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phantomphangphucker · 4 years

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The Whole Ass Fic A.K.A ClockWork Is Paying At Least One Person Hush Money

Vlad’s dumbest plot yet leads to a grade A gravy bowl of a dumb reveal. Danny’s class feels left out, Wes is literally left out, and ClockWork is forcing me to not leave them out at gunpoint.

Now that y’all have voted, I present to you, the Whole Ass Fic

Danny was having a nice day, he honest to the Core was. But then a blue portal half fucking blinded him, a startled Mr. Lancer accidentally threw a whiteboard marker into his eye, and Dash finally succeeded in hitting him -in the eye of all places, ugh- with a spitball. All of this followed by a -probably not quiet- mutter of, “ClockWork end me”. In short, he had already filled his quota for ocular trauma today.

But looking to the front as a -very not cheesetastic- certain someone stops monologuing, he’s experiencing a-whole-ass-nother kind of ocular trauma.

Danny gets up from his desk and slowly walks up to the front, eyes filled with disappointment and the residual energy of his three breakfast Red Bulls, “okay, so you’re telling me-”, Danny gestures erratically to Vlad, who's tied up on the floor and in ghost form, “-that you overshadowed ClockWork-”, gesturing even more erratically at ClockWork -who’s just sitting on a desk and inspecting their nails- but Danny maintains wide-eyed eye-contact with Vlad instead of attempting down the rabbit hole of why ClockWork is still here. Glaring at floor Vlad harder, somehow, “-so you could travel to the future, to team up with your future self and bring him back here-”, Danny points both hands at the floor a bit aggressively, “-so you could tag-team pulverise a teenager-”.

While Vlad rolls his eyes, not even slightly apologetic or willing to admit that throwing fists with teens being his number one past time was arguably pathetic. Danny gestures at the future Vlad, who’s glaring bloody murder at normal timeline floor Vlad, “-but said future you instead assaulted ClockWork”, facepalming and muttering into his hand, “least I know this future you really is you, being enough up his own ass to even consider attempting to do that”, looking back to floor Vlad, “so you used ClockWork’s powers at random and just came back to this timeline?”.

Kwan adds in, “through the ceiling”.

ClockWork smirks, “he got quite lucky in that regard. Not quite luck though”, Danny sighs exasperatedly at ClockWork when they wink with a smirk. Anything involving ClockWork required a lack of luck, not a wealth of it; that, or making a collection of the stupidest decisions you’ve ever made. Considering floor Vlad’s state of looking like an extra for a truly terrible Vampire BDSM film, Danny’s going with the latter.

Floor Vlad manages to spit out his gag, “well they somehow tossed me out of their body immediately after! I mean the audacity! And this Cheesehead-”, jerkily attempting to nod or point at the scruffy-looking future Vlad, “-gets more pissed and assaults me, ME! Instead of you”.

Future Vlad kicks him and snarls, “it’s been two years in this timeline! TWO! I stopped with the stupid fiddlediddling after six months!”, turning his head to the side and mumbling, “sure everyone close to him had to die first, but that’s a moot point”.

Dash snorts, “why would a ghost even want to assault Fentit. And wait, what? People died?”.

Danny meanwhile, throws his hands out to the side, “of course that happened!”, then gesturing towards ClockWork, “you can’t overshadow ClockWork, that’s not even possible! They literally had to have allowed you to”, actually turning to glare slightly at ClockWork, “why, I haven’t a shot-glass of pennies close to a clue”. Danny then blinks and slowly looks at the future Vlad, his words finally registering; while Danny also simultaneously massacres his last brain cell, “wait....you’re that Vlad? As in the one that technically murdered me? The one that sort of caused the near extinction of humanity and ghosts? The one that basically saw the big red ‘DO NOT PUSH, THIS IS A STUPID IDEA’ button, slammed your fist on it, and activated the apocalypse? The one that stabbed past me when I tried to fix the future? Sure I requested it, but ya still did it”.

Mr. Lancer, who had been progressively going more wide-eyed, “Crime and Punishment?!?!?! I mean, go off I guess”.

While Danny scratches his head nonchalantly, muttering more to himself, “also the one that gave me any faith in past you ever being capable of being good”.

Floor Vlad sputters, wiggling in his bindings like a worm, “how is murdering you what it takes to make you have even an ounce of faith in me?!?”, floor Vlad looks to future Vlad, “you can’t judge me, you fudge-bucket of a hypocrite”.

Danny rolls his eyes and snorts, “that’s not even pot calling kettle black, that’s a wad of chewed gum calling a fork an unchewed stick of gum, and actually expecting that insult to stick”. Danny then squints and turns to ClockWork, “wait”, pointing emphatically at future Vlad, “how does he even exist?!?!? That future was literally destroyed?!?”.

Future Vlad squints at him, looking affronted, “you mean you destroyed my existence too?!?”.

Danny turns to him and waves his hands around wildly, “THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU UNRAVEL TEN YEARS OF TIME! THOSE THINGS AND PEOPLE GO POOF!”.

ClockWork sticks up a finger, “that’s not how time works”.

Danny and both Vlads’ turn to them, both Danny and future Vlad pointing aggressively, “YOU STAY OUT OF THIS! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU!”.

Nathan mutters, “or the rest of the class apparently”.

ClockWork smirks, “pretty sure the author disagrees on that one”. Everyone squints at them but goes back to bickering. Future Vlad points a little aggressively at Danny, “you were just supposed to fix the past! Not obliterate me!”.

Danny throws his hands up, “sacrifices had to be made! That’s what good guys do!”, gesturing at floor Vlad, “plus! You’re still here! And still A CRAZED UP FRUITLOOPY DICK!”.

Floor Vlad, looking a bit insulted, “language my boy”. Danny just looks down at him and knocks one of the desks on him; some kids water bottle -who the heck uses glass water bottles? Seriously?- smashing apart all over his face.

Future Vlad pinches his nose and gestures at floor Vlad, looking at Danny, “that’s because he hasn’t been horribly traumatised....yet”.

Floor Vlad sputters, “yet?”, before scrunching up his face and licking his cheek, “is this vodka?”.

Future Vlad glares down at him, “you don’t know suffering”, getting into floor Vlad’s face a little and shaking his finger violently, “you don’t know the meaning of the word”, while Danny mutters, “neither do you, by the way”, future Vlad keeps talking, “and you really think you can collect all these stupid cheese curd plots and not turn yourself into curdled milk?”.

Floor Vlad rolls his eyes, “says the murderer”.

Danny rolls his eyes almost in sync with floor Vlad’s eye-roll, “oh like you haven’t killed anyone”.

Mr. Lancer coughs, “um? There are other people here you know. And some of us don’t appreciate casually talking about murder at-”, glancing at his watch, “-nine a.m. in the morning”.

Floor Vlad glances at him, “no one but us and dear Maddie qualify as people”.

