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willadisastercry · 4 years ago

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More than ‘just a little tired’: aftermath turned aftershocks part 3

tw: discussion of sever burns and re-burning, lots of pain, also lots of heavy emotions, ptsd symptoms towards the end

Keith is in a lot of pain from just having his wounds cleaned but complications arise that make the relief of the pod that much further away. Tensions are still high and everyone’s emotions are running rampant as they are forced to watch their friend be in so much distress, their friend who never let on when he was anything other than angry, who is now crying and begging for it all to stop. Keith is desperate, his stoic facade has shattered but his body refuses to pass out and they still have to separate him from the bits of the suit that remain...

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

(( haven’t edited yet so ignore for now if it’s riddled with errors or some parts make zero sense lol, enjoy!!! ))

The infirmary was both eerily silent and brimming with commotion, nearly devoid of any conversation or background noise at all aside from muted whispers and the gentle clink of tools as the sound of Keith’s pain filled every dreadful square inch and left little space for much else.

Shrio was still perched on a stool with both hands clasped securely around the one of Keith’s that was accessible, the other hanging over the edge of the table limp and unmoving.

The older boy spoke calm reassurances to him in a low voice, the sentiments themselves not so much soothing as the steady cadence of them were.

It was clear he was still suppressing every wince and grimace though his resolve to remain unbothered seemed to be weakening as he fatigued further. And so Shiro’s gentle tenor worked to ground him as his wherewithal plummeted, the neutral pressure on his hand giving him something else to focus on and keep him from panicking while he lay somewhat paralyzed.

He hadn’t moved much as they cleaned his back up after they gave him the muscle relaxant, not that he could if we wanted to, not when his whole body felt about as solid as jello. The only movements possible were occasional reflexive twitches or sudden bursts of shuddering breaths that had whoever was poking his back pause to give him a minute to steady himself.

That was until the team had separated him from as much of the under-suit as they could with just tweezers and saline... because about 30% of what they’d sectioned off around each wound was still attached and not coming free no matter how hard they pulled or however much saline they poured.

It was then with everything cleaned away that they saw how severe it was, how little of the blur of soot around each blast could actually be cleaned away because it wasn’t his skin that was charred, it was the suit itself.

They couldn’t fix that with tweezers but they had to remove the melted material so the pod didn’t heal around it somehow.

Keith’s attention was admittedly elsewhere when the disorienting haze of pain granted him a few moments of clarity once he realized the only hands still touching him were Shiro’s.

It took him a while, but he was able to cut through the fog enough to vaguely tune in to what was going on around him. He has missed the beginning of the conversation that Shiro was having but it wasn’t hard to piece together what was happening.

“The process should be relatively seemless if I use this—“ Coran noted grimly as he presented Shiro with a scalpel that had a cord attached to the end of it “—the scarring will already be minimal given the pod’s capabilities and the fact that these are mostly second degree, but in order to remove the bits that remain I must burn number four again to sever what joins his flesh to the undersuit...”

Shiro had figured as much and so had Keith.

Well no, his addled brain hadn’t figured much of anything coherent in a while, he just wasn’t surprised to hear that it was the only solution.

Keith wouldn’t consider himself as handy as Hunk or Pidge but he knew his way around tools from having a bike and living on his own for so long. And he couldn’t come up with anything else on hand other than a hot knife that would do that kind of job either.

He also didn’t really care how they did anything anymore. He didn’t have the energy to when all he wanted was for this to be over.

Exhaustion seeped into his bones like radiation, clogging the channels in his marrow where his blood should flow and making his entire body feel so very heavy. It was the kind of weight that lulled you into a deep sleep, yet Keith remained awake, his nerves fried and his mind wired.

Shiro sighed, bowing his head to catch Keith’s pleading eyes one last time before nodding, giving Coran the go ahead.

It’s not that Coran was hiding the tool from the other paladins or what it did, that much was sort of obvious. It’s just that the question didn’t concern them, the decision wasn’t theirs to make. Shiro was their unofficial health proxy now that they were in space and called these kind of shots for all of them, but that was especially true for Keith since he’d already sort of been doing so back at the garrison before Kerberos.

The paladins were of course privy to deciding what happened to their own bodies regarding altean remedies or lesser pod stays since some of the options are pretty out there and if they aren’t absolutely necessary, then they aren’t mandated. But all decisions were passed by Shiro who ensured that their younger counterparts were entirely clear on what they were or were not agreeing to before Coran or Allura did anything, given the situation allotted time to take such measures.

This is one of the rare instances where Shiro had little choice in how to handle the matter. There was only one option and Keith would continue to suffer if he wasted time worrying about what none of them could control.

And it wasn’t even that he was too out of it to know what this meant and be able to deliver the green light himself, the fear on his face when Coran said ‘burn’ was more than apparent. But the kid was so goddamned rational about things no one his age should be able to rationalize that it was clear he had already evaluated and come to terms with the predicament in those brief moments of hesitation before Shiro agreed.

His eyes fall closed again and Shiro thinks he can hear the screams already.

The gravity of the decision seemed to dawn on everyone else a beat later, an anticipatory silence replacing the anguished weight that hung on all of them seconds before.

Everything moved slowly for a moment, the rise of chests halted, the chitter of mice quieting while they searched the princess’s face for answers until reality crashed back down on the castleships’ inhabitants like the tidal surge of a hurricane. The green tinge on Hunk’s face deepened several shades and Allura absently slid a waste bin closer to him, her movements robotic, like she wasn’t all there anymore. Pidge’s sobs from her helpless position on the adjacent cot were almost as painful to hear as Keith’s.

The only one to contest the idea was Lance, the sheer horror of what was about to happen registering on the blue paladin’s face like it was a death sentence for his friend.

“No, that’s torture! You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea, it’s barbaric, it’s—“

“Lance, calm down.”

“I will not calm down! Don’t you see how insane this is?!”

“There’s nothing else we can do. Don’t you see where the hell we are? We’re in space. We are light years away from human healthcare, we kind of have to work with the resources that we have!”

“But there has to be another way! I don’t understand why you’re not trying to figure something else out first... haven’t you hurt him enough today, Shiro? For fuck’s sake, aren’t you supposed to be his br—“

“Do it—” Keith punches out in a harsh whisper, effectively silencing the argument “—j-just do it already.”

His voice was gravelly and weak from all the shouting, his waning energy evident in the exasperated punctuation of his words. He’s fairly sure he won’t remain conscious long enough to be truly traumatized by the a procedure and was growing more irritated the longer they delayed it.

Keith appreciated that Lance had a conscience but also knew full well that he was stuck on the agony he was emoting since he usually never emoted at all, and probably not imagining just how awful it must actually be if he was advocating that more pain be inflicted so the sweet relief of the pod came sooner.

Lucky for him, Coran seemed to grasp the concept well enough on his own.

“Alright my boy, as you wish... Allura you might want to grab something for him to bite down on.”

What remained of the upper half of his under suit lay on him in tatters, his back bare except for the front section beneath him with strips of black littered over the table and floor. There’s a square of material missing on his thigh but the rest of the bottom portion is pretty much in tact.

The wounds looked worse free of all the blood and shredded bits. Like so much worse. But Keith didn’t have to see or be told how horrible it looked, he already knew that however bad it appeared, it hurt a thousand times worse.

“I have a topical anesthetic here that should numb the surface tissue but I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about nerve pain that might go deeper... it will still hurt a great deal.”

Talking was hard. He didn’t have the energy to stay awake let alone speak, but since his body was denying him that mercy, he figured forcing himself to communicate might speed the process along.

“Kay... s’fine,” was all he managed in response, his head swimming slightly as he forced the words out.

Allura’s face came into view then, smiling with so much sadness behind it as she lowered a hand to Keith’s flushed and tear stained cheek, gently coaxing him into opening his mouth.

He was sort of confused as to why until she brought a small hand towel folded in a tight roll up to his chin. His eyes widened a bit but he hummed in understanding and parted his blood encrusted lips so she could place it between his teeth.

They hadn’t had a chance to fuss over the gash on his face with everything else they were focused on but he was also very much laying on top of it. The cut itself also didn’t appear to be giving him much of an issue, but the fact that he was resting his cheek in an ever dampening rag as it caught his blood was woefully uncomfortable, the swelling laceration under his eye endlessly agitated with every reflexive jerk.

The sight might’ve been more alarming if his back wasn’t so horrific.

Shiro searched Keith’s lidded eyes when Coran pressed a button that had the tool whirring to life with a warm orange glow before he set it aside to warm up. They were sluggish and bloodshot and slow enough in meeting his gaze that would’ve had him majorly concerned should he not already have dozens other reasons to be.

“The spray might sting a bit at first... just bear with me lad.”

Coran’s voice was pinched and level, his statements clinical and his hands deft.

He’d already gathered that Keith didn’t need things explained before they were done like Shiro who needed to feel like he was in control of his own body when being tended to, or Pidge and her unwavering need to know absolutely everything ever, or Hunk and his already debilitating anxiety regarding the unknown.

No, he was like Lance who didn’t want the details, didn’t need to know what was happening or when. In fact, he reacted worse when he knew.

Keith needed things done without preamble. It didn’t matter how much it would hurt, he just needed it to hurt before the anticipation that it was about to could consume him. And Coran would do whatever he could to ease the red paladin then, so if that meant working fast than he would work fast.

“Nngh...” Keith choked out against the towel, nearly gagging on it when his entire body jerked as soon as Coran started spraying despite the medicine running through his body to specifically lessen reactions like that. But the man didn’t slow once he started, not even for Keith’s muffled pleas.

The spray did in fact sting. It stung a lot.

His head flew back and his eyes screwed shut as he struggled to breathe through the application, jerking despite himself each time the liquid landed on his raw and burning wounds.

The cloth trapped between his clenched teeth had him sputtering on the spit in his mouth and he almost welcomed the fear that flooded his body when his throat closed to keep from inhaling it.

“I know, bud... looks like just a bit more and then hopefully some relief.”

Shiro looked so young when he was like this, the knitted worry lines on his forehead almost out of place for the age he looked then. Keith didn’t like seeing him like that, it’s what he looks like when he’s having a rough day with his ptsd, so he closed his eyes against the tears that were brimming in the corners of them and took in long, purposeful inhales while Coran finished up.

He felt it as soon as the anesthetic started working, a discernible cold partially quenching each tiny inferno that was at the center of his injuries. It didn’t do much more than place a lid on the fires, not putting anything out completely but it was something and had him sagging into the table at the small bit of respite.

“I’ll be right here the entire time, okay? Coran will try to be as quick as he can but you can do this Keith, you’re strong, I know you can do this...” Shiro rambled, his timbre still subdued and settling.

It was nonsense. It was absolute nonsense he was babbling but the older boy’s voice never wavered and the constant presence of it hung on Keith’s battered body like a warm blanket, soothing the biting chill of anticipation that spread over it before the endless waves of agony started all over again.

“It’s going to be okay, bud.”

Keith clung to his words like they were a broken board from a sinking ship, the only buoyant thing in sight that could keep him from sinking right down with it.

“It’ll be over soon...”

He felt himself physically calming the longer he spoke until suddenly his chest didn’t feel as tight.

“...and then you can rest.”

Because he believed him. He believed that Shiro wouldn’t tell him he would be okay if it wasn’t true.

“We’ll get you set up in the pod...”

And for just a second, he actually believed it would end, that it wouldn’t last forever.

“...and then you’ll start to heal...”

The breaths he took were urgent, almost greedy as he relished in the temporary peace from everything. From the pain, from his anxiety, from feeling so fucking helpless.

“...just a little longer. I promise.”

Shiro made a point not to make many promises to Keith, even if he never planned on being anything other than good on them. He knew that too many had been broken for him to trust a vow like that. The words were empty, just another tool for people he trusted to bait him with before they left.

In Keith’s experience, everyone always left.

“I am going to begin now, remember to breathe lad...”

Before Keith had been holding back most of his exclamations of pain, biting his lip or cheek and setting his jaw to swallow them back before they escaped.

He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made that impossible now, maybe since he knew the pain would be insurmountably worse or maybe because his body was too tired to expend that kind of energy anymore, either way the only thing muffling the sounds then was the towel keeping him from biting clean through his tongue.

The way his back arched when Coran brought the scalpel down looked like it shouldn’t have been possible in his condition. Keith didn’t know it was possible either but wasn’t too focused on the logistics with how intensely his lungs were screaming as he realized he could no longer move air in or out with how shocking the pain was.

It was like he’d been electrocuted, his muscles spasming and his nerves glitching in override.

“Shit, someone help me hold him down... come on damnit, hold him still!” Shiro ordered when it was apparent that Keith was incapable of controlling his reactions as Coran kept at it with the tool.

The movements were violent and quick, more convulsions than Keith’s own will, but they happened with each slice which made it difficult for Coran to work, so Hunk and Lance repositioned themselves on either side of the table and pinned his chest down wherever was most absent of injury while Shiro kept his head still and attempted to talk him through it.

Allura wasn’t having much luck in soothing Pidge either who was hysterical with her hands clamped over her ears. The guilt she felt over being the reason Keith was now in such intense pain was overwhelming and the princess was deeply concerned that she was going to make herself sick or reopen her only somewhat mended wound.

“Huh, huhh, huh... AHGh!”

Coran ignored how his fingers were blistering from working around the red paladin’s struggles.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry...”

Apologies were pouring out of Shiro like his own blood would.

But Lance didn’t buy them. He couldn’t grasp how their infallible leader missed someone being injured this severely.

And for it to be Keith of all people.

He’d spent half of his young adult life on his own, looking out for himself, no other support. He wasn’t used to having a team to look out for him especially since the last time anyone had was when Shiro had taken him under his wing. Shiro who had pretty much promised not to give up on him only to leave for Kerberos and never come back.

And what’s worse, as if anything could get worse at this point, was that Keith genuinely hadn’t wanted their help. He would’ve insisted he was okay whether or not his injuries were known regardless, but Shiro overlooking him in the heat of the moment had only fueled his warped view on taking care of things himself. It made him think he didn’t deserve any help, like he was being selfish for even suggesting he might not be okay when Pidge was also hurt.

It wasn’t true. But Lance knew that Keith couldn’t always decipher those kinds of things, the subtle messages in tonality that other people would’ve instantly picked up as, ‘no, I don’t actually hate you’ but completely eluded him.

Because Keith was extremely literal. He was also a self sacrificial idiot. Kinda like Lance. Not the literal thing, Lance almost never spoke literally.

But Shiro knew that, he knew that Shiro knew all of that about Keith and yet here they were.

His eyes were glossy and he was livid. It didn’t make any sense. They were supposed to look out for each other. It was Shiro’s whole philosophy and here he was, a complete hypocrite.

Pidge let out a strangled hitch then that broke Lance’s focus on analyzing whatever the hell had gone down on that mission.

The guilt was raging an almost identical fire in her chest, licking at her lungs like there was lighter fluid on them and threatening the sinews that had just barely latched across the chasm in her abdomen.

Hunk wished he could cry, wished he didn’t have to be so close to the terrible mess that was his friends’ back or the sounds he was making.

He didn’t know how many more he could stand to hear. How many more times he could handle the pang of terror in his chest when one escaped the lips of either of his friends.

Anytime anyone was hurting he felt like he was too. Like he had an access pass to their pain or some wicked ability to envision exactly how it must feel. And between Keith bucking beneath his hands and the guttural groans smothered by the towel, Hunk’s stomach was flipping dangerously.

Keith’s strained huffs had turned into hysterical shouts.

“Coran,” Allura deadpanned, her voice low and deadly.

They’d started off with a sort of restraint but it hadn’t taken long for them to raise in volume. He hated it, he was too tired to be so vocal and his throat was aching, but he couldn’t help it.

If it was up to him he would’ve just relaxed and taken it. He was used to simply enduring in the moment and compartmentalizing as he went. He had no experience in allowing such real reactions, in being so vulnerable against his every will.

Taking it silently would’ve been just as painful, there was no changing that, but maybe then he wouldn’t have had to see everyone so upset.

But he couldn’t relax. And he couldn’t use his twisted reason to logic himself out of it.

“This is cruel-I can-I can ease his suffering with my powers, move aside and let me—“

“Princess.”

Coran sounded distressed, almost pained. It was the first hint of emotion he’d shown since they’d dragged Keith into medbay.

“You couldn’t heal him without going into a pod first or it would start depleting the quintessence of your life force... we don’t have time for that, you know what my answer is—“

“But it’s worth it! Just a second, even just a touch would make the world of a difference, please—“

“Allura... come on, let him work.”

Lance looked angry still, and Shiro wasn’t sure he blamed him anymore, but the princess’s voice was shaking and his hand on her arm was pulling her away from Coran gently.

And she let him, the sob that erupted from her throat startling everyone. But Lance was there, the usual smirk he wore when speaking to the princess noticeably absent as he braced his her shoulders because they were shaking too.

Shiro is pressing Keith’s chest down flat where Lance had been after he Coran hissed at the heat of the tool while he continued to thrash.

The energy in the room was so dark and heavy it was almost sinister.

But the worst part was seeing it on his face. The desperation in his expressions was gutting. It felt like a sort of betrayal, which in a way it was, but so was the alternative.

Shiro tried to keep up his rambles of assurance but found the sentiments catching in his throat.

It had become wildly apparent that they were more comforting to him than they were to Keith, but he repeated them still, the same nonsense over and over again like a prayer. The swipe of his metal thumb clearing the endless stream of tears out of his eyes was the only constant other than the sound of his own screaming sobs.

And the pain.

His sobs and the pain.

It was blinding and it was everywhere. He couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t get away from himself or the terrible sounds he was making.

All of it was suffocating. The fire poker dragging against his already charred skin, the hands holding him still, Shiro’s words, his own cries, all of it.

The air was filled with a bitter and nauseating heat, the smell of his own flesh burning permeated it and made him cry harder.

He wanted to throw up, wanted to pass out, hell if he died right there he wouldn’t have even minded.

He just wanted everything to stop.

He didn’t think he could stand much more of it but his body wouldn’t give in. His screams had morphed into one piercing and continuous wail as every limit he had was tested and shattered.

Keith thought he could handle pain fairly well, but this was absurd. This pain was otherworldly.

It’s only when he spits the rag out for the millionth time and begins chanting his own prayer that Shiro really wavered, his hand halting abruptly as he went to put it back between his teeth before they tore through his tongue the next time Coran moved his tool.

But Coran had taken the glowing metal away for a moment and was fiddling with something, so when Shiro leaned in to replace the cloth he could finally make out what he was saying.

“...D-d-d-da-dad... pl-please, dad... dad m-make it st-stop... dad...”

The words were slurred and barely audible with how wrecked his throat was, but there was no denying it.

“Oh, Keith...” Shiro breathed before his jaw was working to muffle his own pitiful sounds.

He was in such a delirium that he was calling out for his father, the man who Keith hadn’t called out to in years because he was dead. He’d left him in the most final way someone could leave.

Shiro didn’t know how many promises his death might’ve broken, just that the words Keith was uttering were what finally broke him.

Allura’s cheeks were still wet with tears but stepped forward anyway and moved the towel back into place, her hands running through and smoothing down Keith’s wild locks all tossed out of place from writhing.

She bent down to speak softly into his ear, Shiro didn’t catch much over the ringing in his own while his eyes locked into place on the towel in his mouth and the blood staining his chin and neck, though he thought he heard something about him being strong, him doing so well...

“Shiro.”

The hand on his arm didn’t make him jump because he couldn’t feel it. The room was expanding and he was shrinking because Keith’s whimpering was beginning to sound like the despairing cries before someone or something died in the arena.

The arena...

His eyes open wide and flit around wildly, the room abruptly fitting back to size.

“Huh?”

Shiro was good at snapping himself back to reality when he needed to, good at functioning at half capacity just to see through whatever he was in the middle of until it was safe to let the lights of the arena bleed into his present.

Not that acknowledging his memories was ever safe. And not that reliving them in his cabin was any safer.

Just easier.

“What is it?”

“I’m starting again...”

He hadn’t noticed that he’d backed up into Pidge’s bed or that her tiny hand had wound its way into his.

“...and he’s asking for you.”

“Right.”

His voice was sturdy again, hands no longer trembling. He could do this.

The whirring of the tool sounds too much like his metal arm, it glows orange instead of purple but that doesn’t seem to matter because it’s cutting into Keith’s skin all the same and the screams that escape his mouth cut into Shiro just as bad.

But he pushes it all away. He can unpack the emotions that rise up with it later but Keith needed him now.

The initial twitches that wracked his brutalized frame when Coran brought the tool back down had Allura turning away and the smoke that rose up with the first slice had Hunk clamping a hand over his mouth and nose. But the princess’s hand never stopped brushing through his hair and Hunk kept the grip on his shoulder firm.

They could feel his muscles loosening, could feel the power of each jerk dwindling.

And then they watched with heavy consciences as even his steady cries quieted, his body finally waving the white flag.

“I’m sorry...”

Shiro chanted it so many times that the syllables blended together and turned into something else altogether.

Keith’s breathing was more erratic than it ever had been and it didn’t seem like he could see straight anymore so Shiro lowered his forehead to Keith’s and draped his metal arm over his neck.

Both were damp with sweat that created condensation on his hand, his hair wet with it and plastered all over, but Shiro couldn’t find it in him to care. He needed him to know that he was there, that he hadn’t left.

“I’m here, Keith. And I’m sorry...”

But his cheeks were flushing with something other than straight up exertion. And Shiro felt it, felt his hand go cold while all the blood raced to his head. He knew what was happening but he wasn’t worried.

He was relieved.

“I’m so sorry...”

The rag falls out again because his jaw had gone slack and his eyes were rolling to the back of his head. Shiro didn’t move to fix it.

His breathing still irregular but falling into a more even rhythm.

Lance looks stricken and Hunk is rather green when they let go and step back.

Pidge had finally found the ability to relax abs was slumping into the bed, eyes glued to Coran’s hand who was still not done.

Still not okay. Still not in a pod, but no longer in pain.

Hunk took exactly one deep breath before devolving into tears. He was done being strong, but Lance never seems to get the luxury and was pulling him into a hug that didn’t have him standing any straighter or have his chest working any less, but it was something.

Coran’s hands move slow and he doesn’t seem to feel the red welts on his fingertips from wrestling with his tools. But he looked more at ease with Keith blissfully unconscious, like he was breathing again.

Shiro was still holding Keith’s hand. It was ice cold and looking sort of blue with the white blotches dotting it. He leaves his other hand on his neck where his skin is hotter, figuring if the cool metal could be useful for anything other than killing, it might just be that.

Lance eyes the distance in Shiro’s gaze, the rigidity in his movements, and he thinks he understands. He thinks he can overlook his anger to remember that the guy is still human.

He’s almost scared that he was speaking out loud when Shiro rakes his grey pinpoints around the room, not appearing to actually see any of it before passing over Lance’s briefly. Hunk has his head burrowed in his chest as he fights to regain his composure but he musters up a small smile for him despite being otherwise occupied.

It’s a peace offering. A sad one at that, the corners of his mouth barely perking up, but it’s something.

Shiro wasn’t sure if he returned it but his heart felt lighter once Lance did that.

The energy in the room was still buzzing but it was less stifling, not as heavy as it had been moments ago.

The artificial sunlight starts to turn purple again and he can hear desperation mix into the buzz and for a second Shiro is worried that Keith has woken up. In a bit of a panic he drags his gaze back down to find his eyes still closed and his face still scrunched up like he hadn’t escaped the pain entirely with sleep.

But that was infinitely better than him sounding like them, the dying things he was hearing.

He vaguely wondered if the medbay was a safe enough place to let the purple flood in and ultimately decided that it didn’t matter.

He’d staved it off long enough, was strong for Keith when he needed him to be.

And so he lets himself drift.

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rangerslayer-97 · 4 years ago

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Things That Will Never Be Said

I got hit with more inspiration and curse my brain that I can’t write anything that isn’t angst. For the time being.

Time is set where my Knight Guardian main Violcrik is the Outlander and Commander of the Alliance. Set post-Echoes of Oblivion, during the Knight only Alliance Alert "The Padawan Returns". Mentions of previous game choices during Shadow of Revan, Knights of the Fallen Empire, Eternal Throne and Onslaught.

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WARNINGS: Angst, Hurt, Unrequited love, One-sided attraction, Minor emotional manipulation (I could be wrong, but I'm covering borders)

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Summary: Lana comes to terms that she does have buried feelings for Commander Violcrik, but learns someone else won the. Commander’s heart.

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Dark Advisor and Alliance Second-in-Command Sith Lord Lana Beniko, the former Minister of Sith Intelligence walked the War Room as she sifts though data on her data pad from various individuals and her contacts. The Commander, former Jedi Knight and Battle Master of the Jedi Order, Violcrik Baliss was taking a much deserved break after the battle of the Meridian Shipyard Complex on Corellia. Lana worries Violcrik hasn’t given enough time to herself to relax. The Commander has always been on her feet, sometimes pulling all-nighters, drinking a lot of caff or taking a concerning amount of stims. Lana felt after Corellia, Violcrik deserves the downtime after running between Ossus, Onderon and Mek-Sha. It was one battle after another. Unbeknownst to the Republic, the Knight’s home faction, Violcrik has chosen to align with the Sith Empire. It came as a surprise to Lana, but a welcome one, even Empress Acina has been made aware of the Commander’s choice. She is pleased that the Empire now has a spy in the Republic ranks. Lana did send a subtle warning to not overstep their bounds with the Commander and that the Alliance is still an independent third-party. Empress Acina respected the warning loud and clear.

The Sith Lord understands the Commander’s reasonings. A lot of them stem from what occurred during the war against the Eternal Empire. Violcrik often confided with her about her gradually crumbling fate with the Republic. These words were normally spoken when Theron Shan, former Republic SIS Agent, was out of earshot. They knew Theron would try to remind the Jedi that the Republic is still good. Violcrik told her she felt her faction had all but abandoned her, the Jedi Order had forsaken her, though she always felt like an outcast in the Order. Lana listened when the Commander revealed the crimes she committed for the ‘good of the Republic’, two of which were definite counts of war crimes. The Sith knew Violcrik wasn’t like the other Jedi, she was emotional, passionate, will do what needs to be done. As a Dark Sider, Lana did find that as an attractive quality. These qualities often put her at odd's end with the High Jedi Council. The Commander admitted she locked horns with the Council members more than she cared to count.

It is enough to say that Lana became Violcrik's go-to for private talks, personal. The Sith advisor is good at reading people and she knows the Commander has a lot on her mind that she hasn't been able to get off her chest. Lana did suggest therapy at one point, but Violcrik laughed it off, claiming she didn't need to see a therapist; and seeing one would ruin her image and reputation. It was never brought up again. The former Jedi did open up to her about her past, it was one Lana would never wish on anyone. Alderaan is a planet for the rich, snobbery and being born out of wedlock can lead to a family name being ruined. Violcrik and her sisters were all but wiped off the family tree, none entitled to an inheritance by their father. From the way Violcrik spoke about her father, there was malice, there was anger and there was hatred. Such intense emotions almost made Lana dizzy.

During the war against the Eternal Empire, even up to now, Lana had taken time out of her schedule to teach Violcrik how to control her darkness. She won't deny there is a danger of having a rogue Dark Jedi running around the galaxy. The Sith Lord herself has witnessed several times, the Commander giving into her darkness; and many times, seeing her eyes change from deep blue to deep orange that nearly glowed. Lana won't lie there are some days she is afraid of what Violcrik is capable of if she lost control. Violcrik did prove as her short stint as Empress, that she will resort to using fear and terror. The last time she got concerned was over the Commander's reliance on Valkorion's powers when he resided inside her mind. Of course, they did get at odds with each other when Violcrik lied to her about Valkorion sharing her mind. It took some days to get one another's trust back. Yet… then she remembers the Commander went her way to save her twice and refused to leave her side during the breakout with… that's beside the point. Violcrik saved her twice and when the Alliance was set up, the Commander intended to speak to either her or Theron (long before he got banished after defeating the Order of Zildrog). Lana had a feeling Violcrik wanted to speak to her alone, but when Koth soured the mood; the Battle Master told them to forget about it and walked away.

The Dark Advisor knows things were left unsaid between them. Lana needed to know what it was. When they made love on Yavin IV after they defeated Revan, there was something between them. It wasn't just a physical attraction. While to some it may have appeared as a one-night stand or a fling, but it must not have been, otherwise Violcrik wouldn't have flirted with her during the disaster on Ziost. Though the timing was quite poor on Violcrik's end, the spark between them was there, fresh, a crackle of electricity that was about to spark into a flame. While the Commander hadn't approached to talk about her feelings, Lana respected that. She wasn't going to impose. Lana can't hold it in now after six years of waiting, she is in with love with Commander Violcrik Baliss. She tried to deny the feelings when Violcrik didn't come to her, so she held the emotions in. Now, they can't be held in any longer. Maybe the Commander was scared to come forward and admit her feelings. It is scary territory, to open yourself up and give your heart to someone. Perhaps... maybe the Commander was waiting.

Lana had tried to deny her feelings, but now… she no longer can't. Dark Advisor Lana Beniko is in love with Commander Violcrik Baliss. She's going to confess her feelings now. No more waiting. The Sith Lord turned to Teeseven, asking where the Commander is now. The astromech told her he had last seen her head to the Force Enclave, which means she's nearby. Lana thanked Teeseven, shut off her datapad and headed for the Force Enclave. She followed the Force signature she felt, small amounts of Light being drowned under the heavy blanket of Darkness.

Her heart was beating fast, Lana ran through several different ways to confess her feelings and not sound like an idiot. There was an unusual skip in the Sith Lord's step, both Republic and Imperial troops dare didn't question what made the stoic advisor so happy. Lana made it to the entrance of the Enclave. Sana-Rae was off somewhere. The advisor was about to call out to the Commander, only to see… it was Knight Carsen. She and the former Emperor's Wrath, Lord Scourge joined the Alliance after finally be ridding Valkorion and his previous incarnations, Vitiate and Tenebrae. It appears the Commander and Carsen are talking, Lana couldn't hear what, but judging by her body language; something was said to make the Commander's former Padawan disgustingly giggly like a young Jedi Initiate.

