in case you can get a hold of him.” 

Her abruptness does nothing to quell your suspicions. You try to not let her tone hurt your feelings either. “You’re right, I need to shower anyway. Have fun!”

You wait for the tell tale swish of the front door to close. Giving her a few minutes of a head start, you follow her. You don’t doubt that she is going to the diner but something in your gut tells you that she’s hiding something. Particularly since the diner is closed for the day. 

But what are you hiding? What are you up to, Dyra?

You watch her from across the busy street. She looks to her left and then to her right unlocking the door quickly. She disappears into the diner not bothering to lock the door behind her not to turn on the lights. Moments later, a shrouded figure in a wool cloak approaches the door. They scan the door, quietly entering the diner as well. You narrow your eyes in suspicion.

If she won’t tell me. I’ll find out for myself.

Determined, you cross the street avoiding being hit by speeders. You open the door to the diner just enough for you to slip through without Dy and the mystery person to be alerted to your presence. You guide the door back into place, adjusting your eyes to the dimness of the room. You hear hushed voices coming from the kitchen. Tiptoeing behind the counter, you flatten yourself near the order window to listen in. 

“… thinking?! The plan was for next week!” Dy hisses. 

You raise your chin, peeking at Dy and the mysterious figure. They haven’t removed their hood but you get a glimpse of their profile. You didn’t know she knew a Neimoidian…

“The plan changed.” The Neimoidian says simply. “We only got word a few hours before it happened.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Couldn’t risk it given your living situation…”

What is that supposed to mean?

“Has that prevented anything before?”

He waves her off. “Regardless, the war is almost over. You’ll have to pick a side eventually. Us or the Republic.”

You gasp. Immediately you clap your hand over your mouth, mentally slapping yourself for what could be a fatal error. A metal bowl clatters in the kitchen. 

Dy raises her voice in a sneer, “You, of all people, doubt my loyalty? After all I have done? All that I have risked for the cause?! I suggest you leave now.” 

You make yourself as small as possible, wedging yourself between the caf maker and the waste bin. The Neimoidian walks right past your hiding space, the bell to the diner swings wildly as the door slams behind him. 

“You can come out now.” Your roommate calls out.

You stand in front of the window staring at her in disbelief. “You’re a Separatist?”

Dy leans back against the chefs counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Guess the loth-cats out of the bag.”

“I would say so.” You clench your jaw entering the kitchen. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were beyond secrets.”

“I wanted to tell you! I swear I did! But…” she shifts her weight from one foot to another. 

You cross your arms as well. “But what?”

She wrings her hands, pursing her lips. “You started seeing Rex. You were so happy, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you.”

“Because you couldn’t trust me? Is that it? You were that worried that I would run to Rex and tell him ‘hey my roommate is a Separatist, come take her away’?!” Your voice raises with each question.

Dy rubs her fingers through her hair. “No! It’s nothing like that!”

“Then what was it like then?! I thought we were sisters!”

“We are!” Dy yells. You both face each other, your chests heaving from your outburst. She drops her shoulders. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Her voice shakes with emotion. 

You soften your gaze slightly. “That doesn’t change the fact that you have chosen to align yourself with them.” 

“I know,” she looks down at the floor. “What’re you going to do?”

You furrow your eyebrows together at the implication of her question. “I’m not going to report you if that’s your concern.”

“Thank you,” she visibly relaxes. “It means a lot to me.”

“Well,” you wring your hands. “Separatist or not, you’re still my best friend. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

A few days later, you are tidying the apartment before bed when you see a flash of an explosion out of the corner of your eye. 

Another Separatist attack?

You watch in silent horror as the bright orange flames punctuate the thick plumes of smoke on the horizon where the Jedi temple usually lies. 

You inadvertently find yourself worrying after that little Padawan that Rex was fond of. Elara, you think her name was. You had met her once before when you’d dropped off some lunch for him as a treat. 

Watching him interact with her, letting her clamber over his shoulders and scamper around wearing his helmet, you realised how much fatherhood would suit him. He listened patiently as she animatedly told him about all the stuff he missed while he was away. That day she was bubbling with excitement because Master Yoda said that she’s going to be a great Jedi when she grows up, to which Rex wholeheartedly agreed. She scampered off towards the temple just as suddenly as she had appeared with Rex watching after her like a proud father. 

You rest your palm on the tiny swell of your stomach hoping that your theory will be proven true and Rex will be just as a good father to your child. 

When you awake the next morning, the fire at the Jedi Temple appears to have burnt itself out. The cream coloured clouds that blanket over Coruscant blot out the usual clear blue sky leaving the city in an arid haze. 

You had turned on the HoloNet transmitter while you picked at your breakfast hoping for some news but there hasn’t been anything which is unusual given the circumstances. 

Maybe it’s a lot more serious than you thought. 

“Apparently, Chancellor Palpatine is making a speech today to address what happened. All citizens are urged to attend.” Dy scoffs. 

“What time?” 

“Midday.” 

“Let me get changed and we’ll go.”

A crowd has gathered in the courtyard outside of the Senate building to hear the Supreme Chancellor’s speech to address the events over the past couple of days. You and Dy stand side by side at the fringes of Coruscanti citizens waiting for much needed answers. Silence befalls the crowd when the holoprojector comes on. The blue, grainy image of a hooded figure looms over the crowd. 

“Is that the Supreme Chancellor?” someone whispers but is immediately shushed.

The hooded figure begins to speak.

“Citizens of the civilised galaxy, on this day we mark a transition. For a thousand years, the Republic stood as the crowning achievement of civilised beings. But there were those who would set us against one another, and we took up arms to defend our way of life against the Separatists. In so doing, we never suspected that the greatest threat came from within.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, listening to the Chancellor spin the tale that it was the Jedi who were conspiring with Count Dooku and were the ones who fabricated the Clone Wars to covertly destroy the Republic. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the red armour of the Coruscant guards standing around the crowd. To keep the crowd from getting too unruly? To root out Separatists? You cross your fingers that it’s the former. 

Palpatine continues to explain that there was an insurrection at the Jedi Temple last night but not to worry because the loyal Clone Troopers were there to prevent any further violence by the Jedi. Not only did they squash the Jedi’s plans on Coruscant but also on the planets they were stationed on. A sinking feeling causes your heart to drop at his next words. 

“The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated! Any collaborators will suffer the same fate.”

You glance over at Dy who’s face drains of colour. Collaborator. Sympathiser. Traitor. It doesn’t make a difference in this new Empire.

“We need to get out of here,” Dy says in your ear. 

You shake your head. “We can’t,” you tilt your head towards the blocked avenues of escape. “Not yet.”

There is a mixed reaction amongst the crowd at the declaration that the Republic will be reformed into the Galactic Empire under one law, one language, and one “enlightened” ruler in office for life with a successor being appointed by the previous ruler. In addition, there will be appointed governors across the galaxy stationed on senatorial planets to prevent corruption which you can’t imagine the senators inside the senate building are too pleased about.

“Let the enemies of the Empire take heed: Those who challenge Imperial resolve will be crushed.” 

You shiver despite the heat of the day at the newly self-appointed Emperor Palpatine’s menacing promise. You listen as he implores the crowd that it is their Imperial duty to spread the word of this new Empire through joining the new Imperial Starfleet. But what about the clones?

“The clone troopers, proudly wearing the name of Imperial stormtroopers, have tackled the dangerous work of fighting our enemies on the front lines. Many have died in their devotion to the Empire. Imperial citizens would do well to remember their example.”

You stand on your tiptoes watching two of the  Corrie guards unveil a 60” x 20” clear screen with blue Aurebesh scrawl on it.

In Memoriam. Your heart lurches. 

Emperor Palpatine's speech concludes with the promise of ten thousand years of peace starting today. The holoprojector shuts off and the crowd slowly begins to disperse discussing what they’ve just heard. Like a magnet pulling you in, your feet carry you towards the memorial.

“Excuse me,” you push past a couple standing just in front of the screen. You scan the list of names desperately. Please be alive. Please be alive. Please—

COMMANDER REX. 501st DIVISION. DECEASED. 

No. No. No. No. No. 

The world stops spinning, suspending this horrifying moment in time. Your mouth goes dry. Your ears begin to ring. You blink a few times, willing the name to change. White hot tears burn your lower lashes when the 

I need to get out of here. 

You turn and weave your way blindly through the now chanting crowd. 

Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace! 

Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace! 

Safety, Security, Justice, and Peace!

You break through the swarm of bodies emerging on the sidewalk. You dash down the street oblivious to the strange looks that you’re surely receiving. You stumble into an alleyway, your legs threatening to give out. You slump against a concrete wall. 

This isn’t real. 

Head spinning, you drop to your knees. You clutch your chest, a scream ripping out of your throat. 

“Not my Rex. Please.” You sob. “Maker please, not him.” 

You think back to the last conversation you had with him. The hurt in his eyes from the spiteful words on your tongue meant to protect him. How you wish you could take it back. Rewind time to fold him in your arms and keep him safe, warm, and loved. If only you had told him about the baby…

The baby.

A torrent of tears pour down your face at the realization that Rex will never know about your child. You had allowed yourself to dream of settling down once the war was over in domestic bliss. Instead, you were rewarded with your heart and hope ripped away at the dawn of this new era. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You bring your knees to your chest hugging them. You bury your face in your knees so no one can see you cry. You screw your eyes shut against the sudden intrusive thought of Rex laying dead, cold, and alone somewhere. 

No. No. No. This is just a silly nightmare. When I wake, Rex will be here. Alive. Warm. Safe.  

You’re going to go home and he is going to appear in your doorway like he has a million times before. He’ll have a huge warm smile on his lips, his warm brown eyes will sparkle with adoration and love that’s solely reserved for you. You’re going to tell him the news and be a family.

Family. You were going to be a family. 

You hear footsteps approach you but you don’t look up. Maybe they’ll think you’re a vagrant and will go away. They don’t. 

“Hey.” Dy’s voice is gentle. “There you are.”

You just nod looking down at your tear soaked lap. 

She doesn’t say anything further. There’s not much that she can say that will bring you comfort now. What she can offer is quiet companionship as she sits beside you rubbing  your back in soothing circles. 

After a while, she breaks the silence. “We have to leave Coruscant.”

No. 

“Leave?” You turn your head to face her.

She nods solemnly. “You heard the speech. We’re not safe here.”

“We can’t.” You shake your head vehemently. We can’t leave, Rex is going to come back. He’s going to come back to me.  

“There’s nothing left for us in Coruscant anymore.” Dy murmurs gently. 

In your heart you know that to be true but it doesn’t make accepting it any easier. You swallow the lump in your throat. You know leaving is for the best. For all of your sakes. You have to protect the precious piece of Rex that you have left. 

You and Dy choose to take the last transport of the day leaving Coruscant and all that you’ve ever known. All of your memories packed in a small silver suitcase at your feet. You stare out the window watching the skyline change to ink as the transport ascends higher and higher.

You bring the pendant around your throat to your lips. “Goodbye Rex,” you whisper to the stars as you make your way into the great unknown.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@ems-alexandra

@loverofclones

@citrusdoll

@graciexmarvel

@flyingkangaroo

@eternalwaffle

[zinzinina]

Miss Samantha, I have a question about Delta Squad: How do you think each of them handle being away from their partner for a while? This can be NSFW or SFW, either way, I'm just waiting to get the game and i'm curious. 😌💕

Elizardbeth, my absolute beloved! Thank you so much for asking! Fair warning; things did get a little bit angsty with our favourite emo man Sev x

Pairing: Boss x F!Reader, Fixer x F!Reader, Scorch x F!Reader, Sev x F!Reader Word Count: 2.5k Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: Some mentions of PIV, oral sex (f receiving), comm sex, canon-typical violence

Not tagging anybody because I’m not sure who would actually be interested in this one

Boss

Boss will never admit aloud how much he hates being away from you

Not because he’s afraid the boys will think he’s gone soft — it’s far too late for that anyway, they all saw him getting misty-eyed over your Holopic — but because it’s his job to keep everyone else moving forward

It wouldn’t do for tough, no-nonsense Boss to suddenly start dragging his heels every time they need to head out on another hellish, ugly job wading through knee-deep muck, blasters jammed with bug shit

So he designates time between missions to comm you, and Maker help anyone in the squad if they interrupt

Everyone knows exactly what it means when he barricades himself in the server compartment

The line connects just as he’s shutting the doors, grizzling at someone (probably Scorch, let’s be honest) to “quit fucking around and get some bacta on that”

The switch in his voice is immediate; straight from gruff to gentle as his frown dissolves into softness at the sight of your face

“Are you keeping well, ad’ika?”

He gives you no indication of what’s been happening or where he is, not wanting you to worry

If there’s fresh scoring or blood on his armour, he doesn��t comment on it and neither do you

He wants to hear all about your day, demanding every bland little detail, concerned when you mention the minor disagreement you had at work or the broken appliance in your apartment

The only time he’s ever stern with you is when he hears that you’ve been working late and skipping dinner to finish up at work — telling you that you need your rest, and to eat properly; that while he’s not there, you need to take better care of yourself

It sometimes feels darkly funny to you; calmly telling him about your quiet, domestic frustrations when he’s been spending the past day inches from death, his voice still rasping hoarse through the connection from shouting

It’s like you’re both playacting — pretending at a normality that doesn’t really exist

But then there are some calls with Boss that turn out very differently

You answer from your bed, flat on your back as you blink shyly up at him

He curses low at the sight of you in that outfit; the one that rendered him speechless the first time he saw you wearing it

“All this just for me, mesh’la?”

You respond sweetly, tilting your device down lower to show him the way you’re laying, your knees bent, legs spread just so on the bed

And then he’s issuing instructions, low but direct

“I want you to lift that skirt up for me. That’s it, cyar’ika… Good girl. Shab, you look so pretty. Suck those fingers… use your tongue — yes, suck both of them… maybe even a third. Get them nice and wet. Now, pretty girl. Show me how much you miss me.”

Fixer

After the first week passed by without you hearing from Fixer, you were worried something had happened

You’d scoured every Holonet report you could find about the sieges in the Outer Rim, terrified of what you’d learn

Only to read that things were going really well, actually: no major loss of Republic assets, only minor casualties… overall, very quiet

Yet still you heard nothing, your transmissions left unanswered

Then a second week goes by, and a sad, bitter kernel of self-doubt creeps in

Maybe he’s talking to someone else. Maybe you weren’t the only person he was seeing; maybe you completely misread what the two of you had together. You feel like an idiot, and you walk around, heartsore and paper-fragile for several days

But by the end of the third week, you’re angry

How busy could he really be? He can’t take five minutes to send you a quick message, just to let you know he’s safe? They have the time to eat and sleep; surely he’s thought about you at least once in those moments of rest?

