Title: Like a Rubber Band (Until You Pull Too Hard) (AO3)
Summary: Tommy is hyper-independent and wants to do things on his own. Buck wants to help and take care of Tommy. Tension rises.
1
Something is wrong. Buck can’t put his finger on it. Not yet. But he can feel it. He can feel the tension.
It’s like a rubberband being stretched in the silence between them. And Buck has a feeling it might snap soon.
“You know you could have asked me to help you with this, right?” Buck asks, running a finger over Tommy’s freshly painted living room wall. “Like. I would have loved to paint the walls with you. Might have been fun.” He smiles.
“Thank you for the offer,” Tommy says, scratching the back of his head. “But … You had a long shift. And I was doing fine on my own. Do you like it?”
“Yeah. Hm. You said the same when you repaired the roof. And when you had that new fridge delivered. You bruised several of your toes while trying to carry that massive thing by yourself,” Buck says dryly. “You do know you don’t have to do everything alone, right?”
“Of course,” Tommy says.
But … Buck has the feeling he doesn’t really mean it.
“Tommy?” He asks uncertainly.
Tommy’s eyes flicker up to meet his. “Yeah?”
“Is there anything we should talk about?”
Tommy scrunches his nose in confusion. “I don’t think so?”
“Okay,” Buck says. “Alright. Great.”
And the mental rubberband in his head gets stretched a little bit more.
2
The tension is not there all the time.
Sometimes Buck just forgets about it. Like now, while he’s having dinner with Tommy and they are laughing about something that happened during a call. They both had long shifts but now they finally can spend some quality time together and Buck is really looking forward to that. After he had a good night’s rest. He knows Tommy is exhausted too. His boyfriend is hiding hearty yawns behind the back of his hand and sometimes his eyes are drooping a little.
Since they are both exhausted, Buck thinks it’s only reasonable to share the necessary household chores and then go to bed.
But after dinner, Tommy gets up and reaches for a plate. “Gonna do the dishes,” he mutters.
No way. Buck stands up as well and grabs the plate as well so that they end up each holding an end of it. “No. Give it to me. I’m going to do the dishes. You already made dinner and set the table. Let me take care of the rest. You’re just as exhausted as I am. Relax.”
“No,” Tommy says, not letting go. Something defiant flickers in his eyes.
Buck blinks, baffled. “No?”
Tommy exhales slowly like he has to ground himself. “No. You don’t have to help. This is my house and I can do this on my own. Sit down and … and do something.”
“But … I want to help you,” Buck says, his confusion mixing with irritation. And there’s also a pinch of pain. My house?
“You don’t need to. Let go,” Tommy repeats, pulling at the plate.
Buck narrows his eyes. He doesn’t let go. This is not only about the plate or the stupid dishes anymore. “Tommy. Why won’t you let me help you?!”
“I already told you, Evan. You don’t have to help me. I’m fine doing this on my own. I’m an adult!” Tommy exclaims.
Buck shakes his head. “That’s not what this is about. Of course, you’re an adult. But I’m an adult too. I won’t let my boyfriend do all the work! I want to help you. So let me!”
Tommy scowls. “No. Now give it back.” He pulls at the plate again. Firmer.
“No. You give it to me!” Buck demands, pulling as well.
“Let go, Ev - Buck!”
“You let go first, Thomas!”
What follows is kind of inevitable, really. Buck’s fingers eventually slip. Tommy’s slip as well. And somehow, between their irritated scowls, the plate drops, shattering on the ground.
Silence.
The silence is stretching. Like a rubber band.
Tommy blinks at the shards. Then, he turns on his heels and storms out of the room. Without a word.
“Jesus, why are you so stubborn!?” Buck yells after Tommy who doesn’t stop and slams the door.
Buck stares at it. At the closed door. The silence is too loud. He can hear his own breaths. Dumbfounded, he glances at the mess on the floor. What the hell just happened? Not that long ago, they were talking about Buck moving in and now? Now Buck isn't allowed to do the dishes?
He shakes his head and starts to clean up. And while he's picking up the broken pieces of the plate, he anxiously wonders if he did something wrong.
3
Buck slowly starts to put the pieces of his tension puzzle together.
Tommy never asks for help. But Tommy also never accepts any help.
He wants to do everything on his own.
He is always there for Buck. But he doesn’t let Buck be there for him.
And it’s really starting to go on Buck’s nerves. The situation is hurting him. He has this deep urge to do nice things for Tommy.
He knows they have to talk about it.
But after the plate incident, Tommy has been withdrawn and Buck wants to give him some space. So he goes to sleep at the loft and decides to address the issue after his next shift.
He also talks to Hen about it.
“Like, he doesn’t want me to help him with anything! He also doesn’t want me to do “any great gestures”. Just told me I don’t need to make an effort. I don’t get it, Hen. Why would Tommy be that defensive about me helping him or doing something for him? Like … That’s what you do in a relationship, right? You’re taking care of each other! It’s not meant to be a one-sided thing, right?!”
Hen hums thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s scared,” she says calmly.
“Scared?” Buck asks, frowning. “Why would he be scared?”
“Maybe he never really had anyone who wanted to take care of him before,” Hen says. “Maybe he learned to take care of himself very early in his life and now it’s a habit. He might think that he has to be this independent strong person, you know? If that’s who he had to be for a very long time, it might be hard to let that go and accept help. Or care.”
“Oh.” Buck swallows. He remembers everything he learned so far about Tommy’s past. Which … really isn’t that much. Fuck. Tommy shielded him from that too, didn’t he?
