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woantohae · 4 months ago

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Into You || (Bob Reynolds x reader x The Void)

Summary: The closeness between Y/N and Bob was evident. There were small moments, hand touches and lingered looks that spoke for themselves, but they remained silent. Until one night.

Author's note: Hello! Honestly i can't stop writing for Bob Reynolds, once I start with one idea, I'm already starting with another ✨️ I still don't know how Sentry/Void will be introduced to us, so I apologize if I don't get the character's as it should be.

Enjoy!!! 💌

《tags: fluff, void being present, hints of sexual tension, reader having powers like polaris (at this point, reader will be polaris lol, references of the scene of wanda iykyk 👀 》

The attraction between Bob and Y/N was evident.

Everyone in the compound saw it, except them. Or maybe they were shy enough not to notice it. The accidental touches when they passed each other, when Y/N was in the kitchen and Bob bumped by accident into her to get a glass of water, or when on each mission he made sure the girl was okay. Just a glance was enough for both of them to communicate if one of them needed help or was in trouble. And he always had his eyes on her when they were fighting together with the team against the common enemy.

After battles they used to heal there wounds, Y/N's more so than Bob's, since the man's undeniable strength and power was an important factor that helped him not get hurt so easily. Anyway, he was always in the corner of the infirmary room while he watched the girl's wounds being treated and cleaned. Bob hated it when she winced, and even though she tried to camouflage it, he could notice how the knuckles of Y/N's fists turned white. Bob wanted nothing but to take away all the pain she felt, and if he could have it, he would gladly take it.

The team usually teases them about it. They always found the perfect opportunity to let Bob and Y/N know that they both had a genuine connection, and an undeniable tension whenever they were around them. Alexei always pointed this out and moved his eyebrows repeatedly at Bob when he saw Y/N enter the room. Or when Ava was reading a book in the living room and heard the pair's low laughter as they stood in the kitchen, looking like a married couple. Even Bucky joined in on the thousands of occasions to tease them for their closeness.

Bob's serenity and shyness didn't let him get so close to Y/N so easily, but that didn't stop him from always being there for her.

Like right now, for example.

Y/N had stayed up late training, because she was still having a hard time handling her hand-to-hand combat. It wasn't that she was beaten in missions, but she wanted to be able to have complete control of this type of fight. Y/N was much better at handling weapons, and although it was almost ironic how she could defeat the bad guys with them and not with her body, she was always triumphant against whoever she was fighting.

Before being on the team, the girl had no idea how to handle a weapon or even defend herself, but after Hydra experimented on her and maked her their pawn, she had acquired certain types of skills, such as telekinesis and mind control.

Now that no one was there, Y/N was taking advantage of the solitude to continue training.

On the other hand, Bob had been kept awake due to memories invading his head non-stop. He still had a hard time staying in control and calm, so in calm instances like this, he had to take advantage of it.

The man was walking through the halls of the compound when he stopped to hear sounds of punches coming from the training room. He stops and looks through the crack of the door to observe Y/N in the room.

He feels like a creepy for spying on her like that, but he can't take his eyes off her; not to her body, but to her. Bob begins to feel chills as soon as a sensation begins to form in his chest. A feeling he knows very well.

"No, no," he mutters to himself.

He feels Void's presence beginning to become present in the environment, and although he always tries to defeat it, he never succeeds. It's like Void wants to be present whenever Y/N is around.

I mean, who wouldn't? Bob thinks to himself.

"Oh, yes, dear Bobby," the evil presence tells him, letting out a dark laugh as he walks safely into the training room, without scaring away the girl who has her back turn to him for the moment.

Y/N doesn't even flinch from Void's presence with her in the room, but when she hears his voice she becomes alarmed.

"Your posture is wrong" Void says.

Y/N lets out a small scream as she turns around and with her powers raises a knife that is a few centimeters from the man's face. She lets out a more relaxed sigh and frowns.

"What are you doing up at this hour?" she asks.

He smiles at her and moves the knife with his hand to let it fall to the ground.

"I could ask you the same question," he tells her, approaching her.

Y/N smiles at him and points to the training bag they use to train.

"I need to improve in hand-to-hand combat," she responds, trying to comb her hair.

Void looks at her carefully and stands at her level, facing each other.

"I can help you," he tells her. "I'm very good at hand-to-hand combat."

She shakes her head in amusement and raises an eyebrow. "If you have nothing better to do"

"Oh, believe me. Nothing is better than this opportunity."

They both get into a combat position and Void gives the first blow, which the girl dodges with agility and speed. The two continue that dance of defense and attack movements, with each passing second they feel the heat of their bodies and the agitation of the moment.

"You keep doing that posture wrong," Void points out to her, shaking his head.

His firm hands move down to Y/N's hips, where he tries to position her correctly, as the distance between them seems to get closer and closer. Void's shadowy eyes are on the girl's lips, resisting the temptation to steal a kiss.

Y/N, on the other hand, looks at the man's lips and then looks at his eyes, meeting the surprise of his gaze on hers at the same time. The corner of Void's lips curve upward, keeping his hands on the girl's waist, who doesn't seem to be bothered by the position.

"This is how you have to be positioned from now on" Void says in a whisper.

Movie night had become a tradition for the team. Alexei had given the idea of meeting once a week in the living room to watch a movie together, in a way to release tensions and clear their minds from the battlefield and all the missions they had. It was exhausting, for everyone.

At first Yelena rolled her eyes at her father's idea, but she simply accepted because she had nothing better to do. Then the rest joined in, still under John's snorts at the thought of how ridiculous it was.

So now they were gathered in the living room while the movie on TV illuminated their faces. They had chosen, by vote, to watch "The Breakfast Club."

Y/N watched the movie attentively and relaxed from everything else, without noticing the fleeting and sometimes long-lasting glances that Bob gave her from the other side of the couch. If the rest of the team asked Bob at that moment what was happening in the movie, he would probably have no idea, despite having seen it before.

His attention was focused on the girl who at times laughed and looked at the screen. Bob was grateful that none of the other men present were sitting next to her, because it would be even more obvious that he had been staring at her for a while.

Beside him, someone subtly taps his arm. "You're too obvious, Bob," John whispers, popping a portion of popcorn into his mouth.

He suddenly gets nervous, but tries to look relaxed. "What are you taking about?"

John snorts and rolls his eyes. "About how you feel about Y/N."

Bob frowns and takes a quick look at the girl who is still staring at the TV.

"I don't have feelings for her. She's my teammate and a friend, nothing more," he rushes to respond, crossing his arms.

John shoots him an exasperated look as he sees the man next to him in denial about what he truly feels. The truth is that he hasn't been discreet at all when it comes to admiring Y/N, and everyone on the team can see it. Everyone except him and Y/N.

"Listen, because you sound like a fool every time you lie to yourself," the blonde tells him still in a low tone so as not to raise suspicions "It's clear that you have feelings for her, and she has feelings for you. We're not idiots to not notice every time you look at each other. The only idiots here are you and Y/N"

Bob frowns. "Don't call her an idiot."

John sighs and closes his eyes for a moment.

"You know what I mean"

Bob seems to process John's words and they are the simple truth. He couldn't keep hiding it and trying to go unnoticed about it, because if John was telling him that it was because it was more than obvious to the rest of the team, even to Alexei.

"I'm just saying don't hold onto your feelings too much, that'll only make you crazy," John says and makes a face. "Well, it's not like you haven't done it already."

Bob purses his lips and shakes his head, understanding what the blonde is referring to.

"Thank you"

John continues watching the movie and takes a portion of popcorns in his hands.

"This doesn't mean we're buddies, got it?"

Bob purses his lips and shakes his head.

"Got it"

Y/N couldn't sleep.

Her mind was plagued with horrible memories from her past, all relating to the experiments they did on her and the treatment and beatings she received for it. She had been unable to sleep for years, and when she did, only nightmares invaded her mind, tormenting and making the horrors she experienced flourish again.

The girl decides to get out of bed and leave the room to go to the terrace and let the stars surround her. When she goes out, she faces the cold of the night that imprisons her and causes her to cross her arms in an attempt to warm herself.

She is lost in her thoughts until a deep voice startles her. "Nightmares?"

"Shit" she turns around and sees Bob leaning against the wall of the terrace.

He laughs lightly and approaches slowly but surely until he is positioned next to Y/N. She realizes that the one who is actually present is Void, due to a dark and confident attitude that radiates from his person. In all this time that they have been together in the team, Y/N has been able to differentiate when it is about him and Bob. It is enough for her to just look into his eyes and notice his posture to know who she is dealing with.

Y/N relaxes and nods her head.

"Always nightmares" she answers looking at him "What about you?"

Void shrugs and rests his hands on the railings of the terrace, looking back at her.

"I'm enjoying the time I have while Bob rests"

"You're usually more present than he is," she points out and he smirks. "Why don't you let him be more present?"

The entity turns so that his entire body is facing the girl, telling her with his gaze that the answer is right in front of him.

"Because he doesn't know how to appreciate the moments he has with you."

She frowns slightly as heat covers her cheeks. It was true that every time they were together Void let her know that he liked being in Y/N's company, as did Bob. However, the latter had a hard time showing it because of his introverted personality.

She looks away at the lights covering New York City, feeling shy at Void's direct confession, who seemed confident.

"You should still give him a chance though." she points.

Void lets out a light laugh that makes Y/N's body shivers, because of how satisfied it sounds. He seems to notice her shiver, so he takes off the jacket he's wearing and covers the girl's arms, letting them rest on them for a few more minutes. Y/N smiles softly, at the same time the man's fragrance invades her nostrils.

"Oh, yeah?" he raises an eyebrow. "Tell me, who would you rather have here, now? With you."

His body seems to get closer and closer, as his eyes filled with dark desire fixate on the girl's lips.

"Well.... Sentry is more friendly, tender, and doesn't think about destroying everything in his path," she ventures to answer with a hint of amusement in her tone.

Void takes this as a sign to put his arm around the girl's waist and pull her slightly closer to him, feeling the heat radiate from their bodies suddenly.

"I can be all of that," he lets her know.

"Even if you leave your evil side aside?" she murmurs.

Void smirks.

"Oh, sweetie. I could never leave my evil side aside. You and the rest know that," he says, closing the distance between them, feeling his breath on her lips. "But for you, I could behave."

Y/N smiles lightly and he decides to close the distance between them finally, capturing her lips. Void wraps her in his arms as he feels her hands slowly rise to his neck, feeling goosebumps all of the sudden. Their mouths move in an increasingly agitated and passionate dance. Void leans her against the railing and enjoys the taste of the girl's lips, after a long time wanting to taste them. Y/N clings to his shirt, feeling the jacket covering her shoulders begin to fall, but Void is quicker to hold it and prevent the cold from hitting the girl's body.

"Damn it, get a room!" Yelena's voice exclaims behind her.

Y/N pulls away suddenly as Void stares at her flirtatiously, without caring for the presence of Yelena.

She licks her lips and looks at the blonde.

"I'm sorry" she says blushing.

"I'm not" Void intervenes, still facing away from the blonde.

Yelena shakes her head amused and sighs.

"Just don't make so much noise" she asks and then starts moving, but stops to speak "And use protection"

"Sure do" the man responds.

Y/N playfully punches him in the chest, still wrapped in his arms. Yelena leaves them alone and Y/N lets out a sigh fixing her hair. "

"So... where were we?"

Y/N rolls her eyes.

"You're unbelievable" she mutters.

"Yeah. That i'm"

And they continue their kissing session, while the lights of New York and the stars of the night sky bear witness.

#bob reynolds x reader #sentry masterlist #the void x reader #the void #the void masterlist #fanfic #fluff #thunderbolts

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rosachae · 1 month ago

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salvation | megan skiendiel x reader P2

PART TWO click for previous part ⁍ song: ghost - mary in the junkyard ⁍ genre: Star Wars AU! fluff, angst, slowburn. honestly everything. ⁍ a/n: hello all! if you didn't already know, i hit the 1000 block on my initial post of this here and as such needed to cut a few scenes. so, to get everything out, i'll be splitting the original version into parts. this is part two of the 'saur cut'. please read part one first. ⁍ wc: 14.7k ⁍ warnings: mentions of death, violent depictions. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel never meant to fall for the most disciplined padawan in the temple—it just sort of happened. caught between duty and feeling, two jedi have to decide what they’re really willing to risk.

22 BBY

the war had changed everything.

since geonosis, since the sand had settled around the petranaki arena and the galaxy realized what it meant to bleed, nothing had been the same. the jedi, once peacekeepers, were now commanders. generals. quiet figures caught in the center of a growing storm.

megan skiendiel had changed, too.

there had been slight alterations to her robes since polaris minor. deeper shades. heavier fabric. not quite what she was used to, but she wore them anyway. they felt closer to who she was now. not so much the girl who dove headfirst into chaos, but someone who thought before she moved. someone who had learned what it meant to lose.

but in the middle of it all, there was love. something steady. something that hadn’t faltered.

she and y/n had been together since geonosis. not in the way the jedi council would ever acknowledge. not in public. but in the quiet places, when the war hadn’t reached them yet. a shared glance in the temple halls. laughter muffled under temple sheets. megan brushing her fingers against y/n’s wrist as they passed in the archives. moments stolen, held tightly, never taken for granted.

and in those spaces, megan had come alive. not in the loud, reckless way she always had, but in something softer. more sure of itself. more her. no grand confessions. no oaths. just presence. closeness. they became each other’s still point in a world that kept turning.

and for megan, it was like something had unlocked inside her. she let herself be clumsy. silly. honest. the war might have forced her to grow, but love had allowed her to stay soft.

there were memories tucked into the months like pressed flowers.

she made y/n laugh whenever she could. terrible impressions during medbay check-ins, dramatic reenactments of council briefings that never failed to pull a smile. she once spent an entire week memorizing three forms of serenno dialect just to impersonate a particularly rude senator they’d encountered. she didn’t even regret it when it got her temporarily banned from the archives.

in the training rooms, she always pushed y/n harder than she pushed herself. soresu first, then djem so. not for competition, but rather for preparation. blades humming, sweat beading along her brow as she laughed through every sparring match.