Your righteous indignation bolsters you through the remainder of his time away, and you’re almost able to think about him without tears prickling your eyes when the transmission comes through

“Campaign successful. Returning in 33h. standard.”

You stare at your datapad, reading and rereading the short, brusque message several times

How dare he? The sheer audacity! You begin typing at furious speed; unleashing the most scathing, stripping message you can muster

But once it’s done, you falter, your thumb hovering over the ‘Send’ for just a moment too long. No matter how loudly you internally yell at yourself, you just can’t bring yourself to do it

You tell yourself you’ll just save your acid to tell him in person

You’re checking yourself over in the mirror one last time before you open the door; grimly satisfied with how incredible you look. He’s going to be so sorry, you think

Your door slides up with a little blip, and there he is: helmet under his arm, armour scuffed and scratched but clean from dirt

He has heavy pockets of tiredness underneath his eyes, and before you can gather your anger, you find yourself saying something else

“You look tired.”

He blinks, his tone matter of fact. “I haven’t slept yet. I came straight here from the debriefing.”

Then he’s stepping over the threshold, his lips meeting yours with a desperation approaching starvation and every ounce of fury dissolves as you remember just how badly you’ve missed him

You barely make it to the bed before his lips are closing over your clit, sucking messily at you as he detaches his codpiece, too hurried to bother with the rest of his armour before he’s driving himself home inside you

Afterwards, laying sweaty and panting beside him, you find your voice again, small with emotion

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

He glances at you quizzically. “We aren’t supposed to use the network for personal transmissions. It is against the regulation guidelines. But…” he slides his gauntlet off, turning it to show you the inside. There, burned into that prized, elite-class, highly valuable Katarn armour, are your initials above rows of tally marks, one for every day he’d been away

“I… suppose I’ve already broken regulations.”

Scorch

Scorch sends you a hundred and fifty transmissions a day

That isn’t an exaggeration

And they’re frequently the most inane, pointless messages you’ve ever received in your life

“polystarch rations again, wish i was eatin u out instead babe lol but fr”

“miss u”

“left one of boss’s socks in sev’s bucket, smells like shit, he’s gonna lose it when he finds out”

“love you babe”

“when i get back can we get fried nuna again like last time? i’m SO HUNGRY”

“saw a mynock nest full of babies today, u would have loved it”

“what u doin”

“sev says hi”

Occasionally he sends pictures: a pile of Geonosian boulders accompanied by the caption “u make me rock hard“ or his yellow-gauntleted hand offering a thumbs up in front of a pile of tangled explosive wires, Fixer squinting blurrily at the camera in the background

Frankly it’s reassuring; feeling his constant presence on your wrist comm at work, waiting alone at your favourite Abednedo takeout place for your order to be called, laying across the sofa with a Holodrama playing, sending him live updates on the plot (Scorch has an extreme addiction to the cheesiest Holodramas and asks about every twist in detail, bemoaning Nak Pama’s decision to take Reevo back again after that cheating scandal with her secret identical twin two weeks ago, and does Dibu’a know yet who the fertiliser of his eggs turned out to be?)

Whenever it’s been a few hours without hearing from him, you know it means he’s mid-mission

You try your hardest not to worry about him, but your heart swoops with relief as soon as you see the alert light up; “blew up a bug nest! it was sick! wyd babe?”

Scorch is a prolific taker of dick pics

Sometimes you’re bewildered with trying to figure out how he took the picture, like the one of him with one hand wrapped around his blaster, the other around his cock

He does try to make them artful, though it’s a little hard when he’s shut in a tiny, harshly-lit military ‘fresher. He’s tried every angle he can manage, and most of them fill you with affectionate enthusiasm, humouring him with your responses

But then one day he sends you a short recording of himself, his fist loosely pumping his length, his voice close enough to the recording that the harshness of his grunts make you shiver delicately

His breathing roughens as his grip tightens, his hips bucking into his hand as he gets closer… then, when he spills into his fist, you swear your heart skips a beat

You watch it ten times, listening to him babbling your name and trying to keep quiet. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and you writhe on your bed, getting yourself off to the recording again and again, your comm device inches from your face

So you decide — fuck it, you’ll send one of your own

In it, you whisper to him how many times you’ve watched his message; how hard you came when listening to him, and all the filthy, deranged things you want to do to him — or have him to do to you when he gets back

His reply pings through: “!!!!!!!!”

Sev

Sev struggles the most with being away from you. Like, really, really struggles

He becomes withdrawn and moody — even more so than usual

Sev’s abandonment issues follow him around like a cloud, and he has to remind himself every day how much you love him, how you promised to wait for him for however long it’ll take for him to get back, that you won’t move on while he’s kept away from you

He’s conscious of his own clingy tendencies, which is why he has a self-imposed limit — one transmission a night, otherwise he knows he’d never be able to focus on getting any work done

He’s not able to relax into tasks like Scorch does; his focus needs to be all or nothing

So he throws himself headlong into the absolute worst of their jobs, knowing that the sooner it’s done, the sooner he can get back to the ship to await further instructions

Sev’s nights are spent hunched in his bunk, expression unfocused

If anybody asks what he’s doing, he growls a response that’s sure to keep his brothers at a distance. “Daydreamin’ about Trandoshan anatomy. Reckon if you rip the head off just right, the whole spine’ll come out clean.”

Scorch makes a performance of retching. “Fuck, Sev! Stay over on your side of the cabin, you creep.”

Which does the trick nicely, because now he’s free to take the ribbon of fabric out from where it’s hidden inside his armour. The smell of your perfume has faded, but if he crushes it to his face hard enough he can still conjure the image of you standing in front of your dresser, half-dressed and soft-eyed as you apply the fragrance to the secret places between your breasts and behind your knees

When he composes his transmissions, Sev writes to you in poetry

He knows he’s not as artistic or expressive as he’d like to be; he can never quite get the depth of his feelings out into the right syllables and it always seems somewhat pale in comparison to what he really wants to say, but he pours his heart out nonetheless

He tells you about the wasteland of ugliness surrrounding him; waking to worn durasteel walls, walking through crumbled ruins spattered with the remains of their enemies, the red soil of Geonosis staining the treads of his boots with all the blood ever spilled into that hellish dust. He tells you that it’s difficult to believe this much horror exists in the same galaxy as you; that just on the other side of a hyperlane you’re waking up, singing quietly to yourself in the ‘fresher, raising your beautiful face up to the warmth of the spray

He tells you about his dreams: the surreal, confusing one about a family of purrgil growing large enough to swallow moons, the one about you stretched out on your bed, your nails digging into the muscles of his back as your breasts bounce against his chest with every thrust… and the bad ones, too

The one about his body suddenly being taken from his control; he raises his blaster and shoots at a figure he can’t see, even though his mind screams at him to stop. Or the one about Scorch not moving out of the way fast enough; Sev’s limbs heavy and thick as syrup in that way unique to dreams, unable to prevent his little brother’s body being ripped in two

He writes to tell you that you’re with him every moment of every day. He sees you in the brilliance of the suns overhead, and in the azure opalescence of the mineral dust he finds in his gloves at the end of the day

And at the end of every transmission: “Wait for me, my love. Please keep waiting for me. I’ll always come back to you.”

[keravnos-kori]

return to sender - chapter one: commencement

tech x ofc (eventual)

word count: 6.7k

read the prologue here!

cw: in-universe cursing, baby's first fic, thoughts of isolation, anxiety, loneliness, etc. alcohol mention, slight references to body image issues, sensory overload mention, vague canon-typical violence (PLEASE let me know if I missed anything else!)

summary: halla has been alone for the past three years. as it turns out, relocating to coruscant and attending a prestigious university hasn’t been as glamorous as she originally expected - but when a new opportunity comes along for her to prove the republic’s injustices committed against clone troopers, she might get more than she bargained for when the power structure suddenly collapses and is replaced by something far more sinister…

a/n: can ya'll believe I'm actually committing to a project for once? you have no idea how happy i am to get this chapter out - it's personally not my favorite since it's based around a lot of internal exposition rather than interactions with other characters, but we need that sick ass character development before we get to the good stuff. shout out to @keldabekush for allowing me to reference their epic oc band of clone deserters, The Meat Droids for a little sentence near the end - it's an amazing concept and I just couldn't help but want to include it somewhere. also, some lines from the notes sent back and forth between tech and halla were taken from the original rp a bit of an homage to the “source material” bc i’m a simp. thank you in advance for reading! hope you enjoy

~~~~~~

Subspace transceivers were near ancient technology by Galactic Republic standards. Comprised of pulse radars, input/output transducers, and sorosub omni arrays, the technology was far more economical in practice than sending messages through the holonet. Yet, this method was a bit riskier to engage in since the files had the potential to stall or become corrupted altogether while jumping from satellite to satellite. Modern interplanetary infrastructure not only made it possible to ensure these cases occurred less frequently than before the start of the war, but also allowed transmissions to be sent nearly anywhere within Republic or neutral territories. As long as civilians avoided the more secure frequencies by sticking to their own metaphorical hyperlanes, the privileges of owning these devices were granted without many restrictions in place. With hundreds of thousands of networks interspersed throughout the known regions dispatching millions of communicative datafiles at approximately 492,459,264 kilometers per standard hour, it is considered by gearheads and gurus alike to be one of the oldest, yet intuitive, technological marvels of contemporary times.

Halla hadn’t a clue how any of it worked. 

All she knew was that she had been lucky to find a pretty, gold-plated module at a local junk shop in the next district over that still had its original frequency assigned. After asking a former instructor at the university to reset the device with her own personal information, she lugged the contraption home and set it up proudly underneath her desk. Installing the corresponding application on her main console and personal datapad was pretty straightforward from there.

The other thing she knew for sure was that when she departed that morning to attend her commencement ceremony, there were no messages in her inbox.

And now there was.

That morning for Halla had begun less jubilantly than it probably was for the other graduates in her class. This was most likely due to the fact that she did not awaken until nearly 14:00 standard time, and therefore had no opportunity to attempt to enjoy the first half of the day. Her alarm sounded right on schedule, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything productive for the first fifteen minutes other than stare at her ceiling, affect completely blank.

For just a few moments, she allowed herself to think of her monna – her mother – and how she, along with Halla’s stepfather and half-siblings, would be absent from the occasion today for one reason or another. All four of them were back home on Scarif, and she hadn’t heard from any of them for about an entire week now; odd, especially from the overbearing matriarch and her regular attempts to badger her daughter. Did they even know it was today? Surely they must, the topic of graduation came up nearly every time her family commed her. Perhaps there was no shuttle available to arrive on time: logical, considering the remote nature of the tropical planet and its relative distance from the core worlds. Or maybe the scorching sun finally fried their brains and they got caught up harvesting sea grapes near the basin, the event escaping their minds completely.

Her biological father, now he was an entirely different story, and not one Halla gave much thought to on a regular basis. Since she didn’t keep up regular contact with him, she had no reason to believe he had any idea what she was accomplishing today – too deeply involved in his career trajectory to notice his little girl was growing up without him. Who needed family when you had your own Venator-class?

Once the dissonant bell tones had finally overtaken her psyche, Halla made the effort the kick the thick duvet from her body and plant her feet on the bedside rug, worn from the previous day and the countless days before that. Padding across the hall and into her apartment’s single washroom, she made an effort not to gaze at herself in the looking glass in passing. Once she had properly relieved herself and scrubbed her hands clean, she made the mistake of looking up despite her initial efforts. 

Facing herself for the first time since waking up, she couldn’t help but groan at the state of her hair, half out of its updo from the night before, with what looked like a bit of drool caked around her left fringe. Not to mention the dark circles hugging her bottom eyelids, the way her cheek was stained red with imprints from the sheets, and the enormous crick in her neck she had yet to stretch out, causing her to lean at an unnatural angle.

What a fantastic way to start your big day, Lala…

Slapping her cheeks two or three times to rouse a semblance of consciousness, Halla turned around to start up the ‘fresher, warming it to a desirable temperature before removing her tousled sleepwear and stepping onto the tiled surface. She scrubbed herself down and even pushed herself through the extra effort of shaving her legs and underarms for the first time in what was probably scandalously too long by Coruscant Level 5,127 standards. As much as she despised trying to wrangle her hair beneath the spray, it was an additional chore that demanded to be completed. Halla cringed internally at the number of strays that fell down the drain as she wrapped herself in the thickest towel available from the linen shelf.

Getting dressed was a lonely affair, with no one to dramatically fawn over her appearance or tell her how proud they were that she was the first on that side of the family to complete a collegiate education. There was no music, no clinking glasses, and no emotion-melding ritual as was the custom with her stepfather’s culture. Nautolans sure knew how to throw a party, and it was striking to the Very Human Halla how much she missed those comforts now that it was her own day to celebrate.

The second time she faced herself, now in front of her full-length mirror, it was a far less distressing image – her coppery-brown hair, dried and styled as well as she could manage on her own, fell about her shoulder blades and framed around her round face flatteringly. The cosmetics she chose to work with were tasteful, but she couldn’t help but let some of her personal artistic flair shine through as she was applying it – gold and green pigment bordered her hazel eyes, the black liner angling down slightly to compliment the shape of her eyes. Blush was an absolute must for her complexion and an attempt was made at dabbing a darker shade of concealer below her cheekbones, though her soft features and jawline were not the most conducive to the technique. Her lips were painted a darker tint than she wore on an everyday basis, but it was by far her favorite part of the look. Gold and bronze accessories decorated the rest of her skin and hair, complementing the stark black material of the commencement robe.

Overall, it wasn’t her worst work, but something about the circumstance made it nearly impossible to enjoy. Halla tried to smile at her reflection, feeble as it was. A few holopics were even snapped when all was said and done, so that she might have something down the line to remember that day.

Like you have anyone to impress today.

With that excessively constructive thought, Halla was out the door just in time to reach the taxi terminal and ride up to the University’s auditorium for the last time as an undergraduate.

~~~

The ceremony itself was a slog. Halla was expecting it, and it seemed as if everyone else in her cohort was too. Name after name after foreign name was called, and after a while Halla had nothing better to do than sit back in her assigned seat, fingers twisting and knees shaking, and take guesses as to where everyone else came from as they walked across the stage. Some were easier than others: Glee Anselm for the Nautolans, Pantora for most of the periwinkle-skinned, fur-donned humanoids, Naboo for those that wore red stoles and the ceremonial scar down their lip, etc. It was always a tradition to represent your homeworld at functions such as this, which was why Halla opted for the more subtle, yet just as symbolic lei of plom blossoms hanging low around her neck. The most interesting graduate to cross was a feminine-presenting Kel Dor, not a figure Halla had ever encountered before, but wonderful to behold all the same since their species never traveled too far from Dorin from what she’d studied. 