Danny sputters incredulously while ClockWork points at floor Vlad, “and that is not how classifications of species and words work”. No one so much as acknowledges the arguably most power-being ever this time.

Floor Vlad looks back to future Vlad, “and Daniel’s the one that messes everything up. Not me!”, glaring at Danny and muttering, “I would have had a perfectly viable clone otherwise”.

Future Vlad shakes his head and gestures aggressively, “you cloned him?!?!?!”, throwing his hands up and walking around, “this me’s insane! Wonderful!”.

Valerie snickers into her hand, “I want to get involved but...”, before gaping and sputtering incoherently to herself about Dani.

Danny snorts, “you hadn’t already figured that out when he decided to abduct and control the body of the dude who controls time itself and oversees everyone’s futures. A literal living legend and basically a god?”, shrugging and sounding nonchalant, “and yeah, technically we have a kid now. My genetics, but Vlad made her. So technically, we’re both her parents”, kicking floor Vlad, “I should sue you for child support”.

ClockWork nods, “and you would win actually”.

Danny looks tickled green, while floor Vlad shouts dramatically, “WHAT!?!?!?”. Future Vlad is just walking in a circle throwing his hands out randomly and making faces.

Dash mutters, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but, the damn twinks life would make a great soap opera”. ClockWork smirks ever so slightly at this.

Floor Vlad screws up his face and wiggles in the bindings some before squinting at Danny, “wait a biscuit buttering second, how do you even know about the ghost from the clocktower?”, sputtering and squirming, “how do you know their name?!? Even I didn’t! And you know their powers! Daniel what in the name of Gouda?!?”.

Danny deadpans, “oh don’t you use that tone with me, mister. You’re not my father”. While ClockWork smirks, “my name was actually the first thing he said, you just conveniently ignored that for plot purposes”.

Danny just speaks right over them and gestures at ClockWork, “and of course I do! They’re my Time Daddy!”.

Everyone goes silent immediately and you could hear a pin drop. Instead, a different voice breaks the silence, “wow! Didn’t know you had another dad, son!”.

Both halfas and the ex-halfa turn slowly and look at the doorway, where one Jack Fenton is standing and munching on fudge like he’s engrossed in an intense tv show.

Danny blinks and sputters, “how long have you been there?”.

ClockWork smirks, “since almost the beginning of this fic”. Danny glances at them, “that doesn’t make sense”. ClockWork shrugs, “well the audience might appreciate knowing, and I aim to please”.

Danny speaks thick with enough sarcasm to kill a lesser being twice over, and as if to prove this point floor Vlad starts hacking like someone force-fed him nails, “oH yEaH tHiS hAs BeEn A rEeEeEaAaAaLlLlL pLeAsUrE”, before squinting, “...what audience?”.

Star slams her face into her desk, “oh my Zone, seriously?”.

While Jack pipes up, “since Danno repeated vampire Vlad’s story back to everyone with so much disbelief I really couldn’t bring myself to interrupt”, standing and practically throwing the plate of fudge -having forgotten he even had it- when he throws his hands out to the side.

Mr. Lancer sighs and speaks as the fudge slowly smears down the classroom wall, “this was not in my job description, but thanks for the reminder why I don’t moonlight as a babysitter anymore”.

Jack, sounding way too happy for this situation and oddly not looking angry or even bothered, “and I’ve never heard my boy so passionate before!”, tapping his chin and looking at the two Vlads’, “though I do have to say. What the fuck is wrong with you V-man”.

Danny grumbles, “welcome to the life of having a half-ghost, who’s three nuts short of a fruitcake, that wants to aggressively be your uncle and/or father”, before sputtering incoherently over his dad swearing.

Jack tilts his head, looking like a confused puppy, “but, I’m your dad?”, quirking an eyebrow at ClockWork, “one of your dads?”. ClockWork looks like they just got blessed by a god... a god other than themselves anyway.

While Danny stares down at the floor unsure if he should feel deep horror or boyish wonder. Muttering, “did I just result in ClockWork getting adopted into my family through arguably convoluted and highly illogical means?”.

ClockWork makes a face that is the closest thing to insulted Danny’s actually seen on their face, “it was my belief we were already kin”.

Danny sputters and waves his hands around erratically, trying desperately to back-pedal, “what, I, er, no, I mean yes! Yes! Totally fam!”.

Valerie can’t help but let out her inner gossip rich girl mode, “ooooooooooo, someone’s in trooooouuuubbbbllllleeee”.

Floor Vlad sputters in utter disbelief, it was he that was supposed to be gaining new family members here! Not that oversized puff pastry! “This, that, THIS IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO GO!”.

Future Vlad blinks at Jack, “why are you not freaking out over the ghosts?”.

Star sighs, “are they really just ignoring that none of us have been freaking out?”.

Jack shrugs, “one’s tied up and the other gave me fudge”. Floor Vlad just shrieks in frustration and disbelief. While Danny gives a dramatic thumbs up to ClockWork, even going so far as to use a little ecto-energy to make his thumb sparkle like some anime bullshit.

Future Vlad kicks floor Vlad but speaks to Jack, “well if it’s anything, I’m not a ghost or half of one”.

Multiple people mutter, “half ghosts are a thing?”, while Valerie grins like a loon.

Floor Vlad shrieking, “WHAT?!?!?!”.

Future Vlad looks down at him but points at Danny, “he ripped out and ate Plasmius”.

Mr. Lancer grimaces and has to physically restrain himself from assaulting Kwan when he actually sticks his hand up and asks, “what’d that taste like? You know, for reasons”. No one’s honestly surprised at this point, when the bickering guys’ just act like the entire class are just extras added in after the main plot was established and without the main casts knowledge.

Danny blinks and gestures wildly at his dad, “are we just ignoring the uniformed third partly?!?”.

Mr. Lancer glares, “the class has been here the entire time”.

ClockWork smirks, “Vlad’s the authors' bitch right now so...yes”.

While floor Vlad gapes at Danny, “YOU DID WHAT NOW?!?!?”.

Danny throws his hands up exaggeratedly, “NOT IN THIS TIMELINE!”. While Vlad just quietly sputters about how Daniel could and even would, apparently, eat him. Danny has to severely resist spewing out a list of vore jokes at this. While ClockWork mutters with a smirk, about how the only reasons Danny’s not doing that is because the author’s tired of their phone crashing every time they try to write them.

Future Vlad points aggressively at floor Vlad, “we were the ones who thought ripping out his humanity would be a good idea!”.

Jack adds in some side commentary, “yeah, please don’t do that to my son”.

Floor Vlad mutters at the floor, “I need some bloody scotch”, before looking up at future Vlad and shouting, “WHY WOULD I DO THAT!”.

ClockWork points at floor Vlad, “the vodka hasn’t totally evaporated off your face yet, so you’ve got options. I have no pity for you”.

Floor Vlad glares at them, “I have standards”.

