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dystopicjumpsuit · 4 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 22

The Desire

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings and tags: negative self-talk; Gregor having none of it; SMUT; it's finally happening; oral sex; fingering; body worship; PIV sex; I literally screamed and cried and threw my hands in the air when I typed the last line; I love them so much I can't even

Suggested Listening (strongly recommended, actually; I couldn't believe how perfectly this song fit the chapter when I heard it the first time):

Summary: 😏

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

Between the desire and the spasm

… falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

“Are you all right?” Gregor asked, his soft eyes trained on Cerra’s.

She nodded. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Karking it up like I do everything,” she said.

His eyebrows snapped together. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you deserve better,” she said. “You should be with someone who—”

“I know what I want,” he interrupted before she could talk herself out of it. “It’s you.”

Her breath stilled. “It is?”

“Since the moment I met you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.

He giggled quietly. “Are you serious?”

“No need to be rude,” she said, affronted.

“I’m not trying to be,” he replied. “It’s just the truth. You weren’t ready to move on, and you didn’t need someone pressuring you. You needed a friend, and if you decide that you’re never ready for more than that, then I’ll still be the luckiest man in the karking galaxy to be the one who’s there for you.”

Her eyes burned. She dropped her forehead to rest against his neck, and he wrapped his arms gently around her back, rubbing comforting circles between her shoulder blades.

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

“True,” Gregor agreed cordially, pulling a reluctant chuckle from her as she smacked his shoulder. “Sorry, were you done floggin’ yourself, or did I interrupt? I could come back later…”

“Gods, you’re the worst,” she laughed.

“You can keep going if you want. Or…” he paused and kissed her shoulder softly. “We could…” He kissed her again, closer to her neck. “Try something else.”

He licked along her skin until he reached the base of her throat. She tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck as she inhaled deeply.

“Gregor,” she sighed.

“Mmm,” he rumbled, working his way down her sternum.

His bare hand slipped up her waist and beneath her bra to cup her breast. She took in a soft, deep breath as she arched her body into his touch. The rough fabric of his glove scraped lightly across her tender skin as he slid his other hand under the band of her bra. He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to tug the garment over her head, and then his lips closed around her nipple as his tongue swirled over her.

“You taste amazing,” he whispered against her skin.

He dropped his hands to her hips to dip beneath the compression suit and coax it down her legs. She shifted in the seat to ease its progress, and Gregor took shameless advantage of her momentary helplessness to drag her to the edge of the seat and spread her thighs wide over his broad pauldrons as his mouth worked its way down her body, kissing, licking, biting, sucking.

He reached her pelvis at last, slowing his progress as he inched lower with aching deliberateness until at last his tongue dipped into her. Her reaction was electric. She convulsed with a cry, her body hypersensitive from years of denying her physical needs. Her thighs tightened around him as she practically levitated off the seat. He gripped her hips and pressed her back down, his strong fingers digging into her flesh. He swirled his tongue around her clit and into her cunt.

“Fuck!” she sobbed as her fists tightened in his hair. “Fuck, fuck, Gre—”

He groaned against her and murmured something indecipherable. His hand brushed over her knee, then drifted leisurely up the inside of her thigh, taking his time despite her desperation. By the time he finally reached his target and eased two fingers into her, she was shaking and writhing beneath him, and that delicious stretch was all it took to push her beyond the limits of her control.

In her deprived, overwrought state, her body took over and hurled her into an unexpected orgasm that shattered her vision and wrenched a broken scream from her throat. His thick, agile fingers dragged inside her, working to prolong her climax as he gazed up at her with an expression of utter bliss and adoration in his eyes.

He gentled his movements as she came down from her high. He kissed the soft skin of her abdomen, and she tugged ineffectually at his cuirass, trying vainly to pull him closer to her. He lifted her naked body off the chair and settled her on his lap. In his full armor, he wasn’t a particularly comfortable seat, but she snuggled her face against his neck through the soft black fabric of his undersuit as she shuddered and trembled in his embrace.

They sprawled on the floor of the cockpit, bathed in the gentle, warm glow of the nebula. Gregor cradled her in his arms, circling his thumbs slowly across her bare skin as he rested his cheek against her head. He stroked his fingers lightly over her short, velvety hair.

“Your hair is so soft,” he whispered. “I’ve never seen it this long.”

“Didn’t exactly have a way to keep it shaved while I was rotting in the Venator brig,” she replied with a low laugh.

“I like it,” he replied, pressing his lips against her head, and then again behind her ear, and a third time, along the side of her neck.

”Yeah?”

”Mm-hmm,” he hummed, his voice vibrating gently on her sensitive skin.

“Should I grow it back out?”

”Not unless you want to.” His warm breath sent a shiver through her as he whispered next to her ear. “You’re hot as fuck either way.”

She sighed happily and trailed her fingertips up his arm, looking for the small gaps between the plastoid where she could feel his body heat through the undersuit.

“You are wearing way too much armor,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “Have to admit the codpiece is feeling a little tight.”

She huffed quietly and unclipped his vambraces, tugging them off his forearms and setting them aside. She interlaced her fingers with his and slowly pulled off his remaining glove, allowing it to drop to the floor. Next, she fumbled with his rerebraces and grumbled under her breath.

“Why is this so karking hard to take off?” she asked as irritably as she could, considering that her brain was still flooded with a blissful post-orgasmic haze.

“Because the point is for it to stay on,” he said.

She arched an impatient brow at him, and he shot her a smug grin.

“A little help?” she asked.

He brushed his fingers beneath her jaw and tilted her face up so he could kiss her, then leaned back and began to pull off his upper body armor, stacking it one piece at a time as he did. As he worked, Cerra began to trace her fingers across the bare skin of his neck and the base of his skull. His eyes flicked to hers, and he smirked, continuing his task. Undaunted, she leaned close and licked the shell of his ear softly. He shivered, and she heard his breath catch, but his concentration didn’t break.

Once he was stripped down to his waist, though, he had his revenge. He wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over so she was lying on her back with his body between her thighs. The durasteel floor was hard and cold against her skin, and she was briefly, ridiculously relieved that she’d had the cleaning droid work over the freighter the day before she left for Daiyu. Gregor covered her body with kisses as he fumbled with his belt.

She wrapped her legs around his waist with a soft giggle, and he nipped at her skin in retaliation, rocking his codpiece against her. Her breath caught, and she moaned at the pressure.

“Kriff, don’t make those noises,” he rasped. “I can barely fit in this codpiece as it is.”

“Bragging?” she teased.

“Stating a fact,” he replied, grazing his lips lightly over her bruised shoulder. “You taste like bacta.”

“I thought you said I tasted amazing,” she said.

“You do,” he replied. “But this part of you also tastes like bacta.”

She heard a clatter of duraplast, and Gregor grunted in relief, having successfully freed himself from the codpiece while he distracted her.

“Maybe you should kiss me somewhere else, then,” she suggested, cupping her hand under his chin to bring his face toward hers. “Hey, soldier. My lips are up here.”

He gazed at her mouth. “I don't want to hurt you again.”

Her heart lurched.

“Please,” she whispered.

He swallowed. Raising his hand to her cheek, he caressed her with utmost tenderness, barely touching his thumb to her lower lip. He glanced uncertainly up at her eyes, and he leaned down slowly, pausing close to her face, but not quite making contact.

“Cerra…”

“I trust you,” she breathed.

The touch of his lips was so soft it was almost imperceptible. Her eyes fluttered closed as her lips parted, as though she could block out every distraction and only drift in the sensation of his kiss. She teased his lips with the tip of her tongue, encouraging him to kiss her more deeply, and he complied with incredible care, taking his cues from her, but pulling away far sooner than she would have preferred. Perhaps it was for the best; her judgment was not to be trusted when she wanted him to consume her.

He nuzzled her cheek gently. “Your lips taste like bacta, too. Worth it, though.”

She laughed quietly as he sat up. She smoothed her hands up his torso, slipping her fingertips into the magseal of his undersuit and easing it open. The suit gave way to reveal the broad expanse of his chest, and he shrugged out of the top of the suit. From her vantage point on the floor, Cerra stared up at him, admiring the way the soft golden light glazed his warm, smooth skin and reflected in his amber eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, and she longed to touch him.

She traced her fingertips up his abdomen, then flattened her palms against him. Gods, it had been so long since she’d felt someone else’s skin against her own. She glided over his pectorals and up to his shoulders, then back down again to ease the undersuit further down his hips until his cock sprang free, fully erect. Closing her hand around him, she squeezed gently, and a glossy bead of precum appeared at the tip. She licked her lips at the sight and started to lean toward him.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, pressing her back down to the floor.

She looked up at him, startled. “You don’t like—”

“Not until you’re healed,” he said firmly.

“Not even a taste?” she asked, giving him the softest tooka eyes she could muster.

“Absolutely not,” he replied. “Those big eyes don’t fool me. I know you, Cerra. You won’t stop until you get what you want, and we are not playing that game right now.”

“You’re no fun,” she pouted.

“Oh, I can think of plenty of other ways we can have fun,” he grinned.

“Do any of them start with moving to a bunk?” she asked. “This floor is ridiculously hard.”

“It’s not the only thing,” he laughed.

He stood, then pulled her to her feet. She seized the opportunity to wrap her fingers around his cock again, dragging her hand over it slowly. She brushed her thumb over the tip, and then raised it to her mouth, flicking her tongue out to taste the clear fluid as mischief danced in her eyes.

“Fuck,” Gregor groaned. “You are testing my limits.”

“Oh, no, anything but that,” she whispered.

“I should’ve known you’d be a brat,” he giggled, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder as she shrieked with delighted laughter.

He carried her down the corridor to the crew quarters and selected one at random, depositing Cerra on the bed carefully. She sat up to watch him with open admiration as he removed his remaining armor and undersuit.

Holy kriff, he was built. She’d spent months trying not to look at him too closely, trying to avoid the inevitable reminders of Fives. As he stripped, though, she finally let herself take a good look. He did resemble Fives—that was inescapable—but there were differences as well. The scars were different; the tattoos were different. Gregor was older than her husband had ever had a chance to be, and she could see it in his body. Between that and the commando’s genetically enhanced muscle density, he was broader and bigger than Fives, and she was quietly relieved. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to sort through her confusion if his body had been truly identical to Fives.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, and she raked her gaze slowly up his body until she met his eyes.

“Very much,” she said, her voice low and husky.

He crawled onto the bed, caging her between his arms and legs. She reached up to stroke the side of his neck as he kissed her, and she could feel the pulse of his racing heartbeat beneath her fingertips. He pressed her back slowly until she lay on the bed. She slid her hands up his thighs as he straddled her hips, shifting beneath him to try to press herself closer to his body, but he held himself back from her.

She made an indignant little noise of protest and tried to pull him down, but he didn’t budge. He just kept kissing her with utmost gentleness when she wanted him to ruin her. She could feel his cock brushing against her abdomen, rock-hard, hot, and already slick with need.

She knew he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. Reaching between their bodies, she wrapped her hands around his cock and stroked him languidly. He broke away from her mouth with a groan and rested his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Fuck, I’m trying to be careful, but you’re not making it easy,” he rasped.

“I can take it, Gregor,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be careful.”

He pushed himself back, sinking down so his thighs rested on top of her hips, trapping her in place. He stared down at her, shaking his head slightly. He trailed his fingertips over her cheek.

“Kriff, you’re so beautiful,” he said. “All the times I imagined this, I never once thought it might actually happen.”

“You imagined it?” she asked.

He giggled. “All the time. That day that we went to the market, I almost came in the shower just from hearing the sounds you were making. Didn’t even have to touch myself.”

Her eyes widened. “You were so quiet! I thought you were mad at me.”

“I had the water as cold as it would go, and I was reciting all the components of a DC-17m in my head.”

She pondered for a moment. “Is that why you were so relaxed when you came out? Because you—”

“Took care of things,” he said with a shrug. “What else was I supposed to do? Walk around the garage with a raging hard on?”

She laughed and captured his wrist, pressing her lips into his palm, then kissing a trail up his forearm. “Maybe I would have gotten a clue sooner if you had.”

He smiled, but his eyes were troubled. “All the times I imagined it, I never thought it would be like this.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He barely touched his hand to her injured shoulder, and she flinched involuntarily.

“See?” he asked. “I can’t just… take you—as much as I want to. I’ve got to be careful with you. I’m still working out the best strategy.”

Her heart lurched. Of course. Even now, he was watching her back: protecting her, even from himself.

“It doesn’t have to be that complicated,” she whispered. “We can just… start. And if it feels good, we can keep going, and if it hurts, we can try something else.”

He moved his fingertips lower, skimming over her breasts and circling her nipples. “Is this all right? Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “So good.”

He made a pleased little hum and shifted, moving to sit behind her on the bed and drawing her back against his chest. He continued to play with her breasts as she leaned against him, feeling the rigid length of his cock press against her back. He kissed the side of her head, and then the shell of her ear, working his mouth slowly down her neck and onto her shoulder. Her eyes drifted closed, and she sighed softly.

Encouraged by her reaction, his hand stole down her body and in between her thighs, his fingers brushing over her clit with feather-light pressure, again and again, before slipping into her. She was beyond ready, and he met no resistance as he sank into her slick warmth. She heard his breath stutter harshly.

“Holy kriff,” he groaned. “You are so wet, my gods.”

He worked her open gently, and she couldn’t hold back her tiny, breathless sounds of pleasure.

“Kark, you drive me wild when you make those noises,” he whispered, grinding his cock against her lower back.

She squirmed against him, desperate to feel more. “Please, please—”

“What is it, love?”

“I need more,” she said. “I need you.”

He pressed his lips against her neck, just below her ear. “You can have me, then.”

He withdrew his fingers from her body and guided her around until she sat in his lap, facing him as he aligned his cock with her cunt and sank gradually into her. She tilted her hips to accommodate him, breathing hard, as he stretched her in ways she hadn’t felt in years. Lovely, strong, warm hands massaged across her back and shoulders, pulling her close to him as he gazed up into her eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak. He kissed her again, so gently, so carefully, as he began to move. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding tightly as their bodies worked in perfect synchrony, their hips rolling together, their breath coalescing. He dropped his head to rest on her sternum, and she leaned her cheek against his hair as she slid her hands up the back of his head.

He shifted their angle slightly, his hands descending to grip her hips as he began to drive into her harder and faster, thrusting against a place deep inside her in a way that rapidly stoked the tension in her body until she felt as though every muscle and nerve had wound itself into an impossibly tight knot at the base of her spine.

He reached between their bodies and pressed his fingers against her clit, working in tiny, frantic circles, until all her muscles seized, arching her back and clamping her legs around his waist as she shattered. She barely heard his hoarse grunt as he thrust into her one last time, burying himself as deeply as she could take him, emptying into her as she sobbed with pleasure.

He whimpered quietly as his lips found hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as she rode out the last few moments, drawing out the pleasure until her muscles gave out and she collapsed against him. He held her close to him and leaned them back until they were lying on the bed. Her head rested against his chest, and she listened as the pounding of his heart began to slow and the deep, gasping breaths of his lungs gradually returned to normal.

Exhaustion pulled at her. Her entire body felt boneless and relaxed—safe for the first time in weeks. Gregor toyed aimlessly with the short hair at the nape of her neck, and her eyes drifted closed as she sank into oblivion. As she crossed the threshold into unconsciousness, she wasn’t sure whether she heard or imagined his quiet whisper.

”I love you, too.”

---

Next chapter

#echo tbb #captain gregor #captain rex #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #clone trooper nemec #clone trooper fireball #star wars #the bad batch #star wars fanfic #tbb fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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veny-many · 5 months

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It's always kind of ironic that Commander Bacara, who was known as aggressive trooper, was also a man of law and order due to his fondness with Concord Journeyman protector culture.

Like "I will murder you with my bare hand!" And then "But I won't because I will follow the order and law you asshole" and just punches to knock them all

I can imagine what Bacara was like when he first met with Jedi who was his superior.

Bacara: You Jedis are odd and idiot in this war. But not that I can complain or transfer you because I'm not allowed to do that to my superior.

Mundi: ...Well at least you're honest.

And imagining Bacara being more... patient? Carefull? About their missions or negotiating with some criminals...?

Bacara: Wolffe, stop. You can't just kill them, we need some of them for information.

Wolffe: They killed my brothers, abducted and hurt innocents. Why we need to give them mercy!?

Bacara: Because that's the law! We can't just do something with eyes blinded by rage!

Wolffe: You just beat the kark out of that soldiers with your rifles!

Bacara: Well, at least they are still alive!

+) like Commander, like General

Bacara: Wolffe, enough! What would your General will react if you keep doing this!?

Wolffe: You still don't know us Bacara!

Bacara: Don't know about what...!?

Ki-Adi: Commander, let's just give a space and moment.

Bacara: You serious, General? Wolfpack will...

Ki-Adi: Master Plo Koon already preparing lightning. There's nothing we can do to stop him.

Bacara:

Wolffe: That's my General!!

Bacara: WHAT

#star wars #the clone wars #commander bacara #commander wolffe #my headcanon #my crack

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ramayantika · 1 month

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Overheard 2 friends talk about me

Girl A: *sees me sleeping* yaar isko tension hi nahi hai ekdum bache jaise soti hai

Roomie: arey yeh humesha vaise hi chill rehti hai voh utna padhti hai jitna usse score karna hai. Jitna ache se usse hoga utna hi karega baki nahi hoga agar toh nahi.