“Thanks, Hen,” he says, already reaching for his jacket. “I have to go and talk to him.”
“Do that. You and Tommy are going to be alright, Buck,” Hen says, smiling at him. “As long as you talk to each other honestly, the hurdles aren’t going to be too tall for you to overcome.”
4
When Buck opens the door, something feels off.
Tommy’s house is silent. Too silent. There’s light, but Tommy is nowhere to be seen. Or heard. Buck frowns. He takes off his shoes and jacket, calling, “Tommy? Are you home?”
Nothing.
Maybe Tommy fell asleep, Buck thinks. He has a habit of taking naps. Especially after he had a shift. But Buck still feels like something’s not right.
He goes into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. And then he sees it. The blood.
Buck freezes.
It’s on the counter. A bloody almost perfectly shaped hand-print.
“Tommy,” Buck gasps, his chest being flooded with icy fear. “Tommy!”
His call echoes from the wall. There’s no answer.
But he sees more blood. It’s like a trail. Blood on the freshly painted wall. Blood on the floor. Leading up the stairs …
Buck follows them, his heart pounding in his chest and his blood rushing in his ears. That’s a lot of blood, right? No. No, no, no. Please. Don’t let him be … No. He can’t think of that. The trail leads him to the bathroom. The door is closed. And when Buck approaches, he can finally hear a quiet groan.
“Tommy!” Buck calls out, reaching for the door handle.
There’s a gasp. “No … Don’t come in!”
But Buck is already ripping open the door. His heart seems to miss a beat.
Tommy is a heap on the floor, with his back leaning against the toilet, pressing a towel against his right arm. It’s already soaked in blood.
“Tommy. What the hell happened?!” Buck asks, crouching down beside his boyfriend and pulling out his phone.
“I … I wanted to install a board for your spices. In the kitchen. I wanted to get the wood into a proper shape. But then I cut myself with the saw and it won’t stop bleeding,” Tommy croaks, trembling and staring at the bloody towel. “Please. Don’t call 911,” he adds and it sounds close to begging.
Buck swallows, putting his phone to the side for now. “Let me see,” he says as calmly as possible.
Tommy lifts the towel. Buck curses as he sees the cut. It’s long and jagged. But it doesn’t seem to be too deep. Still …
“That needs stitches and proper cleaning,” he says. “I’m going to wrap it up and drive you to the ER.”
Tommy groans. “Is that really necessary? I … I might be able to -”
“Please don’t say you want to do the stitches yourself,” Buck says, raising a finger and narrowing his eyes. “Just don’t.”
5
The drive home is silent. Tense.
Buck can feel Tommy glancing at him a few times, where he’s sitting in the passenger’s seat, cradling his bandaged arm to his chest.
Finally, Buck can’t stand it anymore. He parks the car at a quiet corner, clears his throat and says, “I could have helped you with that board, you know? Like I could have helped you with everything else. The paint. The fridge. The dishes. And I still can't believe you didn't call me when you cut yourself... Tommy. We really have to talk about this. Because I can’t … I can’t go on like this. I want to take care of you. And I feel like you won’t let me.”
Tommy sighs. “I’m used to taking care of myself,” he mutters.
“I know. I know you are. And you’re doing a great job. Um. Not counting what happened today of course ... But you being able to take care of yourself doesn’t mean you can’t let someone else take care of you once in a while, don’t you think? Especially if that person loves you and wants to take care of you?”
Tommy swallows. He looks at Buck, wide-eyed. “You love me?”
“Yeah,” Buck says, chuckling. “Of course I do.”
“I love you too,” Tommy breathes. “God. I do. I … I’m sorry, Evan. It’s not you, I promise. It’s all me.”
“Help me to understand?” Buck asks quietly.
Tommy takes a deep breath. “I can try. It’s just … I’m used to taking care of myself, you know? I’ve always done it, in a way. My Dad … He was a drunk. So he either was at a bar or he was asleep on the couch. And my mother … Well. She was depressed. She wasn’t doing much either. And I was an only child. So I was on my own pretty much all the time. Then, later, in the army, it wasn’t much different. It was kind of expected from soldiers, you know? To not ask for help or care. We had to be tough and independent. It just continued like this. I was living alone. So I did things on my own all the time. If I didn’t know how to do something, I learned how to. And now … Well. Now you’re in my life. And it’s the best thing that happened to me since … I don’t know since when to be honest. I’ve never been in a committed relationship before, Evan. Which is pretty pathetic for a guy as old as me …”
“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” Buck breathes, reaching for Tommy’s hand and squeezing it gently.
“Thanks,” Tommy says and squeezes back. “What I wanted to say … I’m not used to living with someone. I’m not used to someone wanting to take care of me. And I think I just … I kind of had a fight and flight response to it, you know?”
Buck thinks back to what Hen assumed and nods. “Yeah.”
“But I can learn. I know I can. And I want to,” Tommy adds. “Because I do want you to help me and take care of me. I … I really love how the thought, the idea, makes me feel. I just … I’m just a little scared, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Buck says, smiling at Tommy. “If I’m being honest, I probably was trying a bit too hard. I was pushing you to allow me to help you. I should have been more thoughtful and should have given you a chance to explain it to me like you did just now. I’m sorry. But now we can work on it together, right?”
“Yeah,” Tommy says and smiles as well. “I’m sorry too.”
“You can start by letting me help you repaint your living room walls,” Buck says with a wink. “Since it now wears your bloody handprint.”
