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multi-fan-dom-madness · 2 years ago

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Chapter 18: Viinir (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Viinir. v. to run.

Chapter Summary: You make it out of the city, but you're not out of danger yet.

Chapter Warnings: canon-typical violence; the Empire; angst and fluff in mostly equal measures for once; if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 3,878

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Trepidation settles heavy and cold in your veins, weighing you down, freezing you to the spot despite the sweltering heat. For now, the Star Destroyers are too high in orbit to tell if they’ve launched fighters, but that doesn’t stop the trembling in your knees.

Your wrist comm crackles with static before Tech’s voice breaks through. “I suggest we hide.”

All at once, the comms are ablaze with chatter, sarcastic retorts and fearful wondering. You can’t make yourself move. Even if you wanted to, your arms are full; there’s no way you can respond to the squad’s sound-off without sacrificing the gifts you’d bought. More pressing, though, you need to get your face behind cover. You know how dangerous this situation is, even if the Empire isn’t here for you or the squad. Those Star Destroyers are equipped with tracking radars, cams, and probably even higher-quality tracking tech than when you’d been in the academy.

“Nav, come in!” Hunter barks over the comms.

Galvanized into action by his demanding tone, you stumble back under the shade of a canopy. With the entire city at a dead standstill, it’s easier to peer above and around bodies to catch a glimpse of familiar gray armor. But there is nothing familiar awaiting your gaze. Panic, electric and stinging, cracks apart the dread in your blood and sets your heart pounding.

“Does anyone have eyes on Nav?”

“They’re in the market,” Omega’s small, scared voice chimes in. “Nav, turn left and head towards the archway with lights.”

Nodding, you don’t bother to look around to spot where Omega is. You trust her. You catch a glimpse of the lighted archway, maybe fifty feet from you, and beyond it, a dark rockface. Tightening your grip on your assorted gifts, you duck your head and push past people, barely mumbling apologies in Basic, half-aware of the way that people shoot glares as you pass.

Thirty feet. You risk a fleeting glance around you. Most everyone is still rooted to the spot, faces upturned, pinched with worry and fear. Whispers hiss across the chasm like waves as the city’s inhabitants spread rumor and conjecture like wildfire. You don’t understand the language, but you comprehend the sentiment: what do we do?

Fifteen feet. You have to juggle your grip on the objects in your arms, the blender about to lose its top. Cursing, you pause and shrug your shoulder forward, nudging the appliance back into submission.

When you’re satisfied it won’t move again, you continue forward.

Ten feet.

White duraplast gleams in the yellow incandescence of the archway ahead of you. You stumble to a halt. Lips going numb with surprise, your eyes widen as you lock onto the darkened visor of one of the helmets.

Several thoughts occur to you at once as time seems to stretch to a trickle. First, your worry is for Omega. You assume she’d been keeping tabs on your progress—did she not know about the Imps in the tunnel, or did she get captured? Your second thought is Phee—a thought quickly dashed. Phee’s no snitch. Which leaves your mind turning to the rest of the squad. Your comlink is quiet, dead. Where are they?

Your final thought is one of anger. Why can’t the Empire just leave you alone? What threat do you pose to them, really?

As if watching from outside your body, the trooper closest to you seems to register that you, unlike the rest of the people here, are not enraptured by the display of power hanging in the sky. Their hand comes up to the side of their helmet. You groan inwardly, sending a silent apology to the gifts about to scatter across the dusty ground.

“There you are!”

Time snaps back to its normal pace as a warm, strong arm wraps around you from the side, the momentum turning you away from the Imps. Hunter’s face is grim as he glances down at you, appraising you. He swings a cloak up over the both of you to shield your faces. Under his other arm is tucked his helmet.

“I got worried when you didn’t come home right away,” he continues. He says it just loud enough to carry to the Imps behind you. With a gentle pressure around your waist, he leads you back the way you’d come, back to the winding staircase up to the surface.

Play along. “O-Oh, sorry, I just—got distracted.” You laugh, and it sounds fake and forced, even to your own ears. In a lower register, you whisper, “Where are the others?”

“S’alright, cyare,” Hunter says. “Let’s get home.” He drops his voice. “Hiding. Safe.”

Nodding, you let yourself be steered through the crowd. You can nearly feel the rising tide of panic welling up around you as people realize that the Empire isn’t just up there—it’s down here, with you all. Anxious whispers become fearful mutters. People push past you and Hunter, heading in the same direction, and, with any luck, providing you with extra cover.

You risk a glance back over your shoulder. At least a dozen more Imps, close to twenty total, move through the market square, roughing up anyone still lingering: shopkeeps protecting their wares; parents with curious children; stubborn, brave, ultimately foolish locals who dare to stand their ground. One man shouts something defiant in the local language, gesturing up to the ships in orbit. Without hesitation, two of the armored Imps raise their blasters and open fire.