Girl A: iska marks bhi toh theek hi aata hai. Kal hi toh mast dance kar rahi thi pura phir HAP ke din subah mein stress mein answer theory sab bole jaa rahi hu yeh bas sirr hilake revise karke uth gayi

Roomie: haan yeh kabho extra stress tension nahi leti and marks bhi toh aata hai

Girl A: vahi hum stress leke marks laate hai yeh bhi utna le aati hai

Me: *dozes off*

--xx--

But yeah 2 days before end sems I was crying tf out in the hostel washroom and then wiped my tears, washed my face until eyes were dry and no longer red. I have had my share of stressing and driving my body and mind to exhaustion for exams so I decided that in college I would not repeat the same. I did cry because I got overwhelmed for a little while and then figured out how to prepare and I did which was calming

Also yeah sure I may not be the batch topper with my marks, but I used to study before exams too, so that helped with not having to study last minute. I like my course so I put in time to read and understand and also so that I could balance dancing too with all the exams we have been made to give

People see my chill laidback face but behind that there has been steady prep and also time investment. This time I don't feel nervous about my results like I used to. I know I will get the marks based on my writing and study prep and it will be decent enough

Once I used to be someone who thoughts exams grades and teacher remarks and the societal expectations shall comprise my whole world but I began getting out of that box. I still struggle sometimes with my identity because many see me as a non serious student who only dances, some see me as the middle class dreamy arts student who got forced into science, but I genuinely love learning science as well as my dance and writing.

#samridhi speaks #rant

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etoiline · 8 days

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this aching lonely place

(read with tags and characters on AO3 instead)

Maybe it’s the thunder, sounding like it’s crashing right over their heads, that makes the hand of whoever’s on the cutter slip, tilting the wing of the craft Cal and the rest of the crew are working on, so everyone’s balance is shot.

Maybe it’s the lightning that grounds itself into the now-disconnected cutter laser, burning out its power couple and causing the explosion that sends the whole crew flying, Cal included.

Maybe it’s the ozone that stings his nose when he finally inhales after his inelegant imitation of flying knocked the breath out of him, his entire chest protesting the motions of breathing.

Maybe it’s the metal that floods his mouth from his bitten tongue, worse than when the Guild tattooist had mistaken Cal’s fear of an echo from the well-used and poorly-cared-for tattoo gun for an frightened unwillingness to take the Scrapper Guild tracker and shoved a pewter bar, allover teethmarked already, into his mouth to take the screams as the tracker darkened his skin.

Maybe it’s the feeling of corrugated metal under his cheek, cold and wet and sharp, the imprints of thousands of footprints beating against his skull, none of them enough on their own to be called an echo, but together forming a chorus—that convinces Cal that he is in some pretty serious trouble.

And he’s alone. The Force is jagged here, and it slips through his grasping fingers, no living points of light nearby for him to use as an anchor, even if his connection wasn’t broken. He thinks he hears his name, shouted from above, but it’s distorted, far away, bouncing off walls and pools of water.

He’s alone.

Cal pushes himself up, leaning at a crazed angle on the wet wall behind him. He cradles his ribs with his arms and leans his pounding head against the plastoid cladding. Through bleary eyes he looks up, trying to find a path back...up, somewhere. There's no obvious egress, no handy pile of rubble leading back to where he'd been. The foreman had Cal working on the edge of the wing, and when it fell, he’d caught a few floors’ worth of metal with his chest, and the whole wing had fallen with him in it. He’s honestly sort of surprised he survived—if he’d been anywhere else he could still be falling, windmilling his way to the Ibdis Maw. He tries to tell his ribs to be grateful, but they don’t believe him.

He’s in a hallway of the scrapped Venator, crew quarters, he thinks. Pressing a hand against the wall, he stumbles forward until he can hang onto the edge of a door, peering inside. The layout of the Albedo Brave plasters itself on Cal’s eyelids. All the ships are designed the same way, so transferring from one to the other is easy, even if the ship is broken, like this one. He takes a moment to get his bearings, then nods. Definitely crew quarters: the tattered remains of blankets and mattresses lie tossed about, and the body of a clone trooper—

Before he can faint at the sight of that too-familiar armor, before he loses himself in the grief of his clone brothers turning on him, before he sinks into the memories of high-fiving Commander Cryo hard enough that the commander jokes his charge will take the yellow paint right off his pauldron—Cal blows out a breath, really looks at the armor and realizes it’s just the plastoid itself and doesn’t actually contain a body (which is good, because the position that it's in...doesn't really seem anatomically possible). He’s still alone here. No one left on this ship but ghosts.

Kark but it’s cold down here. His poncho is soaked through—he really should have spent the credits on a new waterproofing job—and one knee of his scrapper pants sprung a hole on the way down, so he stumbles into the room and sorts through the scraps, hoping to find one dry enough to use as a little cover. With one hand clamped around his ribs, it’s slow going, but finally Cal finds a not-too-fragmented piece he can swirl around his shoulders. It smells of must but doesn’t fall apart when he tugs it close over his chest, which is about all Cal feels like he can ask right now. It’s even mostly free of echoes, just soft things he can brush away like cobwebs, or dreams.

The synthweave does its job, reflecting his body heat back at him, and if Cal lets out a quiet sob—that echoes in the empty, broken space—there’s no one here to tell him not to.

He shuffles out of the room, trailing a gloved hand along the off-true wall, letting the echoes of clone troopers brush past his gloves. He has the unsettling idea that if he let himself fall into an echo here he might never come out of it, might be stuck on this broken wing, living someone else’s memory, until he starved.

So he doesn’t listen to the echoes, instead moving toward the end of the crew quarters, where he knows there will be a lift—which won’t be working, of course, but where there’s a lift, there are stairs, and stairs will get him out of here. Even if he has to climb all 70 levels, he’ll get out of here, and away from all these echoes and memories.

Cal finally finds the lift, its door helplessly fallen at an angle, counts over seven panels, and bangs on the one he ought to find the stair access behind—it’s blessedly hollow-sounding, and he finds the tab to pull to reveal the stair access. The panel doesn’t want to bend—or bend again, given its current state—but Cal manages to remove it, though it leaves him winded and panting against his bruised ribs. The sign inside informs Cal he’s on floor 57 of the Chalcene Thunder, which makes him sigh at the upcoming effort, but also that he’s not on a ship he knew. If he does come across any bodies they won’t be friends, or clones who used to be friends…

There’s hardly any light in the stairwell, only what comes through cracked plastoid and bent metal as lightning flashes outside, and his saber is tucked away in its hideyhole in his tiny apartment, so Cal climbs by feel, only pausing when his bruised ribs protest enough that he can’t catch his breath. When he reaches a tiny landing, he all but collapses against the wall, staying mostly upright because he knows that if he falls over, he’s going to pass out from the pain. Just a few breaths, then move on, he tells himself, pushing off the wall. No one is going to find him in here, so he has to keep moving. He takes a step in the darkness, only to trip over something soft, and Cal sprawls to the floor, his hands flying out to catch himself, tangling in the fabric of whatever tripped him—

“Run, Deonis! Get to the stairs, it’s the only way out—”

He stares at his Master, their lightsaber flashing, deflecting one blaster bolt, another, but it’s not enough, and one burns into the floor near his feet, setting Deonis jumping. He turns halfway, but doesn’t want to leave his Master, so he draws his saber, moving into the guard they’ve been practicing, but it’s not the right stance for this, because he misses the next bolt and it drills into the shoulder of his dominant arm and it burns, and he coughs, and his Master turns at his agonized sound, and there’s a violent orange hole through their belly and they fall—

“Go,” they whisper, and Deonis is flung through the air with his Master’s Force, fetching up against the emergency exit and there are troopers simply marching over his Master’s body, coming for him, and he scrambles for the latch and pulls at it, makes it through—

but there’s a new burn in his stomach and he stares down at the perfectly neat circle in his robes, brown at the edges, the smell of burnt fabric strong in his nose, and he goes to his knees because he’s so confused, that the troopers shouldn’t be trying to kill them and his robes shouldn’t look like that, and there’s a blaster’s whine near his head—

Cal inhales with a whoop as the echo dissipates, breathing through Deonis’ pain, trying to convince his brain that he wasn’t dead like the poor Padawan at his feet. This death could have been his, if Master Tapal hadn’t saved him, if they hadn’t trained to escape a Venator, if he hadn’t flung his measly Force at the troopers who’d just that morning been joking about the severe lack of educated conversation on the ship as he tried to join them. Cal carefully opens his senses in search of Deonis’ lightsaber, but no kyber sings nearby—either it’s fallen too far or been crushed or Cal’s jagged connection to the Force can’t listen for it anymore. The Padawan died alone and scared, so Cal keeps his hand on the decaying fabric and desiccated tissue underneath for a moment longer, breathing out a blessing in the Force for his fellow Jedi, hoping he found peace in that which binds all things.

It could have been him, here, but somehow it wasn’t. And if Cal wants to get out of this lonely aching place, he’s going to have to keep climbing, until someone can hear him, until he’s not alone, aside from the echoes.

So he climbs, one hand on the rusting railing, one hand supporting his ribs, slipping on the odd angles of the treads, until the stairs abruptly end, the wall crumpled and torn where it had ripped away from the main body of the ship. He can see waving lights above him, bobbing as folks walk the treacherous line between the sheared-off wing and the void. If he shouts, will they hear him?

He tries, though at first nothing comes out of his dry throat. How long has it been since he fell? It’s dark, but it’s always dark on Bracca in storms like this. At least the rain has let up a little, and Cal tilts his face to the sky, letting a little of the metallic droplets wet his tongue. A few drops won’t kill him, not today. Swallowing, he tries again, and this time his voice works, and one of the dancing lights turns his way.

Faintly he hears his name, in an achingly familiar tone. “Prauf!” he shouts back, waving his free arm and wincing when the stretch hits his ribs. He thinks he hears something about rope and wait and he does just that, startling at the wet slap of rope as it slithers down the stairs. Someone has already tied a loop for him to step into, and Cal gathers up some of the slack and tugs hard until he feels resistance, and the rope goes taut above him as someone pulls the rope up and up and up.

Cal looks down at the broken wing as he’s lifted into the air, fingers white against the rope. The twisted metal is a tomb, and Cal wonders if anyone else is ever going to find Deonis’ body, or if the Maw will simply devour it as a matter of course. Cal will never be able to go back there, not alone, and he’ll never be able to tell anyone why he would want to go back to it without exposing himself.

He looks above him, just able to see Prauf’s face, creased with effort and worry as the Abednedo hauls away at the rope, and tries to find comfort in knowing he won’t die alone, at least not today.

Prauf reaches down to pull at Cal’s scrapper harness when he’s close enough to the edge, and Cal finds himself suddenly on mostly level ground, engulfed in Prauf’s embrace, the rest of Cal’s squad slapping Prauf on the shoulders and laughing the slightly unhinged laughter of those who have cheated death for another day.

“Glad you’re back with us, Cal,” Prauf says. “Thought we’d lost you there for a minute.” He hugs Cal tight, smelling of metal and wet and familiar and alive.

Cal thinks of Deonis and squeezes Prauf back, ignoring his ribs. He’s not alone anymore.

#calkestisweek2024 #day 3 prompt: alone #jedi fallen order #cal kestis #order 66 #jen writes

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Text

Sorry, Wrong Comms! : Hunter x Medic!Reader [Chapter 12]

Warnings and Information: Intended audience is 13+ (18 if you squint). Should know the drill on my use of Mando'a, italics and my headcanons by now if you've been following along with the AU series this far. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Last chapter starts with an undefined time skip. Dinner at the Batcher's and poor Omega’s sick. Hello again Captain Rex! Blaster injury leads to an after-hours visit to the clinic. Some "Protective Brother Energy" from Rex in multiple forms, including some Anger™. Brief mentions of medical paraphernalia including bacta and an auto-injector. Lots of flashback dialogue. Compromise and good brotherly stuff all around. You want MORE domestic Clone stuff to end this series with?! You got it! Hunter's room got a mini-makeover with a very special little edition. Hunter is so “whipped” for Medic!Reader, you got him trained and everything to take better care of himself. Couple of suggestive lines and lots of soft!Hunter.

Word-count: 6,259

Hunter carefully collected the dishware from the table and set them in the sink after stopping it up to let everything soak for a moment. "Good chow, Echo. Thanks for doing the cooking tonight." he smiled appreciatively, patting the ARC trooper on the shoulder before rolling his sleeves up tight across his toned forearms to keep them out of the waterline as he got the dishes clean.

"Of course. Thought we could use it after a day in the heat, for most of us. Appreciate the help too, [____]!" Echo calls out into the common area, squeezing past his brother with a damp cloth in hand to wipe down the counters.

"Happy to help, Echo. And dinner was definitely different, but delicious." she calls back in a jovial tone. "Do you want some more nuna noodle soup, Omega?"

"Not really… not feeling very hungry." Omega murmured distractedly, and there was a sound of shifting fabric that was nearly missed by Hunter's ears under the sharp trill of Echo's communication device clipped to his belt.

Breep-reep-reep!

"More messages with the Captain? At this hour?" Hunter asks, recognizing the sound. "Guess that also means he's back." he added as Echo stopped what he was doing to read the exchange.

"...hurt, too."

Hunter let the surprise get the best of him and he swore. Something about the hint of worry in Echo's voice. "Oh kark. How bad is it?"

Hey brother. Know of a good bar open around this time with a good variety? Got a real itch for some Green Milk Coolers.

"... that's your code?" Hunter knew that Rex and Echo had, likely, regularly strategized together during the Clone Wars, but a whole code based around galactic drinks and the best planets to find them on? That seemed like an odd choice. Echo only chuckled weakly. "Not our best work, sure. But it works."

"Can you ask him what his ETA will be?" He should go out into the common room of the house and cut [____] in on the deal. She was busy talking with (or to) Omega about some pictures, sounded like, so Hunter wasn't sure if she'd heard about the possible situation while she was keeping his sister company. About three days or so now, Omega had woken up and stumbled into the rest of the house, notably looking rather miserable. No infectious, sunny smile so early in the morning for a kid her age. No appetite, either. And then the sniffles started, the first big clue of a coming fever.

His sister was curled up in [____]'s lap, cheek planted on the medic's shoulder as she snuggled into the woman's chest for comfort, the pair loosely wrapped in the blanket together on the two-seater. In [____]'s hands she held her datapad, thumbing through her pictures and showing them to the little, blonde Clone in hopes of distracting and soothing her. "Hah! Look at this one. Cross looks so serious in this one, doesn't he? I'd feel nervous if I was that fruit that had the nerve to be so expensive and spoil so quickly before he had a chance to enjoy them. Those were probably my favorite shots that day we spent on the mining planet."

It was a beautifully composed shot; Cross was settled on one knee in the shade of one of the shu'ah trees, the other leg kicked out slightly in front of him for balance, the saffron-orange hills of the desert landscape behind him slightly out of focus in the background. The stony expression may have suggested that the marksman was bored of this, or even angry in the picture, to the unfamiliar. But Hunter only sees the concentration in his brother's face, the little, cocky smile that would be hidden by the stock of the 773.

"Your pick, doc."

"The jogan fruit next!"

"Yes ma'am." A sharp ping! punctuated the silence after the sniper's purred reply, and the round fruit ruptured with the force of the shot, purple, syrupy juice staining the rock used in the shooting bench Wrecker had built for his brother.

"Nice shot, Cross. Fifth one, right?"

"Mm.You know what that means." Echo, Wrecker and [____] shared a little laugh together as Hunter dutifully took another pull from his hydropack. After Crosshair had had his nap, and [____] was certain that Hunter was not flirting with improper hydration anymore after resting inside the Havoc Marauder, they decided to keep everyone accountable; they'd all take sips from their water every fifth shot to keep their fluid levels up.

Omega picked her head off of [____]'s shoulder slightly to look up at her brother as he came around behind the two of them to look at the photo as well. "Hi, Hunter…"

"Hey, ad'ika. Sounds like we need to steal [____] from you so she can go help Captain Rex." Hunter said, tenderly smoothing down the little one's hair before laying a kiss into the crown of her hair.

"He's back then, sounds like. How badly hurt do we think he is?" the medic asks softly as Wrecker picks up their sister, offering to take a turn to cuddle with Omega. Hunter shrugs, "Not sure, he hadn't told Echo, far as I know."

She stood up, smoothing down her clothing, a tell that she was prepared to get to work. "Might not say 'til we meet him down at the clinic, either. So let's just be prepared for anything."

A recent mantra of sorts that she and the family of Clones had adopted. Their collective future in this galaxy was so uncertain, so unstable, so they should be prepared for the hard, dispiriting stuff. The chance that maybe, possibly, it wouldn't be safe for the Clones here anymore, and they'd have to pack up and leave this spaceport behind in the middle of the night (and [____] would be left behind). But they could also prepare for the possibility of a happier, brighter future.

A future where maybe, possibly, if they played their cards right… they could all live together, like a family. Damn the Empire: find a way to prevent them from establishing their hold here, and Hunter and his family wouldn't have to spirit away in the night. The seven of them could stay safe here, together; dare they hope for it, forever.

