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wild-karrde · 18 days
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Guarded - Part 3
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A/N: NEW CHAPTER REWRITE ALERT! This was honestly one of the chapters I was most excited to rewrite, and I hope you all love it as much as I did. As always, thank you to the wonderful @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this for me!
Chapter Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word Count: 4.8k words
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It was late, and as usual, Tech wasn’t sleeping. Hunching over several datapads at the table in the main sitting room of the suite they shared, he rubbed his temples as he pored over the information Captain Typho had provided him. He was certain to pass out when exhaustion overcame him, either in the chair he was sitting in, or perhaps he’d be lucky enough to make it back to the bedroom he was sharing with Echo. He was surprised to hear his brother’s snores already from down the hall. 
He rarely sleeps, so at least there’s that.
Sleep was never something that came easily to Tech either, not with the way his mind constantly turned, poking and prodding at information and cataloging it for later use. It was rather fortuitous that he’d proved capable of functioning on less sleep than most, and he often took advantage of the late hours to spend time alone with his thoughts. 
The others had closed their doors, which had done little to muffle Wrecker’s grunts and louder snores as he tossed and turned. He’d wound up in a room by himself with Tech and Echo sharing and Hunter and Crosshair bunking together in the last remaining room. The tension between the sergeant and the sniper was still thick enough to cut with a vibroblade, but Tech was hopeful that perhaps the forced proximity would help lessen the strain between them. 
Perhaps they’ll even have a fruitful conversation at some point. 
He didn’t always necessarily express himself in the same ways as his brothers, but he knew he really had no right to be critical of anyone’s interactions with Crosshair. After everything that had happened, he could barely look his brother in the eye.
I missed it. I just assumed he was correct when he stated his chip was gone. I should have known. I should have noted the differences in his behavior, the headaches. 
I just missed it.
The guilt wracked him nearly every second he was around Crosshair, and it had made his interactions with him difficult, so he’d limited them. He knew if they were to effectively function as a team again, it was something he would have to overcome. That seemed to be the biggest challenge for him at the moment, but one that could not take priority over the mission they’d been tasked with. 
Tech had been going over the security system for the palace, memorizing protocols and trying to get an idea of where vulnerabilities existed. He still wasn’t sure why they were needed here, but he was determined to do his best to help anyway. The work made him feel useful in a galaxy that had seemingly decided he and his brothers had outlived their utility. He understood the move to decommission the clone army from a practical standpoint, but it didn’t make him less resentful of the treatment of his brothers, both what he had observed with his own eyes and what was still just rumors. He just hid that resentment far better than most, deeming it an unhelpful feeling in the long run when there was so much more to be done, including helping the brothers the Empire had abandoned. And people like Queen Nodala and Captain Typho, whether that help was desired or not.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the indentations on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose left by his goggles as he sighed deeply. 
By all accounts, the system is sound. The only vulnerabilities lie in the human factors. Logs. Timeliness on rotations. And only so much can be done about that. 
A quiet, nearly imperceptible sound in the hallway made Tech turn his head just in time to see a shadow pass under the door. It could have been anyone walking by in the night, but something about how quiet it was, clearly intended to not draw attention, piqued his curiosity. Quickly, he slipped his boots back on and slid his blaster into its holster before quietly opening their door and stepping out into the corridor. 
The only sound was the echoing of his bootheels on the marble flooring as he pursued the shadow as quickly as he could without drawing attention. Stealth had never necessarily been his strongest skill, and he felt especially exposed, striding through the seemingly inescapable moonlight that poured in through the large windows. 
At least Wrecker’s not with me. He is physically incapable of sneaking up on anything.
Suddenly, Tech rounded a corner and was in the open air, a railing stretching out before him that looked out over the private palace gardens. Somewhere, a waterfall gurgled and the leaves of the trees whispered together in the cool night breeze. He shivered slightly before noticing he wasn’t alone. 
A woman leaned against the railing, her long dark hair hanging down her back in waves. She wore an emerald green robe and matching slippers, a cream colored nightgown peeking out from underneath. Her elbows rested on the stone railing, and she had her eyes closed as if savoring the breeze that tugged gently at her hair. 
Tech froze, watching her carefully for a moment before ultimately deciding she wasn’t a threat. Judging by the fact that no one else was around, he knew she was the shadow he’d been chasing, although he couldn’t understand the need for her to be sneaking around. Particularly since she presumably had permission to be anywhere in it at any time. 
Cautiously, he approached. As Tech’s footsteps grew closer, the woman turned to look at him, green irises piercing him in the dark. He’d clearly surprised her, but she recovered quickly, smiling disarmingly. 
“Good evening, Tech.” 
“M’lady.”
Her smile flickered almost imperceptibly. “You don’t have to use formal honorifics for handmaidens.”
Pushing his goggles up, Tech tilted his head to look at her. He wasn’t sure if this was a test or just a ruse, but he decided to place his cards on the table. Honesty had always been his default method of engagement, even sometimes to a fault. 
“Yes, but you’re no handmaiden,” he countered.
Her eyes narrowed and an amused smirk at her lips. “What makes you so sure?”
Tech moved to stand next to her, lowering his voice slightly. “Were all of the queen’s handmaidens present when we were introduced today?”
She thought for a moment, trying to determine where he was going with this. “Yes. We were all there.”
Tech nodded, watching her carefully. 
“Alright. There were six handmaidens in the room. It was hard to see all of their eye colors, but one I did see definitely had brown eyes, very different from the queen’s eyes, which are green like yours. Another had a scar through her eyebrow, nothing terribly obvious, but enough to where she has a gap in the hair that grows there, which you don’t have. The two that were flanking the door we entered from were several centimeters shorter than you, a subtle difference, but one I noted. And of the last two, one had hair of a similar color to yours, but it was straighter, so unless you curl your hair specifically to sleep in, that rules you out, and the other has a widow’s peak, a genetic trait that you do not share.”
Her eyes were wide, but he shook his head. “These are all subtle things that could easily be covered one way or another should they be decoying for you, so I wouldn’t be too concerned. I just notice more things than most people. But yes, by process of elimination, you are Queen Kestia Nodala of Naboo…m’lady.”
She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Very impressive. Although I’m not sure whether to let you talk to my Captain of the Guard or not seeing as he’s already very paranoid about my safety.”
“You are on the bad side of someone willing to send assassins to kill you. I would consider that cause to worry,” he replied.
The queen pushed some of her hair behind her ear. “I apologize for the subterfuge. I’m just not normally recognized outside of my regalia, and most don’t see me like this anyway. It always feels like armor, so to speak. People respect me more, but also, coming upon someone I don’t know well without it on feels…” her voice trailed off. 
“Vulnerable?” he offered. 
She huffed a laugh. “Exactly. It was a reflex of sorts, if I’m honest.”
He nodded. “That is understandable, particularly since we only met this afternoon. But I would argue that you are, in fact, quite vulnerable without a security escort.” 
The queen nodded, a quiet sigh escaping her. “I just needed to get some air. Alone.” 
“I apologize for disturbing you then. Good night, m’lady.” Tech turned on his heel to leave. 
“Wait,” the queen said quietly. 
Tech turned to look at her, and something in his chest fluttered as her eyes met his. He straightened his stance reflexively. It felt as though she was appraising him, weighing something in her mind. Her eyes were kind though, and he felt his face warm under her gaze. She watched him as he stood stiffly for a few more moments, hands clasped behind him. Finally, she seemed to come to some sort of decision. 
“Would you care to walk with me, Tech? I’m having trouble sleeping, and I find the gardens help calm my mind. And,” she said, grinning mischievously. “It would be irresponsible for me to be out here alone at night without some sort of security escort.”
Tech dipped his head. “Certainly, m’lady.”
“So there’d be no reason to tell Captain Typho you found me out here then. Right?”
“I suppose not, m’lady.”
She nodded, striding towards the stairs before pausing, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “Oh, and Tech.”
“Yes?” he asked, pausing.
“We’re going to spend an awful lot of time together for the foreseeable future as you and your squad have been assigned as my personal security. When it’s just the two of us, please call me ‘Kestia’ or ‘Kes’.”
The lack of formality jarred him, but he nodded quietly as he followed her down the walkway to a set of stairs that led into the greenery. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she stepped onto a carved stone path, her robe and nightgown whispering around her ankles while his bootheels clicked against the pavement. They walked quietly for a while, Tech trying to determine the correct distance to follow, and ultimately finding Kestia matching his stride. He wasn’t certain if she was being intentional, but he surrendered after a few experimental pace changes, falling into step next to the queen. 
If Kestia noticed his experimental prodding, she didn’t comment. She strode through the garden, and while she seemed relaxed, Tech could tell her mind was racing as she paused at certain features, breathing in the scent of various flowers or allowing her fingers to trail through leaves on a willow tree that hung over them. He’d experienced plenty of nights like this where his thoughts kept slumber at bay, but while he normally immersed himself in datapads, he could tell this was Kestia’s equivalent, her best way of working through a problem. 
“If I may, what’s keeping you up at this hour, Tech?” the queen asked, finally breaking the silence as they followed the path along the trickling brook that wove throughout the garden.
He turned to look at her, meeting her eyes in the moonlight, glittering at him like precious gems. There was a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her lips, but her interest seemed genuine, not manufactured out of some sense of social propriety. He took a deep breath. 
“Several things actually.”
She nodded. “Well, would you like to talk through them with me?”
He stared at her with a puzzled expression. She shrugged. 
“I find it helps me sometimes.” 
She seated herself on a stone bench as he stood in front of her, eyes trained on him like a pupil awaiting a lecture.
Nodding, Tech pushed his goggles further up his nose, trying to ignore the nagging fear that he’d bore her. 
“I’m trying to determine the best way to increase our fuel efficiency on our gunship. It seems as though we’ve been running hotter than normal, and while I’ve run the usual set of diagnostics, I cannot seem to discover which part is faulty and causing the ship to consume fuel at a faster rate.”
She stared at him intently for a moment. “May I ask a potentially stupid question?”
He smiled slightly. “There are no stupid questions, m’lady. In my experience, those keep you from making stupid mistakes, which are more costly.”
“You’re still calling me ‘m’lady’.”
“A habit I shall endeavor to break. In the meantime, what is your question?”
“You’re operating under the assumption that it’s some part beyond the fuel system that’s misbehaving, causing the fuel pump to provide more fuel than would normally be required, correct?”
“That is the most logical conclusion, yes.”
“Have you considered that perhaps the fuel pump itself is faulty? Maybe there’s nothing driving a higher fuel consumption, but perhaps the pump itself is doling out excess. Or perhaps there’s something in the ship’s programming that’s making the pump think it needs to provide more than what is required.”
Tech’s mind was suddenly so busy, turning over her suggestion, he didn’t notice the queen’s surprised expression as he sat down abruptly next to her, nor her amused smile as his leg began bouncing energetically as he examined the feasibility of her line of thinking.
“That is not a thing I had previously considered,” he conceded, internally chiding himself. “It’s certainly plausible. I’ll have to check.” 
She smiled, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Sometimes I find it’s easy to go down the path that is the most logical solution and get stuck there. Glad I could help. What else is on your mind? Perhaps I can help solve all of your problems.”
Tech nodded, missing the joke completely as he ticked down his list. 
“I’m working on a new design for a cybernetic limb for Echo. He’d like to have the use of a hand while also maintaining his slicing capabilities. I’ve been attempting to come up with a housing that will be able to tap into his neural system the same way his current appendage does while also maintaining his scomp link within the wrist.”
“Ah, I’m afraid I cannot help you there,” Kestia said quietly, folding her hands in her lap. “Cybernetics are well outside of my area of expertise, and judging by Echo’s neural equipment that’s visible on his head, I have to imagine his is quite complex.”
“You would be correct, but I think there’s an elegant solution. I just have to tweak a few elements of the design concept I’m working on to ensure he’s comfortable with it.”
She hummed in reply, but Tech’s brow did not unfurrow. Kestia noticed.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” she pressed. 
Tech felt his cheeks warm once more as he swallowed hard. He wasn’t used to having someone read him so easily so quickly, to seemingly understand him. His brothers did of course, but they’d spent the vast majority of their lives training together. Understanding one another without verbal communication was a necessity for effectiveness. And survival. 
She’s a politician. Being able to read a room and those in it makes her successful. Of course she’d be able to notice things such as personal traits. She wouldn’t have been elected queen by such an overwhelming margin if she did not have such a skillset. 
It did little to calm the sudden flutter in his stomach. He stood, taking several paces to put some space between them before turning back to face her, his hand stroking his chin as he thought.
“Yes there is another thing. But I fear it is somewhat forward and perhaps could be construed as rude.”
She tipped her head back and laughed, a reaction far from what Tech had expected. But at this point, he was starting to understand that the queen defied any and all expectations he had previously assumed. 
“Well, it’s about time someone was rude to me,” Kestia joked. “Everyone defers to me constantly, so I welcome your forward thoughts and potential rudeness.”
Her mirth did little to decrease Tech’s discomfort, but her eyes were boring into him where he stood, and after quickly weighing the options, he decided candor would once again be the best approach. He unconsciously started pacing in front of her while she watched from her seat, her hands still clasped in her lap as she leaned forward, seemingly eager to hear Tech’s thoughts.
“Very well,” Tech replied, taking a deep breath. “I…I struggle to understand why we are needed here. You have a quite capable security force from what I’ve seen, so why recruit a secret fugitive clone team that the Empire is very interested in catching? What added value do we bring?”
She smirked, flicking something off of her robe’s fabric. “Honestly, I find your presence here equally troubling, but I was very much overruled by Captain Typho and several of my advisors and confidantes, including a certain senator that I know colluded with Typho to send you here. I would rather have handled this internally and on my own, but even the Naboo guard has limits. I’m sure you’ve noticed we don’t exactly have a strong military presence, so it’s not as though I could have some strong show of force to get my enemy to back down.”
Tech nodded. He had researched the planet and its culture and was well aware of Naboo’s hesitancy to militarize, even after the Trade Federation invasion that had occurred during Queen Amidala’s rule. 
“Do you even know who the enemy is?” he asked. 
“I do. But I doubt you’ll believe me.” Her expression was a neutral mask, completely unreadable to him. It frustrated him, especially when combined with her conversational obfuscation.
“I’d be more likely to believe you if you were candid with me about everything, including the reason why your life is in danger,” he retorted, trying to keep his mild annoyance from poking through his facade. 
“Iden told you-“
“Resources. Yes, but you and I both know that a simple mining dispute doesn’t put the life of a planet’s elected monarch at risk.”
She eyed him carefully, clearly considering her options. Tech did his best not to cross his arms, fearing he’d portray hostility and send her retreating into the palace. Finally, she sighed. 
“Will you tell the others?”
Tech nodded. 
“It would be helpful if we understood our current situation better. Vague details make it harder for us to prepare and formulate any contingency plans. I cannot hide information from my brothers that will help keep them safe. And you.”
Something shifted within her as he watched. She looked away, still contemplating, but he could see her jaw set in a hard, determined line. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she dipped her head, appearing to come to a decision.
“Alright, I will trust you with this. My captain was hesitant because he is very fearful for my safety.”
“Understandable considering what happened to the last Naboo leader he was charged with protecting.”
“That wasn’t his fault. He-“
Tech cut her off gently. “I know it wasn’t. I am merely saying I understand his determination to protect you. He obviously cares very deeply for you.”
She smiled a little, her gaze drifting to a slightly more distant point. “Gregar and I were close as children. He’s always been protective, but sometimes I feel that Padmé Amidala’s death has made that part of him even more fearful.”
Tech nodded in understanding. Kestia’s eyes fell to her lap as she nervously picked at her thumbnail.
“A few months ago, I was informed that one of our mining survey droids detected a massive deposit of Bandorium in one of our lakes. The droid had malfunctioned and wasn’t even supposed to be in that area.”
Tech tilted his head. “Bandorium? I thought that metal only existed on Bandomeer.”
“Until this point, it did. Naboo would be the first place that it’s been discovered outside of Bandomeer.”
“Its use in cloaking technology and its rarity makes it incredibly valuable,” Tech recited, recalling one of the many articles he’d read on intergalactic mining during his time as a cadet.
“Indeed, which is why I had the droid’s memory wiped.”
Tech’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”
She nodded, still picking at her thumb before finally meeting his eyes. 
“That metal is incredibly valuable to the Empire. They’ve pillaged worlds for far less. This deposit was found near Gunga City, the Gungan capital. In order to mine the deposit, the city would have to be destroyed and the population displaced. In addition, there are numerous Gungan holy sites within the vicinity that would almost certainly be destroyed.”
She stood, pacing in the grass as Tech had been a few moments before. Tech watched her quietly. 
“I had the droid’s memory wiped because I did not want the Empire to get word of this discovery,” she continued. “We classified the information and limited any distribution, compartmentalizing where we could, but some of the information still got back to the Empire. Not the location, only I have that information. However, even just the rumored discovery was enough to inspire the Empire to try and coerce me into revealing the location. But I’ve seen how Imperial mining operations plunder worlds. I know that they’d consider the Gungans collateral.” 
She stopped, turning to look at him, her eyes pleading for some sort of tacit approval, validation that she’d done the right thing. It struck him as odd, particularly from someone that seemed as set in her convictions as Kestia did. 
“When I ran for this office and took my oaths, I swore to protect Naboo and its people, all of its people,” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper. “So I cannot allow that to happen.”
Tech nodded, contemplating the information. Kestia resumed her pacing. 
“Unfortunately, I have made my distrust and distaste of the Empire fairly well known. I stand up against them, and they certainly don’t care for it. Moff Panaka has continued to offer his very unwanted advice about how I should disclose the location and allow the Empire to mine what is required, how it will strengthen Naboo and its place in the Empire, as if I would sacrifice my planet and its people to curry favor with those that are only hungry for power and subjugation.”
Her voice was angrier now, and a vein in her temple throbbed as her pace quickened. Tech was taken aback slightly at the aggression and passion coming from the monarch that had been so subdued when they first met. She suddenly seemed to remember herself, pausing her rapid steps to look at him, a flush spreading across her cheeks as she sheepishly tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I apologize.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I am happy to listen if that is what you require.”
Kestia dipped her head gratefully. 
“Anyway, there have been…threats made. Moff Panaka has repeatedly warned me that if I did not comply, there was a chance the Empire would intervene and elect a new monarch that would be more sympathetic to their cause, someone that would allow them to occupy. What they don’t realize is that I’ve destroyed all records of the location. The person that made the report directly to me has since died quite suddenly. I suspect foul play, but seeing as the threats and assassins haven’t stopped coming, I can only assume they didn’t get the information they needed. Information that only exists in my mind.” She paused, looking at him. “And now, yours.”
The revelation was shocking to Tech, and he let out a sharp exhale. He’d never been one to garner or pursue the trust of others, and yet, Kestia had entrusted him with this information after only a few hours. Information that the Empire was apparently willing to kill for. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his expression neutral. He’d have to examine how he felt about this later. For now, it felt important to keep Kestia talking, to glean as much helpful information as he could front his very sudden and unexpected rapport. 
“You believe the Empire is attempting to have you killed in the hopes that the next monarch will access the information and reveal it.” It was intended to be a question, but it came out as more of an accusatory statement than intended. 
Kes shrank back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. She did not waver, but he could feel her appraising him again, trying to determine if she had misjudged him, if he would take her seriously. 
“I do,” she said firmly. “They can’t risk an outright invasion and have the Empire’s name attached to my death, at least not yet, so they hire assassins like the one that recently visited my quarters.” The evening was warm, but Tech saw her shudder slightly at the memory. “I do not believe the Empire will risk an all-out war with Naboo yet to subdue me and my people.” She noted the twitch of his lips. “You disagree?”
He sighed. “A while ago, yes, I might have disagreed with you. Now, I’m not certain. The Empire has grown more dangerous as it’s become more powerful. More bold.”
She relaxed slightly, seemingly relieved that he at least didn’t completely discount her theory. 
“Why not just remove you from office?” he asked after a few moments. “That seems the more politically savvy route. Attacking Naboo’s elected leader is a blatant attack on the planet’s sovereignty.”
“They cannot do it without support from our politicians here, and most of them are against occupation as well. I have plenty of support on my planet. The only way for me to be immediately removed would be…well, to kill me.”
Tech nodded. As conspiratorial and far-fetched as it sounded, he couldn’t deny her reasoning as the pieces fell into place in his mind. If the Empire could keep its name from being tangled with the assassin and pin it on some disgruntled political fanatic, then they could easily slip their own pawn into place while simultaneously tying the hands of any objectors. At best, anyone that made accusations would look like raging conspiracy theorists, and their political careers would crumble. At worst, the Empire would claim treason, and they’d never be heard from again. He sighed, scrubbing his fingers under the rims of his goggles again. 
“So, now you know,” Kestia said slowly. “Do you believe me?”
Tech sighed, meeting her eyes. “I believe they will continue to try and remove you, but ultimately, if they do not succeed, I do not doubt they will try to make an example out of you and your people, one way or another.”
Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, and she quickly turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared out across the gardens. Tech slowly moved to stand next to her, studying her features as she thought. He was suddenly struck by how terrifyingly beautiful she was, and how much he found her determination admirable, even if he feared it was against insurmountable odds.
“They can try, but I will not yield,” she said quietly.
Tech hesitated before gently placing a hand on her arm. It felt like the correct thing to do, even though the action seemed to surprise them both. But she did not pull away, instead meeting his eyes. 
“And that is why you need us,” he said softly. “To support you in this endeavor should the Empire ramp up its efforts.”
She watched him carefully, and Tech felt his stomach flip slightly under her gaze. She was somehow even more imposing when she was out of her regalia, a normal woman in every aspect of her appearance. And yet, here he was, trying to remain steady as she pinned him down with her emerald irises. After a few moments, she tossed him another grin that almost felt flippant after the conversation they’d had. He suspected it was meant to put him more at ease than anything, and he was once again struck by how naturally she deployed the tools of a politician. It should have unnerved him but it didn’t. At all. 
Another thing to be examined at a different time. 
For now, he felt content to just exist in this moment rather than planning six steps ahead, a feeling he was unfamiliar with. It felt pleasant as he took in the sounds of the garden, the feel of the breeze on his cheeks and in his curls, and the smile on Kestia’s face.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” the queen of Naboo said, a teasing glimmer in her eye. “I would rather you have wasted your time when this is all said and done.”
He gave her arm a slight squeeze, returning her smile. “As do I. Kestia.”
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uponrightful · 2 years
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Coriolis Effect - pt. 17: “Arrangement of Operations”
A/N: Well, what can I say? Other than the fact I can't keep a consistent schedule? Hopefully this doesn't disappoint. More action will be coming soon. This was just a rough transition chapter for me and I had a difficult time trying to tie together everything I want to. I've been dreading these last few arcs here since the first chapters I drafted out. Still some plot twists, spice, and development left to come. I'm just attempting to make sure I don't crash a burn at the end of this work.
I do have some little one-shot blurbs coming as well... Hopefully in the next day or two. Nothing great. But it's about one of the more... well-known pilots. I'm hoping to make him my next full-length fic. If you're interested let me know.