Half the class saying, “you sure about that?”.

Danny and future Vlad respond to floor Vlad in unison, with matching deadpan tones and judgmental facial expressions, “because, for all accounts and purposes, you are a sociopath”.

ClockWork sticks a finger up, “this is not how psychological diagnosis works”, gesturing at the class, “for one, patient confidentiality is a basic prerequisite, not an option”.

Nathan makes a mocked delighted gasp, “did we just get acknowledged?”. While Danny and future Vlad share a look tm.

Floor Vlad sneers, “rather that over an overgrown oaf, a self-sacrificial fool, a weak old man, or whatever is up with the time ghost”.

Danny glares while future Vlad socks floor Vlad in the face for that. Danny off-handed commenting, “‘Observant puppet’ is really the only insult that applies”, looking at ClockWork, “why aren’t the eyeballs up in a tissy about this anyway?”.

ClockWork smirks, “the author has decided they no longer exist”.

Danny blinks, “what kind of power does this ‘author’ have????”.

ClockWork mutters ominously, “the ability to outrun writers' block...for now”.

Danny ignores ClockWork out of slight horror and feeling like someone’s threatening him with another? dissection fic if he doesn’t stop encouraging ClockWork to derail the plot. Turning his attention to the two Vlads’ just in time to catch Valerie getting up and smacking both Vlads’ over the head, which just turns into an all-out fistfight. Well okay, floor Vlad is just squirming in his bindings and kicking like a feral rabbit, but still.

Valerie steps back and nudges Danny with a wily smirk, “who you wanna bet on to win?”.

Danny snorts, “future Vlad, based on sheer tenacity”.

ClockWork smirks and points a finger at the ceiling, “that’s my bet”, another portal opening up and yet another Vlad falling through and landing on the two others in a heap; knocking all three out, floor Vlad finally transforming back human. Danny looks to them, “the fuck is wrong with you?”.

While Maddie’s voice mutters from the doorway, “oh my Zone, Vlad?!?!”. Standing next to her is yet another interviewer from Genius Magazine: For Women Geniuses, By Women Geniuses; who slowly lifts up her phone and snaps a photo, while patting the pocket where her recorder is.

The next day Danny inexplicably gets pelted in the face -which, coming full circle, predictably stabs him in the eye in the process- by a magazine as soon as he steps through Mr. Lancer’s classroom doorway. Danny just lets it flop onto the floor unceremoniously, due to his veins being clean out of the consciousness juice that was Red Bull and thus incapable of caring about those pesky things called reflexes.

Danny sighs down at the abused magazine while slowly and dramatically covering his right eye. Sighing even louder at the cover somehow making everyone but the Vlads’ look kinda hot and ClockWork just being a black hole with a wicked grin -how they still seemed visually attractive is beyond Danny’s comprehension. The title reading ‘[REDACTED] Ghosts, Time Travel, And Illegal Cloning. Oh My!’, with the wonderful subtitle of ‘What Happens When Science Grows Fangs!’, and the sub-subtitle of ‘See Some Scientific Sin!’.

Danny’s sure the ‘[REDACTED]’ has something to do with ClockWork and them messing with an entire companies autocorrect function, but he decidedly doesn’t want to know.

Wes kicking in the classroom door seconds later only to pelt Danny with yet another copy of the magazine and shriek, “WHY!?!?!?! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!?!?!?!”.

Danny looks down at the magazine, which magically opened up to the page with the article when it landed, and snorts. It looked like someone had applied ‘[REDACTED]’ on the paper very liberally and with a pepper grinder. Danny then slowly turns and points at Wes with a massive shit-eating grin, “that’s what you get for being weak enough to fall victim to flu season. Sleepy sniffling sleuths earn no secrets”.

At this, the whole class laughs like they’re just a laugh track and an edited in fake audience.

END.

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keldae · 5 years

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Drastic Measures (Chapter Twenty-Eight)

Saresh wasn’t sure if the emotion racing through her veins was fear or wrath. Her instincts suggested fear might be winning out: Destruction of one of the last hidden Jedi outposts was terrible news for the Republic, and that news was beginning to spread. She could already imagine morale plummeting at the report. Worse, Republic operatives sent to investigate the massacre indicated that Satele Shan’s ship had been found on the planet, shot almost beyond the point of recognition by Zakuulan forces. The former Grand Master’s body hadn’t yet been accounted for among the dead — it could only be assumed that she was taken prisoner by the Zakuulans.

The Twi’lek ran a hand down her face. On a personal level, she hadn’t been fond of Master Shan, but blast it, the woman had been Grand Master of the Jedi Order. She was a valuable strategic prisoner, even before her role as the mother of Theron Shan. Saresh almost pitied the Jedi.

But perhaps having Master Shan would make Zakuul loosen their stranglehold on the Republic. Rumours filtered in -- sightings of Xaja Taerich and Theron Shan, their last confirmed location being Dromund Kaas. And they had reportedly departed with notorious Imperial agent, Cipher Nine. Known and feared throughout the galaxy, Saresh still couldn’t quite believe the report Kovach had sent to her, indicating that the infamous spy was father to the rogue Jedi. It did perhaps explain the girl’s sharp temper and vicious language when provoked, however, she mused.

A ship matching the description of Cipher Nine’s was reported to have landed on Nar Shaddaa. But neither the old spy nor his charges had been found on board. The SIS station chief in that sector, Ardun Kothe, hadn’t reported seeing the Imperial agent on the moon, nor had he seen Taerich or Shan. It seemed the pair of fugitives had vanished into thin air once again.

This time, however, they left more trouble in their wake: Arcann had all but accused Empress Acina of sheltering them to stir trouble in the Republic. Acina had, in turn, accused Saresh of sending her problems to Dromund Kaas, creating strife in the Empire — which certainly had happened, with Darth Imperius having shown himself a traitor and disappearing. Saresh only wished it had been intentional. As it was, she took the news as proof that Taerich and Shan were both traitors and working with Imperius — to what end, even back before the war had broken out, she wasn’t sure.

But now the galaxy teetered toward open war again, and this time the Republic was terribly crippled. Saresh found herself missing the quiet reassurance of the Jedi only a short hyperspace jump away on Tython, and Jace Malcom’s brilliant strategic decisions.

We don’t need them, she tried to tell herself. The Empire is even more fragmented than we are right now. We can win without the Jedi, or Malcom. Perhaps if she told herself that more, she would start to believe it.

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Korin knew that his younger brother had a reputation for being tough and unfazed by almost everything around him. It was why he was such a good leader for the resistance and why he’d done so well on the Dark Council, after all. And it made Sorand hurrying up to him, pale-faced like he’d seen a ghost, way out of character. The smuggler frowned as the Sith made his way over to him. “You okay?” Korin asked as he took in just how spooked Sorand looked. “You look like that one time you walked in on Skadge losing strip sabaac to Andronikos.”