Echo stepped out of the kitchenette before Hunter spoke, "Okay. We'll walk there with you. Sounds like Rex wants to see a few of us for a "drink" besides just you, kid." She nodded agreeably, sharing a glance with him before Echo jogged into his bedroom to grab a few items. "That's okay. He probably wants to say hi to his brothers; make sure you're all okay and put his mind at ease."

Five of them found Rex pacing anxiously outside her clinic, one hand sweeping through his closely-shaved blonde hair again and again as a means of soothing himself, glancing around. They had to be careful for any possible Imperial walking around at this time. This wasn't exactly a squeaky-clean space port, but it certainly wasn't as seedy as a place like Mos Espa could be. (Or, was that Mos Eisley?)

Don't call him Captain, don't call him the rank, remember the script, she reminded herself, gently clearing her throat as a warning, walking ahead of the other four, who would enter the clinic after her through a side entrance once she's unlocked the door. "Thank you for being patient, sir. We can step inside and get your prescription for back pains sorted out now that you're off your late shift."

Rex's shoulders perked sharply, coming to attention now that he knew [____] was here. He could let his guard down slightly, trusting he was in good hands. "Th-thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it, truly. The larger health center couldn't fill the script so soon, and- Maker, not everyone would come back to help someone after they've gone home for the night…I appreciate it." He looked so genuinely relieved, the emotional lilt to Rex's voice was not part of the script. Working open the front door, she let Rex in ahead of her before stepping in afterwards.

"Glad you're back safe, Rex… They've been worried about you." [____] said, offering a comforting hug, mindful to be ginger since she wasn't sure where he'd been hurt or how bad it was. "'Course, it's not just your little brothers. Otherwise I wouldn't have agreed to help you on the down-low as well as them."

"I really do appreciate it, [____]." Rex echoed his earlier segment of the script, shoulders slumping further the longer she embraced him. (Stars… how long had it been since he'd last had a friendly hug?) "Should probably go let the others in." Breaching the side entrance once it was unlocked for them, Echo, Tech, Hunter and Crosshair joined Rex in the windowless waiting room, each greeting him.

Echo and Rex embraced longest, arms tight around their brother. "Good to see you safe, Captain."

"Glad to see you safe too, Echo."

Too late, [____] realizes that all the chatter in the waiting room will activate her medi-droid. It's hard to blame the blonde Clone for instinctually raising his blaster in the direction of the warm-up chime.

Ba-bing!

Zrrrr-oop!

"Easy, Captain. That's the droid Tech just repaired for her." Crosshair warns with a gentle chuckle, pushing the muzzle of the DC-17 to aim at the floor instead.

The 2-1B strides forward, moving smoother than they ever have before to address prospective clients. Tech hadn't just fixed up her medical assistant, but made things better. "Greetings and apologies, but I am afraid we are not open at this time."

[____] laughs, patting the chest plate of the medi-droid fondly to disarm them. "It's just me and a couple of friends, Patch."

"Oh, Miss [____]! I am sorry, I didn't realize it was you. I woke up so quickly from my charging port I did not get a chance to properly adjust my optical-" Maker, how she missed Patch and the unique way they fretted. Why did she stubbornly avoid breaking that karking warranty for so long? She should have let Tech repair Patch so much sooner.

"Your droid is nearly finished. We will be able to go back home once I've… replaced this very mangled bolt. Those pirates really did a number on P4TCH."

"Hey, no worries, Tech. Thank you again for repairing "Patch". I-I know I've been saying it a lot, but I just… While I was gathering things with Hunter last night I saw poor little P4TCH tucked in a corner of my back office and thought about what Crosshair said again. Decided to stop avoiding it and just go to someone I trust, rather than someone on the approved list that was supposedly warranty-friendly."

"I am happy to help a friend, as I have also kept saying. Besides, I looked at the wait-list…"

"Lemme guess: not quite so reputable like they claim? Or… it would have been a very long wait."

"Yes. And the repair wait-list is currently two standard years out for this droid's manufacturer and provider."

"Shit!"

"That is what I said too. Now… would you like to place the last bolt, [____]?"

The 2-1B series droid makes a sound that comes across a lot like a soft "oh" that makes the medic chuckle softly as she asks Hunter to get the lights turned on in her back office so she can treat Rex somewhere that offers a lot more privacy than one of the examination rooms with a window to the outside. "It's okay, Patch. Don't worry. You can go back to your charging port while I take care of a friend real quick. I insist."

It might not end up being a real quick affair, in truth. Rex had requested that Tech and Crosshair show up so they could provide him with advice from their areas of expertise for a future plan he had in mind for the Rebellion to, hopefully, do some serious damage to the Empire.

"What do you mean by selling Echo for 2000 credits!?" Rex roared with disbelief from the other room. Maker, thank the stars she'd invested in soundproofing her clinic after Clone Force 99 had dealt with her little pirate problem. Someone out in the street might have heard him at such a volume, otherwise.

"Er, C-Captain Rex, you missed the extra "zero" at the end here… It should read twenty-thousand credits. Which should be more than enough to acquire weapons on most aftermarkets for the rebel fighters and the liberated Clones from the transport ship who've gone into hiding." Tech offers meekly, ducking his head when [____] steps back into the back office and passes everything off to Hunter with a practiced motion.

Captain Rex does not look pleased with any of them, least of all the genius. "Th-that doesn't make it better! He is your brother! This is wrong!"

Echo stays silent, lips thin as they are pressed together while he simply just listens to the Captain ream the entire plan laid out to him. He figured Rex wouldn't like the idea, and had warned Tech but… holy kriff. Crosshair has smartly kept his mouth shut, not saying a word even when spoken to, something Hunter warned her about when [____] got an emergency call from the Captain just twenty minutes ago while enjoying dinner and their company afterwards at the batch's housing.

Captain Rex loved every brother he ever served with, but there'd been a lot of evidence to support him having an especially strong attachment to a few in particular that included Echo.

"Captain Rex was not afraid to throw punches when Crosshair called Echo "just another Reg" on the mission to find and extract him from the Techno Union if we could back on Skako Minor. It didn't help that Cross questioned Echo's loyalty after being left for dead on another mission during the Clone Wars. Something about a… cannon blast on Lola Sayu, right?"

"I do my best not to blame them: not exactly like they had the best circumstances to look for a body with the kinda hell that operation went to…" Echo said with a shrug, eyes fixed ahead as they took the long way around to her clinic.

She'd whimpered pitifully at the thought of that. "O-okay that's enough of that… I've heard enough. Can't be a kriffing mess to take care of an emergency patient…"

[____] has seen since meeting the Captain just how fiercely and deep his protective nature could go and the lengths at which he was willing to keep his brothers safe even if he wasn't their Captain in an official capacity anymore. He's going to shout himself red in the face given his way. She simply motions behind her to Hunter and he drops the item in her hand as she mentions it. "Mind the bacta spray, Rex."

The blonde Clone hisses sharply when the mist hits the burned skin of his upper arm, breaking him out of his sixth rendition of "you are not going to "sell" Echo dressed as a military prototype droid!" with the shock of the chill, thanks to the cooling agent in the compound. "I did warn you..." [____] murmurs with a sympathetic smile. "Let me know if you're not quite numb in about… five minutes." Hunter keys in the increment into the timer, selecting a sound other than the default. "Can I get you anything to drink for the moment while we wait? Or perhaps a ration bar?" Now that the Captain had taken a moment to calm down, she could see he looked just slightly pale, weary and shaking as the adrenaline flushed itself out of his system.

Hunter shook his head at the Captain as he began to speak, registering the look he's come to recognize in his significant other with much practice at this point. "No thank you, [____], I'll be-"

"Sorry, but "No" is not an option, Captain." Hunter warns him. He's come a long way since complying to the leftover compulsions of his already lower-than-average adherence to obedience within Clones by using rank quite so habitually like he once did. So has Rex, but sometimes, only sometimes, does he roll out the rank when talking to other survivors of the Clone Wars. "She means business." Hunter adds, nodding his head knowingly at [____]. A nod that tells the Captain to trust him, he knows what he's talking about.

She understands Hunter's turning the floor back over to her, biting back a grateful smile for his help. "How long's it been since you've had something to eat, Rex?" The uncomfortable silence was enough to tell her it'd been long enough. The "simple recon and supply smuggling" must have gone on longer than the Captain and his other network members had initially anticipated. Or, it had been completed within the timeframe, and he hadn't been taking care of himself since. His blood sugar levels must be low and contributing to the tremor he's developed. "Okay: I see how it is. Need something more than a ration bar, then. Cross? Mind running back and grabbing a plate for Rex?"

"... sure. I'll be back." he says in a muted voice. He's still acting cagey, not exactly eager in the first place to have walked with Tech down to the clinic when Rex had asked to hear the plan.

"You know your weapons, Crosshair. I want someone I trust to tell me what to look for in the aftermarkets after Tech goes over the plan you boys have pieced together so far."

The plan had been an exercise of compromise and trust. Hunter, admittedly not much closer than before to coming to a decision in his involvement with confronting the Empire when he was concerned about keeping his sister and now a girlfriend safe and undetected than before the transport ship incident, had come to Echo with an idea on a data drive.

"Hey, about the Captain's second mission… I'm not going to find myself on a list of brilliant strategists any time soon, but I think it would be a good way for you to assist him. I know you've been asking about how those in hiding now are adjusting. Take a look. See what you think and get back to me on it. I won't be offended if you tell me it's karking stupid."

"You… you mean it? Even if it really is 'karking stupid'?" Echo had teased him, turning the data drive over in his hand to inspect it.

"I mean it. You wanna help Rex. Don't let me stop you from going just because I'm not quite as ready and decided still."

Wrecker is the one who comes back with a tidily wrapped plate and a couple of "special short-term rations" instead of Crosshair five minutes after there's an on my way message from the marksman.

Nodding to the blaster injury, Wrecker mumbles a sympathetic "Hey, Cap'n. That doesn't look good…" before initially handing him the generous portion of Tatooine Terrine and Ahrisa. He hesitates seeing the twisting expression of grief in Rex's face.

Oh, right: General Skywalker of Tatooine… whatever had happened to him… had been Rex's commanding officer during the Clone Wars. That was a stupid thing to forget that some of his brothers had (oftentimes) taken interest in the native planets of their nat-born Generals. Captain Rex had probably been one of them. "Er… sorry Rex. Maybe you should take one of the vac-sealed sandwiches instead."

"It's… fine, Wrecker. Just how come you came back with the food when Crosshair went to get it?" The boyish giant just grumbled incoherently while scratching around the back of his head, stepping to the side when [____] needs the sharps bin after giving the Captain a final stim shot. He wasn't sure how to answer, but thankfully she could find a way to satisfy the Captain's inquiry. "Omega doesn't like being home alone. So on the occasion the other five take on a job for credits that takes more than a few days off-planet, she gets to hang out with me and Spoon at my place. Crosshair probably just thought he'd let Wrecker come say hello and do a better job of explaining the vac-sealed rations he's made while keeping Omega company."

Rex's face morphed into a confused frown. "How come Omega's not-" his gaze swung around to Hunter, eyebrow lifted high, "Omega never misses an opportunity to say hi. Was coming here to the clinic for a simple patch job really too dangerous for her to come along?" (What had happened this time that caused his brother's new-found protective streak to flare up that Omega didn't get to come? He'd hoped to give something to her…)

Hunter's jaw drops to say something, but he's waved off by both [____] and Wrecker. "No, nothing like that, Rex. Poor baby's got a stubborn case of the sniffles and mild fever she's trying to get over. Made it all the way through the usual season of various bugs that come crawling through this little spaceport without a scratch, but guess her luck just ran out." [____] frowns sympathetically, sharing a little look with Hunter.

He's got shadows under his eyes from not sleeping so well the past two nights back at his place; the door to his bedroom open so he can better keep an ear out for his sister amidst the hum of the humidifier and the drone of the sound machine in her room. Every other little sound from the occasional pawhp! as the house settles to someone shuffling into the kitchen for some water jolts him awake each and every time.

"Ah," Rex frowns, looking equally sympathetic, "poor little mite. Well, uh, let her know I hope she feels better soon." Maybe he'd give her the item some other time.

"Can do." [____] promises. "Alright… that should be everything to take care of the blaster burn; anything else I can do for you while you're here, Rex? Afraid I don't have a bacta tank… just yet," she pauses and gives Tech a conspiratorial wink, "but I can probably manage most other things just fine."

Rex finds Echo's eye before asking one simple question. "JOAT-med?"

"JOAT-med. Good advice and helpful talk-therapy, too." Echo simply confirms, and it suddenly explains a lot to the Captain without the need for additional questions. Hunter can't stop himself from breaking into a wicked grin, so proud of his girlfriend as [____] stood there chuckling nervously with a humble smile at the praise.

Proud of her ingenuity and creative solutions that, much like some of Tech's ideas, often left him scratching his head. Proud she found resiliency and strength even after the hard, unhappy days time and time again just like Wrecker. Sharing the feelings of pride with Crosshair that some of the sniper's lessons about understanding your limits and knowing how to work with yourself rather than against have stuck (that she'd become more comfortable in being assertive and advocating for herself around Imperials). Proud of both her and Echo for strategizing and initiating that system together in the first place.

Hunter was proud of [____] for so much.

Stars, he loved her so much.

[____] pulls the bedding up to Omega's shoulders, running a hand over the youngster's hair soothingly. "Goodnight Omega. Feel better soon, okay? Hope you sleep well, sweetheart." The fever-reducer had successfully made the budding cough settle down enough that she could now get some rest with any luck.

"Goodnight…" Omega mumbles into her pillow, head hardly down long at all before her eyes are closed.

Footsteps soft, the medic plods across the room and turns on the humidifier and sound machine. Swirling, storming waves and thrumming rain. The soundscape is so deeply ingrained in every Clone, no matter how far they were flung across this expansive galaxy.

When she's done there, she turns down the hall to her right from Omega's door and joins Hunter in the back bedroom, knowing exactly where she'll find him. The new, level-footed desk, gazing at the artwork hung above it on a freshly repainted wall.

A butterfly and a beautiful flower native to Kashyyyk.

Soothing Sage.

He's so absorbed in the line art Tech had rendered from his record of the joint-effort doodle she had made with Omega in the past that she's not immediately acknowledged when she steps in. "Heeeey, handsome… Omega should hopefully be sleeping soon. Came to say goodnight before I head home, Hunter."

Hunter now looks at her, a soft pinch in his brows to go with the longing look that washes over every feature. The glance over his shoulder as he turns sideways in his chair to better face her is not missed. The neatly made bed is clothed in two beautiful shades of green that have replaced the old sheets. The second pillow he keeps next to his up against the headboard. The quilted, jewel-tone weighted blanket sits on top of the footlocker at the end of his bed; the expensive one with cooling technology she'd gotten for him to make their nights apart easier the longer they've been together. He hasn't used it the past two nights since his sister's gotten sick, however.

"Could I convince you to stay…?" Hunter doesn't want her to leave - he never does, that is far from new but it is especially true tonight. The sunken skin and discoloration under his dark eyes adds to the persuasive power of the doleful and pleading look she's fixed with. He needs sleep. Not a nap here and there throughout the day to make up for the lack of adequate rest, but proper sleep. He looks at [____] imploringly, trying to find a compromise or some suggestion to break her silence while she stands over him, pinching open a blister packet to a mild painkiller tucked in one of the drawers as he's seated at the desk.

She's mulling over her answer as she tries to prevent a headache for Hunter before it properly takes hold. (If he thought he'd hidden all the signs that the odor of the disinfectant was triggering a headache from her, he was mistaken.)

She shrugs softly. "Maybe."

"At least… until I'm sure Omega's asleep?" he asks, hoping to quash the desperation he feels surging in him, the glimmer of hope in potentially convincing her. [____] plants the pearlescent pill in the palm of his hand, tucking his fingers around it. "I'll think about it while you take this, okay?" Hunter nods softly and obediently gets up to collect some water from the kitchen sink when she gives him a look to remind him he's not meant to dry-swallow the medication. "Right-right, sorry; old battlefield habits. I'll be right back."

Crosshair clears his throat softly from the neighboring room once he hears that Hunter left and shortly after something has him distracted in or near the kitchen. "You, uh... need some help with that, vod?"

"Hey. Doc."

"Yeah, Cross?" She side-steps an inch closer to the wall, hearing the marksman do the same. She can imagine the roll of his eyes even through the wall as he speaks. "I'll keep an ear out for Omega tonight. Make sure the idiot gets some sleep, [____]."

She blinks, surprised. "You're staying up?"

"Putting together more information for Echo to give to Captain Rex. I'll drop by your place and make sure your Tooka's fed if it means you stay."

"Cross..." [____] sighs gently, touched. She'd been debating running home to grab some sleepwear and set Spoon up with food and water for the night in case she'd forgotten before joining her boyfriend and his family for dinner after hitting the 'fresher at home. She knew Hunter must really need that sleep if Crosshair was volunteering to deal with Spoon.

Crosshair was getting slightly more insistent with the medic now. "I mean it, [____]. I will."

"Okay, okay… I'll stay. Thank you. I hope she won't give you trouble." Spoon was getting more used to the snarky sniper, but she wasn't exactly curling up in his lap like when Hunter came to visit, either.

The marksman chuckles gently. "Don't worry about me." Both hear Hunter returning from the kitchenette and slowly ease the door open down the hall to poke his head in Omega's room. He'd be back soon. "G'night, doc."