Eventually, Halla felt herself nodding off slightly, only jolting awake just in time for her row to be summoned to stand and make their way to the foot of the podium. Accepting the piece of flimsi with a handshake from the headmaster, Halla was able to register in the back of her mind that there was no one in the audience screaming in excitement at her name being announced like those before and behind her in line – just polite, subdued applause.

No relatives, no friends, no colleagues.

Returning to her seat, any sense of accomplishment she anticipated the impact of never struck her. Now all she wanted was for it to be over with, and for some inexplicable reason, she blamed herself for ruining the occasion for herself. She found herself to be quite pitiful at that moment, and the rest of the ceremony passed in a grey, dull, unsatisfactory blur: the kind of blur that makes you want to slink home, order takeout, and never surface from your bed’s comforter even if the sky was falling.

Maybe Rodian curry is in the cards for later…

There better be something good on the holos tonight…

Do they deliver alcohol all the way down here, or does that cost extra…?

These were the thoughts dominating Halla’s mind the entire journey home. After swiping her taxi chit to pay the automated toll, she began her ascent back up towards her apartment, footsteps echoing distantly through the durasteel hallways. It seemed like everyone who resided in her complex was out to celebrate tonight. Everyone, that was, except for her.

Lucky them.

Even the front door must’ve sensed deep in its wiring what sort of emotional state she was in, taking sympathy on her and opening up right as she punched in her key code – a departure from its usual malfunctioning temperament for which she was immensely grateful, just this once. Safely locked inside, Halla unceremoniously tossed the flimsi and its embossed folder onto her entryway table along with the rest of her belongings. She couldn’t care less about any of it, not anymore. Her main goal was to tear the overpriced garb from her body and toss it to the bottom of her closet, never to be seen again.

The frustration only grew as she stripped out of her dress and gown, shucked her shoes off haphazardly, and picked out mismatched sleepwear from her dresser – as she pulled the oversized University Boloball team sweatshirt over her head, Halla made the error of looking into the mirror for the umpteenth time that day. Her carefully applied mascara and eyeliner had smudged sometime between her application and return home, and not the sexy kind of smudge she’d seen models wear to promote perfumes and lingerie; it looked like she had narrowly missed being collided into by an over-the-limit speeder. That, along with her windswept hair and flushed cheeks from the taxi ride had left her in a state of disarray.

Have I really looked like this all evening?

Standing there in just the long-sleeved shirt and black cotton underwear, Halla couldn’t pull her eyes away from the railspeeder-wreck that was her physical appearance in its current state. Her previously tamed hair had lost its gentle, artificial curls and had returned to its natural mess of frizzy waves and overgrown, split-ended thickness. The heels she had elected to wear had done nothing to support her feet and left blisters on the backs of both her ankles where the straps had been secured. And, of course, there was the chafing between her thighs from forgetting to include any sort of slimming garment in her outfit’s ensemble. The sensory overload was getting to be too much – physically, mentally, and emotionally, it was more than she could bear.

Grabbing a microfiber cloth from her vanity, Halla leaned in close to her mirror and began to wipe under her eyes, trying her best to regain some sense of self-perceived normalcy. Washing her face was the second step in recentering herself, and as soon as she was all patted dry (and finally decided to step into her linen shorts) she figured it was about time to order the meal she had been considering as a consolation for such a shitty, kriffed up, no-good day. Halla retrieved her datapad and stopped short once it had unlocked.

The red icon on the screen flashed impatiently over her transmissions app – a notification that hadn’t been there when she had left earlier that evening.

Halla didn’t know much about subspace transmissions, but the world seemed to shift as she threw herself down onto her unmade bed, holding the pad over her eyes as if she were trying to decode a Jedi Holocron (at least that’s how she thought it worked, how was she supposed to know?). 

Over the past two days since she’d first sent her message to her selected trooper, she couldn’t pull herself away from checking every few minutes for a new message – and every time there was one, it was always a false alarm: spam and scams, rather than a message from a particular commando originating from outside her contact list. Halla couldn’t help but allow her excitement to grow again, her heart pounding in her ribcage like a child waking up on Life Day morning. All of the events from earlier came rushing back to her at once; all of the strife would be worth it if this actually turned out to be from who she hoped it was.

Kark, let’s just get this over with.

All opinions on what end meal she would purchase from the market were suddenly paused, momentarily forgotten in favor of the abrupt, but not unwelcome turn the night was taking. The lone message was selected, buffered for a bit, then displayed itself before Halla’s very eyes. And there, at the very bottom of the text box, was a simple sign-off. A one-syllable name that caused her to almost choke on her saliva as she swallowed in disbelief.

It’s him.

It’s really him!

Halla sat there, incredulously holding the electronic device in both hands, afraid that if she were to make any sudden movement the message would vanish like some cosmic prank. But it didn’t disappear, it remained right where it was supposed to. Scrolling back up towards the header, Halla read it to herself, slowly, deliberately. Her fingertips began to shake as she read onward:

Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:07

Recipient: Halla Ismaren <hismaren.uccore.holo>

Subject: Re: Requesting Assistance

Miss Ismaren,

I received your initial message two days ago and would like to account for the delay on my part. I am interested in your cause, if somewhat minimally at this point in time. The filters installed within my transceiver are far too advanced to grant unwanted solicitation. This is how I knew you were genuine with your request for assistance. Though I have never received a post-secondary education as you have, I am quite familiar with the processes and definitions associated with various types of research and dissertations – there is no need to expand on these concepts for my sake. Your thesis topic seems a bit vague. Would you mind explaining further what it is you are trying to accomplish? I don’t believe I would be of much use to you unless I know the specifics of your mission statement.

Additionally, a disclosure must be made before I lead you astray: You state that I am the best potential candidate to provide insights for this project, and while I agree I would have an exceptional awareness of the operations within the GAR, I do not claim to represent the rest of the army’s homogenous population. I can expand on this at a later date if you wish. Your desire to advocate for us is admirable, to be sure.

-Tech

P.S. Statistically you are correct, someone is undoubtedly thinking of my squad out in the greater galaxy. However, I doubt it’s in a friendly manner as I face many adversaries in my line of service. If you are insinuating it’s you who regards us positively, thank you, I suppose.

Transceiver Identification: CT-9902-D-622-E.modified

*This transmission is liable to data retrieval and analysis, all rights and liberties of communications monitoring afforded to the Grand Army of the Republic*

Halla read over the transmission what felt like a million times, emphasizing different words, trying to imagine what the cadence of his voice would sound like. Her first impression was that he was, well…rather clinical. Not cold or detached precisely, merely efficient with his syntax. She figured this was a byproduct of his training – why waste time writing long-winded letters to a stranger when you could be preparing for battle or offering humanitarian aid to refugees? Halla couldn’t find it within herself to be offended by his tone. In fact, it was nearly impossible to wipe off the stupid grin she had plastered across her face.

A soft giggle escaped from between her lips, followed by a slightly louder one which evolved into full-blown laughter by the next breath she took. Hysterical, Halla had no choice but to drop the pad next to her hip, gaining another free hand to wipe away the overflowing tears of elation.

IT WORKED.

Halla scrambled her way off the bed and began pacing across her quarters, punching the air several times in triumph. This was it – this trooper, Tech, was going to be her saving grace. She would collect his statements, bring them before the Senate’s Ethics Committee, and attain something beneficial for an underserved population that had no voice within the government it was forced to serve. Just like all those figures from her civics texts growing up, Halla’s name would go down in history as someone who did something good, something right for others. The tuition money wouldn’t be wasted, she wouldn’t return to her settlement an utter failure. She would be a living legend, a hero, a champion for those soldiers who needed it the most.

Hubris, who?

Despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, a few nagging thoughts strayed behind the self-preening ones: should she respond tonight? Would that come off as too desperate, too much? Or would he appreciate her not wasting his time, waiting for a response while she was too busy freaking out dozens of star systems away?

Putting her tirade on hold for a moment, Halla knew she had to come up with a decision by the end of the night, sooner preferably than later. After weighing her options and realizing it wouldn’t be the first time that she’d made a fool out of herself that night, she resolved to at least draft something up before she settled down to sleep – if it was respectable enough to send, it would happen. If not, she’d just continue to work on it until she was satisfied with the end result. A seemingly rational compromise. A reason to step back mentally and assess all the options. Also, an excuse to address her rumbling stomach, aggravated by the long-term, unintentional fasting and the mercurial pendulum that was her constantly shifting mood.

Ultimately, Halla decided to order from the curry joint she originally had in mind on her main holonet terminal, keeping her holopad nearby just in case Tech suddenly changed his mind and decided he wanted nothing to do with her proposition. If this were the case, she wasn’t quite sure how she would respond, but the security she found in its proximity was too reassuring to pass up.

This worst-case scenario, however, turned out to be just that. Tech never wrote back to change his mind. Not while Halla paid for delivery, not as she waited for its arrival, and not even as she was eating, legs crisscrossed underneath the to-go containers of fried veggie rolls and Iskaayuman hen flatbread. She even went as far as to pour herself a glass of wine from her top cabinet, saved only for special occasions, which she believed was warranted that night. It was intended to calm her more than anything – Halla was no longer intent on drinking herself into a stupor as she had been mere hours ago. So there she sat with her feast-for-one, mulling over Tech’s words she had practically memorized by heart.

He doesn’t seem arrogant or anything, just a little…different. Probably not used to talking to outsiders, I guess. I wonder if he’s ever communicated with someone other than his squad, or even the Seppies. He wasn’t really an ass, either – he seemed curious about what I’m trying to do and wanted to ensure he has all the details mapped out before we begin our exchange. I can get behind that, I respect that. But the last thing he mentioned, the postscript…has he never had someone tell him they hope he’s hanging in alright? What a basic thing to be taken for granted…Yes, sir, I am insinuating that it’s me…was that a joke? Is he the joking type? I’ll keep it in mind, maybe he needs that bit of reassurance from time to time. Maker knows he probably isn’t receiving much validation from his XOs…

After the empty boxes had been properly disposed of and the rogue crumbs had been banished from the bedsheets, Halla once again sat down at her terminal to compose a second message. The ease with which she felt herself composing was a stark contrast to the persistent second-guessing and revising she faced just days ago. This time, the words seemed to flow smoothly from her mind, through her fingertips, and onto the monitor’s messaging system.

Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:07

Recipient: Specialist-Commando CT-9902, “Tech” of CF-99

Subject: Re: Requesting Assistance

Tech,

Please, if you wish for me to refer to you by your name without rank, I insist on you calling me Halla. Words cannot possibly describe how elated I was to hear back from you – it might not mean much to you, but I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say I owe you my entire livelihood right now! The research I’ve been conducting has been an unrecognized labor of love for far too long now and I intend to make it known how the clones deserve to be treated better than they have been to all those that think otherwise. I know I will never understand what you all are going through, but just knowing that you’re willing to help means more to me than all the stars in the galaxy.

To answer your inquiry, there are several issues I plan to bring before the Galactic Senate’s Ethics Committee: namely, the past transgressions committed by the Kaminoans before the initial events of the war and current civil rights and liberties that are barred from both active and decommissioned military personnel (i.e. the ability to find affordable housing accommodations, the opportunity to vote and retain governmental representation, and all adjoining benefits from becoming private citizens). These are just some of the areas I have studied, but there are many more, I assure you. I’ll be glad to walk you through it all once we reach that point.

Your opinions are vital to the success of this gaining the attention of the bureaucrats – not only do I have to prove that the army suffers from the lack of these basic services, but that by granting them access to them, their quality of life will escalate and put more trust back into the Senatorial process, which lost popularity since I entered university. By publishing my findings, I also intend to sway the court of public opinion. That might become a stretch goal, but it’s worth mentioning now since most other civilians aren’t impressed by any of the fighting, especially the battles that take place near other core worlds. Those here on Coruscant don’t know how good they have it, as much as I hate to be a pessimist. Besides a few incidents, no true harm has come to the majority of the surfacer population, who oppose you all the most here.

Would it be possible to ask some additional personal questions about you as well? You have my word that I won’t pry deeper than you allow me, and you are always welcome to establish your boundaries if you become uneasy. I don’t expect you to be able to tell me everything, what with the security protocols and secrecy and all, but it would be nice to learn more about who I’m interviewing - let everyone know that you’re a real, breathing, autonomous person beneath all that plastoid armor. The GAR profiles only detail so much. Could you tell me how you got your name? I never was able to figure out if all clones chose their own, or if they were more like nicknames granted by others assigned to their squads. Or maybe you could share what sort of role you play within your squad? Truly, whatever you’re most comfortable with sharing, I’ll accept anything!

Thank you again so much, Tech. You won’t regret this, I swear.

All the best,

Halla <hismaren.uccore.holo>

University of Coruscant

College of Interplanetary Law & Relations

Capital Campus

P.S. Yes, I can assure you that I am thinking of you, quite amicably, in fact. You seem like you could use an outside ally, and I don’t mean that as an insult. On the contrary, Maker knows I could use one too. I’m surprised you would ever expect to receive any warm sentiments, as I believe you quite honestly deserve all the kindness and admiration the galaxy can offer. Keep yourself safe, please!

Huh. That really wasn’t so bad. There was always the chance it would come off a little too familiar for his tastes, but it was a chance Halla was willing to take, fueled by the late hour and the glass and a half of Alderaanian merlot she had downed prior to writing her response. If she had no objections to it, was there really any reason to hold off on sending it tonight? Again, the send button was selected before there was any more internal monologuing. Smiling drowsily, Halla shut the terminal down along with the overhead lighting module, and returned to bed for the final time that night, rather than brushing her teeth as she knew she probably ought to after eating such potent cuisine. With curry on her breath and her mind on a soldier thousands of parsecs away, the graduate was able to succumb to the comforting darkness provided by the backs of her eyelids. Not bothering to think about the disenchanting start to her day, Halla was instead looking forward to learning everything she could about her new soon-to-be-whether-he-liked-it-or-not friend.

Friend.