“if we ever get split up,” she said once, flicking y/n’s saber away with a grin, “i want to know you’ll be okay without me. not that you ever will be.”

then there was the droid.

it happened after a long session at the senate tower, during one of their quieter assignments. y/n had lingered beside an astromech near the platform gates, kneeling to check a misaligned circuit. she didn’t say much, but megan could see it. the soft smile. the way she rested her hand on the droid’s dome like it was already hers.

when they left, she looked back once. just for a second. that was all megan needed.

senator avanzini had always been easy to talk to, especially after their conversation in the medbay on polaris. megan had come to appreciate those quiet moments with the soft-spoken senator. her warmth, her patience, the way she never pressed too hard. later, when megan told y/n about it while she was still recovering, y/n’s reaction was immediate. shock, then fear. she was terrified the senator might tell their master’s, that the secret of their arrangement would be exposed. low and behold, those fears vanished two days after y/n’s run in with the astromech when there was a soft knock at her chamber door.

megan didn’t even have to explain the full situation to senator avanzini. she simply said that it was “for her”, that it would “make her happy.” daniela didn’t need to hear anything more. by the end of it, daniela was beaming on the other side of the holocommunicator. she had the droid delivered to temple the very next morning.

it wasn’t quite the same droid, but it was close enough. r3-d4– arthree for short– showed up just after sunrise. a class two astromech, painted in soft greens and silvers, with an oddly polite chirp that almost sounded shy. megan handed him over with a grin, standing besides the little astromech on the other side of the door.

“his name’s arthree,” she said. “you looked like you missed the other one.”

“megan—”

“daniela insisted,” she shrugged, half truthful. there was zero chance she would admit to y/n how nervous she was when she made the call to their senator friend. how long she stood outside y/n’s door that moment then, trying to build up the courage to knock and gift her the droid. after a beat, she grinned. “besides, i thought we could use a new friend. anything to see that smile of yours.”

y/n looked left and right before grabbing megan by the collar and tugging her in immediately, pressing a long, meaningful kiss against the taller girls lips. arthree whirred besides them in surprise (the poor little droid needed a debriefing not five minutes later that it was imperative he kept their secret, to which he blipped and beeped in excited agreement).

when their masters asked about the droid, they said arthree was a thank-you gift for protecting the senator during the polaris minor incident. no one questioned it. it was almost too easy.

megan knew, though. deep down, pushed into the furthest reaches of her being, that it wouldn’t last forever. she just didn’t expect this reality to become numbingly clear so soon.

the soft beep of megan’s holocommunicator broke the silence, pulling her from sleep. the chamber around her was still and warm, dimly lit by the first hints of morning. like most jedi quarters, it was spare, simple, functional, and intentionally unadorned. no decorations, no keepsakes. they were taught not to cling to material things. but one object stood out. set neatly on the corner desk, a small carved stone rested in quiet defiance of the jedi code. smooth, pale, shaped into the likeness of a bird mid-flight. megan had found it in a vendor’s stall deep in the lower levels of coruscant and pocketed it without hesitation. she said it reminded her of y/n. she’d given it to her just a week ago.

morning light slanted across the stone floor of y/n’s chamber, soft and golden, filtering in through the narrow window and casting long shadows across the walls. her breath was warm against megan’s bare shoulder, slow and even, the steady rhythm of sleep not yet disturbed. for a long moment, megan didn’t move. didn’t blink. just watched her.

there was something sacred in the quiet. the way y/n’s brow stayed smooth in sleep, how the edge of her hand rested against megan’s ribs like it had always belonged there. it was rare, this stillness, this peace. and megan let herself soak in every second of it. her heart ached with it, full in a way she didn’t have words for.

she loved her so much it hurt. not in the loud, desperate way love was often written about, but in the quiet, unshakable kind. the kind that lived in mornings like this.

megan finally tore her gaze away, eyes drifting to the ceiling as the shape of reality began to settle around her, slow and heavy.

she should’ve slipped out hours ago. but she hadn’t. not this time.

not when y/n was still curled so close, lost in sleep, holding onto her like she never wanted to let go.

eventually, the insistent beeping of her holocommunicator refused to be ignored. megan let out a soft sigh, careful as she eased herself from y/n’s arms. her grip was firm even in sleep, and it took effort not to wake her.

she moved quietly, pulling on her robes with practiced ease, smoothing down her dark brown hair with quick, habitual sweeps. the communicator lit up in her hand, casting a faint blue glow as she angled it away from the bed, shielding y/n from view.

when the channel opened, her master’s face flickered into form. stern, tired, and not in the mood for conversation. master gun di gave a curt nod, skipping any pleasantries. his voice was calm but carried enough weight to make her shoulders square.

“padawan. y/n is needed in the hangar bay. gather her and come immediately.”

megan hesitated. her voice caught slightly as she tried, and failed, to sound casual.

“y/n...? she’s probably asleep in her quarters. have you tried calling her?”

gun di didn’t respond right away. his expression didn’t change, but the silence said enough. he knew. or at the very least, he suspected. the kind of quiet intuition a seasoned jedi couldn’t ignore. his gaze lingered, unreadable, and then he sighed.

“five minutes.”

the transmission ended with a soft warble, his image vanishing into static.

megan let the communicator drop to her side, slipping it into the front pocket of her robes. she turned, eyes falling back on y/n’s sleeping form, still curled beneath the sheets. part of her wanted to stay. to climb back in, tuck herself beneath the covers and forget the galaxy existed. just for a little longer.

but she knew better.

she leaned over, hands finding y/n’s shoulders with familiar gentleness. her grip was soft, careful not to startle.

“hey,” she whispered, just above a breath, as she gave the smallest shake.

y/n stirred slowly, lashes fluttering as her eyes blinked open. hazy, confused, still wrapped in the last threads of sleep. megan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. it was quiet and warm, the kind that slipped in without permission.

“good morning,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from y/n’s cheek. “i let you sleep as long as i could.”

y/n hummed, voice raspy with sleep. “what time is it?”

“too late,” megan said. “gun di’s looking for us. something about the hangar bay.”

y/n groaned, rolling onto her back and draping an arm over her eyes. megan laughed, soft under her breath.

“come on,” she said, pulling back the covers with a dramatic sweep. “we’ve got five minutes.”

megan stepped back to give her space, but her gaze lingered, soft and steady, like it always did. only when y/n stood and reached for her robes did megan finally turn away, hands fidgeting, shoulders tense in that familiar, awkward way of hers.

y/n laughed quietly under her breath. it was one of the things she loved most about megan skiendiel. for all her fire and boldness, she never overstepped. always respectful. always gentle. always hers.

once they were both ready– robes straightened, boots laced, lightsabers clipped to their belts– they shared one last glance. a silent kiss passed between them. then they moved.

the corridor buzzed with the quiet churn of the temple’s early stirrings. somewhere along the walk, a small metallic blur zipped around the corner. arthree. the little droid let out a cheerful trill, servos whirring as he spun toward them, bumping lightly against y/n’s leg like an overeager pet.

“morning, buddy,” y/n murmured, giving him a fond pat.

megan grinned beside her. “he missed you.”

by the time the three of them reached the hangar bay, the space was already humming with activity. clones assembling in quiet formation, transport ships powering up, and mechanics shouting over the noise. the war never slept, and neither did its soldiers.

and then they saw him. master– no, general gun di stood before a group of clones. their armor was pale gray with soft blue accents, clean and lightweight with various tech-enhancements. he stood in conversation with one of them, a tall clone whose presence stood out even among his brothers. a dark kama draped from his belt, a crossbody pauldron slung over one shoulder, both markers of command. his posture was easy, but sharp-eyed. alert. he had to be the troops commander.

the very second gun di felt his padawan approaching, he turned. and for the first time since the war began, he smiled. so faint it might’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. but megan saw it. she always did.

gun di had changed in the months since geonosis. the calm, introspective man who once quoted the code by heart now carried himself with the stillness of someone who had seen too much, too quickly. his robes were the same cut, but his wrists bore clone-style bracers, the durasteel lined with mesh, a large republic insignia etched into the left one. his blue eyes, once bright with patience, had dimmed to something steadier. more burdened. his mouth wore a permanent, unreadable line. war had hardened him, but not erased him. there was no mistaking his silent delight in seeing the girl he’s known since she was twelve.

general di stood with his arms behind his back, expression unreadable. whatever ghost of a smile had flickered there vanished as quickly as it had come. duty came first.

“knight y/n,” he greeted, his tone even, clipped. his gaze flicked to megan beside her, but his words were meant only for one. “your unit awaits.”

megan’s jaw tensed, just slightly. the word sat heavy in the air– knight.

she glanced sideways at y/n, who stood a little straighter under the title, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. pride, maybe. or nerves. maybe both. megan didn’t blame her.

she was proud. truly. she remembered the moment y/n told her, quietly, in the gardens outside the temple how the council had voted. how her knighthood came not at the end of a formal trial, but out of necessity. sinube would remain at the temple, overseeing younglings and archives. there were too few generals. too many battles. too much loss.

y/n, steady and capable, had been chosen.

megan had smiled when she heard. hugged her. kissed her, even. but that smile had a weight behind it.

because she was still a padawan. still reporting to gun di. still waiting.

in some twisted way, it felt almost unfair. megan was a skilled saber duelist. perhaps one of the best in the order, even. and for all the pride she felt, all the love she had for the girl beside her– it still stung.

gun di turned toward the tall clone commander, motioning to y/n with a short nod. “commander trace, this is your general.”

trace stepped forward. “sir,” he said, offering a sharp salute. his voice was calm, thoughtful. his eyes studied y/n for a moment, not judgmental– just observant. measuring. respectful. “we’re honored to serve under you.”

megan’s fingers tightened slightly within her sleeves, but she didn’t move, her gaze flicking between y/n and the clones. she could sense the weight of the moment, the subtle shift that was happening all around them. y/n was now a leader, a general, and she would have to guide them through the battles ahead. it was what she wanted. what she had earned. but megan couldn’t shake the feeling that, in some ways, this moment had been stolen from her.

gun di, seeing the moment had passed and knowing the need to press forward, motioned for the legion to fall into formation.

“your unit, general y/n. the 227th legion. congratulations.”

for a moment megan stood. y/n met her gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. megan’s lips tugged into a soft smile, one that didn't reach the corners of her eyes. as gun di’s call echoed in the air, megan could feel the smile fade, the ache rising in her chest once again.

she was proud, yes, but it didn’t stop the sting from creeping in, a quiet resentment she couldn’t shake. she couldn’t help it. not for y/n, no. never for her. but for her master. for the council. she’d been waiting too, hadn’t she?

“general y/n,” she eventually said instead, stepping beside her with a crooked smile. “should i salute now, or wait until you start ordering me around?”

y/n glanced at her sideways, lips twitching. “now’s fine.”

“you’re not gonna make me call you that all day, are you?”

y/n tilted her head, amused. “depends. are you going to start listening to me?”

“absolutely not.”

y/n’s laugh echoed off the durasteel walls. and for a moment, despite everything, it felt easy again.

with a final, sharp nod to the legion, gun di turned on his heel, his cloak brushing the floor as he left them. only before he left, he finally turned his attention to megan, motioning for her to follow.

her gaze flicked back to y/n one last time before she turned, her footsteps light but lacking the enthusiasm she wished she could fake. it was wrong, she knew. she should be cheering, not feeling this knot twist tighter in her stomach.

but jealousy had a way of sinking into your bones, like a quiet whisper you couldn’t shake. and for all the love she had for y/n, it was there, present and undeniable.

as she followed gun di, her step was less than peppy, a stark contrast to the hopeful confidence that was supposed to be there. she hated how it felt, but the truth was clear. for now, all she could do was stand by her, even if her own heart twisted in places she couldn’t explain.

she loved y/n. that would never change. but sometimes, love wasn’t enough to silence the quiet ache of wanting more.

she didn’t want ‘more’ to happen at the expense of someone she cared for, however. only it was too late. the force had a funny way of responding, megan realized. it had its own sense of timing. cruel, deliberate.

it wasn’t even a month later that news had reached her. the message came without warning. one encrypted report, buried beneath dispatches and logistical updates.

master gun di, confirmed dead. killed in action on ryloth. no survivors.

it didn’t feel real. not at first. not even when she read the full transmission. not even when she saw his name listed beside captain keeli’s, among the dozens of others lost.

the rain on coruscant didn’t fall like it did on the rim worlds. it didn’t carve through dust or flood broken homes. it was filtered, processed, condensed and redistributed through repulsorlift towers that shimmered in the skyline. still, it found the temple. soft against the windows. quiet in the way grief often was. it was the kind of rain that didn’t cleanse anything. just filled the silence.

and megan had never felt so hollow.

megan stood just outside the council chambers.

knighted, they said. in the absence of her master. in honor of his sacrifice. the ceremony had been brief, formal. a few quiet words. a nod from masters she’d never trained under. no time for questions. no room for grief. just the hum of the temple continuing without pause, as if the war had simply absorbed one more name.

they gave her a title. a command. a clone troop waiting for her and whatever came next.

the ninety-second assault battalion.

they wore dark gray and faded crimson armor. scratched, worn. stripped of anything ceremonial. they were built for function, not for show. veterans of geonosis, of christophis, of campaigns she hadn’t even read the reports for. they didn’t salute when she walked in. they just looked at her. assessed. nodded like they’d seen too many new commanders already and knew better than to get attached.

commander jex had been the first to speak.

same scar on his chin. same deep voice. but different now. more hollow. megan remembered him from the shuttle ride home after geonosis, back when he’d cracked jokes and hummed low tunes over the comms. he’d looked her in the eye then. now he just glanced past her, quiet and watchful.

but still, he remembered her.

she wasn’t ready. not for the armor. not for the weight of command. not for the silence that came after being told to move on.

it was too much. all of it. too fast. knighted, reassigned, re-armed.

her master was dead. she hadn’t cried. not when they told her. not during the hollow ceremony. not when the title was given and the braid was cut.

she cried now. not loud. not broken. just silent. the kind of grief that lived in the chest and never made it to the throat. she leaned her head against the smooth stone wall and let the tears fall where no one would see.

she hadn’t been there. she hadn’t even known. not until the temple was already flying the flags at half-mast and her master’s quarters had been sealed for debrief. they called it honorable. they called it necessary. but they didn’t call it what it was.

a loss. a theft. a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. and she was angry.

megan didn’t remember walking back to her chambers. her feet carried her on instinct, down long stone corridors washed in temple light, past other jedi who bowed gently or said nothing at all. she barely saw them. couldn’t bring herself to look.