Anyways. That's all for now.
Much Love,
Rightful 🤍
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Mission details.  
Secrecy. 
Frustration beyond management.
Everything was coming to a head.
It felt as if everyone in the war room was holding their breath. Waiting for the final hour to finally admit that Kenobi’s plan was downright dangerous, and everything hinged on the gut-feeling that the compromise on Geonosis hadn’t been discovered yet. No outside help. Recon for outside information was a far stretch at best. And the 212th -despite sitting in on most of the mission briefs- weren’t even going to be making the trip for the gala event anyways. Echo had never found himself feeling quite this out of place amongst a group of Captains, Commanders, Sergeants, and Generals. 
Cody stood at the far end of the war room table with an almost permanent look of pensiveness creasing the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Staring down at the holomap and surrounding information on digital displays covering the room. At his side was General Kenobi looking as cool and collected as ever. Not nearly as concerned as he should be. However Echo had a sneaking suspicion that he was just damn good at shielding his apprehension. After all, the mission itself felt like something that the other general in the room -Anakin- would’ve dreamed up on the fly less than one parsec away from a battle zone. Even. The younger Jedi was asking a lot of questions that normally never got asked. Echo had personally seen Anakin fly into danger without batting an eye. However as he got the chance to examine General Skywalker, there was a tinge of… hesitation floating in his eyes. Even Rex, who’d decided to take up a post next to him radiated a thick feeling of nervousness. It didn’t take much to assume the tension in the air was what had Hunter grimacing and rubbing at his temples.
“I still don’t understand why we can’t have someone else go under for this,” Echo nearly growled. “Isn’t there anyone else who knows what’s going on? Or at least smart enough to be briefed on the essentials beforehand?” He paused for a moment, sighing. 
“Forgive me, Generals. I’m in no place to make demands. But I feel it would be a mistake to assume there aren’t spies on Republic payroll hired specifically for this kind of thing.”
Echo scanned his attention to General Kenobi who didn’t look the least bit offended. With over twelve meetings held over the last five days, decorum had been practically thrown out into the Jedi Temple hallways. No one wasted their breath addressing anyone by title at this point. There wasn’t enough time for it. And save for Tech who subconsciously insisted on calling Rex “Cap” no one took time to even address the informality. That being said, it was the first time tensions had risen to the point of Hunter stepping out of line. Even if it wasn’t by more than a little bit. 
“Corporal, I understand your hesitance,” Kenobi said calmly. “If I am to be honest with you, I haven’t had a single moment of question as to what your collective worries are surrounding this assignment.”
Echo hated being reminded of the fact. His removal from direct contact with Jedi’s came as a bittersweet realization, but when in the presence of one, he’d long forgotten just how perceptive they could be should the need or desire arise. And with six clones overpowering two Generals in a war room, there was no mistaking why Kenobi left himself open to their thoughts and feelings. 
“However, you are correct that the Republic has many resources available at our disposal for such a situation as this,” His answer was just as diplomatic as always. “Our collective problem resides in know who and when someone can be trusted to carry out the plan we have formulated.” 
The seemingly endless question no one could find the answer to and the basis of all their problems. Everyone had tried for weeks at this point to avoid getting too close to the Separatists and their business dealings. Kenobi had reached out to trusted companions across the galaxy, Skywalker had done the same. And from what Cody and Rex had relayed over comms and after meetings, they too had turned to friends acquaintances, and even the Corrie Guard to try and get some type of helpful information. All they could learn was what everyone else already knew. Which wasn’t a whole lot. 
“I understand that. But I don’t think sending one person into an entire mansion of Separatists is a safe way to go about this,” Echo responded. “At least let one or two of us go in with her.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing at the sound of himself damn-near begging. But for all it was worth, everyone in the room save for Kenobi thought the plan was voluntary manslaughter.
“Echo… she’s the only one who can speak to them in a believable way.” The General protested. 
“It is not of good conscious to send any of you into what could be a very dangerous situation. But I must defend my reasoning.”  Kenobi took a few steps away from the table and settled himself down into one of the many chairs settled around the room. 
“If I was to send anyone and their knowledge of the weapons being sold fall short, it would be an immediate threat to not just our operation but to the entire stability of the war!” He said with a frustrated sigh. “I have no objections to your accompaniment to Naboo. It’s all for the better that there are more eyes on the gala to see any suspicious activity or recognizable faces. But I do not want to underestimate the lengths to which our enemies will go to ensure that their stolen goods are sold to their allies and not a stranger whom has lucked into an invitation and the immense amount of money necessary to even think about attending the auction.” He explained.
“Maybe she isn’t ready for that kind of work yet, Obi-Wan.” Anakin, who had been mostly silent for the meeting finally spoke up in a weak attempt to help out Hunter. 
Kenobi looked to him with a somewhat disbelieving expression.
“Capability has nothing to do with enthusiasm.” Echo found himself gritting out the words before he could even stop himself. Everyone in the room snapped their attention to him and suddenly all that tension in the air had been magnetized to him. The thick weight of expectation to explain himself rode heavily on his shoulders and chest making it hard to breathe let alone form his frustration into some semblance of understandable words. Surprisingly it didn’t take long to figure it out.  
“We’re been going over this plan for days. Memorizing entrances and exits, speaking to contacts about how this gala is going to proceed and where we’re supposed to blend in best on surrounding rooftops to avoid being seen. Everything is nearly perfect except for one small detail  no one wants to talk about.” He breathed heavily, trying to control himself. 
“No one asked Duchess if she was even willing to put herself on the line for this.”
That weight got just a little heavier. 
“Her available mission details with Phantom Squad are… impeccable. And I’ve seen her work in the field up-close, but it’s dangerous to send her into Separatist hands less than a week after seeing them nearly torture her- one of the squad to death.” Echo could feel a stinging sensation in the back of his throat.
Kenobi’s eyes softened in that moment, looking about the room to all of the men standing there. Waiting for his word. Helpless to do anything but follow orders despite all the informality they’d been lucky enough to experience. All of the Batch present knew that their time was running out, and with both Crosshair and Duchess still so far away from what they all deemed normal, it was cutting into their patience. And more so, the protective nature they felt for both of them. This wasn’t an issue of who was the right man for the job anymore. Everyone was clear on the fact that Duchess could handle it the best, with the least amount of effort. It was her mentality that they feared for. And General Kenobi hadn’t bothered himself with experiencing first-hand what her condition was not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. 
“I have sent her the mission request myself. Has she not been aware that this mission as it stands presently rests on her decision?” Kenobi asked with an eyebrow raised.
Finally Hunter found his words with a certain nervousness about them, “Not at present. She was advised by the infirmary to rest and we have not been keen on letting her worry about this until we’re certain she’s up to the task. Not just okay with accepting the responsibility.”
Kenobi gave a short of chuckle, seeming to understand just what they had been trying to get across all this time. “I have to say, that sounds very familiar. For duty to oneself can go ignored when the need of others seems more significant.”
Anakin looked to him with a accusatory expression. “You wouldn’t be talking about me would you?”
“Oh, of course not. You’ve never been the type to put yourself in unnecessary danger to save someone else… Only to end up needing saved yourself now, have you?” His somewhat sarcastic humor wasn’t the most well-timed, but it seemed that the longer they all stood there, a certain recognition had come about and now the question of Duchess’ involvement wasn’t so important anymore. 
Kenobi took another glance around the room and took in a deep steadying breath through his nose. “I see that there are some decisions that need to be made. Alongside a few smaller details that need to be arranged should there be a change in planning. Either way, I must inform you that Anakin and Captain Rex’s presence today was not for posterity alone.”
“That’s right. Since Obi-Wan can’t oversee this mission through, Rex, the 501st and I will be taking lead of operations on the day of the mission.” Anakin added, trying to be as welcoming as he could.
“Given we are so… cautious, I am most regrettable about the whole situation. It seems there have been threats against a number of diplomats planning a rather long campaign of sorts. Hoping to find more allies in these challenging times. However the threats to their lives are strong enough that myself, the Marshal Commander, and a large portion of the 212th will be at their disposal for the duration of their movements.” Kenobi explained.
“Don’t worry about anything,” Anakin reassured, “I’m completely briefed, and as of today I know good and well what is at stake for all parties involved here. Besides, Naboo will be a very easy to navigate. If it’s helpful we can even leave a couple days early. I have a few connections on-world that could make the trip a lot less… hot and heavy. If you know what I mean.”
It was enough to calm Hunter down at least. Echo still wasn’t sure how he felt about it even if General Skywalker didn’t plan on barging in guns-blazing the day of. A few days on Naboo didn’t mean they wouldn’t be putting Duchess in a real pinch. But Kenobi -despite being cordial- had given his well-spoken ultimatum. It would be completely up to her. And she only had a day or two to decide given that Anakin had his wishes to leave in more than enough time. But with just enough time to give a formal goodbye to Kenobi and Cody giving a curt nod as he trailed hesitantly after him there wasn’t much room to think on the topic any longer. To Echo’s slight relief, Anakin dismissed himself as well, leaving Rex to speak to them alone without the pressure of either Jedi breaking down their necks or looking into their heads.
Rex settled his hands on his hips and stared down at the holomap for a moment.
“Well that was a shit show…”
Over to his right, Tech spoke up. “Although a ill-mannered statement, I must agree. Does General Kenobi sense something that we have not yet?”
Hunter stalked over to a chair of his own, sitting with his chest to the backrest and crossing his arms over the top. “No. He’s just nervous. But about the wrong thing.”
“What do you mean?” Wrecker chimed in.
“The General is more worried about the traitor and them being part of the Republic. No doubt keeping this low-brow isn’t easy, but no one is safe. And that’s what has him pushing this risky mission down Dutch’s throat. I don’t care for it.” Echo grumbled in answer.
“I don’t like it either,” Rex added in rather quickly. “You showed me her charts Echo. She’s lucky she can walk around well. I don’t think playing the part of a rich Separatist enjoying their spoils will be easy. Even if no one asks her to the dancefloor before the auction.” Echo simply nodded, already fully aware of the limited yet still demanding task of physically showing up to the event let alone blending in well.
“I am unsure as to Duchess’s motivation to complete the mission, but it is a fair assumption that -should she be willing- what the extent of her preparation would require?” Tech asked, reviewing what Echo could only guess were notes from the meeting.
“Well, aside from the technical information we all know she would need, I’m not exactly sure. I don’t know how often you boys get invited to upper-class galas, but I haven’t.” Rex admitted rather humorously. “That pre-mission checklist is one I sure would like to see though.”
“Your point being?” Hunter asked, raising his head away from resting on his arms to get a better look at the Captain. 
Echo decided to spare his Sergeant, “When was the last time you thought about wearing high heels for an assignment, Hunter?”
***
Duchess had never seen a release examination before, but Crosshair’s what almost unbelievably difficult. Breathing tests, brain function performance compared to his baselines, cognition tests, reflexivity, and last but not least, an all-out stress-test. She likened the first half of it to the testing that many cadets had to pass before becoming fighter pilots. Small volts of current passing through muscles, and the nuanced information being recorded and deciphered through the machines hooked up to Crosshair. Over two hours of electrostimulation and he still didn’t seem the least bit exhausted. Duchess was at a loss for words. But the testing didn’t stop there. His last request for the test?
Exhaust himself. 
Dutch nearly passed out hearing that. Given everything she’d come to know about the sniper, not only would Crosshair outlast most regs out of sheer physicality, but he would purposefully use every last ounce of mental and physical strength to remind everyone judging his performance that he was better. Elite. Overengineered. Built for punishment and hungry to prove it. Kix had been genuinely kind enough to offer him the choice of water or land. And to her utter shock, her sniper chose land. Foregoing the ease on his joints and the less varying ways to further punish his body in the days following his bacta treatment. In typical, frustrating, fashion Crosshair chose to run. 
Being an “officer” meant Dutch didn’t have to participate in her own trials. Someone else might’ve felt relieved. Duchess did not. It made the painful reality of Crosshair’s situation all the more painful. A life forced into wartime servitude and could be taken away just as easily. A fucking joke. A fucking tragedy a best. Worth doing something irrational a worst. Either thought process did nothing to placate her frayed nerves as she waited in an adjacent room for her sniper to reemerge. Hopefully with Kix close behind carrying good news for his results. 
She had declined to be present in the room whole the test commenced. Despite Kix being more than willing to allow her in and Crosshair being silently unsettled with the idea of her being out of his sight. Duchess couldn’t deal with the visual though. Everyone had already been through enough and the more she stressed herself, the longer it would take to heal. The Batch wanted to meet with her anyways, and leaving abruptly in the middle of Cross’ test. Wouldn’t be conducive to very acceptable results. Though things would’ve been different had she been able to speak to him. 
Muscles in her thighs and the arches of her feet started aching when she heard boot falls echoing from down the stark, white, hallway. Four pairs, all distinct, and a metal clang that assured her of who was approaching. When she saw the first flash of black and red paint, a sudden feeling of weakness overwhelmed her. Heavily enough that she rested her back against the wall and slid down until she sat comfortably on the floor. Maybe it was purely physical and the remaining symptoms of her sleepless, foodless, week that made her feel so tired so suddenly. Duchess felt a sneaking suspicion that have 99’s around just allowed her the opportunity to put her anxiety and fear aside for a little while. Over and over, hey proved nothing bad could happen to her when they were around… Keeping in mind she allowed them. True to that suspicion upon their first look at her, their leisurely pace quickened seeing her sitting on the floor. 
“What did Kix saying about your blood sugar?” Hunter asked with a more fatherly tone than friendly. Chastising in a gentle, yet stern kind of way.
“I’m not feeling lightheaded, my hands aren’t shaking and I don’t feel the least bit dizzy either,” she explained calmly. Watching their apprehension drain into a somewhat level temperament after sensing that she was telling the truth. 
“How long has he been in there?” Wrecker asked rather nervously, looking at the door like he could see through it if he stared hard enough. 
Duchess knew the feeling well. 
“One hour and…” she trailed looking down at her chrono. “Eighteen minutes.”
Everyone shared glances and right away Tech, Wrecker, and Echo excused themselves into the observation room Kix monitored Crosshair in. She understood totally why they were so anxious to see their brother. Since landing on Coruscant everyone -except her and Cross- were involved in the long, strenuous, painstaking, tension-filled meetings. It left no time for visits and even less space for mental anguish and worry over treatment plans or what Kix was doing to heal Crosshair. Whether Duchess liked it or not, the Batch were expected to be soldiers first and brothers second. It broke her heat and stoked a damn-near lethal fire rekindling itself in her chest. 
Left behind in the hallway with Hunter, they had some time to catch up on… well, everything.
“I don’t need to tell you because I’m sure you know… But his is going to take quite a while.” Hunter stated rather abysmally.
Dutch nodded. “He really can’t stand being perceived as anything less than…” She struggled to find the right word.
The Sergeant found it for her.
“Flawless,” He smiled sadly, “He refuses to be anything short of perfection.”
“Utterly ridiculous,” Dutch grumbled back, wondering how she could even begin to tackle the task of breaking her sniper from that awful train of thought.
“It’s always been that way for him. For us, performance was top priority, but Crosshair took it much more personally.” He said, beginning to ease himself down to the floor alongside of her. 
“Crosshair always stuck out as a cadet. Tall like Wrecker, but not nearly as physically intimidating on first glance. So he took a lot of punishment for being different. More than any of us really. Especially because Cross would take heat for something we did. And to make things worse, he couldn’t prove himself even if he wanted to.”
“Because you were trained separately from the regs?”
“Yes and no,” He replied cautiously. “We didn’t train with regs often, but when we did it normally didn’t change their opinion of us. With our enhancements, skill came… easier.  That didn’t mean it was effortless,” He paused to catch his breath. “Crosshair wanted to be seen as an equal more than anyone. But being a biologically crafted sniper meant that even the most difficult shot wouldn’t be impressive,”
“They just expected it from him,”
“Yes. So when he got any chance to prove his worth, he would do it. Any he never grew out of it.”  
Hunter looked down both ends of the hallway with a surveilling gaze. One Dutch caught onto right away. There was business he wanted to discuss. Even the Batch was excluded and she knew exactly why. They had already discussed the mission once in each other’s confidence, and Hunter had been just as hesitant to make it remotely public. All things considered, it was the smartest plan of action. 
“What did the General say today?” She asked hoping to kickstart the conversation. 
“One minor change, one major one. We’re supposed to lift off for Naboo in three rotations,”
“That’s hardly worth making a big deal about,” Sometimes she couldn’t help but think Hunter’s worries were worse than her own.
“Also, Skywalker and the 501st are heading the mission now,” He added, looking to her with a scrutinizing expression. 
Duchess knew she should’ve felt a certain sense of apprehension about such a large change she close to mission time. But knowing that it would be Rex coming along soothed what little nerves she held. As far as her own information went, everyone aside from Hunter thought she still was unaware of the plan. Hunter and herself decided that for everyone’s benefit and safety, he would brief her as information came to him, but they would wait until the last minute to declare that she would be taking on the mission and what responsibilities came along with it. 
Hunter didn’t want any information being old enough that it could fall into the lap of someone who did not have the best intentions. After all there was a traitor present, and even though Kenobi and Skywalker were doing everything right, it didn’t make them immune. For Duchess, she didn’t want Crosshair to find out yet. And Hunter was the only person who could keep that kind of information to himself as long as she needed him to. She hated keeping anything from him, but the last thing he needed to worry about was her going undercover. Every single memory she had of his feeling about her going headlong into a mission were all marked with an overwhelming sense of worry and protectiveness well-masked as anger and sarcasm. If he was going to get off Coruscant in the next two rotations, he couldn’t know what the mission was, or how deeply she was involved. Really… no one could know until absolutely necessary. It would ensure her cover was as believable as possible.
“What about the rest of the Batch? Are they still fairly convinced I don’t know anything?”
Hunter chuckled, “Yeah, I’m fairly certain. Echo practically threw a fit over Kenobi volunteering you. Tech assumes you’ll accept, but he doesn’t have enough facts to put the pieces together. Rex is good at keeping a secret, so you have nothing to worry about there,” He nudged his shoulder into her, trying to get her attention. “They’re all worried about you…”
“And I am too,” she sighed, “You need to try and calm Echo down before he does anything hasty. I’d hate to have to break the news to him just so he doesn’t go AWOL trying to save me from something I’ve already decided to do,” 
Duchess tried not to let that idea get the best of her. 
“But from what you’ve told me, everything should be fairly cut and dry.” She tried to calm the Sergeant down. “Blend in, listen for anything having to do with the Republic and what they’re doing to fight us, go to the weapons auction and-”
Hunter cut her off, “Don’t bid until we give you confirmation.”
“Right. No bids until I get the go-ahead, and then play it casual for a few hours until I get welcomed to the back to pick up my weapons. From there, a crew will be there to pose as my goons…” She couldn’t help but change topic for a second. 
“Finally, I get my own goon squad. It’s about kriffing time,” 
Hunter’s skyward turned eyes and smirk reassured her it wasn’t just personally amusing. 
“But that squad will bring a cargo ship to a loading bay holding the crates, and we bring them back safe and sound,”  She finished, expecting Hunter to give a satisfied nod. Only when he didn’t, she frowned. “Did I forget something?”
“No you didn’t,”
“You’re afraid getting the weapons back is all we’re going to accomplish, aren’t you?”
Hunter sighed, “It’s not that I don’t trust your ability to listen well enough. I’m just not sure we’re going to hear sensitive Separatists movements at a kriffing gala. Doesn’t that sound just a little reckless to you?”
“From my experience, people talk about things they don’t know about more than things they actually do. I would venture to say that a lot of these people know where these weapons are coming from, and who’s supplying them. They might not know a specific name, but I highly doubt there isn’t a well-placed rumor floating around,” Duchess nudged into his shoulder lightly, “Let’s just hope I look convincing enough in a budget-bought gown.”
Duchess couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of herself in some stupid dress. Make-up, hair done, and some dress she’d have never bought otherwise. Part of her was excited for the opportunity to dress up. It had been so long she couldn’t even remember wearing something other than fatigues or a dress uniform. Even to that extent, medal pinning ceremonies weren’t something that Phantom Squad attended in the first place due to their status in the army. Therefore dress uniforms typically stayed in the closet at the apartment she lived in before leaving for Kamino. Since then, they’d been in that chest on Kamino, awaiting her return for when shore leave dictated a visit back to the water-covered planet.
 In the past rotation or so, she’d dreamt up a few ideas of what she might like wearing. For all intensive purposes, anything within her price range was not going to appear very extravagant. So, her musings were kept to a minimum and only brought out of the recesses of her mind when she needed something insignificant to keep her busy. A few shops she was familiar with had clothes that might suffice, but with what money she had left over -a maybe a paycheck she’d been unable to collect- there could maybe be enough to fake real money and power. 
Hunter seemed to notice her deep thought.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you looked excited for the idea of dolling yourself up for this,” A little well-humored smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and crinkled the skin around his eye. 
“I am a little, but I’m not going to get my hopes up,”
“Why is that? What’s a little fun for yourself? After all, I’d say you deserve a moment for yourself after all the kriffing trouble we’ve had,”
“The Galactic Bank of Duchess is running low. Has been since I took out that deposit I gave to you in case we needed a cushion on mission. I guess I didn’t think we’d wipe out that much of it so quickly…” She explained, not sad about where the credits had gone, but a little let down that the money needed spent in the first place. 
“Don’t worry about it, Dutch. We’ll get something together in time,” He reassured lightly, “But I do have a question I’m sure you don’t want to answer yet,”
“What’s that Sargent?”
“When are you going to tell him?”
Duchess felt her chest burn with guilt in that moment. It’s was the one part of the mission she had no plan for, and no real way of easing into it gently. Crosshair wasn’t going to like it one bit, but there wasn’t any way for him to stop her once Hunter submitted the documents she had already signed three rotations prior. Her sniper fighting the order wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but worrying him too much would be just as detrimental. That was the reason she asked Hunter to keep the details of the mission between the two of them in the first place. Crosshair needed rest. Not to fret over the nuance of her playing dress-up and acting the part of a bad guy for an evening. It was hardly the first time she’d done so. And something told her it wouldn’t be the last. 
“What happens now?” she questioned.
“I talked to Rex for a moment after the meeting. Said something about getting you ready for the mission. What kind of preparation that was, I don’t know really. But I’m supposed to leave out in the next few hours and meet with him again,” Hunter informed her evenly. 
“How are you going to get around disappearing from everyone?” Her curiosity got the best of her.
Hunter laughed, “Easy. Fake a headache,” He tapped his temples for a moment. “I hardly ever fake it, so they won’t question me if I say I have one,”
Duchess nodded, “What should I do? While we wait for… whatever Rex has planned?” 
“Do what you do best. Take care of the man who doesn’t want anyone taking care of him,” Hunter gave her a pat on the shoulder. 
“Even when he needs it.”
***
What is she doing?
She needs to eat again. 
It’s been two hours, and I know she hasn’t done it on her own. 
Where are my brothers?
Are they with her?
Echo will make sure she eats something.