What a fantastic way to end the day…

~~~

Gradually, Halla’s spirits began to soar again thanks to the deliberately unhurried, yet sincere virtual companionship she had formed with Tech. When she found the time to paint, faint humming matured into full-blown stage-worthy performances; while she cleaned house, dance recitals commonly took place in front of her audience of stuffies that sat neatly in a row against her pillows. The vibrancy she had lost from fear of the unknown came back in full force. Two weeks had flown by since she had received his first response and a habitual regimen emerged between them, sending messages back and forth nearly every day if possible. Depending on which system he was traveling through, sometimes there were two or three she would receive within a set period of time – in other instances, there had been radio silence before he returned and updated her (vaguely) on what mission he had participated in. Without fail, Halla was always there, waiting intently for his comms to come through. She was far past the mindset she first found herself in, feeling the need to proofread twenty times over before sending – it was natural to talk to him now, without worrying over what his judgments of her would be.

Tech’s blunt verbiage and outspoken tendencies spurred Halla into asking deeper, more nuanced questions each go around:

What kinds of food and medical supplies are considered regulation for space travel?

Are you given any sort of allowance to spend, any time allotted for shore leave?

What were your experiences like with the Kaminoans before you were deployed?

In how many situations, confrontational or otherwise, did you feel like the Republic didn’t grant you the appropriate amount of support? Have you ever felt excluded from society on the basis of the method of your creation?

Nothing she threw at him seemed to elicit any sense of reticence from him – he only ever answered truthfully and commented on how impressed he was that a civvie would stop and take the time to ask these things of him. Halla learned that this was high praise coming from him, and she felt a swell of pride at the knowledge that while she was attempting to make the surfacers care more about the clones, she was simultaneously convincing a clone that at least one civvie wasn’t all that bad either.

The headway on the monograph’s contents was a monumental success that continued to grow exponentially every day. Whenever there was a roadblock or an option to incorporate more anecdotes, Tech was only ever just a transmission away. If Halla had been conducting his interviews in person she’d have a more definitive answer, but from all of his responses it seemed like he was becoming just as invested in Halla’s work as she was. That was the most impressive progress in her opinion – not the way she was producing the work faster than a Malastarian podracer, but the rapport that had formed between the two. To her, he was more than just an interesting figure with fascinating stories to tell, and she liked to believe he found some comfort in talking with someone that didn’t share his genetic makeup for once.

Eventually, topics outside the realm of academia began to intermingle with her evaluation. It seemed inconsequential at first: she sent him a holopic of herself from graduation attached to one of her own messages, mentioning how since she knew what he looked like from his profile, it seemed unfair that he didn’t know the same of her. It wasn’t something he prompted, only a bit more about herself that she was willing to offer, hoping to strengthen the comradery in an organic fashion. From there on, he seemed more comfortable with asking Halla about herself as well, finding civilian culture to be a vast departure from his own encounters. Tech’s thirst for knowledge turned out to be completely insatiable, which Halla accepted as a welcome challenge.

The back and forth between the pair was invigorating to Halla: she would send a full-length biographical account of her pet guppy Boonta, and Tech would respond with a tale of his own, recounting memories of 30-meter eels found within the depths of Kamino’s vast oceans. She mentioned she had half-siblings once in passing and he was more than eager to tell everything he could about his brothers as they traversed star systems aboard the Havoc Marauder, the name of their Omicron-class shuttle that Halla thought was more than a bit ridiculous (not that she’d ever tell him that, he loved that ship to death though he would never admit it outright). For every image of her artwork she transmitted to him, Tech explicated his most recent inventions along with the logic and mechanics behind it all. Halla was lost half the time but found it endearing nonetheless. His intellect wasn’t as intimidating as she originally thought – if anything, they were equally matched in many ways, just in different areas of study. Tech told her as much in one entry:

Your theories on the sociopolitical status of migrants from Outer Rim systems were revelatory. It had never occurred to me that the prisoners held in neutral territory detention centers had the right to request asylum in Republic-controlled sectors. If democratic systems have the ability to support these underserved populations, yet deny them citizenship while allowing their naturalized and native population to planet-hop as they please, it is the government that should be held responsible, not the refugees themselves. This is not what we were taught as cadets, and I thank you for opening my eyes to a new perspective regarding this common phenomenon.

It was that kind of commentary that made Halla’s days seem all the more bright. She managed to find a confidant that valued her insights – not only that, but he told her as much. He wasn’t put off by a young woman with the ability to match his intelligence, nor did he ever let his ego overtake the conversation (at least not to a degree that couldn’t be brushed off with humor). Tech was confident in his abilities – of course he was, being clever and quick-witted was what he was literally designed to do – but it never came at Halla’s expense. This proved to be beneficial, especially since the range of subjects they covered spanned from interplanetary relations and military strategy to what foods Tech would never want to try even if he were offered a million credits and how Halla was of the opinion that the kloo horn was far superior to the blissl:

Y’know, I played the kloo in secondary? Third chair and everything. I always froze up at the auditions but somehow always made it into the ensemble. I learned to play the valachord after that (another instrument that’s better than the blissl, in case you were wondering). I enjoyed that one the most since it stuck me in the back of the hall and I got to read on my holopad while we weren’t playing. The conductor used to get so seethed out at me, but no one else wanted to play that monstrosity, so he had to pretend everything was fine when really I could tell he wanted to knock me over the head with the tubing-bells. Biths, right? Always taking their music too seriously…

Not all the conversations were as lighthearted as these, however. Eventually, Halla itched to share her unease regarding the current political atmosphere that took place above her midlevel dwelling. Politicians and lobbyists were beginning to become bolder in their demands that the war end immediately, that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine step down and transfer his power to a seasoned candidate, such as the Prince Regent of Alderaan or Tynnrra Pamlo, the Senator from Taris. The tension was stifling, the outcome seemingly as distant as Iego’s furthest moon.

Over the course of her last few transmissions, Halla hinted at how there was something in the air, thick and brewing, that just didn’t feel right. She knew it would all boil over before a resolution could be met. You couldn’t pay attention to the holonews every day and not think something was amiss. Thankfully, Tech paid attention to the net’s updates as much as he did the GAR comms – he was on the same page as her, though remained levelheaded despite Halla’s pseudo-paranoia since he was much more accustomed to constant conflicts and conspiracies. This was nothing but the same old stories making their rounds again. At least, that’s what he tried to reassure her of whenever it came up.

Whether or not he completely concurred with her concerns, Tech always instructed her to stay safe and keep out of trouble at the end of each and every one of his messages. Halla, likewise, did the same for him, internally admiring just how far they both had come since her initial outreach. Tech had become much warmer towards her (well, warm for Tech) in the standard half-month they had been writing to each other. He was much more willing to express smaller affections in that way he had about him – stay hydrated while you work, don’t stay up all night like I do whilst trying to complete your monograph, remember to charge your terminal fan so it doesn’t overheat itself. His friendship was a marvel to behold, a closeness that Halla hadn’t felt with anyone else in recent years.

~~~

This was where she found herself now, sending off her most recent transmission before signing off, intent on enjoying her weekend - attending to her beloved watercolor work in progress set up across the room while blasting her favorite band over the loudspeaker. Lounge clothes adorned with The Meat Droids’ latest album blaring, Halla made to stand when everything went completely silent for a moment. The holovision responsible for the music stream had been paused by some unknown perpetrator before erupting into the most egregious alarm Halla ever heard, worse than even the drills she’d undergone at the university.

Rushing out to the common area with her hands clapped over her ears, she watched in disbelief as the room was flooded with red lights from the display. “Take Shelter Immediately!” scrolled across the bottom of the screen with “EMERGENCY ALERT” front and center. The screen went black after a moment before being handed off to a broadcast reporter, seated in her usual position at the local station. The twi’lek anchor had the most devasted look upon her face, the spring green tint of her skin paled and wrinkled across her narrow face as she read from the teleprompter.

“Live from the Three-Thirty-Eighth District, a notification has just been released from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard stating that a Confederacy blockade has formed over the northern and parts of the southern hemispheres, preventing any travel in or out of the keystone spaceports. Three battalions of hostile droid units have made landfall and are moments away from entering the capitol’s boundaries.

“Republic forces are currently engaging this ongoing threat both on the ground and in the exosphere, but more pressing news has been revealed just moments ago: the Supreme Chancellor himself, Sheev Palpatine, has been abducted by General Grievous, head of the CIS Droid Army. It is unclear at the moment why the Chancellor has been targeted, as there was no apparent assassination attempt. According to our political analysts, it is believed the Chancellor has been taken as a means to negotiate a Republic surrender, held for ransom by until victory can be claimed. 

“There are reports of multiple casualties and damage caused by live fire and debris. If you are not in a secure location, please find your nearest shelter and remain there until the all-clear signal has been released from a reputable source. We will stay on air until…”

Halla shut the rest out, feeling her knees tremble as her eyes stayed glued to the screen. It was as if all the oxygen had been vacuumed from the room.

This can’t be happening…

Her own safety was far from her mind at the moment. If this was happening here, who knew what was happening across the rest of the galaxy? Was Tech alright? Were his brothers watching out for him? Halla was trapped, the war had finally found its way to the heart of the Republic, and all she could think about was how helpless she felt, unable to aid her friend when he might be in severe danger. Tears fell in twin rivers to the floor before she even realized she was sobbing.

What if something happens to him? Why in the Void did I have to be stuck here when he’s all the way out there? H-He can take care of himself, I know that but…b-but it’s not…it’s not fair…he – I need…

The sounds wrenching their way from their throat felt like a nexu clawing its way out, bursting forth in agony as Halla struggled to maintain breathing steadily. She felt herself collapse into a nearby chair, hands shaking as she held them close to her body. All the anxiety she had compartmentalized over the years seemed to take her by the roots of her hair and shove her down, down into a dark, wretched pit of despair. Drowning, deeper and deeper.

Everything was wrong. It wasn’t about the kriffing dissertation anymore – it hadn’t been for some time now. He just needed to be okay. She needed him to be okay. Needed to be able to write to him again, to tell him how much she looked forward to his transmissions every day. To hear back from him, even if it was just about how much irritation his brothers were causing him, or how bland his ration bars were. That’s all she wanted right now.