Tommy groans. “Right … Here we go again. But we are going to have to buy new colour first …”
“Does this mean we are going to Ikea?!” Buck gasps in delight. “I’ve never been to Ikea!”
Tommy laughs. “Well. There’s a first time for everything. Yeah. We’re going to Ikea and since I’m gravely injured, my strong boyfriend is going to carry all the bags, right?”
“I can’t wait,” Buck says with a chuckle and starts the motor.
Summary: A high-tension deal with Saw Gerrera's faction turns dangerous when Kallus recognizes the Lasat from Onderon and the Lasat recognizes him. Set in S4.
FFN II AO3
---
Against the Odds
"Are we really considering this? After what he did?" Ezra demanded. "He was going to leave those prisoners to die!" His gaze swept the small crowd of rebels that was being read in on the potential mission and it settled on Hera. Saw Gerrera had reached out just weeks after two of their own had nearly been stranded on a ship with an unsteady Kyber crystal ready to blow. He needed something: a missing piece of intel that he believed one of their Fulcrum agents had gotten ahold of before his people had. And he was right. One of Kallus' newly-recruited officers within the Imperial Navy had transmitted the intelligence just that morning. They had what Gerrera wanted, and he had something they desperately needed.
"Destroying the satellite helped, but we're still trying to recoup the supplies that we lost when the Empire was intercepting our transmissions," Hera said after a long moment. "I don't like handing Gerrera our intel to handle the mission as he sees fit, but it won't do us a lot of good if we can't fuel our ships or replace our hyperdrives that were damaged in battle."
"Or restock medical supplies," Sabine offered with a quiet wince. "Have you seen the supply room since we got in? Bacta isn't cheap."
Hera turned her green gaze towards their former ISB Agent that had actually seen the intel they were all discussing in abstract. If he had an opinion about the matter - and Alexsandr Kallus always seemed to have an opinion about a matter - he was keeping a tight lid on it. She finally caught his gaze. "What do you think?" He frowned at that and she waved off the argument before it could make its way into the open. "I'm not asking you to break confidence on the details, I'm asking if it's worth the trade."
He took a long moment, light brown eyes focusing on something beyond her as he pursed his lips together. She could practically see him sorting through what he could say, what he couldn't say, and what he didn't want to say.
Kanan shifted at Hera's side. "You already gave your recommendation, didn't you?"
"Yes."
Ezra barked a short, disbelieving sound. "And what was that?"
Kallus gave one quick glance at closed doors where the matter was being discussed after he had debriefed them and pulled in a breath, decision made. "That we do it. I have no love for Saw Gerrera and certainly not for his methods, but Captain Syndulla's right, as is Sabine. We're running dangerously low on equipment and supplies that could make or break this rebellion before open war is even declared. We need this, and if that means we have to bend so that we don't break, it's what needs to be done."
"And what's stoppin' 'im from from takin' what we've got and givin' nothin' back?" Zeb grumbled.
"Us," Kallus answered. "I volunteered to accompany the intel and verify that it's securely transferred, but I made mention that it wouldn't hurt to have a Jedi along to make sure there are no… hidden agendas."
Kanan gave an amused snort at the phrasing, but followed it with a nod of agreement.
"You'll need a ship," Hera pointed out.
"And a captain," Kallus agreed with a quirked eyebrow.
"Wouldn't hurt to have a weapons expert along," Sabine offered.
"And some backup," Zeb added.
Ezra heaved a sigh. "I guess that means we're all going then."
"Oh, I only put in recommendations for those four and Chopper," Kallus answered, his tone sounding genuinely startled, but there was a glint of mischief in his eye as Ezra balked at the meaning behind the words. He was teasing him and Ezra was falling for it. Well, good to know that Kallus was finally feeling comfortable enough in his new position in the Rebellion to be willing to give as good as he usually received from the teen.
"Ezra," Hera called out, stopping him mid-grumble about bringing plenty to the team, "he's giving you a hard time."
Blue eyes blinked owlishly and turned back to where Kallus leaned back against the holo-console, the mischief finally making it into the way his lips quirked up in an amused smirk. The teen sputtered one more time before shock eased into a devilish smirk of his own as if he was already plotting payback. "So that's how it is, huh? Just you wait. The Ghost gets real small when it comes to payback."
"If you can catch me unawares."
"Oh I will."
Kallus chuckled at that. "Well, that will only be if we get the greenlight to go. Until then…"
The doors to the room slid open as the words left his lips and all eyes turned to Mon Mothma, the stress of the decision showing in every line on her face. "And you have it. I want everybody in this room ready to make the delivery in an hour's time."
And just like that, all the mirth washed out of the room. It was time to put the teasing aside. Anything could happen when a mission crossed with Saw Gerrera and they needed to be ready.
---
Once the coordinates came in for the exchange, it had been a mad rush to get off-planet and push the Ghost to its limits to reach the location on time. Everyone had their part to play and there was something comforting in the gang being back together, even if they'd added a former adversary. Sabine hadn't spent much time with Kallus since she and the others had returned from Mandalore, despite his quarters being in the same suite as the rest of theirs. It had been Hera's request, she'd found out, when the dust had settled on Yavin IV following the battle of Atollon and more than half their crew had left to help her family. Kallus had been a former ISB agent surrounded by the Rebels he'd both previously hunted and now wanted to help, and it had just made sense to help ease him into his new role amongst at least semi-friendly faces. That was the story Sabine had heard at any rate. She thought the fact that Hera had always been partial to picking up strays was probably closer to the truth. She hadn't had a lot of time to spend with the Fulcrum agent, but at least Hera, Zeb, and Rex all vouched for him.