Crosshair couldn’t be the least bit bothered by the electrodes sticking to his skin or the sweat dripping down the center of his back and down the sides of his face. Every inch of his body was naggingly sore, but it was nothing he refused to push through. Save for a severe ache deep in his right shoulder, everything else could be ignored. Well enough that after two hours of nonstop movement, Kix still hadn’t called off the test for worry of his health. Long enough that Crosshair was certain he could stop at any time he pleased and go back to doing what he really needed to. 
She’s been quiet all day. 
I don’t like it. 
Ever since they’d woken up together after his treatments had ended, Duchess hadn’t been acting right. Not overly different, but enough that he could tell something was different aside from her palpable nervousness. Crosshair didn’t pretend that he knew everything about her, but he did have a confidence that it wasn’t just lingering exhaustion, anxiety, or dehydration influencing her lack of desire to talk to him. She had barely said two sentences since morning for fuck’s sake. That knowledge alone kept him running at a steady pace. 
It gave him time to think; Time to think of the right thing to say.
I love you.
***
A headache didn’t even need to be faked for Hunter to get away easily.
Duchess was still waiting on Crosshair and the rest of the boys were getting a little bit of rest while they could, knowing that sometime soon Cross and Dutch would both need to sleep and someone else would need to watch over them. The perfect rotation for a family that knew exactly what to do when it needed done. But he needed to do his own work to make sure everything kept working out smoothly and Duchess was well prepped for this mission. Sure, it was a stressful time. He’d been in worse and handled it better. Been in easier ones and royally fucked up. It was a human response to feel this tense all the time. To miss sleep because he was thinking so much. Refuse a meal here and there to spend the time more efficiently. Overstimulate himself amongst the lights and sounds of meetings with the Generals to ensure that the mission was low-risk. 
He just didn’t expect it to be so fucking difficult. 
Hunter didn’t realize how hard it was becoming to keep forcing himself through the steps of a mission that shouldn’t have been so difficult. They weren’t failing. But they hadn’t completed it yet. As if someone was watching over them so closely and planning their decisions so meticulously that nothing they could do was nearly productive enough. Two steps forward and three steps back didn’t even begin to cover the feeling that boiled deep in his gut. There just wasn’t enough information slipping through the gaps for them to catch up quick enough. Hunter hated feeling useless. Especially knowing that his enhancements -brutally ingrained into him- were of completely of no use to anyone for any reason right now. No smell. No sound. Nothing. Useless. Save for the slight possibility that Rex had some Jedi Mind-Trick up his sleeve that could help them get their next foothold on an icy slope that dropped off into a deep ravine of failure.
“Sergeant, you look like you need some sleep and caf. In that order,” Rex greeted him, clapping a hand over his armored shoulder. 
“Caf first. Sleep later, Rex,”
They began walking through the gates to the base and towards the closest taxi service zone marked by paint on the sidewalk.
“Well… how are they doing?”
Hunter didn’t know where to begin, or explain what was more important. “Duchess is airing on stir-crazy waiting on something to happen. Some good news, a mission, literally anything to make her feel like she’s worth the air she’d breathing. Crosshair was in exhaustion testing when I left. Someone will send a comm when he finally decides he’s had enough time,” 
Rex gave him a disbelieving look, “Enough time to do what? Kill himself?” 
“If I know Crosshair well enough, I’d say so he can clear his head. I don’t know exactly what is going on between them, but it’s what I would consider serious. And from what I can tell it isn’t exactly… resolved,”
Rex gave a humph of a sound through his nose. “That sounds a bit messy. You’re not concerned about it?” He posed the question with a genuine curiosity that only two unit leaders without romantic relationship experience could ask each other. 
Both of them quickly got into the back of a speeder that pulled up upon seeing them waiting in a pick-up zone and Rex gave an address that Hunter was totally unfamiliar with. Hunter took the time of getting settled in the back of the vehicle to really think about that question as thoroughly as he could with the somewhat limited and unlimited experience he’d garnered about relationships, Crosshair, Duchess, being a brother, and everything else in between. It was after a few minutes of sitting there did the Sergeant come up with a response that he felt confident with.
“I wouldn’t say concerned in a negative way. I don’t think Crosshair is truly irrational. He can overact sometimes. But it’s never came to a point that I’ve felt his judgement was untrustworthy. And Duchess has one of the most level heads I’ve ever seen despite everything I know she’s been through, and everything else I don’t know about,”
Rex nodded, listened intently.
“But when those two are together, there can be these moments of miscommunication. And not a simple kind. Because both of them say exactly what they’re feeling, but it doesn’t always come out right. And that can cause tension,”
“You mean the verbiage? Or timing?” Rex interrupted politely, attempting to understand as best he could.
“Timing for sure,” he affirmed.
“What happens then?”
Hunter tried to formulate the right words, “It’s almost like they circle around an issue,” he said holding one hand out in front of him steady and circling a finger from the other hand around the former. “Just working at each other from opposite ends until they somehow, silently, decide that the issue needs addressed and that it takes both of them to either fix it, or make total sense of it,”
The Sergeant looked to Rex who had a very fond smile on his face, “Have you ever thought about marriage counselling?”
Hunter rolled his eyes and groaned, letting his head hit the headrest with a dull thud. “Honestly Rex, I thought you of all people would understand,”
“I do understand Hunter, but if you know how they work out there problems and it works for them,  I wouldn’t worry about it. It would be different if they never worked anything out and let it fester like an infected cut,” Rex sympathized. “I’ve had to solve a lot of problems with shinies… 501st men… kriff, even some of my ARC’s. But none of them had the idea to work through it together like that,”
“I just don’t know how to help either one of them when things get like that. And I don’t want either of them to get hurt,” Hunter tried to reason through his own feelings, wondering how a question Rex had asked sent him into a deep-dive on his own emotions. 
“So they have a cool-down? How many times have you needed one with your vode?” Rex asked with a chuckle, “Sure yours might come on a shorter time-frame due to mission duties, or other things… But when it comes to a relationship, I have a feeling that they have a much longer expiration on dealing with issues that come up. Imagine a relationship where you aren’t being controlled the entire time…”
Hunter couldn’t imagine a dynamic like that. But he did see the sense in what Rex was saying about Crosshair and Duchess. There was undoubtedly something going on that he wasn’t privy to. He had a strong feeling it had to do with… well. Feelings. An issue he wasn’t even going to think about when it came to Crosshair. There was hardly a reason for Crosshair to discuss feelings with him on a good day, especially not a bad one. And for the past week alone, there was a lot to unpack. Even for a clone who had more than their fair share of issues to deal with and not nearly enough time to sort all of it out healthily. By the time Hunter had put most of his worries and issues to rest however, the speeder had stopped and Rex was exiting out with one hand held on the door to leave it open for Hunter to follow after him. 
“Where are we exactly?” He asked, looking at the nose-bleed inducing sights of high-rise buildings all around him and the equally gut-churning sight of just as much building below him as well.
“Residential living for Senatorial staff, and other Republic officials that don’t live within the campus grounds,” Rex explained, looking down at his vambrace when a small alert pinged softly.
“We’re here to see a government official? This late at night?” Hunter asked a bit tensely, finding some of his decorum as they both were ushered through the entry doors to the high rise by a well-polished and heavily greased droid that didn’t have a single millimeter of rust or stay wire within sight.
“To be vague, yes. To be specific, they’re expecting us. So there’s not worry about disturbing anyone,”
The elevator they stepped into was controlled by yet another droid with just as much painstaking maintenance as the other one. Even in the reflection of the marbled walls and bright lights embedded in the celling trim, Hunter couldn’t spot a single blemish on the gold metal.
“I know we’re expected to keep a lot of our movements low-key, but this is making me nervous Rex. What’s going on here?” He asked, turning to face the Captain’s right side. The vibroblade sitting in the sheath on his forearm beginning to feel slightly heavy with a possibility of need to defend himself. Not against Rex, but what could possibly be waiting on the other side of the elevator door. 
“It’s a meeting with a Senator. I’m owed a debt, and this was my payoff for it. I knew Duchess was going to need some help when it came to getting everything in order for the mission, and there was only one person I could think of who could really ensure that Dutch looks the part,” He explained as best he could, decorously avoiding a name of this Senator.
“Dank Farrick Rex! Just tell me who-”
Before Hunter could get the rest of the demand out of his mouth, the doors opened and a warm yellow light spilled in from a large penthouse. Two people stood with open posture and a first-glance non-threatening appearance that instantly made Hunter’s bristle begin to lay down flat against his neck. It wasn’t until he saw one very familiar silhouette and one that vaguely reminded him of many times the batch and himself had sat watching Senatorial meetings on the holo. 
“General Skywalker. Senator Amidala. Thank you for seeing us so late,” Rex’s voice from behind him was cordial, but easy. 
Unusual for a situation that Hunter would’ve found very tense. Even now his neck felt tight, and his hands were clenched so tight that the leather between his clammy fingers were squeaking with pressure and friction. He had no idea what he was walking into. And the arm that the Senator had looped through Skywalker’s made Hunter feel like he was certainly behind on the curve in more ways than one. Even for a Sergeant who was expected to think on his feet at all times, he was really missing the back-up that his brother’s constantly provided. He needed Tech’s quick wit, Wrecker’s easy ability to make friendly conversation, and Echo’s immense talent of reading social cues and the formality of Coruscant and it’s more… refined populations. Everything Hunter felt he lacked, he was feeling it to the fullest extent at that moment. 
“So this is the Sergeant I’ve been hearing so much about,” The Senator said gracefully, taking a step away from Skywalker. Her manicured and soft hand reached out towards him, “It’s a true honor to meet you Sergeant Hunter. Your service is… invaluable to the Republic and people like myself who depend on you and your brothers,”
Hunter took her had out of pure instinct, hearing her kind words but not quite feeling the full effect of them right away. 
“I can assure you that I am nothing but supportive of your current situation. And I will be doing everything I can to help you in the next few days,” she added softly.
“Thank you ma’am,” He spoke back.
“Please. Call me Padmé. I consider myself nothing more than civilian, and you shouldn’t think of me as anything otherwise either,”
***
Duchess’ were the first pair of hands that touched Crosshair once his stress test was deemed complete. Four hours and some change was spent in that singular room. To what extent she truthfully didn’t know. She didn’t stick around to ask Kix questions -being far too concerned about getting Cross back to their barracks. But from what she heard murmured by Tech whom she’d passed by in the hallway, he’d ran steady through the entire time. Not a dead sprint by any means, but fast enough to leave his shirt utterly soaked and his skin damper than if he’d just stepped out of a shower. Her sniper felt hot to the touch -not feverish- but hot. His ribs heaved up and down under her hands, steady and deep. Most importantly one arm wound tightly around her waist and stayed there with a hand fisted into her shirt. Concreting himself to her. Instantly walking along without a word spoken to their closeness or a single mention of what anyone could say about the image before them should the pair come into sight. 
Duchess felt his protectiveness and exhaustion all at once. The weight of his body lying on her enough to remind her he was there in all aspects,  but not enough to make her feel a struggle to move with him. Yet his breaths were labored and droplets of sweat ran off him onto her shirt and on the top of her head. Her main thought was to get him some water. The quicker the better. She determinedly got them down the winding hallways. Doing whatever she could to avoid any prying eyes. Ignoring looks from emotionless buckets snapping in their direction and near-identical faces that shifted when pairing the two of them together. The barracks wasn’t far. By design she supposed. Thankful didn’t begin to cover her feelings as they got through the doors and Crosshair stopped for a moment. 
“Shower,” He said resolutely, leaning the both of them in the appropriate direction.
Duchess didn’t waver on the order. Only moving away from him once she was certain he could lean against the sink counter where she could turn on the water in the refresher and wait for it to get reasonably warm. Over the sound of water hitting the duracrete floor, wet fabric peeling away from skin could be heard behind her. She didn’t dare turn around, simply for Crosshair’s own privacy. Putting a hand in the stream, the back of her hand felt comfortably warm and Duchess did what she could to bide her time as respectfully as possible. Even when he was comfortable, she still didn’t know how to handle herself. Whether it was right to assume they were both on the same page and to take his behavior for the new normal, or begin to try and work up the nerve to admit her feelings again in the case that he truly hadn’t been able to hear her. 
It wasn’t until she heard boots thump to the floor that she knew her time was done. Planning to give him as much space as he could possibly want, she took a step back and kept her head low. A scent of salt, sweat, and Crosshair filled her senses as he brushed up against her back to slip into the open stall. A genuine sound of relief echoed softly against the walls when water first touched his skin. Pitter pattering against what Duchess pictured to be tattoos, fresh scars, and the utterly devastated muscles flexing below. Imagining his closed eyes and flexed arms reaching up to slick the heat off his head and rinse the palpable fatigue off as best he could. Duchess wished there was something she could do. A switch she could flip so that this awkwardness would evaporate. So she could be everything Cross needed without feeling hesitant.
“I’ll go grab you one of my towels,” She said softly, keeping her eyes on the toes of her boots as she spun around towards the door to the main barracks hall.
“No.” 
The quarrel ended before it began. Especially when a vice-like grip from his hand encircled her upper arm and the other caught a deft hold on the back beltloop of her pants. The unyielding pull to walk backwards into the stall was unavoidable and Duchess easily listened once again. Letting him guide her over the small lip that kept water from spilling onto the main floor. Patient. But nothing short of demanding. Water splattered down on her blacks and nearly had them soaked before her back hit Cross’ chest. Her boots already had a healthy level of standing water, and her best pair of socks squished uncomfortably. It would’ve been convenient for him to at least let her take her clothes off. But she assumed there was a good reason why he’d been so against the idea. 
“Let me,” He murmured quietly, giving a small tug at her shirt. 
“Get cold this way,” He reasoned unnecessarily, after Duchess raised her hands above her head; Going just far enough to brush her fingertips against his hair and the tips of his ears. 
The shirt peeled away and hit the floor with a instantly forgotten wet slap of a sound. Crosshair reached for the button and zipper to her pants carefully, and undid them with enough patience to let her bend over to untie her waterlogged boots and pull the entire half of her ensemble off completely. He didn’t touch her or even make a comment about her… admittedly suggestive posture. It was only after she had straightened up did his cold fingertips slid back over her skin. Choosing to only begin when he knew she was ready and prepared for him. Duchess knew it was out of pure respect that he didn’t grope of get too touchy when she was in a compromising position. He liked her when she was strong, and taking advantage of the weak moments like that didn’t strike Crosshair as the right way to act. Duchess loved him for it.
He spent a long while tracing the dips and swell of her hips. Tender. Leisurely. With a trigger finger dragging just a bit heavier than the others. A bit sluggish, but Duchess knew better than to assume he was too tired to do more. He was going out of his way to be outstandingly gentle with her and she didn’t know what was happing -or why- this was what he wanted. 
Duchess stayed liked that with him for what felt like a peaceful eternity. Just feeling his complex presence again in its purest form. The dichotomy of soft hands yet knowing they could create utter destruction should it be necessary. His protective posture guarding her away from the open gap in the stall, reminding herself of just how virile his strength was when directed towards someone with ill-intent. His steady breaths slowing to what she remembered best and the utter devastation she knew when that inhale and exhale were labored and pained beyond what anyone should ever experience. Crosshair held vulnerability in an beskar fist. Like he was terrified to lost control of it. Fearful of how soft he could become and what risk that would allow to infiltrate his life. Yet there he stood. Holding her close in lukewarm water with a silent plea that she not leave. 
His eventual next move was to put soap in her hair. Massaging until thick lather threatened to fall down her forehead. But he gently guided her head back with one hand curled under her chin. Rinsing all the soap off and slicking the stray drops of water and bubbles away from her eyes. Tracing the other hand up and down her side. Squeezing softly when his fingertips dimpled soft flesh Duchess considered unworthy of attention. His thumb brushing over what she knew to be a thin and raised scar on her temple from where his armor had cut her so long ago. She had enough of a though to marvel at how one simple interaction had changed nearly her entire life. The fact that one mistake led her to a back to Coruscant where she stood skin to skin with a sniper that had got closer and deeper to her than anyone in the galaxy every truly had before. 
It was Crosshair's kind of affection. 
Not poetry or flowers. No chance of a slow dance or dinner date. Duchess couldn't care less. It was more attentive this way. No grand gestures to hide behind, or preplanned way of ensuring his affection was displayed perfectly for everyone to see. It was nothing more than the pair of them alone. In a hell of a situation at that. Yet somewhere in one man's unknowable mind, a shower for both of them was deemed of the upmost importance. He didn’t need words to show how he felt in that moment. 
Duchess could feel his steady hands and a warm breath on her neck. A near imperceptible sway in his body weight moving them both from side to side like tenderly shushing an infant’s cries and fussing. Crosshair wasn’t just soothing her, but he was easing himself out of the strain and tension that had been coursing through him for over a week. Finally having the chance to reassure himself that everything could go back to normal now, and he hadn’t the need to feel so defensive of every small detail he could cling to.
Everything will be okay ner’ramser. She thought calmly.
It was the first time she’d believed it herself in weeks. 
***
“What I need is time with her,” Padmé said with a certain tone of stress. 
Anakin -sitting at her side- nodded understandingly. “I get that. We just don’t have that much time to get Duchess adjusted to the ins and outs of fashion faux-pas without abandoning the necessary steps to prepping her,” He explained.
“I doubt the she is unable to adjust, Anakin. You’re assuming that she isn’t talented in the art of a well-planned con,” Padmé chided him, standing from her place next to him on the couch to begin pacing her own living room gracefully. Hunter wondered why she felt it necessary to wear a dress with a train on it in her own home in the middle of the night.
“We need to reach some sort of agreement tonight. All of us. Otherwise we’re wasting time we don’t have. And without some sort of plan, Duchess is going to go in totally blind whereas we could’ve found a way to help her more than the Republic is willing to go,” Anakin spoke up, raising out of his own chair. Finding a path towards the windows overlooking the city’s skyline where he leaned against the wall with a pensive stare towards the Jedi Temple.
One hour had turned to two, and two had become four. Between a Senator, a Captain, a Sergeant, and a General, there was no good reason to explain why they couldn’t have found the best solution to the missing gaps and concerns facing Duchess’ looming mission. There was a question of her handling in the specific social circle at hand and whether or not she was equipped to handle the possible question of her fabricated power within that circle. The age-old worry of risk menaced just as severely. And had it not been for the Senator suggesting that as long as her clothes could conceal a weapon of some sort, they would still be stuck on that particular topic. 
Rex had conveniently become their best delegate of strategy who only spoke up when there was a question of tension in the room. Working efferently as diffusing tension. Anakin was proficient at pointing out the weak points in suggestions, Padmé offered out-of-the-box suggestions that often held plausible success and Hunter remained steadfast as the gauge as to whether or not Duchess would be open to certain suggestions since she could not be there to speak for herself. For the majority of their time spent throwing around ideas and hoping one would gain traction, it seemed that the one major block was getting Duchess to the Senator for at least enough time to make sure that everything was smooth and believable to the eye. 
“I have no doubt in Obi-Wan’s belief that she is ready for this kind of mission. There are nuances to which I would like to discuss with her on the very topic you are worried about,” The Senator said sternly. “I do not tolerate any threat to democracy. However I will not question the talents of a smart woman who is openly willing to do what must be done to ensure freedom. She must be given every affordance, including one to faith,”
And with that, Hunter watched as she removed a small comm device from a pocket hidden in her dress;
“Please clear my schedule for the next three rotations, and prepare for a departure from Coruscant for Naboo. I will be making a personal trip and require a few things be either rescheduled or cancelled.” She stated firm and concisely, keeping a steady gaze on Skywalker the entire time. 
“Right away, Senator,” A woman with a strikingly similar voice to Padmé’s answered. 
“Now. How much time do I have -exactly- before that transport leaves?” she asked, directing it to everyone and anyone in the room.
“Two rotations,” Hunter replied. 
“Can she be brought to me without the rest of your unit being alerted that something unusual is happening?”
Hunter tried to answer as helpfully as possible, “I can get her to you, but I don’t know how long she can be away without suspicion being raised. That is, high enough suspicion that I can’t come up with a good enough excuse,”
Padmé thought it over for a moment, “I can manage that easily,”
“We’re still in session over how to best get her to blend in,” Anakin interjected, sounding upset that his uncertainty wasn’t being listened to.
It was at that moment Hunter saw a glimpse of mischief glint in the Senator’s eyes. And it seemed that he wasn’t the only person to notice it either. A flicker of something dangerously coy and sly. A look he imagined other Senators were terrified of when on the opposing side of it. Patient and cunning, yet explosive and dangerous all at the same time. For a split second it looked like Crosshair when he finally had a target in sight and knew exactly how his shot was going to line up. Like watching the target fall before he had even pulled the trigger. The Sergeant definitively saw a small piece of what made Anakin Skywalker and Padmé such a very unique yet impeccably matched pair. She could match his tenacity and drive.
“Captain Rex, there is a brilliant strategy I plan to employ,” She spoke, grabbing Rex’s attention after not being spoke to for a long moment.
“Pardon me, Senator. I’m unaware of it, but I would love to learn,” The blonde answered, nearly falling out of his chair he was sitting so far out on the edge of it.
“The best way to blend in, is to not blend in at all.”
Hunter looked all around the room to gauge the expressions before deciding on how he felt personally. It wasn’t what he would have considered the first move.  Or even the second. After all most people needed some form of conformation to reassure others that they belonged within a group. The same reason that an outfit change on undercover missions was so very important when preparing. Hells, it was the whole reason the Senator was getting involved. But now that she had made up her mind, there was a question as to how far Padmé thought such a ruse could be stretched before it finally broke. Kenobi’s idea of her being implanted as a shadowed cornerstone of Separatist workings definitely couldn’t be backed up, let alone afforded if it came down to how many credits could be liquidated and given to Duchess in the mere case of emergency.
“How do you expect her to do that?” Hunter asked, still not decided on the idea.
Padmé smiled, “I saw her file. Rex sent it to me early this morning before we set up the meeting. I believe that the best way to avoid her becoming targeted for being different is to make sure that everyone in the galaknows she’s different. At least… for the time being. Besides, I’ve heard of her best traits is – well – how should I put this… feminine distraction. That, paired with her knowledge of the stolen goods in question, it would be almost too easy for her to simply be an ‘interested third-party’.”
Anakin pushed himself away from the wall, with his own surprise at figuring out her plan. 
“You want her to waltz right in and charm everyone into thinking she’s just a Separatist sympathizer who’s got enough credits and knowledge to buy a whole armory worth of who knows what?”
“Of course. Neutral territories and governments do that all the time,” Padmé sighed. “Pose her as what she truly is in her work. A private military weapons contractor. Only, no ties to the Republic or the Separatists. They would be extremely welcoming to new credits, valued knowledge, and a beautiful woman who can appear very sympathizing towards their cause,” She explained. 
Hunter looked to Rex who had caught on the back end of a very deep thought. One he came out of with a sense of understanding and a looking of plausibility that Hunter -despite his hesitation- couldn’t really disagree with. Sure, it sounded… A bit underdeveloped as a cover.  But no one would suspect Duchess. Just like they had left behind evidence of chain codes because of the niche audience that would understand them, no one at the gala could believe that Duchess was one member of that small group who would comprehend what exactly all the data and possible information sitting out in the open could mean. 