Exhaustion consumed Halla after hours of shedding tears, curled up on the settee a few steps from the chair she had occupied before. As she drifted off, the tears dried in clear tracks down the apples of her cheeks and the furrow between her brow vanished ever so slowly. The rest of Coruscant was not so fortunate. In the cityscape above, skyscrapers were demolished, civilians were slaughtered, and the designated law enforcement was spread to its bare bones even more than it had been during the Zillo Beast Incident. Fire and blood reigned above, but Halla was unwitting to it all, unaware of the events that would soon unfold in no more than four distressing, horrifyingly traumatic days and beyond.

~~~~~~

taglist: @thegoodbatch @microdeers @zinzinina @boontaeveboba @hansonveggieclub @imalovernotahater @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @bobas-missing-codpiece @passionofthesith @discofern @shannon-lynn-21 @morelikekitfistme

[softpadawan]

WIP ask: Kanan/Ezra notes

Kanan/Ezra notes

Synopsis: This is my 20-page notes document for All I Need, the next chapter of which I plan on tackling as soon as I get finished with my May the Fourth Be With You assignment. Mostly this is outlines and ideas and meta, but it contains a number of snippets from earlier chapters that I ended up changing slightly or reworking, such as this scene with Kanan and the Grand Inquisitor which takes place in chapter 11:

-Inq doesn’t even bother to torture Kanan until he can capture Ezra. “When I have your Padawan squirming in agony and begging for death, maybe you’ll talk then.” Describes all of the horrible things he’s going to do to Ezra, pulls info out of Kanan’s head. Learns of their relationship. (Holding Kanan by the hair) “I will eviscerate the little slut right in front of you… perhaps after I’ve used him myself. I wager I can make him moan louder than you ever could.” Kanan battles with his anger and desperation and dark side.

And this one, also planned for chapter 11:

-Ezra does free Kanan but ends up getting captured by the Grand Inq, who makes good on his promise. He holds his lightsaber to Ezra’s cheek and begins to burn him. Kanan, with dark eyes and his fury unleashed, reaches out and Force chokes the Inq. (His rage is focused, he’s in control of it completely now, turning it into a terrible weapon. It’s a powerfully addictive feeling, being able to make use of this much dark side power. Kanan begins to lose control toward the end, it threatens to consume him because it feels so good to let out the rage, to finally be passionate. He starts to destroy, blindly hacking up the place.) Ezra grabs his arm and thrusts it up, cuts off the Inq’s head. It goes rolling, he falls into the reactor, shit goes up in flames. Ezra runs to his fallen Master and pulls him up, kisses him out of his stupor. “Come on, Kanan, we gotta go.” They escape.

So now you have a general idea of what my story outlines and plot ideas look like.

Some of the snippets in this document I plan on shaping into separate stories someday, perhaps as part of the All I Need 'verse, such as this one that draws on Ezra's extensive knowledge of pirate radio:

Ezra uses the same tech as the Ghost’s digital scrambler (private/encrypted radio signal in atmosphere or holonet channels when in space). Ezra builds an aerial to put on the Ghost’s hull so he can broadcast. He can do it anywhere in the galaxy except while in hyperspace. Ezra picks up the Bridger Transmissions where his parents left off. His call sign is LO7HCT, the Lothcat, or SP3CTR. Kanan watches him come into his own as a broadcaster and pirate DJ. He spins songs to give people hope. “Here’s an oldie by Sojourn, Never Stop Believing.” He cranks it up and everyone in the Ghost rocks out. Just a city boy born and raised on Coruscant, he took a shuttle flight going anywhere…

Later on Ezra gets his own ship. He calls it the Warcat, a play on “war kit”.

And then there are early snippets, such as this one below from chapter 2, when Kanan had his sexual encounter with Ezra. Had I followed some of these snippets, it might have led to a completely story being told:

That was his first coherent thought after it happened the first time, standing in the Ghost’s tiny shower cubicle with his softening cock in his hand, watching the diluted white globs of semen disappear down the drain.

How had he gotten here? When did wanting to do something nice for Ezra become such a sexually-charged fantasy? When did the smell of the little bottle of oils in his drawer first begin to arouse him? When did the sight of Ezra’s smile become so important to him? Why is he spending less and less time with Hera, with everyone, except Ezra? And why are they letting him get away with it?

Because they think you’re so dedicated to his training, he answers himself bitterly. Because they think you care about him like a father, a mentor, an older brother. Because they think you’re a good Master focused on his young Padawan, that you’re showing him the Way, when in reality you’re no better than they are.

No, no, I’m different, says another voice inside him. A feeble, wormy little voice that is gradually, to his horror, growing stronger. I’m not like the people in the masks. I don’t want the little boy. I don’t even want the teenager, wouldn’t even want him as a man. I’m not like that. I never was. Was I? It’s only Ezra I want—but not like that. I only want to make him smile, to make him happy. I don’t want to touch him. I don’t want to molest him. I don’t want to fall asleep holding him close to me. I don’t want to feel him pressed to my chest with his hair in my face or hear his sleepy voice talk to me. And I don’t want to touch his bare, soapy skin. I do, but I can’t. I can admit that. It’s fine. I’m still safe. I’m good. It’s okay, Caleb. You’re still okay.

But buried beneath the words, in a place so deep that words don’t exist, Kanan Jarrus knows the truth. 

He doesn’t just want Ezra. He needs him. And he is not okay.

There are also plenty of notes for the next upcoming chapter that I don't want to spoil the surprise for, but it's gonna contain plenty of cathartic emotional stuff and a generous side of angst (and a shocking moment or two). I'm anxious to get back to work on this and finish it once and for all!

[operattic]

[ 𝒔𝒎𝒔 📲 ] i'm getting better @ texting :-) - obi to ahsoka KDJHFNJMD

[ to master kenobi. (always answer) ] so you came to me instead of anakin because he would roast u for that. [ to master kenobi. (always answer) ] u are getting better. gg gg

[pro-fangirls-unsocial-life]

Sweet Nothings (1/2) Rex x Reader

A/N: So I just wanted to say that this the first fic I have ever completed and the first once I am ever posting so forgive me if there is still a lot that I have to learn lol. Also I wanted to just say thank you to @captainrexisboo​ and @bad-batch-of-fics​. You guys have both inspired me and are so incredibly nice. I hope that its ok that I’m tagging you guys! I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible but if I missed something please let me know! I hope you guys like it!!

Length: ~ 1700 words

Warnings: none :) just fluff

Part two

It had been three months since you had last seen Rex and almost two since your last transmission with him. His leave had been cut short when a crucial system had been invaded by Separatist forces and he had to rush to leave. You had helped him get ready as best as you could and sent him with some of the leftover dinner that you had made from the night left before.

 It was always hard to see him go, especially when you had made plans for him, but you understood. He had a job to do and you both agreed when you started dating that it would be hard to keep a good balance, but you both always tried as best as you could. But this time had been especially hard.

 The only news you had heard from this system, when you even heard news at all, had been bad. Rex had only been able to talk to you for a few minutes before the transmission had been cut off. He had only been able to let you know that he was alive and that he had no idea when he would be home. You spent most nights after that call lying awake, your mind running wild with what might be happening. Just hoping that he was safe, and that he would come back to you.

As you worked each day, you tried to stay focused on whatever vehicle you were working on so that you could leave behind all of the heart wrenching scenarios that you had thought up the night before. It worked most times, but when it just wasn’t enough, you would think about past dates with Rex. They were never particularly fancy, but you wouldn’t ask for anything else.

 The first date you went on was nice and quiet. Equally matched in nervousness, neither of you could keep the heat from rising in your face. He had taken you to this small rooftop restaurant on the far side of Coruscant, close to your apartment and far enough from the senate building that neither of you had to worry about listening to a senator complaining about the food that they had been served. It was a small place, but the food was as amazing as the company you shared. After you left, you walked the upper levels of Coruscant for hours, just talking. About your job, his brothers, your family, all of the planets he had been to, your favorite speeders to work on, why he modified his armor. Everything.

 He told you about a mission that he had been on in the Outer Rim at the start of the war. How it was the most peaceful mission he had ever been a part of.

 It was a relief mission to help resupply the capitol city of Sesid with clean water after the main plant had been targeted by Separatist attacks. The planet was covered in lush tropical forests, and the beaches that lied outside of the town were adorned with beautiful pink sand.

 While they were on the planet, the people would bring them home cooked food in order to thank them for their help. He told you how it was some of the best food he had ever tasted. Almost as good as yours. But the best thing, he said, were the cookies.

 At first glance, they did not look like much. A bit of chocolate in between two flavored wafers, that was then baked. He told you how they just melted as soon as they were in your mouth and how he would like to go back to the planet after the war to find them again.

 When you had finally meandered back to your apartment after hours of talking, you both just stood at the door in silence, not wanting the night to end. At the end of the hall on your floor, beams of golden sunlight began to peer through the window, illuminating the beautiful features of his face.

 “I guess we stayed out pretty late, huh?” You motioned toward the window with a small smile.

 He looked at the window and then back at you. “Yeah, I guess we did” he said with a laugh.

 “I had a really nice time” you said as you looked up at him. “I wish that the night was longer, but if I’m being honest, I probably won’t be able to stay awake for much longer.”

 Rex brought his hand up to the back of his neck as he looked out the window overlooking the city again. “Hm. Yeah. I should probably be getting back to the barracks.”

 “Yeah. You wouldn’t want Kix to pull rank to force you to sleep again,” you giggled as you turned around to unlock your door.

 “Hey! That’s only happened four times!”

 “Four times to many,” you smirked. “Thank you again for the wonderful night. I had fun,” you smiled as you turned around to face him again.

 “So did I,” he said softly as he gently grabbed your hand and began tenderly running his thumb over your knuckles. “Can I see you again?”

 You looked up from where he held your hand to meet his eyes. As he looked at you, you saw the adoration on his face that had mixed with the fear of waiting for your answer. As he gazed at you, you felt the heat rising up in your face like it had when the night first began.

 “Yes.” You smiled. “I would like that very much.”

 A smile broke out across his face that outshone the sunlight that was seeping into the small hallway.

 He bent down into a bow and brought your hand up to his lips and lightly kissed it. “Well, until then cyare,” he said as his smile continued to beam up at you. As he stood up, he brought his face up to yours a placed a kiss on your cheek. “Get some sleep Y/N,” he said as he gave you one last smile and walked back down the hall toward the stairway.

 You stood there for a moment and brought your hand up to touch your still buzzing cheek. After a moment, you smiled and entered your apartment. “Until then Rex,” you whispered to yourself.

 As you stood up from your workbench, you kept wishing that Rex could be here with you now. You wished that you could be on another peaceful date with him and that you could feel his warmth beside you. You wiped down all of your tools and began placing them back into their places on the shelves when your communicator beeped.

 “Huh. That’s weird,” you said as you picked it up. “Its late for anyone to be comming me.” You looked down at the message and your heart leapt out of your chest.

 We are coming home. Will be back planet side tomorrow. Can’t talk now but will see you at your apartment when dismissed.  See you soon. ~  Rex

 “Rex,” you whispered to yourself. “He’s safe.” You felt the weight of the last three months completely leave you and you rushed to finished packing up for the night.

 As you locked up the repair hangar you were thinking about what you were going to want to do for Rex when he got back. You knew that this mission had been a particularly bad one and that he would want nothing more than to get his mind off of it. 

As you walked through the many booths and shops that littered the street, you saw one out of the corner of your eye that had a familiar look to it.

 You walked over to it and looked at the shopkeeper. “Are you new around here? I’ve never seen your booth before.”

 “Sure am! I just got here five days ago.” He motioned to the shelves and tables that made up the little booth. “Is there anything that I can get for you?”

 As you looked at the many trinkets and small packages of food that adorned the table, you realized where you had seen these things before. Rex had pulled up pictures of that planet he had told you about on the holonet. “Are you from Sesid by any chance?”

 “Yeah,” he said enthusiastically. “How’d you know? Most people can’t tell just based off the goods.”

 “My boyfriend was there on a relief mission once. He showed me pictures when we were talking about it.”

 “Ah! He must be one of the clones that helped get water back to the capitol city, right? That’s the only relief mission I ever heard about. Never cared too much to venture to the capitol myself but a buddy of mine said that they were pretty helpful.” He started to lean back into one of the counters as he spoke. “Me? I was getting tired of the attacks on the planet that had to keep being fended off. Well, that and the kriffing tourists,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “Anyways, why do you ask? Is there something from Sesid that meets your fancy?”

 “Actually, yeah,” you smiled. “Do have any cookie type things? The ones with chocolate in them?”

 The man bit his lip and looked up, thinking. “You mean Idelle wafers? Two things with chocolate in between them?” He reached under the counter and produced a small bag with the picture of the cookies on them.

 “Yes! That looks like them!” The man handed you the bag and you looked it over. “How much?”

 “Well that bag has about three of them in there, and its two credits. But,” he said reaching back below the counter, “this one has ten of them in it, and its six credits.”

 “I’ll take the bigger one please.” You reached into your pocket and handed the man the credits.

 He pocketed them and smiled back up at you. “Thank you very much. Have a nice night and enjoy those Idelle wafers!” He waved and turned to start helping the next person at the counter.

 You nodded and started to walk back toward your apartment. “I think he will,” you murmured to yourself as you continued into the night.

[sleepykalena]

Parka Chapter 14 WIP

Since it’s been ages since y’all last saw me active, I figured I should post a snippet of what I’ve got so far. I expect this chapter to be kind of long and kind of emotional (not in a bad way though!), so I hope that it’ll be worth the wait once I post it <3

Laying the parts of her blaster out piece by piece was surprisingly therapeutic. Jyn wasn’t necessarily impatient by nature, but it’s not like she would opt for the slow route if there was a much faster way of getting similar results, either.

Blaster cleaning, however, was an exception she was happy to make.

“We need to figure out where he is,” she said quietly, making sure that the sentients at the nearby work benches couldn’t hear her. “But we can’t exactly ask him flat-out for his coordinates, can we?”

“Correct,” K2 responded with a surprisingly equally muted tone. “Even if you kept using me as an extra shield for your communications, we can’t be too sure that messages on his end are safe. If he is caught,” he added, “they might be able to track where we’re transmitting from, and it’ll put us in jeopardy yet again.”

“’If he is caught’?” she asked amusedly, wiping down her barrel to a bright shine.

“You haven’t referred to him by name since we entered this room,” he pointed out. “I doubt you’re making an effort to say his name less, so I can only assume you’re attempting to maintain secrecy.”

Astute as ever, the droid.

She held up a fist without looking up from her blaster parts, and he softly bumped it.

“Chances are good he’s not staying in one spot for too long,” she said, getting back to the topic.

“One of the theories on the holonet is that The Weatherman is not one person, but an organization,” added K2. “The justification for the theory is that The Weatherman constantly sends out his signal from several different locations.”

“And you think it’s because he’s actually moving from place to place before sending his message,” she concluded.

“Not quite- if he waited to go from one place to another before sending the next signal, he would be leaving a trail of his whereabouts. That alone would allow anyone to track his next location, and he would have been caught by now.”

Not once had K2 looked at Jyn as they talked; she could hear the occasional, almost inaudible click of a hard drive being filled, however. It soothed her to know she could trust him to make sure no one was paying too much attention to them and their conversation, allowing her the peace and security to center herself as she continued to inspect and clean her blaster.

When did their relationship come to this? Cassian was sure to be shocked once he found out.

Hopefully he’ll get to see this sooner rather than later, she thought wryly.

“What sorts of locations are the signals coming from?” she decided to ask.

“One transmission would come from one of the Core Worlds, for example, and after 30 standard minutes, another would come from one of the Outer Rim moons,” K2 noted.

“Is it possible that he’s trying to bounce a signal from one location to the next before arriving at its final destination?”

“I believe that’s exactly what he’s doing.” he concluded. “On top of constantly traveling, of course. I think he’s realized, at some point, that our safe houses have been abandoned across the galaxy, so he’s unable to utilize or access anything, especially now that his identity- and therefore his credentials- have been wiped from our systems.”