"Hera says we're coming out of hyperspace," the Mandalorian announced as she walked through the main living space, startling Zeb out of his snoozing state in the chair opposite of Kallus, who glanced up from where he looked like he was adding a layer of security to the intel they were delivering. He ejected a disk from the datapad, confirming her suspicion, and she took an empty seat, studying him. "Did you ever run across Gerrera when you worked for the Empire?"
"On Onderon," Kallus answered, his voice measuredly casual. "Right out of the academy."
"Figured you must have with the way you react to him."
Zeb straightened a bit at that. "He ever get a good look atcha?"
"No," the former ISB agent answered darkly. "He sent his people to do his dirty work."
Interesting. Sabine tilted her head, the question working it's way up her throat as they snapped out of hyperspace.
"It's fine," Kallus assured Zeb as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. "It'll be a quick in and out. Bit like Tattoine."
Zeb snorted, his ears twitching. "Tattoine was only a quick in an' out 'cause I made it a quick in an' out."
"You act like I had nothing to do with that."
"Sure ya did. You got us inta the mess."
That finally elicited a bit more reaction from the ginger man and he turned to face Zeb fully in what sounded like an argument that had been rehashed again and again since the event. "It was a simple plan. Even you could have followed it."
"So what was your excuse?" Zeb snapped back.
Sabine felt her ears pop a little, signaling that they were easing into their descent. "Someday, I want to hear this story in full, but for now do we have everything ready?"
And just like that the spat was put aside. "As ready as we can ever be with Gerrera," Kallus murmured and, after a quick flick on his datapad, he handed it over. "A full list of the supplies he offered in exchange for the intel. I expect you'd like to look it over?"
She took the tablet and scrolled through. "This is… generous."
"So's the intel. We'll have to schedule an extraction for my Fulcrum agent after months spent cultivating him in what should have been a much better position."
His Fulcrum agent. That was something that she was still getting used to. "And it's still worth it?"
"We ain't gonna use it," Zeb huffed and Kallus shot him a questioning look. He shrugged. "Mighta overheard something 'bout a location for a new star destroyer." He turned his attention back to Sabine, ignoring the way Kallus looked like he was trying to look simultaneously upset that his intelligence had been compromised - though by an ally, so how compromised was it really? - and impressed that the always conspicuous Lasat had managed to eavesdrop on it. "The brass's gotten a bit skittish after Atollon. 'Fraid to take the Empire on face-to-face."
"I'd noticed," Sabine murmured, handing the datapad back as they touched ground. She stood and the three of them moved to meet Hera, Kanan, Ezra, and Copper at the door.
Saw Gerrera stood waiting as the ramp unfolded, a knowing smirk of a man that thought he was getting the winning end of the bargain plastered on his face. At her side, Sabine saw Ezra tense ever so slightly, and she couldn't help by remember the prisoners that Saw had left for dead after destabilizing the Kyber crystal. She reached out, her fingers brushing his, and she heard him loose a breath.
Hera took the lead with Kanan by her side, and Sabine knew he saw more than any of them could hope to. Kallus followed behind them, and finally the rest of them filed out. Saw wasn't alone. He was surrounded by several figures, both alien and Human, including a Lasat that stood tall enough to make Zeb look short. The Lasat's yellow eyes skimmed the crew as Hera greeted Saw, stopping on what appeared to be Kallus and he loosed a vicious growl like nothing Sabine had heard before. Zeb took a protective step forward and it was only then that she saw the defensive stance Kallus had fallen into. He and the Lasat knew each other. That couldn't be good.
"Something wrong?" Hera prodded, her sharp green gaze taking in the suddenly tense situation.
"Not a thing. Is there, Zoddik?" Saw answered, the last words pointed at the angry, towering Lasat.
"No," he answered, voice deep and dangerous. "We may proceed."
There was another tense moment, then another before the three key figures of the tension eased back. Kallus cleared his throat, and what Sabine could only assume was a mask of indifference falling into place as he strode forward, extending the data disk. "You'll find the coordinates our people uncovered on this disk. I expect you'll want to take a look as we load the cargo?"
"Agent Kallus," Saw murmured, but it was anything but a greeting. "I'd heard that Mon Mothma's group had tamed an ISB agent. I hadn't heard it was you."
"I defected," Kallus countered, his shoulders squaring a little more.
"And how are they liking you? The man who made his name in the massacre on Lasan?"
Sabine wouldn't have bet that Kallus could draw himself any taller, but she would have been wrong.
"You'll find everything we promised on that disk," Hera said tightly.
Saw hummed quietly and extended his hand out. One of his followers handed over a datapad that he used to check the disk. After a long, agonizing moment, he nodded. "We have a deal, Captain Syndulla."
"Fantastic," Hera grumbled, starting towards the cargo containers. "Sabine? Let's take a look."
Okay. Saw was playing nice. They just had to get the equipment and supplies onboard the Ghost and they could call this one a win.
Not that things were ever that easy.
—-
Kallus had planned for more than one wrinkle in the mission, despite the tight turnaround. The one thing he hadn't planned for was the face that quite literally haunted his nightmares. The Lasat was just as large as he remembered him being, which for years now he'd chalked up to his concussed memory and horizontal state, but no. There he was with Saw Gerrera and, in that moment, he wasn't sure if he should go for his blaster or cover.
Neither, as it turned out.