She could walk right in and be nothing but a guest. Sure, she could still bid on the weapons and secure them just like Kenobi wanted, but there didn’t need to be such a large ruse behind it all. No ties to Separatist government, no Republic ties either. No messy backstory or a need to explain herself more than a casual ‘I’m looking into my war-time business options’. She could be like everyone else there. Personally invested. Not politically. Essentially, Hunter knew Duchess could pull it off. All she would need to reinforce the story would be to know about the weapons being sold. And he was certain that all she would need was one good look at any of the stolen shipments and know down to the detail what they were, and how to play them to her benefit. 
It seemed that everyone in the room was looking at him. In limbo for his leadership of Duchess and in-lieu opinion. Four hours of discussion and it came down to the simplest of solutions. Let Duchess go in just as she was. No data trail, no identifications to forge, just have her appear out of nowhere and win over their trust. The Sergeant had witnessed her do it time and time again without being part of a mission. With an ease that he couldn’t imagine was easily learned. It was just in her nature. Like the Gods had crafted the talent just like the Kaminoian’s had manipulated his genes. Even the most concrete-minded man Hunter knew had fallen victim to her charm. Moreso than anyone really. If Duchess could do what she did to Crosshair with genuine character; There was no telling just how much the Separatists would love to have her on their side.
He steadied himself and shifted his forearms to his thighs with a nod, “I’m confident that will work. She’ll be the first person I talk to when we get back on base,”
Everyone seemed pleased to say the least. 
Padmé rubbed her hands down over her gown with thoughtful hum, “Sergeant, would you please have Duchess brought to me as soon as you can? I’ll send you with my private comm information so I can get at least a few minutes notice,”
Instant confusion hit him, “I thought we were sending her in… Like she is?”
The Senator laughed happily, walking over to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hunter. You’re a brilliant man, I’m sure of it. But you must understand I’m not going to pass up such fun opportunity,” her grin brightened.
“Opportunity to do what?” he asked, looking up at the woman.
Not a hair out of place. Every inch of silk and satin material on her dress steamed and stitched perfectly. Padmé Amidala was truthfully the embodiment of perfection. Hunter just didn’t realize until then that it wasn’t only her personality that desired it, but her career that dictated just how often she could allow herself many of the freedoms she fought for in the Senate. Her image was one that needed to present itself as constant, trustworthy, professional. It wasn't until she spoke that Hunter realized that within her power, she had given up so much in the way of creativity and genius that he saw flowing abundantly in her.
“I’ve never had the opportunity to dress someone up like a villain.”
***
Taglist: @cagrame @justanothersadperson93 @darkangel2140-blog@catsarefurrypeople@weirdpurppleunicorn @lackofhonor@threevie @phoenixhalliwell @discofern @liadamerondjarin @subbing-for-clones@saltywintersoldat@bbobafettt @sir-pineapple @imabeautifulbutterfly @catbustours @punkystrangeling @lightning-wolffe @cyargent @imalovernotahater @2clones-1kamino @ladykatakuri@queenquazar @in-the-crosshairs @kaorikoizumi @tza-345211896246498721347 @fangirl-goes-nova @marvelobsessiononastick @underatreedrinkingtea @foodandbookspleas @counterfetts @hannivanhart @leotatombs @troubleonryloth @dumfanting @jabbas-lightsaber @thefact0rygirl
@altered-delta
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2clones-1kamino · 2 years
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Port In A Storm: Part 9 Teaser
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MAY THE 4TH BE WITH YOU MY BEBES! Here’s a little something from Part 9 under the cut to celebrate today. (Also to make sure make sure my ass completes the chapter lol; need that fire ya know?) OKAY HAVE A GREAT DAY! *happy droid noises*
“Your body came to life as the words left his lips. A buzzing energy spread to all of your limbs and the heat pooled at your center. In a daze, you turned to face the front of the bike again. It took you a few seconds to remember what it was you were doing or where you were going.
“You alright?” Crosshair asked in mock concern. His voice static now as he had been quick to replace his helmet. His other arm coming around to complete the circle wrapped around your waist. You closed your eyes and bit your lip at the sensation. You nodded your head quickly.
“I’m fine. Just– uh, going through the checklist in my head.” Clearing your throat you asked, “Ready?” Your voice sounded much calmer than you thought it would.
He replied simply. “Yes.” Giving you one last gentle squeeze.
You had to focus on anything else, so you barreled out of the hangar.”
💋
Find Parts 1-8 here
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jedimemery · 26 days
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I think we all looked past the very important fact that not only did Crosshair and Omega get away with their escape and find Hunter and Wrecker, but they managed to snag 30,000 credits in the process.
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lulalovez · 14 days
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ATTENTION ALL CROSSHAIR SIMPS!!!!
I don't know who to ask, but could someone write Crosshair with a breeding kink?
I know a lot of people headcanon him as someone who doesn't like kids, but the way he naturally takes on a fatherly role with Omega has me thinking otherwise. He's amazing at being a parent, and I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted kids with his partner. The Jango fett genes are showing with him.
Like tag me in a fic or send me a link of a fanfic, please!
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bucketbunny99 · 6 months
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at the far end of space
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Pairing: the bad batch x female narrator (very little description I just hate writing first or second person pov)
Category: Smut (18+)
Warnings: oral sex, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, pierced nipples, over stimulation, shower sex, a little bit of angst, a little bit of whump
Word Count: 38k+
Syala Corruss is a doctor working for the Grand Army of the Republic on the Kamino base until she is reassigned to deploy with Clone Force 99, a special clone squadron that is considered hard to work with and protective of each other. Its unprofessional to seek relations with a member of the squad she's assigned to, but that never stopped her before.
Chapters: 12/?
Link to fic
hey I'm uhhhh 12 chapters into this bad batch smut I've been writing all summer? and I'm still going? and would love more feedback on it?
when are we gonna be real and just call it reverse harem, which is what I have been calling it the whole time I've been writing it
anyways this side blog is not turbo active but I would like it to be, I'm still working on writing this and would love to update when I drop new chapters
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oceansssblue · 2 months
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✨ GENERAL MASTERLIST ✨
CODE: 🔥 = smutt or sensual // 💖 = fluff // 💔 = angst or violence // 📩 = request or prompt
REBLOG if you can!
ACCEPTING REQUESTS/PROMPTS! ANY character of Arcane or Star Wars, ANY theme (dark, smut, fluff, mystery, fantasty...), ANY PAIRING, details, WTV you want! Just dm me and let me know 👀
— STAR WARS ML:
— ARCANE ML:
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hunnythebee · 1 year
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Author Promo Tag Chain!!
Rule: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to Ao3. If you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics. Tag credit: @dangraccoon, @mandos-mind-trick (I got two tags 🥹)
Stow Away Din Djarin x OFC
She had been on this maker-forsaken planet for far too long. Her previous, let’s call them “partner”, had brought her here for a job… that was nearly a year ago. They abandoned her, left her here with a blaster and 50 credits to her name. Luckily, she was resourceful and cunning. She made her credits last long enough to find short-term work in a local ship scrapyard. That’s how she met Peli. Peli came by and saw her about to tear open an antique N-1 Starfighter, just about ripped her a new one over it and offered to buy it off her. She didn’t refuse, in fact she admired her for taking on the project. They became fast friends. Peli let her stay at her ship dock while she looked for proper lodgings, but they grew on each other. Her whole world was shifted when an opportunity presented itself. A man and a child landed in Peli’s hangar. It was a Mandalorian, sporting the shiniest beskar armor she had ever seen, and the kid was a species she did not recognize. The child was small, nearly infant sized, and green with large pointed ears.
Touches Wrecker x Reader
Being on Pabu was like living in a dream. Even after the devastation left in the wake of the tidal wave, it was pure serenity after being on the run for so long. When Hunter had announced that we were staying, even if for a short time, I felt a weight fall from my shoulders. The next day we all started to help with cleaning up around the village. Hunter was working with the Mayor to find people places to shelter while rebuilding. Tech and Phee were helping to assess what materials would be needed to rebuild. Omega was somewhere on the island with Shep’s daughter, which made me feel so happy that she had a friend her own age. As for me, I was on clean up with my favorite person and best friend. Wrecker. He could make any situation fun. In this case, we were competing for largest pile of seaweed. The houses were covered in it, and filling cart after cart had gone from tedious to exhilarating. Announcing over the comms what number we each were at every hour, kept us going all the way till sunset. After the day was done, we were invited to utilize the bathhouses that were located in upper Pabu. Actually it was more like we were begged to use the bathhouses because in truth we stank so bad after handling seaweed and sweating all day.
Trapped Hunter x Reader
The tunnel was so dark I couldn’t see too far past the lamp that I was holding up in front of me. It was cold and damp, and I could hear the faint rumbling of the storm above. Hunter was slightly ahead of me, holding his lamp in his left hand and running his right along the tunnel wall. He was understandably on edge, given the cave-in that had just separated us from the others. Tech had reassured us that there were multiple entrances to this particular tunnel system before we lost contact via comms. This knowledge, coupled with Hunter's keen senses, put my mind at ease.
Questions & Answers Crosshair x Reader
It had been an exhausting mission. The boys came back to me more beaten than usual. Wrecker collapsed the minute he got to one of the med-bay beds, followed closely by Hunter. Tech and Echo had some scrapes from debris but nothing major. Crosshair however, was untouched. A perk of being in the sniper’s position. I tended to those who were afflicted, moving methodically from bedside to bedside. The whole time I worked I could feel Cross’ eyes on me, following my every movement. I did my best to ignore him, but his stare was causing butterflies in my stomach and making my hands shake. I had been harboring a crush for him for the longest time, and him watching me like this wasn’t helping. I finished with Tech’s bandages and discharged him and Echo. I explained that Hunter and Wrecker were fine, aside from some cuts and bruises. The pair were just exhausted. Once they woke up they were free to leave as well. Finally I allowed myself to focus my attention on the brooding white haired man in the corner of the room who, despite his lack of injury, was still here.
Vulnerable Hunter x Reader
Ever since landing in Pabu I’ve had conflicting thoughts and feelings. On one hand, Pabu was paradise. Everyone else seemed so at ease and peaceful. It was small and tranquil with limited resources, definitely not the kind of place the Empire would care about. But then why… Why was I shaking so much? Why was my adrenaline pumping as though I needed to be ready for an attack? It made no sense. Even Hunter looked relaxed. I had excused myself from dinner, needing a quiet moment to collect myself. But that quiet moment had deviated from its intended purpose. Now I was sitting on the floor of the Maurauder, knees tucked to my chest, whilst shaking violently. Tears threatened my eyes but never fell, instead just stinging them as my heart rate rose violently and my chest heaved. I clutched at my sides, feeling as though if I didn’t that I would rip in half. My heart was hammering so loudly in my ears that I didn’t hear the hatch open or hear him come in, but there he was. Knelt in front of me was Hunter, care and concern flooded his beautiful golden eyes as he examined mine.
Jealousy Tech x Reader
I had been cordial, friendly even with Phee. She was decent… for a pirate. Not that we had been much better in recent times, so who was I to judge? But what had me sucking at my teeth while I glared from my seat behind Tech was the way she was touching him . So familiar. And this nickname she had for him always made my stomach twist. ‘ Brown eyes.’ How creative of her. I shouldn’t be so mad at her. She was going to help us afterall. Stars I just… I can’t figure out why she rubs the wrong way so hard. I was silent as the dead the whole trip to wherever she was taking us. I hadn’t realized I was clenching my jaw until it unclenched. My whole mouth fell slack at the sight of this small island civilization. Beautiful blue waters surrounded a mountain dotted with small white huts. It looked so peaceful, so serene. Tech landed the Maurauder at the peak of the mountain, where there stood a tall tree and an even taller temple-like structure. As I stepped out of the ship the warm sun hit my skin and I sighed in relief. My seething anger melted away from me almost instantly.
Forgiveness Crosshair & Howzer
Crosshair woke up back on Tantiss, but he wasn’t in his room. Instead he was in one of the cells in the detention sector of the base. He sat up on the hard bed and hissed at the pounding sensation in his skull.  “Was wondering when you’d wake up,” came a voice from the opposite side. Crosshair pressed a palm to his temple and turned towards the voice. His vision was still blurry from sleep but he knew it was definitely another clone sitting across from him.
Bare Hands Din Djarin x Reader
You were staring at him, and tonight you didn’t look away when he noticed. You held your gaze for as long as you were able, studying every feature. You were mesmerized. He wasn’t in his usual attire. He had purchased formal attire, seeing as they would not let you in otherwise. He wore a yellow deep v-neck tunic and an overcoat of brocade embroidered with a golden floral pattern. His Mythosaur pendant lay prominently on his tan skin. He wore no gloves, just a few golden rings. The ensemble that had been designed for you was in complete contrast. You wore a deep blue backless silk dress with a choker halter neckline and silver chains dangling around your shoulders. The fabric shown like stars in the sky.
Tag you're it!!
@neon-junkie @stankferrik @syndxlla @amiedala @laters-gators @too-many-sabers @echoleo @tecker @sirveltic @somedaylazysomeday
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keravnos-kori · 11 months
Text
return to sender - chapter three: best and brightest
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ofc x tech (eventual)
word count: 5.1k
rts masterlist // ao3 link
summary: halla has been alone for the past three years. as it turns out, relocating to coruscant and attending a prestigious university hasn’t been as glamorous as she originally expected - but when a new opportunity comes along for her to prove the republic’s injustices committed against clone troopers, she might get more than she bargained for when the power structure suddenly collapses and is replaced by something far more sinister…
a/n:...let's pretend it hasn't been almost three years since i've updated
~~~~~~
“Are we there yet?”
A collective sigh reverberated throughout the cabin. Tech bit his tongue, but couldn’t help his eyes from rolling. “For the eighth time, Wrecker, you’ll know we have reached our destination when we drop out of hyperspace.”
The largest member of the Batch released an irritable groan from his position on the floor, resting his head on the cool durasteel siding that made up the Marauder’s interior.
“Does it always take this long? I never have to pay attention since Crosshair-…” Wrecker trailed off, the circumstances that led them to Saleucami in the first place overtaking his thoughts.
There was a tense silence that spread between the cockpit and main hold, cut through after a moment by the newest member of the crew. “I’m sure it can’t be that much longer!” Omega reassured. The young girl swiveled around in the co-pilot’s seat to face the rest of her companions, feet barely brushing the ground.
Tech glanced up from his datapad to assess the chronometer on the console closest to him. “Your intuition is correct. We are expected to make the drop in approximately one-half standard hour.”
Turning to follow Omega’s gaze, Tech noticed Echo nodding somewhat absently at the communications panel. Hunter continued to pace the length of the ship’s main compartment, fingers twitching near the holster of his vibroblade: a habit only initiated when his patience was wearing thin.
Staying glued to his datapad was the most effective way to keep Tech’s mind occupied in the moment. There was a lot to process from the past few days, and while he was mentally capable of doing so, he was not sure he was prepared to open up emotionally in front of his brothers about his concerns.
This seemed just fine with the others, as they had yet to discuss the implications of Crosshair’s departure either.
Having to leave their brother behind was a difficult decision, to say the least. Though Crosshair began to act strangely on Kaller, the Batch chalked it up to his severe disposition and assumed he was in a sour mood from all the contradictory orders. It wasn’t until their mission in the Onderon sector that things got out of hand.
Disobeying Hunter to his face. Threatening civilians. A total lack of disregard for how they always operated.
All in all, Tech felt as if he’d failed Crosshair, and not just from departing without him.
For not being able to see the warning signs sooner.
They’d always been close. As close as anyone could be to Tech, and vice versa with Crosshair.
Flashes of their days as cadets flashed in Tech’s mind. Everything that they’d gone through together, first as a quartet for the majority of their enhanced lifespans, then with the welcome addition of Echo to their squad. What was it all for if they left each other behind?
Wasn’t that what made them who they were from the very beginning?
Tech inhaled deeply, clearing his thoughts.
Crosshair’s absence wasn’t the only thing troubling him. Nearly 12,400 parsecs away was a civilian he had, for weeks now, kept contact with.
Against Republic regulation.
Tech had his own creative methods of bending the rules, but this went against his training completely.
He accepted her request for academic assistance on a whim. Resisting pursuits of knowledge was not where his strengths lie.
But that wasn’t all…
This civvie, this woman, was in the very heart of Imperial territory from what Tech was able to glean from scattered radio waves. In his last transmission, he was able to relay recent events to her and provide a warning to escape before anything worse happened in her vicinity.
Her.
Halla.
Contact attempts would have to be few and far between them now. He was effectively on the run from his creators and she was subject to increased surveillance in the capital.
The thought was not a pleasant one.
He was confident in his ability to take care of himself despite the circumstances, but she was just a student - albeit a rather intelligent one. Tech knew, though, that intellect and survival skills were nowhere close to being in the same category. The best he could hope for would be that she keeps her head down and book passage to a system not known for its ties with the centralized government; much like his own plan.
Redirecting his attention back towards his screen, Tech’s heel began to bounce beneath the control yoke as he began to brainstorm potential solutions. How could he provide assistance from such a distance away? What good would he be to her if they had no method of communication?
Straightening his back, Tech decided to compose a new message before he had to switch back to piloting manually.
If he was capable of modifying his signal to become untraceable (which he was and did), and he provided instructions to Halla to do the same, would it not be logical to assume their transmissions could resume without external interference?
There was a flurry of typing as Tech did all he could to explain, down to the minutiae, the process of concealing one’s transmission identifier, holonet mask, and localized device positioning mechanism.
Child’s play for him, in the grand scheme of things, but not for an individual with no engineering experience whatsoever and who had once admitted to him that she’d once fallen for a basic malware ploy that resulted in unsavory Neimoidian images to be downloaded on to a University-owned device.
On that note, Tech made an effort to be as thorough with his directions as possible.
Once the list was drawn up and revised for clarity, Tech took a moment to check the chrono once more: T-minus four minutes until the drop. Satisfied with the results of his work, Tech wrote a quick note near the top of the message and addressed it before sending it off.
Clipping the datapad back onto his utility belt, Tech began his routine of sublight prechecks.
If Crosshair couldn’t be helped right now, maybe Halla could.
~~~
Halla was not a morning person.
She did not enjoy drinking caf or planning how she was supposed to be productive that day. Most of all, she hated waking up before noon on a good day. If it weren’t for the bitterness she felt at the news she received yesterday, Halla would still gladly be nestled in bed.
But no. Here she was, bright and early at 08:00 hours, waiting for an audience with her new graduate advisor.
The administrative complex was just as big and expensive as the rest of the buildings across campus, filled with similar indoor-friendly greenery and back-breaking duraplast seating. The newest addition, besides the drab gray and white uniforms milling about, was the massive tapestries emblazoned with the newly minted Imperial cog draped liberally both in and outside all University structures.
Halla imagined they were meant to display “indomitable allegiance to the cause” or something of the like, but the only impression she was left with was how badly the shades of black clashed with the pristine white and emerald interior.
From her position in the foyer, Halla could still hear the protestors on the steps outside only meters away. It was a diverse bunch, much like the former populace of the college, all holding signs and chanting something along the lines of “hey hey, ho ho, racism’s got to go!”
It had been embarrassing to walk past them, entering the building with her loose hair as a partition between herself and the crowd. She would have joined in, and might’ve said as much to them if she weren’t trying to avoid the scrutiny of the security guards holding a barrier in place.
She was a traitor.
Halla’s meeting with the Dean was not exactly on his daily agenda. She had figured his last message counted as an open invitation, leading her to plaster on a cheerful smile at the check-in center and con her way onto the visitor list.
A list. For who exactly?
Besides a few spare personnel milling about, there was a distinct lack of student activity taking place inside. Halla never saw anyone go into the Admin Complex ahead of her, and there was no one else in the lobby to follow her up either.
They’re just wasting your time to establish authority. Be patient.
Patience was never Halla’s strong suit.
Eons (or maybe just another handful of minutes) passed before the receptionist flagged her down and led her to the lift. Riding up to the story hosting the Dean’s Offices, Halla was cast off to the next administrator who directed her to stand outside a room labeled Aurek Suite.
The pneumatic door opened, though no one was standing at the control panel. Instead, a man was sitting behind a barren desk, the high back of his chair rising over his head.
Arlin Sreetus looked to be the poster boy of the imposing aesthetic his employer was implementing across the planet. Perfectly parted hair, piercing blue eyes, and not a speck on his uniform. Neat, clean, manicured down to a level that was almost unsettling to gaze upon.
Halla felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
She wasn’t prepared for when he opened his mouth.
“Miss Ismaren, so nice to finally match a face to its name. Please, come in and sit.” He greeted her from across the room.
Halla had to bite the inside of her mouth to prevent herself from doing something she’d regret. The Dean’s voice was not suited for the body that produced it, much too nasally and broken to fit the façade that went along with his flawless white jacket.
Once she trusted herself to speak again, Halla released the inside of her cheek from between her molars, quickly striding across the office and finding her seat across from the Dean.
How am I supposed to stay angry with this slime when I’m too busy trying to keep myself from laughing?
“Good morning,” Halla greeted, tone as stiff as she could manage.
Sreetus glanced at the terminal in front of him before addressing Halla again.
“I see you’ve received my message,” he said.
“I have,” she responded.
He raised his eyebrows, and Halla had to wonder if he even knew she wasn’t here to be on friendly terms.
"I've reviewed your academic profile," he started. “Impressive credentials you have here… near-perfect grade point, published research commendations, federal volunteer work.” His eyes continued to flit back and forth between her and his screen as he spoke. “Very impressive, indeed.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Halla deadpanned.
The Dean’s nose twitched, barely noticeable but present nonetheless.
“I also noticed while reviewing your file that you have yet to register for your chain code. Every Imperial citizen is required to have one. Is there a reason you don’t?” He asked patronizingly.
Register? Chain codes?
Halla froze for only a half second before she attempted to brush the question off.
“I was planning on getting around to it soon. I’ve been rather busy with my research, as you could imagine.” She said pointedly.
Sreetus leaned back in his chair, blue-and-red rank plaque upon his chest shining under the bright fluorescent lighting. “Ah, yes. Your clone studies. I’m glad you decided to visit today so we can redirect you towards more…productive outlets.”
Halla bristled, “With all due respect,” which is none, “I believe my current track is the most productive use of my time. You can see from my portfolio, I’ve worked in this area for the past few yea-”.
Sreetus spoke up, effectively steamrolling over her protests before she could even elaborate on her position.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware of your past endeavors Miss Ismaren,” he groused. “No need to recount every detail.”
“But, I-”.
“There are better opportunities for you now, Miss Ismaren. I understand you hold special interests, but it is time to leave them in the past. The present is where you need to be, with the rest of us - helping to drive society forward.”
More like helping to send it into an authoritarian backslide.
Her silence prompted him to keep speaking, not that there was much time to pipe up anyway.