it wasn’t until the door slid open and she stepped inside that she realized where she was.

her own quarters.

hers, now. not the shared padawan dormitories. not y/n’s room, where she’d curled into borrowed sheets more nights than she could count. just her own. a small, circular space with clean floors, a narrow sleeping pallet, and a meditation mat that still looked untouched.

the door closed behind her. the silence pressed in.

for a moment, she just stood there. the hum of the temple walls was steady, unchanging. and yet, everything felt unfamiliar. this place hadn’t changed. she had.

megan crossed to the small shelf by the bed, fingers trailing across the simple objects still left from before. her old training saber hilt, scorched and cracked from a bad duel when she was twelve. a holocube from gun di, a gift given to her on her seventeenth birthday. she didn’t activate it. she couldn’t.

instead, she sank onto the edge of the bed and let her hands fall to her lap.

they had knighted her. told her it was a testament to her master’s sacrifice. a recognition of the growth he had fostered. a reward for resilience. they spoke in quiet, even tones. told her that loss was part of the path. that to love a teacher was natural, but attachment led to fear, and fear led to suffering– darkness. she’d nodded.

because what else was she supposed to do? but deep inside, the questions wouldn’t stop.

why didn’t he wait for her? why did he go alone? why didn’t anyone warn her? and why—why did they expect her to just move on?

was this what it meant to be a jedi? to stand tall in the face of unbearable silence and pretend that letting go didn’t hurt like hell?

she bowed her head and clenched her jaw.

there was no room to grieve. only duty. no time to process. only progress. and somewhere beneath the weight of it all, something inside her shifted. it was quiet. small. a crack, not a break. but she felt it. the start of something else. something colder.

she had thought she understood the code. she had recited it every day since she was a child. peace. serenity. no attachments.

but now? now it felt like a lie. like a rule meant to bind, not protect. like a reason to keep her heart locked away until it stopped beating for anything at all.

megan swallowed hard. she looked around the room– her room– and felt nothing but the echo of absence.

gun di would have hated this. he would have seen right through it. he would have told her to trust the force. to breathe. to wait.

but he was gone.

the door behind her slid open with a gentle woosh, but she didn’t flinch. she felt her before she even entered, her force signature practically engraved into her mind and heart. a familiar hum in the force– warm and grounding, wrapped in calm. soft footsteps. careful, quiet. not temple protocol. not someone on assignment. just someone who knew. someone who didn’t need to knock, someone who didn’t need a key.

the girl who already held her heart in the palm of her hands, tender.

y/n stepped into the room without waiting for permission. her robes were still neat, untouched by the day. not a single crease out of place. but her hands… megan caught the way her fingers twisted at her sides. the way she paused just long enough to breathe before moving forward.

“you should be resting.”

her voice was quiet. steady. megan didn’t turn. she didn’t have to.

“i couldn’t,” megan said quietly. her voice was rough, barely holding together. “i feel like if i stop moving, i’ll fall apart.”

footsteps padded closer across the floor. no hesitation. no pretense.

y/n came to her side and didn’t say a word. just stood close. shoulder brushing shoulder. the way she always did when words weren’t enough.

megan’s eyes stung. she looked down at her hands, like they might offer answers. like they could still hold something that wasn’t already slipping through her fingers.

“he didn’t even say goodbye.”

a moment of silenced passed before y/n gently shook her head.

“if he’d had the chance, he would’ve.” y/n’s voice was barely above a whisper. “you know that. he believed in the cause. in duty. but that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”

megan let out a sharp breath, the edges fraying. “then why didn’t he stay? why wasn’t i enough?”

the room fell into silence. thick. heavy. y/n didn’t flinch from it. didn’t look away.

“he loved you,” she said again, quieter this time. “anyone could see it. and none of this—none of what happened—was your fault.”

“i was twelve,” megan murmured. “when he took me on. i thought he was invincible. like he couldn’t be touched by anything, like none of it could ever reach him.”

y/n turned to face her. close enough now that megan could feel the heat of her body, steady and grounding.

“he didn’t want it to reach you.”

megan laughed once, dry and empty. “it did.”

her voice cracked on the last word. she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, like she could push the grief back in. like she could pretend it hadn’t rooted itself deep inside her.

then she dropped her hands, curling them into fists against her thighs.

“they knighted me. no time to breathe. no time to feel. just gave me my orders and sent me out. said i was ready.” she swallowed hard. “i don’t feel ready. i don’t feel anything but hollow.”

y/n reached out. slow. deliberate. her hand brushed megan’s fingers, soft and searching. when megan didn’t pull away, y/n laced them together.

“you don’t have to feel okay,” she said.

“i don’t feel like a knight. i feel like a kid who lost everything.”

“you didn’t lose everything,” y/n whispered. “you still have me.”

megan turned toward her fully now, like she couldn’t hold herself upright without the contact. she leaned in. not because she wanted to. because she needed to. her forehead found y/n’s shoulder. her breath trembled.

y/n’s arms slid around her without question. without pause. she held her tightly, one hand at the back of her neck, the other curled around her waist. firm. safe.

“the order says we’re not supposed to grow attached,” megan said, voice muffled by y/n’s robes. “but how could i not? he was my family.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. just pressed her lips gently against megan’s temple.

“he was mine too,” she said. “not like he was yours, but… he looked after me when sinube couldn’t. i felt it too. just not like this.”

megan closed her eyes. let herself breathe into the shape of y/n’s hold.

“i met my new unit,” she said after a while. “the ninety-second. commander jex. i knew him, from geonosis. he used to joke. used to be warm. now he barely speaks. just watches everything. like he's waiting for the next thing to go wrong.”

“he’s not the only one who feels like that,” y/n murmured.

“the war has only just started and it’s already eating us,” megan whispered. “i don’t want to lose who i am.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. instead, she reached up and gently cupped megan’s face in her hands, thumbs brushing softly beneath tired eyes. she leaned in until their foreheads touched, the space between them folding into nothing. their breaths mingled, slow and uneven.

“then don’t let it,” y/n said, voice steady. “hold on to what’s still yours.”

“i don’t know what is anymore.”

outside, the rain tapped softly against the window. the lights of coruscant blurred through the mist, a city too bright to ever feel quiet, and yet the silence in the room was complete.

y/n tilted her head just slightly, brushing her nose against megan’s. grounding her.

“you’re not alone,” she said. “you never were.”

megan’s chest tightened. her next breath hitched. she blinked hard, but the tears still came, silent and slow.

“stay,” she whispered. “please. just… stay.”

y/n didn’t hesitate.

they moved toward the bed without speaking. megan crawled under the covers and y/n followed without hesitation, settling in close behind her. arms around her. hands gentle and grounding. the warmth of another body, solid and real and present, was the only thing that kept her from splintering. her eyes were open. the ceiling above blurred through tears she refused to let fall again.

“i won’t let it happen to you,” megan said into the dark. her voice was quiet, but full of iron.

y/n’s answer came after a pause.

“that’s not a promise you can keep.”

“maybe not. but i’ll die trying.”

“megan…”

“no. listen to me. i can’t lose you. i won’t.”

y/n didn’t argue. she just moved her hand until their fingers laced again, slow and certain. the words hung there. not romantic. but heavy. sacred. a truth born from grief and the ache of holding too much pain in too small a body.

megan closed her eyes. for the first time in days, she let herself breathe. somewhere outside the temple walls, the war moved on.

but in that moment, in that room, they stayed still.

19 BBY

y/n thought it all would’ve been over by now.

they were now three years into the war. three. at some point, time had almost started blurring together. she was tired. exhausted. the war was long and grating, and if she were being honest, some part of her doubted it would ever be over.

for three long years, she watched clones and fellow jedi fall around her—one by one. clones from her own battalion, clones from megan’s… it was never-ending. a cycle that held them in an iron grip.

she never meant to grow so attached to them. they were supposed to be soldiers. assets. lab-born on kamino and bred for war. but somewhere along the line, they became more than that. she tried not to dwell on the first time she met them, when their armor still gleamed and their eyes burned with purpose. time had weathered them all.

only one clone had made it this far with her. commander trace. maybe it was luck, or maybe sheer force of will. either way, the galaxy never stopped reminding her that clones were meant to be disposable. replaceable. but y/n knew that was a lie. deep down, she understood it was never that simple. and more than anything, she hoped trace would never be the next to fall. he was a reminder of everything they’d fought for, and everything they’d lost.

trace was more than a designation—more than cc-527. he was her brother. the one who dragged her out from under blaster fire on felucia, when a droideka had her pinned and she was seconds from death. he didn’t hesitate. just charged in, blaster drawn, like he always did.

he was her friend. a person she could count on when everything else was falling apart.

of course, second only to her.

so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did the day he approached her, footsteps careful, kama swaying with each hesitant step, helmet tucked under his arm like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“you love her, don’t you?” he asked.

she didn’t need him to say her name. she already knew.

every passing day made it harder to keep her relationship with megan hidden. and every moment they stole between missions, behind shadows, in quiet quarters when the galaxy wasn’t looking— it only deepened what was already there. it showed itself in the small things. like the time megan ‘accidentally’ grabbed y/n’s saber instead of her own, igniting that familiar green blade in the middle of a firefight on cato nemoidia. after the battle, when y/n asked, megan just smirked. called it a mistake. but they both knew better.

megan wanted the freedom to claim her. openly. boldly. in any way the war would allow.

it was only a matter of time before someone noticed. y/n was just glad it was trace.

she didn’t deny it. didn’t try to laugh it off or deflect. when he looked at her— gentle, understanding, and entirely unjudging—she answered honestly.

“i do.”

that was enough. he nodded. and for the first time in years, he smiled. a real one. the kind that softened his eyes and said everything he didn’t out loud. that even in the middle of so much ruin, she’d found something worth holding onto.

it was another joint operation, one of many since the war began. y/n’s 227th legion and megan’s 92nd assault battalion had been deployed to chandrila, a mission that felt too calm to be real. the dropship skimmed low through clouds heavy with rain, its engines a steady hum against the stillness. below, the fields of chandrila stretched wide and golden, rows of wheat swaying beneath the gray sky like they hadn’t yet heard the rest of the galaxy was on fire. everything was too quiet. too neat. like war had no business here.

megan sat near the back of the transport, gloved hands folded loosely at her belt. beside her, commander jex tugged at the straps of his chest plate, his crimson-striped pauldron dulled with dust and wear. he spoke in low tones, something about landing zones, strategy, fallback points.

megan nodded, listening. composed. focused.

but even then, she didn’t look away from y/n.

and y/n didn’t look away from her.

despite the armor, the war, the weight of command—their eyes always found each other. in every quiet moment between chaos, in every half-smile or lingering glance. unspoken words passed like breath between them. megan was utterly, painfully captivated.

and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“locals’ve got strong opinions about the republic,” commander jex muttered, voice gravel-thick with exhaustion. “too quiet out here. too clean.”

“i know,” megan replied, steady.

and she did. she’d read the intel alongside y/n, late into the night, datapads casting pale light across their faces in a dim field tent.

this wasn’t just another mission. this was a political fault line. chandrila had been a loyal republic world for generations, but even loyalty had its limits. as the war dragged on, fear spread like smoke. resentment festered. trust began to crack.

a rising political faction rooted in isolationist, nationalist rhetoric had started gaining traction among the local population. anti-republic sentiment was brewing in hushed meetings and public protests alike. and then the insurgency struck.

a high-profile kidnapping. the daughter of a prominent political leader, taken during what was supposed to be a goodwill tour through rural chandrila. according to a trusted diplomat—an old friend of the girl’s family—it was planned. targeted. a move meant to fracture what little faith remained in the republic’s reach.

now, they were en route to meet that same diplomat. an informant brave enough to speak up. she claimed the girl was being held in a secluded commune, far from the eyes of the capital.

“we need to be careful,” megan said under her breath, just loud enough for jex, trace, and y/n to hear. “we’re basically painting a target on our backs flying in on this dropship.”

her fingers tightened slightly at her belt. tension thrummed beneath the surface, but she kept her voice even. always sure. always calm.

only y/n could see the flicker of worry in her eyes. and only y/n could ease it.

jex looked at her—really looked at her—and she felt it. she felt the way his gaze followed hers, tracked that unwavering focus she had on y/n. the way his brow barely twitched, like he was putting the pieces together without needing to ask. it wasn’t judgment. wasn’t suspicion. just quiet understanding, with a question that stayed unspoken.

like trace, he knew.

not the whole of it. not the stolen nights, not the soft words exchanged in the silence between battles. but he saw enough. the way megan’s eyes lingered a little too long when y/n walked into a room. the subtle shift in her voice when she said her name. the way she froze during debriefs if y/n’s name came up in the file debriefings, ust enough to notice if you were looking.

jex gave her a single nod. firm, wordless, steady. then he stood as the dropship ramp began to lower, rain slicing sideways through the opening.

dust and wind whipped into the cabin as the ramp dropped, carrying with it the sharp, storm-laced scent of rain-soaked wheat. chandrilan air was rich and earthy, heavy with the promise of more rain.

the boots of the 92nd and 227th hit the ground in near-perfect unison.

kareth hollow didn’t look like a battlefield.

modest homes stood quiet, built from weatherworn permacrete and salvaged steel. irrigation towers loomed along the edges, their blades spinning slow under the weight of the overcast sky. wind turbines hummed steadily beside sleek water collectors. everything about the settlement was clean, efficient. sustainable. a town built to endure.

the main square was small, more of a shared space than a center people could conjugate at. a circular co-op building sat at its heart, part market, part administration. locals drifted through in quiet patterns. polite nods. brief glances. smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. greetings clipped just short of warmth.

too polite.

megan felt it the moment they stepped off the main road.

they were being watched. not by one person, not by snipers on rooftops or scouts in the trees, but by everyone. by the town itself.

she could sense their wariness, the kind born from secrets. the kind that said we know what this is but we’re not going to say it out loud.

and megan knew that kind of silence well. it was the kind that always came before something went wrong.

y/n moved quietly beside her, cloak drawn tight against the wind. her face was calm, composed, but megan saw the tightness in her jaw, the faint crease between her brows.

they hadn’t touched since arriving planetside. barely spoke, aside from mission parameters. but when their shoulders brushed in passing, megan felt it like lightning.

sure enough, there she was. a diplomat stood at the base of the co-op steps, flanked by two guards. young, no more than twenty-five, with the composed stillness of someone raised around politics. her silks were layered and fine, dyed the soft green of chandrilan governance. a diplomatic crest gleamed on her shoulder, catching the light as the wind shifted through the square.