The job went on, as so many he'd seen in his short tenure working directly with and with the Rebels. Here were mortal enemies: on one side the Lasat that had so viciously murdered downed soldier with nothing that resembled honour and, on the other, the former ISB agent that had given the verbal order to use the disruptor rifles on the Lasat people. In the middle was the exchange of intelligence and goods, all with the ultimate goal of destroying the Empire. How strange that they were mostly on the same side now.
Kallus walked Gerrera through the protocols he had put into place for their protection, Gerrera's team's protection, and that of his informant, which was something he reminded Gerrera of multiple times. He was still in the field. He was one of them. Kallus wouldn't let the wide-eyed new recruit become another body laid out on the thankless ground, eyes staring unseeing beyond the distance as the war marched on around them, trampling a life too young to lose in its wake. He wouldn't let Onderon be repeated.
Once he was at least mostly convinced of Gerrera's sincerity he moved off to the side where the crew of the Ghost was loading supplies. He gave the Lasat - Zoddik, apparently - a wide berth as he moved to where Zeb was having no trouble loading the supplies. "Need a hand?"
"Need an' excuse?" the Lasat that he never would have thought he'd call friend asked bluntly, his green-yellow eyes shifting from Kallus to Zoddik.
Kallus scrunched his nose at the insinuation that he should be trying to patch up things up with a being that his only experience with had been near-death. "Let's not tempt fate," he grumbled, grabbing at the handle for the container sitting between him and Zeb.
"You may know 'im from Onderon, but every Lasat left knows you from Lasan." Sometimes he was reminded that Zeb was more perceptive than he often let on. The purple Lasat snagged the container and hauled it up onto his broad shoulder. "Someone's gotta be civilized first off."
"Why does it have to be me?" Kallus grumbled, hating how childish it sounded even as he did. This wasn't about this particular Lasat, he didn't think. This was about a bigger picture for Zeb, though if it was if Kallus had found a single Lasat he was fond of or if a single Lasat was fond of the ISB agent that had wiped out the Lasat race, he couldn't be sure. Why it mattered with so few left, he certainly did know, but somewhere in the last year, what mattered to Zeb had started to matter to Kallus. Dank ferrik. This was a terrible idea.
He turned, steadying himself for the inevitably awkward attempt at… something. Explanation? No. There was no explanation. Apology? Also no. Zeb was one thing, but he didn't know this Lesat. He didn't even know if he'd been on Lasan. All he knew was that he'd massacred his first unit without a care.
That, and that he was gone.
Kallus turned towards the Ghost to call after Zeb, prove that it was out of his hands, but his friend was hauling the crate inside. Kanan was exiting, though, and with an expression on his half-covered face that sent chills up Kallus' spine. Something was wrong and the Jedi had picked up on it.
Suddenly, Kanan turned as if looking directly at him. "Kallus!"
This was about to go bad. Kallus' gaze swept the area and finally came to rest on Zoddik. He had just emerged from the makeshift structure they had used to store the crates, a weapon in hand. Not just any weapon. A T-7 Ion Disruptor Rifle.
This was about to go very bad.
Kallus leapt into action as the Lasat aimed the weapon, the shot hitting close to where he'd be standing seconds before. The former Imperial agent dove, tucked, and rolled behind cover as another shot hit a short stack of crates waiting to be loaded and he watched them melt in horror, disintegrating atom by atom. Karabast. He was starting to get the gist of that word.
He jumped again, this time reaching for his own weapon and looking back at where the crew had come to inspect the noise. The two Jedi had lightsabers in hand, the Mandalorian brandishing weapons and ready to defend the ship. Hera shouted something in the distance as Zeb exited the Ghost. He gave a shout as Kallus dodged again, his foot slipping as he did. He used the momentum to pivot, leveling his own blaster to take two shots. The first connected with the illegal rifle even if the second went wide. Zoddik howled in frustration and aimed the weapon as Kallus ran out of easy cover. The Human leapt, the Lasat shot, and the world tilted dangerously, throwing him off-balance and he stumbled into the next set of crates rather than behind. He heard Zeb shout his name behind him and his hand went to his side instinctively. It came away bloody and pain spiked.
It was overwhelming. All encompassing. Kallus heard himself crying out, but it was like it had come from someone else. His knees buckled and he hit the permacrete hard. The world pulsed around him, but he barely noticed. All there was was pain and, in that horrifying and agonizing moment, he understood this was how they'd all died on Lasan. This is how he'd killed them.
—-
It had gone from not great to terrible in the time it had taken to load a crate into the Ghost. All hell had broken loose. Shots fired, lightsabers humming, but it wasn't until Zeb stepped back out onto the ramp that he saw the extent of the terrible.
Saw Gerrera was nowhere to be seen as the fighting broke out, but some of his people had stayed to defend the Lasat that appeared to be the instigator. Karabast. Maybe he had asked Kallus to tempt fate by talking with him. Speaking of…
His gaze swept over the suddenly violent scene just in time to see Kallus take a couple shots at Gerrera's Lasat ally. One hit the rifle in his hand and it sparked dangerously, but it was the first hard look Zeb had taken of the weapon. Dread slammed into him as the opposing Lasat raised the weapon and shot even as Kallus was jumping at his next stack of crates for cover and the beam, usually so focused, splintered, sending the dangerous red bolt of energy in several directions.
One of which was at Kallus.