“You’re lucky, you know. To have such connections in your life capable of putting your name forward for such an exclusive position.”
If anything in the past twenty-four hours took Halla off guard, that comment was it.
“I’m…not sure what you mean.”
“An in. An assignment within the Imperial Service Corps. - the Security Bureau.” Despite the smug look on his face, Halla got the sense that behind his words lay a twinge of envy. “A personal recommendation from your father.”
No.
That couldn't be right.
“Sorry, you must be mistaken. My father, my biological father - we don’t speak. I haven’t seen him since I was eleven, haven’t heard anything from him directly since the start of the war. And besides, he has nothing to do with Security or whatever Service Corps. you’re talking about. He’s been in the Navy his entire career.”
Sreetus pushed on, “Forgive me then, for assuming you held contact. His surname was never redacted from your official record,” He cleared his throat and began reading off his screen. “Age: twenty-two, birthplace: Coruscant, full legal name: Hal’lazorinda Naimina Sileas Ismaren-Y-”.
Before he had the chance to finish his recitation, Halla found herself cutting him off, “I don’t go by that name. Ever.”
“And yet you use the rest…” He huffed under his breath. “Despite your…strained familial relationship, I am not mistaken. Your father’s honorable service during these past years has earned him his new position within the ISB. The request has been logged and attached to your file.” Reaching into a side drawer, Sreetus pulled out a datapad and set it squarely in front of her, already loaded with a page full of text displayed.
Taking a deep breath, Halla kept her gaze steady on the man in front of her as she reached for the device, only lowering her gaze once it was in her possession. She took a moment to skim through the first paragraph, then scrolled down to the bottom to see her father’s digital signature signing off.
Halla was dumbfounded. Why would he do something like this for her? Why now?
Feeling that she’d seen enough, Halla returned the datapad to the desk in front of her. During her review of the document, her brows had furrowed so deeply that she knew she would have a headache coming on later. All she could think about was her father’s blurry face imposed on the body of the grumpy UC archive officer.
“Now that you understand the full extent of the situation, I must counsel you to follow through with this offer. Not many your age have the chance to pass directly into the Corps. with the minimal training you have. Your only requirement would be to fulfill the Royal Imperial Academy’s junior officer preparation, maybe a basic close combat course once you are stationed. From there, you can climb to any other position you deem worthy.
Given your father’s status and the Emperor’s need for the brightest minds to fulfill his vision, the position has been tailored for you, specifically. Despite the nature of your outdated research,” Halla had to bite back a scathing remark at that comment, “you will be a perfect fit for what has been reserved.”
Halla found her head shaking ever so slightly as he finished his tirade. She had to play this safe to avoid skepticism of her loyalty, but was finding that harder and harder to do the longer this meeting went on.
“While that sounds…promising, I really have no intention of relocating anywhere without knowing where it is. Is this position intended to keep me on Coruscant?”
Sreetus pressed his thin lips together before speaking, “I am not at liberty to say. Given the confidential nature of this assignment, even I am not privy to its location. The ISB would be the organization briefing you, not the University.”
And yet you know so much about everything else…
The air around them was tense as a stare-off commenced across the desk, Halla schooling her features to match his.
He broke first. Halla’s one victory of the day.
“I sense we may be at an impasse right now. Take the day to think of what I’ve said, I will confer with the Bureau Chief and let him know I’ve spoken with you.”
Halla tilted her head and grinned, though she was sure it came off a little more sarcastically than she intended. “No issue.”
Rising from her seat, Halla turned her back on the whiny sycophant and made her way back toward the exit.
“Miss Ismaren.” Halla halted inches from the door, but did not turn around. His voice was the most severe it had been all morning.
“You would do well to learn just how far His Majesty’s power reaches. You will either join and thrive, or you may only get far enough to learn what it means to be against him. Do choose wisely, young lady. Oh, and don’t forget to register for your chain code.”
Halla didn’t remember how she found herself back downstairs, head overtaken by the dense fog of the Dean’s hidden threats.
The streets were mysteriously empty of protestors when Halla left the lobby.
~~~
Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:18
Recipient: Tech
Subject: Re: Comms Assistance
I followed your instructions to the letter, I hope I did everything right. Thought it was funny you bothered to assign me a code name - remind me to ask you about it some other time. Wanted to send a quick message to tell you my line is secure now, though I don’t know for how long now after this morning.
I met with a Uni rep who tried to recruit me into a service corps. Asked about a chain code? Didn’t know if you had any info. Either way, I’m on my way to the port to book passage off-world like you said. Will update you when done.
Stay safe out there,
Zenith
*Transceiver Identification: 02-91-31.cv.modified*
~~~
“What do you mean my credits aren’t valid? They’re galactic standard!”
A tinny response came from behind the transparisteel partition, the attendant droid repeating its earlier message: “Please be advised: your payment method has been declined. We ask that you exchange your outdated currency at the Commerce Bureau and return with the correct tender, along with a valid chain code to access the flight directory. Have a pleasant day!”
“I don’t know what you mean by outdated. Credits are credits!”
The droid’s optical sensors seemed to bore into her. Halla crossed her arms.
“Please be advised: your payment method has been declined. We ask that you exchange your outdated currency at the Commerce Bureau and return with the correct tender, along with a valid chain code to access the flight directory. Have a pleasant day!”
Halla glared up at the booth, scooping her credit chit back with more force than necessary. Pushing away from the service shelf, she couldn’t help but throw a venomous “Go to Hell!” over her shoulder. The droid only called the next person in line to come forward.
Turning on her heel, Halla stalked back to the self-checkout kiosk and punched in her information again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, a blinking red alert popped up with a message similar to that from the service desk.
Invalid Identification. Please see an attendant for assistance. Have a pleasant day!
“Blast it!” No matter the destination, no matter the departure date, all itineraries were locked behind a paywall, accessible only by, you guessed it, the correct tender and a valid chain code.
Before she could make a scene by tearing her hair out in the middle of the Spaceport, Halla stowed her chits and stalked out of the Boarding Registry.
~~~
Looking back on that awful day, Halla didn’t know why she expected it to get any better once she left the port.
Arriving back at her apartment went about the same as it normally would, except for when she stepped off the 19th-floor lift and rounded the corner to find her front door missing.
Or rather, her front door was wide open for the whole building to see inside.
Surging forward, Halla gripped her doorjamb and surveyed the interior.
“Hello? Who’s there?” Her voice shook against her will.
No reply.
With great caution, Halla entered her sitting room.
Silence.
She began to check out every inch of the space, from the floor to the ceiling and everything in between to find anything amiss.
Bewildered, Halla took a step back.
If someone had entered her home, they’d done a lousy job of burglarizing her.
Everything was as it should’ve been. Her plants, her holovids, the art on the walls, all still in their rightful place. Even Boonta was still floating around his tank without a care in the world.
Did the door just…malfunction?
For all the grief it’d given Halla over the years, the entrance’s one redeeming quality was that it was secure. It had never just opened up on its own accord before.
Padding into her bedroom, she continued to look around and take her valuables into account.
That was until she came upon her workspace.
On the ground beneath her desk was a large gap.
A large, empty gap where her holoterminal used to be.
Halla felt the blood drain from her face as her eyes went wide behind her specs.
Kriff.
Fuck!
There’s no way this is happening…
Wheeling around, she began searching every nook and cranny of her apartment for the missing console, even the spots she knew would be too small to fit it.
Halla had everything on that machine. Everything.
Her contacts, her financial information, the full draft of her dissertation.
Her entire life’s research.
Gone. All gone.
Halla stopped looking. She considered her options before going back out into the main hallway. She was sure her neighbors didn’t appreciate the way she was repeatedly punching their buzzers, but she didn’t know what else to do. Half of them didn’t open up and those that did claimed nothing out of the ordinary happened that day when asked if they had any clue what happened.
Dejected, Halla returned to her apartment making sure to enforce another lock if only to create a false sense of safety.
Safety, my ass.
She paced around for about a minute or two, running her hands over her forearms. Two minutes turned into ten.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
She could only reach one conclusion, as paranoid as it made her come across; the same person - or group - that did this was the same as who she should’ve been reporting the crime to.
This was no petty theft. This had to be intentional.
Recollections began to invade her mind; Sreetus’ ominous warning, the apparent leeriness around her not being a registered citizen, and the Imperial officer she’d seen occupy her terminal in the UC archive.
She’d given no thought about the latter since it happened, but now she couldn’t help but think he was following her digital trail, digging into whatever he could scavenge from her session.
Halla had wiped her search history, but…
Leave it to the security agency to be able to pull it back up.
Letting out a defeated moan, she slapped her palm across her forehead.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
~
Halla ended up hunkered down in the sitting room for the rest of the night. She felt like a stranger in her own home, vigilant of intruders that might return at any time.
Lying on her sofa, she kept a hand on the go-bag she packed earlier in the evening. The pack included any and all essentials she would need in case a quick getaway was needed: her personal datapad (that still had all the supplemental research she downloaded, thank the Maker), its powerpack, her data and credit chits, and a hygiene bag containing her toothbrush, dental gel, deodorant, hair brush, a travel razor, and other similar items.
Her extra set of glasses, contact pods, and a small medkit she kept stowed under her kitchen sink were also shoved down too. An extra set of boots were folded up at the bottom of the main compartment with as many leggings, tunics, sweaters, camisoles, and underwear as she could roll up laying on top of them. The side pockets were bulging with her filtered water bottle on one side and non-perishable snack foods on the other.
It was hard to prioritize what to leave behind, even in a hypothetical scenario. Halla treasured her possessions: her makeup, her jewelry, her art, and her music collection, not to mention her collection of flimsi-bound books she’d accumulated over the years, uncommon as they were.
In the end, she decided to place only the earrings she’d inherited from her grandmonna in a small pouch and wear the matching pendant around her neck for safekeeping. The music was already downloaded onto her datapad, and most of the art was obviously too large to fit in the pack, sans her sketch diary and a pouch of drawing implements which she included on impulse. After careful deliberation, Halla decided to choose one particular flimsi novel from her shelf to keep with her, due to its objective value as an antique as well as the number of times it’d been read since the initial purchase.
Halla had practiced walking around her apartment with the go-bag strapped to her back, adjusting the order of its contents as needed. Once she was satisfied, she decided to make camp out where she could be the most aware of her surroundings.
Every sudden noise made her flinch as she tossed and turned her head, never shifting from the position on her back as uncomfortable as it was. No amount of breathing exercises or words of affirmation made her feel any more secure.
How do I know I’m not being watched right now?
Time passed slowly in the dark as Halla thought of her odds of escape.
In her mind, she created a chart of pros and cons when it came to registering herself, if only to have the opportunity to get off-planet.
Pro: I’ll have access to credits that work again.
Con: Who knows what they’ll do with the information I give them?
Pro: I’ll be able to book passage out of here.
Con: What if they’re able to track where I go?
Pro: It’ll get everyone who thinks I’m against them off my back.
Con: I am against them.
Pro: It would draw attention away from-
Halla gasped, eyes flying open to stare at the ceiling.
From Tech. It would draw attention away from Tech.
He was on the run right now with the rest of his squad with a little girl in the mix now. If Halla submitted to the registry, the suspicion of her (and them by proxy) would ease up. For the Maker’s sake, she had regular correspondence with him stored on her now-confiscated holoterminal! The last few messages were never uploaded to the main drive, as they only existed on her portable device, but she couldn’t risk their safety for her own selfishness. She was risking potential charges of treason or conspiracy at this point.
If I just go and do it, maybe they won’t feel the need to snoop around more than they already have…
The decision began solidifying in her mind, despite the apprehension of what might come after.
Halla fell into a fitful sleep, fingers still clutched around the strap of the bag that rested below her.
~~~
The local Coruscanti star’s natural light didn’t reach the level Halla’s apartment resided on, so she had to rely on the day cycle atmospheric controls to tell when daybreak was.
Back aching and eyes half open, Halla bathed and dressed while her morning tea was heating up. Travel mug and protein bar in hand, she made her way to the Commerce Bureau before the line could get too long.
Spending more time there than she had anticipated, she emerged hours later with a pit in her stomach, a pouch full of polished silver credits, and a new chaincode embedded in a rather unambiguous ID card.
Soon after she returned home, Halla composed a message from her school address:
Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:19
Recipient: Arlin Sreetus, Dean
Subject: Chain Code Acquisition
Dean Sreetus,
This morning I was able to obtain my chain code, I thought you would have liked to know. I’ve considered the offer you conveyed to me and have chosen to accept. Please inform the appropriate figures in this matter that I am able to begin as soon as is convenient.
Good day,
Halla Ismaren
University of Coruscant
College of Interplanetary Law & Relations
Capital Campus
Halla wanted to feel confident in her decision, but all she felt was numb all over.
Like she had just signed her own death warrant.
She didn’t look at her datapad for the rest of the day.
This is for them.
This is the right thing to do.
~~~
Inbox: (1) Unread
Date of Transmission: 1,013:04:19
Recipient: Zenith
Subject: Chain Codes
Zenith,
I am pleased you found my instructions comprehensible, however, this is not the main issue I wish to address.
I assume you encountered difficulties while at your local spaceport due to not having a chain code in your possession. We also have run into trouble because of this new database. We were able to rectify this issue for ourselves, but I must warn you about the dangers surrounding these identifiers. If you provide me additional time, I will come up with a solution for you to get around these requirements as well.
I do not presume to direct your actions; I can only provide my opinion based on what I have seen during my latest travels.
Under no circumstances should you obtain one of these codes voluntarily. I will be able to elaborate at a later date, all I ask is that in the meantime you take my judgment into account.
-Tech
~~~~~~
taglist (comment/dm to join): @wenalena @envyspinebender @shannon-lynn-21 @kimageddon
16 notes · View notes
ilcuoreardendo-fic · 2 days
Text
“So,” Hunter prodded, “who was she?” He sat up straighter, leaned forward like he was after a secret. “Someone untouchable? A prime minister’s daughter? A senator?”
Echo glanced at Tech, who was watching him expectantly, head slightly cocked.
“She was a Jedi,” Echo said and took a sip of his whiskey.
“Bullshit.”
“Jedi can…” Wrecker looked puzzled, then strangely delighted.
“You fucked a Jedi?”
Tech hid a small smile behind his glass.
Hunter looked from Tech to Echo. “How did that happen?”
“Rescue mission on Bernilla. She invited me and Fives back to her room for a drink after. It went from there,” Echo said.
“I heard about Bernilla,” Hunter said. “Civil war broke out after the Bernillan CIS rep was killed in a shuttle crash. They blamed Republic sabotage. The capitol city was lost. But you got a Jedi out of it?”
Crosshair finished his beer, fished a toothpick from his pocket, popped it between his lips. “So your general took you both back to her quarters to reward you for a job well done?”
Echo narrowed his eyes at Crosshair. “She was a consular, negotiating an agreement on Bernilla. Not a general.”
“Well,” Crosshair’s eyes glittered, “that’s a little disappointing. Still, good on you, finally getting your head out of your reg manuals.”
From A Place Called Home (read on AO3)
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Yeah, Crosshair was proud of Echo's past exploits, but he'd have been even prouder if he'd hooked up with a general.
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rexscanonwife · 1 year
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Ok I know this is ignoring canon a little bit, the production of clones wasn't known about till the battle of geonosis yadda yadda but HEAR ME OUT
Roughly 14 year old padawan Brea interacting with the cadet batchers (who're maybe around 12, like Omega's age) 🥺 I was thinking about it last night and again it's diverging from canon a little bit but, maybe after her BIG screw-up that caused a rift between her and Anakin she's determined to straighten up (more or less) and tells her Master that she'll do anything to make it up. So her Master assigns her to help out 99 with maintenence and clean-up duties on Kamino in order to discipline her and keep her out of further trouble, and to prove that she truly wants to buckle down and become a proper jedi!
And ofc the little batchers are very close to 99 so they meet each other and probably can't help but cause a little mischief, but probably end up doing some good and solving some problem in the episodic style of the show 😂😂
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wild-karrde · 7 months
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Guarded - Part 1
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Master List | Next Chapter
A/N: HI HELLO HOWDY! Alright, so a while back, I decided I would rework "Guarded" and "Reunion" a bit, so THIS IS THE START OF THAT EFFORT. This rework will not be as extensive as what's happening with "In Command", but this fic will be getting upgraded to an Explicit rating (with the M option still available on AO3). So if you're new to this fic, I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT, and if you've already read it and decide to revisit it, I HOPE YOU LOVE IT AS MUCH AS I ALWAYS HAVE. And for this go around, I WILL HAVE MY OUTSTANDING BETA READER HELPING FOR THE WHOLE TIME (TJ came on halfway through this fic last time), so THANK YOU as always to @teletraan-meets-jarvis for her stupendous support and beta-reading!
Chapter Rating: T (entire work is rated E, but M-rated version can be found on AO3)
Warnings: canon-typical violence, character death
Word Count: 3.4k words
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She could feel it, something in the darkness, just out of reach, creeping towards her.
Not another dream.
The presence shifted, and with it, her certainty that she was in fact imagining it.
DANGER.
The word flashed in her mind like a siren. She rocketed to a sitting position, her hair sticking to her face and neck with sweat that was pouring from her brow. A dark figure loomed in the corner of her room, body half in her window. Their eyes met and his widened at the understanding that his quarry had detected him.
Oh, Maker.
Diving out of her bed, she rolled behind one of the ornately carved nightstands as a blaster bolt ricocheted off the light that stood on it. She coughed from the smoke as she yanked open the drawer on the front of it, pulling her blaster from its hiding place. Her assailant advanced, firing at her as she ducked further behind the nightstand. She heard him chuckle darkly as he stepped up onto her bed to get a higher vantage point.
She was exposed.
Without thinking, she launched herself from her crouched position, tackling the intruder. Her shoulder slammed into his ribcage, and she heard him grunt as her momentum carried them both to the ground, his helmeted head smacking hard against the floor.
He’s dazed at best. Got to keep moving.
She somehow still had her blaster in her hand and tucked it against the attacker’s exposed throat.
“Make a move and I will kill you without hesitation,” she panted.
She heard the same low chuckle again.
Suddenly, his wrist wrapped around hers as he tried to roll on top of her, but he had underestimated her strength. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, and the bolts hit him in the clavicle and throat. He gasped and wheezed, rolling off of her. She stood, her hair hanging in her face as she leveled the blaster at him again, ignoring the metallic smell of blood and charred flesh.
“Who sent you?” she demanded.
“It doesn’t matter…more…will…come…” he wheezed before falling silent.
She knelt down next to him, feeling for a pulse that no longer beat, and she cursed silently as there was a sudden banging on her door. She stood, tucking her hair behind her ear as her security protocols were overridden and her door burst open, the room immediately filling with guards. The captain stood next to her, gently taking her arm to turn her towards him.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, attempting to hide the fear in his voice.
“No, I’m fine. Can’t say the same for our friend here.”
The captain’s brow furrowed. He snapped out a few orders to the guards, and they all rushed to comply.
“They’re growing bolder. This is no longer safe, and you know it,” he whispered quietly.
“Gregar, we can’t let them win.”
“If you die, they win, and they came close tonight.”
“You don’t give me enough credit.”
“Oh, I think I give you plenty. But I’m making the call.”
---
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Three chimes echoed throughout the darkened ship. Only one of the clones was awake, and he didn’t move in his bunk, hoping one of his brothers would get it.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The comm panel was insistent.
Peering over the edge of the bunk, Hunter could see Tech was asleep at the comm station, his feet propped up on the console and his neck tipped back over the chair at a perilous angle.
How does he even sleep like that? No wonder his posture is terrible.
He could see the flashing indicator trying to tell them they had a new message, but Tech’s snores continued uninterrupted.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Hunter sighed in frustration.
He’s clearly not getting up.
He looked around in the bunk for something to throw at his sleeping brother but was unsuccessful. Groaning one more time as he stretched his shoulders above his head, he rolled out of the bunk taking care not to step on Wrecker in the bunk below him and made his way over to answer the message. He could see Echo asleep in the copilot seat in the cockpit and Crosshair was stretched out on the floor in the back of the ship. Hunter wasn’t sure how long it would take him to re-integrate with the team, but it seemed like the sniper was determined to keep his distance for the foreseeable future, even when he was sleeping. He sighed before moving over to the comm console.
Hunter shoved Tech’s feet off the console, jolting him awake.
“Hmmm…what is it?” Tech asked, readjusting his goggles, which were askew across his face. It never failed to amaze Hunter how alert his brother could be after being woken from a dead sleep. It almost unnerved him at times.
“We’ve got a message.”
Hunter punched a few keys and a hologram illuminated in front of them in the form of Senator Bail Organa.
“Greetings, Clone Force 99. I hope this message finds you safe. I have received a request for protection from one of our closest allies. I have been asked not to disclose the name over this channel for security purposes, but I am transmitting coordinates for your rendezvous with their representative. While this may seem unusual, the situation is…complex, and requires special attention, which is why I’m asking you specifically to take this. The contact has stressed that it is imperative that your presence there remains a secret, so please take the necessary precautions. Send a confirmation once you get this message and are on your way.”
The hologram dimmed and Hunter leaned against the wall, rubbing his hands over his face as he attempted to ingest all of the information.
“Well that was…ominous and vague,” Tech muttered.
“Whereabouts do the coordinates put us?” Hunter asked.
Tech punched a few buttons on the console, and a blue and green planet popped up on the display. “Naboo. Looks like we’ll be putting down well away from any major cities. Theed will be the closest one.”
“What do we know about what’s going on there?”
“So far, minimal Imperial presence. Currently ruled by Queen Kestia Nodala, who seems very anti-occupation and has thus far been successful in keeping large forces away. There’s been some rumored tension between her and the Empire recently, but nothing confirmed.”
“Over what?”
“Resources, allegedly.”
Hunter grunted as he ran the information over in his mind.
“Alright, well, let’s get heading that way. Set a course for Naboo and send Organa a confirmation and an ETA that he can provide his contact with. Also, let Omega know we’ll be unreachable for a while so she doesn’t worry if she tries to contact us.”
Tech nodded wordlessly, standing up and stretching his limbs and cracking his neck before heading to the cockpit to lay in the coordinates.
---
The green of Naboo’s forests glowed like a cut and polished emerald below them as Tech brought the Marauder in to land in a small clearing. They’d been met with no suspicion, and that was enough for Hunter’s nerves to be strained.
Nothing is ever this easy.
Quickly, the five clones exited the ship, armored and armed.
“Heads on a swivel for the contact,” Hunter’s voice buzzed from underneath his helmet.
“Do we even know who we’re looking for?” Echo grumbled, scanning the treeline.
“Me,” a voice said from behind them. A tall, dark complected man sporting an eye patch stepped from the shadows, hands raised to show he wasn’t a threat. “I’m your contact.”
The clones whirled on him, raising their blasters.
“And who are you?” Tech asked.
“Gregar Typho.”
Tech’s head cocked in recognition at the name.
Wrecker noticed. “You know him, Tech?”
“I know of him. He was the personal guard for Senator Padmé Amidala prior to her death, and he now currently works as head of the Royal Naboo Security Forces.”