Screams crescendo around you. Whipping back to face forward, you lengthen your stride. “We need to get the kark out of here.”

“We’re not going to make it to the ships,” Hunter says, voice low and strained. “If we wait for nightfall, we might have a chance.”

“We need to find the others.”

He shakes his head. “They should already be split up by now. Omega’s with Wrecker. Tech and Phee. Us.”

Instead of climbing the stairs like you so desperately desire, Hunter guides you past them, hugging the gently curving wall. You’re not sure he even has a plan, a place picked out, but when the second doorway you pass is open, you duck inside, forcing him to follow.

“Wait!” he hisses.

“No time.” As soon as he’s over the threshold, you kick the faded wooden door shut. “Help me block this off.”

Not that there’s much for you to use. A sparse table, caked with dust and sand, like most of everything else here, and some other furniture. Hunter grunts as he lifts the table and jams it against the doorway.

Thankfully, there is no window to worry about. Sunlight filters through crooked gaps between the door’s wooden planks. Dust swirls and eddies in the beams of light. Outside, the sounds of running feet and panicked shouts begin to decline. Still clutching the book, blender, and accessories, you take a moment to catch your breath and look around.

You’ve trapped yourselves into a hole in the wall, quite literally. From side to side, the room you stand in is maybe fifteen feet across, probably the same distance deep. Aside from the table, now wedged by the sole entrance, there are only a handful of other pieces of furniture: a single, rickety chair missing its splat; a wardrobe with busted hinges; and a cot tucked into the far corner. Someone’s abode, once, you figure, but they’ve long since abandoned this place. Hard to imagine why, you think with a wry sense of self-deprecation. At the very least, the surrounding rock seems to offer protection from the superheated atmosphere outside. You exhale into the cool air.

“Guess this works as good as anything else,” Hunter finally muses. He stands with his hands on his hips, frowning as his eyes sweep the interior.

“I’m not going to apologize,” you say. “This was the best opportunity and you know it.”

Shaking his head, he drops his hands to his sides. “I know. Thank you.” Then he peers closer at you, as if seeing the belongings you clutch to your chest for the first time. “What’s...all that?”

“Oh.” You gently deposit the items onto the cot. A puff of dust exhales into your face, and you have to stifle a sneeze. It would be just your luck to get caught because of allergies. “Just.... It’s silly. Gifts. For you all.”

Hunter hovers by your shoulder, his eyes roving over all five items. You watch, embarrassed, as emotions flit over his face. Frown easing into something like affection, you catch the exact moment he realizes which gift is his. He hooks the bracelet with his finger and lifts it to inspect it closer.

Face burning, you drop your gaze from his face to the bracelet as he faces you.

“This is...mine?” he asks.

You nod.

Without another word, he slips it over his hand. The stone beads nestle perfectly against his wrist; shades of tan, white, brown, and gray arranged in a pattern repeating to infinity in the closed loop of the elastic thread that ties it all together. Your breath catches. You hadn’t expected him to accept it so easily.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“It’s— it’s nothing, really,” you stammer out. “You all deserve something...nice.”

He hums in thought. “Did you get yourself anything?”

With a small shake of your head, you find it in you to meet his gaze again, just in time to catch the frown that threatens to retake his features.

You hurry to explain yourself. “I...have everything I need right now. Everything I want is already part of my life. The kid, this family. You. I—”

His expression hardens and he clasps his hand over your mouth, silencing the words you didn’t feel like you had control of, anyhow. The warmth of your affection trickles away as you hold your breath, ears straining for whatever it is he senses. Then you hear it: the rhythmic clatter of duraplast against duraplast, punctuated by the steady march of boots over stone ground.

Hunter’s eyes slide back to your own before he releases you. With a single nod, you slowly, carefully, reach for your blasters. Easing the safety off of each, one at a time, you glance down at the other switch.

“Stun?” you breathe, knowing that this close, Hunter can hear you.

He jerks his head in a nod.

“Clones?” you ask in the same tone.

Another nod. You squeeze your eyes shut. Kriff.

Ghosting away from you, Hunter moves to position himself closer to the door. You try to move as well, just a few feet across the room to get behind the bulk of the wardrobe. Despite the nervous energy thrumming in your stomach and buzzing at the base of your skull, your combat training reasserts itself like it’s supposed to. You need to get behind cover. Use every advantage to your benefit.

You tuck back against the cool rock wall. Outside, the Imps sound like they’re nearly to your hiding spot. You force yourself to take deep, steady breaths, counting them off to stem the rising panic clawing up your chest.

Muffled but distinct, a clone’s voice drifts to you through the closed door. “Nah, there’s no one in this one. Check the next one.”

It’s all the warning you have before—

Bang bang bang bang!