"Goodnight, Cross." [____] calls after him as he steps from his room, squeezing past Hunter as his brother carefully plods down to the end of the hall and pulls open the door.

Kriff, he's adorable when he pouts. "O-oh," Hunter stammers when he steps back into his bedroom, watching as she hinges at the waist and hoists the heavy, jade-green blanket up on the bed, "so you're going home, then…?" Blanket meant he'd be sleeping solo and he hadn't convinced her this time. Dammit.

But she surprises him; shaking her head, pulling the second, quilted cover across the bed once she's gotten it unfolded and dropping the second pillow he kept around for her near his before she drops to sit on the side of the bed. "No; I'm staying. Come on in and close the door, handsome. Crosshair offered to keep an ear out for your sister so you can get some sleep." Her dominant hand reaches to tenderly caress the side of his face when he comes closer and sits beside her, the pad of her thumb gingerly sweeping over the sensitive skin under his eyes. His eyes flutter closed and his head leans into the steady, trustworthy hand that cradles it. He trusts her so absolutely. Wholly.

If you had told this son of Kamino that one day he'd leave his mother-world and find someone he would trust outside of his brothers (all of them really, but especially "his" batch) with his very life, Hunter would've looked at the wall full of tallies and just shaken his head. "Cute, but I don't think so. That's not really for me." A hundred-percent success rate didn't come with trusting so carelessly. Not just anyone could step into his accelerated life and offer to help take care of his brothers. A sister in the sea of perhaps a million brothers with "unaltered" first generation DNA. Himself.

"Y'know… I realized something."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Wrecker was the one who put that hole in the panel in the attack shuttle's medbay, right? I know he and Tech tried to fix it, but-"

"Oh, yeah. Big guy and the nerd started getting antsy about it after I wasn't able to keep anything down by day six. Panel was just too kriffed and the scanner results were screwy. I started to get violent and paranoid-"

"And that's when-"

"Tech found us the nearest planet with a small but highly recommended medical center to see if they would help."

It felt too twisted and upsetting to credit the parasite that was trying to kill his brother with how their life ended up now. It felt like blame to thank Wrecker's moment of distress in ruining a part of their ship that forced them to seek out external help. Would it be appropriate to thank the mysterious power and the strange workings and will found in the Force, perhaps? Who really knew; who could really say? (In the end, did he really care about trying to puzzle that out when the sensation of her fingers in his hair felt so heavenly?)

At some point in time while he'd been lost in his thoughts, he found he'd been relieved of the red bandana, and it was neatly laid aside on the bedside furniture on top of his datapad. "[____]..." he moans breathlessly, his upper body melting against hers involuntarily when her hands reach to cradle the back of his head. "I don't have a headache, sweetheart…"

She shushes him softly with a sage smile. "Uh-huh. Tell me to stop, then." Not expecting to be challenged, Hunter sits there, growing increasingly more dependent on her supporting him upright the longer he's silent. Every. Kriffing. Time she plays with his hair, nails grazing across his scalp and fingers trailing through his hair from root to end, he ends up falling asleep. He doesn't know how she does it. Not even Omega could figure it out when she tried doing the same for one of his headaches since [____] tried showing her how the day she didn't open her clinic and went with them to that mining planet instead.

But Maker help him if he was going to ask her to stop. "Yeah… that's what I thought, handsome. Lay down now. Time to get some sleep." She turns off the bedside light after nudging him to scoot towards the wall, not bothering to change out of her comfortable clothing since showering a second time that night to rid herself of the antibac and disinfectant smells. She was so considerate of his heightened senses, gestures like these never failed to make him feel so loved. Cared for.

And he felt so protected on the rare occasion his girlfriend pulled a role-reversal on nights like tonight, making him the little spoon in bed, one arm tucked around his waist comfortably, the other up near his head with her hand in his hair as she laid her cheek against his shoulder blade. "We really should to get you a pair of sleep clothes to keep here, one of these- ohhh kriff…" Hunter bites down the moan under his breath when her hands went from root to end at the top of his head, feeling the tension melt out of his neck and jaw at last.

[____] had done this the night she and Hunter had gone to the concert for her favorite intergalactic band and he spent the night at her place instead of his. Echo, Tech and Omega had kicked him out of the house for the day so they could put a fresh coat of paint on his walls without the odor becoming bothersome for the expert tracker. Crosshair and Wrecker had tasked themselves with getting some new furniture and putting it together. The music group wasn't exactly his taste in music, perhaps, but Hunter vaguely recognized a song or two.

He'd just been happy to spend time together with her. Hear that word out of her mouth for the first time, too, in reply to another concert-goer over the thumping bass and vocals.

"Hey, your friend has a pretty sick tattoo!"

"Oh, he's not my friend! But yes, my boyfriend's tattoo is pretty "sick"!"

Boyfriend.

He no longer avoided calling [____] the same in kind; girlfriend. The word came so naturally, tugging his lips into a smile nearly every time. By Kamino's endless seas… Hunter loved her so much.

"Picking up a bacta shipment for my girlfriend, her name is-"

"Oh, really flattered, but I have a girlfriend and I'm very happy with her… And my brothers and sister really like her too."

"Hey, buddy, you best step off if you know what's good for you, I heard she's taken." Someone stopped him in the shipyards once when she was getting ready to board her medical vessel, having volunteered herself to a week off-planet in assisting with intergalactic humanitarian efforts against a virus that was only affecting certain species. "Yeah, taken one of my shirts that I need later in the week, it turns out. That's my girlfriend." Hunter had returned the favor, drawing himself to his full height and leaning forward in the man's face to intimidate him.

The man's warning was no noble act, because in truth he had been the one sniffing around [____]'s clinic and the shipyards with potentially ulterior, malicious motives. She had voiced her concerns on a couple of occasions that something about this creep was setting her teeth on edge every time she saw him. She very well could have been right about the man. Thankfully they never found out, because he'd never troubled her again to Hunter's knowledge.

"Sorry, Hunter! Gimme one second!"

"No rush, mesh'la. I understand you're making sure you have everything you need to make people feel better. Like say after a bad fall."

"What was that, handsome?" She hadn't heard the growled threat the unorthodox Clone had leveled the other man's way, and he hoped to keep it that way. Not out of shame, necessarily. Just didn't see the point in reminding her about the nuisance.

There were more important things to remind [____] of, before he was completely asleep. (Maker, how was she so good at this?) "Mm... mesh'la?"

"Yes, Hunter?"

"Does Cross know to give Omega another dose in six hours?"

"Wow…" she chuckles softly, a pleasant, almost tickling sensation he can feel through her chest against his back, "thinking of trying to sleep in tomorrow, are we?" Hunter yawns, wiggling deeper into the new mattress before he'll fall asleep very shortly. "For now…"

"Heh. We'll see about that. Goodnight, handsome." [____] remarks knowingly, tucking her hand under her head as she too made herself comfortable. They're laying there, still and content, for several minutes before someone cuts the thread of silence one last time before sleep takes them both.

"No matter what the galaxy brings or where the future takes us… I love you."

"I love you, too. Nothing in the galaxy will stop me from doing so…" the other promises before they both fall asleep and dream of their future together.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @ladytano420 @the-hexfiles @ilovethosebrowneyes9904

Note from Frost: Well, that’s all folks. :’) With a hopefully nice ending for you to imagine for yourselves just how sickly sweet your happily ever after with Hunter ends up. 🩷

I appreciate everyone who’s liked, commented and reblogged over the course of this series more than you could imagine as I’ve been getting my head back in the fanfiction game. Requests are now officially open for the time being, so check my pinned Masterlist for guidelines if you’re interested.

If you’d like to be in the tag-list for those kinds of things or all my SW works [perhaps sans OC stories], please don’t be shy and let me know. Much love. 🩷

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

Text

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump 8.5 (Extra per request)

No Anesthesia – OC&TBB – Wrecker’s overzealous efforts to destroy a building lead to Doc getting pinned in a dire situation.

Warnings: Very heavy whump in this one, with a couple moments of descriptive gore and medical procedures, impalement, difficulty breathing, near death, cursing. TW: claustrophobia

WC: 5116

Watching them work was a thing of beauty; the way they adjusted effortlessly to each other’s movements without the need for speech; how they seemed to glide over the debris-covered streets of this ruined city, strong limbs carrying them with an effortless grace that I could watch for hours. Unfortunately, the trio of elite soldiers darting toward the capital building weren’t meant to be the focus of my attention.

While Hunter, Echo, and Tech gave the appearance of charging the final stronghold of this decrepit city head-on, Wrecker was already traipsing about the far side of the towering structure with Crosshair perched in a nearby building as cover. I’d been positioned in the building just in front of the target, ordered to oversee this side of the battle to ensure our route back to the Marauder was clear.

“Does this mean I get a rifle, too?” My earlier tease hadn’t been serious, though there had been some knowingly futile hope. Crosshair’s dismissive, bored glance was all the answer I needed, but I caught the smirk that touched those thin lips as he’d turned away.

The pair of pistols offered a comforting weight at my waist, but, from this vantage, I was purely a pair of eyes. Sweeping the macrobinoculers away from the brilliant displays of prowess effortlessly dodging enemy fire, I searched the path back toward the ancient fungal forests lining the city, but the streets were empty beyond the occasional robotic limb ending in a tangle of wires.

“Wrecker, eta?” The growl of the Sergeant’s voice was a welcomed change against the terrible quiet from being so high above them, and I found myself automatically searching for flashes of black and red armor darting between mounds of rubble. Once, this had been a thriving metropolis, towering skyscrapers jutting up in stark contrast to the softer shapes of surround fungi as millions of everyday civilians went about their lives.

Now, barely a handful of towers still stood, but so many citizens remained, hiding, trying desperately to survive long enough to find some hope for the future. Taking out the opportunistic pirates holed up in the capital building would be the first step in granting them some chance to rebuild in the wake of what those ignorant to the horrors of war would call a victory.

“Ready when you are!” Wrecker nearly shouted gleefully, his excitement an instant boon to the oppressive quiet.

“We’re clear. Do it.” Hunter’s order barely finished before the world shook beneath a massive eruption. I felt my breath catch in my throat, macrobinoculars falling to my chest as I stared in shock at how slowly it fell; only noting a gentle tilt at first, but then, as though the structure itself merely gave it, the entire thing wilted. It sounded like rain from up there, the tumble of stone atop stone singing in the same cadence of an angry storm. Vaguely, I noted that the building now visible beyond where that tower had just been concealed Crosshair somewhere in those unending levels of dark glass.

“Wrecker, what in the karking hells was that?!” Hunter roared, and I could clearly picture the thick vein pulsing in his neck.

“Just, yuh know, figured I’d make sure”

“Kriff - Doc! Run!” What? Was that panic in Crosshair’s voice? He didn’t panic… he… I’d just forced myself to my feet, hands pushing atop the heavy medpack I’d been using as a rest when that first whisper of confusion stole over me. Moving… It felt like…

Dread. Cold and fast and flooding my veins with lead. The world outside the window was shifting, sliding, rising. It was easier to see it that way: like everything else was moving instead of me, because, if that wasn’t the case, if I was wrong… I was dead. My eyes darted back across that now empty space once more, as though there was some hope of finding those amber eyes, some hope that he might reveal a miracle to save me at the last second, but then I was cursing myself, feet scrambling beneath me to race away from the window lest I find myself falling through it.

The way my stomach flipped. The disorientating dance of unstable flooring beneath me was its own hell, but I didn’t stop, fleeing madly through the maze of corridors. How high up was I? Four stories? Five? How many seconds had it taken the capital building to finally plummet? How could I possibly reach anywhere remotely safe in time?

I could hear everything begin to fall apart. It didn’t sound like rain anymore. It was loud and relentless, and the dust filled the air too quickly for me to even realize I was suffocating beneath it until it obscured my sight barely a foot from my face. The floor began to drop, folding beneath the weight of an immeasurable mass of stone and metal overhead, tilting into such a steep angle, my feet began to slide out from under me, hands shooting forward for something, anything to grab onto. Something crashed against my chest as the last bit of solidity vanished beneath my toes, and the hurt of jagged edges burring between slats of armor didn’t matter because at least it wasn’t crumbling into the abyss below.

The desperation that drove me to cling to that ledge, the frenzy fueling my limbs as I scrambled up, and the sudden exhaustion in that exact second I realized I’d made it, body flopping onto my side as I dragged sharp gulps of air through my gaping jaw; it was all a mere blink of raw panic, and it robbed me of every thought and memory and dream until the distant hum slowly solidified into a voice.

“Doc! What’s your status?! Are you okay?!” Hunter’s voice shouted from my comm. I watched my hand reach for it before my mind caught up with the motion, fingers trembling too violently to grasp the narrow cylinder for just a few seconds too long. “Doc!”

“I’m okay.” I found myself whispering, body painfully tensed, frozen, but the sharp relief in the chorus of sighs drew a small smirk to my lips. “I… I think I-” It was such a strange thing. I didn’t hear the floor crumble, nor feel that terrible weightlessness of falling… but I heard the tiny gasp; that quiet, sharp intake of air, and then the flood of indistinguishable voices flooding my comm was the only thing I could focus on as my body plummeted the handful of stories to the mess of rubble below.

“…!” What was that?

“…-ease say…thing…” Fading in and out.

“-oc! … me?!” Muffled.

“Over h…!” A rhythmic tabbing.

“… see her!” Maybe… water?

“Be care…! …unsta…” No… footsteps?

“Kriff.” It was the horror in that voice that finally breached the fog distorting what fleeting sliver of reality surrounded me. Crosshair… If he sounded like that… something must be wrong… couldn’t sleep anymore.

“Echo, Crosshair; get the Marauder here, now!” Hunter… needed to find out why he was so worried… “Wrecker, start clearing that debris off of her – carefully!” I don’t know how long my eyes had been fluttering listlessly against the distant thought that I needed to wake up – to help them, but only darkness continued to stare back at me. The sound of skittering pebbles seemed to reverberate all around me; couldn’t figure out where it had come from… couldn’t remember why it mattered. That familiar voice continued speaking in the darkness, but the words vanished in distorted murmurs and distant thunder.

I didn’t notice the weight until it shifted; some impossible pressure spanning across my chest, down my stomach, across my hips, pinning my left arm and leg fast against whatever frigid, uneven surface lay beneath me, digging into my back and calf. Once I felt it, however, it consume me; and I wondered how long my torso had been shuddering beneath failed gasps, body simply too weak to push against that heaviness and the agony even the slightest movement sent shooting throughout my chest. Drowning; stomach churning amidst the sharp tang of iron.

Something wrapped carefully around the back of my neck. A hand. I felt their fingers slip under my helmet to gently tilt my head up just enough to ease the bucket off, and my eyes slammed shut against the assault of blinding lights. Another touch quickly settled over me, blocking out that blinding brightness. Touch… I was… The terror of the reality surrounding me began to clear, and I wasn’t surprised by how violently I trembled.

“Can you hear me? Doc! Can you hear me?” Scowling against the fear and cold. the agony tearing through my lung, the burning of suffocation screaming for a breath I couldn’t force past shaking lips, still, I dragged my gaze to the dark visor only just visible over the edge of those fingers. My vision blurred, cringing against that terrible brightness once more as he quickly withdrew his hand to wrench off his helmet. Hunter…

“Look at me, Doc!” There was a fear in that order, but the touch of his palm slipping over my cheek was nothing if not gentle. My gaze just managed to find his when that weight shifted once more. My jaw trembled against a choked scream I simply didn’t have breath to voice, some useless wheeze catching in my throat as my body seized beneath the bursts of sharp fire burring through my chest, my leg; white-hot and so deathly wrong, it flooded my eyes with tears and sent my heart racing in panic.

“Careful!” Hunter barked, attention snapping up to someone I couldn’t see over the mound of rubble. Brows drawing together, I felt my blood run cold as some dreaded understanding washed over me. That rubble… trapped… I was-

“No-no; hey Doc, I need you to look at me, right now.” He forced the rushed words into some belated façade of calm, hand dragging my gaze away from the towering pile of metal and stone and destroyed belongings once treasured by now displaced citizens. I initially attempted to fight him, staggering mind fighting to make sense of just how abysmal my situation was, but whatever strength I once processed was quickly dripping onto the shattered remains of civilization laying beneath me, seeping over dust and debris in a crimson pool of stolen warmth.

“Listen to me,” That wasn’t an order, “Come on, Doc; just look at me.” He was begging… He knew how bad this was, and he was afraid for me in a way that consumed me. There wasn’t a damn thing I would do to fix this, and that realization was a nightmare I wasn’t ready to address… but I could do what he said. If only to grant him some vain comfort in the futile belief that he still held some sliver of control over this. For whatever time I still could, I would grant him that, and the encouraging smile that just touched his lips when my eyes found his once more was more than enough reason.

“Good,” He murmured, “The Negotiator’s already en route to meet us. After we get all this off you, we’ll have you in their medbay within the hour. You just need to stay with us until then, okay?” I couldn’t answer him beyond a tiny nod, chest still seizing beneath the shallow flutters of frantic gasps that I tried desperately not to count. I didn’t see Wrecker begin pulling at that final, massive chunk of debris.