Then the two stepped into each other's personal space. Lana's heart dropped like a heavy weight. She watched as the two embraced each and… they kissed. The Commander and Carsen… kissed. So is this why Violcrik never let her feelings be known to her? Had they always belonged… to her? Then what were they? Friends? Friends with benefits? A fling? Is the Commander stupid!? Getting with Carsen, who is undoubtedly loyal to the Republic? Who is quite clearly oblivious to the Commander's true loyalty!? The Commander who is happily turning against her own faction! Who severely weakened the Republic fleet en route to Corellia and destroyed their newly built shipyard that could have tipped the war in an ongoing resource crisis!?

Fair enough, let Carsen be the one broken when the Commander's betrayal come to light. Violcrik will end up running back to her. No, she has to stop these thoughts. Lana is angry, that the Commander made her feel she was nothing more than a fling. At the same time, after the Commander went through her dark period in life after being awoken from carbonite, she can't do anything but respect the choice. Lana won't resort to pettiness, she will respect Violcrik and her choices, who she gives her heart to. It appears now, she must step back. After six years, the Commander deserves this. This… this happiness.

No, not deserve. Deserve is a crutch for the weak. Lana will take happiness where she can find it. She will not blame the Commander for finding hers.

The Dark Advisor silently slips away from the entrance of the Force Enclave, her head bowed down and a single tear slipping down her cheek.

#star wars #swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor oc #jedi knight #swtor outlander #swtor commander #violcrik #lana beniko #kira carsen #sorry for the angst #if you're a lana simp you are warned #violcrik played lana's feelings #my knight is a player #no i did not break up with lana

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hrtiu · 5 years ago

Text

Do No Harm

Written for the 2020 @starwarssecretsanta, this is for @part-timewizard. Featuring Kix and some good ‘ol Blyla, I hope you like it! I think it might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written, so thank you for the inspiration! It’s also pretty long so you might want to read it on AO3. Happy holidays!!!

TW for some medical gore, non-graphic, star wars-y violence, canonical character death, and a vague mention of suicide

It’s not as sad as it sounds, I promise!

32 Years After the Battle of Yavin

The ordnance was supposed to be deactivated, but they’d all known that equipment this old was bound to be unstable. Salvaging the cargo was a calculated risk, and one that should have been mitigated by Kix’s experience with GAR resources. Unfortunately for the crew of the Meson Martinet, Kix was a medic, not a demolitions expert.

“We’ve got a hull breach in the cargo bay!” Reeg said, his large yellow eyes whipping back and forth as he looked from one monitor to the next.

“Kriff!” Quiggold said. “Well at least the goods can’t blow the rest of the ship up if they’ve been sucked out into space.”

“We should get to the escape pods!” Reeg said.

“No.”

Captain Ithano’s monosyllabic response was enough to completely shut down that line of thinking for the whole crew. Everyone, Kix included, looked to their sanguine leader for a long, silent moment. Then Sidon turned from them and took up his position in the pilot’s seat, his mask betraying no concern for their imminent demise.

“Well, you heard the captain!” Quiggold said. “Batten down the hatches! Lash anything that can move down!”

Kix jumped to attention, his soldiers’ instincts kicking in. He’d only been on the Martinet for six months, but he’d picked up his duties quickly and it didn’t take any additional prompting for him to rush to the engine room to secure maintenance tools and parts.

Kix tried not to think too hard about how impossible a landing Sidon was about to attempt. The Martinet’s captain had a knack for getting out of impossible situations, and as a crew they’d already decided to put their fates in his hands. There was nothing for it now except to prepare and hope.

“Everyone get in your seats!” Quiggold yelled from the cockpit. “Brace for impact!”

Kix sprinted for his seat in the common area, strapping in and holding his harness with two hands. They hadn’t yet entered atmosphere as far as he could tell—now it was just a waiting game.

Reveth clicked in next to him, her eyes wide but her jaw set.

“You ready to die, Kix?” she asked, her words full of bravado but her eyes betraying fear.

Kix gave her a humorless smile. “Already did it once. What’s there to be afraid of?”

The ship jolted as they passed through the upper atmosphere of a nearby planet—Felucia, if he remembered correctly. Their breached hull had compromised the ship’s insulation, leaving them at the mercy of the burning heat of atmospheric entry.

Sweat dripped down Kix’s neck and his grip on his safety harness tightened. A thrill of fear raced down his spine, and a feeling so unfamiliar to Kix that he almost didn’t recognize it accompanied it: he felt alive.

Kix let out a harsh bark of laughter and Reveth shot him a wary look. “You alright there?” she shouted over the roar of their rapid descent.

“Yeah!” he shouted back. And he was. Ironic that now that his life was in real danger of ending, he’d finally started to care if it continued.

The searing heat gradually ebbed and the ship ground with effort as Sidon attempted to wrestle it into a controlled descent. Kix greeted the twins of powerlessness and mortal danger like old friends, his mind calling back to dicey drops and aggressive assaults of decades past. This was something he understood.

“Getting closer!” Quiggold yelled from the cockpit.

Reveth’s breathing grew loud and labored, and Kix looked over at her, his instincts to assist and comfort overriding the sense of emptiness that had accompanied him since his awakening.

“It’ll be alright!” he said, loud enough for her to hear but somehow still imbuing his voice with the practiced compassion of a medic.

Her frightened eyes latched onto his, seeking solace in his peace. This is right, a voice from his past whispered. This is what you were meant to do. The voice was his own, from when he knew who he was and what he stood for.

BOOM!

The Meson Martinet made impact.

---

19 Years Before the Battle of Yavin

Bly dropped his head back behind the seat of the Separatist shuttle, letting it clunk hard against the durasteel wall. The distance between them and Maridun grew in proportion to Bly's sense of security. He closed his eyes, going through the steps General Secura had taught him for cooling down after battle. His breathing slowed, his racing mind calmed, and gradually the adrenaline of fighting for his life left him. His body was utterly spent, and now he could finally afford to let himself feel it. They were safe.

“Are you feeling better now, Master?” Commander Tano asked General Skywalker, the two of them seated next to each other across the shuttle from Bly.

“Yeah, not 100%, but close.”

Commander Tano let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”

General Skywalker chuckled. “Whatever you say, Snips.”

The young Padawan’s concern for her Master was palpable, and Bly couldn’t help but remember her and General Secura’s conversation from earlier.

As a Jedi, it is your duty to do what is best for the group.

Bly couldn’t agree with that sentiment more. It was their job as clones, too. It was why he couldn’t afford to stop to memorialize Cameron, Lucky, or Flash. It was why he didn’t have time to mourn the loss of almost the entirety of the 327th. It was why he was prepared to lay down his life anywhere, at any moment, for the cause. General Secura understood that. It was one of the things he respected most about her.

His wandering mind recalled his feet pounding the earth, running away from the Separatist weapon as fast as his body could manage. Then he was flying through the air, a slender, strong arm wrapped around his waist. His heart was in his chest, but he knew he’d make it. He had absolute confidence in his General.

The shuttle docked on General Skywalker’s flagship, jolting Bly from his meditations.

“There’re rooms for you and Commander Bly in the officer’s quarters,” General Skywalker told General Secura, and she nodded her thanks.

They disembarked, and Bly followed General Secura to the rooms Skywalker had indicated.

“Are you alright, General?” he asked. She didn’t look injured, but things had been pretty rough-and-tumble on Meridun. And if she was hurt General Secura was likely to ignore it as long as possible.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Let’s debrief before rest and recuperation.”

“Yes sir.”

He walked behind her through the halls of the Venator, blaster held at ready despite their relative safety and his aching arms. General Secura marched ahead of him and he could sense her mood. He doubted anyone else would be able to tell, but there was a weight to her step and a tension in her shoulders that spoke plainly to her anger and frustration. Bly’s grip on his blaster tightened. It took a lot to shake General Secura.

General Secura reached her room and punched the control panel with more force than necessary to open the door. Bly stepped in after her, wary of what was to come.

“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing across from her as she pulled a chair out from behind a large desk at the back of the room.

Bly obliged, setting his blaster down first and slowly sitting down. He waited for General Secura to start the meeting with her typical no-nonsense efficiency, but instead she set her elbows on the table and rested her forehead in her palms, her eyes closed and her shoulders tense.

Well, he supposed he could get the ball rolling. “Meteor Company is on leave in Coruscant. We can work with them until our fleet is rebuilt.”

“Rebuilt with what?” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

“Pardon?”

“I said, rebuilt with what?” General Secura said with more force, moving her hands away. Bly nearly flinched when he realized there were tears in her eyes.

“The shipyards are already at work on new Venators, and there are the next generation of trainees from Kamino-”

“Rebuilt with men,” General Secura said forcefully. “Nearly the entire battalion was wiped out. A battalion made up of men. Men who were my responsibility.”

Bly floundered for a moment, unused to seeing his General so conflicted. She was his anchor in the madness of the war. What would he do if she was unmoored?

“They were my brothers, and this loss is… difficult to bear,” Bly said, feeling strangely disjointed.

He was gutted by the death of the clones in his battalion, but at the same time he felt an odd sense of disconnect. Maybe it was some anti-social characteristic inherited from Jango Fett, maybe it was genetic engineering courtesy of the Kaminoans, but either way he didn’t feel the sorrow residing in his heart in the way he intuitively knew he should.

“My apologies, Commander Bly,” General Secura said. “I’ve been so focused on myself when this must be so much harder for you.”

Bly shook his head. “No, I mean… They were my brothers, so I know they understood their sacrifice. Myself and every other clone in the GAR is prepared to sacrifice ourselves for the Republic. It’s like you said, it’s our duty to do what’s best for the group.”

“That’s what I told Padawan Tano, and I believe it. But there’s a difference between not allowing personal attachment to cloud your judgment, and just standing back while tens of thousands of men die.”

“We did all we could-”

“But it wasn’t enough!” General Secura said, rising from her seat and slamming her fist on the table.

Bly fell silent, thinking there was no response he could give that would help. General Secura stared at him for a long moment as her frame shook with anger and frustration. Gradually, the rage melted and gave way to a deep, abiding sorrow. She sat back down again, her customary grace and stillness returning to her.

“Bly, I swear to you today that so long as it does not endanger civilian lives, I will do whatever I can to protect you and your men,” General Secura said.

“Ma’am, that’s not neces-”

“Yes it is! Each and every man who died in Quell mattered to me. You matter to me. It’s one thing to stop missing my Master too much. It’s another thing entirely to casually dismiss the deaths of my men. If that’s what it means to be unattached, then it’s not worth it to me.”

Her declaration shocked Bly into silence. Nothing was more important to General Secura than the Order, and he couldn’t imagine her turning her back on one of its precepts.

“General,” he ventured cautiously, “You’re distraught, and that’s understandable. But perhaps that’s not the best frame of mind in which to decide to leave the Order.”

“I’m not leaving the Order,” she said firmly. “I’m only recognizing that, as a Jedi, I have multiple ideals that, should they come into conflict, I need to prioritize. And my promise to you—my promise to myself—is that I will always prioritize compassion over detachment.”

Bly’s throat tightened. It wasn’t often a clone was told that he mattered, and for that sentiment to be coming from someone as beautiful, as kind, as gracious as General Secura? Even Jango Fett’s cold heart couldn’t help but be moved by something like that.

“I’m honored, General,” he choked out.

General Secura’s features softened and she rose from her chair, walking around the table to put a hand on Bly’s shoulder.

“I need someone I can trust, Bly,” she said. “I need someone to guide me and push back if I’m not thinking clearly or if my decisions are rash. I need someone to help ensure that this never happens again.”

“I can be whatever you ask of me, General,” Bly said staunchly.

“Please. Call me Aayla,” she said. “What I need is a friend.”

---

“Execute Order 66.”

General Skywalker and Commander Tano stood in front of Kix, their backs to him. Next to him, Rex, Fives, Jesse, and Tup slowly raised their blasters, expressions grim but determined.

“No! Wait!” Kix called out to them. “It’s a trick! Don’t shoot!”

But it was too late. All four of his brothers opened fire, catching their superiors—their friends—completely off guard. Skywalker and Tano both dropped in an instant.

“No!”

Then, to his horror, Kix’s hands raised his own blaster. As he watched on, eyes wide and mind unwilling, his fingers squeezed the trigger three, four, five times, sending burning blaster bolts into their prone bodies.

“No!”

Kix thrashed in protest, and pain exploded from his legs and chest. He opened his eyes, frantic, but he didn’t see General Skywalker or Captain Rex or anyone else he’d just imagined. Dreaming, he’d only been dreaming.

Kix’s hazy mind still had no idea what was going on and he knew his body was in bad shape, but so long as the nightmare wasn’t real, that was alright with him.

“He can’t come in here, he’ll endanger my other patients.”

“Lady, he’s easily the most injured person here. Who the kriff is he a danger to?”

Voices sounded above and around Kix, noise buzzing in and out of his fuzzy head. He tried to sit up and a firm hand pushed him down.

“Just relax, friend. Don’t move too much,” came Reveth’s voice.

“That thing was made for violence, and I won’t serve him,” the voice said. It was female, but Kix didn’t recognize it. That wasn’t really unusual. He didn’t recognize most of the world he’d awoken to several months earlier.

“That thing is my crewmember,” came Captain Ithano’s raspy voice in harsh rebuke.

“Are you a doctor or not? I thought you weren’t allowed to refuse to help someone in need,” Quiggold added.

Kix’s blurry vision slowly cleared and the sight of blue skies, thick vines, and glowing fungi greeted him. The ordnance, the explosion, the crash—it all came back to him. They’d made it to Felucia, at least mostly in one piece.

Ugh. Thought I’d never have to see this blasted planet again.

“Fine. Bring him in. But as soon as he’s well enough to stand, he’s out of here,” the unidentified woman said.

Kix craned his head up, catching a clouded glimpse of a middle-aged woman with a stern look and odd, blue-ish hair.

“Suit yourself lady,” Quiggold said, and suddenly Kix was moving again.

---

It was past 0300 and the lights of the Venator had been switched to the flickering dim of the night cycle hours ago, but requisitions flimsiwork didn’t care how little sleep Bly had been getting lately. He signed off on a request for more medical personnel—there never seemed to be enough—and set his datapad down for a good stretch. He was closing in on the end and sleep was in sight, but there were still a few things left to do. There always were.

Bly’s office consisted of a small alcove open to the main hallway just off the bridge, and though he would have appreciated some privacy he understood that space was at a premium on a military vessel. The only person onboard who got a private office (or a private cabin, for that matter) was Aayla, her office connecting to Bly’s through a small door at the back. The layout made Bly feel like a glorified secretary at times, but he accepted it since it made it easier to get ahold of the General.

Bly checked what was next on his to-do list. Oh yes, order more munitions for the AT-TE division. Bly braced himself, then settled in for another round of tedium.

“Ahh!”

A loud gasp sounded from behind Bly, and he whirled around in his chair. It was coming from Aayla’s study. Without a second thought Bly jumped from his seat and sprinted through the door separating him from his General.

“General! What’s wrong!”

Aayla looked up from her desk, a hunk of mysterious food hanging from her mouth and a look of surprise on her face. Whatever was going on, she was definitely not in danger.

“Bly! I’m sorry, I was just reacting to this broadcast.”

“What broadcast? Is someone under attack?”

“No…” Aayla said, her lekku flushing a deep blue.

It was then that Bly decided to pause and actually listen to the broadcast.

“But how could Gorges be the murderer? He wasn’t even at the depot when Mr. Waxillium died!”

“He may not have held the blaster, but he set events in motion to cause the death of his supposed good friend, Mr. Waxillium. Didn’t you, Gorges? You were the one who told Mr. Waxillium to go to the depot that night, weren’t you? You were the one who gave Jasna the blaster, weren’t you?”

“You can’t prove a thing!”

Bly’s brow furrowed, the audio from Aayla’s transceiver only confusing him more. “What… what is this?”

“It’s a transceiver drama,” Aayla said with a sheepish smile. “It’s my guilty pleasure, I’m afraid.”

Bly pursed his lips, unsure how he was supposed to respond. It was difficult to imagine Aayla having any guilty pleasures, and he had no idea what a “transceiver drama” was supposed to be.

Aayla’s smile wilted the longer Bly went without responding. “You… don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

She grimaced. “It’s Aayla, especially when we’re not talking business.”

Bly coughed. “I’m afraid not, Aayla.”

It was still so hard to call her Aayla. He’d managed to start thinking of her as Aayla in his head, but actually saying the words aloud? As if they were friends? As if they were in any way on equal footing? It was a struggle.

“Transceiver dramas are pieces of fiction that are broadcast over transceiver for entertainment. They’re just… fun stories to listen to,” Aayla said. “I don’t listen to them often, but I’m partial to the mysteries.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You never listened to any dramas? Or watched any holos?”

“Only for educational purposes, si-” Bly cut himself off with a curt shake of the head. “Aayla.”

“Well that just won’t do,” Aayla said, standing and pulling a chair from the corner of her study to rest next to hers. “Come, sit and listen with me.”

“I still have some requisitions-”

“Come on, Bly. Everyone needs to relax sometimes. It will help you work better tomorrow.”

Bly still hesitated for several heartbeats, though he knew he’d always end up doing what she asked. He sat carefully in the chair, as if it might eat him alive for slacking off, and slowly eased into the back cushion. Aayla watched him with an amused expression.

“You won’t know what’s going on in this one, but another starts up right after this. You’ll love it—there’s a detective who’s looking for the man who murdered his wife, and he’ll stop at nothing to find him…”

Aayla excitedly described the plot of the upcoming show, her eyes glowing with pleasure as she delved into the twists and turns of the detective’s search. Bly had never imagined that she had such a carefree side to her, never envisioned her indulging in melodramatic entertainment, but he was thrilled by the discovery. She looked so relaxed and at ease, and there was a simple happiness to her habitually world-weary demeanor that Bly desperately wanted to see more of.

The new show started and, despite the mess of names and plot points swirling around in his head, Bly soon found himself sucked into the story. He gasped when Aayla gasped and added to her theorizing when a new clue was discovered. It was fun, an emotion that Bly barely recognized.

Aayla gave him a piece of whatever she was eating and Bly inspected it carefully, discovering after some study that it was dried meat.

“Try it,” Aayla said.

Bly gave the hunk of meat an experimental chew. His tongue was met with an intensity of savory flavor that he’d never imagined could exist, and his eyes widened. “That’s good!”

Aayla chuckled. “A lot better than what they serve in the mess, I’d wager.”

“Definitely.” Bly paused to chew the meat, not expecting it to be so tough. Then a thought occurred to him. “Wait a second, I thought Jedi were vegetarians.”

Aayla looked at him blankly then burst out laughing. “Certainly not! Take Master Yoda, for example. His species is carnivorous. If he was vegetarian he’d starve.”

“Oh…” Bly said, heat rising to his cheeks. “Well I… how was I supposed to-?”

“Shh! We’re missing the next clue!” Aayla said, still trying to hold back her laughter.

Bly slouched into his seat with an undignified pout, and Aayla leaned over and patted him on the arm. The motion should have felt patronizing, but By couldn’t bring himself to resent anything that resulted in her touch.

The drama continued, ending the episode on a cliffhanger with the detective about to be captured by the Hutt crimelord. Advertising played and Bly sighed, bracing himself to get up and finish the requisitions forms.

“...There’s another episode after this one, if you’re interested,” Aayla said with forced indifference.

He really shouldn’t. He was constantly running short on sleep—he needed to finish his work and hit the bunk as soon as possible. He opened his mouth to say as much, then noticed the hopeful tilt of Aayla’s brow.

“Sure, I could stay for one more,” he said.

What was a few more hours of lost sleep?

---

Kix came to in an aged hospital bed, both legs in splints and his chest aching from what could only be broken ribs. For half a moment his eyes sought Coric, or Rex, or someone else who could tell him what was going on. Then he remembered.

Kix sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back onto his pillow. Maybe it didn’t really matter that much where he was or how he’d gotten there.

Reveth stirred at Kix’s bedside, her eyes widening as she noticed Kix.

“You’re up!” she said, sounding almost cheery.

“Yeah,” Kix said, struggling to sit up without hurting his ribs.

Reveth jumped to her feet and lent Kix a hand, stacking a few pillows behind his back so he wasn’t staring at the ceiling. They were at the far end of a long room and he was lying in one of several beds partially cordoned off by screens and curtains. The familiar sight of medical equipment provided Kix with a sense of comfort, though the equipment was old and the furnishings dingy.

“How long have I been out for?” Kix asked.

“Just a day. The doctor says you’ll be all better pretty soon.”

“Any other injuries?”

“Us in the common area got it the worst. I had a concussion and a broken wrist,” she said, raising up the bandaged appendage. “Everyone in the cockpit was fine.”

“And the Martinet?”

Reveth grimaced. “She’ll fly again, eventually. Progress is slow because there aren’t any major starports nearby. Kriff, we’re lucky this clinic is even here. I think the doctor is one of those do-gooders who goes to the ass-end of nowhere to serve the needy.”

“Hmm…” Kix said, recalling the way the doctor had at first refused to treat him. She hadn’t seemed particularly charitable then. “How angry is the captain?”

“Ehhh…” Reveth hedged.

“Am I dead? Or just kicked off the ship?” Kix asked. Sidon Ithano was a fair captain, but even he couldn’t just look the other way when a crewmate led them to treasure that ended up tearing apart their ship.

Reveth waved a hand. “The captain seems tough but he’s softer than you’d think.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d avoid him for a few days if you don’t want another broken limb. But he’ll get over it.”

Kix tried to sit up taller but his ribs protested. He fell back into his pillows with a grunt. “Thanks for the advice.”

“It helps that Reeg thinks he can salvage the explosives from the other cargo bay. Only by the grace of the Force did they not blow up in the crash.”

Kix raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Reveth shrugged. “Probably. He said he can extract the titanoid from the charges without setting them off if he soaks everything in moletan first. Still sounds risky to me, but it’s his leather hide.”

Kix nodded thoughtfully. The deconstructed charges wouldn’t be quite as valuable as they would have been whole, but much safer to transport. And that amount of titanoid should make their excursion profitable enough that Sidon probably wouldn’t decide that Kix had to pay for their losses.

“Oh yeah, and your box of stuff was in cargo bay two as well,” Reveth said, reaching for a crate under her chair and kicking it over to Kix.

Kix leaned over the side of his bed with a wince, confirming for himself that the crate really was the one he’d recovered from the crumbling Republic medical center a few days earlier. It was this modest collection of possessions that had brought Kix to back to the old base; the explosives had just been a monetary justification for the trip. The entire crew of the Marinet had understood that, which was why Kix’s concern for Sidon Ithano’s ire was real. They’d risked carrying dangerous explosives onboard just because Kix had wanted to recover a tiny box of worthless personal effects.

Reveth grabbed the crate and set it on Kix’s lap.

“Thanks.”

“So what’s in there?” Reveth asked, leaning forward to see. “What was worth all the trouble?”

“Not much, really. Just a few odds and ends,” Kix said vaguely.

Reveth looked doubtfully at him but didn’t press.

Kix opened the box and pulled out the first item, a medal he’d been awarded in medical training on Kamino. Medals didn’t interest him much—he still remembered the swell of pride when it had first been awarded him, but now it seemed more like an empty method of placation. He dug further, rummaging around his Phase I helmet, a field medicine guide for venomous creatures and poisonous plants, a musty pair of gloves. He finally found the old pauldron he was looking for,the faded blue painted over with designs of starfighters and explosions—the result of an energetic, easily-distracted mind.

He held the pauldron up to Reveth. “My friend painted this. He sacrificed himself for our company, crashing an enemy fighter into their ship to break a blockade.”

The gently mocking angle that always seemed to tilt Reveth’s mouth disappeared. “Sounds like he was a great man.”

Kix nodded, putting the pauldron carefully back in the crate. “He was.”

He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do with all this stuff, but the idea of it left to turn to dust on some distant, abandoned base was unacceptable. Despite the crash and despite Captain Ithano’s anger, Kix was glad he’d gotten it back.

The door at the end of the room whooshed open, and the doctor Kix vaguely remembered from before walked in.

“Hey doc! He’s up!” Reveth called.

The woman walked across the room and fully opened the screen that marked Kix’s territory, her nose scrunched up like she smelled something foul. Now that Kix got a better look at her, he realized she was a Twi’lek hybrid. Stubby lekku extended from the back of her head down to her shoulders, barely visible through a shock of thick, blue hair. Her skin was a distinctly human hue of tan.

“He’s conscious? Good,” the woman said, looking Kix up and down. Her eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the crate that still rested on his lap, and without comment she picked it up and pushed it under his bed. “How are your ribs?”

“Broken,” Kix said.

The woman nodded. “They’ll hurt for a while. Some nysillin will help, but time is the best healer.”

Kix groaned his agreement. The splints on his leg looked good and the room, though out-of-date and spartan, was well-maintained. Whoever this woman was, as a man of medicine Kix could respect her.

“Well, try to get some sleep,” the woman said, making some notes on her datapad. “You’ve got a punctured lung, a few broken ribs, and two broken legs, but considering the state of that ship of yours, you’re in pretty good shape. I’ll be using some bacta on those legs and you should be able to get around fairly easily in a day or two.”

Kix closed his eyes again, performing a mental self-examination to confirm her diagnosis. It all checked out.

He opened his eyes again. “I’m Kix. Who are you?”

The woman pursed her lips like she didn’t want to tell him. He remembered what he’d heard when they were bringing him in. That thing is made for violence.

“You can call me Dr. Bosc,” she said eventually. “Pleased to meet you.”

---

“Bly! I need you to get over to that ridge and bring down those turrets!” Aayla shouted over the din of blaster fire and mortars.

“On it!” Bly shouted back, motioning for two ARC troopers and two heavy infantry to follow him and sprinting out from behind cover.

Bly. Bly. Bly. She never called him Commander anymore. Everything would be so much easier if she would.

His team made short work of the turrets, moving with the grace and efficiency Bly drilled into them day in and day out. It was that skill that would hopefully keep them alive.

Until the day Aayla had broken down after Maridun, Bly had just assumed he’d end up dead before the war was over and hadn’t thought too much about it. Now he thought differently. He wanted to live and he wanted desperately to ensure that every man under his command lived too, no matter how impossible that sounded. It was harder to live this way—harder to maintain hope every day only to have it dashed by the devastation of each casualty his battalion suffered—but Bly could live with the pain. Anything was better than the empty detachment of resignation.

Other things had been different, too. Now that he’d convinced himself he’d live beyond the end of the war, he’d started thinking about his life after. And that was dangerous, dangerous thinking for a clone like him.

“Get down!” Quark yelled.

Bly barely had time to throw himself to the dirt before a hail of blaster fire tore through the air. He crawled through the gravelly earth to the base of the turret they’d just destroyed, using the low platform on which it rested for cover. His team stayed pressed to the ground for several minutes while Bly looked for an opening, but it was no good. A whole company of battle droids had followed them up the ridge, blocking their way out.

“General Secura,” he said into his comm, “We’re pinned down on the ridge. Requesting backup.”

“On my way,” came her snappy response.

I didn’t mean you had to come personally, Bly thought. She surely had more important places to be on the battlefield. He knew she had more important places to be—he could hear that from the comms.

“Sir! They’re flanking us!” Broadside yelled, and sure enough, a squad of clankers was coming up the other side of the ridge, boxing them in against the steep dropoff beyond the turret.

“Damn,” Bly said. “Alright, we’ve gotta go over the edge. Clankers are worse at covering terrain.”

“Sir?” Broadside said, alarm evident in his voice. “We’ll be totally exposed!”

“I know, but this is our only chance. I’ll try to provide covering fire as long as I can.”

“Sir-”

“That’s an order, soldier!”

Broadside saluted sharply, then pulled his WESTAR M5 from its harness around his back and handed it to Bly. He and his fellow ARC trooper attached their grappling hooks to the base of the turret, lashed themselves to one infantryman each, and started a rapid, precarious descent down the steep face of the ridge.

Bly grabbed the M5 and switched it to burst mode, then unleashed a spray of blaster bolts on the advancing droids, trying his best to draw fire away from the exposed troopers. After a minute or two of concentrated fire, he chanced a look down to check on their progress. Three troopers were dashing back to the safety of the rest of the battalion, while a fourth lay broken at the bottom of the ridge.

“Karking hell,” Bly hissed. He’d lost another one.

A blaster shot singed a glancing blow off the top of his helmet, and Bly put a halt to his self-recriminations. One of the ARC troopers had helpfully left his grappling hook attached, so Bly grabbed it with two gloved hands and barrelled headfirst down the steep incline. He let his momentum carry him, his feet finding their next hold by instinct and sheer luck, and in less than a minute he was at the bottom. His hands tangled in the wire of the grappling hook, and in the split second it took to free himself, a high-powered blaster bolt nailed him right in the ribs, cutting straight through his plastoid armor.

Bly was on the dirt, face up, waiting for death, when a pair of arms grabbed him under the elbows and dragged him away.

“You’re not dying today, sir!”

The chaos of battle sounded around him, but Bly had very little sense of what was going on. Then the unmistakable whirr of a lightsaber cutting through air and metal filled his ears, and he started to believe that he might make it out alive.

The trooper dragged him into a somewhat sheltered alcove, and suddenly Aayla was by his side.

“What happened, Bly?” she demanded, her elegant features hovering tense and fierce across his field of vision.

“Clanker nailed me,” he managed to get out. “Forgot to duck.”

She narrowed her eyes at his attempt at humor, then sliced the chestplate right off him with several expertly-placed cuts of her lightsaber. She let out a sharp hiss at the sight of the wound, and Bly couldn’t bring himself to tilt his chin downwards to look.

The sound of fighting grew near again, but Aayla didn’t seem to notice. She knelt over him and carefully placed both hands just around the searing pain emanating from his ribs and closed her eyes, her breath coming in deeply through her nose. Nothing happened.

For several long moments all Bly could hear was the not-so-distant crackle of blaster fire and the slow, even breaths of his General.

“They’re closing in on our position, sir,” a clone voice called out, and Aayla cursed under her breath.

The hands on Bly’s torso pressed down with slightly more force and Aayla gritted her teeth. He could practically feel the force of her will urging his body to knit together, but nothing happened.

“Why oh why can I never heal when I need to?” she muttered, her accent growing thick with frustration.

The sound of blaster fire drew closer, and the shuffle of nervous clone feet reached Bly’s ears. Expending nearly all of his remaining energy, he forced a hand up to grab Aayla’s wrist.

“Aayla. You told me to tell you when you’re being rash.”