The Human had hit his knees by the time that Zeb cleared a path - sending Gerrera's people scattering into the distance and leaving their destruction behind - and was bent forward with one arm wrapped around his middle and the other desperately trying to keep himself from falling face-first into the ground. Zeb reached forward and grimaced as the man he'd come to call friend flinched away from him. "Easy, Kallus," he coaxed, not even sure he could hear him through what he knew had to be excruciating pain. "Easy does it."
Kallus' arm buckled under him and Zeb caught him, easing him to the ground and taking a seat next to him as Hera moved to his opposite side to check the wound. Zeb swallowed hard, trying to find the words to tell her it didn't matter. There was a reason those guns were banned. Kallus was already dead, his body just hadn't caught up to that fact.
"…. something we can do," Ezra was saying. "How much time do we have?" There was a beat of silence as he waited for someone to answer him, but it wasn't until the teen nudged Zeb's shoulder that he realized the question was directed at him.
"I dunno. Hours at most. Probably less. Maybe a whole lot less." His voice was shaking as bad as Kallus was and he couldn't help but think back to the day Lasan had fallen. He'd heard the screams and he'd seen the aftermath, but the disruptors hadn't been used in the palace, so he hadn't seen first hand how long it took for the blast to work an organic lifeform apart atom by atom.
"Zeb, can you hold him?" Hera asked, pulling him out of the memories that threatened to drag him under. Kallus was curled as tight as he could get on his injured side, making it impossible for her to get a good look at him.
With a shaky breath of his own, Zeb reached for him and, as gently as he could, pulled Kallus half into his lap. He couldn't tell if the contact helped or hurt, but even as his back arched from the pain and he reached blindly to clamp one hand down over the wound - Zeb carefully pulling it away and holding it there - the position gave Hera the opportunity to pull his jacket back and lift his shirt to assess the damage.
"It was damaged when it fired," Sabine said from somewhere behind them and Zeb picked up on the slight tinny sound of a weapon being turned over and thoroughly examined by the Mandelorian. "The shot scattered."
"You think that'll make a difference?" Ezra asked.
"Maybe," Hera answered and Zeb risked a look at where Kallus had gone stiller than before. His chest wasn't heaving quite as hard to pull in air - though the sound he made every time he breathed in wasn't what the Lasat would call comforting - and his back rested against Zeb's bent knee. He'd either passed out or was damned close to it.
"Keep an eye out," Kanan instructed as he circled around to join them on the ground. Zeb finally let his gaze drift down to where Hera was examining the wound. Scorched and black, the freckled and pale skin was badly damaged. He could see the way the damage stretched out further than a blaster bolt should have, but if the damage was spreading, it was a whole lot slower than he would have expected. Maybe they'd gotten lucky with the shot Kallus had clipped the rifle with.
Kanan reached out and Kallus jolted back to consciousness with wide eyes staring up towards the sky as the Jedi laid his palms against the wound. "I know," he murmured softly. "I'm sorry."
"Hey," Zeb called and slowly that golden-brown gaze lulled towards him. "Don' worry 'bout them."
"Not," Kallus gasped out. "Hurts."
"I know," the Lasat murmured sadly and Kallus' eyes focused a little more on him.
"Sorry," he managed to croak out. "Never said… how sorry…"
"Yeah, well, say it when this is done."
That pulled a rough, mirthless chuckle from the injured man. "Both know how this ends," he managed.
"Thought you'd learned a bit more 'bout hope, huh?" Zeb groused and looked to Kanan.
"It's spreading, but slowly. Much slower than I'd always heard."
"Then there's a chance," Hera agreed. "C'mon. Let's get him back to base. Kallus? We need to move you."
If he was going to argue, he swallowed it instead and offered a sharp nod. Zeb shifted under him, positioning one arm to brace his shoulders and the other under his knees, Kallus' jaw tightening as he did. It wasn't until Zeb stood, lifting him up with him, that a strangled scream escaped him and he went suddenly limp in the Lasat's arms.
But he was still breathing, and with life there was hope. That's what his friends had taught him, and kriff it all they were going to let Kallus go that easily.
—-
Years later, when he thought about the order that had come down from his commanding officer that the Empire would make an example of the Lasat people, Kallus would have liked to say he pushed back. Hells, he wished he could say he hesitated more than a fraction of a moment. But he couldn't. He didn't.
After the dust had settled and the handful of survivors had been scattered to the corners of the galaxy, Kallus had been called before the Imperial Senate to give testimony. It was rare, especially by then, for a ranking officer - especially a member of the Imperial Security Bureau - to be forced to answer to an elected body for his action. He'd stood before them with his back straight, shoulders squared, and what he could only imagine was a look of utter self righteousness as he gave his version of the story. These senators knew nothing of war. Nothing of the savageness of the Empire's enemy. They hadn't been laid out, bleeding out, and only able to watch as one of them moved steadily through the men and women they served with, snuffing out lives one by one. Kallus had served his Empire on Lasan. He'd done his duty.
"Do you know what the weapons your men used do to an organic life form?" Senator Mon Mothma had asked him. "They were designed to bring down ships. They pull a person apart atom by atom, ignite every nerve ending and pain receptor before disintegrating the victim. Does that sound like a soldier's duty, Agent?"
He'd said yes, she'd voted to have him court marshaled, and he'd received accommodations for his part in the battle. As Kallus floated in and out and around consciousness, every nerve ending on fire as his body broke down atom by atom, he wondered if she would find any satisfaction in the way he would meet his end. No, he didn't think so. She was a better person than he was.
There were moments when he was more aware than others. It was difficult. The closer he drew to consciousness, the more he felt the pain, and he'd be out again at some point. It was exhausting and he was losing his will to fight for those few moments of awareness.