White. Stopstopstopstop. Shouting. Nails bent as my fingers clawed into the stone beneath me. Muscles contracted, flailing, useless. Hearts aren’t meant to beat that fast. How could it be so impossibly cold even as that searing, shrieking, rending heat tore through my chest? The nerves were panicking. Everyone was yelling. My chest bucked, straining to cough, copper flooding my mouth, trickling down my cheek. It tickled, and some part of me knew it was blood.

“Stay with us! Dank farrik! Stay with us!” I could feel the air wash over my face as he screamed my name, hands grasping my cheeks just hard enough to ache in some desperate plea to draw my attention back to him. Floating. Like I’d somehow become disconnected. “No-no-no, Doc, please!” Even through the fear and pain and consuming need for even a moment’s reprieve, that terror in his voice is what ruined me. I felt my eyes moving, rolling blindly about the nothingness before me for several seconds before some hint of color slowly returned. Shapes. Movement.

“Good-good; you fight, dammit – you stay with us!” The relief in his order growled through clenched teeth.

“There appear to be rebar”

“I saw them, Tech.” Hunter snapped, but quickly forced himself to release a quick breath. “I know.” There was a silent apology in the sighed words. I could feel the tension seeping through my chest, robbing me of what minuscule whispers of air those worthlessly fluttered gasps could offer, but I forced my gaze to remain on the man still kneeling over me despite how my vision blurred and spun.

“She has a hemopneumothorax – air and blood are pooling in the pleural space causing her lung to collapse. I’ll have to insert a chest tube to relieve the pressure.” Wrecker should have interrupted him… Why didn’t he interrupt him - balk and the wordy description and mock his brother for overexplaining? I’d never wanted the normally loud and cheerful man to talk over that brilliant pilot before, but I would have given almost anything not to hear those words spoken aloud, body already tensing against the coming pain. Desperate pleas burned atop my tongue, forced into silence at the simple knowledge that it would only hurt them, and, still, Tech would have to push through.

“If it were one of us where you are,” Hunter started quietly, drawing my attention eagerly back to those dark eyes, “would you do any less?” Frowning through a scowl, something like sobs shook through me. Ass. My head shook weakly. If any one of them had been trapped in this nightmare, I’d stop at nothing to see them live another day.

“Didn’t think so.” He murmured before drawing a deep breath. “I want you to bite down on this.” Body heavy with a growing sense of exhaustion and helplessness, I had to strain to look for him. I think it was his glove, twisted inside-out into something of a ball. My jaw shifted listlessly, lips barely managing to part, and I could see the worry spike in those gorgeous eyes, but he said nothing about it, palm carefully whispering over my cheek as his thumb pressed against my chin to help me open my mouth enough for him to slip the wad of fabric and armor and a tang that I would forever associate with forests and dirt and something feral and utterly him between my teeth.

There was no warning. My body jerked against the violent intrusion of ice and hurt burring between my ribs, each panicked twitch of muscle tearing at the lengths of metal piercing my chest. Something pressed against me, pinning me down as my jaw clamped shut.

“Almost done.” The gentleness of that murmur ripped a fresh sob from me, and, a moment later, that sharpness digging through me stopped, fading into a terrible, throbbing ache. “Alright, you did good. Just breathe.” He praised, easing the glove from my lips. I wanted to scream at him that I couldn’t breathe. That my body was dying, and I didn’t want them to see me like this; that I was so, so terribly tired; that I just wanted to rest, if only for a moment, but my diaphragm jerked taut, wrenching a tiny gasp into failing lungs. It was the deepest breath I’d managed since waking, and part of me loathed that teasing glimmer of hope.

“We’re ready – why isn’t that thing off of her, yet?” Crosshair snapped.

“There are several lengths of rebar protruding from the bottom that have impaled her chest and leg.” I didn’t have to see him. I could hear his dread in the weight of his silence.

“Now that the Marauder is nearby, we must move quickly.” Tech prodded, and the weak, relentless tremble stealing through me grew violent. There was no thought beyond the desperate screaming of nerves still raw from the last time Wrecker attempted to free me from that final boulder, mind suddenly unable to remember anything beyond that pain, beyond the overwhelming certainty that I wouldn’t survive it again.

“Wait!” I gasped, straining to grasp some manner of clarity with which to plead my case, certain I could find a valid reason to somehow avoid the coming hurt, but I merely heard my terribly frail voice beg, “Wai-wait.”

“Doc, you know we can’t.” The apology in his voice broke me, wincing at how the sharp sob jostled the screaming flesh surrounding those metal stakes.

“Well… She’s got painkillers in that bag, right? We can give her those – take the edge off, at least?” Wrecker asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately, anything we have that depresses the nervous system, also depresses the respiratory system; hers, of which, is already severely compromised.” Tech stated automatically. “Additionally, I am unsure where her bag landed, and have only what supplies I brought myself.”

“If we don’t hurry up, she won’t need painkillers.” Crosshair hissed.

“He’s right.” I watched the muscles ball over his jaws as the Sergeant looked over his shoulder to his brothers. “Crosshair stabilize her chest. Wrecker, lift it smoothly on his count. Tech, be ready with the coagulant.” Something passed between them in silence before the sniper quickly kneeled beside me, absently pulling the gloves from those skillful hands, and I hated the way that tremble redoubled at the simple realization that he was about to touch that ruined flesh.

“Don’t look at him, right now – look at me.” The rich smokiness of Hunter’s voice was a comfort in itself, but when it dropped into such a gentle murmur, if only for a moment, nothing else mattered, and I instantly found myself moving to obey him as he shifted to position himself between me and the others, blocking my view of their final preparations.

“You remember that little talk of us becoming settlers?” He was whispering, body just curling over me, and it felt so easy to pretend, to melt into any reality other than the one around me… I answered with a small nod. “The settlers of Clone Force 99 wouldn’t get very far without their medic… You going to abandon all that ruckus of city life to keep on adventuring with us?” The broken smile that pulled unsteadily at my lips held none of the terror and pain fighting to overwhelm me, but I could taste the sadness in it.

“Ca-can’t get r…rid of me…” I gasped on what useless huffs of air my ruined lungs could hold. He smiled back with that same threat of heartbreak before his shoulders jerked with a sharp breath, attention shifting briefly behind him. When he turned back to me, the dread in his eyes turned my blood to ice.

“Listen to me; we’ve got to get this thing off you – you ready?” I felt the automatic movement of my head shaking, trapped in some horrified denial that this was happening… but I knew there simply wasn’t time for that… Brows pulling sharply together, I turned hard eyes up to his, and I knew he saw how deathly afraid I was as I gave a firm nod. Again, he eased my lips apart to slip that glove between my teeth. “Alright. You just focus on me for a while, okay?”

Something slid between my torso and the mass of stone, and I could feel the shredded muscles twitching in some futile plea to escape. The knowledge that it was Crosshair’s fingers offered no relief. In a moment of yielding to that mounting fear, my arm lashed out, hand latching onto Hunter’s wrist.

“Hunter…” It sounded like I was pleading, begging around teeth already burring into his glove, and I hated it, but then his thumbs began dancing gently over my cheeks, wiping at tears I hadn’t noticed fall, and his touch was the only comfort in a nightmare of hurt. In that moment, I couldn’t fight the depth of my own need as I stared up at him.

“I know.” He breathed, remorse and guilt weighing each syllable.

I didn’t hear Crosshair’s signal. I didn’t hear the rumble of stone beginning to shift, nor whatever attempts at calming words fled those dancing lips as Hunter’s hands locked me in place. My back fought to arch, muscles thrashing for any relief, but Crosshair kept me pinned down. What useless wisps of air I’d held tried to escape in a barked scream, diaphragm seizing, but my throat closed too tightly even for that. My jaw snapped shut, eyes wide. Tearing. Ripping. Rending through me with such a violent sense of wrong and panic and cold.

“We’ll find someplace beside a river.” His lips brushed over my ear, cheek flush against mine, and I could feel how his fingers shook where they’d tangled into my hair. “Tech’ll design some overly fancy place to live, and I’m going to need you to deal with him and Wrecker bickering while we build it.” That sharp tang of copper… My chest bucked, but couldn’t manage to rid my mouth of that nauseating heat. “Echo and Cross can hunt so I can help you keep the peace.” I could feel the tissue drag against the textured ridges along the metal, felt them chip against my rib, and my stomach flipped. “Bet you can convince Cross to pick up knitting – make everything matching scarfs by winter.” Echoing… why was his voice echoing like that? I didn’t like the way it blurred with that horrid sound of churning meat, the wet sucking of floundering lungs; that distant thudding.

“…please.” My name sobbed from lips twisted into a scowl. “We’re so close, Doc; just hold on.” Hold on? Couldn’t… the very rigidity of my bones seemed to abandon me, jaw falling slack, body barely tensing beneath the occasional huff of a cough, but even that autonomic effort to clear my lungs enough to draw breath was failing.

Whatever relief that distant recess of my mind hoped to feel as that final inch slipped free fell frightfully silent. I felt how my body moved beneath freshly panicked touches and shouted orders; felt them push me onto my side as Wrecker’s massive hands shifted around Crosshair’s to apply pressure to the wounds; felt Tech began packing each puncture with foam, felt it sink through me and swell. I felt some fleeting attempt at a whimper choke over numb lips as Hunter held my head steady as though there were still some point to maintaining some semblance of support lest unseen injuries to my neck render me paralyzed, felt his lips continue that pleading dance against my ear before straining to make out his words.

“Just a few more, then we’ll get you out of here.” He promised. “Echo’s just outside. You hear me?” I couldn’t feel that hurt anymore. Not really. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, Doc. Not now.” But I could still fell his warmth. “We’re too damn close for you to give up now.” The calluses of his fingers. “One more – just one more.” What was… was he crying? I was certain I’d felt his shoulders jerk ever so slightly. “Please… stay with me.” I think I tried to move – to find those eyes; to show him I was trying…

“That’s it! Move!” Crosshair shouted. The way the world tumbled around me; the shock of sunlight robbing my already fleeting vision… I tried to listen; tried to find them through the distorted mockery of reality, but everything was spinning too quickly to find even a whisper of logic beyond the certainty that I knew I was as safe as I could possibly be in their hands, and I didn’t doubt that it would be enough.

Despite a lifetime in hospitals and medbays, still my nose crinkled at the sharp scent of antiseptic. The beginnings of a moan caught in my throat with a choked grunt of pain, body shuddering beneath the deep ache that bloomed in my chest.

“-sy; try not to move yet.” Echo… I’d know his voice even in a chorus of his brothers. Brows drawing together in a weak pout, I forced my eyes open, squinting slightly against the way the dim colors blurred. “Hey,” The greeting left in a huff that sounded like it desperately wanted to be a sob, “It’s good to see you back in the land of the living.” I let that pout pull up into a brief scowl, before offering a fleeting glimpse of a smile.

“We’re still aboard the Negotiator,” He explained quietly, lips settling into a gentle smile of his own as he stepped closer to my bedside, and I was pleased to find my vision slowly clearing enough to find those amber eyes. “Don’t push yourself if it hurts, but can you talk, yet?” Of course, I could, if only because he asked. Mouth parting slightly, I drew a purposeful breath, but let it out with a slight shutter, body hesitating beneath the foreign sensation that should have been commonplace.

“Yeah.” I managed on my second attempt, voice hoarse, but it easier than I’d anticipated, and the beaming grin it brought to Echo’s still pale lips was well worth the effort.

“Great,” He sighed in relief. “They had to replace parts of that lung, but the medbay here is topnotch – only had to keep you on bacta for a couple days before they’d grown enough to replace the damaged sections.” I listened passively to his explanation, not bothering to interrupt him with the reminder that I was intimately familiar flagship medbays.

“They’ll have regrown me a whole new set of lungs by the time this war ends.” I grumbled, heart soaring at the quiet chuckle it drew from him. “Wher- mgh.” I started, but the instant I tried to look around, the muscles around my ribs balked.

“Whoa – I said not to move.” He chided, expression twisting in a sympathetic grimace as he carefully laid his hand over my shoulder. I tried to do just that: to let my body melt back against the thin cot, but it was several seconds before those frantic muscles began to still.

“That’s it; easy.” He murmured quietly. I felt the chill sweep through me beneath the icy sweat that broke out over my skin, quickly soaking into my hair and the pale patient gown. “Might have a couple rough days of recovery ahead of you, but the hard part’s over.” He promised, “And we’re not going anywhere until you’re back on your feet.” The suddenness with which those words ripped a sob from me and flooded my eyes with tears should have surprised me, but, beneath the overwhelming rush of relief, I couldn’t bring myself to care, gaze darting back to him in a quiet gasp. His tongue swept quickly over his lips, expression mirroring the tentative hope bursting through my chest.

“Yeah – General Kenobi cleared it. Between him and Cody, there’s not really a lot of people high enough rank to overrule… so… we’re not going anywhere.” Finally, I merely let myself crumble amidst that relief, tears falling silently down my cheeks. His grip tightened slightly around me as he continued. “The others got kicked out – the medics here are pretty strict on the one-visitor rule, so we’ve been taking shifts.” I tried to show him the depth of my gratitude in the weak smile that tugged at my lips, and I didn’t doubt how clearly he understood.

I wasn’t sure when I’d fallen asleep, but it felt like I’d merely blinked before suddenly finding myself surrounded by the others. The beginnings of a chuckle quickly devolved into choked, painful coughs. Someone carefully pulled me up enough to lessen some of the strain, and I wasn’t surprised when Hunter’s deep voice whispered in my ear.

“Shh, if that control-freak of a medic hears you, he’ll kick us out again.” Despite my best attempts to hold it back, a fresh burst of laughter brought with it the same breathless coughs. Another hand gently swept along my back in a slow, soothing rhythm. Blurring eyes shifted to find Echo, lip caught between his teeth in worry. Too-quick breaths escaping in a painful wheeze, I slowly managed to regain some bit of control, body melting into the warmth of their touch.

“You lot look like shit.” I mumbled, noting the dark circles around their eyes, the way the normally rich gold of their skin appeared almost sickly even in the blessedly dimmed light. The collection of scoffs only fueled my weary grin.

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Crosshair said dismissively, arms looping over his chest, but even his lips hinted at a smirk.

“I don’t think any of us have gotten much sleep since we landed.” Hunter admitted, thumb shifting almost nervously over my shoulder. I let my eyes slip closed, head resting against him as my still quick breaths began to ease into something closer to normal.

“H-hey Doc?” Something about Wrecker’s hesitant call broke my heart. I quickly sought out those mismatched eyes and found myself mourning the sorrow in them. “I’m… I’m real sorry about… well, I should’a just followed the plan ‘stead of… yuh know…”

“Wrecker.” His name sighed through a worried frown, fingers of my right hand flaring in invitation. He paused for a mere moment before stepping forward, and, not for the first time, I silently remarked on just how small I was against him as he carefully slipped his hand around mine. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” I assured him quietly, but my words offered no balm to his guilt. “It was a mistake. You learned from it, right?” There was no judgement in those softly spoken words, and he offered a small nod. I instantly rewarded him with a broad smile. “Alright then.” I said simply, “lesson learned. I’m okay. You’re all okay… Nothing to forgive.”

“You mean it?” He pressed, still tensed as though expecting some sharp words, and I wanted so desperately to pull him to my chest as whisper promises and reassurances to him until he believed me.

“I mean it.” In the moment, however, those firm, loving words were all I could manage, but, at the relief that eased the tension from his shoulders, it seemed enough.

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 11 months

Text

Chapter 12: Interlude (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Interlude. A pause between acts. In Mando'a, the closest translation might be, acyk, or 'between.'

Chapter summary: Hunter grapples with his feelings.

Chapter warnings: pining, emotional immaturity, clones deserve better, anger, a single punch is thrown, probably too many nicknames thrown around; if I missed any please let me know!

Word Count: 4,759

A/N: I hope I did him justice, y'all! This took a lot of effort so I apologize for the 'late' post (it's still Sunday where I am so it counts!), and I appreciate all of you who voted on that poll and who encouraged me to explore our stubborn little shit, Hunter. Love you all.

Read it here on AO3!

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HUNTER

The cockpit door opens and shuts in the otherwise still silence of the Marauder. Hunter stares, unblinking. Without needing to look, he knows it’s Echo; the soft whir of servos, joints, and circuits precedes the man wherever he goes, though Hunter suspects he’s the only one who can hear it. In his periphery, Echo takes a seat in the co-pilot seat and mirrors Hunter’s posture. One foot propped on the control console, arms folded over his chest, head tilted back against the headrest.

“Can’t sleep?” Hunter asks, voice low. The others are asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake them. They deserve their rest. His thoughts flick to Nav, asleep in his bunk—his sheets are going to smell like them for days and he can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed. Omega had asked to have her room to herself for the night, and without a second thought, Hunter had given Nav his rack and took first watch. He told himself it was what a good leader does for his squad. But the unfamiliar thrum of nerves pinging down his spine seems to whisper, Liar.

Wrenching himself out of his thoughts, he glances over at Echo. His brother’s skin washes pale in the light of hyperspace.

Echo meets his gaze and offers a weary smile. “Something like that.”

The exhaustion on Echo’s face reflects the tiredness that seems to have taken up permanent residence in Hunter’s bones. His headpiece removed, Echo rubs idly at the reddened skin where the heavy metal normally rests. They share a brief, understanding look.