“thank you for coming,” she said, voice low and steady. “we don’t have much time.”

without another word, she turned and led them inside.

the war hadn’t reached kareth hollow in fire or flame, but it had settled into the town in other ways. slow. quiet. ideological. like mold that crept into walls and stayed there, unnoticed until it was too late.

in the central chamber, she activated a display table. a flickering map filled the space—grainy, hastily rendered. outlines of farmland, irrigation lines, and scattered structures formed the shape of the commune. three red heat signatures pulsed near the edge of the map, close to an old water treatment plant.

it was in that room they learned her name. it was there that the plan took shape. the intel was broken down. roles assigned. their next steps made clear.

in hindsight, maybe it had been a mistake when megan suggested they split into teams. that she take her battalion and scout the west side of the commune, while y/n and trace took the east. maybe they should have stayed together. trusted their instincts. recognized how wrong the town felt the moment they landed.

maybe, too, she should’ve asked more questions. like how the diplomat even got her hands on that intel in the first place.

but she didn’t.

the wind picked up as they moved along the outer edge of the commune. tall grain stalks brushed against armor and boots, swaying in restless waves, just high enough to shroud movement from a distance. overhead, thick clouds rolled in, turning the sky a heavy, unbroken grey. everything looked washed out. muted. still.

the comms stayed quiet.

too quiet.

an hour passed. maybe longer. time blurred when nothing happened, when all you could hear was the wind. then the signal dropped.

megan felt it before she heard the static. her chest tightened.

“trace, report,” she said into her commlink, voice sharp with command.

nothing.

“y/n, do you copy?”

silence.

not the kind that meant interference. not the kind that meant distance.

the kind that meant something was wrong.

that silence lodged itself deep in her ribs, familiar in the worst way. it felt like ryloth. like geonosis. like the reports that came too late or never came at all.

she didn’t remember barking orders. didn’t remember how her saber found her hand, or how she covered half the distance between the commune and the field in seconds. only the sharp ache in her legs told her she was moving too fast, that the wind was cutting past her like a blade.

jex was already shouting commands behind her, calling for backup, for medics, for scouts to sweep the perimeter. the rest of the 92nd moved fast and clean through the commune’s edge, boots kicking up dirt, armor cutting through the swaying grain.

then—blaster fire. a spray of red light cut through the haze, and megan’s body moved before thought could catch up. she ducked low, slid across damp soil, came up behind the rusted shell of an irrigation valve. she counted the shots. heard the modulated whir of a droid’s servo. too smooth. too controlled. not local militia.

separatists.

she bit down hard on the rising dread.

it was a trap, and they’d walked straight into it.

then she saw it. wreckage. the remains of a signal repeater station, its outer panel blasted open and sparking faintly. a scorch mark carved across the ground. impact craters. the kind droids made when they rained down fast and hard.

then trace. he was the first thing she saw. he lay slumped half-covered by the body of a deactivated droid. like he’d taken it down with him. his blaster was still gripped in one hand, fingers frozen mid-trigger.

megan dropped to her knees beside him.

his helmet was cracked. scorched black across one side. blood pooled beneath his torso, dark and already drying into the soil. no pulse. no breath. nothing.

she didn’t speak.

she just pressed a hand to his chest plate. then the side of his neck. as if maybe, just maybe, something would come back.

megan stood, slowly, mechanically. her limbs felt too far from her body.

y/n.

she scanned the field, eyes catching movement—droids, collapsing under blaster fire from her men. and then she saw her. half-hidden beneath a section of torn tarp. bound. slumped. her cloak gone, robes battered. blood down one side of her face.

the world narrowed to a point.

megan crossed the distance in seconds, dropped beside her, hands moving without hesitation. she tore the bindings free, checked for broken ribs, a concussion, anything that would stop her from being moved.

“y/n,” she whispered, “i’m here. you’re safe.”

y/n stirred weakly, a sound escaping her throat. half a breath, half a warning. her eyes fluttered open, bleary. “trace…?”

megan’s breath hitched. she looked away.

“i’m sorry.”

that was the only answer she gave. she gathered her close, pressing her forehead gently to y/n’s. let the rain hit her back, let the wind howl through the grain. she could still smell fire in the air. smoke and scorched metal. it was always the same.

“med team inbound,” jex said quietly from behind her. “they’ll take her. she’ll live.”

megan nodded, but didn’t let go.

the area was secured within the hour. the field was clear. the remaining insurgents either fled or dropped their weapons and surrendered. the droids were scrap.

but it didn’t feel like a victory.

it felt like an ending .

trace. gone.

y/n. almost.

megan exhaled, long and low. there was a storm coming in behind her. wind twisting through the wheat. clouds dark with thunder.

she was speechless.

how could she let this happen?

the days after chandrila blurred into one long stretch of heavy silence. time seemed to shift around y/n, a constant pull between the past and the present. it had been weeks since trace had fallen, but the weight of it still hung between them, thick in the air. she had expected to fall apart, to break under the strain of losing someone she’d been so close to for so long. but instead, she found herself strangely composed. she grieved, yes—grieved for trace, for everything they’d lost—but she was steady. she moved forward, quietly, silently, as if trying to protect something fragile within herself.

megan, on the other hand, was falling apart in slow, agonizing pieces.

megan tried to move through the motions, to maintain that fierce, unshakable resolve she’d developed since the start of the war. but it was as if the battlefields of the galaxy had taken something from her, something irreplaceable. she wasn’t the same. y/n could feel it in the way megan’s gaze lingered on her longer than it should, like she was constantly watching, waiting. maybe it was because they had been through so much together, maybe it was because they were all each other had left, but there was something new in the way megan looked at her. something different.

y/n had noticed the shift in her immediately. the way megan’s once carefree smile had become a shadow of itself, how even in the quiet moments, she would always seem to be on edge, like she was waiting for something to happen. and maybe she was. after all, they’d lost so much. the scars of chandrila ran deeper than the ones that marked their bodies.

but it wasn’t just the loss of comrades. it wasn’t just the war or the constant threat of death hanging over them. megan was afraid, and it was a fear y/n had never seen before.

it started with the nightmares. megan would wake in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, her body slick with sweat. the first few times, y/n had thought it was just a bad dream, a lingering trace of the chaos they’d lived through. but then it kept happening, over and over, and megan’s reactions grew more frantic, more panicked.

one night, y/n woke to the sound of megan’s desperate breaths. she was sitting up in bed, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness as if seeing something beyond it. y/n moved toward her, her heart pounding, unsure of what to do or say.

“megan?” y/n’s voice was soft, hesitant. she reached out, placing a hand on megan’s shoulder. it was warm to the touch, but her body was rigid, her muscles trembling with barely contained fear. megan flinched at the contact, and y/n’s chest tightened.

“hey… it’s okay,” y/n said, trying to ground her, but megan’s eyes were far away, lost in a memory or a vision that only she could see.

“no,” megan gasped, her voice strained, almost pleading. “no, y/n, please. i saw it again… i saw you—” she stopped herself, taking a sharp breath, shaking her head as if trying to rid herself of the image. “you died. i couldn’t… i couldn’t save you.”

y/n’s heart cracked at the words, the vulnerability in megan’s voice. it was like a wound that had been hidden, festering beneath the surface. she had never seen megan so… broken.

“megan…” y/n whispered, her hand gently cupping her cheek, guiding her to look at her. “you’re not going to lose me. i’m right here.”

but megan’s eyes were distant, unfocused, as if the words weren’t enough to chase away the terror that gripped her. the fear was deep, primal—rooted in something that y/n couldn’t fully understand. it was like megan was seeing a future that she couldn’t escape, a future where y/n wasn’t there.

“i couldn’t protect you,” megan said again, her voice shaking. “i couldn’t save you. it’s always the ones i care about. i—I failed you, y/n. i failed you just like i failed everyone else. i—”

y/n cut her off, pulling her into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around her like a shield, holding her as if she could somehow erase the fear, the guilt, that had taken root in megan’s chest.

“stop,” y/n murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “stop thinking that. you didn’t fail me. you’re not going to lose me. not like that.”

but even as she said it, y/n could feel the cracks in her own resolve, the weight of megan’s words pressing down on her chest. she had never seen her like this before—never seen megan so terrified of losing the people she loved. and it was becoming clearer with each passing day: this war was breaking them, piece by piece.

megan’s hands trembled against y/n’s back, her breath still coming in shallow bursts as she tried to steady herself. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” she confessed quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so scared, y/n. i’m scared that one day, i won’t be able to save you. that i’ll lose you, like i lost… like i lost everything else.”

the words cut through y/n like a knife, a reminder of just how fragile everything was, how fragile they both were.

“you’re not alone, megan,” y/n said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from megan’s face, trying to offer some small comfort. “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

but the truth hung heavy between them, an unspoken reality neither of them could ignore.

megan’s fear wasn’t something that could be easily soothed. it wasn’t just about the war, about the battles they fought or the losses they suffered.

it was about the possibility that, no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t protect the one person who mattered most to her.

the nights came more frequently, and megan’s nightmares grew worse. y/n could see it in her face. see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she flinched when y/n got too close, like she was afraid of the inevitable, afraid that someday, the nightmare would be real.

megan had once sworn to y/n that she would never let what happened to master gun di happen to her. that she would never allow herself to be weak, to be broken. but the fear had eroded her confidence. it had made her question everything she believed in, and y/n wasn’t sure how to fix it.

one night, after another nightmare that left megan trembling in her arms, y/n finally whispered the only thing that made sense, the only thing she could say to remind them both of the strength that was still there.

“i’m not going anywhere, megan. not today. not tomorrow. i’m not going anywhere.”

megan’s grip on her tightened, and for the briefest moment, y/n felt the warmth of a fragile hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, she could keep them both from breaking.

but it didn’t.

the nightmares didn’t stop. the fear didn’t fade. and no matter how many times y/n held her through the night, whispering reassurances into her hair, the darkness always came back.

megan began to withdraw. not from y/n—never from y/n—but from everything else. her laughter became rare, her presence more solemn. and when she wasn’t on assignment, she found herself drifting toward the jedi archives, somewhere she had barely spared a glance in the past. they had always felt too sterile, too quiet, too vast. she was never the studious type. everything she’d learned, she learned in motion. in the field, in training, in war. but now, the archives became something else entirely. a place to search.

she didn’t even know what for, not really. ancient records, prophetic scrolls, restricted transcripts. anything that might explain why her dreams felt like memories of something that hadn’t yet happened. she scanned records of force premonitions, of jedi who had foreseen loss. she read about padawan bondings, trauma bonds, the rare and painful consequences of attachments. she kept reading, even when her eyes blurred with exhaustion. even when the words stopped making sense.

megan sat curled in the dim corner of one of the lower archive rooms more often than not, her elbows on her knees, datapads stacked around her. she wasn’t supposed to be in this section—not without clearance—but she knew how to override the doors. master jocasta nu, the primary archive keeper, had stopped asking questions after the third week. she was always polite. always quiet. and always alone.

she had no one to go to. her master had died in the early stages of the war, and master sinube—y/n’s old teacher—was wise, yes, but distant. their paths had never crossed beyond a few formal exchanges. besides, how could she explain it? how could she look a council member in the eye and say: “i’m dreaming of the woman i love dying over and over again, and i think the force is trying to warn me.”

no one would understand. they’d remind her of the code. they’d warn her about attachments, about fear, about what came from holding on too tightly. but they didn’t see y/n’s blood on the duracrete floor. they didn’t wake to the echo of her scream in the back of their mind. they didn’t love her the way megan did.

so she searched.

she searched because it was the only thing that made the dreams feel bearable, like maybe she could outpace them, maybe she could find something that would help her stop them from becoming real.

she’d stopped meditating. every time she tried, all she saw was y/n’s eyes, wide and empty, her body cold in megan’s arms.

megan had always been brave. reckless, even. she’d faced droid battalions and warlords and death without flinching. but this fear was different. it was quiet, persistent, suffocating.

and it was winning.

one afternoon, long past the time she should have been resting, she sat with a heavy archive tablet on her lap, scanning a corrupted translation of a high republic-era text about shared force bonds. her mind was barely processing the words. her vision swam. her fingers trembled. y/n lied asleep behind her, her chest rising and falling withh every breath she took.

then, a soft beep cut through the silence.

her holocommunicator pulsed on the floor beside her. blue light flickered across the durasteel tiles, casting pale shadows against the stacks.

she blinked. frowned.

the signal was encrypted—official. high clearance.

when she picked it up and activated it, a hologram flickered into view. megan’s stomach turned to ice.

the last person she expected to hear from. and yet, there it was.

incoming transmission. priority level: elevated. sender: office of sheev palpatine.

megan’s stomach turned to ice. her hands went still against the surface of the archive tablet, fingertips barely brushing the blinking holocommunicator. the blue light pulsed steadily, casting a cold glow across her knees, the datapads, the walls around her that suddenly felt too close.

the office of the chancellor.

she blinked once. then again. maybe it was a mistake. maybe someone had entered the wrong identifier code, misrouted a message meant for a council member—someone who actually mattered.

she’d never even met the chancellor before. not even once.

she’d seen him, of course, from a distance. holograms flickering in the temple briefing halls, or on the steps of the senate building, flanked by guards and advisors, speaking in careful tones about unity and sacrifice and the burden of war.

but her?

the last time his name had even crossed her thoughts, it had been a passing mention in a mission debrief. the chancellor had been rescued. kenobi and skywalker had stormed grievous’s flagship and pulled him from separatist captivity, still alive. barely.

he was too important to lose. too important to be captured in the first place. and now—now his office was contacting her?

her throat tightened.

if anyone asked the masters who remembered her early days in the order, they would all say the same thing. she was stubborn, wild, full of fire. not the kind of jedi the chancellor would waste a moment of his time on.

the holocomm blinked again. awaiting response.

then, the message began to play.

the hologram flickered to life with a soft buzz, its form coalescing into the pale blue projection of a man she didn’t recognize. a chagrian male. his robes were rich, but understated. senatorial. he stood with the measured poise of someone used to being listened to, hands folded neatly in front of him, expression unreadable.