The harshness of her expression held for a moment, then melted into resignation. She looked up to some trooper outside of Bly’s field of vision.

“Broadside, I want a medevac for Commander Bly right now.”

“Yes sir!”

She placed a hand on either side of Bly’s face and pressed her forehead to his, her breath warm and comforting against his face. “Don’t die on me, Bly.”

He muttered something about promising and that he’d be fine, but his vision was already starting to blur. More friendly arms lifted him up and onto a stretcher of some kind, and suddenly he was moving again.

All he could see was the sky above him, fixed and immovable as terrain warped and shifted in his peripherals. His thoughts were muddled and confused, but they always seemed to end up returning to the same fact: he was in love with Aayla Secura.

---

It took four days for Kix to be able to put weight on his legs again.

“It would have been faster if I could spare more bacta,” Dr. Bosc said as she helped him out of bed. “But my resources are limited.”

Having watched her clinic operate the past four days, Kix had to agree. Dr. Bosc was the only medical professional for miles, and she was regularly inundated with patients seeking treatment for a variety of maladies ranging from eye infections to traumatic brain injuries. Kix imagined the unpredictability was also difficult to manage—some days were slower and other days she was entirely overwhelmed.

“I understand, doctor,” Kix said, gripping Dr. Bosc’s forearms firmly to steady himself.

Dr. Bosc gave him a curt nod, then stepped backwards, urging him to test his newly-mended legs. Kix took a tentative step forward, his leg shaking slightly under his weight but ultimately holding firm.

“Looking good there, Kix!” Quiggold called from his seat in the corner, and Kix thanked him with a small smile.

At least one member of the crew had come to visit Kix every day, which he appreciated. It still wasn’t close to approaching the feeling of having his brothers at his back, but Kix was beginning to feel a genuine camaraderie with his crewmates. It was one of the only things about his new life that gave him any measure of comfort.

Dr. Bosc led Kix in several wobbly loops around the clinic, past a Felcuian laid up with a high fever, a Human with a broken leg, and a Weequay woman suffering from dementia. The clinic had really filled up in the past day or two, and Kix had to give it up for the doctor for juggling all her patients with no help.

They passed by Dr. Bosc’s desk, where stacks of paperwork and prescription orders towered, some teetering precariously close to the edge. The only other thing on the desk was an odd sort of T-shaped wooden totem with a chain of connected wooden ornaments dangling off each end.

“Now that I’m mobile I could lend a hand with your clinic, doctor,” Kix said.

Dr. Bosc shot him a contemptuous look out of the corner of her eye. “No, thank you.”

“I’m a medic. I have training. And it looks like you could use the help,” he said, looking pointedly at the desk.

“No,” she said, leaving Kix to balance on his own for a moment to straighten out the stacks most in danger of falling. When she was finished she picked up the totem and placed it in the neatest corner of the desk, careful to keep it safe distance from the edge.

She returned to Kix, and he pursed his lips but said no more. If any of these patients died because their doctor was too stubborn to accept help…

They finished their final loop around the room and Dr. Bosc helped Kix back onto the bed. Kix started to get settled back into his pillows, but Dr. Bosc disappeared into a storage closet and returned with a set of crutches.

“Good job,” she said, handing the crutches over. “You’re discharged.”

Kix held the crutches and blinked up at her in surprise. Surely she wasn’t serious.

“He can barely walk, doc. He can stay another day, can’t he?” Quiggold asked.

“Does this look like a daycare center to you?” Dr. Bosc said, gesturing to her other patients. “I said he could stay until he could walk. He can walk now, so he’s no longer welcome here.”

Quiggold got to his feet. “What is your problem, lady? If you have a problem with Kix, you have a problem with all of us.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dr. Bosc said, her golden-brown eyes flashing in anger.

“It’s ok, Quiggold,” Kix said. Then he turned to the doctor, curious to understand the mystery that had been eating at him since his arrival here. “My friends know what I am because I told them. How do you know what I am?”

Dr. Bosc glared. “Because you look exactly like my father.”

Kix froze, his brain short circuiting. Father. Father. You look exactly like my father.

“What?” said Quiggold.

Kix’s fingers tightened around his crutches, his knuckles turning white. “Your father was a clone soldier?”

“Yes,” Dr. Bosc spat. “So I have firsthand knowledge of the violence and deception hard-coded into your DNA.”

Deception? Violence Kix could understand, but deception?

“Well hey there, that’s uncalled for-” Quiggold started.

“It’s alright,” Kix said, struggling to his feet. “I’ll see myself out.”

Kix hobbled to the exit as fast as his busted limbs would let him. If this woman really was the child of a clone, then she probably had some justifiable grievances. Her father was likely a very limited part of her life, and perhaps he’d been more than simply negligent. But that did not mean that Kix was about to sit here and listen while this woman disparaged millions of his dead brothers.

Quiggold followed after him, lending him a hand once they were out of the clinic and guiding him through the musty town to where the Meson Martinet had landed.

“What was that all about?” he asked. “Is she really the child of a clone?”

“I don’t know,” Kix said shortly. “It’d be a strange thing to lie about.”

“I guess that makes you her uncle.”

Kix leveled a flat look at Quiggold, and he raised his hands in self defense.

“Hey, just an observation!”

Kix entered the cracked-open shell of the Martinet’s living quarters, stubbornly ignoring the ache in his leg though his medical expertise told him he couldn’t afford to.

“Just hand me an arc wrench so we can fix this ship and get off this miserable planet.”

---

“Get back!” Aayla yelled as the blast doors to the control room burst open.

Bly reflexively ducked for cover, knowing better than to hesitate when it came to his General’s orders.

They’d been pushing to take out the Separatist base for days now, and they’d finally reached the control tower where intelligence told them the Separatist general would be. The nearness of their goal only reinforced the need for caution in Bly’s minds—those who led from the back often fortified their positions with the toughest security.

Bly used his viewfinder to sneak a peak over the duracrete barrier he’d claimed for cover, his alarm spiking as he realized why Aayla had warned her men away.

Aayla was locked in heated battle with the bald, malicious Sith assassin, Ventress. The dark Force user was wielding her twin sabers to great effect, and though Aayla was a famed duelist, her skills were clearly being put to the test.

“Hold your ground,” Bly repeated over the comm to his troops. He understood that they all had the same instinct he did to rush to the General’s defense, but Aayla had given Bly very specific instructions should this exact situation arise.

“If I meet another Force user in battle, I want you and the men to steer clear, you understand? Those abilities are above your pay grade and my opponent will not be above using you as sentient shields to get to me.”

Bly understood this in theory—had agreed with her, even—but putting it into practice now was a different matter.

Bly had seen Aayla spar thousands of times, frequently against other Jedi. She was undoubtedly more technically skilled than Ventress. But as Bly kept watch over the duel through his viewfinder, it became clear that Ventress had a ferocity—a raw, hateful power—that the General lacked.

Back pressed against the duracrete, Bly’s fists clenched as he watched the duel progress. He fought the instincts that screamed at him to intervene, to assist, to defend—over all of those urges was the ultimate tenet of obedience.

The duel had moved its way down the hallway and away from the blast doors, and Aayla was now backed up against a wall of transparisteel with nowhere to go. There was a fatigue in her shoulders that Bly knew well, and she didn’t hold firm against Ventress like someone who knew they were going to win. Something snapped in Bly’s mind, and a decision was made.

“Everyone else, continue to hold your ground until I or the General say otherwise,” he said into his comm.

A chorus of “Yessirs,” followed him, and he leapt over the barrier and sprinted towards the duelists. When he was still a good 30 meters away, he pulled out his rifle and aimed carefully. All he needed to do was distract the assassin for a brief moment, enough to give Aayla an opening.

The shrill whine of blaster fire tore through the air as Bly opened fire, squeezing off five shots in rapid succession at Ventress’s back.

Ventress whirled around, dodging and deflecting with sinuous grace. None of Bly’s shots struck true, but that hadn’t been the point. He’d wanted to get her attention, and he’d succeeded.

Behind Ventress, Aayla noticed her opening and lunged, but Ventress was already gone. She was sprinting full-tilt towards Bly, a sneer on her lips and murder in her eyes. Bly kept shooting at her, using his knowledge of Aayla’s movement patterns to predict where the assassin would dodge. One of his bolts singed her arm, but that only enraged her even more.

In an instant she was on him, his blaster tossed to the side and her hand around his throat. Bly resisted the urge to close his eyes, memories of what had happened to Colt passing through his mind. At least it would be quick.

“You dare to attack me?” Ventress hissed, her voice low and smoky.

Her fingers tightened around Bly’s windpipe, squeezing the air from his lungs. Bly summoned up the last of his breath to respond to her.

“Always.”

Ventress’s sneer turned vicious, and her fingers tightened further, completely starving him of oxygen and summoning black spots to his vision.

“Get away from him!”

The fingers around Bly’s throat disappeared and his body crumpled to the ground. Bly’s hazy world tilted sideways, and through his distorted vision Aayla pounced on Ventress with the ferocity of a gundark.

She slashed downward onto Ventress’s head and Ventress lunged sideways to avoid the strike. Then Aayla swung her blade around for a second strike, faster than lightning, this time aimed at Ventress’s midsection. The Sith assassin jerked backwards, but only far enough to avoid a killing blow. The tip of Aayla’s saber dragged a searing slash across Ventress’s torso, and she howled in pain and fury.

Aayla pressed her advantage, moving in on Ventress, but Ventress simply leapt away, switching off her lightsabers and disappearing out a nearby window.

Relief flooded Bly’s cloudy head, and he closed his eyes, letting himself relax. His blessed rest was interrupted when a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Bly? Bly, can you hear me?”

Bly opened his eyes, the beautiful sight of a healthy and whole Aayla Secura greeting him. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then get back to the med tent ASAP.”

“Sir, I can fight-”

“Now, Bly.”

Aayla directed a trooper to help Bly to a medic, and several hours later found Bly waiting in his blacks, still foggy and dazed, in the corner of the med tent along with the rest of the non-critically injured.

The comms told Bly that their operation was over, and not long afterwards Aayla herself marched into the tent, looking tired and angry. She scanned the room, finding Bly quickly and coming to fetch him.

“Debrief in my office. Now,” she said

The harshness of her tone cleared Bly’s cloudy mind, and he jumped to attention, following after her like he always did. They entered the tent that served as Aayla’s office in the field, and as soon as the flap closed behind them, she rounded on him.

“I was very explicit about what to do if I engage an enemy Force user, was I not?”

“You were,” Bly conceded.

“And yet my orders were not heeded.”

“All due respect, sir, I followed your orders until it looked like following them might get you killed.”

“It was a direct order, Bly.”

Anger bubbled up in Bly’s chest, a foreign feeling to him, especially when it came to Aayla. “I made a judgment call! You told me you needed not just a Commander, but a friend. If we’re going to be equals in any way, you need to trust my judgment.”

Aayla took a step towards him, her whole body tilting forward like she was still on the battlefield. “Well I don’t trust your judgment when it puts you in mortal danger!”

“I’m a soldier, Aayla! It’s my job to be in mortal danger!” he said, his voice rasping as his vocal cords reminded him of the abuse they’d been put through today.

Aayla stopped herself from saying more, though she was practically vibrating with anger. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the tactic successfully calming her after several breaths.

Bly eyed her warily, though when she opened her eyes again there was a calm resignation there that assured him their friendship would survive. There was something else in her bearing, though, that gave him pause. Not hostility or anger, but something charged and weighty. It made Bly nervous.

She took another step towards him and lifted her hand to his chest, her fingers not quite touching though Bly could swear he felt the impact. She raised her hand further and pressed her fingers tenderly into the skin of Bly’s neck, and any remaining frustration from their argument was instantly erased.

“Are you alright?”

He swallowed, and he knew she could feel the muscles in his throat constricting under her fingers. “I’ll live.”

“You’d better. Hold still.”

Aayla closed her eyes and hummed in concentration, her entire body calming and entering a state of perfect stillness. The air buzzed with energy, but the flowing, peaceful energy of the ocean rather than the frenetic energy of lightning. Bly had never felt so complete.

Her hands remained on his neck, and under her touch his skin warmed, then the ache gradually lifted, the tenderness melting away.

Bly expected her to step away, but she stayed close, her hand sliding down his neck and landing on his shoulder, one thumb resting along his collarbone.

“I know you’re a soldier, and I know that means you’ll always be in harm’s way,” she said. “But if you died to protect me? If you died because of me? It would kill me, Bly.”

This couldn’t be real. Aayla was so much more than Bly was. She was more powerful, more beautiful, more important. How could he matter so much to her? Bly stared hard at her and shook his head, willing thoughts of kissing her, of loving her, out of his unworthy brain.

“That’s… silly,” he said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

“Why would that be silly?” Aayla asked, her beautiful hazel eyes going wide with confusion. She was still so close to him he could see the subtle shift in color of her irises. He’d never been close enough to anyone besides his brothers to see that before.

Her body leaned further and further into his as he floundered for an answer, his training on Kamino providing absolutely no insight. “I don’t matter that much,” he said eventually. “I’m just… Bly.”

She smiled, the motion crinkling the cerulean skin around her eyes. “Exactly.”

Her nose brushed his, but she didn’t move any further. She just stayed there, breathing the same air as him, teasing, taunting. For several tense, protracted moments Bly resisted. This was definitely not the kind of relationship he was supposed to have with a superior officer. This wasn’t the kind of relationship he was supposed to have with anyone.

Then Bly looked down into Aayla’s eyes again, and the love and affection there overwhelmed him. His brothers loved him, but this was a different kind of love—it was warm and fierce, possessive and generous, selfish and selfless all at the same time. She was so close to him, and she wanted him. Who was he to deny her?

Bly surged forward, catching Aayla’s lips in his. She gasped a little, as if she hadn’t actually believed he would kiss her, but she recovered quickly. She held his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking across the golden tattoos on his cheeks, and her careful, tender kiss made him feel like the only thing that mattered in the galaxy.

It was Bly’s first kiss and he had no idea what he was doing, but he thanked Jango for whatever instincts kept him from making an utter fool of himself. He sensed some uncertainty from Aayla, too, though she was better at hiding it. He decided not to worry too much and to just do what felt good and natural, so he slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her flush against him.

She sighed, the action heaving her chest against his, and he tightened his hold. Aayla slid her hands into his hair and deepened their kiss, her mouth moving against him with greater purpose and intensity.

Even though she was brave and strong and could kill him in a second if she wanted, she felt small and vulnerable in his arms. He wanted to envelope her completely, to protect her and love her and be her place of rest. He wanted to do some other things to her, too, that felt less pure but still mutually desirable.

One of Bly’s hands crept up her waist, his thumb hesitating at the bottom of her ribs, and the other moved to cup the back of her head under her lekku. She moaned and the sinful sound demanded retaliatory action. Bly took several steps forward, backing her into her desk, and he pressed himself against her hard. Her fingers tightened in his hair and her mouth opened, her tongue meeting his.

“General Secura! ARC trooper Broadside here with a status report!” a voice called from just outside the tent.

Bly and Aayla shot away from each other like two identically polarized magnets.

“Come in,” Aayla called, fussily sitting herself behind her desk and trying to distract from the azure blush to her cheeks.

Broadside came in and saluted sharply. “Sir! No more Separatist forces found in the area. Casualties are high and our medical resources insufficient to treat them. Requesting backups from the 361st.”

A slight frown crinkled her beautiful brow. “Of course. Stitches should have requested it even if I’m not there—there’s no need to wait.”

“We’re not allowed to request medical aid without your permission, sir. Stitches was looking for you for a while but couldn’t find you.”

Aayla’s flush deepened and she looked down at her desk, shuffling a few pieces of flimsi around pointlessly. “Well he has my permission now. Dismissed.”

Broadside left the tent and Bly stood awkwardly in the corner while Aayla rested her elbow on her desk, all signs of the happy, eager woman of a few minutes ago gone. Bly knew what she was going to say before she even said it. Hell, he even had to agree with her.

Aayla’s eyes flicked up towards Bly. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

---

The first person to show up to the Martinet looking for Kix had a broken toe.

“I went to see Doc Bosc, but she told me Mrs. Xelaut is having a baby today and to come back tomorrow. It really hurts and I don’t want to wait that long!” the young Tholothian boy said, balancing precariously on his good foot just outside the Martinet’s main port.

Kix showed the kid mercy, letting him inside and finding him a chair. It had been two weeks since their crash landing and the crew was still in full-on rebuild mode, working long hours and getting creative with their supplies to put things back together with limited resources.

“I dunno, kid. I think the good doctor might not like it if I start treating her patients,” Kix said, his hands on his hips.

The boy’s face fell. “I’m not going to stop seeing her. I just need someone to wrap up my foot, and she’s busy right now!”

Kix studied the boy’s hopeful face, trying to weigh out exactly how much trouble he’d cause by lending a hand. Then his eyes fell to the foot the boy kept hovering a few inches off the ground so as not to jostle it. His shoe was off and his big toe was swollen black and blue. Kix’s jaw set. He was a medic, and it was his responsibility to treat the injured, no matter what anyone else said.

“Alright then,” he said, helping the boy to his feet. “Ship’s got a small medbay. I can get a biocast for you and get you some meds that will take the edge off a bit.”

The boy whooped and Kix couldn’t help but smile as he provided a steady arm for the boy to balance with while hopping through the ship. A half hour later and the boy walked out of the ship with a pair of makeshift crutches, a tiny biocast for his toe, and a smile on his face.

Word spread quickly of Kix’s services, and soon locals who couldn’t find a spot at Dr. Bosc’s clinic were showing up to see Kix at the Meson Martinet on a regular basis. Quiggold grumbled and Captain Ithano silently disapproved at first, but they changed their tune once grateful patients and their families started making an extra effort to get them the supplies they needed to fix the ship.

At first it was only one or two people a day, and sometimes nobody at all. Dr. Bosc was an excellent physician, after all, and most of the time she could see her patients as soon as they needed. But then a nasty bout of the flu made its way around town, and soon there were five, ten, fifteen people coming round the ship a day.

Leveraging all of his scrappy field medicine skills, Kix jury-rigged together a tent with some cots and set up a clinic outside the ship. Captain Ithano’s patience was limited, and Kix figured the more he could keep patients from getting underfoot during the repairs, the longer the Captain’s good graces would last.

The flu was a particularly nasty strain, but thankfully as the ship’s doctor Kix had insisted that the whole crew get vaccinated for a wide variety of ailments several months ago, so none of them fell ill. The rest of the town was not so lucky, and soon it seemed every family had been affected one way or another.

By day four of the outbreak, Kix was more tired than he’d been since waking from cryo-sleep. He was constantly inserting IV’s, taking temperatures, changing sheets, getting bedding, and preparing bacta capsules. He was so busy that it took him awhile to realize something strange: he was happy.

Each discharged local felt like a personal victory. The relief writ clear on his patients’ faces when he told them he could help filled, at least partially, the hole inside of Kix that his brothers had left behind. He was in his element, using his skills and expertise to assist those in need.

That newly-discovered happiness deflated when he saw Dr. Bosc marching up to his tent clinic with narrowed eyes and balled-up fists.

“I need to speak with you immediately,” she demanded as soon as she was within hearing distance.

“Certainly,” Kix said, first making sure his patient was comfortable, then leading Dr. Bosc away from the tent where she wouldn’t cause a scene.

“How can I help you, doctor?” Kix asked once they were a reasonable distance away.

“You know exactly why I’m here,” she accused, her tan features taking on a reddish hue.

Now that Kix knew her father was a clone, he could see the resemblance. The lekku were obviously not part of her father’s legacy, but her light brown eyes, thick, dark hair, and the way her mouth set in a wide, flat line all reminded him fiercely of his brothers.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be specific, doctor. I can’t imagine why anyone would be angry at a medic providing medical treatment.”

Dr. Bosc’s eyebrows rose, as if to question the audacity of his statement. Kix had to admit that raising her ire was somewhat satisfying.

“You are stealing my patients. What kind of a person takes advantage of sick people for profit?”

“I don’t charge my patients anything beyond the cost of materials. They are getting my time for free,” Kix said as calmly as he could manage.

“But money isn’t the only problem! These are patients who I’ve developed a rapport with! Patients whose medical histories I know! They’re happy you’re helping them now, but what happens in a month or two, when you’re not here anymore? Did you even think about that?”

“Yes, I did think of that, which is why I offered to help you over a week ago. But you said no. Then what was I supposed to do when people who couldn’t find a spot in your clinic showed up asking me for help? Turn them away? I swore an oath to heal the wounded and restore the weary, and I will not break it just to sooth your wounded ego!”

Dr. Bosc recoiled like he’d physically attacked her. She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, her expression shifting between rage, guilt, and confusion.

“Maybe when you’ve figured out what you’re actually upset about we can talk,” Kix said.

He turned on his heel and walked away, trying his best to just leave it at that. He didn’t know what this woman’s father had done to her, but it didn’t justify the way she was treating him. It didn’t justify her judgment of all of the clones.

“Wait!” Dr. Bosc called from behind him, but Kix just kept walking.

She caught up to him and blocked his path, arms spread wide. “Just wait a second, ok? I’m sorry.”

Kix raised his eyebrows at her. “Is that so?”

“Yes, you were right. I haven’t been fair to you.”

“Fine,” Kix said, moving to walk past her. “Apology accepted.”

“No, wait, please!” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “I really am sorry, and the truth is… I could really use your help.”

“Really?” Kix said flatly. “Now you want my help?”

Dr. Bosc took a deep breath, then exhaled, her posture relaxing and her expression contrite. “Look, I have a lot of problems with my father, but that’s not your fault, and I apologize for letting it affect the way I treat you. I have resources you could use. Set up your tent outside my clinic, and together both our lives will be easier.”

Kix narrowed his eyes at her, attempting to gauge her sincerity. And even if she was sincere, would they be able to work together peacefully?

“Alright. I’ll move everything tonight,” he said.

He’d treated patients in the middle of open warfare. How hard could it be to get along with one middle-aged doctor?

---

Bly was back to calling her General.

He knew it hurt her feelings, but if he was supposed to forget the way she tasted , the way her body felt pressed up against his, then there was no way he could continue to call her Aayla.

They left the GAR headquarters on Coruscant together late one night, the details of their strategy meeting still buzzing around in Bly’s head. The war wasn’t going well. The GAR had seen some decisive victories recently, but it wasn’t enough, and there was no sign of hostilities ending any time soon.

“I’m shipping out tomorrow, but you should report to the Coruscant Guard in the morning. I agreed to lend you to Commander Stone to help oversee the training of a company of new arrivals from Kamino,” General Secura said as they approached the speeder that would take her back to the Jedi Temple.

Bly stopped in his tracks. “More training, General?”

General Secura turned her head back to Bly, her eyebrow raised. “Is there a problem?”

Bly’s jaw clicked. “No, sir.”

“Good.”

She opened the door to the speeder and slid inside. This was the part where Bly stood on the landing pad and watched while General Secura flew away, then turned back to the GAR headquarters and went to sleep in his tiny bunk in his tiny quarters. This was the part where he obediently listened to orders and did what he was told.

Bly slid into the back of the speeder after General Secura, shutting the door behind him and signalling the driver to depart. The driver shot General Secura a questioning look, and she first looked doubtfully at Bly, then nodded to the driver.

“Got something to say, Commander?” she said.

“You’ve got to put me back on the front lines, sir. It’s where I belong.”

“You’re just as much use to me here, Bly.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Please don’t do this out of some misguided attempt to protect me. This is what I want. This is what I was meant to do.”

A pained expression crossed General Secura’s face. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, and there’s no shame in it. I’m a soldier. I’m good at it. I enjoy it. Let me be what I am.”

“You are an amazing soldier, Bly, and I’ll bring you on this next campaign if that’s what you want. But are you sure… Are you sure you’ll never want anything else?”

The question gave Bly pause. “...I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I think that sometimes we have different purposes at different times in our lives. Maybe now you were meant to be a soldier, but some time in the future you can be something else. Maybe now I am meant to be a Jedi, but some time in the future…”

Bly stared at Aayla like she’d grown an extra head. Was she suggesting she might someday leave the Order?

Aayla shook her head and she rubbed at her temples. “Don’t listen to me, I’m just feeling… out of sorts.”

Bly had noticed. Before their strategy session the General had come from a meeting at the Jedi Temple, and he’d seen the tension in her shoulders and the distant look in her eyes.

“Is… something wrong at the Temple?” he asked tentatively.

General Secura looked sideways at him, her gaze hard and measuring for a moment before she relented. “Not wrong, exactly. I was just coming from the tribunal for Ahsoka Tano.”

“Oh.” Bly had heard about that. The young Jedi he’d first met at Quell had been accused of planting bombs at the Jedi Temple. It seemed unlikely to him, but you never knew. People could surprise you. “What was the result?”

“She was ejected from the Order.”

Bly remained silent. He’d known men who’d died in that blast.

“She wasn’t ejected because we found her guilty. She was ejected in order to stand trial in a GAR court. She hasn’t been found guilty yet,” General Secura clarified.

“I’m sorry. She seemed like a really good kid.”

General Secura sighed. “I don’t know if she did it. Maybe we’ll never know. But if one thing is clear it’s that something isn’t quite right within the Order. And I worry for Ahsoka and the other young Jedi. I worry what they’ll face in the years to come.”

The idea of the Jedi Order being less than perfect was entirely foreign to Bly. The Order was beyond reproach, it was the source of leadership for the entire GAR, the font of their moral authority. That General Secura would confide in him her doubts was both incredibly unsettling and a sign of immense trust.

“Well… You are a part of the Order. So I know it must be good,” he said, his eyes flitting shyly up to meet hers.

She smiled a soft, sad smile and rested her hand atop his on the leather seat between them. “Thank you, Bly. And thank you for… understanding.”

She didn’t elaborate, but Bly knew what she meant. He felt the same way. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for understanding the things that are important to me. Thank you for understanding why we can’t be together. Thank you for understanding me.

“Of course, Aayla.”

---

Dr. Bosc and Kix got used to working together surprisingly quickly. They were both medical professionals used to setting aside the minor problems to focus on the life-threatening ones, and cooperation was an absolute necessity due to the severity of the flu season.

At first Dr. Bosc was constantly checking over Kix’s work, grilling his patients about his bedside manner and double-checking that he’d given the right medication at the right time. It grated on Kix’s patience, but there was no place for ego on the battlefield, and he refused to let his irritation with her harm any of the people coming to the clinic for help.

Kix also felt the urge to be on his best behavior to prove Dr. Bosc wrong about clones. It rankled him that he cared what she thought, but he couldn’t get himself to let it go. It wasn’t fair to have to serve as an ambassador for all of his kind, but then again he was the last living clone. He was quite literally the only representation of who they were left in the galaxy.

Over time Kix’s consistent competence combined with the sheer amount of work to get done meant that Dr. Bosc stopped hovering and gave him more and more freedom to treat his patients as he saw fit. His grudging respect for her grew as well, as he witnessed her medical knowledge and the kindness and compassion she showed to everyone who stepped through her doors. Everyone but him, of course.

After another week of taking temperatures, replacing fluids, and administering medicine, the flu outbreak finally abated and the deluge of patients slowed to a trickle. Kix packed up the tent and temporary cots, but he kept on helping Dr. Bosc at the clinic. Work on the Martinet was progressing slowly, and Kix felt more useful assisting at the clinic than guessing at the right wrench to hand Reveth on the ship.

“Kix, can you get the maternity med unit ready for me?” Dr. Bosc asked one morning not long after the wave of flu patients had ebbed.

Kix looked up from the sterilizer he was using to clean their bio-injectors. “Another one?”

Two women had already delivered at the clinic since Kix had arrived—both Felucians. Kix had been busy with the fever patients at the time so he hadn’t assisted with delivery, but he’d seen the women walk out of the clinic the next day with their tiny, rotund babies.

Dr. Bosc shrugged. “Felucians have a cyclical mating season. And seasonal mating-”

“-means seasonal birthing.”

“Exactly. And I’d appreciate it if you lent a hand on this one since we’re having a slower day.”

“Sure thing,” Kix said, finishing up with the sterilizer and going to get the maternity med unit out of storage.

“I won’t need help with anything too complicated.” Dr. Bosc said when Kix returned. “All you’ll need to do is-”

“Actually I’ve delivered a baby before. She wasn’t Felucian, but my understanding is the process is pretty similar.”

Dr. Bosc’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I didn’t realize you were trained in that sort of thing.”

“We focused on field medicine, yes, but we got a rough overview on everything else, too.”

“And when did you run into a woman in labor on the battlefield?”

Kix gave her a secretive grin. “Oh, it’s a long story.”

Dr. Bosc frowned, but any further questioning was halted by the arrival of the expectant mother, her round eyes wide with fear and her hand clenched tightly against her very pregnant belly.

They got to work, ushering the woman to her bed and giving her painkillers while explaining how the long process would go. Kix had only just gotten her settled when a panicked voice shouted out from the entrance.

“Hey! I’ve got a badly injured kid here!”

Kix and the doctor whirled around and a disheveled man staggered in carrying a young boy in his arms. The boy’s leg had been mangled almost beyond recognition and was covered in blood, his face ashen white as he clutched tightly to the man’s shirt.

“Oh my goodness!” Dr. Bosc rushed over to him and directed him to the nearest bed while Kix ran to get some bacta and a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.

“We were out on the combine when his leg got stuck on one of the beams and…” the man who’d brought the boy in said, choking off into sobs.

Kix grimaced as he tied the tourniquet tight and examined the leg. Some white was visible through the red, and his skin was torn to shreds.

The Felucian mother shrieked from somewhere behind Kix, and he jumped. He’d forgotten her in the rush.

Dr. Bosc put a hand on his shoulder. “You handle the kid. I’ll come over to lend a hand whenever I can.”

“You sure?” Kix asked. She’d been fiercely protective of her most serious cases so far, feeling ultimately responsible as the founder of the clinic.

“Yeah. You’re much better at trauma than me.”

Kix nodded, then turned back to the kid. “Alright. Now we’re going to stop the bleeding, then see what we can do to save the leg. What’s your name, kid?”

The kid was shivering, his eyes wide and his skin clammy with shock. “K...K...Kin.”

“Well that’s almost like my name! I’m Kix,” he said as he set bacta patches on the pieces of skin that wouldn’t need sutures to heal. “You’ve been very brave so far, and I know you can do this, alright? We’ll get through it together.”