You flinch, knocking your head on the wall. The table in front of the door holds, even as a trooper seems to kick at the door.

“Stuck, sir,” a clone says.

A nearly identical voice responds. “Get it unstuck.”

One part of your brain begins analyzing all your combative options for getting out of here alive. It’s the two of you against three Destroyers’ worth of troops; at the very least, the others would have time to get away safe. Omega would get to live her life—without her dad. That won’t happen. You and Hunter have the advantage of being able to control the door as an access point: only two troopers could come in at a time, and their bodies would pile up into a barricade. But then you’d be even more stuck inside, with a bunch of unconscious, but very much not dead, Imps. Every scenario your brain flicks through ends the same way: with one or both of you dead, captured, or both.

The other part of your mind struggles to recall all the non-aggressive tactics you were taught at the academy. Something about public displays of affection making people uncomfortable..? How likely is it that you could spin an amorous connection in your favor?

“Eh, kark it,” a voice outside the door grumbles. “C’mon. All of these are probably empty, anyway.”

You don’t dare release your held breath until the sounds of the Imps’ march fades completely. You shove your blasters back into their holsters before your legs threaten to buckle beneath you.

Your ass hits the ground and you slump forward. “Maker above, Hunter, how are we getting out of here?”

He sits beside you, resting a hand on your knee. “I don’t know.”

“We can’t contact the others, can we?”

“Too risky. Empire’s probably monitoring all comm frequencies.”

With a stuttering inhale, you raise your head. Now that you’re free of the immediate threat of Imps, your mind switches its focus to a more long-term plan. “The Redthorn has been programmed to your bioscans.”

Hunter’s glittering eyes catch yours, shards of gray obsidian in the dim light. “What’s that got to do with this? When did you do that?”

“Coded it not long after I joined. It’s a failsafe in case we... if we get separated,” you say. “Or...if I don’t make it.”

“Don’t even think that,” he says, voice quiet but harsh. The urgency in his usually composed tone gives you pause, but only for a moment.

“I’m just considering every possibility,” you say. “You have enhanced senses. If either of us is getting back safe, it’s you.”

“I won’t leave you behind.” He grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forces you to meet his gaze head-on, not letting you avoid this. “D’you understand me? You are not to sacrifice yourself.”

“Is that an order, Sarge?”

“You know damn well it is,” he growls. His expression remains hard, the mask of a soldier, before it crumbles before your eyes, revealing the soft man beneath. “Nav, please.”

You gingerly reach forward to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere.” When his eyes slide shut, you sigh. “We should probably come up with a plan, though.”

Several hours later, you stretch your sore, cramped muscles. The suns finally seem to have gone down. Hunter has spent the last hour or so monitoring guard rotations, his enhanced hearing helping him track how many levels the guards go up, how many of them in each patrol unit, where they pause in their beats. You’re not sure exactly what he’s figured out, but since he hasn’t said anything against the plan so far, you trust that he feels confident in his abilities.

For your part, you’d packed up your belongings as best as you could. You had to rip an old, musty bedsheet you found stuffed at the bottom of the wardrobe to create a makeshift pack—your usual backpack is still too full. You need to remember to empty it out when you’re safe again. Using scraps, you made sure that none of the new objects made noise as you walked.

The plan is as simple as you could make it. Hunter gets a feel for the patrols; you watch your six. Together, you’ll get to the base of the stairs and climb. Once you’re on the stairway, you know it’s going to be a race; there had been no alcoves to duck into, and the path was barely wide enough for Omega to walk next to one of you. Any resistance you encounter could very well spell disaster.

But it really is a simple plan, not one unlike the mantra you’d created for yourself months ago on Bescane. Get in, get out, get away.

Swallowing against the dryness in your throat, you squint through the darkness. Hunter’s frame crouches by the door. You’d helped him move the table when there was still light, to reduce the chance of extra sound.

You squat next to him. “How are we lookin’?”

“I don’t want to jinx us,” he whispers back. “Another few minutes, and we’ll be in the middle of their rotations. Last guard shift was at sundown.”

Nodding, you let that information sink into your brain and digest. Sundown was a while ago; with any luck, the clones on patrol right now are nearing the end of their shifts, growing tired, looking forward to mealtime. The time to move is now.

“Walk me through it one more time,” he says. He helps you back to your feet as he straightens up.

You nod, knowing he can see you even if you can’t see more of him than a vague outline. “I open the door and you do a check. Once we’re clear, you lead the way to the stairs. I walk backwards with you, watching behind us. You’ll call a stop if it’s needed. We trade places every ten minutes of movement.”

“Good.” His hand rests on your shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze. “And we hold out hope that the others are able to get out, too.”

“Or that they are already out.”

He hums. “That, too.”