“jedi knight skiendiel,” he began, voice crisp and formal. “i speak on behalf of chancellor palpatine. he requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

megan said nothing. didn’t breathe. her gaze remained fixed on the flickering edges of the hologram, her mind scrambling to keep up.

“a matter of strategic insight,” the advisor continued, “and of personal interest to the chancellor. he would prefer to speak with you in private.”

that did it. her stomach twisted hard.

“why?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. “what does he want with me?”

the projection offered the ghost of a smile. not warm. not cold. just… practiced.

“his reasons will be made clear when you arrive.”

then, just like that, the hologram dissipated. the silence that followed was deafening.

megan sat there for a moment, her hands curled into fists at her knees, heart hammering. she could feel it now, a subtle tremor in the force. something unspoken, unsettled. a thread being pulled that she didn’t know she was tied to.

she’d spent so many nights buried in the archives, chasing shadows, trying to find meaning in dreams that didn’t fade when the sun rose. dreams where y/n died in her arms, where she was always a second too late. she’d pored over every case file, every ancient prophecy she could dig up that even hinted at premonition or fate. the council would’ve disapproved. they already disapproved of how far she let her feelings reach.

but this… this was something else.

no master to guide her. no council member to lean on. no one left who would understand how terrified she truly was.

only y/n.

but for the first time in her life, megan realized.

it wasnt enough.

megan stood in the doorway for a long moment before she left.

the room was dim, shadows stretched long across the floor of their quarters, soft moonlight slipping through the shutters and casting pale stripes across y/n’s sleeping form. she hadn’t stirred once. the healers said she was healing fine, and megan believed them, but still… she watched. just for a moment longer. listened to the steady rhythm of her breath.

“stay with her,” she murmured as she crouched beside the small astromech at the foot of the bed.

arthree chirped softly in response, swiveling his dome toward her. his photoreceptor blinked once in affirmation, then again, brighter—almost like a nod.

“if anything changes,” megan added, pressing her palm gently to the droid’s dome, “call me. don’t wait. don’t let her out of your sight.”

the droid warbled, a reassuring sequence of tones that filled the silence like a promise.

megan didn’t allow herself to linger any longer. the longer she stayed, the more the weight in her chest grew. like she was leaving something behind that she wasn’t sure she’d get back.

the halls outside were still and hushed, lit only by the occasional glowpanel and the quiet hum of nighttime maintenance droids gliding past on silent repulsors. she moved quickly, cloak drawn tight against her shoulders, hood pulled low. not to hide, but to brace. everything felt too quiet. like the galaxy had taken a breath and hadn’t let it out.

the senate district was never truly asleep, even at this hour. the senate tower rose like a monolith against the starlit sky, its spires gleaming pale silver in the artificial twilight that wrapped the upper levels of coruscant in a perpetual half-light. megan approached on foot from the speeder drop, cutting a straight path past the solemn statues of former chancellors and lawmakers that lined the main promenade.

for a moment, it felt like she didn’t belong here.

not because of her robes, or the saber at her hip. but because it’d been so long since she stepped foot in this place. that time, she was there with y/n. they’d ran into senator avanzini along the way, who practically beamed from ear to ear when she saw them. daniela didn’t even hesitate before walking over, leaving a forever composed senator bail organa behind her. she nodded, smiled, bowed her head. but it was in her eyes she could see everything she couldn’t say aloud.

“i’m happy for you. both of you.”

since that day, she’d never been called to its heart. never even exchanged words with the man who held more power than any other living being in the republic.

yet here she was, walking beneath banners that rippled in the sterile wind, flanked by the glinting eyes of robed senate guards who tracked her movements with silent precision.

when she stepped inside the grand atrium, it swallowed her whole. marble columns stretched up into shadowed vaults above, their surfaces veined with gold and polished so smooth they reflected the soft glimmer of chandeliers. a quiet hum echoed through the air. the sound of machines, ventilation, distant voices carried on secure lines.

a protocol droid approached, bowing at the waist. “knight skiendiel. the chancellor is expecting you.”

she gave a slow nod and followed.

they led her past security checkpoints, through narrow halls marked with runes of old republic governance, deeper into the inner sanctums where decisions were made and sealed and sent spiraling out into systems far beyond her reach.

the further they walked, the colder it felt.

finally, they stopped before a heavy durasteel door engraved with the seal of the chancellor. the droid turned, gestured toward it, and without another word, stepped away.

megan stared at the door, her breath shallow.

behind it waited a man she had never met. a man with too many titles. a man who somehow knew her name.

she swallowed hard, and stepped inside.

the door slid open with a hiss, revealing a chamber unlike any megan had ever seen. it was dark—not ominously so, but deliberately. the lights were low, the walls curved, designed to cocoon rather than command. soft amber glowed from sconces inset into the walls, casting everything in warm shadow. it was quiet, thick with a kind of stillness that made the air feel heavier.

and there, seated at the far end of the room behind a polished desk of dark wood and gleaming metals, was chancellor palpatine.

he didn’t look powerful. if anything he looked… tired. his eyes, sharp but sunken, lifted as she stepped forward. a small, almost weary smile curled across his lips.

“ah,” he said softly, his voice as smooth and unassuming as silk. “knight skiendiel. thank you for coming on such short notice.”

megan bowed, pulse thrumming in her ears. “chancellor. i—of course.”

he gestured to a chair with one hand, slow and deliberate. “please. sit. you’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you?”

she hesitated only a second before sitting. the chair was too soft.

palpatine folded his hands on the desk, his gaze never leaving hers. “i’ve been following the reports from chandrila. most troubling. the loss of cc-527… it’s simply a tragedy. i understand you were close.”

her jaw tensed. “we all were.”

“yes,” he said gently. “and y/n. such a promising young jedi. i’m relieved to hear she’s recovering well.”

her throat tightened. “she is.”

he nodded, as if he could see more in her face than she was saying. maybe he could.

“i asked you here because i’ve heard your name before, megan,” he continued, almost absently. “not often. but always with interest. your master, gun di—an honorable jedi. i respected him deeply.”

her breath caught, just for a moment.

palpatine’s eyes narrowed, kindly. “i imagine his loss still weighs heavily on you.”

she said nothing.

he leaned forward slightly. “you’ve experienced more than most your age. more loss, more burden. and yet here you are—still serving, still strong.”

“i don’t feel strong,” megan murmured.

“of course not,” he said. “strength is not the absence of fear or pain. it’s what we do with them. how we endure.”

his voice wrapped around her like a blanket, warm and soft, even as the words pulled at something deep in her chest.

“the jedi ask so much of you. sacrifice, silence, restraint.” he paused. “but they rarely ask how you’re truly coping, do they?”

her gaze faltered.

and yet he smiled again. gentle, understanding. “i asked you here not to reprimand, or to burden you further. but because i see potential in you. and because i believe you deserve to be heard.”

“heard?” her voice was quiet.

“your instincts. your fears. your dreams.” palpatine tilted his head ever so slightly, his voice smooth, measured. “you’ve been visiting the archives. searching for answers. about visions. about loss.”

megan went still.

her blood turned to ice.

he shouldn’t know that. she hadn’t told anyone. not about the hours buried in restricted texts. not about the ancient prophecy fragments or the scrolls that whispered warnings she didn’t understand. certainly not about her dreams. how could he know?

“it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said gently, as though sensing her pulse spike. “it’s only natural to want to protect those we care for. especially when the force grants us glimpses of what may come.”

her stomach churned. her fingers curled into the soft fabric of her robes, knuckles white.

he couldn’t know. he shouldn’t know. the council hadn’t even asked. she hadn’t even told jex, or y/n herself. and yet palpatine—the chancellor, the most distant, unreachable man in the galaxy—spoke as if he’d been inside her mind. watching. waiting.

he leaned forward, gaze softening as if to disarm her. “you’ve seen her die, haven’t you?”

her heart stopped.

“y/n,” he whispered, with such quiet certainty that it made her breath catch.

she blinked hard, but it didn’t stop the burn at the corners of her eyes. she hated how easily he saw through her. how he peeled her open with a few words and a smile.

he stood, unhurried, composed, and walked around the desk with the grace of someone who had never once been told no. when he reached her, his hand settled gently on her shoulder. it was warm. steady.

and it made every nerve in her body scream.

“you are not alone in this, my dear,” he said softly. “not if you don’t wish to be.”

megan looked up at him, lips parted but no words came. she couldn’t speak. couldn’t move. every instinct in her screamed danger, run, get out—but she stayed frozen. the weight of his gaze held her in place.

“i can help you,” palpatine murmured, low and coaxing. “but only if you’ll let me.”

she didn’t answer. not with words. just sat there, heart pounding, mind spiraling, her silence pulled tight as a tripwire.

megan’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

“how?”

her own question startled her. she hadn’t meant to speak. hadn’t meant to let him hear the desperation clawing its way out of her chest. but it slipped past her defenses, raw and trembling.

palpatine’s hand gave the slightest squeeze to her shoulder. reassuring. calculated.

“there are ways the force does not reveal to all,” he said, almost wistfully. “pathways… forgotten by the jedi. closed off to them by dogma. fear.”

megan’s throat tightened. she hated the way his words made sense. hated how easily they burrowed into the questions she’d been too afraid to ask herself.

what if the council was wrong? what if there was more? what if her visions were a warning—and no one would listen?

“you love her,” palpatine said simply.

she flinched.

he studied her face with something like sympathy. “attachment. it is forbidden, yes. but what is the point of power, of all this sacrifice… if we cannot use it to protect the ones we love?”

she looked away, but it didn’t matter. he already knew.

she did love y/n. so much it frightened her. enough that she woke every night gasping for air, seeing her crumpled body in the dust. enough that she hadn’t slept for more than a few hours since chandrila.

“tell me what to do,” she said, finally. the words felt like surrender.

palpatine offered a thin, quiet smile. the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“not yet.”

megan’s brow furrowed.

“the force moves at its own pace,” he continued, stepping back toward his desk. “for now, you must return to the temple. continue as you have. wait.”

“wait for what?” she asked, standing slowly.

his eyes found hers. dark, knowing, ancient.

“you’ll know,” he said. “when the time comes.”

and that was all he gave her. no answers. just a promise laced in shadow.

it all happened not long after megan left the senate tower. she hadn’t spoken a word since stepping out of the chancellor’s office, her mind spiraling too fast for speech. the corridor felt colder than she remembered. shadows stretched unnaturally long across the floor. she barely registered the senators and aides sweeping past her. something was wrong. the force whispered it—no, it screamed.

as she approached the wide staircase leading down toward the plaza, a figure passed her, headed the opposite direction. tall. purposeful stride. familiar. she recognized the fall of his shaggy hair, the deep hood of his dark robes left carelessly down. his face was unreadable, jaw tight, eyes distant. but there was something else—something roiling beneath the surface. he didn’t acknowledge her. he didn’t even glance her way.

but for a moment, megan felt it. that same wrongness. like a storm gathering behind his eyes. she watched him go, heart thudding as he disappeared into the lift bound for the chancellor’s private offices. everything in her tensed, as if the force itself was holding its breath.

nothing felt right. not the air. not the light. not the quiet voice in her mind repeating don’t trust him.

she made it back to the temple, but it didn’t bring her any peace. her thoughts chased themselves in circles. she paced her quarters for hours, sleepless, y/n’s name on the tip of her tongue.

should she go to the council? tell them what palpatine said?

but if she did… what then? they’d exile her. strip her of her rank. accuse her of weakness. they’d take her away from y/n.

palpatine said he could help her. and stars, she was desperate enough to believe him.

that would be her greatest mistake.

when the galaxy collapsed around her, it began with a whisper. a single transmission hailing from the office of the chancellor.

“execute order 66.”

megan didn’t need to hear the words in her own ears to know. the force told her first.

it hit like a shockwave, silent and shattering. threads that once hummed with life snapped all at once. across the galaxy, the presence of the jedi—so familiar, so constant—was torn away. they didn't just vanish. they were extinguished. each loss sent out a cry, not in words, but in pain. the force screamed with it, raw and endless.

some jedi fell in confusion, not understanding why. others resisted, bright and furious to the end. all of them were part of her, and all of them were dying.

grief surged before thought could form. it wasn’t sadness. it was drowning. the kind of sorrow that bends the spine and hollows the chest. the kind that changes you.

and then a familiar astromech droid came flailing into her quarters. arthee screeched and bleeped, his dome spinning in frantic circles, servos whirring at full tilt. he didn’t need to say anything coherent. the panic in his tone said enough.

he had promised her, not even a day ago, that if anything ever happened to y/n he would come find her. and now, he was here. megan felt her blood run cold.

she didn’t hesitate. she ran.

arthee raced ahead, weaving through the temple’s corridors, but megan didn’t need his guidance. she already knew where to go. the force wasn’t just nudging her forward. it was dragging her, heart first, through the chaos.

the temple was a blur. emergency lights flickered through the smoke, casting everything in flashes of red and shadow. bodies fell around her. blasterfire screamed through the halls, slicing the air with its heat. blood stained the stone, pooling beneath scorched robes. the scent of burning hair, fabric, skin… it clung to everything.

she didn’t stop. she couldn’t. even as her mind screamed in confusion. even as questions ran rampant through her mind. when she finally reached the courtyard, she froze.

the first thing she saw was jex.

he stood near the center of the courtyard, framed by smoke curling through the shattered archways. firelight flickered over his armor, white with blood red accents, scuffed and blackened by battle. the kama at his waist swayed gently with each breath. a satchel was slung across his chest, worn and streaked with ash. one shoulder bore a black pauldron, marked with soot and grime, the other bare but tense. he looked like he did any other day. the armor that had identified him as the commander of the 92nd assault battalion since day one.

except, megan couldn’t recognize him. even with his face covered by his clone helmet, she could feel the resentment that seeped out of him. cold, unfamiliar, gruelling. the dark visor on his face was painted with what looked like splatters of crimson blood. his blaster was raised. steady. unshaking. he was aiming at someone.

just a few feet away, there she was.

y/n.

she was hurt. blood stained her robes, dark and slick, and her stance wavered like she was barely holding herself upright. no weapon, no shield– only raw defiance in the squared set of her shoulders and something deeper, unspoken, burning in her eyes.

but she wasn’t looking at jex.

her gaze was fixed on megan.