“O...Ok.”

By nightfall the boy was resting peacefully in his hospital bed, a bio-cast over the entire length of his leg and a stuffed convor tucked under his arm. A tiny Felucian baby slept in a bassinet in the corner while his mother rested on the med unit. Kix and Dr. Bosc checked one last time to make sure there was nothing more their patients needed, then they both retreated to the storage room and nearly collapsed onto the futon at the back of the room.

“Ugh, what a long day!” Dr. Bosc said, stretching her arms wide and cracking her neck.

“I thought things would get easier after flu season,” Kix said.

“That’s the life we signed up for. At least every day is different.”

Kix’s mouth quirked upwards into a weak smile, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Better than the battlefield.”

Dr. Bosc leaned back in the futon and eyed Kix appraisingly, her stubby lekku fitting just over the backrest. “You’re a good doctor, Kix. Kin would have lost his leg if not for you.”

Kix’s smile grew into a smirk. “I’m a medic, not a doctor.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “That kind of certification only matters on a planet like Coruscant. Out here the only thing that matters is your ability. And by that measure you more than qualify.”

Kix didn’t need her approval. He hadn’t even really wanted it. But there was still something pleasant about knowing that working with him had increased her respect for him. “Thanks, doc.”

Dr. Bosc twisted her hands together nervously, and Kix noticed for the first time the blue shade of the palms of her hands. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to trust you. But I do now. Thank you for helping me.”

Kix laughed and let his head fall back over the top of the backrest. “Well, what else was there to do?”

She chuckled softly, and Kix closed his eyes, a deep fatigue setting into his bones. During the war this was when he would have busted out the stims, but Dr. Bosc didn’t have many of those and he didn’t want to keep them from people who really needed them.

“How are you still alive?” Dr. Bosc asked, the curiosity strong in her voice.”You should be much older. You should be dead.”

“I was in cryo-sleep,” Kix said, stifling a yawn. “From right before the end of the war until a year ago. It’s… a long story.”

“For another night,” Dr. Bosc said, getting to her feet with a groan. “You can sleep here overnight if you want. On the futon.”

“You just want me to take care of the baby when she wakes up in an hour.”

“The thought had crossed my mind…”

Kix wanted to say no. He wanted to get up and walk down the hill to the Martinet and collapse into his tiny bunk. ...But it was so far away.

“...You get first shift,” he said.

“Deal.”

---

Tomorrow might be the last day of Bly’s life.

That was technically true every day, but the possibility felt especially distinct tonight.

Bly looked over the holo displaying the plans for their assault, the blue glow of the projection appearing so benign compared to what it all might mean for him and his men. Each of those dark blips on the holo represented a full company of battle droids, and each battle droid was more than capable of firing the shot that killed any one of his men. But the munitions factory the droids guarded was key to their victory, so tomorrow they’d launch their assault.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” General Windu asked.

Commander Fisk nodded smartly next to Bly. “Yes sir.”

Bly found himself distracted momentarily by his fellow commander, the man who had replaced Ponds. Fisk stood with one arm behind his back, just like Ponds always had, and Bly wondered how much a clone’s Jedi General influenced his personality. He wondered if Fisk felt like just a replacement to the ever-stoic General Windu.

“Bly?” General Secura asked.

“No questions, sir.”

“This is likely to be a long, difficult battle,” General Secura continued. “But our victory will protect the lives of millions of Republic civilians, and help our other GAR battalions, too.”

General Windu nodded his agreement. “We’ve got a tough day ahead of us tomorrow. Rest up. Dismissed!”

Fisk and General Windu left the bunker they used as a portable command center and Bly turned to follow them.

“Hold up a moment,” General Secura said from behind him.

“Sir?”

She was standing behind the holo, the Jedi robes she rarely wore draped loosely around her shoulders to ward against the cold of the frigid planet. Her hands twisted tightly in front of her and she bit her lip. “Tomorrow… could be a bad day.”

She was as radiant as ever, her beautiful azure skin glowing luminescent through the lights of the holo, but there was something heavy and serious about her demeanor.

“Yeah. But… we’re prepared,” Bly said, trying to find some words of comfort.

“We’re as prepared as we can be, yes. But even so, many men won’t live to see tomorrow night.”

Bly set his jaw. “We’ll both do everything we can to save as many lives as possible. That’s what we do.”

Aayla stepped out from behind the holo, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “I know, and I’m not pessimistic. I believe in our men, and I believe in the Force. But there’s something I want to give you before tomorrow.”

“Give me?” Bly asked, confused. He wasn’t really in the habit of owning things.

“Yes. I was waiting for the right time, but considering the dangers, I don’t want to miss my opportunity waiting for the perfect moment.”

She took another step towards Bly, but he stayed put by the door, ready to escape if he needed to. It had never been easy holding back his feelings for Aayla, but lately it’d been getting harder. She’d been closer, more familiar, always aware of him in a way that thrilled and tortured him. But he had to stay strong, for both their sakes.

General Secura noticed his caution, a look of hurt briefly flitting past her face. She stopped with a healthy distance between them, and she forced her hands to her sides .

“As soon as the war is over, I’m going to leave the Jedi Order.”

Bly’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking it over for some time now, and I’ve made my decision. I can’t leave now, not with the Republic and the 327th depending on me, but once the war is over I will renounce my vows.”

“But… why?”

She pulled something from a pocket in her robes and stepped just close enough to reach out and hand him a small wooden cube. He turned the cube in his hand, its smooth surface interrupted by precisely carved designs. Three sides depicted a yellow rectangle, identical in design to the tattoos on his cheeks. The other three sides were painted with diagonal blue stripes.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Among my people there is a tradition. We pass down a wooden totem from mother to daughter, and when a woman gets married she adds a piece to it representing herself and her partner. As a Jedi, I never expected to participate in this tradition, but now that I am leaving the Order…”

Bly froze, his eyes still trained on the wooden block in his hand. The golden-yellow of his tattoos, the deep blue of her skin.

Aayla closed the distance between them, setting her hand on his and closing his fingers around the cube. “When I leave will you go with me? Will you be part of my family?”

The textured sides of the cubes felt sharp and distinct under his hyper-sensitive fingers. It was like watching his own life from above, from the side, from anywhere else. Because how could this be real? How could this be happening to someone like him?

When they had kissed before it had made a strange sort of sense. General Secura was under a tremendous amount of stress, and though she talked tough and didn’t let it affect her command, she’d always had a soft spot for her men. Under those conditions he could understand her momentarily forgetting herself and misplacing her emotions onto him.

But this? Taking the time to carefully consider and then choosing him?

“I don’t understand,” he said, the understatement of the century.

Her head tilted to the side and her eyes softened as she stepped even closer to him, resting a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Bly. Why should it be so hard to believe that I love you?”

He melted at her touch, all of his defenses instantly neutralized. He closed his eyes and turned his cheek into her palm, the hand that wasn’t holding the wooden cube coming up to rest on the back of her hand. Still, he could not speak.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever met, Bly,” she said, her voice now a whisper, “And I would be honored to spend the rest of my days with you.”

A decade of training on Kamino, thousands of meetings about discipline and regulations, even the very structure of his DNA weighed against him, holding him back, pulling him down. Then he opened his eyes and looked into her powerful, fierce, compassionate, beloved face, and he found the strength to speak.

“Yes!” He gasped. “Yes, I want that. I want you. Aayla Secura.”

He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, a feeling of breathtaking, unbelievable joy taking hold. His cheek rested on her lekku, and her fingers anchored into the lines of his back.

“When the war is over, we leave together,” Aayla said, nuzzling gently into his neck. “No matter what anyone says.”

“Together,” Bly agreed.

---

It took two months, some elbow grease, and a lot of creative use of scrap, but eventually repairs on the Meson Martinet were finished.

Quiggold insisted on a going-away party, both to celebrate the Martinet’s repairs and to thank the locals who had generously lent a hand. Reveth and Captain Ithano were against it, but Reeg was excited for any excuse to drink and Kix thought it might be nice to spend one last evening with Dr. Bosc, so the three of them outvoted the rest.

A generous spread of grilled fungi, nysillim soup, and other local delicacies filled up the small counter space in the ship’s mess, and the crew crowded around the table with Dr. Bosc, several local scrappers, and a farmer Reeg had grown close to. It was the Martinet’s way of saying farewell to the town they’d called home for two months.

The conversation was friendly and the food comforting, and Kix found himself relaxing, his mind called back to similar camaraderie in the mess hall and simpler times.

“And then Reeg came home with a power converter he bought off a Jawa, and he was surprised it didn’t work!” Reveth said, crowing with laughter.

“That power converter did work. It’s not my fault you broke it!” Reeg protested.

“Back me up here, Kix,” Reveth said.

Kix leaned back and laughed, feeling light hearted for the first time in what felt like ages. “It was busted from the beginning and you know it, Reeg.”

“Don’t listen to him, the hole in his head has turned his brain to mush!” Reeg said, his eyes glowing the particularly vibrant yellow that always accompanied an Arcona who was well in his cups.

Kix gave Reeg a mostly playful shove. He didn’t mind some good-natured ribbing, but Reeg’s joke hit too close to topics Kix would rather leave alone.

“I noticed that incision, Kix. What happened there?” Dr. Bosc asked curiously between sips of wine.

Kix grimaced. He’d thought his hair had grown back enough to cover it up, but he supposed it was inevitable that a trained eye like Dr. Bosc would pick up on it.

“Just a minor procedure. Not a big deal,” Kix said, eyes trained on the wall across from him.

“Not a big deal?” scoffed Reeg. “I’d say removing a mind control chip in your brain is a pretty big deal!”

“What?” Dr. Bosc asked, alarmed.

“Really, Reeg. Cut it out,” Kix warned.

The table fell silent, and Kix looked down at his plate and unenthusiastically pushed his fungus steak around. Out of the corner of his eye Dr. Bosc kept shooting him worried looks, like he might break out into a violent rage at any moment. Great. And I was just finally getting her to trust me.

“Doc, there’s really nothing to worry about,” Reeg said, noticing Dr. Bosc’s disquiet. “Good ol' Palpatine had a finger in every clone’s brain, but Kix figured out how he was doing it and had the chip removed.”

“I don’t know what you’re-” Dr. Bosc started.

“Got them to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t have done otherwise. How else do you think the Republic got every clone to summarily execute the Jedi without so much as a hearing?”

Kix’s grip on his fork tightened, whitening his knuckles. He really did not want to talk about this. The clatter of metal on ceramic echoed around the mess, and Kix looked up. Dr. Bosc had dropped her fork, and she looked about two seconds from throwing up.

“Doc, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Reeg said.

“Would you shut up already? Haven’t you done enough?” Reveth hissed.

Dr. Bosc shot to her feet, face sickly pale and eyes wide, and fled from the table without so much as a goodbye. Kix stared after her for a long moment, completely at a loss as to what to do.

The rest of the table fell silent and Kix swallowed, turning back to his plate. He started to take another bite of his fungus steak, but a cough from Captain Ithano forced his gaze upwards. The Captain was lounging comfortably in his chair, but his arms were crossed and his masked head tilted sideways. He caught Kix’s eye and jerked his head towards the door. Kix got up and started out the door after the doctor. The Captain wasn’t the kind of person you said no to.

Outside the ship, Felucia’s legendary night sky painted the heavens. It was a little cold, and Kix rubbed at his arms as he followed Dr. Bosc to a small clearing not far from the ship. She stood in the middle of the clearing, looking up at the sky with an oddly blank expression on her face.

“Hey, Dr. Bosc, I can leave if you want, but I wanted to make sure you’re ok-”

“Is it true, what Reeg said?”

“Is what true?”

“That there was some sort of mind control involved in the execution of the Jedi Order?”

Kix shifted from one foot to the other, unconsciously scratching at the still-puffy scar above his ear. “Yeah. I was in cryo-sleep when it happened, but I found out about it beforehand. I wanted to warn the others, but the enemy learned I knew and captured me. As far as I can tell, none of my brothers had any ability to resist when the order came through.”

Dr. Bosc stayed turned away from Kix, her oval face tilted up at the full moon. Kix maintained a respectful distance between them, though the shimmering reflection of moonlight on Dr. Bosc’s cheeks suggested she might be in need of comfort.

“Do you know why I hated you at first?” Dr. Bosc asked eventually, her voice cracking slightly on the words.

What did she mean? Kix had thought it was because her father had treated her poorly. “I’m… not sure.”

“My mother was a Jedi General, and my father was her second-in-command. When they sent me to my uncle and aunt, they said that they loved me, that they loved each other. But only a few months later when the Republic accused the Jedi of treason, my father killed my mother. Shot her in the back without a second thought.”

Kix’s heart stopped, and he stared at Dr. Bosc as if seeing her for the first time. Her stubby lekku extended just beyond her blue, curly hair. The palms of her hands were tinged with color like she’d been writing with a leaky indigo pen. She was tall and elegant, her doctor’s hands moving with a warrior’s grace.

“I came here to Felucia because this is where it happened,” Dr. Bosc continued. “I don’t really know why. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe I just wanted to understand why it happened. But now, maybe I finally have an answer.”

“Your father didn’t willingly kill your mother. That I can promise you.”

“That’s what I’d like to think, hearing what Reeg said about the chip in your brain. But I don’t think I’ll ever really know. How can I know what he was thinking?”

“Is your first name Ayy?”

She froze. “How did you know that?”

“Wait here,” Kix said, then he rushed back to his bunk on the Martinet, locating the crate of personal effects he had stowed underneath it. He rummaged around, then found what he was looking for at the bottom of his crate.

He turned around only to find Dr. Bosc waiting in the doorway to the crew quarters. Kix walked over to her and handed her the object, placing it carefully in her hands. She opened her fingers slowly, revealing a small wooden cube with yellow rectangles on three sides and blue stripes on the other three sides.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Kix said.

---

Bly thanked the Force and whatever gods there were that he was there when Aayla collapsed.

“Ahhh!” she moaned on the hard durasteel floor of her office on the Venator, her hand grasping at her abdomen.

“What is it?” Bly asked, alarmed. Aayla was tough, and he’d seen her take blaster fire to the back without flinching.

“I’ve been having these pains all day, but I took some stims and painkillers and brushed it off. But now- Ahhh!” she cut off with a sharp cry.

“Aayla? Aayla??” Bly crouched down by her side, unable to get her to her feet. She clutched tightly to his arm.

“Find a medic, please,” she said between gasps.

Bly rushed out of the office, and blessedly one of the first men he saw walking the halls had the red medic cross on his arm.

“Medic! Yes, you there! I need assistance immediately!”

Judging by his blue painted armor, he was one of the medics on loan from the 501st for training. If anything that might be for the best—Bly preferred as few troopers as possible see their General in her weakened state.

“What’s your designation?” Bly asked as he punched in the code to get back into Aayla’s office.

“CT-6116. Kix, sir.”

The door whooshed open and Bly and Kix rushed to Aayla’s side.

“What happened?” Kix asked.

“I don’t know…” Aayla said through gritted teeth. “My stomach… hurts.”

Kix pulled off his helmet and set it on the ground, a grim expression on his face.

“Could be appendicitis. Let’s get her to the medbay-”

“No!” Aayla said. “No… Just… Find out what’s wrong first. Here.”

Bly shot Aayla a confused look, but she just shook her head. Not now.

“If you say so, sir. Commander, help me get her onto the couch.”

Together they lifted Aayla onto the couch in the corner of the office, and Kix stuffed a few pillows under her shoulders to keep her head elevated. Kix knelt by Aayla’s side and began asking her a series of rapid-fire questions and Aayla answered as best she could between gasps and moans of pain. Bly hovered uselessly overhead, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other.

“Commander, would you go to the medbay and bring me a portable med unit?” Kix asked.

“Right away,” Bly said, understanding that Kix was probably just trying to get rid of him but wanting to be useful all the same.

When he came back with the med unit, the door to Aayla’s office was shut and locked. He knocked on it, and Kix opened it only long enough to pull the med unit inside. When Bly tried to walk in after him, Kix shook his head.

“It’ll be just me and the General here for a bit, Commander.”

“You can’t order me-”

“General’s orders, sir.”

The door shut in front of Bly’s face, and he blinked uncomprehendingly at it for a long moment before going to his desk and sitting down. The longest thirty minutes of Bly’s life passed and Kix opened the door and motioned for Bly to come in. Aayla lay in the med unit, hooked up to various sensors and drips, but looking much calmer and at peace.

“So do you know what’s wrong? Will she be alright?” Bly asked.

Kix nodded to Aayla. “She can probably answer that better than me, sir.”

Aayla opened her eyes and reached a hand out towards Bly. He shot a sideways glance at Kix, but took her hand in his.

“Bly,” Aayla said, her eyes full of a strange mixture of fear and delight. “I’m in labor.”

Bly’s brain stuttered to a halt. In labor? Aayla? Aayla kept talking in front of him, but he heard her words as if through water. Did this mean she was about to become a mother? Did this mean he was about to become a father?

“Bly! I need you to focus!” Aayla’s sharp voice cut through the haze.

“Yes sir!” Bly barked.

Aayla let out a weak chuckle and squeezed Bly’s hand. “I know this is strange, but we have to figure this out. We won’t have much time if we want her to have a good life.”

“Her?” Bly asked.

Aayla nodded towards the medic. “Kix says It’s a girl.”

“How have you been pregnant this whole time, and nobody ever noticed?” Bly asked.

“I suspected... But I was so busy, and it seemed impossible…” Aayla said.

“It helped that Twi’leks bear smaller children, and on top of that this one’s premature. It’s still pretty surprising that nobody realized, though. We can only hope that the child will be healthy,” Kix said.

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Bly that his child might be in danger, but as soon as the words left Kix’s mouth a fear he’d never before experienced took hold of his heart. How strange, that a being he hadn’t even known existed mere minutes earlier had such power over him already.

“I’m about to get to the hard part. I want you here with me,” Aayla said, her fingers tightening around Bly’s.

“Of course,” Bly said, kneeling by her side.

“The silver lining of such a premature birth is that labor will probably be relatively easy,” Kix said, moving down to Aayla’s feet and helping her get into position. “That being said, a lot can go wrong, and the General has requested that we bring no other medics in unless absolutely necessary. Be ready for anything.”

Bly held Aayla’s hand and offered her encouraging words while the 501st medic coached her through her pushes. He felt powerless to offer any real assistance, but Aayla seemed to take comfort in his presence, so he tried not to let his feelings of inadequacy show. Aayla was beautiful and fierce, her warrior spirit showing through in spite of the sweat and blood and roars of effort.

When the child finally came, Kix wiped the mess of childbirth off and handed her to Aayla, her tiny pale form shaking from the shock of her grand entrance into a new world.

She was gorgeous. She had wispy, blueish hair and tiny lekku nubs on the back of her head, and her delicate hands faded in color from a pale tan to a greyish blue. She cried and cried, but to Bly they were the miraculous sounds of a brand new body working, and he’d never heard something so melodious in his life.

“She’s so small…” Aayla whispered. “And pale.”

“She’s quite a bit smaller than the average Twi’lek newborn, but her vitals are good,” Kix said. “And newborns are always born looking pretty pale. She’ll get her color soon enough.”

Aayla held the little girl out to Bly, and he took her delicately in his hands, handling her like a live grenade about to explode. Her tiny face scrunched up and her cloudy grey eyes blinked open and closed as she turned her meandering gaze on the room, her eyes never quite focusing on anything. Bly held a finger out to her, and her tiny digits wrapped around his index finger, her grip surprisingly strong. Bly’s heart rose to his throat, and he didn’t know what to say.

“She’s perfect,” he choked out eventually, handing her back to Aayla.

Tears were coursing down Aayla’s cheeks. “She is,” Aayla said. And for five perfect minutes, they simply basked in that fact.

The little girl’s crying stopped, and she blindly snuggled into Aayla’s chest. Aayla looked up at Bly, the tears of joy in her eyes turning cold and full of regret. “And now we have to find a way to keep her safe.”

“She doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, but this ship doesn’t really have the facilities to care for a premature newborn,” Kix said.

“And if anyone finds out where she came from, I’d be decommissioned, you’d be kicked from the Order, and who knows what would happen to her,” Bly said.

“I have family on Hosnian Prime who will take her in,” Aayla said, arms cradling her child even as they talked about sending her away. “I can issue the order to Kix now, give him whatever authorization he needs. I’ll send them word and ask that they watch over her until the war is over.”

“Until the war is over…” Bly repeated. He’d only just met this child, but he might not see her again until the end of this seemingly endless war.

Aayla hugged the child to her tightly, and she started to cry a tiny, mewling cry.

“We don’t have any other choice,” Aayla said.

“I know,” Bly said, resting his hand on Aayla’s shoulder. “But… we should enjoy what little time we have with her now. What should we name her?”

Aayla held the little girl out in front of her, careful to support her neck, and looked into her adorable, slightly-smooshed face. “How about Ayy? It means star.”

Bly smiled. “I love it.”

They had thirty minutes with her. That was all. Then they handed her to Kix, who’d made a makeshift bassinet for her that he could use to transport her without drawing too many questions. Kix left them in Aayla’s study, and Bly held Aayla as she lay crying in her med unit until she fell asleep.

He knew it was for the best, but it felt wrong on a deep, visceral level to be sending their child out there into the universe without anything to help guide her way. If Bly had held any reservations about leaving the GAR after the end of the war before, those reservations vanished with the birth of his child. Anything that kept him from being in his daughter’s life was not worth the sacrifice.

An idea occurred to Bly and he jumped up from the med unit, kissing Aayla on the forehead and murmuring to her that he’d be right back before leaving the office. He jogged down the halls of the Venator to the shuttle bay, where he knew Kix would be headed with the baby to catch the first available flight off the ship. Hopefully Bly would be able to catch him in time.

Kix was already halfway up the gangplank to the shuttle when Bly found him.

“Hey, Kix! Wait up!”

Kix looked back, his hands still carrying the piece of cargo that looked like a simple crate but actually held Bly’s newborn child.

“Yes sir?” he asked.

Bly fished around in his utility belt for something, an object he kept with him at all times. It would be hard to see it go, but he wanted Ayy to have some piece of her parents to keep with her, so she’d always know that they loved her. He found the small wooden cube and placed it in Kix’s hand.

“Will you give this to her? Or to her caretakers, to give to her?”

“I’ll see to it personally, sir,” Kix said.

He knew it wasn’t a good idea. It would look strange to anyone watching, and might bring up questions. But Bly didn’t care. He knelt down next to the crate Kix was carrying and set his hand on it, leaning forward to rest his forehead against its cold metal surface.

“Know that you’ll always be loved, Ayy.”

---

“After I left General Secura and Commander Bly, I went straight to your aunt and uncle on Hosnian Prime. They took you but they wouldn’t let you keep the cube. They said that to other Twi’leks, it would be obvious what it meant. It would be too incriminating,” Kix said, sitting next to Ayy on his narrow bunk aboard the Martinet.

She fingered the cube in her hand, silently studying its painted surface. It had rested, untouched, in the vacuum of space for most of its existence, so it didn’t show any of its fifty years’ wear.

“They were right. This was definitely meant for my mother’s kalikori,” she said.

“Kalikori?”

“You know, the figure on my desk? It’s a wooden totem that Twi’lek families keep. A sort of genealogical record.”

“Ah,” Kix said, remembering. “Well I’m glad I could finally return it to you. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Ayy’s fingers curled around the cube, and her expression hardened. “Brain chip or no, if he loved us how could he have killed her?”

Kix pursed his lips. This was the hard part. How could anyone who hadn’t experienced Order 66 themselves truly understand? How could Ayy come to know the intentions of her long-dead father’s heart?

“You know that we were manufactured, right?” he said eventually.

“Yes… On a planet called Kamino.”

“That’s right. The Kaminoans created us to be the perfect soldiers. They tweaked our DNA, gave us specialized training, and even included a sort of failsafe. A chip in our brains that, when called on, could override our individual agency and force us to follow certain commands.

“I’ve read accounts from fellow troopers who were part of the destruction of the Jedi Order. It was an impulse that was impossible to overpower, completely inescapable. And afterwards, most troopers didn’t even realize what they’d done. Only a very few were able to break free, years later.

“I know it might be hard to believe but… I don’t want you to have to go through life believing your father willingly killed your mother. None of us had a choice. None of us ever had a choice, really.”

The sound of laughter coming from the mess of the Martinet penetrated their quiet bubble, and Ayy closed her fingers around the small cube and shut her eyes. She bowed her head, and for a moment Kix wondered if she was meditating, or praying, or somehow trying to commune with her departed parents. He wondered if it was working.

“Did you keep the chip after you had it removed?” she asked eventually, eyes still closed.

“Yes, in storage in the medbay. You can examine it, if you like.”

“I would like that.”

She leaned back against the cold metal wall of the ship and folded her arms, her eyes distant and contemplative.

“What were my parents like?” she asked. “My uncle and aunt didn’t really know my mother very well, and they didn’t know anything about Commander Bly.”

“I didn’t know them as well as I knew the people in my battalion, but from what I saw, General Secura was very disciplined and dedicated to the Jedi Order. She understood the sacrifices required of war, and prioritized the mission over individuals, including herself. Bly was the same, and he was also extremely loyal to General Secura. To be honest, I was shocked that they were involved. They were alike in a lot of ways—the last two people I would have suspected of breaking any rules for personal reasons.”

“Really?” Ayy asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Yeah. When I was helping with your delivery, and I realized that Bly was the father?” Kix shook his head at the memory. “Well I guess it’s just a testament to how much they loved each other.”

“Perhaps....”

She held the cube up to her face, examining it carefully with her golden-brown eyes. It was amazing how much things could change. He’d seen her as a brand new infant, only minutes old, with eyes a cloudy grey and skull still soft and malleable. There was something gratifying about having seen her then and now witnessing the woman she had become.

“Why is your name Bosc?” Kix asked. “If you’d gone by Secura I would have realized much sooner who you are.”

“My uncle and aunt’s cover story for me was that I was a distant cousin. They were trying to protect my mother, trying to prevent anyone from realizing who she was. And then after she died they heard rumors that the Empire was hunting down anyone related to the Jedi, so they kept it a secret.”

“And they were the ones who told you about your mother and father?”

“They heard about her death, but it wasn’t until later that they found out it was my father who’d pulled the trigger. When I was older, I looked up his service record. I thought I might find something to help me understand. Or I thought I might find that there was a mistake—that it was someone else who’d actually killed her.”

“Did it help?” Kix asked.

“Not really. He was a model soldier, even more decorated after the fall of the Republic than before...” she trailed off, her eyes going distant as she stared into the wall opposite Kix’s bunk.

Then her brows furrowed, and she grabbed Kix’s arm in a vice like grip. “You know what he did after the war?”

“...What?” Kix asked.

“‘Above and beyond the call of duty,’ it said. ‘Exceptional bravery,’ it said. He was killed in combat not very long after my mother, rushing an enemy’s fortified position without backup.”

A terrible sense of dread built in Kix’s chest as he realized what Ayy was suggesting, what his brother might have been driven to by the dissonance between the screaming of his heart and the chip in his brain.

“The man I knew wouldn’t have been able to stomach how the war ended, even if his mind wasn’t his own,” he admitted, his gut tying in a knot of mourning that resurfaced any time he stopped working long enough to think about his lost brothers.

Ayy’s grip on Kix’s arm tightened until her nails dug into his skin, and her jaw clenched and unclenched as an understanding of who her father was and what he had done slowly dawned on her. She bit her lip, and a single tear slid down the bridge of her nose—a strong, arched nose that could have been copied right off her father’s face. Kix thought of how the older cadets had comforted him each time he’d failed in training, and he reached the arm she wasn’t holding over to her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

The dam broke, and Ayy collapsed onto Kix’s shoulder, her sobs quiet but powerful. The physicality of it all was unfamiliar to Kix, but he wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, hoping that his simple proximity might help in some measure.

As his brother’s daughter cried in his arms, Kix noticed something strange. The knot in his stomach, the twisted coil of sorrow and regret and thousands of lost faces, slowly began to ease. The coils loosened and some pieces even slipped free, and he realized that Ayy Secura was perhaps the only person left in the galaxy who might mourn as deeply as he for his lost brothers.

“It’s not fair,” Ayy said, her voice hoarse from her tears.

Kix nearly barked in gruesome laughter at how well she’d summed up the past several years of his waking life. “No, it’s not.”

He pulled back from her, holding her shoulders so she could look him in the eye. “But they have some small scrap of justice, now. Something I think would make them happy.”

“What?” Ayy asked, wiping at her eyes and looking to Kix for guidance as if she wasn’t almost thirty years’ his senior.

“You know that they both loved you. You know where you come from.”

The corner of Ayy’s mouth turned up into a smirk that Kix had seen a thousand times on the faces of his brothers, though the skin of her lips had a distinct blue tinge to it.

“In the GAR we used to always say we were brothers. Same heart, same blood. You’re part of that brotherhood now, Ayy. So long as you want to be. Always.”

Ayy’s smirk turned into a full blown smile, and she wiped at her eyes again. “I’m glad your ship blew up over my planet.”

Kix laughed, though the more he thought about it he had to agree with her. Before coming to Felucia he’d begun to doubt that there was anything of importance left for him to do in the galaxy. Now he realized his brothers had left behind a great work for him to continue, and a legacy to protect.

That night he walked Ayy back to the clinic, and they talked about everything Kix remembered about Bly and Aayla as they strolled through the humid night air. When Kix ran out of things specific to her parents, he told her about the GAR, about his brothers and the Jedi who commanded them, about their camaraderie, skill, and passion.

When they reached the clinic, Kix lingered a long while. He didn’t know how good his odds of coming back to Felucia were, and it was hard to say goodbye to the person who felt like the last vestiges of his old life in the galaxy. In the end he didn’t have to say goodbye, because Ayy invited him in to help her with something important.

Kix followed Ayy to the corner of the clinic, unsure what to expect, but Ayy’s intentions became clear when she reached for the kalikori still standing watch from her desk. She pulled the wooden cube Kix had given her out of her pocket, and skillfully inserted it into an empty link in the chain of one branch.

“I used to have a fake one here, for the people who were supposed to be my parents,” Ayy explained as she worked. “But once I decided nobody cared who I was I took it out. It felt wrong.”

She stepped back and revealed the updated kalikori, the blue-and-yellow cube hanging between an intricately carved unpainted block and another block below it with symbols Kix recognized as both traditionally Twi’lek and Human. The kalikori was complete, the gap in her family tree filled.