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind, trooper?” Hunter asks. It feels...familiar—good—to have something concrete to focus on. To be here for a squadmate. For a brother. Something he’s done a hundred times before, and will do a hundred times more.

Echo sighs, propping his other foot up. “I’ve been thinking...”

“Always a dangerous idea,” Hunter mutters, reflexively, before he realizes it’s out of his mouth. He swallows against the sudden flare of anguish in his chest, tightening right over his heart. Pushing thoughts of Crosshair away, he gestures for Echo to continue.

“Right,” Echo says. “Well, anyways, the next time we hear from Rex, I’m gonna go with him. Help him.”

Eyes sliding shut for a brief moment, Hunter turns away from Echo. He allows the burst of mingled panic, dread, sorrow, anger to skitter across his skin, burrow into his bones. Then he shoves the feelings down. Echo’s clearly been losing sleep over this. Far be it from Hunter to weigh on his brother’s consciousness any more. “Had a feeling you might decide on this. Are you sure you want to wait until he reaches out?”

“I don’t want Omega thinking I’m leaving her,” Echo says. He gazes out the viewport in silence, before continuing, “Or Nav, for that matter.”

“Nav?” Hunter frowns at the jealous pang that stabs his chest, the growling, possessive creature in his heart coiling in defense.

“You can’t kark things up with Nav, Hunter,” Echo says. Hunter’s not sure he’s ever heard Echo so serious about anything, not since they left Kamino, not since the Empire. “The squad needs them. Especially when I’ll be gone.”

Hunter bristles at the implication that if anything goes awry with Nav, it’ll be his fault. He’s not the one hiding from his past—and Maker knows he wishes he could. Not trusting his voice, he elects to stare out at hyperspace once again.

“I know you don’t fully trust them,” Echo says, voice soft. “And you’re entitled to that feeling. But don’t—” He stifles a yawn. “Don’t throw away a good thing over pride.”

“It’s not pride,” Hunter bites. “It’s a matter of safety. Omega’s safety.”

Echo lets the silence draw out for several moments. Hunter’s skin warms where Echo’s stare burns into him, until he squirms, uncomfortable. “What do you want from me, Echo?”

“I want...” Echo sighs, drawing his hand over his face. “I want you to be honest with yourself, Sarge.”

Hunter narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do I need to spell it out?”

Echo’s question hangs in the air, prickling at Hunter’s awareness until he can’t focus on anything else. He’s torn—so very torn. Nav has been a welcome addition to the squad; adaptable, easily molds to whatever it is that the mission requires, gets along with the entire team. And they’re good with Omega, which sets Hunter’s heart smoldering. But. Doubt still wriggles at the base of his skull. Every time they’re asked about their past, their relationship with the Empire, their knowledge, they glance away. Hunter can feel, every time, the way their heart rate accelerates, smell the sweat that dews on their palms. They’re avoiding something, and it makes him anxious.

Thudding his head back against the worn leather headrest, Hunter heaves a sigh. He’s not good at this. He doesn’t know how to handle the way that Nav makes him feel, the warmth and safety and appreciation flying in the face of every instinct instilled in him since the day he was decanted. How does he get past that?

“Think about what I said, Hunt’ika.” Echo claps a hand on Hunter’s shoulder.

Hunter doesn’t need to ask which part Echo means, too distracted to wave away the affectionate nickname. He’s no closer to an answer when he wakes Nav for the second watch, falls into his bunk, and inhales their warm, comforting scent. Asleep before his eyes even close, he dreams fitfully of Nav, just out of reach and beckoning him in with that kriffing smile of theirs.

Quiet giggles emanate from the ’fresher as Hunter climbs the Marauder’s ramp. The thick, humid air of this planet—its name already forgotten, unimportant—sticks to his skin in a way that sets his nerves on fire. Too many things going on at once. Too many thoughts crammed into his brain, not least of which is Echo’s decision to leave with Rex. Hunter needs a break. A few minutes in the familiar, stale air of the ship will do him some good. Wrecker’s booming laugh startles a few birds in the trees around this small clearing. Hunter winces in pain, shoulders tightening.

Muffled words and more giggles draw him into the belly of the ship. He’d been wondering where Nav and Omega had gone off to. After dinner, the pair of them, sharing conspiratorial grins, had announced entirely too casually that they were going to work on Omega’s studies. Hunter had watched them from his place across the fire. He’d clocked the joy etched into Omega’s face. Somehow, he didn’t think any studying would be getting done. With a shrug, he’d taken another sip of scalding caf, and returned his gaze to the star-studded night sky.

But as he stalks towards the ’fresher, he has to wonder just what trouble the two of them are getting into. Nothing good, if they’d tried to hide it as much as they had.

He pauses outside the closed door, head tilted to listen in. Between laughter, he catches the awed tone in Omega’s voice when she says, “It’s so pretty!”

“You’re so pretty, ad’ika,” Nav says, voice hushed.

Omega’s delighted laugh draws a smile to Hunter’s face. She says, “Where’d you learn that word?”

Nav hums. “Hunter.”

“I didn’t know he’s teaching you Mando’a!”

“It’s...new,” Nav says. Hunter can practically picture the small smile that plays along Nav’s lips when they’re trying to hide it.

“You’re good for him,” Omega says, her voice suddenly serious.

He should leave now. This isn’t a conversation he’s meant to hear. But he can’t make his feet unstick from the durasteel floor. His heart thuds in his chest, and he nearly misses Nav’s next words.

“I’m glad you think that, kiddo.” They clear their throat. Even through the closed door, Hunter senses the spike of nervous energy. “Is it okay that I called you ad’ika?”

Omega’s voice is muffled when she answers; Hunter pictures her hugging Nav. “Of course.”

“Great.” Nav sounds like they’re smiling now, too, tense anxiety fading as quickly as it came on. “Should we go show your vode and buir your new look?”

Hunter’s brain freezes on the word buir. ‘Parent.’ Father. He’s only ever considered Omega as family, but hearing Nav express it like that—it feels so much more...true, more intimate, in Mando’a. The ’fresher door slides open. Eyes widening, Hunter flinches, realizing his mistake. Before him, with a massive grin on her face, her eyes sparkling with pure happiness, is Omega. Her hair shines a vivid shade of red. His jaw drops.

Omega’s expression morphs into something akin to shock. “Hunter!?”

Nav’s eyes flicker over his face like they’re trying to read his mind. “How long have you...?”

“Not long,” he lies, unable to look away from Omega’s hair for very long. “Just needed the— what happened?”

“It’s hair dye,” Nav explains.

Omega’s face falls. She picks at a stray thread on her skirt. “It- It was my idea. Don’t be mad at Nav.”

Hunter raises a hand to cut off whatever Nav was about to say; their eyes flash in concern. Trying to ignore the strong scent of ammonia, Hunter lowers to his knees, taking both of Omega’s hands in one of his own. He tilts her chin up with one finger. Her eyes are wide with apprehension.

“Why would I be mad?” he asks.

She gives a half-hearted, one-shoulder shrug. “I dunno. Because it’s different.”

“It is,” he says with a gentle smile. “But different doesn’t mean bad. It...” He trails off, searching for the words, wanting desperately to live up to the title of buir. Drawing in a steadying breath, he squeezes her hands. This is important to her. He could see it in the radiant joy before she realized he’d been standing there. “It suits you. Makes you look older. More serious.”

Visibly thinking, Omega searches his face. After a moment, her eyes soften and shimmer with joy again. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He glances up at Nav and gulps at the inscrutable expression on their face. “I bet the others will love it, too.”

Omega crushes him in a hug, burying her face in his neck. “Thank you.”

His eyes fall shut as he embraces his daughter, his ad’ika. Warmth fills him, every curve and joint and limb. When Omega pulls back, he gives her a gentle push toward the ramp. She runs without a second’s hesitation.

“You were being serious,” Nav says above him as soon as Omega is out of earshot. There’s an odd note to their voice. It takes Hunter a moment to recognize it as surprise. He marvels, for a moment, that he’s still learning things about them, how their voice sounds, how their bio-signal feels this close.

“Wouldn’t lie to her about that,” he says, straightening up.

Nav purses their lips as they look up at Hunter. Against his skin, their bioelectric signature thrums. It had taken him weeks to get used to their presence: their scent, their sense, their closeness. As with a lot of other things, Hunter has been avoiding a conscious appraisal of how it makes him feel. But here, now, standing in the small hallway with Nav, gazes locked, he tries to put a name to it. He wants to put a name to it. He wants to know everything about them.

And therein lies the crux of his problem. Swallowing back the rising tide of comfort, Hunter closes off his heart again.

Like they can sense his feelings as easily as he senses theirs, Nav exhales a small laugh and drops their gaze. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks.

Nav shrugs, shuffling their feet. “For trusting me with her.”

“She’s capable of choosing who she trusts,” he says.

Nav grimaces, and Hunter groans internally. Di’kut.

“That’s not— I meant—”

“S’okay, Sarge,” Nav says, cutting him off with a tight smile. “I’ll see you back outside.”

He doesn’t stop them as they shuffle past. The stink of ammonia burns in his nostrils.

Anger swells in Hunter’s chest like the rising tide; quiet, quick, and dangerous. His hands shake at his sides where they’re clenched into fists as he stalks back through the dusty village to the Marauder. He can feel his squad—no, his siblings—trailing after him, but their presence is an afterthought. Every fiber in his being screaming at him, molten betrayal melts his nerve endings. I should have known.

When he’d asked Nav, days ago, to finally bare their truths to the squad, he’d nearly been expecting something horrific, something so dangerous for the squad that he would have to snuff out his feelings and leave Nav behind next time they returned to Ord Mantell. Instead, he’d been grateful to learn that Nav didn’t have the worst-case past Hunter feared for months was the case. He finally felt he could let the walls down around his heart, open up a bit more.

And now this.

Bad enough that they’d all been tricked into taking a truth serum, but worse that it had taken the karking drug for Nav to be fully honest with them. Honest with him. Months of this quiet, uncertain relationship he yearned for—dashed in a matter of sentences.

Villagers scurry out of his way. Under normal circumstances, he’d feel apologetic; but today, right now, his eyes ache from the residue of stun sickness, his stomach churns with the remains of the truth serum, and his heart feels displaced. Somehow both too big and too small, twisted around and fractured.

“Hunter,” one of the others calls as his boots clang up the ship’s ramp.

“Let’s go,” he spits over his shoulder. They don’t deserve his anger, but it has nowhere else to go. It swirls inside him, amplifying and doubling over and crying to be released.

“But Nav.” Omega’s voice is small and upset. “They really have to stay here?”

“We’ll come back for them,” Echo reassures.

No we won’t. Hunter grits his teeth. Is the roaring in his ears the sound of his blood, or the engines powering up? He can’t tell. As the ramp seals shut, he releases a short huff into the soothing, familiar darkness of the cargo hold. He shoves the heels of his palms into his eyes. Colorless light explodes in his mind.

“Go check on Tech, ’Mega,” Echo murmurs.

The girl’s footsteps retreat, and then are muffled entirely as the cockpit door swishes shut.

“Echo—”

“Hang on, Wrecker.” Echo clears his throat. “Hunter.”

“What?” he snarls. How are they all so calm about this? How are they not being torn apart by a vortex of anger like he is?

“Look at me, vod.”

Echo’s tone brooks no argument. Hunter, exhaling a long breath, lowers his trembling hands.

“What?” he asks again. Dimly, he’s aware of Wrecker’s large frame blocking the entrance to the cockpit, concern drawn along the lines of scar. But right in front of him, Echo looks as composed as ever, the only hint of emotion two spots of color high on his cheeks.

“You know what,” Echo replies. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Hunter bares his teeth. He’s in no mood for riddles. “What the kriff are you on about?”

“That you wouldn’t kark it up with Nav.” Echo gestures helplessly to the closed ramp. None of the three of them react as the ship lurches away from the arid planet. “Remember that?”

“I never agreed to anything.” Hunter laughs bitterly. “I don’t see how this is even my fault.”

Echo’s fist connects with Hunter’s cheekbone. Pain spikes deep into his face and throbs in his eye, summoning tears against his will. He staggers, clutching his face. “What—?”

“Hey!” Wrecker cries.

Shaking his hand out, Echo motions for Wrecker to settle as he glares at Hunter. “What Nav did isn’t right. You’re justified in being angry about it. But Nav isn’t Crosshair, Hunter.”

“Crosshair?” Hunter shakes his head, mind reeling. Scorching anger clashes with scattered confusion intermixes with a dull ache from the blow. “Get to the point, Echo.”

“If you really think that Nav was lying to us or putting us in danger on purpose, then you’re more of a di’kut than I thought,” Echo says. His eyes spark with defiance. “I know this feels a lot like what Crosshair did. Trust me, I know. But Nav didn’t betray us. Nav was protecting themselves. There’s a difference.”

Chest heaving, Hunter probes gently at the bruise already forming below his eye, and winces. Suddenly, he feels very, very tired, and very, very small. As the anger cools in his limbs from lava to obsidian, he feels so much older than his ten years. Like his accelerated aging is finally catching up to him. He drops his gaze from Echo’s. Sinks into one of the jump seats. Cradles his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Echo says.

“Wish I could still get you court-martialed,” Hunter mutters. “Insubordination.”

Echo barks a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Well. You deserved it.”

The cockpit door whooshes open and closed again, and when Hunter glances up, he’s alone. Grimacing against the pain in his face, he sighs, slumping forward. The anger is gone now, but in its wake, his body still burns with emotion. They scrabble over one another, clawing painfully into the walls of his heart, suffocating his windpipe, crowding his mind. It’s too much. And the ship still smells like Nav, warm and comforting and painful.

For the first time in a long time, Hunter scrunches his eyes shut and cries.

Two weeks pass in a blur. Rex calls; Echo leaves with him. They rescue a Jedi, the first they’ve seen since the order came down from the Emperor himself to murder them all. Their ship gets stolen, and they steal it back. Hunter barely remembers most of it. He moves on auto-pilot. On missions, it's only his years of training, ingrained in his very being by the Kaminoans, that keeps him moving.

In between, he’s listless.

He hates it.

Omega has withdrawn from him, spending more of her time with Tech, nose buried in her studies or under the control panel as Tech teaches her everything he can. Sometimes, at night, when Hunter tucks her into bed, she looks like she wants to ask him a question, but she never does. Her words from a few weeks back replay in his mind constantly. You’re good for him, she’d said to Nav.

For his part, Wrecker seems to be adapting to the rapid changes in the squad fairly well. He grumbles about the extra shifts at night, and occasionally bemoans the lack of support on missions, but Hunter knows that his vod is otherwise okay. Tech, too, accepts the changes in stride and adjusts accordingly.

But Hunter can’t move past any of it. At least Echo understood Hunter’s responsibility, more than he thinks Wrecker or even Tech do. And Nav....

It’s been two weeks. When he lies in his bunk at night, he swears he can still smell their scent, the faintly sweet soap they used and the tang of their sweat, like it’s trapped in the fibers of his pillow from the singular time they slept on it. Maybe he’s imagining things. Either way, he didn’t realize how attuned to their presence he’s become until now, when they’re gone. He finds that he nearly misses the way that their unique bioelectric signals constantly lapped against his awareness like ripples in a pond. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t miss Nav. He needs them.

He doesn’t know if he wants them to comm the squad or not. If he really sits and thinks about it—which he tries to avoid, at least until his exhausted body betrays him and keeps him awake longer, his mind churning—he’s still so angry. The memory of Nav blurting out the real truth about their past is burned into his brain, and it makes his chest hot every time he relives it. If he never sees Nav again, he thinks he could be okay with that.

Except he wouldn’t be.

And he hates it.

He can’t help the nearly obsessive way he counts the days since he left Nav behind on Iridonia. Today marks day number twelve. Grinding his teeth at the thought, he tosses and turns in his bunk. His knee collides with the durasteel wall with a dull thunk and a soft hiss of pain. He rubs at the joint, glaring at the wall like it’s his fault he can’t sleep.

Ever since Bescane, ever since Hunter chased after Nav to ask them to stay with the squad, to become part of the team, he’s been thinking about the future. It’s not something he’s used to. He never really had the luxury or the reason. From the moment he could speak, walk, hold a blaster, he’d been forced to think only about his squad, himself, and the completion of the current objective. He’d endured countless hours of torture disguised as medical appointments to hone his enhanced senses. He’d survived commando training to sharpen his reflexes and prepare his mind for the traumas of war. Through all that, he’d taken the brunt of the scorn from the regs, keeping his brothers shielded from the worst of the vitriol hurled their way. The future only ever consisted of the next mission.

He used to know his place in the galaxy. And then the Empire happened. And then Nav happened.

He wishes he could claw out the ache in his chest every time he thinks about Nav.

Sighing in frustration, he yanks the coarse blanket up over his head and tries to let the gentle warmth of his own breath soothe the tightness in the core of his being. By some miracle, it seems to help.

He jerks awake some indeterminate amount of time later. Disoriented and groggy, Hunter peers around the cargo hold, sure there’s danger nearby. His fingers close around the hilt of his dagger beneath the pillow before he consciously registers the action. With a few steadying breaths, he props himself up on his elbow.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Tech’s voice whispers out of the darkness nearby. “I thought you would want to know.”

“Know what, Tech?” Hunter’s tongue is thick in his mouth, throat dry and hoarse from disuse.

“Better come up front.” Tech’s tall form, a shadow against shadows, retreats away from the racks to the cockpit.