through the chaos, through the ruins of everything they once knew, y/n’s eyes found her. and in that moment, the noise faded. the blaster fire, the alarms, the screams. it all disappeared. there was nothing but the two of them. the bond between them, frayed and ragged, but still alive.

megan’s mouth opened, desperate to call out, to reach her, to do anything— but before a word could form, the shot rang out. a single bolt, clean and merciless.

it struck y/n in the center of her chest.

megan felt her world cave in. the force still screamed and ravaged her body from the aftereffects of thousands of jedi voices crying out in fear as they were struck down by clone troopers. but, the grief that pronged through her in that moment rung harder than anything she’d felt before.

y/n jolted, eyes still on megan, and then her knees buckled. she crumpled forward, a soft exhale escaping her lips. her body hit the stone with a sickening finality.

her heart stopped. her mind raced, flashing through every moment she had been too late. the assassin’s shot on polaris minor, barely deflected in time. the stun grenade that left y/n unconscious. the night at kareth’s hollow on chandrila, when megan found y/n’s battered body beneath a tarp, with trace’s lifeless form only feet away.

trace had fought to protect her until his last breath. but the clones surrounding them now showed none of that warmth or mercy.

these clones… megan was furious.

she lunged forward, fury and desperation crashing over her. but she only made it a few steps before a new sound split the air behind her. the sharp, coordinated rhythm of synchronized boots. the hiss of blasters powering up.

blasterfire erupted again, only this time from behind.

clone troopers stepped into the open, surrounding her in a half-circle. their armor was familiar. marked with the colors of the 92nd assault battalion. her battalion. they didn’t hesitate.

she lit her saber.

the force surged through her. not calm, not steady, but violent and raw. she struck the first two troopers down before they could reload, leapt over another and sent him crashing to the floor. they kept coming. disciplined, coordinated. she kept fighting.

there was no time to think. only movement. only rage.

she briefly registered the sound of arthree’s beeping not far away, the small droid visibly scared as he pushed himself into a darker corner, shrouded by the flashing lights of the temple corridor. he whined, a deep, pained, guttural noise that megan had never heard emanate from a droid before. he was grieving. heartbroken. his processes replaying the image of y/n, his person, dying before his opticals.

megan didn’t hold back. didn’t calculate. every strike was faster, heavier, more brutal than the last. even as her muscles screamed, even as her heart shattered.

then a bolt hit her left arm. the pain was instant, sharp and searing. something tore inside, and her fingers went numb. the saber almost slipped from her grasp. nerves below the elbow were gone. just heat and blood and fire. she forced herself to keep going. she had to.

she turned, just in time to see jex lifting y/n’s body.

but he didn’t look at her. didn’t flinch. just walked away into the smoke, y/n in his arms.

megan screamed. tried to run after him, but her legs faltered. her vision blurred. her body wasn’t listening anymore.

and so she ran. not toward them, but away. the only direction left.

by the time reinforcements arrived, the courtyard was littered with the dead. the girl who had fought for peace, who believed in light, was gone.

something else had taken her place.

18 BBY

pain had a way of settling beneath the skin. not the kind that bled or bruised, but the quiet kind, the kind that rooted itself in the bones and stayed there. it lived in the spaces between heartbeats, in the breath that caught for no reason, in the silence after the storm.

grief didn’t howl forever. eventually, it grew quiet. but it never disappeared. it became part of her—woven into muscle and memory, stitched into every corner of her being.

heartbreak was not a single moment. it was a series of aftershocks. waking up and reaching for someone who was no longer there. hearing their voice in a dream and forgetting, for a heartbeat, that they were gone. walking familiar halls and feeling the air shift, heavy with absence.

her heart hadn’t just broken. it had fractured into pieces so sharp that trying to hold them only made her bleed. and every attempt to put them back together brought new wounds.

some pain heals. some pain hardens. and some pain simply becomes a part of who you are.

megan— no, that name belonged to someone else now. someone who had died in a courtyard soaked with ash and blood. someone who had once believed in light, in purpose, in the strength of the force. all that remained was the hiss of a lightsaber and the ruin it carved through anyone who stood in her path.

now, she was one of vader’s inquisitors.

every day since y/n fell, all she felt was pain. not just the ache of loss, but the kind that hollowed out the soul. the kind that never let her forget. every time she closed her eyes, the memories returned, vivid and relentless.

y/n’s smile. her laugh. the way she would fuss over every detail until it was perfect, while megan pretended to be exasperated, secretly in awe. her stubborn brilliance. her heart. the way she found goodness even in a galaxy unraveling around them.

and then, that final moment.

the look in y/n’s eyes as the bolt struck her chest. the sorrow. the silent goodbye. i love you, her eyes said. and then the world went dark.

megan remembered the corridors of the jedi temple. the way her arm hung useless, nerves shredded from a blaster bolt that tore through flesh and bone beneath her left elbow. remembered the blood, thick and hot, dripping onto the floor. remembered calling out, reaching—only to realize arthee was gone. she must have lost him somewhere in the chaos.

maybe it was for the best. even the droid’s presence made her soul ache.

then came the memory of the chamber, cold and sterile. lied down, restrained to a medical table before chancellor– emperor palpatine. not the chancellor anymore. not the kind-eyed manipulator. his face was different now. twisted. drawn and scarred, his features a mask of rot left behind by the battle with master windu.

he watched her closely as medical probes extended toward her ruined arm. no kindness in his expression. no sympathy.

the metal graft was cruel. it drilled into what remained of her bone with a shriek of durasteel, piercing into flesh without sedation. she didn’t scream. didn’t even flinch. pain had become familiar by then.

she barely noticed when the sedatives never came. they had taken everything from her—her name, her past, her light. but they could not take her grief. in its place, she built something colder. sharper. something that couldn’t break.

now, she was nothing more than the thirteenth sister.

it took a year before her search bore fruit.

a year since the prosthetic had been grafted to the ruins of her left arm. it wasn’t made for comfort. every movement sent sparks of pain through her nerves, a deliberate cruelty meant to remind her who she served.

a year since the dark jedi robes had been stripped from her, replaced by the black armor of the inquisitorius. the emblem of the empire sat heavy on her right shoulder, etched into the fabric like a brand.

a year since she was given a helmet—sleek, black, voice-modulated. it erased what little was left of megan and replaced her with something colder.

moff calder didn’t even bat an eyelash when megan took her tie fighter down from the obsidian star destroyer and set course for tatooine. the wretched hive of scum and villainy.

tatooine was cold that night. unnaturally so. the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, cutting through the usual blistering heat of the twin suns that scorched the dunes by day. the desert, for once, was still.

she moved like smoke. silent. relentless.

they hadn’t recognized her at first.

she found them in mos isla, tucked into the shadowed corner of a cantina that reeked of oil and sweat. a familiar woman, dressed in scavenger gear, sipping something cheap and bitter. her face was the same. older, maybe. harder. but still recognizable. she had no idea what was coming.

none of them did.

they were the ones who had orchestrated the ambush on chandrila. the ones who had shifted the course of everything in a single, brutal moment. they hadn’t known. not then, not when they gave the order—that killing cc-527 and leaving a particular jedi knight broken and bleeding in a decaying signal repeater station would plant the seed of their own destruction.

they had killed trace. but worse— they had beaten her.

and megan, whoever she had once been, could no longer speak her name. couldn’t even summon the memory of her face without something inside twisting to ash. it was too much. too sacred. too painful.

yet despite everything, despite the armor she now wore, despite the fury that lived where her heart used to be, one truth remained, unshakable.

she still loved her.

even now, as she stepped into the cantina, clad in black inquisitor armor that swallowed all light. even as she unclipped the saber from her belt, once blue but now a searing crimson. even as her gloved hand stretched toward the booth, and with a subtle clench of her fingers, four bodies lifted into the air. the woman’s guards. the same ones who’d stood with her that day.

they scrambled, flailed, choked.

the woman stared at her. wide-eyed. terrified.

and still, none of them recognized the figure standing before them. not this shadow in black. not this weapon with nothing left behind her eyes. not the thirteenth sister—vader’s blade. she’d even gone out of her way to kill them herself without her helmet. she wanted to see them with her own eyes. wanted them to look back at her and recognize the jedi knight they’d manipulated at kareth’s hallow so long ago.

one tried to plead. one tried to run. none succeeded. she didn’t speak. didn’t ask. didn’t hesitate. there was no mercy. only the low, hungry hum of her saber, and the sharp crack of terror in their last breaths.

and even as she painted that corner of the mos isla cantina in red and ruin, even as silence reclaimed the room and the woman’s body slumped lifeless at her feet—

she knew. she would always love y/n.

even if that love was the very thing that destroyed her.

they could’ve had it all. they could have gotten married on polaris minor, just like they said they would. y/n once promised that if megan gave her a little more time, she would say yes. they could have invited senator avanzini, because force knows how much she loved the two jedi as if they were family. arthree would’ve been there, chirping about happily. perhaps in a perfect world with no war and no restriction, tera sinube and gun di could have been there, too.

but life wasn’t perfect. war was inevitable.

she’d lost everything.

PART TWO click for previous part

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waynes-multiverse · 6 months ago

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Polaris – Chapter 12

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, a heavy dose of angst, kidnapping, violence, injuries, serial killers, death, an awful cliffhanger

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! 🥳 We jump straight into 2025 with an angsty banger 👀

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 12: Through

On one of the sunniest mornings Helena had seen in recent days, the peaceful quiet of the early risers in the Sheriff’s Department was disturbed by one restless sheriff.

Beau was taking his office apart – bit by bit, nail by nail, panel by panel, brick by brick.

The search for you had gone on all night and yielded zero results. You were nowhere to be found. For all Beau knew, you could be dead by now and buried in the vast woods of Montana.

A computer mouse flung against the wall and only missed Jenny’s head by an inch as the blonde peeked inside his office. The rest of the station had selected her to talk to the big boss, his outbursts even being heard from miles away.

“You okay?” Jenny checked carefully.

“I’m tryna find that stupid camera!”

“Thought you already found that hours ago,” Jenny noted with a raised brow.

“Can’t be too careful…” the sheriff murmured, his focus landing on the pile of pens on his desk. The silver one – had that always been there? He picked it up. “Does this look normal to you?”

Jenny only offered a shrug.

“Never mind,” Beau muttered and reduced the pen down to its individual parts. Nothing. Just a plain, old pen.

“Did you get some sleep?”

“What d’you think?”

At five in the morning, Beau had promised Jenny he’d snooze for half an hour on the couch in his office. He did lie down, stared at the suspended ceiling tiles for about a minute, and then remembered the damn camera.

It wasn’t just about what he had done in there but also about he’d said. No wonder Diane had gotten so easily under his skin. She probably had heard every insecurity he had ever uttered. To you. And to imaginary Randy.

How was he supposed to sleep in a place where he felt exploited, exposed, and unsafe?

“Well, uh, I just wanted to tell you that Randy went into Interrogation Room 2 with Diane…”

“WHAT?!”

“Yeah…” Jenny exhaled a deep sigh and leaned against the door frame. “He said you’d deputized him and authorized it, but I had a feeling that wasn’t true.”

Beau ran a hand across his face, rubbing his beard.

Rule #3: She’s my wife. I get to decide how we proceed.

Rule #4: You’re not the boss of me.

“Well, I did deputize him,” Beau admitted. He had given his former partner a long leash, not expecting he’d bolt through the backyard.

“Beau…” Jenny clearly didn’t approve.

“He left me no choice, alright?!”

Well, no choice his guilt could deal with.

The sheriff then left his destroyed office and thundered into Interrogation Room 2 down the hall. Randy wouldn’t get to do this alone. Beau knew there was an ulterior motive – if only Randy saved you, he could also miraculously save his marriage. Randy was a persistent motherfucker. He wouldn’t give up.

And if the roles were reversed, Beau wouldn’t either. He’d probably be even more annoyingly persistent than Randy.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Beau charged in with steam coming out of his ears. For a moment, his anger was so focused on his friend, he didn’t even notice the rising smile on Diane’s lips.

“Good morning, Sheriff Arlen.” Even if Diane’s voice sounded melodious, to Beau it was still chalk on board. “Remodeling the office, are we?”

“You mind?” Randy prompted stand-offishly, glancing up at the sheriff. “Kinda in the middle of something here.”

“Outside. Now,” was all Beau said.

Defiantly and miffed by the authoritative tone, Randy followed him to the hall.

“Play nice, boys!” Diane’s voice echoed through before the door fell into its lock.

“What d’you think you’re doing? You can’t just talk to our prime suspect without my presence!” Beau roared.

Randy rolled his eyes back. “Didn’t know I needed a babysitter…”

“This isn’t a game, Randy! We need to find Y/N before it’s too late,” Beau argued furiously. They didn’t have time for petty competitions.

“Yeah, which is why I’m talking to the only lead we have! That bitch knows where she is,” Randy countered with an equal amount of fury.

“She’s not gonna tell you!”

Randy only shrugged – cocky in nature and completely unlike him. And Beau then realized something that had changed: His friend wouldn’t back down anymore and bend. Those days were over, and it was probably Beau’s own fault.

“We’ll see,” Randy said stubbornly, his hand wandering back to the door handle. “You comin’?”

Beau inhaled and exhaled a deep breath before nodding – and back into the lion’s den they went.

Diane welcomed them with a sneer. “All made up?”

“Tell us where Turner took her,” Randy demanded with a stern expression and firm voice.

If Randy wanted to play bad cop, the role of good cop fell to Beau by default. And although they had never ever played it that way before, Beau figured Randy carried more anger than even him right now. He might as well let him make good use of it.

“Can’t.” Diane twitched her shoulders. “Hal doesn’t tell me.”

“Oh, and we’re just supposed to believe that?” Beau lifted a brow in mock. “C’mon, Diane…”

“It’s true,” she said, smiling. “Call it an insurance policy in case one of you Neanderthals decides to go rogue on me – looking at you specifically, Sheriff Arlen. If you leave your own partner to die in a filthy warehouse, I don’t wanna know what you do to your enemies.” She then looked at Randy, whispering behind her palm, “You know, I think he did it on purpose.”

Beau clicked his tongue and snorted humorlessly. “Alright, Diane, you’ve had your fun. You’ve wreaked havoc… You’ve won, okay? Fair and square. Just give up your partner, tell us where Y/N is, and end this once and for all. Might even get a better deal if you do. Think about it. Murdering an FBI agent doesn’t look good in front of a judge and jury. We have iron-clad proof you killed at least five people in Texas. Capital murder, death penalty… See where I’m going with this?”