“Thank you, Kix. I hope our paths cross again,” Ayy said.

“Me too.”

The next day as Felucia disappeared in the rear window of the Meson Martinet, Kix’s thoughts turned to the future for the first time since he’d awoken. He was ready to move forward now, doing what he always did. Healing.

Epilogue

Kix hadn’t meant to join another army, but somehow or other his wanderings brought him into the Resistance. He no longer fought, instead spending his days in the Resistance base’s medbay on D’Qar treating freedom fighters and researching improved procedures for restoration.

He never found out how she found his holonet address, but one day he received a message from a far-away friend on Felucia.

Dear Kix,

I realize that I never apologized for how I treated you, and I’d like to do so now. You’ve made my family whole. You’ve helped me be proud of myself and where I came from—both halves. In many ways you’ve given me back my parents. I wish you well in all you do, and know that you will always have a place here if your journey ever takes you back to Felucia. I am proud to have an uncle like you.

With my whole heart,

Ayy Secura

#swsecretsanta2020 #star wars #the clone wars #fanfic #tcw #kix #blyla #aayla secura #commander bly #holy crap this is a long one-shot #i honestly love this story so i hope you love it too

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years ago

Text

Resol’nare - Part Six

A/N: OH BOY. I am excited about this one. There are a lot of crumbs that I have been wanting to drop for so long that get dropped here... and even more to be dropped that get hinted at here. The more I talk about crumbs the hungrier I get though so lemme shut up. Enjoy the trail.

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: After a night of asking and answering questions, Navina wakes up aboard The Promise, and it turns out that she and Mando still have some things to discuss before they each go on their way... things that could possibly help her answer the questions she’s been trying to answer for years- what happened the night she and her family left for Yavin? And... who is the strange man who keeps appearing in her dream?

Word Count: 4.3k

Concordia

“Don’t let go.”

Navina squeezed her hand tightly. Determined to keep her grip, she focused on turning her legs over quickly enough to keep up. “Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.” I won’t. She felt her forehead wrinkle and dug deeper, her own breathing loud in her ears as she pushed herself to run faster.

Small twigs and saplings snapped under her boots as she raced through the darkness. She couldn’t see the forest floor, the thick canopy of trees blocking out any light from the stars. “It’s even darker now than it used to be.” It was something her parents would say, telling her of a time when the lush moon had been all but stripped of its natural resources, giant quarries carved into the ground so that beskar could be excavated. But she was far too young to remember that. Nights on Concordia had always been pitch black for her.

She wondered if she’d be able to see the stars in their new home, or if there would be tall trees there, too.

Before she could get carried away with thoughts of silver constellations though, a column of bright amethyst light ignited a few paces ahead of them. What is that? She gasped, her eyes growing wide as her mother came to an abrupt halt, the woman shoving her daughter roughly behind herself, gloved fingers still clamped around her hand.

“Don’t let go, Ina’ika, and don’t be afraid.” I won’t. I’m...I’m not. Her free arm curled around her mother’s thigh, her palm resting against the smooth, cool plate of armor there. Even at six years old she knew that fear was not part of The Way.

“Step aside and let us pass,” her father’s voice was stern and as she peered around her mother’s hip, she was not surprised to see that he had drawn his blaster, the weapon pointed in the direction of the purple light. He used another word then, one she had never heard, to refer to the man holding the glowing object that she realized was some type of sword. Jedi.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” The stranger had a deep, clear voice, but despite his refusal to comply with her father’s request, Navina could tell that the man was not interested in hurting them. She saw his dark brown eyes and the calm in them as he lowered the sword. “I’ve been looking for someone I can trust, and I’ve just found them.” There was no breeze, the night air still and silent in the thick forest, but she saw the man’s long brown robes ripple around his legs as he took a step closer.

“And why is that?” Her father challenged, stepping back to close the distance between himself and his wife and daughter. “Why would a Jedi trust a Mandalorian?” That word again. “Our kind have been enemies for-”

“Our kind have both been blinded by the Republic. Now I’m afraid we are each other’s only hope. I’ve been watching you, Gavil Harsa, and I know I am speaking to a man of honor.”

Her mother whipped her own blaster from its holster on her thigh, and she heard her father swear under his breath. “How do you know my name? What do you mean you’ve been watching me?” He brandished his blaster but the stranger didn’t flinch, the luminous violet weapon still held at the man’s side.

“There’s no time for that now.” The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sense of urgency entering his tone that wasn’t there before, hinting at a coming storm. “There is no one in the Order that I can trust to do what is necessary to ensure its survival, just as you,” he stepped closer, the hem of his robes fluttering almost unnaturally again, as though he moved through space differently than others. “You cannot rely on your rulers to choose the right path for the preservation of your people.” He nodded towards Navina and her mother. “That’s why you’re leaving with your family, isn’t it?” Navina felt the man’s eyes fall on her, lingering for a moment before they seemed to lighten. “You want to give your daughter a chance to change things for the future.” He blinked and returned his gaze to her father’s visor. She wondered if Jedi meant that the man could see her father’s eyes.

Silence stretched for long seconds, only the sounds of her parents’ breathing and her own loud heartbeat in her ears filling the darkness that surrounded the stranger’s glowing sword. Finally, her father spoke again. “What is it you want from us?”

“Nothing that you wouldn’t do freely, according to your own code,” the man stated. He gestured calmly with his free hand, pointing at his robes to indicate that he was going to reach into them. Navina felt her mother’s weight shift and saw the barrel of her father’s blaster drop slightly as the man pulled out a small bundle. She couldn’t see it clearly, the man holding the thing at chest height, but she could tell that whatever it was, it was moving. “You’ll care for it, until the Order is safe.” It wasn’t a question, nor did the man give her father time to respond before depositing the bundle in his arms, forcing him to quickly holster his weapon.

“Keera, its…”

But her mother was busy receiving another, smaller bundle from the man. “This,” he held the item out, waiting as the woman decided to relinquish her weapon or her child’s hand. Navina felt her fingers go numb as her mother reluctantly slipped her blaster back into place. “This must be kept safe, too.” Though the thing was loosely wrapped in dark fabric, Navina thought she saw a faint glow emanating from it. By the time her mother had brought it down to tuck into her pocket though, it had gone dull, if it had been shining in the first place.

“I don’t understand.” Her father had yet to look up from the bundle in his arms. If it had been daylight, Navina could have seen the thing’s reflection in her father’s shiny beskar helmet, but even with the light cast by the stranger’s sword it was too dark for that. “Why have you chosen us?”

“Our enemies think that we are enemies,” the man answered, placing his hand on her father’s armored shoulder. “But perhaps more importantly, so do our allies.”

Navina released her hold on her mother’s leg, inching closer to where her father stood. I just want to see…

But sudden shouts accompanied by heavy footfalls from the darkness that they had just run through caused her to whip her head around so quickly that her braids smacked the sides of her face. “Gavil,” her mother hissed, “they’re coming.”

With that, the man stepped past the Mandalorian family, lifting his blade. “Go!” He turned his head so that his chin was parallel with his shoulder, the color of his sword darkening a shade but somehow managing to glow even brighter. “I’ll take care of them, but you must go. Now.”

Navina watched as her father nodded. “This is the Way.” The stranger nodded back, and then as abruptly as his weapon had ignited it went dark, plunging the world into blackness again.

“Navina!” Her name seemed to be coming from all sides then, and she couldn’t tell which way to turn. “Navina, look at me!” I can’t! I can’t see...anything! She knew she had to run but she didn’t know where, and she realized that she was no longer holding her mother’s hand. No! I didn’t let go! I didn’t-

“Navina?”

Another voice, one less familiar but not threatening, echoed from above her, and as she heard her name again she felt as though she were being lifted out of the darkness. Who...who is..?

Another flash of purple light, brighter than anything she’d just seen burned through her mind then, and in it she saw a combination of images she couldn’t explain: a dagger, her name carved into it- a sculpted symbol resembling a horned creature- a circular tower, rising above a sea of sand- the little one, smiling at her while he splashed in the stream- another symbol, this one scratched and painted, resembling an owl on blue armor- her own gloved hand, shaking and slick with red. She gasped as the voice called her again, pulling her through the purple light and out of the torrent of images.

-- -- -- -- --

Concordia

The Promise

“Hey...Navina?”

A pair of strong hands landed on her biceps, leather clad fingers squeezing with quick, firm pressure. She inhaled sharply through her nose as her eyes opened wide, chest heaving as she was met with the tinted visor of the Mandalorian’s sleek helmet. Glancing down at her right hand, she noticed that it was curled around the armrest of the co-pilot seat, the skin around her knuckles straining from her vicelike grip.

Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.

Her mother’s voice still echoed in her ear as she released the armrest. It was a dream. I… She took a shaking breath, still staring at her hand. But I don’t remember any of that. How-

She heard her name again, the modulator in the man’s helmet suddenly clicking to her as the unfamiliar voice that had pulled her from the dream. He flexed his fingers around her arms again, and she was suddenly aware that he was still holding her, suddenly aware of the way the worn material felt against her skin. Oh. He...I…that feels… Her eyes moved from her own hand to his left one, the thumb pressed into the skin just below the short sleeve of her shirt.

He seemed to realize in the same moment that she had that he was still touching her, and he pulled both hands back immediately. “I’m… sorry. I,” he sat back in his seat and cleared his throat. “You were… it sounded like you were dreaming and-”

Navina sat up, blinking rapidly as reality came hurtling back to her, the dark cockpit illuminated only by the switchboard lights and what little starlight came through the glass. I’m on Nevarro...on a ship, I’m waiting for Firo and… She turned and again was met with dark, T- shaped visor, the only indication of where the man beneath the helmet’s eyes were. And I had a dream that… She realized she must have been speaking or at least making some kind of sound, based on what he had said and how he had been clutching her arms. Dank farrick, that’s kriffing embarrassing. “I’m sorry, I… did I wake you? I was-”

“No.” He gave a minute shake of his head and crossed his arms. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Oh. She swallowed, bringing one hand up to push a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, grateful for how dark it was in the cockpit, her cheeks warm and likely flushed with color. He can probably see just fine through that thing though. She groaned internally. “Then, I’m sorry that I-”

“Don’t be, it’s...” He turned his chair away from her, towards the controls as he spoke, almost as though he were averting his eyes. “I understand.”

He began busying himself with twisting dials and checking gauges, and though she wasn’t sure what he was doing, she got the distinct feeling that it was nothing that needed to be done that moment. He understands? Does that mean… She opened and closed her hand, turning it over to reveal an indent from how tightly she’d been holding onto the armrest. She wondered if when he did sleep, he was plagued with dreams he couldn’t make sense of, either, filled with memories he didn’t know he had.

Don’t let go, Ina’ika, and don’t be afraid.

Running her opposite thumb over her palm, she shivered. Why is all of this happening now? Dreams of the night her family left Concordia weren’t uncommon. Neither were ones of the day her family was attacked, or the night her mother was killed. But none of them had ever been so detailed, felt so real. Never had she recalled so much of the conversation that her father had with the stranger that she now realized had enabled their getaway. But what was it that he… what did he give my parents? Those bundles…

She was pulled from her thoughts as the Mandalorian spoke her name again. “Your pendant, it’s…” He had turned to face her again, his upper body leaning away from the backrest, one elbow on his knee as he pointed at the Mythosaur around neck.

Looking down at where the necklace lay against her chest she sucked in a breath, her eyes growing wide. It was glowing again, bright amethyst light, the same brilliant shade as the mysterious man’s sword in her dream, pouring from the carved eye sockets of the mythic creature. Grabbing it, she pulled the black cord over her head so that she could look at it properly, something clicking in her brain and causing her heart rate to race. The small bundle that he gave my mother… what if… She swallowed, inspecting the necklace more closely than she ever had before. What if it was glowing? What if… The gears that clicked ground to a staggering halt as the Mandalorian spoke again.

“That’s the second time it’s done that.” His tone could have come across as accusatory, but even though she had only spent a few hours with the man- and most of them asleep at that, though she had no recollection of actually falling asleep, vaguely recalling the man stepping out of the cockpit to take a holo call and having no memory of him returning- she knew that he was just curious. Almost voraciously so. “The only thing I’ve ever seen like it was…” Was what? But he didn’t finish, just changing the angle of his head. “Why does it do that?”

“I...I’m not sure, I…” she sighed, eye returning to the object in her hand after they’d briefly flicked up at the man while he spoke. “I think… this stone that’s-” she gasped as her finger found a crevice in the metal at the back of the skull. Is that a...does it open? She had never noticed it before, but as she slid her fingernail into the small crack in the metal, trying to pry it up but getting nowhere. “There’s a...a seam here, look.” She held the pendant out for him, the man hesitating to reach for it, and she realized that she was likely violating some ancient tenet of The Way by thrusting her pendant into the hand of someone outside of her clan. I don’t have a clan, so… “Take it, it’s okay.”

She moved it closer, a few more seconds passing before his gloved palm appeared beneath her hand, ready for her to drop it into his grasp. He brought it up in front of his face, his free hand tapping a hidden control on the side of his helmet and she heard a mechanical whir, as though a lens was focusing. He’s using a magnifier. She thought of her own helmet- my mother’s helmet- down in the cargo hold, it’s smashed visor completely useless for things like this. I might have noticed this years ago if I had-

“Yes,” he said, the lens honing in again. “I see it. But it… it’s sealed shut. Soldered.” He looked up at her then, the hand controlling the magnifier falling back to his lap.

“To keep it safe,” she muttered, extending her hand out to him to take it back. He gave it over without pause.

“What?”

Donning the necklace again, she tucked it under her armor. “Something I…” She pressed her hand flat against her chest plate until she felt the Mythosaur’s tusks dig gently into the skin over her sternum. “Something I just remembered in my dream…something someone needed my mother to keep safe. It,” dropping her hand, she chewed her bottom lip. How much do I tell him? “Mando, I think it...I think the man who gave this to my mother was a...I think he was a-”

“A Jedi?” He asked the question as though it wasn’t preposterous.

“H-how did you...Have you- do you know any-”

“Yes. I… the way that the stone glows, it looks like the weapons I’ve seen the Jedi use. It’s-” he took a breath and she got the feeling that like she had been doing since she met him, he was weighing what he wanted to say in his mind against what he felt comfortable sharing with her. “It’s a different color than the ones I’ve seen but they… they call them lightsabers but it’s not...it’s not light it’s more like-”

“Like energy?” Navina’s mouth had gone dry as she listened to him speak about these Jedi warriors and their laserlike swords as though he were present in her dream with her.

“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, and she took that to mean that he had reached the limit of what he felt comfortable sharing in regards to this topic. If he knows about lightsabers though, she pressed her lips together, I wonder what he knows about the Darksaber. He didn’t give her the chance to ask though, shifting the conversation. “I was told that the Jedi were the sworn enemy of Mandalore but I...I’m not sure that’s still true.”

Our kind have both been blinded by the Republic. Now I’m afraid we are each other’s only hope.

“No,” she shook her head. “No, I don’t think it is.” I’m not sure if it’s ever been true.

As quickly as night fell over the volcanic plains of Nevarro, morning swept through like a brushfire, chasing the darkness away with searing sunlight. Sunrises and sunsets took their time on other planets, on moons like Yavin 4 and Concordia, but it seemed here that the star was eager to begin burning, the cockpit filling with morning light and acting like a natural end point to the night of honesty the two Mandalorians had shared.

Clearing his throat with a short grunting sound, the Mandalorian gestured to the door that led out of the control area to where the ladder for access to the cargo hold was waiting. “It’s safe for you to contact your friend now. The reptavians are nocturnal, so they won’t be a problem anymore.”

Oh. Alright. It shouldn’t have been as disappointing as it felt to know that he was as eager to be rid of her as the sun seemed to be to scorch the cracked ground, but she barely hid a wince as she nodded, digging the comm link out from the inner pocket sewn into her shirt collar. Making quick contact with Firo, she relayed the coordinates to him, and he let her know that he would be there shortly. The Mandalorian had heard the whole conversation, so she didn’t need to tell him that she would be out of his hair soon. Once she had finished her call with Firo, she tucked the comm away and followed him out of the cockpit. Of course. He got what he came here for… the beskar...some information. What more would he-

He was waiting for her at the bottom of the ladder. “Can I…” She looked over her shoulder at him as she descended the last three rungs, but he waited to continue until her bootsoles thunked dully against the metal flooring, and she turned completely. “There’s more that I’d like to...talk with you about.” There is? “But I’m supposed to be meeting with someone, and I’m already going to be late because I made this stop so I can’t stay any longer but… I’ll be back on Nevarro in three weeks if you-”

“That depends, Mando.” She cocked her head to the side and allowed a smirk to lift her cheek. “Is your Marshal friend going to charge me with anything? Because I’m not sure my record can take another hit like that.”

She thought she heard a sound that could almost be misconstrued as a chuckle, the man’s helmet dipping slightly before he answered. “I think I can talk her into letting you off this time.”

Navina bent down to retrieve her helmet from the ground, right where she’d left it the night before. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you in three weeks.”

She turned it upside down and bent down again, this time picking up the shoulder pauldrons she had been wearing the night before- one now bearing slight damage from the enthusiastic way he had greeted her- and stuck them inside the beskar helmet. These are going to need some repair. Again she found herself wishing that she could be as lucky as he was, able to freely visit an Armorer for repairs, upgrades to her gear. But she blinked those thoughts away, choosing instead to recall the things her father had taught her all those years ago, about repairing her own armor. It will be fine.

He didn’t say anything else until a few minutes later they heard the tell-tale sound of a speeder zipping across the landscape. “Sounds like your ride is here.”

He pressed a large button near the door panel, the ramp lowering just as Firo pulled up on one of the stolen speeders, the Imperial crest that had been painted onto the front of it already scratched off. “Yup,” she shifted her helmet full of broken armor into her left arm as she placed the other hand on her hip, “that’s him.”

Navina smiled to herself. Firo wouldn’t be caught dead on that thing if it still had their symbol. She couldn’t be sure, but she had a feeling that the Mandalorian had noticed the facelift Firo had given the bike, too. He seemed like a man who appreciated things like that.

“Nav!” He waved at her from under a comically large pair of goggles, his long hair whipping around his face at odd angles from the wind and the straps that held the eye gear in place. “Came to get you in style!” He took one hand off the throttle as he slowed the speeder down in front of the Mandalorian’s ship. The Promise, Navina reminded herself, wanting to commit the ship’s name to memory. “What do you think of this beaut, huh?” Firo flourished his hand dramatically over the body of the speeder before hopping off, landing perfectly on his feet.

Navina laughed to herself, a sudden thought taking hold- Have we really been through that many strange things together that he really has nothing to say about picking me up in the middle of nowhere after spending the night alone with a Mandalorian who technically took me prisoner? “She’s great, Firo. I hope you have another pair of goggles.”

Digging in a small bag that was attached to the side of the speeder, he pulled another, thankfully smaller pair of goggles out and tossed them to her, Navina catching them with the hand she had on her hip, single handedly sliding them onto her forehead. “Sharp look, Harsa.” She rolled her eyes at him and he snickered as she turned to face the Mandalorian, the man still standing midway up the ramp.

“Thank you again,” he caught her off guard as he spoke, and she felt her eyebrows jump before she could try to control her surprise. “For your help with the reptavians last night, I mean.” He gestured with one gloved hand at the crumpled carcass of the one she had killed. “You...fought well.”

Coming from a man like him those words felt like the greatest compliment one could hope to receive. “Of course,” she shrugged. “I wasn’t going to let it eat us both.” She smirked at him, remembering that he had tried to get her to go inside the ship before she’d shot the beasts. Good thing I didn’t listen.

He made that same faint chuckling sound again, the laugh seeming unsure of itself in this context, and then almost as though to prove that it was, he shifted his tone back to a more serious one, giving her a time and exact location for their meeting.

Navina recorded the coordinates he gave her on the comm device, confirming again that she would be there. Three weeks for questions to brew in both of their brains suddenly seemed far too long, but she reminded herself that there were plenty of ways to pass that time, not the least of which was finding someone to take the stolen speeders off of hers and Firo’s hands. They’d had a string of low paying jobs here and there, so she looked forward to something a little more lucrative. Need to at least be able to afford fuel to get back here in three weeks. “Have a safe trip, Mando.” She gave him one last smile, the man simply nodding before leaving her with four simple words.

“This is the Way.”

Before she could say anything else, the man had vanished up into the ship, the ramp closing behind him, leaving her staring at the hull. This is the Way. She inhaled deeply, shoulders lifting as her chest expanded, and then let the air out slowly, turning back towards Firo. “So,” she walked towards the speeder, Firo climbing back on as she got close so that she could hop on behind him. “I met a Mandalorian last night...”

Firo laughed as he revved the throttle to spark the speeder’s engine back up. “Did you now? You don’t say.”

Navina settled her helmet in her lap, securing her arms around Firo’s waist. “C’mon, let’s get back to The Flare and I’ll tell you all about it.”

With that they took off, leaving The Promise in their wake as they streaked off across the scorched terrain.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek

#resol'nare #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x oc #mando x oc #oc: navina harsa #oc: firostian ottabok #this is the way #mando fanfic #sw fanfic #star wars fic #star wars fanfic #grogu #the child #jedi vs mandalorians #a myth? a legend? imperial propaganda?#discuss #follow the crumbs

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thegoldenavenger · 5 years ago

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Avatar the Last Airbender Fic!! Rated T for TEENAGE ANGST Canon typical violence! It's Zuko so also implied Canon child abuse sorry

CONVICTION (what's in a name)

Part One Sokka + Katara

___

"What can I do to prove to you I've changed?" He rasps, frustratingly desperate, hands almost clawed into the stone of the temple dias.

Katara sneers and draws her water whip to ready, like she can erase even the memory of Zuko kneeling here in this temporary haven. "Nothing!" She yells.

But Sokka raises his hand to his chin and thinks, quickly. There's not much less that he wants than Zuko in their space, helping them. But, here's the thing, Zuko has followed them doggedly, faithfully, since the South Pole. Zuko has found them even now, must have resources to have gotten here, knowledge to have found them. Zuko is the prince of the nation they're fighting... it stands to reason he has intelligence about them as well.

"Then take me prisoner," Zuko starts saying, unfurling his fingers from the stone and offering them.

"We don't want you!" Katara yells and splashes Zuko with enough force he rocks backwards.

Steam rises from Zuko's shoulders, his eye wide as his hair drips in his face, before he steels himself. To try and entice them again, to pick himself up and turn away for once, Sokka doesn't know. He interrupts Katara's next words.

"Give us your soul name," Sokka says.

The silence that follows is deep.

"Sokka?" Aang asks, stepping to see Sokka's face.

"It doesn't matter then, if you have changed or not. We'll have your name if you try to betray us." He tilts his head towards Aang, towards Katara but his eyes don't leave Zuko.

"That's--that's too much," Aang is saying, shaking his head, but Katara considers it. Her mouth is a straight line and her eyes are harder than Sokka has seen them.

Toph says nothing, has said nothing besides her first entreaty to consider Zuko's offer. Sokka doesn't turn to look at her reaction.

Zuko's is enough to look at on its own. His shoulders stiff, his skin pale, there is the smallest rainbow refracted from a bead of water on his sunlit cheek. He's surprised, shocked, maybe even afraid, Sokka has never seen Zuko afraid before just angry, but now, Sokka wonders if Zuko's anger and his fear are two sides of the same coin.

Sokka remembers Zuko crouched over his Uncle, feral almost in his anger--his fear, Sokka thinks now. And who wouldn't be afraid in this moment? To give a peice of your soul away and trust someone with it. Sokka can count the soul names he knows on one hand; his sister, his father, his mother, Yue.

He's only wanted to share his soul name with Yue, before. He remembers the fear and excitement. He hadn't had to share his name with his parents or Katara, they knew him when he was a kid, when that part of your soul is open and effortless, but he wanted to give that part of himself to Yue. She beat him to it.

Even now, her name lives curled inside him, like a gentle-sleeping thing. A perfect reflection of the moon on the surface of ink-black water, icy wind against the back of your neck, and resettling your hood to keep warm. The knowledge that something deep, and beautiful, and so, so kind lies beneath the water, but not daring to break the surface tension.

And Sokka watches Zuko close his eyes. When he opens them it is with resolve.

"Okay," he says. "Okay."

Zuko gets back to his knees, back straight and hands lifted as if in supplication. He keeps his unsettling yellow eyes on Sokka.

It was his plan, so Sokka makes himself step forward. He feels Aang's hand reach out to him, but Aang doesn't stop him so he keeps stepping forward until he stands over Zuko.

It takes him a moment, but he puts his hand in Zuko's and asks for his name.

He feels a rush of heat, and he thinks they should have prepared for if Zuko tried burning them in this moment--but no, it's just. It's just Zuko's name.

Fever-warm--of course, fire bender, Sokka thinks--but also the spray of salt water, which is surprising. The smell of iron, Fire Nation Steel, like the forge at Master Piandao's but thicker in the air. Sokka hears sliding, like silk over silk and the weight of something bearing down, like the gemimite that had crept up Sokka's arms until he couldn't move. And even though Zuko is all firebender heat and steel the feeling of eyes on his back makes Sokka think nothing more than of standing in the middle of the ice fields, knowing an Orcawolf is watching you but not knowing where it is.

It's knowing there is shelter a thousand steps ahead of you and also knowing the moment you step forward the Orcawolf will chase. Zuko's name is taking that step anyways.

Sokka steps back away from Zuko and blinks and blinks. Zuko looks exactly the same, it's only Sokka's understanding that has changed.

Zuko's eyes are predator-yellow, orcawolf-gold, Sokka thinks.

"Zuko," he says to test it. He lets the feeling of fever and forge heated sword steel rise and he says it again. "Zuko."

Something in Zuko's jaw clenches, his eyes sharpen and Sokka feels that lonely ice field again, but Zuko nods. "I think we can say that worked," Sokka announces and turns away from Zuko. He shoves Zuko's name back down, tries to find somewhere that isn't next to his family's names to store it.

______

Sokka leaves first, then Toph with a disgruntled noise. Katara and Aang stand where they're left, with Zuko still... there. Waiting.

Katara looks at Aang and finds him unaccountably sad, his wide grey eyes distressed. To her ears, Zuko's name had sounded the same, flat as ever, from her brother's mouth. But you know when someone speaks with power, it's just that the only name she knows for Zuko is the one her experiences with him have given her so she can't understand yet.

Or ever. She thinks of Zuko and she thinks of fear, she thinks of shadows of violence flickering on the walls of homes, of ice melting as red, red, red licks up and devours entire families. She doesn't want that living inside of her, hates that Sokka is carrying that now.

"I'm going to check on Sokka--Aang. Keep an eye on him." She orders and turns. Of course now they have to keep him, they have his soul name, that changes things. He can teach Aang Firebending and then they can drop him off somewhere he won't be able to bother them anymore, but for now at least they have to keep him.

"Yeah, uh--come on," she hears Aang say, to Zuko she guesses. "No more names today," he says. Katara stomps away.

She keeps her resolve for a couple days. Sokka bounces back, Toph is quieter than usual, Aang dutifully keeps his lessons for Earth and Waterbending and half-heartedly asks for Firebending lessons. Katara puts her foot down. No Firebending lessons until she can be sure Zuko isn't going to fry Aang when they aren't looking.

Sokka is her brother and she loves him, but he shouldn't have to be Zuko's keeper by himself. He'd taken Zuko with him to find their dad, and he had to take Zuko, he wouldn't leave Zuko alone with them. They weren't defenseless but Sokka takes responsibility hard, the same way he had taken protecting their village.

It's the same way he will stay up at night, redrafting their schedule and Katara will have to physically unclench his hand from his vine of charcoal and wheedle, drawing his name from her chest, telling him, please Sokka, it's time for bed everyone is tired.

Sokka doesn't use her name very often. The last time had been at the South Pole when he didn't trust Aang. Before that, he hadn't used her name since their mother had died.

Katara uses his name a lot. She loves Sokka's name. Her mother's name is too sharp a memory, it flutters behind her breastbone like it might escape if she speaks it. Her father's name is tucked in her core, as if she can curl around it and keep him safe from the dangers he faces away from them by keeping it quiet. But Sokka's name lives in her lungs.

She uses it when she scolds him, when she hugs him, when she is afraid for him. She won't let him forget that she's right by his side, and that she won't leave him, not like mom left, or dad left, or Yue left.

Every time Katara says Sokka's name she shades it with her understanding of him. Ice walls sheltering from howling bitter winds and the sturdy foundation of a home. The peircing howl of an orcawolf as the spirit lights dance in the night sky, and polardogs pressed together sharing strength and warmth. Sokka's name is understanding you are part of something more than you, part of a family, and Katara will remind him that he's stuck with her for as long as she lives.

And, well. There's something in her that wants to know Zuko. She wants to taste ash on her tongue. She is sure Zuko's name is fire and violence, but if she knows it then she can keep him in his place. She can make sure Aang is safe, from this threat at least. If she knows Zuko's name, then she finally knows who he is. No more tricks in Crystal cities, he won't be able to prey on her weaknesses anymore.

So when he comes to her, and says, "I know who killed your mother," Katara has already decided what to do.

She says, "Give me your name." And she holds out her hand.

She's vindicated, seeing his eyes widen, the scar pulling around his left side. He inhales, then nods sharply his breath releasing in a cloud of steam. The night is cold, even Katara's breath puffs small clouds in the air, but that doesn't stop herself from thinking he should have more control than this.

He puts his hand in hers and his fingers are shockingly warm, surprisingly callused for a prince. Katara remembers Yue's hands, smooth and fine and elegant. The Earth King's hands as well were soft and weak. That is what she expected, she realizes. Hands that have never seen work in their life.

Zuko's hands are scarred and rough in places, if well kept.

He tells her his name.

Heat at first, of course. Like a burn from the sun, making your skin tight and red, then the cool-sting of salt water making Katara think, ridiculously of spending too much time at a beach. Then blood, biting your cheek on accident, the pain negligible but the metallic tang overwhelming, that's what she expected. Hearing someone or something shift behind you, heart beating panic-fast and then getting wrapped up tight, and squeezed until your bones creak, like when her dad swings her around and around because he missed her. No, Katara thinks, it's getting wrapped up like ice spears, the cold burning as much as fire, and being unable to wrench free. It's remembering how Master Pakku looked at her, knowing she was good enough but refusing her anyways.