“Don’t remind me of that…” Sorand muttered. “I’m still considering taking up drinking to purge that memory.” He paused and shook his head. “Actually, I might take up drinking anyway.”

That made Korin blink. “Darth Paranoia, going for alcoholism? I thought you hated drinking after the one time with the tihaar--”

“Oh, shut up.” Sorand furtively glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I need a list of every single Jedi in this cell — Tythonian, Corellian, questionably dark, whatever.”

“There a particular reason you need a roster?”

The younger Taerich hesitated, lips pursed.“There’s a literal near-duplicate of Mum walking around here,” he admitted at length, “and I need to figure out who the blazes she is.”

Korin’s brain stalled out for a moment as he tried to process the statement. “Uhhh… what?”

Sorand pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s a woman here, wearing Jedi-type clothing in shades of green, makes me think she’s Corellian. She has a saber-staff, and it sure as hell isn’t of Sith design or a Sith outfit. And kriffing hells, Kor’, she looks like Mum -- just with hazel eyes and no freckles.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a bunch of red-haired Jedi ladies who look like —”

“No, she looks like Mum. Like if Mum had a sister, that would be her. If I didn’t know Mum was dead…”

“Shit, she looks that much like Mum?”

“Yeah.” Sorand shook his head and hissed out a heavy breath through his teeth. “It’s damned creepy is what it is, even by Sith standards. And I have no idea who the hells she is.”

“If she’s Corellian, that’ll narrow the options down,” Korin murmured, frowning at his crossed arms. “Not a hell of a lot of Corellians who jump off-world for anything unless they’re pilots, and even less Green Jedi who’ll leave the Enclave. I’ll grab Vector, see if he knows anything.”

“Green isn’t exclusively a Corellian colour, so she could be Tythonian…”

The smuggler gave a snort. “Yeah, but they’re boring and tend to go for every shade of brown known.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Sorand’s lips. “Right. So maybe give Cantarus a call, see if he can track down which Jedi have left Coronet City in the last couple of years,” he added. “ I mean, Mum… didn’t have a sister, right?”

“Not as far as she or Dad knew. Maybe someone cloned her?”

“A clone would probably have her freckles and the right eye colour.”

“Bah, details.” Korin shrugged one shoulder, trying to act unperturbed about the whole thing, even if he felt a chill up and down his spine. If Sorand was this spooked by the mysterious Jedi lookalike of their mother, it was serious. Worse, Korin could feel the Force tugging at him, as though demanding his attention regarding the Jedi. He knew that tug meant this was significant — and hells, how he hated feeling it. Sometimes being Force-sensitive just wasn’t worth the headache and paranoia. “I’ll snoop around, see what I can dig up.”

Sorand nodded. “When Dad gets here, I’ll try to figure out how to ask him if he’s sure Mum didn’t have a sister. Maybe he knows something… or he’ll have the heart attack I’m still having myself.”

“Hey, I’m the one who gets to make Dad have a heart attack, not a creepy lookalike of Mum.”

“I’m pretty sure I can out-heart-attack-potential you any day, my miscreant asshole brother. Sith and dumbass Sith things, remember?”

“I’ve got no less than six and a half people who want my head on a plate!”

“How the hells did you get the half person in there?”

“Carefully.”

“Dumbass. You’re going to make Dad have a stroke from you being a moron, while I have the entire bloody Empire gunning for me right now!” Sorand paused. “Wait, no, Xaja’s going to be the one to make Dad have the heart attack with the entire galaxy looking for her.” If she’s still alive went unsaid.

“Yeah, Xaja wins, I think. First and last time you’ll hear me say that about a Jedi.” Korin stepped back and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Lemme track down Vector and see what he knows.”

“Works for me.” Sorand turned, craning his neck to look around. “I need to find Lana and see what--”

“Hey, Sor’ika?” Corey called, earning both brothers’ attention. When Korin looked over, he could see the Mandalorian intently looking at a computer screen. “I think you’re gonna want to check this out...”

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The Aegis rapidly descended through Alderaan’s atmosphere, the crew setting the cruiser down in a valley between two snow-capped mountains. A kilometre or so from the official boundary of the Organa lands, it was situated in an out-of-the-way location that didn’t receive too much attention from Zakuul — indeed, it was almost impossible to access via the main roads.

But Commander Malcom’s crew had no need for the roads. There was a hidden entrance to the killik warrens running under Alderaan’s mountains. The rebels utilized the caverns and winding paths to stay out of sight. Malcom hoped it would now serve to protect the two most hunted fugitives in the galaxy from those seeking their heads.

A security cam discreetly placed in a rock formation focused in on the faces of the disembarking refugees. As the programmed algorithms recognized the features of Xaja Taerich, arguably the most wanted person in the galaxy, an alert triggered deep within the warrens, notifying the resistance of the newcomers.

Corey Black, the nearest person to the computer console when the alert flickered to life, frowned down at the monitor for only a second as recognition kicked in, both of the Jedi woman and some of her travel companions. “Hey, Sor’ika?” he called out, a grin starting to spread across his bearded face. “I think you’re gonna want to check this out…”

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The group of Dantooine survivors entered the cool darkness of the killik tunnels, looking around with no small amount of suspicion. Xaja wrinkled her nose at the scent of damp earth and the lingering traces of the killik pheromones. “When you said you were getting us underground, Commander, I didn’t realize you meant literally.”

Malcom smirked, the expression eerily like Theron. “Not many people do. We’re reasonably sure the Zakuulans expect some form of resistance down here, but so far they haven’t found us. The killiks do a good job in scaring them off.��

“I can’t say I blame ‘em,” Kira muttered as she followed a step behind Xaja, looking around warily. “At least it’s better than the last time we were in a hive. Nothing’s trying to kill us... yet.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Theron answered quietly. For perhaps a couple hundred metres, the group moved in near-silence, until the spy spoke again. “You sure this is the right cave? It seems suspiciously empty.”

“If it wasn’t, we would have already been swarmed by killiks,” Jorgan piped up from a few paces back. “But there should be some sign of life by now.”

Worry settled into Xaja’s chest as she heard Malcom’s mutter of “There hasn’t been any news of an attack here” as the old soldier warily looked around. If the Zakuulans were already in the caves, waiting in ambush to take out the Dantooine survivors… they had no place else to flee to, and wouldn’t be able to escape. And there wouldn’t be a miraculous rescue from Havoc Squad to save their—

She froze, making Kira bump into her back. The sound of running footsteps echoed ahead; when she focused, she could hear more than one pair of feet. “Someone’s coming,” she hissed, sensing the rest of the group around her freeze as the other Jedi warily reached for lightsabers. Jorgan raised a hand, making one quick gesture, and his soldiers spread into formation as Malcom stepped back closer to the Jedi protectively, blaster in hand—

“Riggs, you son of a bitch!” came the yell from down the tunnel, a welcome voice that made Xaja sag in relief. Corso stepped out to the side of the formation, a delighted grin on his face. Moments later, Korin came flying around a bend in the tunnel, his own grin flickering as he registered a pack of armed soldiers and Jedi bracing themselves for a fight. “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it. Probably,” he quipped, coming to a stop and raising his hands placatingly.