“Oh, I’ve thought about it, Sheriff. And I’ve told you: I don’t know where she is now,” Diane reiterated with the same infuriating smile. Her gray eyes then wandered to a wall clock behind the men. “At least not yet.”

Randy and Beau both followed her gaze and stared at that same clock. Their eyes widened.

“Then when?” Randy prompted.

“Don’t worry. You’ll see her soon.” Diane smirked. “If she makes it out alive, she can tell you in person she’s choosing the rugged sheriff here over you, Detective Nichols.”

Randy’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching and unclenching under the metal table.

“I gave her a fighting chance.”

“Oh, you mean like the others?” Beau had known from the start that it would be useless talking to her.

“They all could’ve gotten out,” said Diane as if she blamed the victims for not being smarter and more durable. “‘Sides, why would I give up my favorite part? I’ve waited a while for this one. Killing her? While you two idiots watch helplessly and throw feces at each other like monkeys in a zoo? Gotta say, it’s better than killing twenty-four people combined. Ever since I met Deputy Popcorn, I’ve been actually craving a snack.” Upon Beau’s facial twitch, Diane leaned closer and whispered with a smirk, “Yeah, I know about the cute little nicknames for your deputies too, Sheriff. I wonder how many bugs you’ve found yet in your office. Sure it can’t be all of them. Maybe I’ve bugged the whole station. Who’s to say? Have you checked your trailer yet? The lovely agent’s motel room? No?”

Beau couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling that clutched his heart and twisted it like a boa constrictor. Pain, fear, anger, sadness – a deadly cocktail for anyone. Was this throbbing sting in his chest what a heart attack felt like? Only recently, he’d read an article in the paper about a guy his age who just dropped dead. Was this it for him?

Would it mean he'd get to see you again, though?

“Enough of that!”

Randy’s voice rang in his ears, but Beau couldn’t refocus. He needed fresh air to breathe, his lungs dried up and clinging to every molecule like he’d been deprived of oxygen for days. The small room felt suddenly suffocating as the monster across from him sneered joyfully.

“Look, I don’t know if you’re saying all that horseshit ‘cause you wanna hurt him or me,” Randy said, his voice laced with a darkness Beau had never seen before.

“Little bit of both,” Diane teased with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, I don’t care either way,” Randy huffed, the deep creases in his brow casting threatening shadows on his face. “Do your worst to me or him. Hell, burn us at the stake if it makes you feel any better, sweetheart, but all I wanna know is where that bunker is. Where is she? Your beef’s clearly with us. Men, right? You know she doesn’t deserve this. Just let her go.”

Diane seemed unamused by the suggestion, leaning back in the metal chair. “You’re right. She doesn’t deserve this. I actually like her. She reminds me of me. But you two did this to her. It’s out of my hands at this point. You don’t deserve her, sheriff,” she said and looked at Beau before her cold eyes shifted to Randy. “Neither do you, detective. I know a lot of things – and not just about the sheriff here. I know what you did to her, too.”

Randy forced a tight smile. “You’re bluffing. I didn’t do anything.”

“Am I?” Diane quirked a brow and then sent him an innocent smile. “About four years ago, she wrote a rather lengthy email to her sister Sophia in Seattle. She seemed very upset. Said there was a little something you wouldn’t give her. Ring any bells?”

With a thick swallow and a glare swimming in his hazel eyes, Randy nodded. “We’re done here.”

Diane let out a long, suspenseful sigh, not bothering to engage further. Her icy heart wouldn’t melt. Her eyes flickered around the bleak, depressing room. “I miss windows. Haven’t seen the outside for days.”

“Yeah, and you ain’t gonna,” Beau huffed. He had quietly listened, his heart rate slowing down as his head started spinning with questions. You had never told him anything. He had never asked. It had been an unspoken rule to not talk about your marriage. Beau always figured knowing too much would only make it worse.

“Too bad. I always liked the autumn sunsets. When it gets dark sooner…” Diane then stretched out her neck. “Anyways, nice chatting with you boys, but it’s time for my beauty nap now. Which one of you two cowboys is gonna accompany me back to my cell, hm?”

The men shared a look and then wordlessly rose, leaving the room. In the safety of the hallway, Beau ran a hand over his face and took his first deep breath.

Air. Lungs. Brain. Without toxicity, he could finally think straight again.

“Well, this was pointless and a waste of our time. Happy now?” Beau huffed with his newfound lung capacity.

But Randy’s brow was furrowed. He was thinking. “Actually, yeah… Didn’t you hear what she said?”

“Yeah, bunch of narcissistic bullshit. She’s not gonna tell us where Y/N is,” Beau muttered bitterly. If possible, he wished to never converse with that psychotic witch again. There was only so much he could handle before snapping her neck.

“She said that she doesn’t know where Y/N is now,” Randy pointed out. “Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe Y/N’s not in the bunker yet. Turner might keep her somewhere else and wait till he can move her.”

“At sundown,” Beau mused, Diane’s words haunting his mind. “He’ll move her when it’s dark.”

“Which means we still have a couple hours to find her,” Randy finished the thought.

“Popcorn!” Beau yelled down the hallway. The sheriff found himself in better spirits. He hadn’t used a silly name for his most loyal deputy in days, although it ached a tiny bit to say it now. “Any properties in Newton’s name?”

“Yes, sir, several,” Mo replied.

“I need a list of all in the area. Get a team together and search ‘em. One by one,” Beau ordered. “Warehouses, cabins… Take it all apart. I don’t care.”

“And also see if any properties are in Hal Turner’s name and add them to the list,” Randy suggested.

Poppernak shot Beau a look, and only when the latter gave his agreement, did the deputy nod. “Yes, Sheriff Arlen.”

The obnoxiously loud sound of birds woke you from a deep slumber. Groggily, you pried your eyes open and found the first few beams of sunlight warming your face. For a peaceful moment of dazed bliss, you had no clue where you were or how you got here.

There was a thumping, searing pain in your skull, hammering away at your sanity like the ticks of a clock. Your neck and shoulders hurt from tension till you realized you were bound to an old wooden chair, a harsh and creaking surface underneath you. Your behind felt both sore and numb.

Glancing around the room, you noticed you were in the living quarters of a small cabin. A fireplace sat to your right. Above it, a cuckoo clock that showed shortly past noon, and you realized that must’ve produced the bird noise that woke you. The stinging sunlight reached your eyes and filled you with hope.

Hal Turner hadn’t locked you into a bunker yet.

“You’re awake. Good.” Turner entered the room with a bottle of water and a sandwich, throwing the items unceremoniously onto your lap. “You need to eat. We’ll leave soon.”

“Where are we going?”

“Where they all went,” he said and came up behind you. Turner wasn’t a man of tall stature. Small, middle-aged, nervous. Non-threatening.

Diane’s little ant.

He cut your ties, and you could tell his hands were shaking. They didn’t treat the others like that. Entertaining a victim had never been his job before.

Sedated, dumped, marooned.

That had been the pattern, and you hoped this little off-course adventure would pay off with your freedom. Your gaze drifted down to a lonely brown belt buckle.

Unarmed.

With free hands and Turner still vulnerably behind you, your arms shot up and wrapped around his neck. Fortunately, he wasn’t as heavy as Beau in training when you jolted him forward, jumped up, and rammed his face straight into your knee.

Unconscious for the moment, Turner tumbled to the ground, and you sprinted through the front door. You hoped it would give you enough time to find an exit.

But all you found was a vast sea of trees – towering pines that reached heavenward with no neighboring houses or roads in sight.

There was a shed to your left. Tools. You needed weapons.

And, most of all, you needed more goddamn time to think your way out of this one.

It wasn’t long till you heard the front door of the cabin slam open, heavy and angry footsteps aimlessly searching before they slowly circled closer to the shed.

Fortunately, your little hide-out had proved itself useful – and fully stocked. Turner had arranged his tools in a neatly organized manner. Nothing seemed to be out of place, screwdrivers hanging on the wall from small to big, pliers, drills, hacksaws… Your weapons of choice, however, fell on a hammer and the heaviest, biggest wrench.

Lurking behind the small barn door, you lay in wait till the old door creaked open and Hal Turner walked through. He only blinked at you wide-eyed before your first hit with the wrench landed across his right cheek. It was hard enough for blood to spew out of his mouth, and as he tumbled forward, you delivered your second blow – the hammer, this time, slamming against the back of his head.

Dropping the tools, you decided to take your chances and make a run through the woods for it. You still had a few fleeting hours till dark. If you just kept going, maybe you’d make it to a road or a town somewhere before you froze to death.

What a great outlook…

However, you didn’t even get farther than a few yards from the house before a sharp pain seared from your ankle throughout your entire body. Falling harshly and bracing yourself on the cold, wet leaves, you screamed out and looked down at the culprit – a bear trap.

Well, points for Hufflepuff!

Apparently, you had underestimated Turner. Ahead of you, you also spied some tripwire. Great. This place was a giant death trap – and you had already hated the woods before all of this.

Getting back onto your feet was not only hindered by the giant claws in your flesh but also the iron chain attached to the trap that tethered you to the ground. So, with your freezing hands, you dug out the metal stake that served as your anchor.

Then, the fucking bear trap – you knew this one would hurt like a son of a bitch. Carefully, you inspected the oozing wound, the razor sharp edges deeply clutching your skin at your lower calf and ankle. For a moment, you even swore you could feel the tips of their pointed teeth drilling into your bone. You tried to pry them apart with your hands but gave up on that idea rather quickly once the jaws cut your fingers.

Glancing at the shed, you saw the door was still ajar. It was quiet in there. Either Hal Turner was gone, solely unconscious, or currently bleeding to death. The shed was your Schrödinger’s cat. As long as you didn’t know which one it was, you still had time.

Taking several deep breaths, you closed your eyes and remembered the trip you took with Beau when you were back in Houston. The two of you drove camping in Piney Woods. For a few days, you were gone and unknown to everyone around you. You could just be you and him. No one had to hide anything. No one had to feel guilty. In those short days, you realized you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

“Did you know bear traps are actually pretty easy to get out of?” Beau babbles a random fact in his usual manner when neither of you has said anything in a minute. He glances at you, a happy smile on his face as he intertwines his fingers with yours during a stroll through the green and lush forest.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, all you gotta do is not panic, get up on your feet, and press your weight down on the springs at the bottom. Just pops open and you can pull your leg out,” he explains with a popping sound, turning the little lesson into a show-and-tell.

“Don’t panic…” you mumbled to yourself and sat up. “Get up…” With a strained groan and your palms supportively on the ground, you heaved yourself to your feet. You winced as you put pressure on your injured leg and, therefore, tried to shift your weight to your good one. The main problem was the next step: “Press down.”

Mentally, you braced yourself before you slowly started to put pressure on the leg again. The jaws moved and wiggled in your flesh, but the pain was too much too bear. You bit down on your tongue as tears strangled your eyes.

Alright, next try.

If slow was too painful, then maybe the bandaid method was the way to go. Quick and painless, as they say. You inhaled and exhaled through your nose as you raised your foot a few inches above ground, making sure the springs would hit the uneven surface properly. Then, you kicked down.

The trap sprung open, you pulled your foot out, and released a primal scream that echoed through the quiet woods, surely disturbing whatever lived there.

And then, suddenly, Hal Turner stood in front of you with a shovel.

Diane’s listed properties came up empty. There was still no sign of you. Turner, on the other hand, had only booked a motel room in his name but hadn’t been seen there in weeks. So, Beau figured he had to be staying somewhere if he wasn’t sleeping in his room.

At four o’clock, the sheriff was close to a breakdown when all leads petered out and the daylight was almost gone. But then Cassie and Denise stormed the station, both out of breath, and brought forth a document that showed a property north of Helena in the name of a Diane Turner. It was a remote cabin in the middle of the woods, which also happened to be close to the location where the ambulance had picked up Randy.

Ding, ding, ding!

Beau gathered the whole cavalry and raced there as fast as he could. By the time he was ten minutes out, the sky had grown dark, the woods pitch-black around him. Switching on the Jeep’s headlights only added to the uneasiness in his stomach. His passenger was quiet next to him, but Beau could tell how worried Randy was by the way his left leg anxiously drummed against the floor mat.

Both of them thought it was too late to save you.

An access road, all dirt, led up behind the cabin, only making it a short hike. Turner’s vehicle had been parked at the fork where it reached pavement. They seemed to be on the right track. After all, if Turner was here, then hopefully so were you.

Beau and Randy were the first to arrive, the cabin inside dark without a single light on, not even a candle burning in the smudged windows. Carefully, the men stepped on the porch, the property around them quiet and undisturbed, but the front door was an inch ajar. Pulling out their weapons, the two shared a look without speaking a word before entering the house, a feeling of familiarity rising in Beau’s chest.

They were still partners, somewhere deep down.

The floorboards creaked under Beau’s boots as he treaded down the hallway. The cabin was small, only consisting of one bedroom, a living area, a kitchen and bath. While the men checked each room, Beau already knew you weren’t here anymore – if you’d ever been here to begin with. Maybe Diane had sent them on a wild goose-chase, another sick game created by the mind of psychopath, while you had been locked in a bunker all along, waiting for him to find you.

How much air did you still have left? Would he get to you in time?

“Beau!”

His partner’s voice drew him from the bedroom to the living space, his mind still rattling with the unspoken fear of losing you. His green eyes then focused on the beam of Randy’s flashlight as it shone on a wooden chair in the middle of the room, a set of cut plastic ties on the floor next to it. There was also an uneaten sandwich and an unopened bottle of water scattered on the ground.

And then, there were the trails, the little drops, and the sheer pools of blood everywhere that made his gut churn. Was it all yours?

“We need to get forensics here,” Beau said with a thick swallow, already pulling out his phone to call Jenny.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Randy said with a lump in his throat, his eyes transfixed on the little red pond by the tips of his feet. And although it was dark, Beau could see the color drain from his partner’s face.

“I know.” Beau bobbed his head quietly, gently clasping his friend’s shoulder as he held his phone to his ear.

The sheriff then informed Jenny of their findings, telling her to hurry any lab results along. The sooner they knew whose blood it was, the better. As he hung up, he noticed Randy following a trail of blood to the door, leading further outside. He shone his flashlight through the dense foliage before it landed on a little working shed to the right.