Zuko's name is someone, everyone saying no, and then doing it anyways.

Katara takes her hand back. Of course, that's the Fire Nation through-and-through, she thinks. "Take me to him, Zuko," she says. She orders. The copper tang that tints his name isn't ash, but it's close enough.

Katara never needed Zuko's name to show him she was a threat. She's a Master Waterbender under the full-moon, a healer who knows the secrets of the body, she can stop the rain if she has to. And she does.

Zuko doesn't flinch.

He doesn't overstep, he accepts her lead, stays quiet unless he needs to speak up. He's not cowed, he doesn't wait for her permission to speak if he sees something or notices something. He's just.

Respectful, Katara realizes. This is about her, she realizes. She knows this is about her. It's about Zuko trying to prove himself too, but it's like Zuko has forgotten that, in the moment. That helping Katara find justice--or revenge--is all that he's after.

It would be ironic, Katara thinks. Zuko has terrorized her home, he knows she wants justice--revenge?--from him too. Here he is, watching her ready to kill a man for crimes Zuko could be accused of as well and he stands there like this is right.

Like he hadn't knelt in front of her, hands offered, and asked her--them--to sentence him.

She sees him out of the corner of her eye, sees the same calm as when he'd knelt. When she stops the rain she sees the same surprise, the same acceptance as when Sokka had demanded his soul name in answer.

Something heavy settles in her stomach, when she realizes that perhaps, this isn't ironic. That if she had said, I need you to die for your crimes, he would have said okay, okay, in the same exact way. She lets it rain, again.

She says this, half to Zuko half to herself, on the way back. "If I had said you needed to die, for us to trust you instead of Sokka asking for your name. What would your answer have been?"

Zuko blinks at her, wary. "Really?" He asks. She doesn't elaborate, and he falls quiet again.

She starts to think he won't answer when he finally does. "I came to you--to the Avatar, I mean--to... atone. To stop my father and my family, to make things better. I, uh, Uncle says, said, I don't think things through," here he laughs, bitter. "I guess I forgot that I'm my father's son."

Katara sees his face shutter and she turns away, not wanting to see whatever expression he puts on his face. "My father cannot be allowed to continue as he has been. My family cannot be allowed to continue as they have been. I have been complicit in their crimes." He says. "If death is the answer to my father, then for the years as his loyal son I should share it."

Katara narrows her eyes and looks back at him. Zuko is considering his knee, his fingers worrying at a loose thread. Katara knows Zuko now, knows by the cadence of his words Zuko was not calling himself Fire Lord Ozai's loyal son. There was a breadth of history in that phrase she didn't understand.

"But..." he says and looks at her. "I'm done letting my father dictate my destiny. I want to help fix what my family has broken. I don't know what I would have said back then. But I am going to help where my family has only hurt before. I can't do that if I'm dead."

Katara only hums in response, and watches as Zuko's shoulders find their way to his ears. He turns red and looks away from her and mumbles an apology.

Zuko's name is sun burned skin and bitten lips and, Katara is realizing, standing up when no one else will. Not because you're the only one who can, but because if not you, than who?

Something settles in her, and she relaxes. She isn't ready to forget--not Yuan Ran, not the Fire Nation's crimes--but maybe this one boy. This one boy she can try to forgive.

#kamaeteWRITES #atla #soul names #zuko #the gaang #tumblr has a bs text block limit so brb with the next parts

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meeeeyahhhhh · 6 years ago

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The Most Vibriant Color In the Rainbow (Jasonette)

Red. It was in your veins, it’s the color of fire and the setting sun. Red was the color of France’s superhero. A heroine that was wilting like a rose. She was hanging on by a thread and the Fates seemed so very tempted to snip it. There, in the shadow of the heroine’s mantel, lies a girl who is just fighting to not have her voice stolen from her again.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was that same hero, but she was so much more than that. She was an artist, a daughter, a designer, a partner, and a friend. Marinette knew exactly how to fix any problem that came her way no matter how bad of odds there were. She came, she saw, and she conquered every challenge that dared come between her and her goals. All Marinette wanted to do was love. So the question is, what happened to the Marinette everyone knew?

Away with the firecracker that was Marinette, anew with a pale imitation of the beautiful girl. She moves mechanically, every step she takes she’s made a thousand times over. All of this because of the Antichrist herself, Lila Rossi, made good on her promise to herd the sheep into her flock. The sound of crocodile tears could be heard ringing through the classroom, “W-why are you s-so mean? I-I just w-wanted a dress f-for the dance!”

Marinette stared at the Italian woman with a glare that could kill, “And I told you, I cant. I have my responsibilities and you have your ‘responsibilities’ we’re both busy people. Your universe may revolve around Lila, but mine revolves around me. It’s sad that you think you can guilt trip me into doing something I don’t want to do when you and I aren’t friends. Call me mean all you want, but I won’t care. You and everyone else in this class mean absolutely nothing to me. I do what I have to do to survive and you are a shepherd to week sheep. It’s unfortunate for you that you would ever think I would fall in line for you.”

A hush fell over the room. No one expected Marinette to clap-back against Lila, but more so that she would speak with no emotion backing her. Lila, stunned silent, forgot to keep crying. Ladybug doesn’t let anyone treat her like a stepping stone, so why should Marinette? Marinette is Ladybug inside and outside of the mask. She just puts the mask’s responsibilities more important than Marinette’s happiness. An obnoxious girl with glasses broke the silence, “W-What d-did you say?”

“You heard me, Alya, we are not friends. You chose the shiny new toy over truth. I want nothing to do with unreliable sources,” The tone she used was deadly, “something you do a lot. It’s no wonder why Ladybug stopped endorsing your blog. It’s such a shame that you chose someone who Ladybug has publicly claimed has no connection to her over the one who got you your interviews. Or did you forget, that I’m the one who actually knows Ladybug and is friends with?”

Everything stopped. No one breathed, blinked, or moved. You don’t know fear until the wrath of the Cheng family befalls you. Though they might not have the resources, or so you think, (A/N: I headcannon that the Dupain Chengs are rich bc they are the best bakers in Paris, plus why would Gabriel or Aubrey let their children go into public school.) The Cheng family held themselves with a an air of respect without even trying. Marinette maybe wilting due to the weight of the world, but she would not crumble to the will of uneducated teenagers.

Red. That is the color of vengeance, anger, and blood. Red is the color of Gotham’s vigilante. A zombie of a man trying to rebuild what was once his life. Across an ocean there is a boy that just had his world turn upside down. He died an incredibly gruesome death and had he thought no one mourned his loss.

Jason Todd was Red Hood, the loose cannon of Gotham. Everyone thought the pit had taken him to the place of no return. That his mind was the problem. Yes, the pit madness made his angry, but it didn’t make him lose his mind entirely. Behind his anger, Jason was just a boy taken too soon and then mutilated for other people’s benefit. He craved physical affection. He pleaded for trust. He needs his father to tell him he loves him.

Red Hood stayed out during patrol to clear his head. He looked down on the city while perched on a high rise. It usually calmed the voices in his head, tonight they seemed restless. Jason wished for silence, he felt oppressed by the dreariness of the city. Something in his heart told him that this isn’t where he was meant to be. The voices told him to jump off the high rise and to the voices Jason responded with a kind, “Thanks Karen, but fuck right off.”

No stars could be seen due to the pollution of Gotham, but the moonlight shone on Red Hood. He stared at the moon, deep in thought, “Where would I even go?” He asked himself, “Who would want me?”

Not even the voices wanted to hear him talk about him, “Paris,” they whispered.

“Why Paris?” Paris? What’s so specials about Paris?

“Trust us,” the voices responded, “there’s something you won’t want to miss.”

Jason filed that under the folder titled ‘Another question for the therapist that I don’t have.’ He couldn’t deny the pull he felt towards Paris no matter how hard he tried. There was no reason to go though, but there was no reason to stay either. They were all fine without him before why would this time be different?

It was then Jason was reminded the coms were still on and that Tim was an insomniac, “Paris? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it Timmy. I’m just thinking about taking a vacation. Don’t tell B yet, I’m not sure I should even go,” He knew it wasn’t Tim’s fault, but he couldn’t help but feel that familiar tingle of resentment towards his brother. He shook the feeling away, “I just need a breath, Gotham seems to have me dying all over again.”

Tim reassured Jason that his secret was to be kept between the two of them. The feeling was still gnawing at his being on the way back to his apartment. Red Hood, the light hearted jokester, the one who needed to be restrained, a smiling pillar to the magnifying glass that was Bruce and Dick, was lonely. The question was: is he lonely enough to leave? The answer is yes. Jason is tried of being the second thought, he’s tired of having to report in, and he’s tired of the way the voices take up space in his mind when there’s no company to talk to.

Paris, be prepared. Red is coming to your city and it’s going to become a color of change. Red will paint the streets. Red is going to cause Hawkmoth to rethink if his antics are really worth the price tag that follows.

A/N: Marinette is 19 and Jason is only 20. This could be a series of this is something you all would want to read. I’m a sucker for Jasonette and I love the Maribat genre in general. Please let me know if you want to be tagged also! Thank you all for reading and supporting me!

Tags: @abrx2002 @amayakans @mystery-5-5 @normal-piece-of-shit @st0rmy-w1th1n @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @g-arya @smolplantmum @rayray384 @rosa97 @drarryismylife101 @kris-pines04 @black-streak @storyteller-d @weird-pale-blonde-person

#bruce wayne #damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #jasonette #dc x mlb #crossover #angst #class salt #adrien agrete salt #adrien agreste #anti lila #anti alya #cloe redemption

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earthfluuke · 5 years ago

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welcome to part 3! i’m very excited about this one, so i hope you all enjoy it!

just a reminder: i based some parts of the nymphs off of the nymphs from greek mythology, but for the most part, they are whatever i made them up to be.

parts: 1 / 2 / 2.5 / 3

Sarawat has the entire town fooled, but Earn is smarter. She knows her best friend, knows when there’s something he’s hiding. Finding resources and deciding if the land is stable enough to move in on doesn’t take this long. Weeks have gone by; enough is enough.

It should surprise her to find Sarawat entangled with a boy adorned in flowers, eyes taking over his face when he catches a glimpse of her. And it should surprise her even more when she finds herself chasing after them when they dart down the opposite side of the hill to the banks of the river. But neither can compare to the slack jaw, awe struck shock she feels when she sees her.

Ankle deep in the water, the girl stands proud. Back straight, arms stretched to her sides, her palms lay flat, fingers spread with the threat of forming another wave. Her brown eyes hold fear when they bore into Sarawat but morph to protective when they flicker to the flower-draped boy. Sun light reflects off the pink and gold scales that outline her cheeks and round over the curve of her temple.

To anyone else who happened to be blessed by her presence would consider her mystical, magical, otherworldly. But the only word that comes to Earn’s mind is beautiful.

Everything around her – Sarawat, the flower boy, the forest in front of them and the field behind – disappears, and there’s nowhere to look but at her. Her desire to go forward is just as strong as her need to pull herself back. Potential of scaring her off keeps her grounded, and all she can do is watch her through the hazy, golden halo her mind – or is it her heart? – has set around her.

Sarawat breaks her free. Hands shaking her arms, he begs her, pleads her, to keep what she’s seen to herself, to not under any circumstances tell anyone else in town, to please, for him.

“Who is she?” she hears herself asking between his cries. She looks over his shoulder towards the girl. She’s calmer now, at ease, as she takes the boy’s – the one she can only assume belongs to Sarawat – hands into her own. Her softened features send Earn’s heart into double time.

“I don’t know,” Sarawat answers quickly before he goes back to his frenzy. “But, Earn. Please. For me. For him. Tine; his name is Tine. Please don’t tell anyone about this. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just please. Please.”

She finally looks to her best friend, and she cannot remember a time he’s looked more serious, more scared. His fingers dig into her, but they shake at the same time. This boy must be special, if he can turn Sarawat to this.

“I won’t tell,” she finally swears and accepts the bone crushing hug she’s pulled into.

…

A condition comes with her promise. Not because she needs anything to maintain her secrecy but rather because she’s desperate.

She follows after Sarawat and parts ways with him at the apple tree. Canvas in her satchel, easel strung over her back, she sets her makeshift studio out along the banks of the river. Cups of paint circled around her, she picks out a brush and loses herself to her art.

She starts with the bases – the pale blue sky, the dark green grass, the teal river she shades to appear crystal. Fluffs of clouds and sharp tree branches follow. Final touches in the forms of a cluster of cattails growing at the edges of the river and the lily pads floating atop it near complete the painting. But there’s one thing missing.

Every so often, she lifts up her brush to glance at the river, pay close attention to it to catch bright eyes or mirrored scales. Luck comes to her just as the sun sets. When she goes to switch brushes, she spots her, the girl from the river, the beautiful mystery, the one thing missing from her painting.

Eyes peeking over the surface of the water, they watch her. She doesn’t raise up any further, but Earn has what she’s come for. It’s a rush job to add her into the painting, but she can’t contain her excitement.

She tip-toes towards the river as to not scare her. She bends, bends, bends over until the tip of her nose is a mere breath from the girl’s forehead. Only then does she duck away, quick movement startling Earn face first into the river.

She watches from beneath the water as the girl disappears downstream. The current that follows her carries one word to her ear: Pear.

…

Her mistake isn’t one she intends to make again, and it comes with consequences. For the next week, there is no sign of Pear. Earn remains optimistic, continues to believe that she will return when she once again feels safe. But by the seventh day, she’s beginning to grow discouraged.

She waits until the sky turns a golden orange, pink sprouting out from the setting sun, to add it to her painting. It’s the same scene she’s been painting for days, but this one is brighter, a burst of color against the familiar neutrals she now paints like they are second nature.

Sudden water droplets drip onto her pant leg, and her head is whipping to the side before she can stop herself. She’s met with a cheek covered in pink and gold scales, and now that she’s close enough, she takes note of how they also dip down her neck.

Pear isn’t looking at her, gaze instead set on her painting. Earn doesn’t dare move, barely lets herself breathe, as she steps closer. Her foot – also covered in scales that dissolve up over the outside of her calf – hits a cup filled with pink paint.

Picking it up, she dips in a webbed finger. It comes out the same color as the paint, the same color as her scales, and in one last surge of curiosity, she presses it to the very center of the canvas.

She looks both surprised and terrified to see that she’s left her mark on something that isn’t hers. Taking a step back, she’s ready to bolt within seconds. But Earn doesn’t give her the chance.

Quickly covering her own finger in red paint, she places her fingerprint next to the one Pear left. Turning to her, Earn offers her a soft smile, one that reaches her eyes and tells her everything is just fine. Pear returns it, and she feels a small flame warm her heart.

It only grows when she dips her finger back into the paint and decorates the entire frame. By the time she’s filled half the canvas, she motions to Earn’s hand. Too afraid to make the wrong move and send her hiding back in the depths of the river, she stays still. With an unsatisfied huff, Pear takes it upon herself to lift her hand and press her paint covered finger back onto the painting.

The feel of her hand wrapping around her wrist engulfs Earn’s chest with fire, and she burns. Her insides are impossibly hot from a single touch, and it worries her to think of what anything more could do to her.

She cools herself down by littering red fingerprints in the spaces between Pear’s pink ones. By the time they’re done, the image beneath is unrecognizable. And yet it’s the most wonderful painting Earn has ever made.

…

“You look happy,” Sarawat comments as they journey back to town.

“Maybe I am,” she says, readjusting the canvas in her arms. Stroking over the raised bits of paint, only just dry, she hugs it close to her. The distance between her and Pear dulls the flame in her chest, but it sparks at the thought of having this small piece of her. “I don’t think I really knew what happy was until today.”

…

Two canvases are heavy, but the extra weight is a small price to pay for her to see Pear waiting for her in the grass beside the river.

Setting up the extra easel, Earn gifts her with her own set of brushes. Lips pursed and eyebrows arched, she holds the brushes in the flat of her palm, running a tip through the bristles and watching them bounce back in intrigue. This innocent curiosity along with the tiny gasp she gives all but melts Earn into the ground below.

It’s trying to get the brushes to fit between the webbing in Pear’s fingers, but their attempts are finally met with success. “You can paint whatever you like,” Earn tells her, timid and gentle, nerves of scaring Pear away still bubbled high in her stomach. “There are lots of colors to choose from, see?”

Uncapping each cup, she offers Pear the pink. Familiarity hits her, and her smile outshines the sun. She’s off from there, and Earn should be as well. But each time she turns to her canvas, she’s drawn to the one beauty her art can never replicate.

Pear’s strokes are calculated, careful. And yet her wrist bends just so, loose and at ease, languid lines bleeding over the page. She’s very much the river she resides in; the calm stream flows freely, quiet and serene. But then there’s a wave, a crash against the banks, whenever she makes a mistake. Suddenly, she’ll still, wait, and Earn prepares for the flood that never comes. She breathes deep, exhales slow, and returns to tranquility.

The end product isn’t much more than a collection of lines with the occasional stray fingerprint. But it’s Pear, and for that, it is everything.

…

“What shall we paint today?” Earn asks, back to Pear as she adjusts the canvas along the ridge of the easel. Having watched Earn’s creations, Pear had become less keen on the abstract of her lines and wanted something more realistic. They’d begun with flowers, moved up to small frogs that politely sat still when Pear asked them to, advanced with the forest of trees on the opposite side of the river. Any mistake Pear makes is met with kind reassurance, a helping hand atop hers that guides the brush the correct way, a smile that she eventually returns.

Brushing off her hands on her pants, she turns to meet a held out hand. She accepts it easily, because of course she does. It fits nicely in her own, even around the webbing, and she dares a stroke of her thumb over the scales that cover her knuckles. They’re cool and smooth and unlike anything else she’s ever felt.

There’s a light tug, a shake of her arm, and it calls Earn’s attention upwards, to Pear’s pretty face and desperate eyes. They’re endless, large enough to hold oceans, captivate Earn to the point of no return. Only when Pear squeezes her hand does she break away to ask, “You want to paint me?”

The nod she gives is shy but firm. She’s head set despite her concerns, and Earn is in no position to deny her. She allows her to position her how she wants, tries and ultimately fails to keep her breath even when Pear pushes her every which way until she’s satisfied.

Behind the easel, she’s focused, pinched brows and scrunched nose taking over her features. Earn truly does her very best to maintain her far off gaze, but she cannot help but be magnetized back to Pear. Art is creating art before her; not staring is futile.

Time passes too slow and yet too fast, and Pear is shifting from foot to foot with her bottom lip between her teeth. Seeing her brush set aside, Earn gets up and circles around to the opposite side of the canvas.

Altogether, it’s a messy attempt. Edges are jagged, colors blur together. But there are lighter brown highlights that show the sun reflecting off her hair and curved lines etched into the center of her lips. Small details that Earn has only mentioned in passing decorate her portrait, and it sets her ablaze once more. The hopeful glances Pear gives her, hands clasped together in front of her chest, do little to extinguish it. This girl will char her to a pile of ash, but if her way to go is by the slope of her smile and the hesitant flush to her cheeks, then by all means, take her.

“It’s lovely,” she says. Her shoulders sag in relief, and Earn takes the opportunity to grab her hands once more. “I’ll have to find a frame for it. It’ll look so nice in my room.”

Smile widening across her cheeks, Pear pulls herself closer, giggling high and sweet, jingling bells sounding through her ears and heart. Earn lets their arms drop, dangle between them as her head tips forward. There’s still a space between them, but it’s enough. Especially when Pear doesn’t back away.

…

Guitar strings strum behind them, and they draw Pear from her canvas. Gaze up the hill, she’s distracted long enough for Earn to notice.

Setting down her brush, she swivels to look up towards the apple tree, towards where the notes are drifting from. “You want to listen to the music?” she asks. “We can; I’m sure Wat wouldn’t mind a bigger audience.”

She’s tugged backwards just as she moves forward. Both of her wrists are caught, and suddenly she’s being swung around the field, twirled around and around and around. It’s dizzying, and her vision kaleidoscopes; she can make out colors, patterns, but not much else. Catching a flash of Pear’s face, her wide smile, she’s serenaded by the giggles she gives as they fall into an unled dance.

Time passes, the song changes, but they still move together – in, out, back, forth. And then she’s falling, crashing into the shallow end of the river, water beneath her and Pear atop. She catches her by the shoulders, holds her up, and when the shock wears off, she realizes this is the closest they’ve been.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once. She wants to stay, try for more, test the figurative and literal water with her. But there are boundaries, hurdles, stepping stones they have yet to get past, over, around; barreling forward head on will only get her hurt.

She’s held down as she goes to sit up, and she dares a glance. Wide eyes are hard to read, but at the very corner, small enough to miss, there is that ferocity Earn saw the very first day she’d spotted her. There is fear and pause, but along with that is passion, the very thing that keeps her strong and steady.

That passion drives her forward. Hand cupping the side of her head, Earn fits her fingers below her ear, threads them through her hair. Chin tipping up, still not daring a full lurch, her eyes flicker to Pear’s lips and there’s an intense want, an unquenchable need.

Patience dwindling, fire growing, she inches further. And that seems to be enough. Fists in her shirt collar, eyes on hers until they finally shut, Pear closes the gap Earn is too afraid to.

Every sense bursts to life at once. Scents of damp grass, river water with a touch of floral; sounds of dragonflies buzzing by and a familiar tune taught to her by the elders in the village floating from the top of the hill; touches of brown tendrils brushing across her cheeks as their heads tilt, soft skin and hard scales contrasting beneath her palms; tastes of apples and finally and yes; and the sight of the most beautiful girl, most beautiful creature, most beautiful anything that graces this very earth flushing pink and dipping her head when they pull apart.

Her fluster doesn’t deter her far. She lets herself be held, and Earn’s heart, spirit, soul soars far from her body. No more spaces between, no more hesitations. She pulls her back, waits for the slow sigh Pear gives against her lips before she deepens.

The fire roars on, and slowly the embers turn to ash.

…

Her return is met with a tangle of limbs and lips against her ear. Stepping back to steady herself, her hands come to rest upon the curve of Pear’s spine, fingers dancing up and down the ridges.

“Hello,” she breathes through a laugh, tilting up her chin when Pear nudges beneath it. “I’m sorry I haven’t come for a few days; my parents needed my help around the house. But I snuck a few of the tarts my mother made into my bag. Will that make up for it?”

Pear doesn’t go for her bag, for the treats. She instead goes for her mouth, bleeds relief and happiness and I missed you into it. Hands pressing against her waist, pushing their torsos closer, she turns to her jaw, her cheek, her nose, to brush all of her emotions there as well.

Earn lets her, soaks in every second. Only when she pulls back, gives a satisfied giggle, does she return the affection. Butterfly kisses flutter about her skin, followed by the whispers of longing and the promise of it will never happen again.

It has only been a few days, but the effect is strong. Paint brushes untouched, canvases downturned, her inspiration had fallen from her, dropped over a cliff into the abyss. Here – grass blades tickling her ankles, the coolness of scales beneath her fingertips, her beautiful nymph in her arms – her imagination bursts to life; it spills back into her. And as she rests her forehead against Pear’s temple, she cannot help but think the muse never left. It has only been waiting for her to return to it, for now it resides here. In this meadow, by the lake, with Pear.

…

Knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder. Not even a breath of air can pass between them, not with how close they’re sitting. Pear’s forearm pressing heat into hers, they look out towards the water. Sun shining down, the ripples crystalize under the light.

Earn turns to the nymph at her side. She’s blinded by the reflection of her scales and wonder of how someone like her – so astonishingly, mind-bogglingly perfect – can exist; and alongside that, how she has the pleasure of existing with her.

Fingers finding the root of a long stem beside her, she plucks upwards. A water lily – jasmine pearl, white petals fading to purple – fills her palm, and she goes to tuck it behind Pear’s ear.

Reaching to touch it, eyes questioning as they look to her, Pear doesn’t even realize how very fitting the scene is. The flower is her twin: a delicate, gorgeous bloom that captivates anyone who stumbles upon it, making it impossible to look anywhere else. It’s breathtaking. It’s stunning. It’s her.

“I can’t make you a flower crown,” she admits. Pushing back some of her hair that dares to fall over the flower, she offers her a smile. “But you deserve to get flowers as beautiful as you are from someone who loves you.”

Distance closing, she whispers, breath fanning against Pear’s lips, “And I’d like to be that someone.”

Earn sees a smile stretch across her face before her eyes shut fully and their lips come together. There are so many things to feel all at once. Love, desire, a raging fire. But more than anything else, happiness spreads through her, bursting wide like the flower behind Pear’s ear. Happiness, she thinks as their hands come to hold each other. This is it.

#2gether #2gether the series #earnpear #earn x pear #2gether fanfic #my writing #nymph!tine au #but now also #nymph!pear au

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teaspacebar · 5 years ago

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war of hearts part iv: disguises, panic, and yearning

summary: you go on an undercover mission and end up hiding in a small closet with a certain clone commander.

words: 1.5k+

beta:@ambereyesandwine

taglist (open): @morganas-pendragons @deathlessdays @obiorbenkenobi @painkiller80 @abovethyfold @the-lady-of-stars @my-own-oracle

masterlist

“I don’t know about this.”

“You look fine, Pip.”

You sent a playful glare to Salem in the mirror, before tugging once again at the dress you were wearing. It was a beautiful dress. It flowed in a way that made the gold color look like it was melting. And it was backless. You had never worn anything more revealing in your life.

“They could have sent anyone else,” you huffed, nerves getting to you.

“Do you want the practical answer or the nice one?”

“Both?”

Salem smirked, coming up behind you, “The practical answer, you’re not usually in big battles so you’re less likely to be recognized. You also blend in well with civilians, making you the optimal choice for this mission.”

“And the nice one?”

“You’re smart, clever, and pretty – they couldn’t have chosen any better.”

You squint at Salem’s reflection, turning around to lightly slap him in the chest, “Flattery doesn’t work on Jedi.” Salem gave a grunt and shrugged, but the smirk stayed on his lips as he turned away. In the past few months, Salem had become your confidant. You cared for all the boys in the Juno Squadron, but Salem understood you on a level that nobody else did. You could share your fears with him and not be judged. He said it never made you less of a Commander, or less of a person. Just how you believed that him being a clone never made him less of a man.

“You have the plan?”

You nodded, thanking him as you took the golden circlet from his hands so you could place it on your head. “I’m a neutral representative from a planet in the Mid Rim looking to see what the Republic and Separatist parties have to say. Master Kenobi is here with Senator Amidala as well as other senators to represent the Republic. We have word that someone working for the Separatists will attempt to assassinate some of the other neutral planet leaders and blame it on the Republic.”

“Cody, Maverick, and Zig are here as well, but we couldn’t get them in without being suspicious as you were only allowed one bodyguard.”

You blinked in surprise, “Cody’s here?”

“At the transport, but yes.” Salem held out a black fur jacket, which you slipped into. “If anything happens, you know the signal.”

You hum your affirmation, pulling the jacket around your chest. Salem was right, everything would be fine.

Salem was wrong, everything was not fine.

Screams enveloped the room as a body fell to the ground, one shot through the head. You swung around, looking for anyone you recognized. The room was large, and the panicking people made it harder to see. You just needed to find Salem, Obi-Wan, anyone.

A hand clasped around your wrist, a familiar feeling washing over you. “Cody?” The man didn’t respond, instead slipping your lightsaber into your hand. You met his eyes - the rest of his face hidden by cloth – and asked, “Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“He went after the bounty hunter!”

“Senator Amidala?”

“Salem got her.” His gaze swept over your form, “You alright?”

Before you could respond, you whipped around, igniting your saber. You blocked a shot that would have hit you, recognizing a man you had mingled with earlier in the evening. “I knew there was something off – you looked too innocent in that dress. You’re pretty, for a Jedi. Pity you didn’t take me up on my offer.” Guards came up behind the Separatist as he held his pistol again to fire.

“Let’s go!” You grabbed Cody’s forearm to push him in the direction of an exit. He obeyed, the two of you running out of the main room. “Where’s Zig?”

“Back entrance of the compound,” he responded as you continued down the hall.

“Right, so just on the other end,” you sighed. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

“With you?” Cody pulled down the cloth covering his face, “Never.”

You nudged him in the side, hand brushing against his, “Been awhile since we’ve had a mission together.” He glanced over at you, and you noticed his gaze linger for a moment. “Seems like all the guards went to the main room.”

The clobber of footsteps made Cody shoot you a look, “You just had to say something.” He grabbed your hand, tugging you down the hall and through a door. It slid shut behind you, darkness hampering your vision. You reach out to balance yourself, almost tripping over whatever was underneath you. Hands settled over your own, helping you to find your footing.

Whatever closet you were in, it was small.

“Good?” Cody asked softly.

“I’m alright.” You inhaled sharply as the footsteps rushed past you. After it sounded like they were far enough away, you huffed, “We’re going to be here for a bit, aren’t we?” Cody didn’t respond, and you squinted as you tried to make out his face. “Everything okay?”

“That man, earlier. What did he mean when he said ‘offer’?”

You frowned at the memory, “He wanted me to become one of his wives. Said he treats the others well and that I wouldn’t want for anything. He provides resources to the Separatists.”

“I didn’t like how he looked at you.”

You blinked in surprise, “Like how?”

“Like he wanted to…eat you.” The distaste was almost palpable in his tone. You could feel it coming off his body in waves.

You found his hand, squeezing it gently, “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t like it either. I knew this dress was a bad idea. I look like a child wearing her mother’s clothes.” Your eyes had adjusted, and you could make out the expression of confusion on his face.

“It’s – you’re beautiful.” Warmth flooded your cheeks at his blatant words.

It wasn’t that Cody hadn’t made similar sentiments before, but he always seemed to convey more in body language than words. You had grown used to interpreting his emotions – when they weren’t loud enough to hear – through the nuances of how he held himself. When it was just the two of you, the weight on his shoulders was lifted. His shoulders relaxed and his lips curled into small smiles easier. You maintained a friendly distance though, only getting close when there was time for a hug. You knew that the rest of the boys wouldn’t care, but Cody put up walls – ever filling the Commander role he had been given.

“But it’s not very me, is it?”

Cody exhaled a laugh, careful not to disrupt the quiet space, “No.” Your stomach flipped as his brown eyes bore into yours. You gasped softly at the strong wave of emotions that came from him, your hands sliding up to grab his forearms. “Even so,” he trailed off, but you could hear the unspoken words – still beautiful.