“Bantha shit, Captain,” Corso promptly retorted with a laugh as Xaja darted around him, running the few paces to her brother. She had a second with which to sense Korin’s sheer relief under the veneer of carefree laughter, and then she was being tightly hugged by the tall spacer — a form of affection he didn’t go for too often. He must have been legitimately mourning her presumed death, or terrified for her safety.

As other members of the Alderaanian cell started hurrying around the corner after Korin, earning a chorus of delighted shouting and reunion between friends and comrades, the smuggler finally set his sister down. Real worry sparked briefly in his hazel eyes. “You okay?” he asked, squeezing her shoulders. “Sorand mentioned you’d been sick as hell, but…”

“Better now. Happy to still be in one piece.” Xaja smiled up at her brother, concern darkening her own mood for a moment. Hells, even Korin looked older — she swore she could see grey in his blond hair. “You been okay? Dad didn’t have any new updates on you last time I saw him.”

“I’m fine, all things considered. Hells, my favourite zombie sister’s back with us, so I’m doing great—”

“Zombie?” Xaja gifted her brother with a scowl as he grinned unapologetically. “Zombie? Listen, you asshole --”

“Last I checked, you’re still legally dead, and you know as well as I do that the walking dead are technically zombies.” Korin laughed and dodged a swat from the Jedi. “And since you’re clearly not a ghost, that only leaves zombies as our undead option.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t put a bounty on a legally dead person, you twit,” Xaja muttered with a scowl. “My status seems to have been rescinded.”

“Bah. Details. You’re still my favourite undead sister—” The smuggler ducked out of reach again with another laugh, only to trip and fall backwards over an outstretched boot.

“If you get stabbed, that’ll be your own damned fault,” Sorand interjected with a grin as he looked down at his brother. Ignoring Korin’s scowl up at him, the Sith hurried to give Xaja a hug. “I’m glad to see you in one piece, Xaj.”

“You, too.” Xaja returned the hug, for a second aware of Malcom side-eyeing them before looking back at her brother. “When I heard there was a hit out for you…”

“Acina’s going to have to do a lot better to take me down,” Sorand smirked. Worry flashed through his dark eyes as he lowered his voice. “How did things go?” he asked.

“Uhh… partially good?” At Sorand’s frown, Xaja shook her head. “I’ll explain later.” Catching him up on the details of the parasite in her brain was not something to do with so many listening ears around.

Sorand nodded in understanding, squeezing her shoulders before letting go. His gaze drifted over to Ashara; Xaja watched him hurry over to his apprentice before she turned at Kira’s delighted cry. Recognizing Doc and Rusk as they hurried up to the group, an excited Tee-Seven beeping in tow, she ran over to her old crew, feeling like the team was almost complete.

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Theron felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he watched the Alderaan rebels gladly embrace the Dantooine survivors. For the first time since fleeing Zakuul with Xaja, he felt reasonably safe… in the middle of a killik hive. Still, this was stable and out of Zakuul’s grip, for the moment. Sorand being here in one piece indicated that this location was also safe from the Empire; it would also help that the Organas weren’t fond of Saresh and could help keep her agents from finding the rebels. He lowly sighed and relaxed, the tension in his back easing.

Then he made eye contact with an approaching Korin Taerich, and had perhaps half a second to think shit before the smuggler’s fist connected with his jaw and knocked him down. “You fucking asshole!” Korin growled, his earlier joy at seeing his sister alive turning into a well-justified anger at his apparently-former friend.

Theron grunted as he gingerly ran his tongue over his teeth, pleasantly surprised to realize none had broken loose from that punch. “Brave words coming from the guy who punched a guy who got shot three days ago,” he muttered. His shoulder flared with pain as he gingerly shifted it. At least the bandages didn’t seem to have come undone.

Korin faltered for a second, brow wrinkling in confusion. “The fuck you mean you got shot?”

“Bunch of Zaks who really wanted to chat up your sister,” Theron retorted as he tugged his shirt to the side, revealing the bandages. “Asshat.”

“You still had that coming,” Korin snapped, dark eyes flickering with anger. But at least he apparently felt bad enough about hitting the wounded spy to offer a hand back up.

“Yeah, I know.” Theron grunted as he accepted the hand back to his feet, lowly hissing in discomfort. “Would saying ‘sorry’ make it a little better?”

Korin’s eyes narrowed in threatening anger. “Not in that kriffin’ tone of voice it—”

“No, I’m legitimately sorry,” Theron quickly interjected as he saw Korin’s fist tightening again. “You’re right. I’m an idiot and deserved that punch.”

“You think?! You’re making me look like a certifiable genius, Shan.”

“You are a certifiable genius. I’ve seen your aptitude tests, Taerich.”

“Shh!” Korin furtively looked around. “Don’t go ratting me out! I’m tryin’ to dodge responsibility, not adopt it!”

Theron rolled his eyes, then caught Korin’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth I am actually sorry, Korin. I was an idiot. It won’t happen again.”

“It’d better not,” Korin muttered. The fury seemed to have finally cooled down from the fiery temper to a low simmer under the surface. The smuggler shook his head, then frowned at Theron’s shoulder. “Sorry about the punch. Your shoulder more buggered up now?”

“Whose shoulder’s what now?” Sorand interjected as he appeared on Theron’s left. The Sith frowned at the spy, already reaching for the wounded shoulder. “The hell did you do?”

“Target practice, gone really badly,” Theron deadpanned, and earned a snort from the Sith. Feeling a prickle on the back of his neck, he turned his head slightly, just enough to see Jace frowning at Sorand. Right… his father wouldn’t trust a Sith, even one who had abandoned the Empire for his Jedi sister.

“I suggest thinking of a better story before Lana hears it and laughs at you for the rest of your respective natural lives.” Sorand smirked as he settled his hand on the blaster wound. “Hold tight for a minute.” A violet glow appeared around his gloved fingers; Theron shivered as he felt a cold trickle seep into his shoulder, knitting the injured muscles and tendons back together. Dark Side healing was never a completely comfortable experience, despite Sorand’s efforts to be gentle; but, when the Sith withdrew his hand and Theron rotated his shoulder experimentally, the wound was completely healed.

“Good as new,” Theron pronounced when he didn’t feel pain flaring in the joint, and gave Sorand a grin. “Thanks.” The Sith had even healed the bruising Theron could feel forming on his jaw from Korin’s punch.

“Don’t mention it. Force knows you’ve been through enough without having a kriffed-up arm on top of everything else.” Sorand stepped back, gesturing for Theron and Korin to follow him. If he was aware of Jace staring at the back of his head, mistrust showing in his dark eyes, the Sith didn’t reveal it. “I know you’re probably tired enough to see double, but we’re going to need to catch up on all the osik following you since you got off of Dromund Kaas. You lot good for a quick debrief?”