Groaning softly, Hunter swings his legs over the edge of his bed. A glance back shows Omega’s softly snoring form curled around Lula in her makeshift room. Above him, Wrecker shifts in his sleep, muttering incoherently. No alarms blare. Nothing else feels out of place. What’s so important Tech couldn’t wait until shift change?

Hunter shuffles to the cockpit. Tech is perched at the edge of the pilot’s seat, the bags under his eyes mirroring the ones Hunter knows rim his own.

“What’s this about, Tech’ika?” Hunter asks, crossing his arms against the chill air.

Tech adjusts his goggles and clears his throat. Deft fingers fidgeting with the clasps of his chestplate, he appraises Hunter’s expression for the space of a heartbeat before swiveling the chair around.

“I received a message,” Tech says, matter-of-fact as always.

Hunter’s breath catches. “Echo?”

“Negative.”

Turning a few knobs, Tech raises an expectant finger as a simple, coded message chirps to life through the cockpit speakers. Hunter’s eyes narrow as his foggy, exhausted brain tries to make sense of the series of beeps and blips.

“R-J-C-D-C,” Tech translates smoothly. “I believe it is an acronym for the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center, though I highly doubt it retains that name now that the Republic is gone.”

Hunter frowns, brain taking too long to process this. “Republic Judiciary.... Isn’t that on Coruscant?”

“Yes.” Tech splays his hands. “The signal was weak, but this is all it transmitted.”

“When did this come in?”

“Only a few minutes before I woke you.” Tech toggles the switches again and the coded message fades to silence.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hunter sighs. “Can you just tell me what was so important about this message that it couldn’t wait?”

“Ah.” Tech grimaces, a rare expression on his otherwise subdued features. “The message was transmitted to one of the private frequencies I wired several months ago.”

Hunter blinks. And?

Tech huffs. “This particular frequency was keyed into a comlink I gave to (y/n). To Nav.”

Hunter’s heart stills for the span of three seconds before slamming against his ribcage in a frenzy. “Nav? Are they— why would they transmit—?”

“I am not certain,” Tech says, eyes peering up at Hunter, scrutinizing. “But if they are indeed being held in a Coruscanti prison, then as captain of this ship, I require orders.”

Mouth gaping, Hunter snaps his jaws shut with an audible clack of teeth. His eyes narrow in suspicion. Something doesn’t feel right. “You’ve never asked my permission before, Tech.”

“Given your reaction to our Navigator’s intentional twisting of the truth, I felt it wise to act in accordance with your wishes,” Tech explains. “I, for one, have no thoughts one way or the other, but I am aware that Omega misses both Echo and Nav fiercely. Having Nav back would also bring our numbers back up, and lessen the strain on all of us.”

Slumping against the back wall, memories clash within Hunter’s brain. You’re good for him, Omega’s words echo, overlapping with Echo’s admonition, The squad needs them.

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles, lips numb.

“I beg to differ.” Tech regards him with a curious, guarded look. “You have not led us astray thus far. Whatever your decision, I know it will be the right one.”

Knees trembling, Hunter slides down to the floor, breaths coming in short gasps. Kriff, he hasn’t had a panic attack since he was a cadet—the tense, frozen sensation is no more pleasant now as an adult. He was made to lead, quite literally engineered for it, but he doesn’t know if he wants this responsibility anymore. He holds the lives of all of them on his shoulders, perched precariously, ready to fall into ruin at his slightest misstep.

“It’s not my decision to make,” he grits out, screwing his eyes shut against the fear that locks his muscles in place. “Take a vote. Majority rules.”

When Tech returns a few moments later with a sleepy-eyed Omega and yawning Wrecker in tow, Hunter has managed to calm the flighty sense of terror in his core. He remains seated on the floor. As Omega plops down in his lap, he has to stifle a sob, wrapping her small frame in his arms. Her faded red hair no longer smells of ammonia when he presses his nose against it and breathes deep, needing something familiar to cling onto now.

“Hunter?” Omega’s voice is thick with sleep. “What’s going on?”

“Tell them,” Hunter orders Tech, eyes downcast.

Tech explains the situations in many fewer words than he’d used with Hunter, much to Hunter’s annoyance. The brief spark of irritation is snuffed out as soon as Omega gasps. She twists in his embrace, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“We have to go get Nav,” she says, so firmly that he almost wants to accept her word as final.

His eyes flick between Wrecker and Tech. He needs them all to say it first.

“I miss ’em,” Wrecker says with a soft sniffle. “I agree with ’Mega.”

“I concur,” Tech says. He raises his eyebrows to Hunter expectantly.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Hunter nods slowly. “Majority rules.”

Omega frowns and moves to stand up. Hunter catches one of her hands, meets her gaze. He doesn’t think he can take it if she pushes him away again.

“Meg?” he asks, voice breaking.

“Do you want Nav to come back?” she asks. Tears shine in her eyes.

He closes his eyes, drops his head. What does he want? He wants to sleep. He wants his squad to be safe. He wants to stop fighting. He wants to be able to just live. He wants his brother back—Echo, Rex, Crosshair. He wants to pretend the rest of the galaxy doesn’t exist. He wants his family whole.

Nav is family. Nav is his family.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I want them back.”

Without hesitation, Tech throws the lever and the ship lurches out of hyperspace, pivots to port, and reenters the gentle blue light. “Course set for Coruscant.”

Taglist: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @skellymom

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

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ryucreates · 2 years

Text

im making headcanons again for star wars and you cant stop me -the first time Anakin tried Obi-Wan's "tea" he had to spittake because what the kark, Master, why is it s p i c y ? Anyways, turns out spending a year or more on Manda'yaim gets you real into behot teas, and Obi-Wan has had a soft spot for Shig ever since he was introduced to it while on the run from Kyr'stad. - Growing up in the temple on Coruscant was fun and all, but what was even better was sneaking out of the temple- and in turn, seeing how far away Obi-Wan could get from his minders before eventually having to turn back. We may think of Obi-Wan as some sort of pinnacle of control, boiled essence of mastery of the force- but in reality? He was Chaos Untold on the creche masters.

-Jango Fett was never particularly "willing", per se, to make a clone army. While he had fallen, yes, while he had suffered, yes, he was a Mandalorian still- even exiled from Mandalorian space, even Dar'Manda as he named himself, even as he divorced himself from the crown of Mand'alor. He was Haat'Mando'ade, and he followed the super commando codex. There's this one line, said by the Kaminoans- something about how the best way to control a slave is to make it think it is free- and we all know of Dooku's machinations. Do you really think Jango would not recognize the man who slaughtered his people at Galidraan? Do you really think he would agree to manufacture child soldiers for the Republic? Even- no, especially after being enslaved himself, how could anyone believe him capable of turning on his own morals like that, without serious Sith Majicks afoot? - I'm not saying that there aren't force sensitive clones, but I am saying that midiclorian counts are pure bullshit for actually measuring one's connection to the force- i would think that they are somewhat like a different organism all together, some symbiotic being that can congregate around force users, but doesn't always- meaning there are force users with low midiclorians but high control in the force, and those with high midiclorians but seemingly no control of the force at all. Midiclorians are also likely not genetic, if they are a symbiotic single cell organism. - ki adi mundi is a bitch and i hate him - While the Mandalorians do not trust the Jedi, that does NOT mean that they are unkind to force users- yes, Kyr'stad may have a harsher view of them, but Kyr'stad is a terrorist group first, and Mando'ade second. Most Ad'e see force sensitives as seers, wise ones, and gifted warriors- they have special training, and special positions, they become treasured guards and Goran'e and Baar'ur'e, Alor'e of tribes and clans due to their visions or gifts. No Mandalorian worth their salt would ever give up a child due to their abilities, ka'ra blessed or not. - Most clones refer to themselves as the Vod'e- or the Vod'e An- Brothers All. First generation clones, trained by the Cuy'val Dar and Jango Fett himself, learned Mando'a straight from the source, and when the Alpha and First gen rank clones began teaching the next generations, they passed on the knowledge as well as they could. Most clones are at least passably fluent in the spoken tongue, and can, at a glance, finger count up to twenty in the language. Only the first few generations can reliably read Mando'a, and as far as is known, writing in the language has just been contained to the Nulls, and a select few of the Alphas. (i wrote over 8k characters part two incoming

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augustspage · 4 months

Text

If Ezra was a Master at Luke's Jedi academy, a conversation on attachment.

Ezra's tone turned firm. "No, Luke. You're not separating these kids from their families. I don't care what the texts say."

Luke, with a weight of experience, replied, "You've met my father Ezra, you know what attachment does to us who are burdened with abilty, what it can turn us into."

Ezra closed his eyes, a dark Cape billowing in his mind, exhaling slowly, "I—maybe, but from my experience, the love of our familes only made me and Kanan stronger."

Luke looked sympathetically at Ezra "But in the end, you had to let them go, didn't you?"

Ezra flicked his eyes away.

Luke flexed his robotic hand " I learnt the hard way when I didn't heed Master Yodas advice on letting go" he continued "Plus, if I didn't let go of my life on Tatooine, I'd have never done anything."

Ezra interjected "Aren't you tired of letting go? Your aunt and uncle raised you, yet you never talk about them."

Luke's eyes widened, how'd ezra know about them?

"I can't focus on something that cannot be changed, that'd result only in pain, That is what I learnt and what the younglings need to understand. Why'd you even bring that up anyway?"

Ezra's smirked "Someone told me to take care of the quote 'softer twin' "

Ah Leia

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Worried she'd strangle you like the other Jabba?"

Ezra snorted, he paused for a moment and locked his earnest blue eyes with Luke's.

"Listen, I was only able to sacrifice myself because I love and am attached to my family and my planet, knowing that I would be protecting them."

Ezras face lightened.

"Also, because I knew my family wouldn't let go of me either; they'd move galaxies to save this Lothrat punk."

Luke felt the force become warmer at the strength of earnestness emanating of the man.

"They make me better, the younglings family makes them better, Hera keeps Jacen from blowing up your temple, Din plays with grogu when he gets sad, your karking family makes you better, Leia makes you actually interact with people, Han-"

Luke puts his hand over ezras mouth, which does not deter the mans jabbering.

Luke rolls his eyes and finally relents, sighing "Fine, Master Bridger, we'll listen to your oh so great wisdom over the ones of mellenias of jedi"

Luke's light blue eyes meet Ezra's deep blue gaze, He's looking at the blonde with elation. "Atleast temporarily... I just hope I'm doing the right thing"

Ezra licks Luke's hand, Luke immediately recoils, wiping it on Ezras robe looking aghast.

Ezra smirks before getting more serious. "Look, Luke, these kids will be stronger Jedi for having healthy relationships in their lives, and more importantly, they'll be better people."

#star wars #ezra bridger #luke skywalker #Luke's Jedi academy #Jedi #star wars rebels #leia organa #hera syndulla #din grogu #star wars fanfiction #star wars original trilogy #star wars sequel trilogy #idk just had a flash of inspiration #my first fanfic #sw rebels

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marierg · 1 year

Note

You - Miss - are a very bad influence to me! And I dearly love you for that!

ME?.... A bad influence?......Maaaaayyyybbeeeeee

@rain-on-kamino you gotta admit we have more fun! The following is a small preview of a joint project in the works....

Suggestive and Explicit stuffs below the cut!

Jesse turned to Lina as she finished her drink, "What's your friend doing over at the bar with Fives?"

"Oh no!" Lina looked and saw as the ARC hopped up on the bar and began to dance with Sue. Dancing actually may have been too tame a word, it was closer to making out to the rhythm of the music. Laughing she watch the inevitable outcome unfold. "You know Jesse... Sue and me.. we caused a hell of a heck when we were younger. That’s one of her usual performances."

"Is it now?" Jesse arched a brow at the exuberant display, "And she's found Fives... big surprise."

Chuckling Lina turned her attention back to Jesse, eyes hooded and voice turning sultry. With an enticing smile she tapped her finger under that strong chin, "Who could blame her with the handsome company she has?"

"Oh you think he's handsome?" Jesse teased back, eyes narrowed.

"Hmm he's not my type, I'd rather the more... serious type... if you catch my drift." She whistled on her fingers. "GO FOR IT SUE!!!!"

"You Know it Lina! Get you some too gurl!" Smiling and feeling fine she look at the flirt in front of her. "So handsome you ever had a shiver shot?"

Fives helped Sue down from the bar much to the disappointment of those who had been enjoying the show. He looks at the live wire in front of him, biting out a grin, "I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle sweetheart."

"Oh... you think I'm sweet?"

Fives tilts the beauty's chin up and gives a breath stealing kiss. Licking his lips on parting he smirked, "Very."

Taking a shot of tequila and wedging it behind his belt buckle, Sue licked a line on his neck sprinkling some salt. Last she gave the stunned trooper a tease of a kiss before placing a lime between those plush lips. "Don't move handsome, cause the trick to this is you get the shiver and I get the shot."

Licking the line of salt from his neck Sue felt the poor troopers breathe stutter. She grinned wickedly before dropping slowly down Fives's body.

"Karking HELLS!" Fives muttered, bracing his elbows against the bar.

Sue hummed, but kept those brown eyes locked as she licked at belt buckle, then lapping at the shot. Finally taking the glass between her teeth and downing the drink, she handed the glass back to the bartender. Making an equally slow ascent back she bit into the lime, enjoying the sour flavor on her tongue before the fruit's ripped away and replaced by something far more enticing.

"Awfully messy drinker... think you ought to help me clean up." Fives quickly threw the maddening girl over his shoulder, heading straight to the back of the club.

"Oh I thought you'd never ask!" Sue giggled and swatted at his bottom.

Meanwhile Lina and Jesse were deep in conversation, her fingers teasing lightly at his jaw even as his hand ascended up that pretty little skirt....

"So tell me mesh'la... what brings you in tonight?" Jesse's finger travels up further till they graze the hem of the lace underwear, but her hand stilled his movements. Holding him right in place leaning in and nibbling that jawline.

"Hmmm... I was hoping for a little fun. Do you happen to know someone who could help me through the night?"

Jesse's free hand caught Lina's chin between his thumb and forefinger. Thumb brushing that plush bottom lip to gently pull it down, before he rewarded her with a kiss. His lips taste like fizz and him, far stronger than any liquor she had experienced.

"I don't know Mesh'la." Jesse smirked as he felt her hand finally press his against her aching core. Jesse drew hard patterns against the lace, drawing shattered cries from the beauty next to him. Chuckling in his throat he teased a finger just under the elastic that separated him from his goal. Looking her right in the eye he licked his lips, "Do you think you can take the heat?"

#oh this is gonna be fun #these girls got no CLUE!#If we die we die happy #arc trooper fives #arc trooper jesse #jesse smut #fives smut

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kavaeroexe · 2 years

Note

HELLO!!! your yandere padme and anakin fic has me in a chokehold, you are seriously talented! if you're still taking requests I'd love some yandere Wrecker or yandere/sith obi wan headcanons, whichever one works for you- im OBSESSED WITH BOTH OF THEM❤❤❤‼️‼️thank you ❤️

Oh my god... THANKYOU ARIEFJAJFDJF I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY, LETS GET STARTED <3

Take what you deserve.

Sith!Obi-wan x reader

warning: typos, bad grammar

attention! please do not try to repost my works, I only post my works on Tumblr, if anyone see someone stole my works please inform me through the comments, tag me in the works, or message me!

strict of course

but when I talk about strict Sith Obi-wan, I really mean strict, that means the punishment is also something we all want to avoid.

force choking-? that’s one of it

but when he’s mad enough, it will be the stage of him starving you until you beg for help

cutting your limbs? never impossible

especially if you’re a rebel and you’re a Jedi

cutting your limbs is truly one of the options he’ll use for you

but if you really reach the point you made him run out of his own patience

but he’s a patient man, even if he’s a Sith

because he learns to be soft around you

if he becomes suddenly silent or stops visiting you, then soon he will prepare something for you that you are sure you will never like, punishment of course.

if you face that situation, I think it’s better to seek his forgiveness rather than using that free time to escape

if you escape, the punishment will be even harder.

just don’t be stupid.

you know the situation

just love him then your whole life will never be miserable and helpless

okay about cutting your limbs...

I think when he finally does that, he’ll feel super bad, seeking your forgiveness but will also say “It’s for your best” when actually it’s for his best.

for his best so you’ll learn your lesson, not to run away

one day he just gives you synthetic arms/legs for which one he cuts your body idk which one

and if you’re trying to run away with that gifts he gave you, don’t worry, he got a small remote here to control that synthetic arm/legs, maybe he could turn it off (especially if he’s cutting legs if you run away and turning the hand ones if you’re using your lightsaber or blaster)

but after that, he’ll slowly approach you and ask what makes you uncomfortable here

he’ll hug you, stroking your hair softly while asking in a soft, sad voice asking what’s wrong, what is the thing you despise here that makes you keep and keeps running away.

maybe his attitude, or this place, he sure he can change it for you, just for you.

if you’re once his close friend, he knows everything about you, what you like and what you’re scared of

he’ll use that against you

but only in words, he actually never does it, but his words are sound serious enough makes you consider your rebel action sometimes

because if he really does it, it will make everything complicated, I think.

actually he hates it when he has to punish you violently, but he got no other choice

he’s between love or hates your crying, he loves to wipe it out when you’re crying in his arms after he catches you and then goes “shh shh it’s okay, I’m here with you, we can delay the punishment until you stop crying, right here in my arms”

yandere Jedi Obi with yandere Sith Obi is a total different y’know

you don’t know? now you know, you’re welcome..!

but if you are in love with how the way he is

he’s over the karking galaxy.

hell cuddle when he’s in bad mood, he’ll kiss before and after he goes to work, and he’ll be a super nice husband.

bad rumor about you among the admirals, captains, clones, or anyone it is? there will be no tomorrow for them.

he’ll never show his anger, despite you already know who he is

basically just doesn’t want to scare you, he doesn’t want to see your scared face

when you’re crying he’ll wrap you around his arms but silently make a murder plan in his head somewhere in the storage of his brain but he’ll make sure he’ll be there until you’re done crying and feeling better.