Jyn sighed. “Working for Intel…it’s a pretty lonely life.”

“Surrounding oneself with sentients is never the same as truly being with them,” said K2. “Lone wolves come in all forms.”

She scoffed. “Keeping a library of wisdom from Chirrut and Baze?”

“I like to keep other sentients on their toes,” he replied simply.

[mercurydancer]

It Happened Quiet Pt. 9

Kind Mistakes 

 I’m super stoked for some of this stuff guys~ Got a few exciting things in this chapter. Featuring the Return of Plo, the introduction of a certain someone, the Liquor of the Sands, and Space Lord of the Rings. Because I’m shameless. Though...references to Space Lord of the Rings LOL. I’m probably not going to spend much time on that.

This is also the chapter where things.

Get.

Interesting~

____________________

        Plo walked away from the small bunk where the little Togruta had been laid, a careful last brush to small montrals given as he had laid her down. She had been tuckered out, the excitement of a new place, a new ship, and a new life letting her buzz for longer than she probably should have, but she had nodded off in Plo’s lap, so he had brought her to bed in the small ship. It was finally time to go home.

        Plo was no longer raw and he had found a new youngling to take back to the Temple.

        Plo guided the ship into the necessary hyperspace lane that would take them to Coruscant, shifting to hyperspace with the usual blue blur of stars. He would rest as well, he thought, setting the ship in autopilot, when a sudden hail was made.

        Plo stood up, walking over to the holoprojector, and took a moment to realize that the call over the holonet line was from the Jedi Temple. Plo hesitated, before finally accepting it, and realizing as the holograms sprung into being, that he was not the only one in a starship. Master Mace Windu was also visible with the grainy quality caused from two relays, his expression firm.

        Plo took them all in for a moment, looking for a sign that something had gone wrong, but outside of Mace’s hard gaze, there looked as though nothing had gone wrong. It was a relief.

        “Master Plo,” Mace stated, “it is good to see you.”

        “It’s good to see you all as well,” Plo said.

        “Successful, I hope your mission was,” Yoda said, his voice warm, and Plo found himself smiling, his eyes wrinkling just so.

        “Yes,” he said, and he knew by the way Yoda closed his eyes with a small nod, that he knew he was talking about more than the youngling he had found. Even so, “I found a Togruta youngling on Shili. Her name is Ahsoka Tano.”

        “Good this is,” Yaddle smiled, and Plo smiled as well.

        “We look forward to meeting her,” Ki-Adi stated with a slight bow of his head, and Plo gave another smile.

        “She is a very brave, very kind girl,” he said. “She will bring us great joy.”

        “Look forward to it, we do,” Yaddle nodded, and there was a brief agreement from the rest of the Council, before their attention slowly shifted towards Mace.

        “Successful your mission was?” Yoda asked, turning to the severe Jedi.

        Plo felt himself stiffen slightly.

        He had heard about what they planned to discover, about Mace’s mission to Dathomir to find out what he could about a missing Nightbrother. It had been on the back of his mind ever since the first transmission that they had sent, knowing that they would find out more – one way or the other – about the Blood Slave they had in their midst.

        Mace laced his fingers in front of him, his expression grave, and finally, “Maul was stolen from his mother.” There was a brief swell of grief in Plo’s heart, but before any of them could say a word, Mace continued, leaning further forward, “his mother is Mother Talzin herself.”

        “Talzin,” Saesee breathed.

        “The Mother herself?” Eeth asked.

        “Yes,” Mace answered heavily.

        “Then how are we going to proceed?” Plo found himself asking. “If he is her son, would she not want…?” Plo found himself trailing off as Mace shook his head.

        “Mother Talzin assured me that Maul…was not a gift to the man who took him,” Mace explained slowly, artfully dodging the original question, but his expression, the tone of his voice… “The one who stole Maul sought to learn from the Nightsisters, or so he originally claimed, offering to pay tribute to them in order to get their knowledge. Instead, Maul was stolen from them, a score of Nightsisters slaughtered in his escape with the infant Nightbrother. They didn’t have time to clean him, and even his name is one his Master gave him.” Mace closed his eyes, letting them take everything in, before quietly, a repetition, “Maul had no name when he was taken.”

       Plo felt the knife in his chest twist, slowly sitting down on the seat near the holoprojector, breathing through the grief.

        “Mother Talzin also wishes for me to inform the Council that while Maul was not a gift to the man who stole him,” Mace closed his eyes, leaning further back in his chair, “while Maul was not a gift to the man… Mother Talzin is fully willing to use him as a gift to our Order. She would prefer that we…keep him after we rehabilitate him. That he would be a token of peace between Dathomir and the Jedi Temple.”

        “She has no right!” Eeth’s words were loud and sudden and utterly furious in a way that had not been heard in the Council Room in a very long time. Eeth stood up then, taking a few steps away. “Apologies, Masters,” he said finally, quietly.

        “It is alright,” Depa said softly. “It is not as though it is a reaction that is misplaced.”

        “Though you should be careful of your Zabrak tendencies,” there was a gentle tease in Even’s voice, no sting to be had in the words. Eeth laughed quietly, taking a breath, and finally returned to his seat, sinking into it.

        “Well,” Oppo sighed, shaking his great bearded head, “at least we are not beholden to return him from slavery as a Blood Slave to slavery among the Sisters.”

        Plo found himself concurring, his eyes closing, a moment of painful relief sweeping through him before he breathed it out.

        “Maul is a son,” Mace concurred quietly, his expression heavy, “which is precisely the reason why the Mother does not wish to accept him.”

        There was a pause after that pronouncement before they shook their heads quietly.

        “It is a shame that we do not have the power to challenge the Nightsisters over their treatment of the Brothers,” Even’s voice was quiet but full of a soft sort of sneer.

        “Even,” Adi challenged softly and Even gave a brief nod.

        “You are right of course,” he sighed. “I will not invite war. Not after having received such a wonderful gift.”

        Adi’s expression darkened slightly, and she looked down. “It is a disgustingly vile move to use her son like that.”

        “It would be nothing Maul has not already experienced,” Eeth said quietly. “I have a thought that he was perhaps more…expendable than we originally thought.”

        “Your mission, Eeth,” Yoda said then, turning to him, “successful it was?”

        “Yes,” Eeth nodded. “I have managed to file his horns down, and I did it without injury on either part.”

        “That is good,” Depa said, her voice softly relieved.

        Eeth was quiet for a moment.

        “More to say have you?” Yaddle asked.

        “Maul has been…neglected to a sickening degree,” he finally said softly. “Initially he did try and headbutt me, which was a move I was expecting and I…caught his horns in mine. The sensation was so completely unfamiliar he literally fell against me.”

        There was a quiet pause as this statement slowly registered among the Council Members, Plo finding himself slumping further in his seat.

        Eeth was quiet for another moment before, “Dathomirian Zabraks are even more social than Iridionian. Their horns are used primarily for social purposes and for him to react in that way means that he has never once interlocked his horns with another, nor even had them touched outside of filing, perhaps. Maul was…completely unaware of their effect. He did not know until I told him why it had happened.”

        There was a pause as they took this in before Saesee gave a low rumbling sound and finally, quietly, “I second Qui-Gon’s motion for the Mind Healers to see to him,” he said. “I have a feeling that there is a great deal more that we can do to help him than we have done.”

        “Though perhaps we should wait until he recognizes that he needs help,” Plo said softly. “From what I understand we have attempted to send them in twice and he has not said a word to them.”

        “Forgive me Masters,” Eeth said suddenly, standing up. “I had forgotten in the wake of my other news; Maul has finally begun speaking again. I will state I do not know if that means he is likely to speak to the Mind Healers, but…well he has been speaking.”

        “What did he say?” Mace Windu asked.

        Eeth’s expression shifted, before he smiled, and then looked to Plo. “He asked two questions. He asked where you went,” he took a breath, “and he realized that you had likely left as a consequence of his own actions.”

        Plo was silent for a moment, taking that in, realizing that that meant Maul had… “We will return to the Temple in roughly two days’ time. Will you pass on the message for me?”

        “I shall,” Eeth smiled.

        “His other question what was?” Yoda asked.

        Eeth’s smile shifted, widening, and finally, “He asked where the smaller brat had gone.”

        There was a brief laugh that spread, a few calls of surprise and wonder, but that was all broken when Eeth finally burst out laughing, covering his mouth, “I’m sorry, Masters,” he said again, “I had realized that the smaller brat was Anakin Skywalker, but I had been wondering who the obviously larger brat that Maul was referring to was. I have come to the realization that he meant Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

        The laugh spread then, and Plo’s heart was warm.

        There was hope yet, he found, and he carried some with him in the back of the ship, and some within a prison.

        It was interesting how hope seemed to appear when least expected.

        But Plo was always thankful.

___________________________________

        Anakin had not meant to stay away from the prison for as long as he had.

        Once he had decided to be a Jedi it had been a nonstop parade of tests, haircuts, fittings, and lessons, and while initially he had struggled with the guilt, he had managed with Obi-Wan’s help to fully put away all of that lingering grief. It had been expediated by a talk with his mother who reminded him that the one rule when dealing with Blood Slaves was there was no guilt.

        It was a lesson she hadn’t thought to tell him, a lesson he would have learned as he was exposed to more, as he was brought into the talks more fully, as he got older. He had to learn fast, and so his mother had talked him through some of the finer details, had reminded him that in the end they must begin to show the Blood Slave that his actions were his own. They had to show him consequence and accountability, that his own actions had weight outside of what his Master told him, and while staying away as long as Anakin had was not something he wanted to do, it was likely something that needed to be done.

        Teacher Eeth Koth approaching and telling him that Maul had been asking about him was the thing that finally made Anakin look to Obi-Wan with wide eyes, and the older boy gave an immediate nod, suspending their Aurebesh lesson for the day.

        It was what led to Anakin finally bringing along a bowl of soup that he had been waiting for the recipe for.

        Anakin held before him the Liquor of the Sands.

        Obi-Wan had taken him down to the kitchens, bringing him to meet a few of the Jedi, Padawans, and Initiates that worked there, as well as giving him the ability to talk to the Head Cook for the Carnivorous Jedi, a male Togruta named Dormosh Silon. Silon had looked at Anakin with warm fondness in purple eyes when Anakin had asked him if he could use the kitchen. When the reason it was needed was given Silon had looked to Obi-Wan, and then back to Anakin with that warmth fading slightly to be replaced by something a good deal more…

        Determined?

        Either way, Silon had smiled and spread his arms, “What is mine is ours,” he said, “Would you permit me to help you?”

        Anakin had hesitated at the idea of giving this unknown the recipe, but at the realization that he wouldn’t be able to make it on his own he had nodded, sworn the man to secrecy, and started working with him and a couple of older Padawans that didn’t need to stand on stools to see the counter, and didn’t mind that they weren’t given the full recipe. Originally Silon had been very against the creation, suggesting that it would create a very bitter flavor, but as Anakin explained softly, that was the entire point. He also promised that it had a secret, and Silon would be allowed to taste it before Anakin brought it to Maul. After a long pause, the Togruta had agreed.

       Silon had cut the required meats into squares, seasoning them with the concoction Anakin had prepared and searing them lightly as Anakin worked on mixing the broth. Shmi had told Anakin how to properly prepare it without the necessary herbs that Qui-Gon would be bringing soon.

        Anakin was looking forward to Qui-Gon returning.

        The kitchens had been enjoyable overall, all of the Padawans and Initiates helping each other, and Anakin when he needed an ingredient he couldn’t find. It was the most integrated he had ever felt, as he was able to help them as well and they were able to practice lifting things with the Force and handing them to each other. It had been warm in the kitchens as well, a heat that Anakin had missed since Tatooine.

        Anakin rather thought he liked being in the Kitchens.

       Finally, Anakin had finished the soup base, giving it to Silon to pour into the pot and heat it, mixing the meats within it. When it was finally finished, the Togruta poured a bit of heated blood into the broth, stirring it until it was crimson.

        “Taste it,” Anakin smiled.

       Silon gave him a slight frown, before finally doing so. Anakin watched as Silon’s face scrunched in the same expression he had seen other Blood Slaves make, before smoothing over in shock, and then thoughtful curiosity, looking back at the soup. “I see why you call it a Liquor,” he finally said, before looking to Anakin. “There is a significance to the flavor?”

        “It always starts out bitter,” Anakin answered primly, looking into those purple eyes. “It never starts enjoyable, but the aftertaste is worth the wait.”

       Silon paused, thinking, looking to the soup before him, before finally giving Anakin a nod and a smile, ladling him a bowl to give to Maul. “We will save the rest and give it to him periodically. How often should it be presented?”

        “Once a week,” Anakin explained.

        “Very well. You have permission to come to the kitchens and make it with me, I will contact your Teachers when we are low.”

        And so, Anakin had thanked him and now carried the crimson soup into the Sith prison, Obi-Wan walking beside him.

        Maul was lying on his back in a way that Anakin had never seen and for a moment he was almost worried. He had never seen Maul as anything other than active, either in stretching or actively practicing his katas, so to see him lying in such a position made something knot in his belly. It was only when he saw the flimsi that Maul was holding above himself that he came to the realization that Maul was reading. It was the oddest position Anakin had ever seen to read, but he wasn’t really judging.

       Maul finally looked up from his flimsi, taking in both Anakin and Obi-Wan and giving a brief sigh, before rolling upright from his prone position. He looked at the bowl Anakin was holding with interest before also looking to Obi-Wan, who was holding the rest of a meal. Frankly, Obi-Wan was holding an entire meal if Maul decided not to eat the soup. The goal wasn’t to starve them, and it often took Blood Slaves a few weeks before they ate the soup entirely, recognizing that it would keep coming.

        Anakin expected that, and had told Silon of the fact, which had led to Obi-Wan carrying a tray.

        Maul took them both in, frowning at the bowl of soup and then the tray, and Anakin had a moment where he wondered how the food would be getting to him. Anakin had not seen the new prison, and it had taken a few Temple Guards to direct him properly, and now that he was standing before it… Anakin found it undeniably sad.

        One of the guards opened a small slot that Anakin saw sent food in along a small channel to the right of the prison itself, and Maul hesitated before walking over to stand before it. Anakin put the food on the floor of that little channel, which closed and blended seamlessly into the wall after it was placed with Obi-Wan’s, and then the slot opened for Maul.

        Maul took the tray and the bowl, balancing them both with a practiced ease and walked over to where he had been reading and placing them both down to either side, sitting down between them.

        Anakin watched as he looked them both over, taking in the soup with its natural blood-red color, and then looked to the tray, before looking up at them. His eyes narrowed at Anakin for a moment, his expression strange, before he finally tilted his head and with usual blunt matter-of-factness, “Your hair looks ridiculous.”

        Anakin laughed aloud, even as Obi-Wan scolded him for being rude.

        “It is different!” Anakin agreed, tugging at the small ponytail that was at the back of his skull and indicating the even smaller padawan braid that Obi-Wan had helped him create. “But I’ll grow into it.”

        “Do you want to?”

        Anakin smiled, “More than I can say,” he answered.

        Maul’s nose wrinkled, “shame.”

        Anakin just smiled wider. He had missed Maul, he realized with a jolt that was almost painful. They hadn’t ever really spoken much, and the conversations had been awkward and stilted, but there was a kinship he felt that he couldn’t shake. Anakin took a breath and blew it out in a sigh. Anakin finally indicated the soup.

        He had a lot of explaining to do.

_________________________________

        Maul did not know the feeling that was currently buzzing in his chest.

        Maul did not know why he cared.

        Maul looked to the smaller brat that he now remembered was named Anakin Skywalker, and found his gaze shifting to the brat that was still nameless. He rather hoped he stayed that way. His attention though was quickly drawn back to the food. The bowl of soup was…strange, the smell an odd tang. He could smell the fresh blood within it, which had been missing in a lot of his meals, but at the same time…

        “The Liquor of the Sands,” Skywalker said, indicating the soup. “It’s from my birth planet. It’s from Tatooine.”

        Maul narrowed his eyes at it, thinking of the rolling dunes and the equally rolling heat. He also found himself looking up to Skywalker with a slight raise of his brows.