The space between you lessened as you took a step toward him. You wanted to bask in his warm presence, his glowing soul calling to you. The urge to carve a hole into your heart and let him curl up in it overwhelmed you. This man was one that you admired, one that you trusted.

This man was the one that you loved.

The realization made your breath catch as the plethora of feelings that had been hidden in your chest poured through the cracks. Your gaze slid adoringly over his face, memorizing everything about this moment so you could have it forever.

“It should be alright to come out now,” Cody made a movement to open the door, but you caught his hand. He uttered your name softly as you raised his hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm. The man froze, and you felt his surprise…and something else. His hand was now cupping your cheek, thumb brushing across your lips as he stared at you. Your chest felt like it was burning from within – the Force almost buzzing around you – like it was asking for you to quench its thirst.

Your free hand slid up his arm, over his shoulder, and to the nape of his neck. Cody’s nose brushed against yours, but he didn’t feel close enough. “Cody,” you breathed his name, a gentle plea.

“Can I –”

“Please,” you pulled him the smallest bit closer, and his lips pressed to yours.

It was like drinking sunshine. A tad clumsy – as neither of you had kissed anyone before – but the emotion from it more than made up for it. Cody had one hand on your cheek, the other gripping your waist. This is what you wanted. All the late-night walks and the gentle words lead to this. You broke away to take a breath, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, only for a finger to come and brush it away.

Brown eyes met yours and you knew that no explanation was needed. “We should get going before they come back.” It was like Cody had to force the words out of his mouth. You felt the same – yearning to just hide in this small space – but you knew that you had already taken up enough time.

You gave one last kiss to his lips, thumb brushing over the scar on his brow, “Alright.” You readied your lightsaber in your hand, nodding once. Cody hit the panel on the side and the door slid open. “Last one to the transport has to buy a round at 79’s!” And with that, you took off down the hall.

#war of hearts #commander cody x reader #padawan!reader #swtcw #commander cody #star wars the clone wars

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capricornus-rex · 5 years ago

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A Legacy Begun (11 - End)

Chapter 11: The Spark of Hope | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Prompt/s in play: Anon prompt (found in Chapter 1 link) + fic idea

A/N: Wow, I’m a day overdue on this. I was supposed to work on this a day ago until I had a yard accident. Don’t worry, nothing’s broken, but something’s... wiggling. Hopefully, I’ll be okay in a few weeks... hopefully. Sorry for the delay, you guys.

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Masterlist

11 of 11

The Kestis family and the Mantis crew eventually decided to join this alliance with the objective of stopping the Empire at all costs. They took up the offer a month after Mari Kosan had personally approached them.

For young Cassidy, it was a big adjustment, having to leave the home she knew back in Zera III and begin to live in a new home. The child had mixed feelings about it, she had sensed the uneasiness of her parents when they prepared for their departure that day.

“I never saw a planet that red before,” she gasped, gawking at Yavin’s main planet that they passed by as they approached the moon’s atmosphere.

When the Mantis had cut through the skies and had full view of the forests that covered the land mass. All of a sudden, little Cassidy didn’t feel a bit homesick anymore.

“It’s… almost like home,” she softly uttered, the treelines reminded her of the wide, green dells of Zera.

Greez prepared the Mantis to land near the open area in front of the sandstone structure. Upon closer look, it would’ve been a temple when it was still in its prime. The entire family was greeted by Mari Kosan, who went out of her way to meet with them as soon as she saw that familiar ship flying into their radar.

The bustle of the temple-turned-base of operations fascinated the young Jedi. Never has she ever seen a different kind of ship besides the Mantis, she had to step back while keeping her head titled up—emphasizing the gargantuan size of the fighter ships.

The new feeling was a two-way road: for the adults working in the base, it was new for them to see a kid running around—understandably so, it was someone’s daughter. As for Cassidy, she wasn’t used to this much people in a single place, she felt small and therefore found more solace with her family.

“This place is so much bigger than our house, Mom!” she exclaimed.

“Well, it is a base after all, darling,”

“Did they build that too?” she points to the pyramid.

“No, it looked like it’s been there way before they even came here,”

Much like her lifestyle in Zera III, Cassidy found herself a spot where she can practice her saber techniques in peace without being in the way of the adults working in the base. It’s no surprise that her spot was another clearing in the forest, little did she know that she was in full view of the scouts in the watchtowers but they didn’t mind her that much, it was also only a few meters away from the base so she can find her way back on her own.

Her parents eventually found her spot, thanks to a watchtower scout, and they continued their training—almost as if nothing happened. Over time, her skills improved and she was able to spar with her parents—something that she has been secretly dreaming even before she had her own saber constructed.

“You’re catching up real quick!” Cal encouraged.

“Well, I’ve been practicing all week, Dad!”

“Don’t get cocky then, Cassy!”

Cassidy’s combat techniques had evolved from sticking to only Form I: Shii-Cho to being a practitioner of Form III: Soresu, occasionally making a medley out of the first four forms if the situation arises. It was a blatant contrast to her father’s combined forms—which were technically powerful, swift, nearly-brutish in terms of movement, and is highly likely to be overwhelming for an unskilled opponent.

You observed that Cassidy was more in the offensive and Cal was being defensive in his stances. He surely didn’t go easy on sparring against his daughter.

“You confuse your confidence with arrogance, keep yourself grounded—literally and figuratively!” Cal lectured as he proceeded to lunge at her, to which she barely dodged by a hair. “Celebrating too early will cloud your judgment. You may think you’re winning—but you’re getting closer to loss.”

From that, Cassidy became more conservative with her attacks, timing for the right window of opportunity to get a jab at Cal, he disarmed her when he made a flurry of combos against her to the point that the grip on her saber had weakened and led her scuttling on the dust. The tip of his lightsaber hovered mere inches away from the front of her face.

“Well, Cassidy?”

This isn’t how Cassidy pictured herself in today’s instruction. While she had her father thinking that she’s submitted to the ground, she mustered her energy in her hands and Force-pushed her father away. It wasn’t a strong push, but enough to stagger him away from her so she can reach for her saber.

Igniting it the second the weapon reunites with her hand, she lunged for an overhead strike to which Cal flimsily deflected while trying to regain her footing.

“Impressive,” he commented as the colors of their blades mixed in the tight space between them. Cassidy pulled away before she could let the weight of her father overcome her in the block. “Most impressive.”

Cal switched his saber off, signaling the end of today’s session. Cassidy made a celebratory spin of her saber before turning it off.

“You’re learning everyday,” you added.

“There are just some parts that I can’t get right,”

“You’ll have plenty of time to work on that, sweetie. Come on, it’s time for lunch, Greez is making your favorite,”

“Alright!!”

Cassidy raced out of the forest, forgetting to wait for her parents and simply dashed towards the Mantis. You and Cal exchange insights on your daughter from today’s session.

“She’s becoming more and more skillful. She really is a born fast learner,”

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t think she’d do a Force-push on me. That was quite creative of her,”

Cal insisted that his daughter had inherited tactfulness and adaptiveness from you.

“Yes well, she got that tinge of recklessness from you,” you rebutted, half-jokingly.

The two of you walked out of the clearing and followed Cassidy to the Mantis. Apparently, she was waiting for you by the entry ramp, when she had caught sight of her parents she disappeared into the ship, probably helping out set the table inside.

“If there’s one thing Cassidy is weak for—it’s fried Nuna legs,” Cal quipped, nothing but a chuckle from you became his reply.

The first few months have been peaceful, yet there was always the looming fear that war will come here and ravage the moon. Your only comfort being you’ll be fighting with good people and in numbers.

—–

0 BBY, IN THE TIMELINE OF “A NEW HOPE”

In the midst of the committee, he was held in high regard, looked upon with great esteem, they turned to him whenever the subject matter felt like his insight was crucial. He was a constant figure among the meeting rooms in the base. They didn’t look down on him due to his second origin of being a scrapper, as a matter of fact, he had the same knowledge as their engineers.

“Master Kestis,” a voice, faceless among the crowd in the meeting room. He had insisted everyone to simply call him by his first name, but out of force of habit, they end up addressing him as Master.

When he knew that it was hopeless for him to correct them, he turned to that voice in the room that addressed him. His glance prompted them to continue.

“Do you think it’s plausible to have a far-range receiver to pick up the Empire’s signal?”

A brief pause allowed him to think. He returned his attention to the holograph where they had gathered.

“Well, the concept is similar to something I’ve designed for our previous home. But to make its range farther—for instance, from the surface to off-planet—we’re gonna have to need a stronger satellite, calibrate it with an open channel frequency, and once we test it, we can figure out how far our dummy ship’s signal can be picked up once it’s out of the moon. The farther, the better—it means that we can pick up the Empire in our radar before they even realize it.”

“It’s an ambitious design, but not impossible,” Gial Ackbar, the Mon Calamari admiral, interjects. “It’s sure to help us buy time when the need to evacuate comes.”

“We’ll see what we can do in the drawing board,” the head engineer added, stroking his grey-white beard as if he’s come up with an idea to add up to Cal’s concept. “I think we can do that on one of the prototype transponders we have to communicate with the pilots from their ships once they’re off the planet.”

“That could work, I’d like to see it some time, if you don’t mind, Head Engineer,”

“My boy, it will be a delight if you stop by!” the old head engineer chuckled, tucking his hands into the pockets of his long, white coat.

The meeting was adjourned after a few more discussions varying between the Empire and the base’s own resources. Everyone else dispersed in the meeting room and Cal was one of the first people to leave the room, trading curt nods at fellow rebels as he passed by the hallways.

Cal wore many hats and served them one by one—sometimes even juggling two at a time. But past the formalities, the conferences, and the ceaseless interaction with the diplomats, he always returns to the one role he has been taking on for eleven years.

“Dad! Watch me train with Mom!” Cassidy comes running up to her dad in the hangar and he catches her in his arms.

“I wouldn’t miss it, sweetie,”

“Then we’ll spar, right?”

“You betcha!”

Father and daughter appear into the forest clearing where you had been waiting for the two of them. Cassidy slipped her hand away from her dad, Cal gently holds you by the cheek and pulls you in for a kiss.

“Darling, you’re back,”

“I missed you,”

“It was only for an hour or two,”

“Yeah well, meetings aren’t really my thing,” the bridge of his nose crumpled, playfully making a grimace as he stretches his arms upward and wraps one of them around your shoulder. “This is a bit more of my thing.”

Bemused, you rolled your eyes and found his hand on your shoulder, “Which one—today’s instruction or me?”

He inched close and grinned, the tips of your noses brushing against one another, “Both.”

His lips pecked yours, but he doesn’t plan to let go of you any moment soon.

Now at eleven years old, Cassidy continued to prove her potential as a Jedi.

The child was lithe and nimble, using them to her advantage whether in combat or traversing the terrain of the obstacle course that her parents had built together. Her strategical skills were put into good use in that training course.

Her liveliness in combat was balanced out in using the Force and meditating, courtesy of you, no less.

“You’re getting better at the fighting,” you initiated, eventually slipping away from Cal’s arm. “But let’s see how you’ll fare without your weapon.”

Using the Force, you spirited away the saber from Cassidy’s small hand. She didn’t have time to react on it and realize that you’re stealing away her saber.

“Oh, don’t think about pulling the same trick as you did with your dad,”

There was stern tone in your voice, just hearing it made Cassidy’s stomach churn. To reassure her that it was going to be a fair fight, you removed your saber from the designated hook on your belt and joined it with Cassidy’s atop a rock’s flat surface.

“There will come a time that you’ll be robbed of your weapon—mostly by your enemies. And when that happens, you’re essentially bare—but don’t let that deter you. The weapon you have next to your saber is yourself. Now then…”

It occurred to her that she had to wield only the Force and engage in hand-to-hand combat against you. You seldom engage in any form of combat with Cassidy—because that was more of Cal’s work—but it was only this one time where she saw you throwing fists and delivering kicks. She’s seen you fight with a lightsaber, but rarely with your bare hands.

Your own daughter was surprised to face her mother—who was barely angry or aggressive, always sweet and doting—not once did Cassidy ever imagine you challenging her. Then again, you were a Jedi, she knew that you would eventually.

She tucked her knees down, placing herself in a stance with her fists in front of her.

“Good form. Now, see if you can attack me,”

Cassidy resumed to being the one who always engages in the offensive first. Springing her heels toward you, she attempted to pull a punch—in the blink of an eye, the whole of your palm stopped the impact on wherever she was planning to hit you.

You pushed her away, deflecting her blow, and she restarted her stance. For every punch she threw, she was denied of landing it; in perfect balance, you bent down level to her waist and your leg literally swept her off of her feet.

“Throwing punches may feel thrilling, but if you’re going to be reckless like that first moment, it’s not going to work,”

“I’ll try again,” she declared, steeling her mental willpower and her demeanor.

Going back to your stance was your reply, you anticipated her attacks. This time, she opted to start with a kick and your forearm shielded you from the tip of her boot. When you swung her foot back to the ground, she hooked her left fist towards your cheek—a bold move, you thought, but it was nothing as you repeated the same deflection as the first time. Cassidy took you by surprise when she flung a kick against your side when you were busy blocking her punch with your arm.

You staggered at the impact, you dented the earth with your boots as you skidded and reset your footing to face her in the other direction. A small smirk curled along your lips—that meant that she’s impressed you with her last-minute tactic—and the fistfight continued.

“Good!” you exerted. “Keep making use of your advantages, Cassidy!”

Cassidy allowed the adrenaline to flow within her, dictate her movements, and be able to analyze the situation faster before you could retaliate. Punches and kicks land between mother and daughter. Flinging and trading fists, making sure that it doesn’t only cut through the wind.

Eventually, your eleven-year-old secured her win on this round when she delivered a kick on your knee and then to your abdomen. When the adrenaline had died down in her system, Cassidy’s clenched teeth loosened and the tension in her shoulders relaxed. She darted towards her mother’s side, assisting you to get back up on your feet.

“Oh… Oh no, Mom! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, sweetie,” you grunted, managing a reassuring chuckle and taking her hand, you repeated. “It’s fine.”

“I’m so sorry, I… I don’t know what gotten into me,”

“A little adrenaline couldn’t hurt, Cassy,” you tussled her hair. You exhaled away the aches that her hits have delivered.

The arrival of a Corellian freighter called your attention, catching a glimpse of it on the trees’ canopy. The intrigued youngling darted out of the clearing to find it landing right in front of the base, opposite of where the Mantis idled.

“Wow, that’s a big piece of junk,”

“Now Cassidy, be nice,” Cal lightly scolded.

“Oh come on, Dad, you think so too, right?”

He sighed, bobbing his head left and right, “Okay, it’s not the best piece of work, really.”

“Knew it!” the child chuckled.

From afar, you spot the Princess exiting the ship, flanked by a pair of men, a Wookiee, a gold protocol droid, and a blue-and-white astromech.

“Well, it seems Her Highness has gotten herself stuck with an interesting band of misfits,” you commented within Cal’s earshot.

“Quite an interesting rescue team if you ask me,”

The family approached the group, appearing out of the clearing to greet the princess with the greatest esteem.

“Ah, Your Highness, this is Master and Lady Kestis,” the soldier introduces.

“Your Majesty,” husband and wife greeted and bowed in unison, to which the Princess immediately dismissed.

“Oh come now, there’s no need for formalities,” she beamed a smile with lips as red as roses.

Cassidy was still a tad shy towards newcomers, she hid behind Cal’s hip as she gazed at the mismatched group of misfits; she was mostly interested with the Wookiee and how tall it stood over everyone else, when the brown, hairy creature met eyes with her, she was startled and hid her face against her dad’s arm, but the Wookiee tilted his head slightly, mirroring the child’s gesture as she gradually peeked out of her father’s arm. When she sensed that the tall creature was harmless, she flashed a shy but friendly smile and the Wookiee groaned softly.

The same head engineer from Cal’s meeting beckoned him to join them inside the base.

“Lady Kestis, if you don’t mind, we would like to have your company in the council room as well,”

“Of course,” you turned to Cassidy. “Daddy and I will be back, okay? You go play wherever you like.”

“Okay, Mom,”

You kissed her forehead, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

She nodded and you let her free. You and Cal followed the head engineer and the Princess, boarding a cart separate from theirs on the way into the hangar. The Kestis couple sensed the urgency as they strode into the meeting room, while having the meeting, Cassidy had wandered off into the hangar—secretly following the newcomers and caught the eye of the boy with sandy brown hair.

“Hello there,” the nineteen-year-old spoke in a friendly tone and bent to her level. “What’s your name?”

“Cassidy,”

“What a pretty name. Well, Cassidy, I’m Luke! Nice to meet you,” he gladly extended his hand, offering her a handshake. She hesitated for a few seconds but took his hand with hers and they shook on it.

She didn’t notice it, but Luke’s friendly smile unconsciously dissolved as he felt something within the girl. It was similar to a feeling he had not too long ago. Even with his eyes opened, he suddenly reminisced a moment where he had his vision obscured and the sound of the lightsaber buzzing against projectiles rang fresh in his eardrums. He shook away the thought and managed a smile in front of Cassidy as he let go of her hand.

“Did you rescue her? The princess?”

“Yeah, I guess we did,”

“Are the bad guys coming here? Because I have a bad feeling about it,”

“Oh well, would you look at that—just when I thought you were the youngest here, there’s one who beat you to it,” the other man, obviously taller than Luke, cuts in before he could give the boy a chance to reply.

The Wookiee grunted in reply.

“Don’t scare her off, Chewie,” the man blurted.

In reply, the Wookiee raised its voice on the man with the black vest, flailing its arm to emphasize whatever point it was making. While the three bickered, Cassidy turned her head to the freighter they came in with, she reminded herself of her father’s scolding and bit her tongue.

Moments later, all of the pilots started gravitating towards the room where the engineer had summoned them. Although he wasn’t a pilot yet, Luke decided to join in, but he politely excused himself in front of Cassidy before he went with the herd of orange jumpsuits. Amidst that gathering of pilots, Cassidy’s parents were also in that briefing, listening to the head engineer as he points at the blueprint of the plans they’ve recovered while giving instructions.

“So much for that far-range receiver,” Cal mumbled within your earshot.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance in making it,” you comforted as you listened.

“Using proton torpedoes, a precise shot into this small exhaust port found in this trench—it’s an opening so small, its width roughly measures about two meters—will cause a chain reaction into the oscillator, destroying it from the inside,” the head engineer explained.

Murmurs filled the room, heads turning left and right as doubt begins to fill the meeting room. You and Cal glance at the uneasy pilots, their collective inhibition was so loud that neither of you don’t need to sense it—because everyone else in the entire room did.

“That’s impossible!” a faceless voice, lost in the crowd of orange and white, stood out from the whispering.

“Then man your ships, and may the Force be with you all,” the engineer adjourned.

“Are you fighting with them?” that question had been suffocating you for the duration of the briefing.

“No, I don’t think I have the strength to leave my girls here,”

Relief washed over you as you smiled, Cal secretly slipped his hand to yours and intertwined fingers with you. The two of you watched the pilots disperse out of the room, some were confident, some were nervous—but if there was one thing they had in common: they’re ultimately anxious.

Cassidy eventually found Luke donning a starpilot’s jumpsuit. She watched the blue-and-white astromech droid being hoisted by a magnetic crane into the designated port on the exterior of the X-Wing.

“I hope they’ve calibrated and oiled your S-foils well,” Cassidy blurted. “It’s gonna be hard if it’s not fully locked in their attack position.”

“You sure know your starfighters,” Luke smiled, impressed.

“My dad used to be a scrapper, so he knows his stuff. Plus, he helps with the ships too!” Cassidy said proudly.

Luke replied an awkward but friendly laugh as he climbed the ladder onto the cockpit of his X-Wing.

“Hey Luke!”

“Yeah?”

“May the Force be with you!”

“May the Force be with you too, Cassidy!”

You beckoned Cassidy into the far side of the hangar, where the three of you watched all of the X-Wings wheel out of the hangar and take off to the skies—carrying the hope of the entire Rebel Alliance as a first step to battling the Empire.

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years ago

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What Might Have Been - 10

(We return to Aziraphale! Though with an Outsider POV. Slight CW for non-graphic pain and medically-applied painkillers.)

This ongoing fic is for the @goodomenscelebration “theme” prompts. You can read the previous parts here:

Parts 1-6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Miracle

Ishliah’s blade wavered. Her back burned from the demonic claws that had raked it, her head swam. She just wanted to rest.

But the trumpets were calling her to battle again, urging her to fight. She had to accept the command, let it wash over her, or they would think she was a deserter. A traitor, like this pale fool in his ridiculous human costume that wouldn’t have fooled anyone. She should turn him in, pull him back out to fight like a proper angel, or skewer him here and now…

Her blade wavered again, dipped, tumbled from her grasp.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around her, lifting her, carrying her away from the battle. The sounds of it seemed to fade into the distance, as the fighting moved over the sea again, the trumpets so distant as to be little more than music.

No. She needed to return – needed to fight –

“Hush, now, don’t fuss,” the voice said, soft and insistent. “We’ll have you cleaned up in no time.”

He checked three rooms before finding one with intact furniture, a sleeping platform covered in light colored padding. Gently, he lowered her onto it, turning her to lay on her stomach, and by the Hosts it was soft. Ishliah sank into the padding, feeling it give way, supporting her gently. She graved more. The other angel moved one of the coverings, shifting it over her legs and hips, surrounding her with warmth.

“There. Is that better?”

“What is this?” Ishliah settled her face on one of the head cushions. It was even more luxurious than the padding under her body, the fabric flowing against her cheek like water. “It’s so…good. Is this why humans spend a third of their lives asleep?” It was so wonderful, it had to be a sin.

But the angel just chuckled. “No, humans do actually need that. But they certainly make the most of it. And my…a friend of mine has been introducing me to the joys of good sleep as well. Pardon me.”

Fingers brushed gently against the wounds, fire screaming across her back and out of her mouth. “Traitor!” she managed when the worst had passed. “Do your worst! I won’t tell you –”

“My worst? This isn’t torture, I’m trying to heal you.” More spikes of pain as he explored the base of her wings, then further down her back, then lifted one of her arms. “These wounds…has anyone ever healed you?”

Ishliah blinked at the scar twisted across her arm, gold and silver lines. “Of course not. Waste of resources. Regular soldiers aren’t authorized for healing.”

“Then, when you’re injured…”

“I keep fighting, of course.” She jerked her arm free. He spoke as if her scars were something to be pitied, not the proof that she was a warrior, that she had never given up. “Should be fighting now. It’s just a scratch –”

She tried to push herself up, and the room tilted alarmingly until she collapsed back on the bed.

He adjusted the covering over her legs. “My dear, the wound on your back has some sort of poison in it. It’s draining you. You probably only have a few hours left. Can’t you feel it?”

“No.” Ishliah shook her head, than paused as the world continued shaking. “No. I can fight. If this is the end, I want to take as many demons down as I can.”

“It doesn’t need to be the end. I can heal you. Close your wounds.” She furrowed her brow, trying to decide what to do. He added, in a gentle voice, “If I heal you now, you can fight tomorrow, and the next day, and possibly many days after that. If I don’t, you will be gone by nightfall.”

“Fine,” she growled. “Make it quick.”

“You might want to hold on to that pillow. This is going to sting a bit.”

She wiggled around, pulling the smaller cushion so that it pressed against her chest and throat and face, wrapping her arms around it. “Proceed.”

Bright, blinding pain – nearly as bad as when the demon had struck – raced across her back. Ishliah pressed her face into the cushion, muffling the cries, but an instant later the pain was gone, replaced with something warm and soothing. She thought she was going to melt, and not from Hellfire.

“Oh, dear lord,” she sighed. “That’s…why does it feel…”

“To ease the pain,” the angel explained. “Just two more to go. Someone really made a mess back here. Are you ready to continue?”

“Mmmmh.” She pressed her cheek against the pillow. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not sure.” Another surge of pain, nearly as bad as the first, and then a surge of bliss equal to it. “Perhaps because you’re the first living creature I’ve seen.”

“Not living,” she reminded him, fluttering her wings a little. “Angel. We aren’t alive, so we don’t fear death. S’what my commander says.”

“Ah. Mine said something similar, you know. Back in the first war.” He might have paused for a short while, or a long one. Ishliah had lost all sense of time. “You know, I’m not sure I believed it even then.”

“’S that why you deserted?”

“Oh, no. Well, I mean, yes I suppose so, but I didn’t exactly desert. This isn’t my war.”

“Doesn’ make sense.” Fingers pressed against the base of her wing, pushing it down a little. “You don’ make sense.”

“I do not. Last one.” The pain this time was far, far worse than any before. Ishliah’s screams would surely alert all the Host as well as the Legions of the Damned to their location. “Done! Oh, you did very well.”

A high-pitched noise, which Ishliah was shocked to realize might come from her. She lifted her head and found the small cushion had somehow become damp. “It’s over?”

“Yes, but you should stay here a little longer.” He tugged the cushion away and replaced it with a fresh one. Ishliah felt strangely comforted, once her arms were wrapped around it again. The fingers brushed her back one more time, releasing a small wave of bliss, enough to unknot her muscles and make her sink deeper into the sleeping platform. “I don’t suppose you could…answer a few questions?”

“Mmmm, now the ‘terrogation starts,” she mumbled.

“As it were. You said…er, you said everyone knows who the angel Aziraphale is. Why? What did he do?”

“Guardian o’ Humanity?”

“Oh, I think I like that.” The sleeping platform shifted as if under a great weight. Ishliah cracked open an eye (why were they closed?) to see the other angel sitting beside her, his eyes shining. “Guardian of Humanity. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Guesso. Pretty nice gig. Not much fighting anymore, since they put the Wall up.”

“Oh. No, on second thought, I don’t like where this is going.”

“Nah, it’s good,” she insisted. She’d seen the plans. One of Gabriel’s best ideas, and he really came up with so many. “New Eden keeps ‘em safe. They’ll…” her face did something strange, stretching, sucking at air, far beyond her control. “They’ll learn to like it.”

“I…see…are all the humans in this New Eden?”

“Not yet. Gonna be. Well. Good ones.” A smile stretched across her face. “Demons’ll take the rest.”

“That’s horrid!”

“S’war. What are we gonna do, save them all?”

“Yes.” His fingers tugged on the edge of the sleeping platform. It was the only thing to watch, and her eyes drifted shut again. “Who decides? Which humans are good?”

“God, right? ‘R some judge? Dunno. Archangels tell us.” That should be obvious to any angel. This one certainly asked too many questions. “Here. You are a nangel, righ’?”

“I think it’s time for you to sleep,” he said gently, resting a hand on the back of her neck. “Dream of…well…have you ever experienced anything pleasant?”

“This sleeping platform. ‘Snnice.”

“Ah. Well. Perhaps dream of nothing, and let your mind rest.” Everything got strange and distant, like she was floating through the void of space, only warm and comfortable. “I don’t suppose you know where New Eden is?”

“Secret. No one knows.”

“Thought as much. Yes. Just sleep…”

#good omens #good omens prime #good omens celebration #goc2020 #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #fanfic #My writing #protective aziraphale #aziraphale being nurturing and protective #good omens angels #outsider pov #What Might Have Been

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buckyreaderrecs · 6 years ago

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So Far Away: Chapter 1/?

Summary: Bucky Barnes doing what he does best. Saving. Loving. In this particular case, the object of both is you. (Bonus: Bucky Barnes happy, healing, doing really well!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/reader Characters: Bucky Barnes Additional tags: mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), possible future smut (who knows, not me), she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with future chapters, hero Bucky Barnes, canon typical violence, warzone/disaster zone setting Warnings: possible triggers for anxiety, PTSD, grief

Note: I don’t know where I’m going with The Girl With Too Much Power (ideas welcomed) so here’s my other series. Feedback always encouraged and welcome. Thank ya’ll! xo Rhi

Tag list: just @darlingtholland lel

So Far Away Chapter 1 / ?

The city was crumbling and between the crashing sounds of buildings toppling, screams and cries were painfully audible. That wasn't the most terrifying part though. It wasn't the lifeless bodies lying in the streets or the sight of your mangled hand that were causing you to panic. It was that everything was happening somewhere else. The crumbling and screaming seemed so far away. If the action was elsewhere, so were the heroes.

Nobody was coming to save you.

For almost half an hour they'd ripped through the city unchallenged; nobody really counted the unified effort of the first responders. They never stood a chance against the enemy from above. It took ten minutes for The Avengers to hear about it. They were en route within another ten. Even with all that Stark tech though, it still took them just over eleven minutes to arrive, landing and launching into action.

You'd watched the heroes bounce off buildings and fly through the sky. They represented hope, but they couldn't save everyone.

The evacuation wasn't fast enough and whole blocks of the city were wiped off the map. By the time you'd crawled out of the rubble of yours, the trucks taking people to safety were long gone. In their wake, tire tracks in the dirt and dust, and bodies left behind to save room for the living.

You could walk, but terrified that someone… something… would circle back around, you dropped down behind a car that had been violently propelled across the street. Making yourself as small as possible, pulling your legs up to your chest and burying your face in your lap, you just listened. Thinking was too hard, and your thoughts were sure to be only dark and anxiety-inducing anyway.

It all seemed so far away.

Then, the tell-tale sound of trouble. No no no no no! you screamed in your head, covering your mouth with your hands to not let the terror out.

It was moving fast, but tearing everything up as it went. The sound coming from it was alien, but it still someone seemed like speech. It was communicating with the others. Then, you realised, it was looking for something. Sitting in a pile of bricks and glass, all you could do was hope to god that creatures from literal outer space didn't come to Earth in search of an old Ford.

Bits of debris came from over the car, rejected by the creature and cast aside. First, rocks and chunks of cement - too big for any human to throw so easily. They hit the building in front of you and shattered. A bad situation got worse when it dug deep enough to find the people who had been trapped under fallen buildings. Bodies flew over you, sometimes in parts.

After what felt like minutes but was only seconds, your entire body was shaking with abject horror. On the very cusp of losing consciousness from fear and blood loss, you heard one foreign sound. It was almost like a gunshot… but more… Star Wars-esque. It was immediately proceeded by silence.

Run! the voice in your head told you, but you were completely immobile.

"This thing's too damn light… Feels like a fuckin' toy," a human voice spoke. A pause for, presumably, a reply you didn't hear. "Yeah, it worked. Not the point." Another pause. "Call me that again, Stark and I'll-" The speaker abruptly stopped his conversation.