Silence spreads between you. You look up where you think his eyes are and offer a tense, short smile. In the dark, you sense his posture shift, feel his warmth close in on you. His hand slides from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck. His touch sends tingles of anticipation prickling through your body.

“Wh-What are you doing?” you ask. You can’t keep the tremor out of your voice.

“Just feeling you,” he rasps. “Just in case.”

A gasp escapes you as his nose nudges yours. Tilting your head without a second thought, you catch at the edges of his cuirass and tug him closer. His warm breath fans over your face. For a long moment, the two of you stand there, breathing each other’s breath, exchanging the life-giving essence back and forth, drowning in one another. At least, you hope he’s drowning the same way you are. Your heart beats hard and steady against your ribcage, aching to burst forward and meet his own. All of your nerves alight. The strange sense of gravity connecting you to him tears at your seams as your imminent collision ripples through spacetime. After so long in a slow orbit, you’re two black holes, destined to merge and become one.

But not tonight. Hunter takes a sharp breath in, then steps back, his hand falling from you. Your own drop to your side.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Taking a moment to clear your frazzled brain, you push all your feelings for him to the side. It’s a distraction—a welcome one, a comforting one, but very likely a deadly one, too. You fumble for the rope door handle. Once you find it, you gently, inch by inch, tug the door free from its frame. You have to lift the door to keep it from scraping the floor, but once it’s open, Hunter slips through the gap, silent.

“Clear,” comes his voice, modulated by the helmet once again.

You peer out into the city. Back by the market, you catch a glimpse of the incandescent lights strung between stalls, occasionally blotted out by figures walking in pairs. Both blasters in hand, you step over the threshold and pivot.

“Starting on my right,” Hunter murmurs.

“On my left,” you respond.

As one, the two of you head toward the base of the stairs, moving more slowly than you want. Your impulse is to dash, to get there as fast as possible, but Hunter had explained to you that quick movements almost always draw attention. A slow, methodical pace makes more logical sense. Even so, every muscle in your body screams with the desire to sprint.

You swap places twice, the first time when you reach the base of the stairs, and again after about ten minutes of slow, painstaking progress upward. To your good fortune, the higher you climb, the better you can see; the planet’s moon rises overhead, casting the city in a bone-white glow.

BOOM!

You jerk your head so fast that your neck cramps, eyes watering from the conjoined pain and the sudden flare of fire on the other side of the city. The explosion’s shockwave hits you and nearly knocks you back into the rock wall, but Hunter grabs your arm to steady you.

“Run!” he urges.

Turning and stumbling, you scramble up the steep stairs in Hunter’s wake. You can’t take your eyes off the now steadily-growing fire that consumes the draped canopies of the cityscape, leaping between rooftops. Closer at hand, you catch sight of four figures dashing between buildings before they hit the stairs.

“Hunter, they’re—”

“I see them,” he calls over his shoulder. “When we get to the top, we’ll wait for them.”

You’re panting and out of breath by the time you reach the top, clutching a stitch in your side. But you don’t have time to devote to your labored breathing. Surprised shouts crackle out of six vocoders, the white armor gleaming in the moonlight.

One of them raises his hand to his helmet. “Insurgent activity at the top. Requesting—”

Hunter’s stun blast knocks him unconscious before he can finish his request for support. Your mind quiets for the first time today as you raise your blasters and take aim. Blue plasma sears your retinas. As the last Imp falls to the ground, the crunch of a boot on rock from behind you has you whirling, fingers resting on the triggers.

“Just us!” Wrecker exclaims.

“Thank the kriffin’ Maker,” you pant out.

“C’mon, they know where we are.” Hunter tugs at your elbow. “Nav, I want you on the Maruader. Wrecker, you come with me.”

You by now not to question Hunter’s tactics. He’s not led you astray yet. Urging your feet to move, you grab Omega’s hand and make sure she stays with you.

“Next time, Phee,” you gasp out as the dark shapes of the ships come into view, “park us closer.”

“Oh, believe me, I will!” Her laugh is no less boisterous for being strained.

The ramps to both ships rest open by the time you reach them. Skidding to a halt, you usher Omega up the Maruader’s steps first. Tech follows, taking the stairs two at a time, and then Phee. You’re about to climb up after her when a familiar, chilling sound pierces through the adrenaline haze.

A dull roar turns into a horrid screech. Eyes wide, you look back toward the sinkhole in time to catch the outline of three TIE-fighters streaking toward you as they dart in front of the moon.

“Hunter!” you shout, voice cracking.

“I know!” he yells back. “We’ll meet at Rintonne! Now go!”

You have no choice but to obey as the TIEs open fire, green plasma beams shattering the ground around the ships.

Taglist: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @skellymom (idk why it won't tag you, I'm sorry!)

#tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #hunter x gn!reader #second chances #rhiwrites #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader

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