        Maul had been around Skywalker long enough to know that there was always some sort of ulterior motive for what he was doing. There was some lesson that they wanted to give him. Maul would wait.

        Skywalker seemed to recognize that Maul wasn’t going to touch it until he revealed his angle, so he took a breath. “It’s traditionally prepared for Blood Slaves.”

        Maul tilted his head, taking this in for a moment. Blood Slaves? If nothing else, it sounded interesting.

        “It’s…meant for Slaves that were given the duty of getting more blood,” Skywalker said, his mouth in a fine line. “Slaves that were told to kill as their only mission. They give blood to their Masters.”

        Maul remained perfectly still.

        It was not a…wrong description of what Maul had done. Maul was an Assassin for his Master… Maul would kill the men and women that his Master pointed to. He would present his Master with blood. It was his job, his…duty. But Maul was not a slave to it. Even so, the similarity had struck. Very well.

        So, the Youngling had a point, though he missed the mark.

        Maul would try the soup.

       Maul picked it up, taking it in for a moment, Anakin watching with wide eyes as he hesitated, took in another breath of that smell, and carefully took the spoon up and took a bite.

        Maul’s first impression was it was bitter.

       The flavor was almost an assault on his senses and while a part of him wanted to spit it back, the rest of him took it as a challenge, swallowing it thickly. It was then that something very…strange happened. What Maul had expected to be a disgusting and unpalatable aftertaste rose as something sweet and light, better than anything he had frankly ever tasted. Maul stared at the bowl with abject confusion, not entirely certain whether or not he wanted to take another bite or not.

        Maul looked over to Skywalker, taking in the way he stared at him, almost… Expectant?

        Maul did not understand, but the more he thought of it the more he thought it had to be some sort of test. The bitter flavor had been an assault, but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle. He didn’t understand why they would give it to these ‘Blood Slaves’ unless it was some sort of test. They had to want them for something, after all. There was no reason they’d spend this much time with someone who dealt with blood if there was nothing to gain.

        Surely, they meant to use them in some way to gain more blood. That was their only use.

        Maul looked at them, looked back to the soup and decided he was going to eat it. He’d pass their little test.

        It didn’t matter anyway.

        They wouldn’t get anything from him.

        Maul worked his way through with the single-minded determination that had gotten him through the worst of his training. The pleasant taste at the end, that feeling of satisfaction that followed when he finally scraped it clean and sat there feeling genuinely full was… Perhaps worth it.

        He looked over to see Skywalker staring at him in absolute shock. Maul looked at the bowl. Maybe he hadn’t been meant to eat it?

        “I’ve never seen anyone finish it the first time they’ve been given it?” Skywalker said, his eyes still so wide.

        Maul would take that as an accomplishment.

        “Do you even think you can eat the rest of that?” the brat asked.

       Maul hesitated, looking to the tray next to him, before taking the fruit from it as well as the water. The meat he left, taking the tray with the empty bowl to the slot, which was opened for him to return the food, setting it in the slot and stepping back, biting through the sweet flesh of the jogan fruit as it closed and the brat collected the tray. “I wish I could eat this,” the brat said. “It feels like a waste…”

        “I will take it,” one of the Guards said with a brief bow.

        “Ah, good! Please enjoy it.”

        “Thank you, Knight Kenobi.”

        Maul felt a slight annoyance rise up. Apparently, the brat’s name was Kenobi.

        Didn’t matter.

       Maul worked his way through the fruit, not caring about the seeds which were perfectly edible, frankly, and sipped at the water while listening idly to Skywalker talking to the brat quietly, not really paying attention. This was a sort of routine he had noticed, Maul would eat, and they would wait patiently until he had finished, when the talking would start.

        Maul’s least favorite part was the talking, but he was willing to follow the rules so long as he was able to get the strength to make another escape attempt. Eventually, Maul would get out. He knew that his Master was on Coruscant and he would find him. He had hoped that his escape initially had been enough to bring his Master’s attention, but it was possible that the shielding here was too good.

        Eventually Maul would try again.

        Eventually Maul would be free.

       Finally, he had finished the fruit, and the only thing left was the water, which Maul was content to sip at. The brat gave a brief clear of his throat to get Maul’s attention, nodding to the flimsi that he had been reading. “What were you reading?”

        Maul looked to the frankly strange story he had been reading, his nose wrinkling slightly, before instead of a more vocal answer, he picked it up and threw it with a perfect spin, letting it smack against the transparisteel and flop down in front of the brat, who gave a surprised noise. When it didn’t fall backwards, the brat let out a laugh, scooting closer to read it through the two layers of protection.

        “‘Home is Behind,’” the brat read, before his expression brightened, “oh! This is a wonderful book! I do love this series; did they give you the other two?”

        Maul frowned, looking to his stack of flimsi before giving a slight shrug. “Not that I have noticed.”

        “That’s a travesty, I’ll find my copies and bring them to you so you can finish,” the brat stated with a nod, before looking to Skywalker. “Have you ever read them?”

        “No,” Skywalker answered.

       “Hmm,” the brat’s expression shifted slightly, thoughtfully, “I have an idea then, we’ll work our way through the first one while Maul can read the other two, after he finishes the first of course. Discussing it would likely be fun.”

        Maul frowned, “why does everyone here wish to discuss fiction?”

        “You do not find it inspiring?” the brat asked.

        “I find it laughable.”

        The brat’s expression shifted, surprise in his gaze before it changed, softening somehow and… “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have never read a more beautiful tale.”

        Maul sneered at him, “and in what way would you call it ‘beautiful’? The characters are unbelievable, the…”

        “In what way are they unbelievable?” the brat challenged, looking surprisingly unsettled.

       “You cannot expect me to believe that…” Maul reached towards the flimsi, only to hiss when it did not return to him, when the collar burned in warning. Maul stood up deliberately, walking forward and taking the flimsi in his hands, ignoring the way Skywalker and the brat’s face both seemed to pinch. Maul flicked through the pages once more, before finally, “you cannot expect me to believe that this… Wiseam would truly be as noble as to sacrifice his own wellbeing, that he would be so devoted to Fordin that he would give so much with absolutely nothing wanted in return? Such a thing does not exist.”

        “But it does,” the brat insisted, and Skywalker was nodding as well, his expression wide-eyed and insistent. “That sort of love and selflessness is shown all over the Galaxy…”

        “By the easily misguided and the naïve.”

        “No! It’s…truly, Maul, it’s not that unknown.”

        “My family has freed so many Blood Slaves without any thought of what they can give back to us,” Skywalker added, nodding.

        “Like you aim to free me,” Maul sneered.

        “Well…” the brat hesitated, “yes, of course. We don’t expect or want anything from you. We merely…we just wish to free you.”

        Maul felt it rising within him, something that had happened so rarely he was still a little unused to the feeling, but when the loud peals of laughter escaped his chest to ring in the cell around him, causing both the brat and Skywalker to flinch back, the Guards to shift their grip on their saberstaffs… “Truly?” Maul asked when he had gained control, “truly you are going to sit here before me, Kenobi and suggest that your Order has nothing to gain from my ‘rehabilitation’ that you plan on just…freeing me and leaving me to my own devices.”

        “Yes,” Kenobi stated immediately giving a sharp nod. “Of course.”

        “And tell me, Kenobi,” Maul stood then, looking down at him, his lips curling into a sneer, “if I were to continue with my practice of the Dark Arts, to use the power of the Sith…would you let me leave this Temple?”

        The brat, who had stood up to meet his look, to glare down at him…faltered. Maul saw it in the way his eyes darted to the side, the way his head lowered slightly, and Maul gave a soft, “ah,” and took another step forward, until his nose was mere centimeters from the transparisteel, looking up slightly into the eyes before him. “There is the crux of your freedom, isn’t it, Master Kenobi?” he hissed the words out softly, watching as Kenobi flinched slightly at the tone, the way his eyes darted once more. “So long as I act within the boundaries that you and your Order provide you will call me rehabilitated, you will even set me free… But we both know that your freedom is a lie, is it not? For you offer me no choice.”

        “But you do not know the Light Side of the Force, you do not know what you are missing,” Kenobi protested, and Maul let out another laugh.

        “Just as you don’t know the Power of the Dark Side, just as you do not know what you have given up in your effort to spurn power. You speak of choice, do you not, but ultimately you will give me none. You will rehabilitate me and bring me within your Order as a Jedi, or I will be released once again gutted of my ability to utilize the Force because otherwise I would be too dangerous.”

        “No, that’s not true, it…”

        “Is it not?” Maul interrupted, “tell me then, Jedi, you would allow me to use the Dark Side? You would give me the power of Choice?”

        “But is it true choice if you do not know what you are choosing from!” Kenobi finally called out, his voice ringing along the halls. “Is it a choice if you do not know any other way? I do not wish to cage you Maul, no one in this Order does… We…we just wish to give you the ability to learn, to…”

        “And tell me,” Maul asked, his words deliberately smooth, his tone completely level, “when I learn of your Light Side, when I give up my Sith Arts for however long it takes me to understand… What should happen if I decide I do not wish to give up the Dark? What would happen if I decide I prefer my Sith Arts to your Jedi niceties?”

        Kenobi stared at him and there was horror in his gaze, horror and something that was cracked and aching. “I…” he started, and then slowly trailed off.

        “And here, then, is where your lies crumble, is it not, Master Kenobi?” Maul sneered. “Here is where it is revealed that the Jedi Order is as full of hypocrisy as it is of lies. You speak of finding this work of fiction beautiful, of the loyalty and sacrifice given without ulterior motive as something that happens here, that will be gifted to me… And yet…” Maul smiled. “And yet all I hear is more lies from a bloated Order, and truths from a Slave boy that has never known anything of worth.”

        Kenobi froze, staring at him with wide and horrified eyes, darting, and then softly,

        “That’s not true,” Skywalker said then, his voice loud and strong, and Maul turned to look at him.

        “Oh, please, tell me how I am mistaken,” Maul said, waving a hand, “by all means.”

        “I do know worth,” Skywalker said, looking up at him with his eyes so… “I know what my mom is worth, I know what I am worth,” he said, “I have had a number for as long as I can remember, and I know that the love that my mother gave me was worth more than all of the credits in the Galaxy. My mother let me go when she herself was still enslaved. My mother gave me my freedom…”

        “And tell me, Skywalker,” Maul said softly, “did you have a choice of what you would become? Did you choose to be a Jedi?”         Skywalker was quiet for a moment, “When they first freed me, they didn’t tell me that I had a choice. They took me with them and brought me to the Council and… And when I first was asked about being a Jedi I didn’t…I didn’t know that I had a choice. They didn’t give me any options.”

        Maul watched with smug satisfaction as Kenobi’s eyes closed, his expression turning pained.

        “But they learned,” Skywalker rallied, frowning, stomping his foot. “They came back, and they told me that I dohave options. They freed my mom, they freed me, and they will free you. I don’t…I don’t know what they’ll do if you decide you want to return to the Dark Side, but…” Skywalker’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t think that it’s a question they ever thought to ask themselves? I know that a lot of the problems have come from not asking questions. Maybe they should talk about it.”

        “And when they tell you I am right?” Maul asked softly, “What then?”

        Skywalker frowned for a moment, before looking up at him with those sad, sad eyes. “I don’t think you’re right, but I can’t prove you wrong. Give me, give us the opportunity.”

        Maul’s lips curled into a sneer before he gave a slight wave of his hand. “Please,” he said.

        They left then, leaving Maul with the stirrings of satisfaction in his chest.

       After a long moment where he carved their reactions into his skull, Maul left the flimsi where it lay and turned to begin working on his katas.

        Maul had no use for something that did not exist.

___________________________

        Obi-Wan was reeling.      

        The thought of Maul reforming and yet somehow still utilizing the Dark Side had not even occurred to him. He had not even thought that that would be possible, but placed in the framework Maul had… Would it not still be…

        Obi-Wan couldn’t catch hold of the wayward thoughts they tumbled through his mind so quickly. He was aware of Anakin’s presence next to him, the single-minded determination burning in him brightly at the desire to prove Maul wrong, but… Obi-Wan genuinely wasn’t sure if he would be able to. Obi-Wan could not see the Council ever allowing the continued use of the Dark Side, but… If they did not, then were they not as bad as the one who had chained Maul to the Dark to begin with? They were merely chaining him to another prison.

        Of course, that was assuming that Maul did decide to learn how to follow their arts, did become a Jedi and pass their Trials, and then still decide that he’d rather be a Sith.

        Obi-Wan didn’t truly see that ever being the case, but that almost didn’t matter in the face of the principle of the thing. The principle being that if they trapped Maul in this… Then Maul was right.

        They removed Maul’s ability to choose, and thus forced the prospect of either foreswearing the Force entirely – which would be a fate worse than death, Obi-Wan knew – or they would force him to become a Jedi he did not wish to be. Either way he was enslaved to their will.

        Either way, Maul was still not free. Either way they would place him in just another prison, though one that was meant to be gilded this time.

        But a cage was ultimately still a cage.

       Obi-Wan led Anakin back into the Temple, shortening his stride after a moment so Anakin could keep up without running. It wasn’t fair for the much smaller boy after all, even if he did look a bit like he wanted to start running for the Council room as well.

        As they entered the main Atrium, though, Obi-Wan found his step slowing, spotting Mace Windu, Yoda and…

        “Chancellor Palpatine?” Obi-Wan whispered.

        Chancellor Palpatine himself stood there, his hands perfectly clasped just so in front of him as he smiled at the two Senior-most of the Jedi Order, receiving a warm look in return. They looked as though they were just finishing up a conversation, and that was when the Chancellor turned and saw the both of them.

        The warm look he sent their way reminded him of the way Qui-Gon looked at him, full of a subtle pride and a great deal of care. Obi-Wan ducked his head reflexively, seeing Anakin doing much the same, and they both approached.

        “Well,” the Chancellor said, looking them both over with that warm smile on his face, “do my eyes deceive me or do we have Knight Kenobi and a young Padawan Skywalker.”

        “Yes, sir,” Obi-Wan responded, with a nod and a returning smile. “I passed my Trials recently. Anakin was taken as my old Master’s Apprentice, but he is on a mission that we felt was too dangerous for a new Padawan. I am therefore taking over temporary duty as his Teacher.”

        “Oh, how marvelous,” Chancellor Palpatine smiled, clapping his hands, “you must both be very proud of yourselves. I am certain that once Master Jinn returns your teaching will be quite enjoyable. How is Master Kenobi doing at teaching?” he sent a teasingly sly look towards Obi-Wan, before looking back to Anakin, “this is his first Apprenticeship is it not, regardless of how informal?”

        “Good,” Anakin chirped, smiling back. “It is his first job as a Teacher, but I think he’s doing very well.”

        Obi-Wan had to fight not to duck his head again. “I have had good Teachers,” Obi-Wan rallied, “that are willing to help when I ask for it, which…” he paused, looking to Masters Yoda and Windu, trying to think about how to close the topic of current conversation and bring his problem to them. “I actually…I would seek your advice now, Masters,” he said with a bow.

        “It is good that you call upon older wisdom when your own fails you,” the Chancellor said with a smile, “it is why I have my aids, of course. They have been there for much longer than I have…” he trailed off, before quietly, “If I might make an odd request?” There was a pause, the Jedi regarding each other before looking back to the Chancellor, who smiled at them before looking down at Anakin, “I do not wish to talk over you as though you are not here, my dear boy,” he said, “but I do believe I need to get approval first.” With that small statement he looked up at Obi-Wan and the two Masters. “I had hoped to get some time with Anakin to properly thank him for the saving of my home planet, and to see how well he was fitting in at your Temple.”

        There was a pause, Obi-Wan looking over to the Masters, who in turn looked to Anakin.

        Yoda’s gaze was firm as he stared at the Chancellor, “Know we shall, if anything were to occur.” His words were soft, but there was duracrete beneath them, and the Chancellor’s expression fell into a warm smile.