You hadn't heard him arrive. Unsurprisingly, you did not hear him as he walked through the destroyed street to the car you were hidden behind. To any other person, you were silent. However, he could hear the slight crunching of gravel beneath your feet, the air being inhaled and exhaled from your nose, and the tiny squeaks you were making entirely subconsciously.

Moving slowly, he made his way around the side of the car using footsteps that would make noise, announce his arrival. Don't scare her. You could feel him standing just metres from you. He spoke, but not to you.

"I got a friendly… She's out of the evac zone." The pause for reply was long. "It's a ghost town here. Nobody's gonna be coming through for-" He was interrupted. "Don't care. Gonna bring her in."

Again, he moved slowly.

Your face was still buried and although you knew it was somebody good crouching in front of you, everything was all too overwhelming to respond.

"Hi… I don't need ya to move just yet. Gonna have a look at your hand, if that's alright?"

His voice was calm. Far beyond the point of being in shock, it didn’t hurt when he gently took your arm. As he tightly wrapped your injured hand, you began to unwrap yourself. Lifting your head and opening your eyes, everything came into focus. Mostly, everything you could see was war. But, there he was. Easily recognisable, Bucky Barnes was finishing first aid on you.

His eyes lingered on the bandage for a moment, and you wondered where he'd stashed it before it stopped your bleeding. Did he have pockets of band-aids?

When he looked up at you, you were already looking back.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," you replied, your voice weak.

"Reckon we should get out of here. What do ya think?" As soon as you nodded, he mirrored the response and stood, helping you to your feet. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"N-no," you told him. That wasn't strictly true, but you were mostly numb. Deep, dark bruises would bloom all across your body over the coming days. How you managed to escape otherwise unharmed was magic or a miracle.

"Stronger than you look, huh?" he said, smiling. How he could smile in an environment like that was also magic or a miracle. "I know a couple people like that, so you're in good company. Always my favourite type of people,"

"I didn't… didn't think you'd talk so much," you said. It kinda just came out, the same way the thoughts of little kids do.

Bucky's left arm was around your waist, holding almost all of your body weight. He was making carrying you through a warzone seem easy. Giving you a bit of a casual shrug, Bucky said, " I don't… Trick to keep ya conscious. Don't want you passing out on me,"

"I'm not gonna pass out," you said, more in defiance than anything else.

Bucky scoffed. "Alright. So, what's your name then? What do you do?"

He'd obviously seen them before you, so by the time you clocked the creatures scrambling through broken buildings and rubble in their search, Bucky had already taken you off the road. Backs to the wall, he didn't appear in the slight bit concerned about the situation. He even looked to you, waiting for a reply before making his next move.

"Y/N," you told him.

"Y/N. Good to meet you, Y/N. I'm Bucky,"

"I know,"

"Yeah… Everybody fuckin' knows… Alright. Gonna need you to stay here for just a second, okay?"

As he went to peel away from the wall, you grabbed him with your one working hand. "Please don't leave me!" you begged in a harsh whisper. Tears had been streaming down your face since the first building went down, but a fresh flood started to sting your cheeks.

Bucky cupped your face with his gloved hands and looked you dead in the eyes. "I'm not leaving. I promise. I fuckin' promise you."

Slowly, you nodded. As soon as you did, he swooped off the curb and brought a reckoning down on the creatures. They hadn't seen him coming. Bucky moved with grace and ease, like he was born to fight. Later, when you were safe, you'd think about that moment, about the way he moved, and it would make you sad.

Back, Bucky wrapped himself around you again. And, that's how you got through the city. It was slow, but Bucky continually refused offers of help from whoever was in his earpiece. Resources were needed elsewhere, he said. He had you, and he'd get you to safety.

Time once again warping, fifteen minutes later you could hear voices and see human movement. It felt like you'd spent hours in Bucky's arms, watching him take down threats and crack bad jokes to keep you awake.

Before you realised what was happening, people were carrying you away from Bucky, pouring water down your throat and yelling at you that you were safe. Although you understood you were safe, it felt the opposite. "No! Please, please, please," you yelled, pushing free from the helpers and clinging back onto Bucky. All your words were rammed together, scared and needy.

Bucky let you hold him, wrapping his arms around you with the perfect amount of pressure. He hushed you with soft, "Shhhh," sounds. Using his teeth as a vice, Bucky pulled the glove off his right hand, then ran his fingers through your hair. "You're okay, Y/N. You're safe. You gotta stay here and have someone look at your hand. I gotta go help."

Although you nodded into him, you made no attempt to move. You'd been safe before it all happened, but it happened anyway. There was nothing to say that as soon as Bucky left, more creatures wouldn't arrive.

"Y/N. I got Captain America in one ear and Iron Man in the other. They can't do shit without me," Bucky joked. It made you laugh, looking up at him. "I'll come back when this is done. Bring ya flowers in the hospital,"

"I'm scared,"

"Yeah. Aliens are invading. It's scary. But it's kinda cool too, right?" he said with a wink.

He gently led you to one of the makeshift medical tents set up. When you were sitting down, he ruffled your hair in a weird gesture that confused you both, then left the safe zone. As soon as he was gone, you started to cry.

Chapter 2.

#mine #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes/Reader #Bucky Barnes / Y/N #Bucky Barnes x Y/N #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes/You #Hero Bucky Barnes #So Far Away

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veliseraptor · 6 years ago

Text

called my demons (but gave them back), 5k, where the devil don’t go ‘verse

I wrote this in a bizarre blaze of power today because of one anon ask I have no idea what happened, nothing explicit other than some language but warnings for: past dubcon and noncon, not strictly consensual sex work, generally the typical stuff for this verse, I’d ask what’s happening to me but there is no one I can blame but myself

---

Thor was too kind to say it, but Loki knew what he was: dead weight.

He tried. Truly, he did, doing whatever he could, wherever he could, but a not insignificant number of Asgardians were clearly uncomfortable with him working alongside them, and Thor, Heimdall and Valkyrie had the higher-level organizing and governing work well in hand. They had, after all, been managing without him for some time. Thor included him in their meetings, and asked after his opinion (as though he actually wanted it), but he hesitated to give it.

Loki could not shake the fear that one wrong word would see him gone.

Thor was kind. Thor tried to tell him that he did not feel Loki had deserved his fate, and looked at him with pity and concern, but Thor had made it clear on Sakaar that his patience had run out.

And despite that, he had been given a reprieve. Loki doubted he would be given another.

If he could not find a way to make himself useful, Loki knew...Asgard was short on resources. It could not afford to waste space and food and energy. And that was the trouble, because that was what Loki was.

A waste.

Sitting in solitude, curled up in a corner of his room in the middle of the night, Loki caught himself tracing the disc on the side of his neck and forced himself to stop. The Grandmaster’s voice whispered in his ear: maybe if you gave your brother some of this he’d think twice about kicking you to the curb later on.

Saliva filled Loki’s mouth and he swallowed the urge to vomit. A hysterical giggle swelled up and that he didn’t manage to catch in time. You could certainly be useful that way, he thought a little wildly. Surely there are some Asgardians who could use a hole to fuck and wouldn’t be picky about whose it was.

He bent forward, shuddering, and tried to stop thinking. He’d gotten fairly good at that, but now that he was free (are you?) it seemed he’d lost the way of it. Loki missed that: the ability to erase himself, to make himself nothing.

Asgard didn’t have the luxury of harboring nothings. And what he owed Thor alone…

Everything. He owed Thor everything.

He could not repay that debt. But perhaps if he could prove that he still had some kind of use, when the reckoning came he would be able to hold out one small offering and say see, I can still be valuable to you. I can never be worthy. But I can be useful.

If only he weren’t so very aware that he was useful for very little these days.

The Statesman was old. Not quite ‘decrepit’ but not exactly ‘fully functional’ either, and prone to breaking. Thor didn’t even seem surprised when a portion of the engine overheated and ceased to function, only sighed and directed them to limp to the nearest port where they could make repairs.

“And how,” Valkyrie said, “are we going to pay for the repairs? This isn’t going to be cheap, and I don’t have to remind you that we’re not exactly rolling in cash, and gambling’s illegal on Ollat Station.”

“We’ll manage,” Thor said stiffly. “There should be enough left in our coffers to cover it.”

“Depends,” Valkyrie said darkly. “How are your haggling skills, Your Highness?”

Loki sat quiet, his hands folded together in his lap, wheels spinning in his mind. He glanced at Heimdall, whose brow was creased in concern, and at Valkyrie, stress poorly disguised by a scowl, and Thor, trying too hard to look sure of himself.

Will you look at that, the Grandmaster said. It’s your time to shine, baby.

He almost said it aloud. Almost made the offer: aren’t you overlooking an obvious way you could cover the cost? But he could imagine, easily, how Thor would react. He’d reject the idea out of hand. Would place Loki’s so-called dignity above the welfare of his people, and regret it later.

Thor would never agree. And so Heimdall and Valkyrie would not, either, following his lead despite their better judgment.

Asgard’s resources would thin even further. Less margin in which to keep a broken ex-whore.

At least this time, he thought, he’d be selling himself. And for a good cause. That had to be an improvement.

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice sharp, and he started, tensing. Heimdall had gone, but Thor and Valkyrie still stood looking at him.

“Apologies,” he said quickly. “I was distracted. What is it?”

Thor frowned at him, and Loki dropped his eyes quickly, folding his hands more tightly together to try to keep them still. “Nothing,” Thor said finally. “It’s nothing.”

Anxiety bubbled in Loki’s gut. He could almost see the cliff’s edge crumbling in front of his feet. “No,” he said quickly. “I’m - if you need something of me, ask.”

Thor’s expression flickered. He looked pained. “It’s nothing, Loki,” he said. “Be at ease. I will...see you later.” He turned and left. Valkyrie eyed him a few moments longer before following, and Loki saw a warning in her gaze.

He started shivering, and drew his knees up to his chest, his hand wandering up to slide his fingers over the metal of the disc.

Things are so much simpler when you remember what you are.

Loki took a deep breath, pressed his forehead to his knees, and uncoiled, smoothing out his face. There was something reassuring about this, he thought distantly. About knowing exactly what he needed to do.

Honestly, it would be easy.

Just like you, honeybunch. Just like you.

It was a simple matter to slip away from the Statesman when they landed. All he had to do was ask. “I’m feeling a bit restless,” he said to Thor. “Would it be all right if I took some time to stretch my legs?” He smiled, carefully wry. “I know you can handle yourself without me. Do not try to pretend otherwise.”

Thor studied his face like he was trying to read something there, and his nod looked reluctant. Loki wondered what he suspected; what he thought Loki might do, unsupervised. What sort of mischief he might perpetuate, despite his assurances that he was done with causing trouble. But it was still a nod. “Of course,” Thor said. “Only...you will be careful.”

“I will,” Loki said. “And I will not stay away too long.”

“Don’t worry,” Thor said. “I have a feeling this may take a couple of days.” For a moment, he looked weary, care settling on his brow, but a moment after he swept it away and reached out to clasp Loki’s shoulder. Loki flinched involuntarily, and then cursed at himself as Thor’s expression wavered and fell.

“Hopefully not,” Loki said, and, “best of luck, Thor,” slipping away before he could say anything.

He was going to have to control that. If he couldn’t let himself be touched without that sort of reaction...he wasn’t going to get very far.

Taking a risk, Loki used the money he’d pinched from Valkyrie’s purse to buy a strong drink, and downed that to dull his nerves before moving on to his real purpose. If this worked, he should have more than enough to replace it without her noticing. If it didn’t...he’d probably have larger problems.

Loki did not have much experience with the business side of this...sort of thing, but he’d seen the Grandmaster do it plenty of times. Walking the streets was neither an option nor appealing, and there was too much risk he might be noticed by any visiting Asgardians. Besides, that wouldn’t make the kind of money they needed. At least he knew how to find the sort of upscale connoisseurs who would pay, and pay well; and if that meant they asked for more...

At this point, there were very few things Loki hadn’t done. Or had done to him.

It’s nice that you’re, ah, flexible, kitten. In more ways than one. Loki controlled his flinch.

He snuck his way into a club with a very exclusive clientele, bought his second drink with the last of his stolen money, and sat down to wait, idly noting the tawdry decor and melodramatic design choices. It was exactly the sort of place the Grandmaster would love.

His stomach was burning. He wanted, very badly, to get up and run.

Loki didn’t have to wait long for someone to approach him. The frank appraisal that swept over his body, and the approving smile, made something deep in Loki’s chest squirm with pleasure. You’re just - so eager to please, aren’t you, Lo?

Loki smiled back, raising his eyebrows a fraction. “Can I help you?” he asked, pitching his voice low and warm.

“Possibly,” his possible client said. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?” Loki let his smile turn wry, just this side of coy. “Are you trying to assess my...availability?”

He didn’t react. Not new to this, then. The burning in Loki’s stomach intensified. “So you are...available,” he said.

“I might be.” Loki leaned back. “What will you give me if I am?”

The price he named was almost absurdly - and certainly flatteringly - high. Loki restrained himself from simply agreeing immediately, a prickle of warning crawling up his spine. “That is quite an offer.”

“It is,” he said. “My price is...all-inclusive.”

Loki bit his tongue and gave himself a moment before asking, “how inclusive is ‘all’?”

“I’ll pay up front,” he said. “And if there is need for any...treatment afterwards, I can pay for that too.”

Loki shivered, just a little. Dread twisted with an unwilling arousal in his stomach. He fought against the latter, and then stopped fighting, because if he was going to do this then he might as well take what he could from it. Some part of him was still screaming in protest, telling him to throw his drink in this man’s face and run, to pull out a knife and gut him. The disc on the side of his neck seemed to throb.

Thor, he told himself. Asgard.

I can be useful.

“I accept,” he said, setting down his drink and standing, pulling out a card and sliding it in his new companion’s direction. “Direct the credits to this account, if you please.”

“Of course.” His smile was warm and dangerous. A vicious light sparked in the back of his eyes as he made the transfer, his gaze steady on Loki, and Loki could almost see the wheels turning, his imagination leaping ahead. “My name is Alaver.”

“Loki,” Loki said. He doubted the name would mean anything. If it did, the reputation would only help him.

Alaver just nodded, however, without recognition. “Come,” he said, like summoning a dog.

Loki took a moment - just a moment - to collect everything that wasn’t relevant, put it in a box, and shove it to the back of his mind. He was flesh and blood and bone to be used, and nothing more.

Good boy, the Grandmaster purred. You’re such a natural at this. Loki resisted the urge to touch the obedience disc. He walked out of the club and left himself behind.

It could have been worse. Loki had had worse. At some point it occurred to Loki hazily that what Alaver called ‘all-inclusive’ was not, actually, all-inclusive. He could have given some pointers.

The thought made him want to laugh.

When Alaver was done, Loki declined the offer of medical treatment. There was an expression of nearly stunned awe in his eyes as he watched Loki dress that should not have pleased him, but did. His joints ached, healing welts stung, and he was going to have to focus on walking normally for a bit, but he could stand, and he hadn’t screamed.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” Alaver asked. He sounded hopeful.

“I’m afraid so,” Loki said. “Only visiting.” Somehow, he smiled. “But I am flattered to be asked.”

He left, walking more or less steadily, calm and collected all the way down to the lobby and out into the street. He went a few blocks, then ducked into an alley and threw up a mixture of alcohol and semen. His body shook, a sob lurching up his throat that he caught before it emerged. Loki retched again, gagging on nothing.

What’s all this fuss about? You knew what was going to happen. You signed up for this, sweetheart. You brought this on yourself. Remember?

He remembered. He remembered trying to betray Thor - he didn’t even remember why, now, or what he’d been thinking. If he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t be here now.

One little fuck and you go all to pieces? Goodness gracious. Guess you really aren’t good for anything anymore.

Loki shoved his knuckles into his mouth and bit down until he tasted blood. Then he forced his hand down and checked the time.

He needed to head back before Thor got suspicious.

Loki dozed until evening, when Thor came knocking. “Yes,” he said automatically, and regretted it when the door opened on Thor, frowning. His stomach swooped.

“Are you all right?” was his first question. “You look flushed.”

“Fine,” Loki said. “Just a little overwarm. Is that what you came to ask?” He was pleased with himself for sounding convincingly normal. Thor, however, was scrutinizing him like he was looking for another meaning. It was all Loki could do not to fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness, even if he wasn’t certain what, exactly, he might need forgiveness for.

“I was looking at the accounts today to see how much we could afford to spend on the replacement part,” Thor said. Loki just looked back at him, waiting, and after a moment Thor went on. “It seemed that there was a significantly larger sum than I recalled.”

Loki sat up. “Are you asking me a question?” he said. He knew he wouldn’t lie, if Thor asked directly. He couldn’t risk doing that. But he didn’t have to tell him, either. What Thor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And would help him a great deal.

“Did you do something?”

Loki considered that question. “What do you mean by ‘something’?” he asked. Thor’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that a yes?”

Loki pressed his lips together. “It might be better for your plausible deniability if I said nothing.”

Thor stared at him. “Did you steal from someone?”

“No,” Loki said. Thor’s frown deepened. He was thinking, and Loki kept his eyes on him, praying that he would tip to the better answer, the answer Loki needed him to choose. He thought he would, because Thor, even now, thought too well of Loki.

“Valkyrie said that gambling is illegal on this station,” Thor said. Loki shrugged.

“Did she say that?” he said. Thor stared at him for a long time, and Loki tried not to tense, aware that he was taking a risk, aware that if Thor decided criminality for Asgard’s sake was an unforgivable crime then - then he very well might be going back to Alaver and telling him he was available tomorrow after all.

If not worse.

Thor shook his head a little. “Loki,” he said, sounding reproachful. “That is a serious risk.”

Loki glanced aside. “I know,” he said. “I should have told you, but...I was careful. And I ensured nothing could be traced back to you.” He set a level gaze on Thor and said with all the sincerity he could muster, “I will not do anything to put you or Asgard in danger.”

Loki could see Thor struggling. But ultimately...he was a king now, and kings had to make hard choices. “I cannot thank you,” he said, and after a moment added, “certainly not for something I am not aware of.”

Loki relaxed. “Of course not.”

“But if I did,” Thor went on, “even if I disagreed with the methods...I might be grateful.”

Loki looked down and away. “For Asgard,” he murmured. He could feel Thor giving him a peculiar look.

“Indeed,” he said finally. “I hope you will come to dinner, Loki. I would be pleased to see you there.”

The door closed, and Loki let out a breathless sound of relief. He took those words and clasped them to his chest. Even if I disagreed with the methods…

Better a thief than a whore.

Loki did not go to dinner. He curled up under the blankets and closed his eyes, sick at himself.

“Can we talk,” Valkyrie said, sitting down across from him. Loki stopped picking at his food and lifted his eyes to hers.

“If you wish,” he said.

“So remember,” she said, “on Ollat Station? Where we needed to buy the belt, and we were nearly broke, until suddenly we weren’t anymore?”

“Yes,” Loki said. “That was only three days ago.” He realized even as he said it how he sounded, and flinched. “Apologies. I don’t mean to-”

“I don’t care what your brother says,” Valkyrie interrupted, “nobody makes that kind of money playing the tables for a few hours.”

Loki didn’t freeze. He didn’t let himself. “You don’t, perhaps,” he said.

“Nobody,” Valkyrie said. “You’re forgetting. I spent a long, long time on Sakaar. I know from gambling. And even accounting for cheating, it would at least take longer to get that kind of haul.”

Loki’s lungs tightened and his stomach curdled. “Of what are you trying to accuse me?”

Valkyrie rocked back and then leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything,” she said. “Only wondering if-” She cut off and looked away, scowling at one of the walls. Loki waited to see if she would press, but she just shook her head violently, lips twisting. “Never mind.” She slapped her hands on the table. “Good talk,” she said, and left with quick, short, strides.

Loki weighed the possibility that she would bring her suspicions to Thor, and decided it was unlikely. She hadn’t pressed him for any confirmation, after all. Hopefully she understood as well as Loki did that some things were better for Thor not to know.

“Loki,” Thor said, just as he was standing to leave another meeting of their little council. “Stay back. I want to speak with you alone.”

Loki’s heart rate ratcheted up somewhere into the stars. His eyes widened and he glanced toward the door without meaning to, rapidly flicking through the last few days trying to think what he might have done to anger Thor. Already formulating an apology, penance, something to make it better-

“Yes,” he said, his voice thin. “Of course.”

Heimdall gave him an unreadable look before he closed the door behind him. Loki swallowed hard, fighting the urge to fold his arms around himself and hunch his shoulders, the urge to go down on his knees and plead forgiveness.

“Sit,” Thor said, and then a moment late, “please.” Loki sat, folding his hands into his lap and looking at Thor, trying to read his face, his body language. He was angry, Loki thought, and trying not to show it. Angry about what? He couldn’t think of anything he might have done, but then it seemed sometimes he didn’t always know when he had done something wrong.

“Thor,” he blurted out into the stretching silence. “Your Highness - however I may have erred, I want to assure you that I will set about mending it at once, and accept any judgment as you see fit.”

Thor’s expression darkened more and Loki curled into himself, quailing. He averted his eyes, breathing hitching in his chest. “I am sorry,” Loki said, the words tumbling out as quickly as he could say them. “I would - I would be more precise, but I apologize, I do not know-”

“Loki,” Thor interrupted, his voice a rumble, and Loki flinched, “stop.”

He stopped. His head was spinning. No, he thought. It’s over, it’s over and I don’t even know why, maybe there is no why, maybe he’s just sick and tired of you, pathetic disgusting wretched broken creature, worthless, why would he keep you, it was just lingering sentiment and now he’s realized his mistake.

Desperate, he slid from the chair to his knees, bowing his head in a supplicant’s pose. “Please,” he gasped. “I know - I know I do not deserve it, but give me one more chance-”

“Loki,” Thor said, and now there was horror alongside the anger. “Don’t - stop - what do you think I’m going to do?”

Loki twitched, shivering. He couldn’t think past the dizzy fear swallowing him whole.

He heard Thor’s chair move across the floor, and footsteps, and Asgard’s king knelt in front of him. “Brother,” he said, and the anger was weaker now, replaced by worry. “Look at me.”

Loki raised his eyes immediately at the command, staring wide-eyed at Thor. Thor reached out slowly and laid a hand on his shoulder, and Loki did not let himself flinch, but Thor’s expression still spasmed with pain. Loki’s stomach twisted. Another mistake.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, speaking slowly. “I am not going to - throw you out. I only want to talk.”

Loki blinked at him, uncomprehending. Thor closed his eye and rubbed at his eyepatch. “Norns,” he said quietly.

“You are angry,” Loki said tentatively. “With me.”

Thor made a noise. “I’m not angry with you.”

Loki flinched. “It’s all right. Whatever I did wrong-”

“It’s not-” Thor blew out a breath. “It’s not like that.”

“I don’t understand,” Loki said, almost plaintively.

Thor exhaled, long and slowly. “Something kept bothering me,” he said. “About the money. That you said you won gambling. Only you didn’t say that, did you? You let me say it. All you said was that you didn’t steal it. You used to do that all the time, didn’t you? Only I never noticed. Not lying, exactly, just letting me make my own conclusions.”

Loki couldn’t look at him. But he didn’t know if he was allowed to look away, either.

“And eventually I thought, ‘what about the account the money was transferred from?’ That would be a trail that led to me, after all - gambling earnings to my account. Better to deal in cash, and of course you would know that.” He paused. “Unless that wasn’t where it came from, and there was no concerns about any possible illegality.”

Somewhere distant, Loki swore at himself. He’d been in such a hurry to make sure the funds were in place that he’d trusted to Thor not asking too many questions. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Thor paused for a long time. Loki fixed his eyes somewhere over his left shoulder.

“I checked,” Thor said finally. “Prostitution isn’t illegal on Ollat Station.”

A shudder ran through him from head to heels. Loki took a quick, involuntary breath. Prostitute is such an ugly word, the Grandmaster said. I think we can come up with something better.

He didn’t say anything.

“Say something,” Thor said.

“What do you want me to say,” Loki said helplessly.

“Tell me that I’m wrong.”

The rule about lying clashed with the need to do what he was told and Loki said nothing as he struggled with which ought to take primacy. He heard Thor make another of those unhappy noises. “Loki,” Thor said, “did you...sell yourself to someone to help cover the cost of repairs?”

Loki pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Shame was an animal gnawing on his entrails. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I - had to do something. Money was tight and I knew-”

“You could be quite valuable in the right markets,” Thor said. His voice was thick with a disgust that made Loki want to curl up and die. “Yes. I remember you saying as much.”

“I didn’t mean for you to - no one else knows,” Loki said. “Valkyrie suspects, I think, but - no one else. I don’t want to bring dishonor on you. I can appreciate if-”

“Would you stop talking,” Thor said loudly, and Loki dropped his eyes and clamped his lips shut. Thor let out a string of expletives and lurched to his feet, moving away.

“I’m going about this all wrong,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry anymore, just...desperate. Afraid, maybe. “I’m...sorry. For snapping at you. Loki, please, would you...sit? I’m asking,” he said quickly. “That isn’t a command.”

Loki weighed that, and decided that command or not, it was a wish, and at the moment, when he was barely clinging to the precipice by his fingernails, he had best be very good. He made himself stand, walk to a chair, and sit down. He didn’t look in Thor’s direction. Didn’t want to see the look on his face.

“Tell me why,” Thor said.

“Why…?”

“Why you did it,” Thor said. “Why you thought it was - necessary for you to...did someone tell you to? Or suggest…”

“No,” Loki said. “No one told me to. I decided on my own.”

“Why?”

Loki glanced at Thor before he could stop himself, surprised by the question. “Because we needed the money.”

“I said we could manage it.”

“I’ve seen the accounts,” Loki said. “Manage it, perhaps, but resources would be thinner for food at our next stop. And if anything else broke…” He twitched one shoulder up and then down. “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“But you did it anyway.” The anger was back, and Loki dug his fingernails into his palms.

“Yes,” he said. “I know that might have been wrong, but - I thought, for the greater good...I want to be useful.”

“You are useful,” Thor said.

“No,” Loki said. “I’m not.”

Silence. Loki wished he dared look to see what expression was on Thor’s face, but he didn’t.

“Did I…” Thor trailed off. “Did I ever. Did I do something to make you think that I wanted you to…”

“No,” Loki said immediately. “No, of course not. I knew you would never ask. That’s why…” he trailed off. Clearly it had been a mistake. It seemed so obvious now: it was deceit, going behind Thor’s back, ignoring his wishes. All the mistakes he’d sworn he was done making, and he’d made them again. For a good reason, of course, but weren’t they always, right up until they weren’t?

He closed his eyes and said, “I suppose it is too late to say that I will not do it again.”

“Too late for what?” Thor said, and then, “Loki, I told you that I am not going to throw you out.”

“Thank you,” Loki said hollowly.

“Don’t…” Thor trailed off. He rose, and Loki could hear him pacing. “Why,” he said abruptly. “Why won’t you do it again?”

“I lied to you. By omission if nothing else. I disobeyed you, and went around your authority. I did something knowing you wouldn’t approve.”

“That’s not - all right, perhaps I am upset about some of that. But that’s not really what I’m upset about. Loki, would you...please...look at me?”

Loki forced himself to do it, and almost wanted to weep. Thor’s eye was red-rimmed like he was about to cry, his expression one of anguish. You did this, hissed a voice in his mind that wasn’t the Grandmaster’s, was purely his own.

“I don’t want you to - sell yourself,” Thor said. “But not because it’s - a disgrace, or dishonor, or because I told you not to. I want you to not do it because that’s not who you are. Because you deserve better.”

“I don’t,” Loki said, almost automatically. Thor’s face spasmed with a mixture of guilt and rage.

“Did he tell you that?”

He didn’t have to tell me, I already knew, Loki thought, but the Grandmaster had, hadn’t he, again and again, such a treasure, Lo, I mean, are you really good for anything else? He wasn’t wrong. He’d never been wrong.

It was like he’d told Thor. All his mistakes had come from reaching too high. Thinking he deserved more or better. He knew now how wrong he’d been.

“I should have known,” Thor said, his voice bitter. “I should have seen that you would…” He trailed off.

“It’s not your fault,” Loki said. Thor said nothing, but Loki could hear the disagreement in his silence. He cast about for other words. “Asgard can’t afford a waste of space.”

“A waste of-!” Thor cut himself off and took a sharp breath. “Loki,” he said, slowly and clearly, “you are not, and never have been, a waste of space.”

Loki smiled, tremulous and painful. “I know what I’m good for, brother.”

Thor shook his head, lips pressing into a line. “I don’t think you do.”

Loki’s stomach turned and he looked down at his hands in silence.

“Loki,” Thor said, his voice heavy. “You know that...I don’t care if you are useful. I don’t care if you - lie in your berth and sleep all day, except that it would worry me if you did. I don’t need you to - prove anything.”

“I do,” Loki whispered, and, “you will.”

“No,” Thor said. “I won’t. I am not trying to test you. I am not trying to trap you. I just want…” Thor took a deep breath. “I just want you to be well.”

Panic beat its wings against his sternum. “You are too kind,” Loki said. “You will regret it, later. You feel sorry for me now, because I am - wretched and pathetic. But that is just - you were angry. I manipulated you out of it.”

“Oh, yes,” Thor said. He sounded both tired and a little bitter. “Your terrified pleading with me was all part of your clever manipulations.” Loki twitched a little, and Thor said more gently, “I wish you were not afraid of me.”

“I am not afraid of you,” Loki said.

“Liar.” Thor didn’t sound angry when he said it. Just...sad. “I want to help you,” he said. “I mean it, Loki. I want to help you. Only I don’t know how.”

Loki closed his eyes. “You have no obligation.”

“I know,” Thor said. “I know you will not believe it, but: neither do you, to me.”

Thor was right. He didn’t believe it, because it wasn’t true. Thor was kind enough that he might believe it was. But Loki knew better.

A debt was owed that he couldn’t repay.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

#where the devil don't go #a wild fic appeared #tragic siblings #loki's a goddamn mess #thor is my favorite puppy #background frostmaster #dubcon cw #noncon cw #just gonna keep using those warnings on everything for this verse basically #anyway i have no idea what happened carry on #going to drink some hot chocolate and then go the fuck to sleep

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