“As long as it’s relatively quick,” Theron agreed. Craning his neck, he caught a glimpse of Xaja, still surrounded by her closest friends, excitedly chatting away. At least she hadn’t witnessed her brother sucker-punching him like that — that would have been much harder to explain to her. Nervous dread settled in his stomach before he shoved it down to where he hoped she couldn’t sense it. “You said Lana’s here?”

“Yes, and you’d best hope she doesn’t feel inclined to make like Korin with the punching — which, by the way, I’m perfectly fine not knowing the reasons for.” Sorand grinned and stepped toward the tunnel. “Come on.”

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Jace had never been sure how to take the news that a Jedi war hero, and his son, both had non-hostile connections with powerful Sith Lords. With the Revanite crisis, he supposed it was reasonable for Republic and Imperial assets to cooperate. But the extended communication and open friendly behaviour made him frown.

He watched suspiciously as Darth Imperius caught Master Xaja up in a tight hug, both siblings clearly happy to see each other. Now that they were beside each other, he could see the resemblance between the two, far too similar to be mere coincidence. The Hero of Tython had one brother recently on the Dark Council, and one brother who was a proud career criminal and privateer -- not to mention their father.

He frowned, caught up enough in his thoughts that he missed Theron getting punched, still focused on Imperius. Sith weren’t exactly known for being affectionate or protective of their families, much less family members who came from enemy space, yet Imperius had risked his own safety to hide both his sister and a known enemy spy on Dromund Kaas. Had she known who he was sheltering, Jace suspected Empress Acina would have killed the younger Sith. So perhaps despite being a Sith, the boy — and how did a boy who looked like he was barely into his twenties make it to the Dark Council? — wasn’t a bad sort. He certainly wasn’t as shrivelled as Darth Malgus, nor did he carry himself in the same way. The eyes that darted around were dark brown and openly relieved, not tainted with sulphuric rage. Jace even dared to say the Sith was happy.

But surely the son of Cipher Nine had learned to hide his true motivations. The former Supreme Commander of Republic Forces pursed his lips, frowning. Master Xaja had also been fathered by the infamous Imperial spook, but she had been raised among Jedi; Jace figured that didn’t count, as she hadn’t grown up around her father’s influence. How much had the legendary cipher agent taught his sons?

“He’s not Malgus.” Satele’s voice by his right shoulder made him start. He looked down and got a raised eyebrow in turn. “Sith he may be, but he’s not steeped in the dark side like too many others. He’s actually far more like his sister than you might think.” She paused, giving Master Xaja a look as the redhead knelt to give an old astromech droid a hug, the droid beeping loudly and happily enough to be heard a few metres away. “Arguably, he could claim to be the more Jedi-like of the two.”

Jace snorted. “A Dark Lord of the Sith and a Dark Councillor, more Jedi-like than a hero of the Order?”

“He wasn’t the one who yelled a few interesting curses at Revan on Yavin, or told a mercenary where to go and how to get there. He’s far less hot-headed than his sister is.” Satele smiled slightly. “It’s unfortunate he wound up on Korriban; he would have done very well as a Jedi.”

“Hmm.” Unconvinced, Jace watched as a blonde woman hurried to the reunion throng in the tunnel, frowning at her sulphuric yellow eyes. His gaze darted toward the lightsaber on her hip, noting the metallic fins and blackened metal -- a very Sith style. Master Xaja didn’t seem to mind that, or the Mandalorian bounty hunter behind the Sith — she shot back to her feet and hurried to give the blonde a hug, one that was gladly returned. Lana Beniko was a known Imperial asset, and the SIS’s records indicated she was Imperius’ top advisor. “Blast, they’re still Sith, Satele. You know what they’re capable of.”

“Yes. And I believe Imperius would unleash it to protect his siblings… not unlike you might protecting us, the Republic.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “It doesn’t make him a bad person, Jace.” They watched as Theron turned from talking to Imperius and Captain Taerich, an open smile on his face as he went to greet Beniko. His arm was moving much more freely, Jace noticed, like it was no longer damaged. “I have never had cause to be worried around him. And he did protect Theron along with his sister.”

To what end? Jace wondered as he watched the reunions: Master Xaja was animatedly talking to Beniko, Theron standing at her side and interjecting commentary before turning to greet a newcomer with dark hair and a brown coat. Imperius had turned to speak to a Mandalorian woman in green armour -- the Champion of the Great Hunt, Shara Verhayc, Jace recognized -- while his smuggler brother slipped out of the crowd and neatly disappeared. No matter that Satele didn’t consider Imperius or his right-hand to be threats, no matter that Theron greeted the Sith like friends — Jace couldn’t bring himself to feel at ease around them.

And this was before bringing Cipher Nine into the mix, he thought. He frowned. Nothing involving the Empire’s top spy could ever end well.

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As the crowds beganto disperse toward the main sections of the hive, reunions still ongoing, Korin slipped away to send a message to his father. The old spy was probably in hyperspace, but if the Shadow ever dropped back into realspace for course corrections, he would hopefully see the message before having a worry-induced heart attack. The smuggler sighed — his father picked the most inconvenient times to be radio silent.

“What’s this? You, dodging out of the closest thing to a party we’ve seen in years?” A familiar -- and very welcome -- voice to his left startled him. Looking over, he saw Kira leaning against a stalagmite and smirking at him. “Who are you and what have you done with Korin Taerich?”

“It ain’t a party til the booze and strippers are out,” Korin retorted with a grin as he slipped his datapad back into his pocket, the message to his father half-written. “You remember Rishi.”

Kira grinned as Korin stepped up to her, resting his forearm on the stalagmite over her head. “Vividly. Those were some good times with the crazy cultists.” She straightened enough to slip her arms around Korin’s neck. “So what’s this I hear about the dumb spacer thing being an act and you leading a proper strike team?”

“I call shenanigans. I still dunno how I got roped into that,” Korin muttered as Kira laughed. The smuggler grinned as his other hand came to rest on the Jedi’s waist. “You missed seein’ some of my best shootin’, Jedi.”

One auburn eyebrow raised. “So if that was your best shooting, what’ve you been showing me the last year and a half?” Bright blue eyes pointedly glanced up and down, suggestive amusement pulling her lips into a grin.

“I said some of my best shootin’. You get the special showin’, Carsen.”

“Do I?” Kira’s eyes danced with pleased mischief, as her fingers started lightly tickling the back of his neck. “I’m not convinced, Captain. You got some persuading to do.”

“Challenge accepted,” Korin retorted with a smirk as he leaned in to kiss her. “Real talk though,” he murmured, sobering for a moment, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” For a brief moment, lingering grief and fear flickered through Kira’s Force-signature before she withdrew to where Korin couldn’t sense her emotions. She covered her brief slip with a smirk. “Your life would’ve gotten a lot less interesting without us in it.”