Hunter stared at Typho. “The Royal Naboo Security Forces?”
The captain’s expression didn’t alter beyond a slightly raised eyebrow. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll explain on the way, but we need to get moving. We’re too conspicuous out here.”
“What about the ship?” Wrecker grunted.
“It’ll be fine. Step this way please.”
They walked to the edge of the clearing and Typho punched a few buttons on his vambrace. The ground underneath them rumbled as the Havoc Marauder slowly sunk beneath the grass, being lowered into large hexagonal opening below them. They peered down into what appeared to be a large hidden hangar below the surface. As soon as the ship was completely submerged underground, two grass-coated plates snapped shut seamlessly, and the clearing was again empty and seemingly undisturbed.
“The very precise coordinates make more sense now,” Tech stated.
“Impressive,” Hunter muttered.
“You’ll get it back,” Typho reassured him with a hint of a smirk. “Now come, my speeder is this way.”
The five clones and the captain piled into the speeder that Typho had hidden beneath the trees, and without another word, they were zooming along under the treeline, mostly obscured from view. Hunter noticed that once again, Crosshair had been largely silent since exiting the ship. In fact, he wasn’t sure if his brother had said anything since learning of their mission. When he’d given them the briefing, Crosshair had been leaning back against the hull of the ship, quietly working on yet another of his toothpicks. All he’d given was a nod of acknowledgement before starting to gear up. Now, he was sitting in the back of the speeder, his rifle tucked next to him while he stared out into the trees.
Just give him time. He needs time.
Hunter turned back to their newfound companion in the seat next to him.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Captain, can we possibly get an idea of what we’re doing here?”
Typho gave him a look out of the corner of his eye before sighing.
“You are persistent.”
“I prefer to know what I’m getting my team into. We trust our mutual friend that set this up, but faith will only get you so far.”
The captain nodded. “You’ll get more details once we reach our destination, but for now, the person I represent –“
“The queen?” Echo asked.
“The person I represent” Typho insisted, giving him a glare, “is in grave danger, and I have been assured that your skillsets are best-suited to protect them.”
“Better suited than your own?” Hunter pressed.
“There are… limitations to what my guards and I can do. Naboo is not a planet of warriors, and we believe in peace at all costs, even if those costs are sometimes great. A military force is not something we possess or something we welcome.”
“And yet you hired us,” Tech said.
“Yes, I did. Please understand the desperation of the situation for me to do so, and the risk that comes with it.” He glanced at their armor. “We’ll have to get you changed once we arrive. You’ll stand out too much with your clone armor.”
Wrecker groaned from the back of the speeder. “Ugh. Nothing ever fits me.”
Typho gave him a once over. “I’m sure we’ll find… something.”
They rode in silence for the remainder of the trip, the wind whistling by their helmets as Typho piloted the speeder through the forest. They could see the city of Theed rushing into view on the cliffs above, but the captain never turned the speeder towards the main entrances, instead steering for the bottom of the bluffs. Echo shot Tech a look, and he shrugged as they pulled into a large cavern. A few hundred meters into the cave, there was suddenly dim lighting along the floors and walls, and Typho expertly piloted through the tunnels.
“Where are we?” Wrecker shouted above the roaring winds.
“These tunnels run alongside the catacombs under the city. Best way to get in and out without being seen,” the captain replied.
Wrecker shuddered at his reply. “I don’t like dead bodies.”
Echo looked at him, tilting his head. “You see dead bodies all the time.”
“It’s different when I’ve killed ‘em.”
Echo started to ask another question but appeared to accept Wrecker’s logic as Tech shook his head, still typing away on his datapad. Crosshair didn’t budge, continuing to stare into the tunnel ahead of them, the dim lighting gleaming off of his visor.
After seemingly several klicks, Typho pulled the speeder to a stop in a tunnel that led to a staircase cut into the rocky walls. He pulled his helmet from under his seat, tucking it under his arm as the clones assembled in front of him. Making sure he had their attention, he spoke.
“From here on out, it’s imperative that you not be spotted by anyone outside of the small group of people that are aware of this plan. You must do exactly as I say, is that understood?”
The rest of the clones turned to Hunter, who nodded. “We understand, Captain Typho. We’ll follow your lead.”
The captain dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, placing his helmet on his head, but Hunter could sense his continued unease. He turned and began climbing the stairs, and they followed. As they neared the top, Typho reached into his pocket to pull out a commlink, raising it to his lips. “Iden, do you read?”
A female voice responded. “Loud and clear, Captain.”
“Is she ready to receive her private appointment?”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “Affirmative. You have a clear shot all the way. I’ll lock down the entrances and have guards posted outside.”
“Excellent.” Turning back to them, Typho sighed. “Alright, let’s go. Try and stay away from windows if you can.”
They all nodded in acknowledgement. Typho keyed in the door’s code and they stepped through into a well-lit passageway with marble flooring and stained glass windows lining the hall. The corridor was empty, and they moved quickly to keep up with Typho’s pace. Echo had to keep elbowing Wrecker to hurry as he turned, taking in the architecture around them, slowing his strides to stare at the colorful windows.
“You’ll have time to be a tourist later. We’ve got to keep moving.”
Wrecker grunted but obliged, picking up the pace to keep up with the captain.
Typho led them up several flights of stairs and down several corridors before pausing outside a large set of closed double doors. “Iden, confirming we are clear?”
“All clear. Come on in, Captain.”
The doors swung open, and Typho motioned for them to follow him. The room they walked into had massive pillars encircling a seating area that was arranged around an ornate wooden desk. There were guards stationed around the room along with six women in matching dark robes, their hoods pulled low. A large window illuminated the room and the woman staring out of it. She turned to face them as they entered, clasping her hands in front of her.
Queen Kestia Nodala stood taller than most, her dark hair braided elaborately into the headpiece she wore, a silver diadem with dark blue stones that hung low on her forehead. Her gown billowed out, making her appear wider and more imposing with sharp shoulders and wide sleeves that hid most of her hands, only her white thumbnails poking out from the cuffs. Matching silver ornamentation lined the bodice of her gown, fanning out to the hem of the skirts, which flowed towards the floor. The queen wore the traditional white and red makeup of Naboo royalty, the red dots on her cheeks giving her face symmetry while a red line divided her lower lip in two, the Scar of Remembrance. Her green eyes glowed in the sunlight as she stepped forward to meet them.
Typho strode to her, removing his helmet again to tuck it under one arm as he bowed. The clones took their cue from him, removing their helmets as well.
“Queen Nodala, may I introduce Clone Force 99,” he gestured at them to step forward.
Hunter led the group, bowing stiffly. The queen watched him unwaveringly as he straightened, meeting her eyes.
“Your highness,” he said quietly.
His brothers bowed awkwardly behind him, doing their best to show respect even though they were all well out of their depth. There hadn’t been much time to meet politicians of any level during the war, much less any that were considered elected royalty.
The queen stared Hunter down for a few more moments before turning to Captain Typho. “I see my wish to handle this internally has been disregarded then,” her voice boomed with a slow, deliberate tone that made Wrecker shift uneasily on his feet. Her eyes snapped to him, and he quit moving, instead opting to stare at the floor.
“M’lady, we’ve discussed this,” Typho said quietly, his voice strained. “I do believe your safety warrants this measure.” Leaning closer and speaking so softly even Hunter could barely hear him. “And this was a compromise in my book, if we’re being honest.”
She watched him carefully for a few moments before letting her sharp eyes return to the clones, roving over each of them in turn. “Very well. As it appears my captain has decided you are necessary for my safety, I will accept his judgement. For now.” She swept forward, extending a hand to Hunter.
The rest of the clones watched as their sergeant fumbled with how to best greet the royalty before him. Finally, after several awkward moments, he clasped her hand, bowing again. He saw Tech nod slightly out of the corner of his eye and internally breathed a sigh of relief at somehow managing to get that right.
“Hunter, your highness.”
“M’lady,” Tech coughed behind him less than subtly.
Hunter shot him a glare before correcting himself. “M’lady.”
I guess I should be happy he at least tried to be sly about it.
As Hunter lifted his head, he could have sworn a smile tugged at the corner of the queen’s lips as he released her hand. Tech moved in next to make sure his brothers could see the appropriate protocol.
“Tech, m’lady,” he said, dipping his head as he clasped her hand gently. Hunter noted the muscles in her forearm flexing as she gently squeezed Tech’s hand before he released her fingers, raising his eyes to meet hers. Despite her initially stoic demeanor, the queen seemed slightly amused by Tech, her eyes sparkling and her mouth quirking upwards at his bespectacled brother.
Her reaction surprised Hunter, but then again, if she found Tech somewhat entertaining as a first impression, he wasn’t about to shatter that illusion.
We’ll see if she’s as tickled once he starts correcting her every move, he thought with a smirk.
Not everyone had the patience for Tech, and this queen seemed at least somewhat impatient based on her interactions with Typho. The captain was behaving as though he’d been anticipating a fight ever since they stepped into the throne room, and while one hadn’t materialized, Hunter could still see he was tensed in the way his spine was ramrod straight and the way his jaw was clenched, watching her carefully.
Once they’d all been introduced, the queen turned back to Captain Typho. “I suppose we should get these men into clothing that’s less conspicuous.”
He nodded. “Yes, m’lady. I had planned on disguising them as security officers.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly will differentiate them, then?”
“They’ll be stationed right next door to your quarters and at least one of them will be with you at all times.”
Her mouth tightened into a thin line, and they could all see she was half a second from arguing with him again before another guard strode into the room. She was short with her hair pulled back into a slick plait. She appraised the clones for a moment before addressing the queen.
“Apologies for the intrusion, m’lady, but your next appointment is here.” Hunter recognized the woman as the Iden that they’d heard speaking with Typho during their walk to the throne room.
The queen narrowed her eyes at Typho in annoyance as she turned to acknowledge the information. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I shall receive them once Captain Typho and our guests have departed.”
With that, Typho bowed stiffly before turning on his heel and leading the clones out of the throne room the way they’d come, the massive double doors swinging shut behind them with a dull thud.
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*Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @staycalmandhugaclone @readheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @sleepingsun501 @rexxdjarin @samspenandsword @babygirlrex0504 @ladytano420 @fxlsealarm @runforrestr @djarrex @corrieguards @the-cantina @witchklng @wolffegirlsunite @fives-lover @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall
*If you do not wish to be tagged in this rewrite, please let me know (same goes for Reunion)
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2clones-1kamino · 2 years
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Port in a Storm Pt. 9
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A/N: It’s been a while huh? Ki and Cross hang out..is this a date? I dunno..maybe..maybe not. Trouble with Kuursik escalates in a big way. Is it even Star Wars if we leave out the “Wars” part? I hope you all re-capped with my obsessive posting of the previous parts over the last week. We join our protagonists in the hangar…I have no idea what the word count is so…¡Vámonos!
“C’mon Cross, hop on.”
You coaxed as you pulled on your leather gloves. You pulled the wrist strap to make sure they were on tight then double-checked that the pannier held the proper tools to harvest the sacred plant you left to grow wildly all that time ago. You zipped up the bag and looked up to find Crosshair with his arms folded.
He quirked a brow at you, “I’m driving.”
You scoffed, “You’re not.”
Throwing a leg over the seat you got comfortable and grabbed the handlebars. The speeder bike bobbed and you pulled back a little on the throttle. You smiled as the bike began to slowly circle around Crosshair. “You have 2 options, Cross. I drive and we go outside of the village for a few hours. Or I drive and leave your grumpy ass here in the hangar to find your way back to the village, alone.”
“Tch, I can find my way back.”
“You’re right. But you won’t be having as much fun as I’ll be.” He turned and watched as you circled him. His brooding pout ever present. “Nice views. Lots of open space…plenty of room to shoot that rifle of yours.” You wagged your brows at him as you passed close to him and stopped facing the exit of the hangar. You turned in the seat and chuckled while you shook your head at his stoicism. “You’re not driving. You have no idea where I’m taking you.”
He remained silent. Your smile fell to a lop-sided grin and you shrugged.
“Fine. I’ll see you later.” You turned to face the front of the bike. Just as you were going to propel forward, the bike bobbed again under new weight. Your heart sang and the smile crept back onto your face. You half-turned to give him some smartass reply but were at a loss for words as Crosshair’s arm snaked around your waist. He gently tightened his grip causing you to sit flush against him. You swallowed thickly as you felt his breath against your ear. “You win. Take me.”
Your body came to life as the words left his lips. A buzzing energy spread to all of your limbs and the heat pooled at your center. In a daze, you turned to face the front of the bike again. It took you a few seconds to remember what it was you were doing or where you were going.
“Alright?” Crosshair asked in mock concern. His voice static now as he had been quick to replace his helmet. His other arm coming around to complete the circle around your waist. You closed your eyes and bit your lip at the sensation. You nodded your head quickly.
“I’m fine. Just– uh, going through the checklist in my head.” Clearing your throat you asked, “Ready?” Your voice sounded much calmer than you thought it would.
He replied simply. “Yes.” Giving you one last gentle squeeze.
You had to focus on anything else, so you barreled out of the hangar.
Perhaps the bitter, cold wind in your face would break you out of the sensual haze threatening to swallow you whole. You weren’t easy to rile up but the growing tension with the sniper molded against your body was sending you into overdrive. Banking and whirring through the village, you headed for the main gate. Every drop and vibration just brought you back to your current position: straddling a vibrating speeder bike with Crosshair holding you from behind.
Jetting past the main gate you were finally free of any rocky terrain. Whirring above the grassy plains, you headed for the deep-wooded forest.
You brought the speeder to a slow stop at the base of a rocky facade. You let out a very quiet but long sigh as Crosshair let go of your waist and moved himself off the bike. As you unmounted, you prayed to the gods that there was no visible wet spot.
You heard him call behind you. “This is what you brought me to see? More rocks?” He still had his helmet on as he surveyed the towering mass in front of him. You laughed openly and took off your gloves. Thanking him silently for breaking the tension of that very intense ride. Detaching the pannier from the bike, you pulled on the straps to hook your arms through like a backpack.
“Hope you’re a good climber. We’re going up there.” Cross’ helmet followed your arm to where you pointed several meters from where you were standing. His voice crackled, “Hmph, uj cake.”
“I never said it wasn’t. After you.” You gestured for him to go first but he stood in front of you holding something out for you to take. You tilted your head to one side and inspected what it was.
“Hurry up and put it on. It’s an earpiece. Hunter thought you should have one. I agreed. Also, you know, in case you’re too slow and can’t keep up…”
You swiped it from his fingers. The back and forth rapport that was once irritating was now turned fun. You thought, in your own strange way, the pair of you were clearing a rocky path toward some sort of friendship. Although you highly doubted that the sniper would ever voice it aloud if you did make it to that point.
The passing thought made you smile as you adjusted the earpiece. He ran his hand along the face of the rock. His long fingers found the perfect ledge and the tips of his boots followed. As he scaled the stony surface, you watched him for a few moments. You appreciated his aptness and form while he moved higher and higher from the ground.
He suddenly stopped and noticed you were still at the base. “Taking in the grandeur, Dex?” His raspy voice prowled into your ear.
You noted that he switched to your callsign while on comms like you requested of Omega when you first arrived. You smiled at the small detail. He remembered. Feeling more comfortable with him you decided to play along, “If by grandeur you mean your ass, then I’ve seen grander.”
He stopped climbing and looked down to you as he chuckled lowly then bit back sarcastically, “You wound me.”
It was your turn to laugh. Crosshair had never heard a more melodic sound fill the contents of his helmet. It was a laugh he’d heard before. The very same from Kamino, aboard the Marauder, while you conversed with his brothers, everyone. But never like this, in all it’s inescapable, undampened glory. He silently hoped it would be a more frequent occurrence.
At no time at all, Crosshair had reached the open plateau. The expanse was half way up the rocky mountain. Still covered mostly in the shadow of it’s peak. The wind blew in short gusts. No tall trees to shield you from it. Interesting greenery covered most of the floor. Short-stemmed plants with bright red bulbs at the tip danced to his left. Crosshair bent down to touch one that was close to his boot. He took off his gloves to hold it gently between his fingers. He wanted to feel the texture of the waxy, red orbs. What kind of plant was this? He’d never seen anything like it before.
“Careful, that one’s toxic.” Startled, Crosshair immediately let go of it. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, already feeling the slightest burning sensation. He watched as you dusted your hands off on your pants from the climb.
“I already touched it, now what?” Behind his helm he grimaced while looking down at the affected area. It was starting to turn bright pink and the burning became worse.
“I suppose this is your demise. Can’t believe this is how Clone Force 99’s marksman will go out. Surely Tech has told you not to touch unidentified flora? He’ll be hearing about this.” You looked up at him and smiled.
“Quit karking around. Got any bacta spray on you?” He took off his helmet then and grunted as the capillaries in his hand grew a deep red.
“Bacta spray won’t help you. I’ve got something much better.” You jokingly bragged and pulled a small vial from the bag you were carrying. You went into medic mode and swiftly took his hand to put a few drops of Maka serum. Quickly as it had shown up, the angry red rash disappeared when the drops hit the tips of his fingers. You continued to inspect while the top of his hand laid in the palm of yours. As your thumb grazed the side of his palm, you looked up to find him studying you intently. Eyes slowly scanning your every feature like the night before. What felt like thousands of Carrier Butterflies fluttered in your stomach.
“Better?” It came out like a breathless whisper.
Cross nodded once giving you a faint smile. “Almost forgot you were a medic.”
You bit back a laugh and scoffed. The nerve. “A simple thank you would have sufficed. I practically saved your life.” You smacked the palm of his hand down and walked around him.
He watched your figure as you walked away, laughing to himself.
You looked over your shoulder to see Crosshair putting his helmet back on. Looking forward you spoke knowing he’d hear you in his helmet, “Maka’s not gonna reap itself. Don’t spend too much time ‘taking in the grandeur.’” You mocked his tone from earlier.
Your little call back made him smirk. He replied coolly, “You’re gonna have to give me a minute.”
That shut you up.
When Cross caught up to you, he made sure to walk at your side. You wiped the stupid smile from your face when you heard his booted footfalls. He watched you for any reaction to his comment. You felt his gaze weigh you down with every step. The longer you felt him staring, the harder it was to keep your composure.
The smile returned. He chuckled and bumped your shoulder slightly as he continued to walk in front of you to the lush, green patch of Maka.
Standing at the edge, Crosshair scanned the patch. “So can I touch this? Or will I need you to rescue me from the brink of death again?”
Smiling and bending down to cut a leaf with your bare hand, you lifted it to show him it was harmless. “It’s safe...” You put the leaf in your mouth and began to chew. “Can even eat it too.” You tapped his upper arm with a knuckle and tipped your head to beckon him further into the wild garden.
After laying out your tools, you showed him how much of the plant he should cut. You were both down on your knees as he watched you attentively. He laid his helmet to the side and took an extra pair of cutters from you. Looking around he pondered what about this spot was so special. Sure it was a nice view but it looked like a lot of the rest of the island.
So naturally, he asked. “Out of all places, why here?”
Without looking up at him, you smiled as you snipped away at the thick stems. You tossed the bunch in your hand to make a pile to collect when you were done. “Because I liked to run away. I was always looking for a place where my mother or anyone in the village couldn’t find me.”
“Not even Olko?” You cast a sidelong glace at Crosshair.
“No. Not even him. I wanted, needed, a quiet place of my own to think or feel freely without the constant drone about duty and responsibility. While my mother wanted me to keep my head down in my Prima lessons, I was always looking out way past the horizon. Wondering when it’d be my turn to go explore.”
“Your mother must have thought you a brat.”
You laughed. “She did and told me so often. I don’t blame her because I was.”
“Still are.” Crosshair mumbled.
You glared at him and threw a tiny rock at his neck.
And of course, annoyingly, he managed to catch it before it hit him.
“Anyway, the Maka served as a kind of decoy. I’d disappear for a few hours here, then go back only to pretend I’d been toiling away in the garden. I think it grows better out in the wild. Don’t tell Kaltaari I said that. I’ll never hear the end of it. They never did manage to find this spot.” You stopped working and watched Crosshair deftly cut away like you had instructed. You appreciated it and couldn’t stop yourself from letting him know. “The serum I used on your hand is derived from this plant. It’s very special to my people. The women of Makadra are well-versed in ancient healing practices. My ancestors were experts at wielding the flora around them...”
Crosshair looked over at you. You looked away as you quietly continued to work and talk. “Sooo, while you might think I’m just making you do busy work, you’re actually taking part in something that means more than you know. To the island…and to me.”
You couldn’t look at Crosshair then. Whether it was from the work or your small confession, your face felt too warm. Every second he stayed quiet, the more you wished you hadn’t said anything. You were only just starting to be what you considered friends..was this too soon?
You felt his hand reach over and grab your wrist that currently held your weight while the other pulled at a stubborn stem. You had no choice but to look at him now.
“I’m honored.” His voice and eyes held his truth. You couldn’t fight a smile. It was hard to tear your gaze away from him then. His eyes pulled you in like a moth to a flame, only tracing the outline of his tattoo until he held a single Maka leaf in your line sight. Your brows pulled together in curiosity. Crosshair brought the leaf up and opened his mouth. Without any hesitation, he began to chew on the leaf thoughtfully. He nodded when he swallowed it. “That wasn’t at all what I thought it would taste like.”
You laughed out loud and Crosshair chuckled with you. Before you could say anything else static sounded from your earpiece.
“Come in Crosshair, Dex. Do you copy? ” It was Hunter. His usually calm, gruff voice sounded more on edge.
“We copy, Hunter.” The smile could still be heard in your voice.
“We’re gonna need you and Crosshair to come back to the village. Stat.” Through the static came a faint yelp and groan. It was hard to decipher who it was. Your frantic eyes looked back to Crosshair who was already on his feet, helmet on. He had collected the bunches and placed them in the netted bag you had tucked in the pannier. Nodding to you, he held out his hand to help you up.
“Hunter, who is that??” You both set off on a jog to get back to the edge of the cliff.
“Dex, it’s..it’s your mother. Hurry.” You could no longer hear the static and you stopped running. My mother??
Crosshair answered. “Copy, Hunter, we’re on our way.”
You started to spiral while Crosshair helped you put the backpack on. Taking off his helmet he turned you around and took your chin in his hand. “Look at me. We don’t know anything about the situation. I need you to focus. I’m gonna propel us down there and I’m driving back. Stay. calm.”
All you could do was nod dumbly and forced yourself to relax which didn’t do much of anything. He replaced his helmet and unclipped his Firepuncher. He quickly aimed and shot an anchor, pulling twice to check it’s sturdiness. He took your waist and you went into auto-pilot, not thinking about anything but wrapping your arms around his neck. You were down and onto the speederbike in seconds. If you thought you could drive the bike fast, Crosshair had you beat. The bike whirred and whistled at every skidded turned. If you weren’t still thinking about your mother, you might have told him how impressed you were. Crosshair was now in control of communications as you got closer to the village.
“Arriving soon, what’s your twenty?” You could barely hear Crosshair’s voice over your grim ruminations. A bright day full of adventure was turned on it’s head. Sure, you’ve been in battle and have seen gore..but this was different.