“it’s okay dear, you’re stronger than them, and soon everything will be fine because I know you’re strong.”

he loves it when you scold him every time he got injured after a mission, even though the scar is not that bad and it’s also had been taken care of before he comes home, but he loves at your cute mad face scolding him, he then kiss your lips and you becoming quickly silent is also cute for him, sometimes he laughs it off after he kisses you.

but he’s a sweet man after all

MORNING ROUTINE WITH THIS ONE SITH IS-

it’s between he wakes up earlier and then left you because emergency

or he wakes up late by purpose so you’ll wake him up

and playfully tuck you to bed again, fills your face with a thousand passionate kisses here and there

but if you tickle him first, he’ll either wake up or trap you in and give you his revenge

he’s sensitive when being tickled, no more denial. HE’S TICKLISH.

I guess that’s all for yandere portion, I love this man so much you just don’t know about it

#star wars hc #star wars x reader #yandere star wars #star wars writing #star wars fanfic #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #sith obi wan #yandere obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #yandere obi wan x reader #sith obi wan x reader

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dystopicjumpsuit · 11 months

Text

Martyrs and Kings - Chapter 5

The One That Survives

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged)

Pairing: Kix x archivist/historian OFC

Wordcount: 3.2k

A/N: For my readers who loved Cerra in "Do It Again," keep your eyes peeled.

Warnings: angst; injuries (no blood); Star Wars swearing; discussions of canon character deaths (not detailed)

Start here | Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

The next day passed in agonizing slowness for Kix. As difficult as it was to hear about the eventual fate of the clones, now that he had begun to uncover what had happened to his brothers, he was desperate to learn more. Seeing Jesse’s number on the 332nd roster had been a gut punch. Of course, he had been at the top of the list of individual troopers that Kix had sent Maree after their first meeting, but he hadn’t been prepared to confront the knowledge quite so soon. Unfortunately, the roster did not provide any information other than a note indicating that Jesse had been assigned as a staff officer to the 332nd Division. Kix would have to wait until his next meeting with Maree to find out what had happened to him.

To distract himself, he checked in with the Meson Martinet and gave an update to Reveth.

“I’ll probably be here a few more days,” he said. “Hard to tell.”

Reveth nodded. Her hologram was distorted by the distance it had traveled, but it was clear enough that he could see the serious expression on the mechanic’s beautiful face.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said shortly.

He and Reveth walked the line between friends and kriff-buddies, but one thing they didn’t do was talk about their feelings.

“Ithano is itching to get back out there and find some more Seppie bases to loot,” Reveth said. “He’ll be happy to hear you’re wrapping things up.”

“Like I said, it’ll be a few days at least,” he said, not liking to feel rushed.

“All right, all right, the bases can wait,” she said placatingly. “It’s not like any other crews have a clone giving them intel.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he said.

They ended the call, which had killed all of six minutes, leaving him with only another 1,378 to go. Kix scrubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted. He’d never slept well—none of the clones did—but it had been worse than ever in the year since he’d been pulled out of cryostasis. The previous night, he’d jerked awake, sobbing Jesse’s name. Rather than lie awake for hours, afraid to fall back asleep and enter his nightmares all over again, he had gone to the hotel gym. He had set a punishing pace, not stopping until his muscles cramped and his lungs burned. It hadn’t eased the twisting ache of grief, rage, failure, and despair that gnawed inside him.

He launched himself to his feet and grabbed his jacket, heading out of the hotel with a determined stride. He was in a planet-sized city, for kark’s sake. He could find something to distract him.

Taungsday morning, Maree hurried to work. She arrived half an hour early, but a familiar figure was already waiting outside the staff entrance. Kix turned to her as she approached, and she skidded to an abrupt halt.

“Holy kriffing sith!” she exclaimed. “What happened to your face?”

“It ran into a fist,” Kix said. “A few times.”

Maree traced her fingers softly across his hairline and then gently tilted his jaw so she could get a better look at the angry bruises mottling his skin.

“Force almighty,” she cursed. “Don’t you have any bacta?”

He shook his head.

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand and tugging him toward the entrance. “There’s an emergency medkit in my office.”

The mazelike corridors were empty, for which she was grateful. She could only imagine what rumors would swirl amongst the interns if she were spotted dragging the gorgeous, battered man through the library. She pulled him into her office and locked the door behind them.

“Sit,” she directed him as she rummaged through the kitchenette cabinets to find the medkit.

Thank the stars, there was plenty of bacta inside. She washed her hands and dispensed a little of the gel onto her fingertips, warming it slightly as she crossed to him. She spread the bacta generously over the bruises and lacerations. His lip was split, so she dabbed a small amount on it. He held perfectly still beneath her touch, never flinching, even when her fingers grazed over a particularly nasty cut over his eyebrow.

“Where else are you hurt?” she demanded.

“Nowhere,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

He took a hitching breath, and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Take off your shirt,” she ordered.

He shot her a startled glance.

“What?” he asked.

“Off. Take it off. I know you’re hiding more injuries.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, rising to comply.

He shed his jacket and then slipped his shirt over his head with a tiny grunt of pain.

She hissed in a breath and unleashed a torrent of curses that made Kix’s mouth drop open in awe. The entire left side of his ribcage was covered in dark bruises.

“Will you teach me how to swear like that, doc?” he asked as some of the tension in his face began to ease. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“This isn’t funny,” she said severely. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Relax,” he said. “I was just blowing off some steam.”

“Do you know what I do when I need to blow off steam?” she demanded. “I go bar hopping, or dancing with my friends, or I go for a run if I’m feeling virtuous. I don’t go out and get my ass stomped into the plastcrete!”

He shrugged. “We all handle stress in our own self-destructive ways. Besides, you should have seen the other guy.”

She glared at him, muttering darkly under her breath as she emptied the tube of bacta onto his impressively muscled torso. She would have enjoyed the view more if she hadn’t been so irritated with his recklessness.

“You’re a mean medic,” he said. “I was never this mean to my patients.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a good thing I’m not that kind of doctor, then,” she snapped.

She smeared the bacta across the bruises on his chest and then blew on it to help it dry. He shivered, and she realized he must be freezing. She handed him one of the numerous throw blankets scattered around the office.

“Here,” she said. “Wrap up in this until the bacta dries and you can put your shirt back on. Do you want some pain meds?”

He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll get us some tea.”

“And biscuits?” he asked hopefully.

“And biscuits,” she sighed.

Kix was fully clothed again by the time the rest of the archival staff trickled into the library, but Maree kept her door locked until the bacta could work its magic on his face. He looked truly shocking, and her concern for him made her cranky. He seemed unaffected by either his injuries or her exasperation. On the contrary, he was in a surprisingly good mood considering that they were about to dive into the heartbreaking task of reviewing the individual trooper reports he’d requested.

Kix was on his second cup of tea and his fourth biscuit as Maree booted up the holoprojector. She was deeply envious of his metabolism. How could he subsist on a diet of sweets while maintaining that breathtaking physique?

“These are really good,” he mumbled around a bite of biscuit. “Did you make them?”

“No, they’re from a bakery by my apartment,” she said. “I’m not much of a cook.”

“It must be nice to live so close to good restaurants,” he said.

“Perks of living in the city,” she said.

“Would you ever move away?” he asked.

If one of my expedition proposals got approved, I’d leave in a heartbeat, she thought. But that wasn’t exactly the sort of sentiment she should share with a major donor to the Library, so she gave a more diplomatic and less truthful answer.

“I don’t know. I never really thought about it. My work is here, and it’s not like the rest of the galaxy is clamoring for archivists.”

“Did you always want to be an archivist?”

“It was a way to put my doctorate to use,” she hedged. “And the New Republic pays well. I still have access to research opportunities, and I’m the faculty advisor for the military history internship program, so I get to see the emerging trends in the field firsthand. It’s always inspiring to see young people excited about learning history. When I was their age, I always wanted to do field work.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

“Credits,” she said bluntly. “It’s not cheap to finance excursions, and it’s almost impossible to drum up funds if you don’t have the publications to demonstrate your expertise. I joined the Archive to build my professional reputation, and I stayed because I grew up and realized there’s more to life than chasing dreams.”

“Like earning that sweet, sweet New Republic salary,” he said.

“Having a stable income is nothing to sneer at,” she retorted.

“Right, and you can spend it on pretty dresses to wear to the galas you love so much.”

“Or on travel, or fine dining, or opera tickets, or art, or glitterstim, or a wine collection that I’ll never drink, or massages, or whatever the kriff I want, because it’s my money, and I get to decide how I spend it,” she said, feeling her earlier ire start to return.

“Fair enough,” he said. “When was the last time you did any of those things?”

“It’s been a while,” she admitted. “I’ve been kind of wrapped up in work recently.”

He looked thoughtful.

“What about pursuing field work now?” he asked. “Doesn’t the library provide any opportunities for senior research staff like you?”

“They’ve scaled back in recent years,” she said. “There are still opportunities on the Core worlds, but there aren’t many sites that are relevant to my research in the Core. The library administration says the Mid and Outer Rims are too risky to send research expeditions. The First Order has been expanding in those regions. The New Republic doesn’t want to acknowledge them publicly as a threat, but they’re being cautious behind the scenes.”

“Risk is an inherent part of life,” Kix said philosophically.

“True, but a New Republic badge in the Outer Rim might as well be a target,” Maree said. “Particularly for a civilian researcher.”

“Well,” he said, “I hope you don’t stop chasing all your dreams, doc.”

She gave him a wan smile, trying not to acknowledge the sting of truth in his words.

“Shall we get started?”

“CT-0292, Captain Vaughn, was killed in action during the siege of Mandalore. Boil is the next name on the list. Without a numerical designation, I wasn’t able to find a record, unfortunately. Same with Wooley. After that is CC-2224. Marshall Commander Cody served with distinction through the end of the Clone Wars and the formation of the Empire,” Maree said. “His file states that he went AWOL the year after the end of the war. There are no other extant records of him.”

Maree heaved a frustrated sigh. They had been at this for hours. The lack of clone records in the Imperial era was becoming a recurring theme. Of the list Kix had sent her, nearly half of the clones had either missing or incomplete files. It was as though the Empire had found yet another way to subtly twist the knife—they considered the clones to be of such little value that they were not even worth the effort of updating the records.

“Who’s next on the list?” Kix asked.

“CT-7922, Dogma. His record states that he was detained after the battle of Umbara, but there is nothing else in the file.”

Kix brooded. He knew it had been a long shot to ask about Dogma. He had never seen the clone again after Umbara. While Kix believed Dogma had been more than justified in executing that karking traitorous Jedi Krell, it seemed that the Republic had disagreed. Another casualty to add to the long list of brothers he hadn’t been able to save.

“What about after that?” he asked.

“CT-7567, Captain Rex,” she said. “Wait, I thought he was a commander?”

“Maybe my source was from earlier in the war,” Kix replied vaguely.

Maree scrolled through the data until she located Rex.

“Ah, here he is. And finally, some good news!”

Kix looked up. “What is it?”

“When I pulled the files, I cross-referenced the Imperial records with those from the Rebellion. Commander Rex was one of a few clones who appeared in both.”

Kix leaned forward in anticipation.

“The Empire listed him as Killed in Action at the end of the war, but the Rebellion files confirm that he survived at least another nineteen years. He fought for the Rebellion, and he was present at many battles, including Endor.”

Kix was stunned. Rex had survived! Not only that, but he’d had a whole life, and he’d gotten his revenge against the Empire.

“He must have been an old man by then,” Kix said.

“That doesn’t seem to have slowed him down much, judging by his activities in the Rebellion,” she said.

“You mentioned that other clones fought in the Rebellion,” he said. “Can you tell me their names?”

“Yes, I found records of at least two others,” she said, scrolling a bit further in her data. “CC-3636, Commander Wolffe, and CC-5576, Captain Gregor. Both participated in the liberation of Lothal. Gregor fell in the battle, but Wolffe survived. Unfortunately, we don’t have any further records of Rex or Wolffe.”

Kix leaned back in his seat, his mind alight with speculation. If Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor had survived that long, maybe more of his brothers had lived long, peaceful lives after the war. It didn’t change the fact that Kix was now the sole surviving clone trooper in the galaxy, but the thought brought him some measure of comfort.

Maree looked tired. Kix stole a glance at the chronometer on the wall and realized it was late in the afternoon. They had spent the entire day combing through individual trooper files.

Maybe we should end the day now, when we at least have found some good news, he thought. We can pick up again tomorrow.

“How many more are left on the list?” he asked.

“Just one more: the natural-born supply officer you listed, Lieutenant Cerra Kilian.”

Kix leaned forward in anticipation.

“According to the files, she deserted immediately after the battle of Coruscant. There’s no other record of her; she just disappeared.”

Kix frowned. What the hell could have happened at Coruscant to make Cerra desert when she’d stayed a loyal soldier even after everything she’d been through?

“That was the end of the list,” Maree said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to locate files on all the troopers you requested. So many records were lost when the Imperial Center of Military Research on Scarif was destroyed, but there is one more possibility that we can explore.”

“What is that?”

“The Imperial Military Records Archive on Coruscant,” she said. “There’s a huge amount of data there that hasn’t been released to the public, but I can access it. I just have to go in person for security reasons.”

“Would they allow you to share the data with me?” he asked.

“I believe they would if we are only accessing trooper files,” she said. “They wouldn’t authorize me to share any sensitive information, though.”

“What could be so sensitive after half a century?” he asked.

“You’d be surprised,” she said cryptically. “There is one complication, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t remove the files from the archive.”

Kix stared at her. “So how could you share them with me?”

“I would need to bring you with me into the archive. I can arrange a visitor pass, if this is something you’d like to pursue.”

“I would appreciate that,” he said.

“I’ll have Teejay set it up,” she said. “It might take a couple of days to make all the arrangements. Can I comm you with the details?”

“Of course,” he said. “Here’s my comm channel.”

Kix made sure to give her the triple-encrypted comm channel that he used when he wanted to make sure nobody from the Meson Martinet crew could snoop in his messages.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll let Teejay know what arrangements to make,” she said.

As she left, Kix crossed the room to stare at the magnificent view. He thought about how Rex had made a life for himself after losing so many brothers. Was it possible that Kix could do the same? He had spent the past year in an agony of grief and regret. Had Rex also suffered the intense guilt that seemed to be the price of survival? What would his captain say to him if they could speak to each other one last time? Kix closed his eyes and tried to imagine. He remembered the times when Rex had come to the med bay after a particularly grueling campaign, laying a comforting hand on Kix’s shoulder as the medic grieved over the patients he hadn’t been able to save. Saleucami. Kiros. Ringo Vinda. So many campaigns, so much death.

Umbara.

That cursed battle had nearly broken Kix. He was a combat medic. He dedicated his entire life to saving his brothers’ lives. To realize that he had ended them instead—that he had killed his own brothers—it was more than he could stand. In the bloody aftermath, overwhelmed by the sheer number of injured and dying clones, he had treated the wounded, helping as many as he could, but it was all too few. After days of triage, Rex had tried to order him to get some sleep. Kix had refused.

“I have to save them!” he’d shouted.

Rex had tried to calm him down, but Kix shoved the captain away as his body began to shake uncontrollably. Rex refused to back down, wrapping Kix in a tight hug as the medic sobbed into his captain’s shoulder.

“Sometimes in war, it’s hard to be the one that survives,” Cody had once said.

But Kix had survived, whether he liked it or not. And now he had to find a way forward, no matter how impossible it seemed to be. As he took a final look at the gleaming city outside the window, Kix decided to take his first step on that path.

When Maree returned to her office a few moments later, Kix had pulled on his jacket. He thought he saw a glimmer of disappointment in her face. Her eyes looked heavy, and a few wayward strands of hair had worked their way out of her hairstyle and brushed across her cheeks.

Stars, she is breathtaking.

“Your face is looking much better,” she observed. “The bacta worked quickly.”

“Is it improved enough that it won’t set the office gossip chain on fire when I leave?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. “If anyone notices, we can say that we got into a debate about which Jedi was the most reckless general, and things got out of hand.”

“Skywalker, without a doubt,” Kix said. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

She blinked in surprise, and Kix realized that she might prefer to rest after such a taxing day.

“No pressure if you don’t want—”

“Yes!” she cut him off. “I would love to have dinner with you.”

Kix flashed a smile. “How does 1900 sound?”

“Perfect,” she said. “We can meet at my place.”

Kix took his leave and sped back to his hotel, comming the Meson Martinet on the way.

“Reveth, I need a favor,” he said.

---

Chapter 6

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