As Randy creaked the door of the shed open, with Beau behind him, both thought there was a high probability they’d stumble upon a body in there – if not two.

Instead, the shed was disappointingly empty.

Beau whistled lowly as the light hit the neatly arranged wall of tools. “Well, that’s some freak level organization.”

But Randy’s brow furrowed as his light landed on the ground behind the door. “There’s a hammer and wrench on the ground.” He knelt down to inspect it closer. “Got blood on it. Lot of it.”

Beau chuckled lightly and ran a palm over his face to keep the stinging tears of hope inside, which only confused Randy.

“What’s so funny? Y/N might be dead,” Randy said sourly.

“That’s not Turner’s doing,” Beau argued and gestured at the tools on the ground, his heart flooding with a tiny bit of relief. “Look at the wall. Why would he kill her with tools? It’s way too bloody. Guy like this can’t handle the mess. He had a perfectly fine gun. Would’ve been way cleaner if he wanted to.”

“So, you think this was Y/N?” Randy thought for a moment before nodding. “The ties inside were cut. The food and water on the floor… Maybe he cut her loose and she took advantage of it? I mean, it does sound like her.”

“Yeah…” Beau’s eyes then musingly drifted back to the wall. “Is there a screwdriver on the ground somewhere? There’s one missing here.”

“Nope, nothing on the ground,” Randy replied once his flashlight search was complete. “You think she took it with her?”

“Let’s hope so…”

“But if Y/N managed to overpower Turner, why isn’t she here? And where’s Turner? And if it happened out here, why is there so much blood inside?”

Beau licked his chapped lips, his brow returning to their initially creased position. “Maybe she didn’t take him out for good.”

“You thinkin’ she knocked him out and escaped?”

“Yeah, and then Turner woke up, went back into the house before taking off after her through those woods,” Beau shared his theory. It would explain the vast amounts of blood inside.

“So, your theory is she’s lost and being hunted?” Randy cocked a brow.

Beau only offered him a shrug. “Best possible scenario.”

“Great.” Randy scoffed. “What’s the worst possible scenario then?”

Beau’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I think we both know.” Licking his lips, he patted Randy’s shoulder. “But let’s not think about the worst right now. I’ll get a team going to search these woods. We’ll find her. You’re not losing her again, alright?”

Randy could only nod and hope, but a little tug on his heart told him something different as he glanced at his former friend.

“It’s been three hours,” Randy huffed frustratedly as they passed the same street sign to Helena down the mountain once more, driving up and down the roads around the cabin in an endless loop, hoping and praying a miracle would happen. “Don’t you think we would’ve found her by now? If she’s hurt and inside those woods, we should be in there looking for her.”

Beau passed another sigh between his lips. There had been three hours of that, too. Patience was a not only an eight-letter word but a bitch as well.

“Neither of us is any help there. We don’t know those woods. You don’t even a phone, Randy,” Beau said with a bit more firmness in his voice, causing his partner’s frown to deepen. Saved by the bell, Beau’s phone chimed in his pocket with Jenny’s angelic name popping up on the screen. He pulled over on the side of the road before picking up.

“What you got? Uh-huh… You sure? What did they say about the cabin? Okay… Both of ‘em? How far? Which direction? Alright… We’re close. Driving back up there now.”

Randy held his breath till Beau hung up, trying to guess the content of the phone call by the various facial expressions of the sheriff. Then, he asked, “Good news or bad news?”

“Hard to say,” Beau replied, his eyes fixed on his hands gripping the steering wheel. He swallowed the lump in his throat, gave himself an encouraging nod, and started the engine, trying to sink every bad theory that surfaced in his mind. “Forensics came back. Our theory was partially correct. The blood inside the cabin was mostly Turner’s.”

Randy raised a brow, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. “Mostly?”

“Evidence points to her not escaping. Turner might have gotten to her before she could even leave the property. They found a bear trap with her blood on it,” Beau explained slowly, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Dogs picked up a trail, leading into the woods. Forensics confirmed both of their blood on that trail.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve followed her. She still could’ve escaped,” Randy replied and knew full well it was only sugarcoating the truth swimming in the lower pits of his belly.

“Could’ve…” Beau nodded and swallowed heavily. “But then again, if she did manage to escape, how did her blood end up inside the cabin?”

Defeated, Randy licked his lips, expelling a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, guess my hopes are little too high. I mean, how the hell would you get out of a bear trap?”

Beau knew the question was mostly rhetorical, but true to himself, he still answered, “It’s actually pretty easy. Just press down on the springs, and the thing opens right up.” A smile formed on his lips as a memory popped back into his mind. “I told Y/N that once when we took a camping trip back in Houston. She probably didn’t remember it. I mean, honestly, I doubt she was even listening. I was kinda ramblin’, you know?”

“Uh-huh. I remember. I’ve spent a lot of time with you…” Randy smacked his lips, fingers tapping his thigh. “You guys went on a trip together?”

Beau’s mouth opened on reflex, but he stopped himself from replying, shooting a scrutinizing look at his partner. “Yeah, uh, just the one, really. Shoulda been more…”

Regrets seeped to the surface. If Beau had known he had only a finite amount of time with you, he would’ve enjoyed and appreciated every last second of it. He should’ve spent less time in his head. He should’ve taken you out on more dates. He should’ve been the best he could be. Instead, he wasted so much time and couldn’t even remember why in retrospect.

“What makes you say that?” Randy’s question rang both with curiosity and pain. His brown eyes stared stubbornly ahead and focused on the dark road.

Beau blew a long sigh. “Well, I wasn’t always the best–,” he hesitated a moment before saying the word, “–boyfriend, I guess.”

If Randy was upset by the term, he didn’t let it show. Maybe he was sticking to Rule #2. He quirked a brow and glanced at Beau in the driver’s seat. “So, on top of stealing my wife, you’re telling me you didn’t even treat her right?”

“Guess so,” Beau admitted quietly, poking the inside of his cheeks with his tongue and ignoring the subtle jab. “And I didn’t treat her badly, by the way. Just could’ve tried harder. Felt guilty because she was your-, well, you know… And the divorce got kinda messy, too. I just wanted to stay clear of complications.”

Exasperated, Randy scoffed, shaking his head. “This is not really making me want to give you my blessing…”

Beau huffed a chuckle. “Didn’t know that was an option.”

“Well, it’s not. You don’t deserve her.” Randy clicked his tongue, pensively bobbing his head. He then finally admitted, the words sounding almost sour, “Neither do I. You might be as big of an idiot as me.”

Beau’s eyes widened in surprise, his focus briefly swaying from the road. “What d’you mean? You guys were perfect together. Is this about what Newton said?”

Randy’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “Y/N never told you?”

“Told me what?”

Randy chewed on his lower lip before pushing out the words that had plagued him for three years. “She wanted to leave me.”

Beau shook his head. “Nah, I don’t buy it. She loved you. You should’ve seen her after she thought you’d died.”

Randy inhaled sharply, his head spinning with regret and heart filling with hope. For the past years, he had wondered if he’d ever get another chance to fix things with you.

“Yeah, well, it’s true,” he said, his gaze cast downward as if he were confessing his sins to a priest. “She wanted kids, and I told her I didn’t. Neither of us was backing down. The night the cartel kidnapped me, we were supposed to have dinner and talk about it when I got home. Part of me already knew where it was headed.”

Beau listened and nodded. He remembered the set dinner table, the lovingly prepared food, the candles – it didn’t seem like something one would do if they planned on leaving.

“No, I don’t think she would’ve left you,” Beau noted, although his heart stung when he said it out loud.

“I overheard her asking Carla for a divorce lawyer. Pretty sure she was,” Randy retorted. “Seems silly now. She was already out of my league. I should’ve just given her what she wanted. I don’t even know why I didn’t. I should’ve just shut up and been grateful.”

“That’s what I would’ve told you to do,” Beau muttered, his brain trying to keep track and process everything. Why had you never told him any of this? And more importantly: “Why have you never told me?”

“Guess I was embarrassed.” Randy shrugged. “And I already knew what you would’ve said.”

Secretly amused, Beau cocked a brow. “What? That you’re an idiot?”

“Exactly.”

“And Carla knew?”

“I guess.” Randy gave another shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, they talked all the time. Well, mostly it was Carla complaining about you, but still…”

Beau’s brow furrowed into deep lines. He should’ve been more surprised than he was. The only thing that really baffled him was the fact you had still agreed to date him after hearing all of that. What else didn’t he know?

“I thought they met once a week for book club?”

Randy shot him a pitying look. “Dude, there was no book club. Only three bottles of wine.” He then exhaled a long sigh, stretching back into his seat. “Maybe it’s good she didn’t pick anyone. She deserves someone who can give her what she wants.”

“What makes you think I can’t?” A little offended, Beau raised his brow. “You know, when she came back a few weeks ago, I swore I’d make things right. I wouldn’t let her go this time.”

But Beau broke that promise. He pushed you away to stay clear of complications. His heart twinged.

“And you think she wanted to live in a trailer in the woods of Montana?”

“Doesn’t matter. I would’ve given her anything she wanted. No questions asked,” Beau stated simply. “I was happy when I was with her. Didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing.”

“So, what? You planned on marrying her? Kids?”

Beau twitched his shoulders, his eyes not drifting from the street. If he glanced at Randy only for a beat, he couldn’t ignore his friend’s reactions any longer and still remain honest. “We never talked about it, but... If that’s what she wants, then yeah. Don’t even have to think about it. You really were an idiot, you know?”

“I know that. Thank you,” Randy huffed sarcastically and rolled his eyes. “Still not getting my blessing, though.”

“Good thing you’re not her father,” Beau snapped. He could only muster so much patience. “You don’t really have a say in who she’s datin’.”

“You’re one to talk.” Randy scoffed mockingly. “I met your friend Denise at the station. We had a long chat. She almost talks as much as you. Sounded like you tried to have a say in who Carla should marry. Little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

“That’s different,” Beau retorted defensively. “We have a kid together. Whoever Carla’s seeing is also gonna be in Emily’s life.”

“So, you don’t even care a little about Carla’s well-being? ‘Cause Denise said you killed her new husband,” Randy countered cleverly.

“Of course I care,” Beau admitted frustratedly. What did Randy want to hear? That he was right about everything? Well, except one thing: “And I didn’t kill Avery, by the way. Might have been slightly responsible for his death, sure, but I didn’t kill the idiot.”

“Seems to be a pattern for you. Maybe Diane was right,” Randy muttered wryly.

Beau licked his lips and sighed. “Listen, I know that devil woman is good at getting into someone’s head, but you gotta believe me, man. I did not leave you to die. If I had known–”

“Whoa, I know,” Randy interrupted him with an amused chuckle and two placating hands. “I was just joking. I knew you didn’t hand me over to the cartel on purpose in some evil ploy to get with my wife. That would be insane.”

Beau gave a nod, accepting his answer with relief. “Well, good.”

“Look, I’m not delusional, contrary to what everyone’s thinking. I know things happened while I was away,” Randy admitted. “I figured she had moved on. For three years, I actually hoped she did. I wanted her to be happy. Just didn’t think it be you, I guess. Probably shouldn’t have been surprised, though. I kinda knew you always liked her. Just didn’t think any more of it, you know?”

“And there wasn’t more, alright? I promise,” Beau assured him, his cheeks reddening from embarrassment. He never thought Randy would’ve suspected anything – not that there really ever was anything. But had his tiny crush really been that obvious? “One of those things, you know? Just ‘cause I find Michelle Rodriguez attractive doesn’t mean I seriously expect to date her. I didn’t know it was more than that till I spent some time with her.”

“Good to know,” was all Randy said, crossing his arms with an uncomfortable clear of his throat. “Definitely surprised Y/N likes you, though. She always had a pretty low opinion of you. Said you were doing shitty police work and I should be more careful. Guess she was right..." Beau shot him a darkened look but refrained from taking the bait. Randy pursed his lips. "Look, I know I’m a pain in your ass right now. You’d probably love to get rid of me.”

“Well, hey, that’s not–”

“What, true?” Knowingly, Randy lifted a brow. “I would if I were you.”

Beau only nodded, not admitting out loud the thought had certainly crossed his mind. “So, what are you thinking now?”

“Still want her to be happy,” Randy said quietly.

All of a sudden, Beau then slammed on the brakes, both men jolting forward into their seatbelts. A loud thud echoed through the car as something heavy hit the Jeep’s hood. For a moment, the sheriff thought he’d run into a deer before blinking his eyes at the bloodied and muddied image of Hal Turner.

“What the hell?!”

Turner was in rough shape, pantingly and deliriously stumbling around the car and onto the road, shielding his eyes from the blinding headlights with his palm. Blood dripped from various places from his head and body before Beau’s eyes narrowed on the metal tool stuck inside his neck.

“Guess we found our missing screwdriver,” Randy noted as the two men jumped out of the car, guns drawn.

“Where is she, Turner?” Beau prompted sternly, his finger itching to pull the trigger for everything he’d done to you. But knowing where you were was more important than a vendetta. Turner could only speak while he was alive.

And the man seemed to know it, too. Before the sheriff could call for back-up and an ambulance, Turner sneered and raised a hand, gripping the screwdriver tightly.

“No, don’t!”

Beau’s plea came too late. Hal Turner pulled the makeshift weapon out of his throat and collapsed to the ground, bleeding out within seconds.

Randy’s fingers landed on the man’s pulse point. He glanced up at his partner with a shake of his head. “He’s gone.”

Throwing his gun angrily into the rustling brushes, Beau gripped his temples and screamed into the void of the dark woods. Desperation clawed on his mind and heart. The fear of losing you for good took him prisoner. With labored breaths, he squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and rubbed his tired eyes. Turner had been his last lead. He knew more wouldn’t be coming.

What now?

A sanctimonious beep of his phone drew his attention. A small part of him prayed it was Jenny, informing him you’d emerged a few miles up the road – bloody like Turner, but otherwise fine. Alive.

But his green eyes only found an email and darkened at the sender’s name. “Diane just sent me a link.”

Randy, caught in his own spiral, suddenly glanced up. “To what?”

“Livestream.”

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

Another cliffhanger, and it looks like Diane's still having the last laugh 🙈

What did you think of this part? Were you surprised by Randy's revelation? He might've changed his mind on a few things 😉

See ya next week for the freaking finale 🤍

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