“And a lot less fun without you in particular,” Korin murmured as he pulled her into a side tunnel and kissed her again.

For a second, he thought about the message sitting half-written on his datapad, and almost pulled himself away to finish sending it. But then Kira’s hand had slipped down, nimble fingers finding his belt buckle, and he quickly decided it could wait. Chances were the old man was already in hyperspace. He would just finish the message later… much, much later.

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Oh, stars, she looked just like her mother. Mairen watched as the group of evacuees from Dantooine and their Havoc Squad saviours scattered within the resistance base — some people heading for the medics, some to meet friends, and still others to just go and crash from post-trauma exhaustion.

But she wasn’t watching the refugees. She was watching the red-haired Jedi woman walking toward the command centre with Lord Beniko and Captain Vortena, animatedly talking to the Sith. Even if the girl’s face hadn’t been broadcasted around the entire galaxy for the last month, along with the face of the tall, handsome spy beside her, Mairen would have recognized her.

She remained still as the group walked past her, able to observe without being recognized. Agent Shan, she noticed, seemed to be more alert, looking about with a slightly paranoid look; his gaze landed on Mairen for a moment before moving on, apparently taking her to be only a curious onlooker. Airna’s daughter glanced at her for barely a second before her attention turned back to Lord Beniko. Mairen had known that her cousin’s daughter wouldn’t recognize her, not like her brother had — she had never met her own mother. But that didn’t quite stop the slight ache in her heart.

At first glance, the pretty redhead didn’t seem to take after her father much at all. She had her mother’s hair and eyes, her mother’s slim build, and the same graceful stride. And the laugh that came from her at some quip Lord Beniko made was an eerie echo of Airna. Even her reputed sharp temper and fondness for creative insults came from her mother. And you went after a spy, too, she thought, shaking her head. Truly your mother’s daughter. At least Agent Shan was a Republic agent, and not in the service of the Empire.

It was like Mairen was watching her cousin again, before she had left Corellia with Taerich. She wanted to go to the girl, see how much of Airna lived on in her — but the younger Jedi wouldn’t know who she was. And she had just survived one terrible ordeal after another. And your journey isn’t done yet, Mairen thought as she watched her cousin’s daughter walk up a ramp to one of the command platforms, Agent Shan never far from her. With any luck, there would be time later to meet Xaja Taerich properly. The Jedi Shadow could only hope that the only thing she had inherited from her father was his surname.

#drastic measures #look! I haven't forgotten this yet!#KOTFE AU #SWTOR #Theron/Xaja #reunion time!#Xaja finally caught up to her brothers again #Suspicious Jace is suspicious #now we know where Theron gets the trust issues from #meanwhile on Coruscant #more family drama inbound!#this story is never going to end I stg #and look! Korin/Kira!

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lizzieraindrops · 7 years

Text

Your chance to make the sun rise thrice (Chapter 1)

a fire that did not burn (2019 words)

The concluding work in the Herbs on the windowsill universe. An alternate timeline where the original Helsinki massacre was prevented and DYAD routed by Clone Club Alpha’s successful publicity stunt back in 2001. Veera Suominen and Niki Lintula survived and decided to live in a little apartment together as qpp’s.

A few years later, Veera and Niki have only grown closer, and they’re slowly healing and growing into a more fulfilling existence. Numerous Leda clones worldwide are now in contact via a secure online network that Veera maintains. And now, one of them is coming from continent away to meet Veera face to face for the first time.

Also on AO3 | Playlist | Aesthetic sideblog

Part 1: Herbs on the windowsill

Part 2: Someday colors

Part 3: Your chance to make the sun rise thrice | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Note: The conclusion to this project has been simmering on the back burner for quite some time, but what with the events of season 5, now seemed the best time for it get out in the world. Because I’m tired of the violence, and this is my answer to it. This piece is dedicated to everyone in need of something kinder.

From the other room, some repetitive sound pats out a muffled rhythm, so softly that Niki only realizes after a moment that it’s what woke her up. Yawning, she rolls out of bed in her long t-shirt and stands. She thinks she knows what it is. She pulls the door open.

Yep. Veera is restlessness in dusky purple and she’s pacing the length of their living room ceaselessly, a half-saturated silhouette of color in the dawn shadows. Her hands are twitching.

“This was a terrible idea,” she says in a low voice without looking at Niki or breaking the perfect meter of her stride.

“No, it wasn’t,” Niki says from the doorway. She rubs her eyes. The sun is just now barely rising, and it’s the longest day of the summer. This far north, that means it’s something like three in the morning. In Niki’s opinion, that’s way too early for anything, but Veera never can sleep well the night before something big is happening.

“Yes it is,” Veera insists. “Why did I want to meet her? She’s going to look at me and see my - see me, and I’m going to be - it’s going to be awful. Why did I do this?!”

“Veera,” Niki says, somewhat exasperated, “She already knows what you look like, she’s literally your clone. And you have literally sent her photos of us, so she knows what you look like, too.” She waits until Veera reaches the endpoint of the line her feet keep retracing to cross it without interrupting her rhythm, and plops herself onto the couch to at least have this conversation sitting comfortably. Balls, she thinks. Here we go again.

“No, no, no,” Veera says, staring down the carpet and shaking her head as she walks. “I’m going to have to talk to her, and you know how the words get tangled up inside when I get stressed, and I’m already - already - argh.” She suddenly stops in the middle of her circuit and presses her face down into her hands. Then, just as abruptly, she looks back up, flings her arms back down, and resumes her pacing, now in a more circular track. Past the doors to the bedrooms and bathroom, down toward the kitchen, past the big philodendron in the corner and Niki on the couch in front of the faintly lit window, and then around again. Her hands twist back and forth at the ends of her arms with more vigor now, like an inverted gesture of silent applause, but one that she doesn’t want anyone to see. There was a time she would not have let Niki see how distressed she was, and the way that distress expends itself through the the twitch of her hands, of her feet, of her head.

“Veera, it’s okay,” Niki says, softer now. “You’ve talked to her practically every day for, what, two years now? And she already knows that this is something that happens sometimes, because you already told her, because you already thought of this ahead of time, because you always think of everything. She knows you and she’s here to visit you, she’s not gonna run for the hills.”

“But what if I do,” Veera says dejectedly. “I don’t know if I can do this.” She flops onto the couch next to Niki and closes her eyes, her limbs suddenly gone limp with the admission. “And we haven’t talked. They’re instant messages.”

“I know.” Niki reaches out to take Veera’s hand in hers. Veera automatically tangles their fingers together without opening her eyes. For someone usually so guarded and sparing with touch, the utterly casual intimacy of the gesture is a condensed, powerful shorthand for a long history of familiarity. It makes Niki’s heart melt a little bit every time.