With a shuddering breath, Kallus broke the surface into consciousness, the memory he'd watched play out again in his mind nipping at his heels, a reminder of how he'd gotten there. It didn't matter that Gerrera's Lasat had murdered his unit or that Kallus had desperately tried to make amends for all the things he'd done in the name of duty. He was writhing in pain because of the pain he'd caused. It was as simple as that.
"Kallus?" His gaze lulled sluggishly to his left to find Zeb leaning over his prone form, worry etched into his features. "How ya feelin'?"
Kallus snorted a response, pain lacing through him as he did. His fingers flexed at his side, grabbing hold of thin sheets and he squeezed his eyes shut again as he tried to breathe through the pain.
"What'd you do?" Ezra demanded from what sounded like the door.
"Nothin'! He just woke up is all. I didn' mean to —"
"I'm alright," Kallus rasped, reaching a hand out clumsily and finding Zeb's arm just in time for another wave of pain to hit. His nails dug into purple fur, but the Lasat didn't flinch. He just let him hang on until the pain became semi bearable again and his grip loosened. "Sorry," he managed.
"Not worried 'bout that," Zeb answered and his palm brushed across Kallus' forehead. "Kid, any word from Kanan?"
"He's still meditating. He's looking for a way to help."
"Lot o' good it'll do if he waits," the Lasat grumbled and Kallus couldn't help but see how worried he looked. He wasn't sure if it was endearing or a sign he should be more worried than he was. Probably the latter, but he didn't have the energy for it.
Without warning, it was like a Wookie had taken a seat on his chest. His breath hitched and he felt his throat constrict. That was a bad sign. He hadn't thought the damage had spread quite that far yet. Whatever the reason, he found himself choking and gagging and desperately trying to pull enough air in to satisfy his lungs.
"Karabast!" Zeb growled even as Kallus managed to turn to his side, curling into himself as he wheezed air in and coughed it back out.
"That… does not sound good," Ezra managed from his place and Kallus couldn't find the breath to respond. As the pressure eased just a little he pulled his hand away from his lips and frowned at the spattered red against his palm. No, not good at all.
He tried to hide the evidence by curling his fingers against his palm, but Zeb cursed again, his growing agitation the signal that Kallus hadn't been quick enough. "Stay with him. Keep 'im wake if ya can," the Lasat snapped.
"Where are you going?" Ezra shouted after him.
"To get the only person that's got a chance of savin' 'im!"
Kallus shuddered against another fresh wave of pain as Ezra inched closer and hovered there. He couldn't say anything to ease the teen's worries. He didn't have the energy. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open as it was.
—-
There had been a growing buzz of fear that pushed on his senses since Kallus had gone down. It had built and grown in their little crew in a way that Kanan never could have believed just a few years before. Not for the then-ISB agent that had been hunting them down. Despite their hesitancy in trusting him when they had discovered that he was Fulcrum, Kallus had fought with them, bled with them, and he was one of theirs. If there was anything Kanan knew about this small group that he called family, it was that they protected their own, and Kallus had become one of their own. He wouldn't let fear overwhelm him. He wasn't ready to give up hope. Somewhere, somehow, the Force would show him how to save Kallus. It had to.
But it hadn't. Not yet. Kanan didn't know how long he'd been knelt in the solitude of his room, deep enough in a meditative state that buzzing fear had become distant. It had been, at least, until Garazeb Orelious threw the door open and barged inside, snapping him out of it without the answer that they all needed him to find. "Zeb, I told you to —"
"He's dying!" the Lasat snapped and Kanan loosed a breath threw his nose, trying to stay calm.
"I know. That's why I'm looking for a way to help him." Didn't he know that? Of course he did, but he was letting the panic override everything else.
"We're outta time," Zeb pressed.
Kanan let his sightless eyes flutter open. "Kallus is stubborn. He just has to hang on long enough to get him to Yavin IV. Part of the supplies was the bacta we've been needing. The tank —"
"He can't breathe, coughin' blood. 'e won't last till we get to base. It's eatin' 'im up, Kanan."
A quiet, frustrated sigh left him. "I haven't found—"
"Do what you did for me. After Lasan. I was 'alf dead 'n you saved me. So the same for him."
"It's not that easy, Zeb. I had no idea what I was doing when I saved your life. That's what I've been searching for: a way to replicate it."
"Just try. You ain't gonna hurt him worse, an' I'm bettin' you can save him. At least buy him time."
"How far to we have till Yavin?"
"'Bout ten hours."
Then he really didn't have a choice if Kallus was deteriorating that much.
Kanan unfolded from his place on the floor and followed his friend to the tiny med bay they had. Ezra was hovering nervously over Kallus, Sabine having joined, and Kanan reached out through the Force and nearly stumbled under the onslaught of pain, blunted only by the fact that Kallus seemed to be hovering close to unconsciousness again.
"What do you need from us?" Sabine asked quietly and Ezra moved out of the way so Kanan could take a seat next to the injured man's bedside.
"Quiet," he answered and reached out, one hand against Kallus' shoulder and the other against his arm. He could feel the pain, he could sense the struggle to breathe, and the overwhelming sense of drowning without any water in sight. He tried to open himself up to let the Force guide him, but between Kallus and their nervous crew mates all around, it was difficult. He needed a focal point.