        “Of course,” he stated, “I would be quite worried if you did not impose some sort of boundary. Would you permit me to move the conversation to that corner?” he asked, nodding to it. “If, of course,” he said then, looking to Anakin, “you do not mind, my boy. It is only that I realized that I had not had a moment to properly converse with you, and I realize that so much has changed it might be nice to get an ear that is… Ah…distant, perhaps, to everything that is happening. It must seem rather overwhelming.”

        Anakin paused, looking to the others, before looking back at the Chancellor, his expression curious, and… Obi-Wan thought that might be a bit of interest. Well…

        Obi-Wan hesitated, looking to both Master Yoda and Master Windu, who after a moment gave a quiet, “I do not see why not,” Master Windu said, looking to Anakin, “unless you have any objections?”

        “No,” Anakin answered, looking back to the Chancellor. “I’m sure I could take him,” the grin he gave was bright and amused and the Chancellor laughed aloud.

        “I’m rather sure you could as well,” he agreed, “walk with me?”

       Obi-Wan watched the two of them walk towards the corner that had been indicated, all of them watching carefully, listening as the Chancellor opened in the exact way he had suggested: an inquiry of how Anakin was liking his training. As soon as Obi-Wan was sure they were out of earshot he looked back to Masters Windu and Yoda, who turned their attention to him expectantly.

        Obi-Wan took a breath, trying to compartmentalize everything and quietly began speaking, bringing up all of the points that Maul had made, watching as their gazes shuttered, burned, and finally the way they looked at each other.

        “Meditate on this, we will,” Master Yoda said softly. “Agree we do with Maul’s assessment. A difficult choice this is.”

       “But…” Obi-Wan closed his eyes, “is that not the problem? We are always coming back to this, on potentially throwing him back into uncertainty… We cannot keep doing this, Masters.”

        “You are right,” Master Windu agreed, “and we will not. No matter the answer, Maul will be freed.” He closed his eyes, “though I wish to do more research into the Sith before we bring this to the Council.”

        Obi-Wan nearly fell in relief, “are you sure, Master?”

       “Yes,” Master Windu stated with a nod. “But it will take time. We will not bring it to the Council until I have more information, I believe,” he said, looking to Master Yoda, who gave a nod of agreement. “But the Nightsisters and Brothers are both very aligned with the Dark Side of the Force, and none of them have been a threat to the Galaxy outside of their own World. Maul would be acting according to his nature. Have faith Obi-Wan. We still do not know if that will be his choice.”

        Obi-Wan’s eyes closed and he took this in for a moment before smiling.

        He’d be able to prove Maul wrong after all.

___________________________________

        Anakin smiled up at the Chancellor as he asked him about his training, how the Jedi were treating him, what he thought about the Temple, answering everything with a feeling of content. The Chancellor smiled, asked follow-up questions, laughed at his jokes, and generally seemed as though he really cared about his answers.

        There was a small part of Anakin, the part that still could not believe that a Slave Boy from Tatooine was able to do so much, that part was in awe as the Chancellor listened to that Slave Boy.

        “So, tell me, what is your favorite part about being in the Temple?” Chancellor Palpatine asked, “it must be exciting being amongst the Jedi. I could have sworn there was a commotion a couple weeks ago.”

        “There was, sir,” Anakin answered, “but it’s alright, we’re taking care of him.”

        “That’s very good to hear, Anakin,” the Chancellor said with a very wide smile, “I am pleased to hear that you are taking care of it, now, please, what is your favorite part?”

        “Well…” Anakin said, smiling, and answered, speaking of the kitchens, which Anakin had enjoyed more than he had thought, and then finally with a smile, the Chancellor wished him well, telling him that he was grateful that Anakin was settling in so well.

        “I enjoyed our chat,” Chancellor Palpatine said with a smile finally, “we shall have to have another later on, should of course, your Masters deem it acceptable.”

        “They’re not my Masters, sir,” Anakin responded with a smile, “they’re my Teachers.”

        Anakin didn’t notice the slight flicker in the Chancellor’s smile as he turned and headed back to the other three, leading Chancellor Palpatine with him and saying goodbye with the rest of them, bidding him a pleasant morning. Then he looked back to Obi-Wan and the rest, his eyes wide.

        “It’ll be okay, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said with a smile. “Everything will be okay.”

        Anakin could have cried in relief.

[whatapunk]

Holy butts I wrote a second chapter!! I am soooo thankful for everyone who liked or reblogged the first chapter because truly, truly, truly you gave me more motivation than you could possibly realize! 

A couple things: 

I’ve included dialogue from the s02e01 scene where Kanan and Hera have a very Han/Leia hallway argument and I definitely don’t want to take credit for such things (I only wanted to add it to help me with my flow a bit)

Right now I’m firmly trying so very hard to fit it perfectly into canon (it’s just something I like doing, idk) but eventually it might go a lil more AU, I just haven’t decided yet

This shit had me on wookieepedia searching the most random stuff, but rest assured, there is garlic in the Star Wars universe

Enjoy!

Title: Endings

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Relationship: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla; Kanan Jarrus/female OC

Rating: t for now, m in future chapters (I'm guessing) for language and some non-explicit intimacy

Word Count: 2446

Previous Chapters: Ch. 1

Chapter 2

Kanan sat on the step ladder leading up to the Liberator’s control panels. His presence was a silent mark of informality in the middle of the crew’s debriefing meeting with Commander Sato. The rest of the crew, plus Ahsoka, stood around the holo-console in the middle of the floor. Sato was saying something about the Ghost crew- his crew- but Kanan was barely half listening. For one, every other word that came out of Sato’s mouth was some military formality and, thus, not something that interested him in the slightest. But the main reason he wasn’t listening was that Rhia Denley’s image was still burned into his thoughts.

Seven years. When you hadn’t seen someone in this galaxy for seven years, you started to assume you never would again. At least, that’s how Kanan had felt. 

However, suddenly she was here again- she existed again, something Kanan had tried hard to convince himself wasn’t even true. It was easier to convince himself she was something he’d imagined than for him to remember her and the way she’d crushed his young heart years ago. Besides, thinking about that heartache had always made him feel guilty once Hera was in his life. Now, however, he was feeling so many things he didn’t even have room for guilt.

What he did have room for was a hefty amount of bitterness, and for more than one reason. First of all, he was already bitter before Rhia showed up; he’d hardly hidden his feelings and had become almost spiteful about how they had been sucked into a military operation. But even that wasn’t totally separate from his thoughts about Rhia.

Rhia and Kanan had become a “thing” on Gorse, very soon after Kanan had set up what passed as a life there. Their meeting was by chance, but they had run into each other briefly when he was even younger and worked with a smuggler named Janus Kasmir. It was actually Rhia who told him about low-profile jobs on Gorse then, so he wasn’t altogether surprised that she ended up there eventually too. While he wasn’t much more than a kid when they first met, when they reconnected on Gorse, he was older and far more interesting to Rhia. They quickly became infatuated with one another for the better part of four months, which was practically a lifelong commitment to Kanan. Before Hera, Rhia was the longest relationship he’d ever been in. 

Rhia, however, had bigger goals than being a bartender’s girlfriend and working as a miner on Cynda. Rhia, much like Hera, was interested in the Rebellion. She’d made this clear early on, but she didn’t try to preach to Kanan, and he’d liked that about her. However, once she’d found a connection to a group of Rebels on the Holonet, she had tried- more than once- to get him to come with her. That’s what made running into her here, of all places, all the more exasperating and awkward. He’d ended up here anyway, despite his countless protestations- and he didn’t even want to be.

Seeing Rhia again reminded him, among other things, of all of the reasons he told her he didn’t want to join the Rebellion. And that reminded him that they were all still true.

Kanan heard Sato say something about the Spectres being “invaluable,” and then suddenly Chopper burst into the meeting, much to Commander Sato and Hera’s dismay. He was going on about an emergency incoming transmission, and, frankly, Kanan welcomed the change. His bitterness with this situation, this Rebellion- this meeting had reached its peak.

***

Less than ten minutes later, Kanan’s bitterness had already gotten him into trouble, and with Hera, no less. 

After telling Chopper to play his transmission during a “secret debriefing,” Hera had scowled at him for the rest of the meeting. He’d tried to rush out and get out of her line of fire once they were dismissed, but she’d caught him in the hallway and firmly let him know he wasn’t authorized to do that.

“Authorization! Procedure! That’s what’s bothering me!” he’d raised his voice, uncaring of the people that were attempting to walk past them as they argued. 

Hera put her hands up gently, sighing at having finally gotten him to drop the passive aggressive quips about their work lately. It wasn’t hard to guess what had been bothering him, but he was a grown adult who should be able to talk to her, of all people.

“All right. Talk to me,” she said, lowering her voice. Kanan sighed and did the same.

“After this mission, I want us to go back on our own,” he said firmly. “Fighting alongside soldiers isn’t what I signed up for.” At that, Hera frowned at him and shoved him into an open doorway, pointing a gloved finger in his face.

“You seem to be forgetting these soldiers helped save your life,” she said, looking at him with those big eyes that could be both demanding and softening at the same time. After that remark, he couldn’t meet them.

“And I’m grateful,” he started, “but that doesn’t mean I want to join their little army. When you and I started together, it was ‘Rob from the Empire, give to the needy,’ a noble cause. Now we’re getting drawn into some kind of military thing! I don’t like it.” 

Somehow Hera’s voice became more serious and more earnest.

“We are fighting a bigger fight, but it’s still the right fight,” she said, all but pleading with him to understand that they’d been fighting in the name of the Rebellion all along. Kanan wasn’t having it.

“I survived one war. I’m not ready for another one,” he said, turning away from her. She grabbed his arm. “I saw what it did.”

“To the Jedi?” she asked, almost whispering. He looked back at her.

“To everyone.” He left the doorway and continued walking down the hall, hearing Hera’s exasperated sigh behind him. 

Kanan loved virtually everything about Hera, even her flaws. She was incredibly stubborn, but since he was so go-with-the-flow, it never really got in their way. In fact, it practically complimented his own personality. She would get adamant and obsessed over something, and he would follow her anywhere and do anything she asked of him. At least, that’s how things had gone for them for the past seven years, right up until the formal Rebellion had rescued him from the Grand Inquisitor. Now it was suddenly a reality of Kanan’s world that he was part of a military operation and that could only lead to one thing: war. 

Hera had been familiar with war her whole life, but not in the same way Kanan had. He’d fought in battles as a young teen alongside his master, Depa Billaba and seen the realities of it all over the galaxy. Hera’s own world was war-torn, for sure, but her role in that war was far different than Kanan’s. For the first time since he’d met her, he felt like she was incapable of understanding him.

Kanan headed to the only place he really wanted to be right now: his quarters on Ghost. He felt like meditating, if only for the quiet. He lost himself in his thoughts there for maybe an hour, and eventually his sour attitude had at least subsided. He remembered his harsh tone with Hera and his obvious instigation of Chopper in the meeting. He still didn’t care about what Sato thought, but he felt bad for making Hera look bad. Now, it felt like such a childish thing to have done.

He left his quarters and, once seeing the Ghost was still empty, he went back out into the bay. It was less busy now, as most of the cargo that littered the area earlier had been taken elsewhere by now. His eyes scanned for Hera; he knew he should apologize to her. When he didn’t see her, or any of the Spectres, he set off down one of the hallways that he believed led to the commissary. He hadn’t taken the time to get to know his way around this ship (by design) so he honestly had no clue where to start looking for her. He’d gone pretty far without seeing anything resembling a commissary and was about to turn around when an amazing aroma hit him and made his stomach growl: garlic. 

Something told him to follow the smell, which led him down a corridor that opened up to a large galley. Standing in front of a pan sizzling on the stove, as Kanan had expected, was Rhia. She looked up at him, surprised, but then smiled.

“I should have known this would attract you,” she said with a smirk, then turned her attention back to the sizzling pan, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me here,” Kanan added, grabbing a seat at an empty table near the stove. “You know how I feel about your cooking.” She looked up and grinned at him.

“The same way everyone does,” she said, confidently. She left the pan and attended to a cutting board with what looked like an onion and some kind of pepper on it. 

Kanan’s stomach growled again. Rhia was an amazing cook and loved every piece of food he’d ever seen her hold. She only ever ate ration bars or drank nutritive milk when she absolutely had to. Otherwise, she kept her own stock of spices and quality ingredients and went well out of her way (and budget) to get fresh produce. Kanan’s mind drifted back to memories of watching Rhia cooking in her kitchen on Gorse. He remembered breakfast with eggs and some sort of mushroom, watching her move her hands skillfully around knives and pans and the ingredients, often wearing nothing but-

“So,” Rhia started, pulling Kanan out of his memory. “You finally joined the Rebellion.” Kanan’s brow wrinkled.

“What do you mean by finally?” he asked, already feeling himself becoming defensive. Rhia rolled her eyes.

“Nothing,” she said, slicing into her pepper, grinning.

“And no, I did not join anything,” Kanan said, putting extra emphasis on “I” and jabbing his thumb to his chest. She looked back up at him as she scraped ingredients from her cutting board to the pan. 

“That was Hera Syndulla, wasn’t it? Captain of the Ghost? You’re part of Ghost crew, right?” she pressed, confused. Kanan was more than a little surprised.

“You’ve heard of us?” Kanan asked, his vanity getting the better of him and nearly allowing a smile to creep onto his face. Rhia rolled her eyes again and laughed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kanan. I’ve heard of Captain Syndulla, not her first mate,” she joked, laughing more at the fall of Kanan’s expression. Then realization struck her. “Wait, are you the one we just blew up a star destroyer for?” Kanan grimaced.

“Yes, but that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t tell them to- and it was Chopper who-” Rhia held her hand up, seeing him getting defensive.

“Kanan, I don’t really know anything about what happened. I wasn’t here for it, I just heard about it. I was on a freighter headed to a rendezvous. I don’t even know who Chopper is,” she said, going back to her pan.

“He’s our droid,” Kanan said flatly. “Anyway, my crew performed the rescue. I was aboard Tarkin’s destroyer.” Rhia looked up at him again, this time a little more serious.

“What was that like?” she asked.

“Not fun.”

Rhia didn’t push the topic further. She grabbed a pan of noodles that had been sitting over to her right and mixed them into the skillet with some oil. Kanan was suddenly fascinated by the chipped edge of the table in front of him. 

Satisfied with the meal in front of her, Rhia reached into a cabinet behind her and pulled out two plates and then matched them with two forks. She set them out on the table Kanan was sitting at and then divided the noodles in half. Before she sat down, however, she went back to the cabinet and grabbed two glasses. When she set them down the table Kanan looked up at her, arching his eyebrow. She went to a backpack that sat on the floor behind the counter and pulled out a glass bottle with no markings and a familiar light brown liquid sloshing inside. She poured herself a drink, placed the mouth of the bottle over his glass and paused, looking at him, silently offering the drink. 

“I can’t think of what goes better with your dinners,” he said, and she poured. 

As soon as Kanan took a bite, his memories were triggered all over again. He was pretty sure he’d never even eaten this specific dish before, given her access to such a wide variety of ingredients. But it didn’t matter. Rhia’s meals were memorable for some sort of shared quality that bound them all together, even when they were drastically different. Not only that, but he realized how long it had been since he’d eaten, and how much longer it had been since he’d eaten something of this quality. For a few minutes they ate in silence, Kanan unavailable for any and all conversation. Eventually, Rhia spoke.

“So explain to me how you haven’t joined the Rebellion?” Kanan sighed, but the food had made him quite amenable to discussing just about anything. He did, however, take a drink before he replied.

“I didn’t know we were a cell. I didn’t know there were cells. Hera was the only one who spoke to Fulcrum and knew of the larger operation. I found out when I was… rescued,” Kanan ended quietly. Rhia could tell that being rescued and needing so much from so many, made him uncomfortable. 

“That had to be quite a shock,” she said, sensing the need for a new subject. “So you and Hera, when did you two meet?” she asked. Kanan looked at her, surprised. He could tell by the way she asked, she knew that they were together. Rhia gave him a “give me a break” look.

“Kanan, really- my ‘pilot’? Shit, I’ve seen explosions that were more subtle.” She chuckled and took another drink, emptying the glass. Kanan did the same. Rhia offered up the bottle again.

“Another?”

Kanan looked at it, hesitating. He hardly drank at all anymore, let alone like he did when they were living on Gorse. However, depending on where this conversation was going to go, Kanan felt like he would need something more than blood in his veins. 

“One more.”