“It’ll be fine. Trust me,” Niki says. “Beth’s like, your best friend.”

Veera’s eyes snap open. “But you’re my best friend,” she says, giving Niki an almost wounded look.

Niki rolls her eyes. “You can have more than one of those, you dork,” she says with a smile. “Like, just because you’re my everything - and you know that you are - that doesn’t mean you have to be the only thing. Like, we talked about this when I started seriously seeing Suvi again, remember? And we made sure that we were still okay and on the same page with everything, and you were fine with that when it was me. Why not you? Nothing has to change how we are. Or, well, it can, if we want. But not what we are to each other.” Niki squeezes her hand just a little.

“There are a lot of great people in our lives now because of what we did four years ago, and because of the online network you set up for Project Leda,” Niki continues, “and I think it’s worth getting to know some of them. And it sounds like you’ve found one of the best of them, one who thinks so too, so much that she decided to jump an ocean to come see you.”

“She’s coming to look at the university, too, she’s not here just to see me,” Veera protests.

“Yeah, she pretty much is.”

“Rrrngh,” Veera says, flopping her head against the back of the couch again. Then she changes direction yet again like a wayward wind, sitting up and curling her legs under her in a single, carefully coordinated motion.

Veera stares into space for a moment, then turns her gaze to meet Niki’s and holds it as steadily as her hand. That fear that perpetually clings to her looms large now in those eyes, dark in the dimly lit room and framed by the dark hair that she’s cut pixie-short once again. But the fear is also being tempered by a powerful hope for the good things that could happen, hope that Veera hasn’t allowed herself to show until now. Niki runs a thumb over the back of Veera’s hand and blinks gently into that intense gaze, like a cat. Apparently that means I love you in cat language. Veera told her that once.

Then, Veera does something that makes Niki’s breath stop for several heartbeats in the morning stillness. She takes the hand she’s holding with both of her own, and presses it against her cheek - her scarred cheek.

Although their daily coexistence is a never-ending study in just how much meaning can be packed into these small intimacies, Niki has never once touched those scars in all the three years they’ve been living together. She never would have presumed to try, knowing how self-conscious Veera is about them. But now she can feel them against her knuckles. Although Veera usually acts like they’re a gruesome open wound, they simply feel like an irregular pattern of calluses. Nothing scary or repulsive. Just skin.

Gently, gently, Niki unfolds her hand to hold her face, fingers flush against the living filigree left by a long-ago fire. Veera sighs and tilts her head into the touch, as if seeking solace in the lines of her palm. A silent tear or two seeps into the space between Niki’s hand and her cheek. Niki’s heartbeat stumbles, and she brushes them away with her thumb and a sniffle of her own.

“I love you,” Veera says quietly.

Okay. Now I’m really gonna bawl and it’s not even four o'clock yet, Niki thinks. This really is gonna be the longest day.

Veera rarely says the words out loud, preferring as usual to let her actions and affections speak for her, and they never fail to do so eloquently. Niki’s the talkative one. But the words are there, hanging in the air with the first light of day. Maybe for today, we can swap for once.

Niki wipes her eyes on the back of her free hand. Then, she uses it to delicately turn Veera’s head to the side, so that she can lean forward and brush the lightest of kisses onto those marks that mean Niki will never, ever lose her among the hundreds of faces out there that look just the same and nothing alike. Then, she lets go to mop at her streaming eyes with both hands.

Niki feels hands on her shoulders, then arms arcing around to pull her into an embrace, and the weight of a head leaning against the side of hers. She lets herself be held. It’s okay to cry here, she reminds herself. That was one of their earliest rules in this tiny haven they carved out of the world together.

They stay like that for a time, Niki doesn’t know how long. Only that her eyes are half-closed and her soul is open, and that the whole place is turning more and more golden as it fills with light from the east.

***

Several hours, assurances, and cups of tea later, the resonant chime of the clock sounds a quarter til noon over the busy murmur echoing in the main terminal, and a train pulls into the Helsinki station. Its streamlined sides gleam in the rich late morning light.

On the platform, Niki has an arm around Veera, and she can feel her shoulders flinch slightly as the squeal of brakes echoes off all the hard concrete and metal in the awning-enclosed platform. But the motion passes through her and vanishes as if hardly noticed. Veera is leaning a little forward, her gaze locked on the train.

The doors clatter open. A small crowd of passengers emerges onto the platform, and most of them start immediately making their way toward their next destinations. Soon, the flow thins and there are only a few people left, including a girl in a long navy wool coat and a messy bun, who is stepping carefully in her heels off the train and into the sunlight. She’s staring away from them down the other side of the platform, searching.

The girl leans forward to better see down to the far end, but doesn’t find what she’s looking for, and straightens back up. Her posture is impeccable. She turns toward them slowly, leading with her head, revealing a very familiar face framed by little flyaway hairs, lit up by the sun in sharp golden contrast to the subtler blues and blacks of her ensemble. When her eyes find them, that face cracks into the kind of huge, toothy grin that will give her laugh lines early in life if it’s kind to her.

Niki waves and smiles at her, then looks at Veera, who is still standing motionless at her side.

“You gonna go on?” Niki says to her quietly.

Veera looks back at her with eyes wider than she’s ever seen. Their hazel is now brilliant, aflame with emotion and the bright light of the station. Then she takes one step, and she’s running right at Beth, who has dropped her single piece of luggage and is trotting to meet her as fast as she can.

They halt sharply half a meter apart and spend a frozen moment in some kind of preliminary assessment or wordless communication. Veera’s arms are flung slightly backward and out, like wings about to launch her skyward at any moment. Beth manages to give the impression that she’s hovering on tiptoe even in her heels, like she’s perched on a precipice and waiting to make a leap of faith.

Then Veera has collapsed that last distance between them by diving forward and seizing Beth around the middle and, apparently, squeezing her with all her strength, because Beth stumbles and wheezes with the force of it. Then Beth is hugging her back fiercely and making small incoherent yelps of delight, and she’s picked Veera up bodily to spin her around in sheer uncontainable exuberance.

Niki’s face is hurting from the breadth of the grin there that won’t go away. Veera starts laughing, filling the entire station with the sound of pure joy. It echoes as loudly as the chiming of the hour, and it’s as warm and brilliant as the midsummer midday sun streaming in through the gaps in the awnings far above.

Title deliberately misquoted from the poem in the epigraph of Games Wizards Play, by Diane Duane. Some of you nerds are probably aware of the reasons for this. The original ends with: and do not miss, ‘twixt fire and ice / your chance to make the sun rise twice. It’s about suns and stars and second chances and finding lost things and bringing them home.

#orphan black #veera suominen #niki lintula #beth childs #clone club #lizzie taking up space #lizzie's adventures in writing #mika ob #mk ob #herbs on the windowsill au #remembering the strength of this softness #with the earth down on your knees #for so high and honorable an estate

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