This was your family.
The speeder came to a stop in front of the hill leading up to the sanctum. You ran up and tripped over a couple steps, determined to get to your mother. You hadn’t even spared Crosshair a glance. Your blinders were on. Out of breath, you burst through the front door.
“Where is she?!”
Everyone downstairs turned to you. Their expressions a mix of gloom and surprise at your sudden arrival. Olko rushed to your side and grabbed your arm. He was rattling off something and as much as you tried to focus all you heard was: Kuursik. Knife. Poison.
It had been enough.
You left Olko behind and ran up the rest of the way. You heaved open the door to your mother’s room. You skidded to a halt when you saw her on the bed. She was in a fitful state, soaked in sweat. Wisps of hair stuck to her forehead as she moved, murmuring incoherent nothings.
Kaaltari and Aunt Brytiig were tending to her. Trying to placate the fever that was obviously ravaging her body. Kaaltari looked up at you with a painful, tear-stained look. It was only then that you allowed yourself to cry. You brought a trembling hand to your mouth as Kaaltari moved so you could be closer to your mother. She placed a warm, firm hand on your shoulder. You reached to squeeze it, silently thanking her for being here when you weren’t. Your other hand nestled into the crook of your mother’s arm, gently rubbing her burning skin as you spoke to her.
“I’m here, Mother. I came as fast as I could…” A sob escaped you.
“Oh, my love. Your mother is strong. She will fight this.” Aunt Brytiig reached over to you and ran a comforting hand up and down your arm. Through tear-filled eyes, you glanced over to her. Her face only slightly betraying the confidence in her words.
“Where is the wound? And what did they poison her with?” You looked around the bed, a light sheet covered your mother.
Kaaltari spoke then, “The outside of her left thigh. The blade was poisoned with crushed Arum flower oil…She– She lost a lot of blood..” You clenched your jaw and squeezed your eyes shut. Karking Arum flowers! The very same Crosshair had touched. You tried to calm the anger growing inside you.
Your mind was running, trying to find a solution. Voice trembling you had to ask, “And you used as much Maka serum as possible? And made a paste?”
“Yes. Yes, my dear. Stitched the wound and doused the bandages. All we can do now is wait.” Aunt Brytiig wrang the small towel that she dipped into cool water and spoke softly to soothe you. She handed it to you to place on your mother’s forehead.
“Kuursik must pay for this.” You said bitterly and looked to Kaaltari.
She nodded vehemently. “It’s been a long time coming. An assassination attempt on The Prima is enough of a call for bloodshed.” Kaaltari started to walk to the door before you stopped her.
“‘Tari, wait.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “Given the.. precarious situation, you must ascend to Prima.”
“No, but the lessons– The Prima will be–“ She started but you hushed her.
“Our people need a leader. To hell with the lessons.”
“But you said–“
“I know what I said but no one is going by the book right now. As the Prima’s next of kin, I have say in who takes the lead. You’re not alone in this. We’re all here. We can all do this together.”
“She’s right, Kaaltari.” Your Aunt Brytiig looked at both of you, eyes shining. Her daughter was now grown and taking on the greatest responsibility a Makadran woman could. “It’s what Rizabi would want. Even if..when she makes it out of this, it will take a very long time until she’s in any form to lead. It’s your time, my love.”
Kaaltari looked between the other three women in the room. She was scared. She was strong, yes, but it didn’t make this decision an easy one. Her time was now, whether she was ready or not. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she straightened and walked back over to your mother. Kaaltari got down on one knee and held the symbol of Makadra just above her brows. “This is for you, my Prima. I will defend Makadra with everything I have. I will not let you down.”
She stood up and looked to you, fire in her eyes, ready to take the title. “We’ll hold the Rites Ceremony tonight. We’ll plan our next move in the morning.”
A/N: ALL HAIL THE NEW PRIMA⚔️
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minnierevercez · 5 months
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New Chapter !
Here it is ! Chapter 10 of my Hunter x OFC fanfic, Patch Me Up, is now available here on AO3 ! It's been a hot minute since the last one but I'm glad I can post it now and so thankful for your patience ! Only one chapter to go 0.0
Here's a sneak peak :)
Patch Me Up
Hunter x OFC
Current word count : 55,943
Warning for triggering themes in this chapter : mention of death.
He barely had time to register the sound of Crosshair's speederbike approaching before it collided with his own in a clatter of metal against metal. Hunter struggled to keep his balance on the vehicle while putting distance between him and his brother ; but Crosshair came at him again, making the old durasteel rattle and clank in a flurry of sparks. Hunter picked up the speed, flattening himself further on the machine, and chanced a glance behind him ; his eyes widened as he saw Crosshair steady himself on the bike, and slowly pull out his sniper blaster, aiming not for Hunter, but for his speederbike. He managed to dodge the first shot, then the second ; a third brushed past the engines, and the vehicle wobbled for an agonising second ; the one second Crosshair needed to score his hit.
The impact sent his speederbike spinning and skidding on the snow, and Hunter was thrown in the air, the breath knocked out of him. His landing was by no means softened by the powdery layers, which weren't that deep ; the hard, rocky ground pounded his bones as he bounced and rolled, upsetting the white expanse.
He got up with difficulty, but already Crosshair was on him, and the punch to his helmet threw him back down. He struggled against the weight that pinned him there ; any other enemy, he could have fended off, but Crosshair had grown up with him. He knew everything about his mutation, about the scars and old wounds engraved in his flesh, and most importantly, about the exact points to hit so he would stay down. Hunter barely resisted crying out as fire exploded in his ankle and in his left side under his brother's blows, and he found himself unable to move, winded by the excruciating pain running through his body as Crosshair slid Hunter's helmet off his face before taking off his own with jerking movements ; nor as he took hold of Hunter's vibroblade and put it to his throat, the point barely a hair away from piercing skin.
Hunter struggled to focus through bleary eyes ; but for all the pain he was in, the look on his brother's face hurt so much deeper than his punches : anger, fear, hurt, resentment, so many emotions fighting for dominance in his brown eyes, twisting the familiar features into a desperate grimace ; but no determination. He was lost.
“Why are you here ?” Crosshair demanded, his voice a strangled hiss, and Hunter hadn't realised how much he'd missed everything about his brother until he heard it.
“The clones”, he replied breathlessly ; the pressure Crosshair was applying on his ribcage would soon become problematic, but even though the pain was slowly subsiding, Hunter had taken a fair beating, and he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to shake his brother off him before the knife went through his throat.
“Go. Away”, Crosshair spat between his teeth, pressing down on Hunter the slightest bit more. He could feel his head start spinning.
“Can't let them get dissected”, he wheezed. He tested his ankle gingerly, and winced with the renewed pain – but at least it wasn't broken. He could work with that.
“And I can't give you any more chances !” Crosshair hissed, anger winning the battle on his face for a split-second.
“I can”, Hunter murmured. His brother finally choosing to leave the Empire was about his only chance to get out of this alive ; and even if he'd been in a position to fend him off, he knew in that moment that no matter how many times Crosshair pushed them away, he'd keep trying every chance he'd get. “Come back with us. The Empire isn't your people.”
Crosshair's face twisted further in silent agony, and Hunter's chest ached with something that had nothing to do with the weight pressing down on him.
“Don't make me kill you.” The words were quiet, both a threat and a plea. Hunter was running out of air, but he talked anyway.
“I'm not. It's your choice to make, Cross.”
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lovelessdagger · 1 year
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The Fall of the Jedi | Chapter Eight: Cin Vhetin
Pairing: Hunter x OFC
Rating: Mature
Summary: Hunter can’t get it out of his head, the undeniable facts of their situation. The Republic, the one thing every clone stood for, now washed away in favor of this new Empire. The Regs, having never been particularly personable, have somehow become more cold than before. Governor Tarkin, an avid objector to clones, dared to send his squad to kill innocent civilians. The Jedi… are gone.
Slow Burn, Canon Divergence
WARNINGS: Explicit Language. TBB S1E1. Canon Typical Violence. Allusion to Torture.
Words: 7K
Masterlist | Daybreak Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next
Hunter can’t get it out of his head, the undeniable facts of their situation. The Republic, the one thing every clone stood for, now washed away in favor of this new Empire. The Regs, having never been particularly personable, have somehow become more cold than before.  Governor Tarkin, an avid objector to clones, dared to send his squad to kill innocent civilians. The Jedi… are gone.
Just like that.
In four words and less than thirty minutes, the Jedi disappear. The oldest and strongest institution ever known, wiped, branded traitors, summarily executed.  Every single one of them.
Well, Hunter thinks. Not all.
Not yet. The kid, Commander Dume, he made it out. Though Kaller is no haven. If the clones didn’t kill him, the elements might. Either way, he’s just a kid. What does he know about survival? What shot does he have when he’s alone?
If he can’t make it, what does that say about them?
Hunter’s leg bounces inside the Marauder, gloved hands wiping on thighs. “How much longer til Kamino?” he asks, standing.
“Our projected time of arrival is eighteen minutes,” Tech says. He looks over his shoulder. “Your anxiety will not cause the ship to go any faster. Given Omega’s status as a medical assistant, it is unlikely she is under any real threat. Although, the odds are not zero.”
Hunter scoffs. “Thanks.”
She’s the final piece of it, the ruckus of his mind. She’s the biggest really. Undeniably. It was bad enough before, her weird and incessant following of the group. Sitting with them in the Mess Hall, caring over Echo in the infirmary, searching Hunter out personally. She actively warned them of what Tarkin had planned, what trouble this… Empire would cause. Leave Kamino, don’t come back.
Let me come with you.
He should’ve listened the first time. They could be long gone from Kamino already, not headed towards it. A log transmissions onto the Maraduer from the now Imperial database shared with Kamino. The only one clones have access to. A running list of every known Jedi of the Republic and their status of termination. Working with Jedi was a rare occurrence, the amount closer to zero than anything substantial. Scrolling through, Hunter ticked off what he could recognize.
Shaak Ti.
Depa Billaba.
Caleb Dume.
Anakin Skywalker.
He closes the log each time Crosshair walks by, before he can comment on his search for a fifth name. Before he can tell him there’s no point. Laugh at him. Tell him what he already knows.
Echo behaves the same, though he takes the list in a more personal manner. It’s easy to tell when something strikes particularly hard. He gets more reserved, closing the log and leaving for some odd minutes before coming back.
For a moment, Hunter considers asking.
Ultimately, he decides against.
“Assuming she is there,” Tech asks. “How do you propose we find Omega?”
“Tipoca City’s a big place,” Hunter responds. “But there’s only so many locations she can be. We split up. You and Wrecker take the lower levels and comm areas. Echo, you and I will check barracks. Crosshair—“
“Pass.” He sits in the corner, pretending to sleep but tapping fingers give away the facade. “I’m not interested in putting this squad at risk for some kid.”
“She’s one of us whether you like it or not. We’re not leaving until she’s on this ship. Echo, you take Cross for the barracks. I’ll get into the labs. If any of us find her, we comm and head directly back.”
“What are we doing after?” Wrecker asks.
“I haven’t gotten that far,” Hunter admits. Crosshair scoffs. “Right now, all we need to worry about is making it back and off world in one piece. It’s a big galaxy, plenty of places to camp out. We wait for things to calm down before moving on.”
“Ten minutes until hyperspace exit,” Tech announces. “Reports indicate class three storms, the landing may be bumpy.”
Echo approaches, nudging his back. “Hunter,” he mutters. He nods towards the end of the ship, leading the way. “Something’s wrong.”
“Really?” He snorts. “You don’t say.”
“I mean with Crosshair,” Echo whispers. “He isn’t acting like himself.”
Hunter looks over. “Yeah… I noticed.”
“What Tech said earlier, about the programming.”
“Crosshair’s fine. A lot has happened, he’s easy to stress out. Doesn’t like change. That’s all.”
“I don’t like it.”
“He’ll be fine. Better when we finally leave this place.”
“You all really don’t like Kamino.”
“Hard to like somewhere you don’t belong.”
“Five minutes,” Tech announces.
“Grab a seat,” Hunter says. “We’ll be in and out. Then everything will be back to normal.”
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Maz Kanata likes to keep her ship cold, that much Odella is certain of. It may be all she is certain of. She hasn’t moved from her three square foot box since boarding, confining herself to the floor, knees to chest. Maz has been generous, ignoring her for the most part. Until now that is. 
“You didn’t strike me as a caf girl, so I made tea,” she says, holding out a mug. “Drink, it will boost your energy.”
Odella mouths, Thank you, taking it.
“We’ll be landing soon.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
“Are you normally this vague?”
She admits, “No.”
“Then why am I so lucky?”
“You hold yourself back,” Maz says. “Were I to tell you, you’d refuse. Regardless of it being for your benefit.”
It takes everything in Odella to not roll her eyes. Even then she fails. “If you won’t tell me, can you at least explain what you were doing on Naboo?”
“The Force sent me.”
Odella scoffs. “I’m not a child. You can say you were stealing.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“That the Force sent you to Naboo on its biggest day of surveillance and occupation since the battle with the Trade Federation? You’re right, that’s definitely believable. My mistake.”
“You have quite the mouth on you,” Maz chuckles. “I would have never guessed. You come off so shy.”
“I don’t know you. You refuse to tell me where we’re going. And, I don’t know you,” Odella says. “Excuse me for not being chipper. There’s no reason the Force would send you to Naboo.”
“It sent you.”
“Master Yoda sent me. There’s a difference.”
“Did the Force not compel him?”
“No,” Odella says bluntly. “Unless you call Obi-Wan Kenobi the Force. Which I certainly wouldn’t.”
Maz hums. She nods, slow. “If you must know. I feel treasures call to me through the Force. Now, I happened to be called to Naboo.”
“For treasures?”
Maz nods.
“What did you collect?”
“You.”
“Stars,” Odella mutters. “So what, you’re going to hold me for ransom? Get payment that way?”
“Of course not. Girl like you would make a far greater profit working in my establishment.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“No. Unless…” Maz leans in, squinting. “What is your talent? Artistically.”
“I don’t—“
“You are a Thoren. Art runs in your blood the same as those midichlorians. Do not lie.” 
Odella sighs. “I’ve been told I can sing.”
Maz enters some deep internal debate Odella has no interest in deciphering, humming. “No,” she settles. “Best not.”
As if Yoda weren’t confusing enough.
“So…” Odella drags. “The Force calls you to Naboo. You find me. That hardly feels worthwhile.”
“You my dear, are the famed Thoren daughter. You must recognize your value is beyond words.”
“My value?” Odella repeats, dumbfounded. “How can I have any value in that family? All my siblings despise my existence, my mother’s gone mad with legacy, and my father hates what he has created. I may be a Thoren but I claim no fame from it. Cain is right. It’s all cursed.”
“I don’t believe that. I’ve known the Thorens a long time now. Your late grandmother Novalise was a great friend, as was her mother Evangeline, and her mother Amara. The only curse Paloma brought to that house were the trails of her abuse. You should not blame her for it.”
“Then I blame myself,” Odella concedes. “I should have never been born. They should have been satisfied with the children they had, not risk my mothers life. For what? A Jedi?” Odella waves her hands out. Her words grow rage the longer she continues. “Look how that’s gone. I am on a ship with a pirate I do not know and the Jedi are dead. The only thing I have ever known is dead. Yet somehow I am left to survive when I never asked for any of it to begin with. I only did this because everyone told me to. It’s what they asked of me. I never wanted to be a Jedi.” She catches herself too late. Hunched over, the steam hits her face. She sits frozen without breath. 
Maz holds her shoulder, Odella pushes it off.  “Oh… my child,” she whispers.
Shaking her head, Odella sets down the mug. “I should’ve left when my Master died,” she says. “I could’ve avoided the war all together. Actually done something with myself, helped people. Really helped people. People who care about each other. Who aren’t afraid of compassion and emotion and community. I should’ve gone to something far away from the Jedi.”
“The galaxy is quite large, grander than any thing could wish to see in one lifetime,” Maz tells her. “You are young. There is still time for you to become whoever you are meant to be. You are unrestricted. In the face of this tragedy, you are free.”
Maz announces their arrival fifteen odd minutes later. The ship slowly enters atmosphere and lands with a final thud on the ground. Odella stands only when she is told. Maz takes her by the bend in her arm, leading her out.
The air is cool, fresh, free from the growing pollution of Coruscant. Dried grass breaks under footstep, harvested crop cut on weakened soil.
“Perhaps I stay with you,” Odella says. Her free arm blocks her eyes from the sun, squinting away. “I wouldn’t mind being a performer.”
She would.
They both know this.
“The nearest town is a ten kilometer walk east,” Maz says, pointing to the sun. “I recommend you stray from the Protectors until you gain your bearings. The last thing you need is to be taken for interrogation.”
“Interrogation?”
Maz waves her hand. “The likelihood is low. Though not zero…” she trails. “Never mind it. You will be fine.”
“You said you’d take me somewhere safe,” Odella argues.
“Wrong. I said I would take you where you need to go. I promised your friend safety, but you are not her.”
Odella swears under her breath. Damn pirates. She lifts the hood of her cloak. “I suppose I’ll be off now. Thanks for the ride.”
“Not so fast.” Maz raises her hand, making a beckoning motion.
“Right,” Odella sighs. Payment. She reaches for the bag of credits dangling on her hip. “I’m not sure how much I have but… how’s two hundred?”
“No.” Maz reaches under her cloak, tapping the metal sabers hanging from her other side. “These.”
Odella frowns. “What? No, no I can’t—“
“They will do you no good here. Besides, they are a Jedi’s weapon, are they not?”
“Yes but—“
“You will find your way through new means. Accept change. Embrace it.”
Odella kneels, closing her eyes. “They mean an awful lot to me.” She unhooks them from her belt, thumb brushing over ignition.
“You have your crystals, do you not?” 
“I do.”
Maz takes the hilts, rolling them in her palms. “Then they’re never truly gone, are they?” They connect to her trousers, free hand cupping Odella’s cheek. “When it is safe, should that time ever come, they will find their way to you again.”
“You’ll keep them well in the mean time?”
“I give you my word.”
Odella nods, saying nothing more.
“Go now,” Maz ushers. “This is your new beginning.”
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ALDAMI’S DINER
OPEN
Odella wipes her forehead, open palms stretching her lower back. It couldn’t have killed Maz to drop her anywhere closer? She shakes out her muscle, craning her neck from side to side. She looks around the outside, buildings sparse, streets moderately empty. It is a welcomed change of scenery however, dying crops become an eyesore past the first hour. Nauseating by the second. 
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to gain a clue of where she’d been put. The light chill of wind stayed consistent, pointing to a change into winter season or late fall. Outer Rim most likely considering the lack of city life, speeders. Agricultural settlement, obviously.
The diner is the first thing to greet her, a faded and chipped blue painted wooden exterior. Exhaust from the chimney fills the street and her senses, stomach growling. She weighs the options: keep hiking until she lucks out and collapses, or… the choice isn’t hard.
Stepping into the establishment, a bell rings above her head. It smells divine. Odella almost drools. 
“Hi doll, welcome in,” an older woman calls. Mid-forties, jet black hair pinned on her head, pieces framing her round face. “Go head and take a seat where ever ya can, we’ll get someone to you in a bit.”
Either she came in right before or after the morning rush, a dwindling occupancy keeping only half the diner busy. Odella makes her way to a corner booth, faced away from the crowd. An effort of vain, no one pays her any mind. Her gloves slip off onto her lap, fingertips dancing on the table’s counter.
Nothing notable comes through her visions. Various families, children, dishes.
Thank the Maker.
“Name’s Sela. Can I get you started with some caf?” The woman from before, stood in front notepad in hand.
Odella keeps her gaze locked, shaking her cloaked head. Her throat clears. “Do you have tea?”
“Iced tea.”
“I’ll take it,” she says. “Sweetened. Please.”
The woman snorts. “Like there’s any other way.” The booklet snaps close. “I’ll get that out to ya. Take your time with the menu, it ain’t changing anytime soon.”
“Thanks.”
Left alone, Odella rubs over her face. She flips over the menu, foot bouncing. Tiingilar, uj’alayi, bone broth… something is recognizable at least.  ALDAMI’S DINER stays printed at the top, faded, stained. No address, no contact information.
She’s in the middle of no where.
Perfect.
Sela returns with her glass, ice cubes floating atop. “Pick something out yet?”
“Uh,” Odella stutters. “What do you recommend?”
“Al’s good for pretty much all of it,” she says. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Protein,” she decides. “High carbs. I could eat a bantha.”
“Can’t say we got those layin about,” Sela laughs. She takes the menu, tucking it under her arm. “But I’ll see what he can do.”
“Thank you,” Odella breathes. She looks up, lowering the hood. “Honestly, anything is fine. I shouldn’t be staying long.”
“You ain’t from these parts, are you?”
Bashful, Odella asks, “Am I that obvious?”
“Just about. Accent gave it away. Mid Rim?”
“Naboo.”
“Naboo,” Sela repeats, tongue clicked to the roof. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Good question. Wish I had an answer. Just… had to get away from home. I guess.”
“Well, you couldn’t have picked a farther place to do it.” She taps at Odella’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we ain’t a stranger to strays.”
“Do refugees frequent here?”
She laughs. “Maybe less noble than that. Just people lookin to get away. They never stay long.”
“Why’s that?”
The front bell rings again, a group of three staggering inside. Each man armored in worn blue and gray. Visors of helmets shaped in a black ’T’. 
“Al!” The one in front calls, fist banging the counter. “We’ll take the usual to go!”
“Well,” Sela sighs. “That’s part of it.”
“That… Those are Mandalorians,” Odella stumbles.
“Sure is. You ain’t ever seen one?”
“Only in books.”
Sela emits an audible, heh, shaking her head. “If you’re expecting knights in shining armor, look else where. Stop bangin’ on my counter!” She shouts to them. “Damn animals.”
The one in the back… barks.
Sela spares her a look saying, See what I mean?
“Point taken,” Odella responds. 
“Sela!” The front calls, making his way over. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever. Have you lost weight?”
“Fenn Rau,” Sela introduces. “He’s tryna be like his daddy and failing miserably.”
“All with practice my dear,” the Mandalorian corrects. Removing his helmet, a blond head appears. “My father can’t say he’s helped train the Republic army, now can he?”
“So much for that,” Sela laughs. “I hear they’re calling it an Empire now.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is when them clones you train kill the wizards.”
“Jedi?”
“That’s what I heard.”
Fenn snorts. “Then I have trained them as Mandalorian, haven’t I?”
“Bit macabre if you ask me.” Sela taps at Odella’s shoulder. “You’re from the inside,” she says. “You hear anything bout it?”
“Huh? Oh, no,” Odella says. “I don’t do politics.”
“Smart move.”
A smile drags onto Fenn’s features, brow raised. “Hello, hello,” he says. He takes Odella’s hand, kissing its back. “My name is Fenn Rau, Journeyman Protector. And, you are?”
“Passing by,” Sela interrupts, swatting his arm. “Leave the poor girl alone.”
“I’m being friendly. It’s part of the role.”
Odella removes herself, nose scrunching. “I’m flattered,” she deadpans. “Truly.”
“If you need somewhere to stay, my home is always available to you.”
And she thought Coruscant boys were bad.
“Rau!” A gruff voice shouts from the back. “Order up!” 
Fenn straightens, tipping his head. “I’ll be seeing you around,” he says. “Welcome to Concord Dawn.”
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Treason. Conspiring with Saw Gerrera.
That’s what Tarkin called it, taking the word of a probe droids data. Shock troopers surrounding the Batch the second they landed on Kamino left them without fight. Not one that would leave all five alive anyways.
Hunter blames himself, he should’ve accounted for this possibility.
Now here they are, stripped to their blacks, pushed into a makeshift prison. 
“I assume you know the punishment for treason,” Tarkin said. The answer was clear as day, something they all knew would be waiting for them past these ray shields.
Death if they’re lucky.
Reprogramming if not. 
While Clone Force 99 tries not to make it a habit of coming back or staying on Kamino for too long, one way or another they manage to catch up with chatter. Lucky or not, Hunter’s status as Sergeant grants him acceptance with the Regs. Not much, but greater than someone like Wrecker anyways.
Word circled around about some new experimental operation. A machine the Kaminoans begun sticking clones into when they strayed too far. Some say it’s what was done to the reg from the 501st Legion, rumored to go mad, threatening the Chancellor.
Emperor. 
Other stories were more specific, coming from those claiming to have walked into the wrong room, overheard the wrong conversations. 
It didn’t have a name, not that they knew, but the premise was clear. A type of factory reset. Mind completely erased, personality cleared, memories, names— in extreme cases, basic human function— gone. Flayed.
This was the obvious route for the squad to take. Their… uniqueness, value, was never lost to the Kaminoans. Even if it was to the rest. Successful mutations, viable to see adulthood. As cadets they were frequently separated from the others, given more exams, more physicals. Trained harder, stricter, made the other in every way possible.
No, Tarkin won’t kill them. He’d be stupid to.
Hunter sighs. That can be worried about later. For now… his vision drops to Omega, sat on the ground.
“Me?” she asks. “You came back for me?”
“The option’s yours,” Hunter tells her. “Though, I’d prefer if you’d come with us. I’d hate to get us captured for nothing.” He sighs, treading on obnoxious. “But if you’d rather stay on Kamino…”
She gasps, leaning up. “No! I told you before, I want to go with you.”
Hunter nods. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”
From the back, Crosshair groans. “Cute,” he mutters. “Touching, really.”
Wrecker clears his throat. “Hunter,” he says. “How are we breaking out of here?”
He responds, “I’m working on it.”
“You know what you should work on?” Crosshair asks. “Explaining when you went soft.”
“Stow it Crosshair,” Echo snaps. He shakes out his right scomped arm. Phantom pains.
“Don’t pretend like you haven’t all noticed. He’s been failing ever since Anaxes, and I’ve been the only one to say something about it.” He steps up, Hunter blocks his way to Omega. “Why don’t you own up to the truth of why you’re really doing this, Hunter?” 
He pauses. “What truth?”
“That she’s dead,” he says. “We all know it. She was a Jedi who never knew you existed and you were still weak enough to get attached.”
“Crosshair. You don’t want to start this,” Hunter warns.
“Wake up Hunter. There is nothing you can do to bring her back. Not letting the Padawan escape. Not helping Guerra—“ he points to Omega, “—not saving this kid. She was a Jedi. She betrayed the Emperor. They all did.” He grips the side of his head. “You don’t even know her name. She deserved to die.”
Echo acts before Hunter gets the chance, shoving Crosshair into the wall. “Say that again.”
Crosshair snorts, looking down the three inches between them. “Oh look, the mech has something to say.”
“Guys,” Wrecker attempts. “C’mon. Not in front of the kid.”
They ignore.
“Why haven’t you told him?” Crosshair asks.
“Tell him what?” Echo responds. 
“That you knew her.” His gaze flickers past, back onto Hunter. “There was only one girl on Anaxes. Worked in the med bay with the regs. Fixed up Echo.”
“What’s your point?” Hunter asks.
“You’ve got competition. We were on that base for four days and all I ever saw was her with the 501st. I bet she was with them when the Order went off. I bet, they all shot her dead. Maybe if Echo stayed he would’ve done it himself.”
“Shut it,” Echo hisses.
“I’m telling the truth. You know it. Deep down, you’re still a Reg.” Crosshair shoves at him.
“A Reg with ARC training,” Echo reminds. “Don’t push it.”
“You should be the most loyal to the Empire out of all of us. Why aren’t you? Why defend a worthless Jedi? Hunter becoming a liability I’d expect, but you?”
“That’s enough,” Hunter snaps. “Both of you. We’re a team. Act like it. You’re right,” he says to Crosshair. “She is dead. But that doesn’t matter anymore. We can discuss my choices all you want later. For now, let’s focus on getting out of here.”
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“Now I know you say it’s fine, but I took a bit off your tab for having to put up with Fenn,” Sela says, placing the bill in front of Odella. “Puts you at thirty even.”
“How’s fifty?” Odella asks, reaching into her pouch. “You can keep the rest as a tip.”
“Oh don’t do that.”
“I insist,” she says, placing the credits. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any places I can camp out for the next day or so, would you?”
“Can’t say I do. Like I said, strays, they squat wherever they like.”
“No inns?”
“Not since the last one up the road closed. Al’s been looking to buy it but, no chance cubes.”
“You’re not looking for a roommate?”
Sela laughs. “You wanna nanny five kids under ten?”
“Pass. I have enough trouble tolerating one.”
“Then I’m outta options. Sorry doll.”
Odella sighs, raising her hood as she stands. “How far’s the next town?”
“Bout… fifteen klicks north.”
“Great,” she mutters. “I better get going then. Thank you again for the food.” She waves the canteen strapped over her torso. “And the water.”
“You’re leaving just like that?”
“Course. Gotta make land while the sun’s up. Give my compliments to Al. I haven’t had food like that in years.”
Sela nods. “I will. Best of luck to you.”
Odella makes it approximately fifteen footsteps to the door before collision, running directly into a stout man, double her size. Clean plates fly into the air, the male falls onto his rear, the diner goes silent.
She catches them all. “I am so sorry,” she gasps, struggling to stack. She moves them to one arm, offering out the free one. “I’m so clumsy.”
The man ignores her, swearing under his breath. He stands on bent knee, heaving up.
“Are you hurt?” Odella asks.
“‘m fine,” he mutters. He spares her a look, half disgusted half shocked. “You’re too small to have that much force on ya.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Bet I’ve got over a hundred pounds on you and you knock me down like that?”
“I swear it was an accident.”
“I believe you.”
She holds out the plates. “Sorry. Again.”
It’s his turn to blink. “You caught them?”
“Opposed to what?” She asks. “Letting them fall?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Sounds like more trouble on you.”
He confirms, taking them. “It would be.”
“Exactly.”
“Huh.” He looks around the diner, to her, then out again. “Sela!” He calls. “This one yours?”
She answers from the back. “Sure is Al.”
“Of course you’re Al,” Odella sighs. “Maker, I really am a piece of work aren’t I? I wish I could say I’m not usually like this but I’d be lying.”
“Accent’s weird. Where you from?”
Odella answers shy. “Naboo.”
“These are Naboo decor plates,” he says, holding one up. White, hand-painted in blue. “They’re expensive.”
“Most Naboo things are. Never-mind import tax.”
Al huffs again, walking away. “How are you with people?”
Odella’s quick on her feet. “I try to be friendly.”
“Can you cook?”
“Basics, but no. Nothing like you.”
He grabs a menu from the counter, passing it. “How’s your memory?”
“Above average.”
“What’s in the special?”
“Roasted porg, pasta, fresh vegetables and herbs. Sautéed with a side salad.”
“Breakfast?”
“Bluemilk pancakes and fresh fruit.”
He takes the menu back. “Prices for the first three items on the dinner side.”
“Twenty, seventeen, and fourteen. Without sides.”
“You got a place to stay?”
“No sir.”
“You need one?”
“Desperately.”
Al nods, shoving his hands into the pockets of his apron. “I know a guy,” he says. “Little over three klicks south. Kyr Drios, he’s an mean old lonely fucker, don’t take kindly to strangers. Could shoot you dead just for stepping on his land.” 
“Oh.”
He throws the rag from over his shoulder, wiping the bar. “But like I said, he’s an old fucker.” Odella lifts the napkin dispenser, he wipes under it. “Meaning, he won’t.”
“Oh.”
“He’s been bitching to me about needing help on the day to day. Now he doesn’t say he needs help, but the implications are there.”
“Right.”
“He’s got a big white place, though it’s dirty, run down. Porch out front, can usually find him smoking. Now, I try to pop by when I can, give em food. You can do that. Tell em I sent you, offer your labor. He likes you, he lets you stay. You stay, you get a job here.”
“You mean it?”
“My last girl walked out yesterday. Sel likes you, I don’t hate you, I’m sure you’ll get along with the others. Now it won’t be easy convincing him, and he’ll say no but be persistent. Not too much you get shot, but enough to wear em down. Think you can do that?”
“Annoying old men is my specialty.”
“Glad to hear it. You can start tomorrow. We open just after sunrise. Oh, and the nice girl act is cute and all. But Rau’s tame around these parts. Toughen up a bit.”
“Less nice, more tough. Easy.”
“Easier said,” Al corrects. “You don’t strike me as a fighter.”
“Well,” Odella sighs. “I guess you’re in for a surprise or two, aren’t you?”
He chuckles. “I guess I am.”
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They took Crosshair.
Worse than that, they took Crosshair and Hunter did nothing to stop it. They hit him in the gut and he fell and he did nothing. 
The Batch file into Tipoca City’s hangar, one by one, ducked to their tossed items. The storm rages on outside, Tech predicts levels to rise to a four within the hour. Thunder clashes while lightning strikes. The floor is slick with spilt in rain, their boots slide and squeak along the cement.
“No one waste time,” Hunter says. “Suit up. Let’s make this quick.” Turns out emergency dressing drills do have their benefits. “Tech, get in and power up the ship. The rest of us will track down Crosshair. The second we come back we’re out of here.”
Bay doors chime with finishing touches, Hunter’s vibroblade just sliding into its holster.
“I don’t think we’ll have to go far,” Omega says. 
Doors open to a squad of shock troopers, six total in ready position. They spread around the entrance, leaving way for one final man. Crosshair. He walks tall, proud even. Rifle hoisted into the air, a matching helmet to his new all black suit at his side.
Wrecker asks the obvious. “Is that Crosshair?”
No one answers. They already know.
Yes. It is.
Hunter stands, walking forward. “Stand down, Sergeant,” Crosshair says. “Make it easy on yourself.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Hunter asks. He waves out. “What is this?”
“We should’ve killed that Jedi. You disobeyed orders. You betrayed the Emperor.”
“I did what I thought was right.”
“You never could see the bigger picture. You’ve always been like this. Always lost inside yourself. Your fantasies. Look where that’s gotten you. You want to do what’s right? Surrender, Hunter.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Is that an order?”
Crosshair laughs. “I guess it is.”
“Well,” Hunter says. “I guess I’m disobeying that one too.” 
Locked in a stalemate. Brother against brother. No one wins. Everyone loses.
Time stands still.
Quick draws were easier as children. Less deadly. Hunter wants to behave the same as when they were cadets. Kids. Weapon lowered, fake with paintballs. Shields disappeared.
Crosshair doesn’t play the same anymore.
In hindsight, neither does he.
Crosshair is the first to shoot, Hunter senses the build of energy within the rifle before the trigger is pressed. He ducks and the rest of the Corrie guards fire. They throw smoke grenades, aiming through the fog. 
“Tech,” Hunter says through their comm. “We gotta move, now!”
“I’m working on it.”
“Work harder. Wrecker, we need the smoke cleared.”
“Got it, boss.”
“Omega, keep your head down. Don’t look.”
Crosshair doesn’t hesitate. Wrecker is shot, his helmet tumbles, gaining a new scratch gained against the pavement. Omega dives after him, pulled back by Hunter. Crosshair’s shot barely misses.
“He’s using Wrecker as bait,” Hunter tells her. “Don’t.”
“He needs help!” She cries. “You can’t leave him!”
“And we won’t—Tech! We’re out of time!”
“Almost got it!” The Maraduer powers on, engines blasting blue flame. 
Alarms sound overhead, Crosshair shouts and the bay door cranks to shut.
Until… they don’t. 
“I suggest you move now!”
Hunter grabs Omega’s shoulders. “When I say go, you head for that ramp and you don’t stop? Got it?”
“But—“
“Listen to me. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, I promise. Echo and I will grab Wrecker. Everything will be okay.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“There’s only one way out, Hunter!” Crosshair calls. “Your move.”
Hunter shouts, “Go!” Blaster fire erupts within the hangar once more, plasma bolts of red and blue scattered in the air. Echo handles Wrecker, Hunter standing guard.
“C’mon big guy,” Echo mutters. “Gotta go.”
His response is a groaned blinking consciousness. “Wha…”
“Hunter! A little help here!”
“Shit.” Hunter takes Wrecker from under his left arm, Echo the right. “On three, pull him to stand.”
“Crosshair’s got a lock on us!”
“Then we hurry. One… two…”
Three.
A blue plasma beam shoots over their heads. Crosshair’s gun falls.
Helmeted heads turn upward, gravitating to the source. 
Omega.
She continues the assault, and whether purposeful or not she misses Crosshair each time, chasing him into the corridor.
Hunter and Echo drag Wrecker onto the ship. “Move Tech! Seal the doors!” He pulls Omega’s arm, removing her from view. “Are you okay?” He asks, kneeling. “Are you hurt?”
“Yes—No,” she says, shaken. “I’m okay.”
“So’s he. In case you were wondering,” Echo says. He struggles to lift Wrecker onto the nearest seat, moving his head up. “Cross hit the armor seam, took the brunt of the impact.”
“Still check him out, make sure nothing’s sprained,” Hunter instructs. “Tech!”
“Just a moment!”
“Get started,” he tells Echo. “While he’s still too out of it to complain.”
“Fine by me.”
“I am not out of it,” Wrecker objects. “I’m just—ouch!” Grabbing his shoulder, he glares at Echo. “Watch where you stick that thing.” 
“Just hold still, you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well I do—ow!”
Tech enters next, swerving by a laughing Omega. “Right then,” he says, tapping away at a handheld. “Don’t move.”
“Don’t examine me,” Wrecker grumbles. “I’m not a computer.”
“No,” Tech agrees. “Echo is far more agreeable than you.”
Things feel almost normal.
Almost.
Within the commotion, Omega leaves into the cockpit. She stays small, hands playing with themselves close to her chest. Lighting is minimal, mixes of red, whites, and blues. She stops at the window, Hunter follows.
“Your first time in space?” He asks. 
“First time anywhere,” Omega says. Her eyes are blown like saucers, dancing connecting lines between each star. “I’ve only seen pictures.”
Hunter clears his throat. “Impressive shot back there… Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never fired a blaster before,” she shrugs. “They’re not as heavy as they look. I guess I got lucky.”
“She’s not the only one,” Tech says. The rest of the Batch enters, filing behind while Tech takes control. Wrecker mutters about his strength, denying any possibility of failing to a blaster. Echo pats his back.
“Sure thing Wrecker.”
“I’m serious!”
“Course you are.”
A space of silence falls, a natural prompting for the lack of noticeable sarcastic commentary.
No one fills it. 
“So,” Tech says. “What’s the plan, Hunter?”
“It was to go off on our own,” he says. “Lay low. But with Crosshair gunning for us, I’m not so sure.”
“What about your friends?” Omega asks. “Could any of them help?”
Tech snorts. “That would be a short list.”
But not nonexistent.
“I can think of one,” Hunter says. “Plot a course for J-19.”
Echo repeats. “J-19?”
“We know a guy.”
Wrecker laughs, fist pumped in the air. “Yeah!”
“Strap in,” Hunter tells Omega, guiding her in the co-pilots seat. “You’re not gonna wanna miss this view.”
Jumping into hyperspace, Omega holds a million stars in her eyes. It’s here and now that Hunter decides he will do anything he can to make sure they never fade. 
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Odella arrives at the Drios homestead by the late afternoon, the hour long pebbled trail building blisters on her feet. Set in the middle of nowhere, crops rotted over, soil closer to dust. From her position, gridlocked on the road, a home on either side. The right being the stranger to the situation. By the looks of it, a completely abandoned home. Weeds and vines towering and gripping to exterior walls. Windows boarded, paint weathered and chipped. The other, exactly what Al explained. Run down, white, dirty. One old man sat in a rocker.
Bingo.
Her approach is overly cautious, lowering her hood, not speaking until at the base of the steps. “Hello,” she says. “Are you Kyr Drios?”
The man wears patched overalls, worn at the knees, a rolled cigarette between his fingers. He rests with closed eyes, straw hat shading his face. “I ain’t buying it,” he says.
Odella blinks. “Sorry?”
“I said I ain’t buying it,” he repeats, louder. “Take your catalogue elsewhere.”
“Catalogue?” She whispers. She’d seen a few of the door to door types on Coruscant, those from the lower levels, Underworld. Usually selling makeup or cheap knickknacks just to make a dime. What relevance that had now is lost on her. “I’m not here to sell anything,” she says. “I was wondering if you could spare a moment of your time to—“
“No.”
“What?”
“What are you deaf?”
“No?”
He scoffs. “Don’t sound too sure.”
“Right,” Odella says. “I’m new in the area and I happened to run into a friend of yours—“
“I ain’t got friends.”
No kidding.
“Point is, we got to talking and he said—“
“Who?”
“Oh, Al? From the diner, just down—“
“I know it.”
Her lips press into a tight line, nodding. “Well, Al gave me this.” Her hand juts out, bag of take out swinging. “He said it’s your favorite, and I’m not supposed to say but I think there’s pie in there too.”
“Huh.”
“Smells like jogan.”
Only now does he care to actually look at Odella. She smiles. He rolls his eyes. “Set it by the door, then get out.” 
“I’m not done.”
Kyr groans. “Course not.”
“Like I said, I’m new in town and… I don’t know if you’ve heard of this new Empire thing going on but—“
“No.”
She claps. “If I could get one sentence out—“
“My answer is no. I ain’t giving you money, and you sure as shit ain’t squattin’ here.”
“I’m not asking to squat!” Odella cries. “Squatters don’t ask, they just squat. If I wanted to squat here I’d just do it. Now, if you could shut up and listen to me for more than five seconds of your life you’d know I don’t want your money and I don’t want to squat here! Al said you need help. I’m help. Whatever you need, I’m here. All I need is a place to sleep. That’s not squatting, that’s an exchange of service.”
Kyr doesn’t miss a beat. “Girl, get off my property before you meet my gun.”
“Fine!” Odella laughs, raising her hands. “I don’t want to live here anyways. And just so you know it’s not going to kill you to say please and no thank you. And maybe, just maybe, let someone else talk!” She storms down the steps, creaking under her feet.
At the bottom, she comes back, placing the food at the door with a thud. 
“I’ll have you know that in the past week I have been victim of two terrorist attacks, persecuted, damn near possessed, found out my family hates me, found out my older sister wants to kill me, smuggled by a goddamn pirate who makes less sense than a literal green goblin who raised me, hit on, and everyone I know is dead! And now I’m here, bothering you and I wish I weren’t because Maker knows you have no one in your life for a reason, but I am. Because guess what Kyr, we don’t always get what we fucking ask for!” At the end, Odella’s face is as red and warm as Dathomir. She sighs, wholly antagonized, then smiles. “Have a good day.”
She makes it farther this go around, trudging through a path to the broken picket fence. In hindsight, Odella blames Elenia for this entirely. She never used to be confrontational before their meeting, content to keep her head down and do as told.
That version of herself feels a millennia away now.
Odella marches back up the porch, much to Kyr’s annoyance, arms crossed, scowl threatening to be permanent.
“Girl, I told you—“
“Shut up,” she says. “Is that your garden?” Her thumb jutting over her shoulder.
“What?”
“What are you, deaf? Is that your garden?” She repeats.
Kyr narrows his gaze. He nods. “It is.”
“How was your last harvest?”
“What are you on about?”
“You’re a farmer right? How was your harvest?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Not great, right? Your soil’s dried up, roots are dead, I doubt you’re doing a proper rotation to let anything heal. I’m guessing you can’t make it to market as often as you’d like either.”
“I’m givin’ you ten seconds to get off my property.”
“I can help you,” Odella says. “I garden, I know plants. I can get you the best harvest you’ve seen in your life. Just give me until next season and I’ll prove it. I’ll take care of everything, I’ll even go to market for you and you can keep all the profit. I just need somewhere to stay, as soon as the season is done I’ll be out of your hair forever. I promise.”
“The hell are you doing here girl? Don’t lie to me.”
“Ask the pirate,” Odella answers, blunt. “I don’t have family or friends or anyone I can go to. All I’m asking for is one season. Three months that’s all.”
For a long time, Kyr says nothing at all. He blows smoke, tapping his foot, rocking his chair. Then, “Can you fight?”
“What?”
“You ain’t picked the safest area to run away to. Girl your size, gotta be able to protect herself.”
Odella nods. “I can fight.”
“Well?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“You shoot?”
“I can.”
“Shy bout killin someone?”
“I’ve done it before.”
Kyr’s brows raise, the answer unexpected. He nods, purposeful. “I got a room in the attic,” he says. “It’s busted to hell, but if you’re willing to fix it up, it’s yours.”
“Yes,” Odella responds immediately. “Yes. Yes that’s no issue.”
“This ain’t charity. If you’re living here you’re puttin in work. I’m old. Meaning, I’m too old for teenage bullshit. Won’t stand for it.”
“Well, actually I’m twenty so—“
“I don’t care. I don’t stand for it. I don’t want friends over. No parties. No boyfriends.”
“Trust me, I’m not here to make waves.”
“And imma need someone to clean, cook, make sure this damn place don’t fall apart.”
“Deal.”
“I ain’t paying ya either.”
“Al offered me a job.”
He sighs, sounding like Yoda. Odella almost laughs. “You aren’t giving up. Are you?”
“No sir,” she says. “I’m very stubborn.”
He nods. “Alright.”
“Alright?”
“You can stay. Just for the season, then you’re out. Got it?”
“Yes,” she says. “Yes. Understood. Thank you. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”
He snorts, flicking away his roll. “Better not,” he mutters. “So what’s your name?”
“My name?”
“I gotta call you something don’t I?”
Odella’s hand falls to her collar, gripping the crystals from over her shirt. A name… It comes without hesitation.
“Avana,” she says. “Avana Tarré.”
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Next: SUPPLEMENTAL DATA III
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jedinightsister · 29 days
Text
A lot of folks have been obsessing over Crosshair with that latest ep (myself included ofc 😌)
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so my question is...
WHERE IS OUR CROSSHAIR X READER FICS YALL.
especially to use him saying "finally" as some kinda prompt idk.
Come on fic writers, im counting on you. 😩
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