Kanan pulled in a steadying breath, letting his mind drift back to the first time he'd met Zeb. Beaten and broken, the blast that had nearly killed him had left his fur matted in blood and bones shattered. He'd given up, and without understanding why, Kanan couldn't. He hadn't known him then and he didn't understand at the time that he would, eventually, become family. He had just allowed the Force to use him, and it had. It had used him as a conduit to knit the Lasat - one of so few that had escaped Lasan - back together.
And now it was doing the same for Kallus because they couldn't give up on him either.
The Jedi felt the Force move, a warmth in either hand and somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that Kallus' breathing was easing just a little. He fell into the focus as he sank into the chair next to the bedside and held on. He was going to be okay. Kanan wasn't sure how, but he was sure of it.
"Two hours out," Hera's voice over the comms broke through his trance and Kanan felt himself slump forward.
"Kanan?" Ezra's voice came from directly to his right and he reached a hand out blindly for him. "Are you okay?"
"Just tired," he answered.
"All of his vitals have stabilised," Sabine said. "They're up some and his breathing's better."
Kanan nodded tiredly. He knew. He still wasn't sure exactly how he'd done it, but maybe a little hope just went a long ways.
—
Kallus hated the feeling of swimming back towards consciousness. The disorientation, the equal chance between pain and danger. Sometimes both. His ISB training had taught him a handful of tricks to ensure any captors were unaware he was awake, but that didn't make it easy. Or particularly pleasant.
Something innate in him was ready for the pain this time, as if it had been there every time before, but it was muted. He laid there for a long moment, his breathing starting shallow, but deepening as memories filled in blank spaces and he became more aware of his surroundings. He flexed his fingers, feeling the sheets that were just a little thicker than in the Ghost's tiny medbay. As he let his eyes flutter open he found himself looking up, the stone ceiling high above him. Yavin IV, then. Somehow he'd survived long enough to get back.
Kallus shifted carefully, bracing for the pain to spike. His side was sore, the movement pulling on a still-healing wound, but nothing like it had been in his last memory. It didn't make sense, though. Even though they'd gotten him back and clearly had gotten him treatment with their renewed medical supplies, he didn't know of any medicine that would have stopped the spread of deterioration the disruptor rifle caused. Bacta tanks could do wonders, but he would have had to become a semi permanent resident in one to have done that, and the rebellion simply didn't have those resources. No, something else had happened that had saved his life. He just didn't know what.
He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision a bit more and turned to his left. His gaze fell on where Kanan Jarrus was sleeping on a bench against the wall, Hera leaned up against him, and vague memories started to tug into place like a dream that the mind wasn't sure if it was going to hold onto yet. There had been so much pain and then a strange sort of warmth. He couldn't grasp ahold of any of the details, but something told him it hadn't been medical science that had saved his life against all odds, but the same Jedi that he'd once hunted down for the Empire. Kanan had saved his life. He swallowed hard at the thought, the movement in his throat pulling a weak cough from him.
"Hey."
The voice from his right was soft and familiar, and Kallus looked over to find Zeb on the floor, a teen snoozing on either side as if he were an oversized pillow. The sight pulled a soft, amused snort from the injured man and a real, albeit small smile. Everything felt like it was working in slow motion. "Hey," he croaked back, happily surprised the words were audible at all.
"How ya feelin'?"
There was rustling at the sound of their quiet voices, but if any of the others actually woke, they didn't budge. Kallus shifted a bit again and took fresh stock. "Stiff and sore, but the fact I'm alive seems like a good sign." He paused his lips together. "How…?"
"Kanan," Zeb confirmed quietly. "Same way he saved my life once."
Kallus winced, but it wasn't from the physical pain. "After Lasan?"
The Lasat hummed an affirmative and carefully started untangling himself from Ezra and Sabine. The Mandalorian's eyes fluttered open and she eased over to where Zeb had been sitting, keeping the somehow-still-sleeping Ezra from falling sideways on the med room floor. She offered a tired smile before settling back in.
"You've been out for a few days," Zeb explained, moving to stand closer to the bed so that his voice was less likely to wake the others. He pulled a single chair over. It wasn't made for a being his size, but he took a seat so he was eye-level with Kallus. "We started in shifts when everyone was goin' through debrief over what happened, but at some point we just all ended up in here."
It was another sharp reminder of just how different this group of people were from those he'd worked with in the Empire. The people that had stood at attention when he walked by and had scurried to carry out his orders, but when it came down to it didn't give a damn if he made it out of a dangerous mission alive. For so long he'd told himself it didn't matter. He was doing his duty, no matter how ugly it got. He was serving what he'd determined to be a greater good. And he'd been utterly alone surrounded by a star destroyer's worth of people. Not anymore. Now, waking up from what - if he were honest - were the repercussions of his own actions years before during the atrocities he carried out in the name of duty, he was surrounded by people that didn't just care, but had fought for him to live.
"Hey?" Zeb called softly, pulling Kallus out of his thought. He leaned over him worriedly. "You okay?"
Kallus blinked, realizing that his eyes weren't blurring from the sleep he'd just come out of. A couple more rapid blinks cleared them and he turned towards Zeb and tried for a smile and a small nod. The Lasat didn't look convinced and Kallus cleared his throat, trying for a subject that was a little more practical rather than all of the emotional thoughts swirling around in his head regarding the show of loyalty from the people he still didn't feel he'd earned it from. "At least tell me we got what we went for."
"Yeah, we got it. Good thing too. You spent the first couple days back in a bacta tank."
That pulled a small frown from the injured man. "We didn't have that much to spare."
Zeb flashed a toothy grin. "Oh, Mon Mothma made sure of it. We ain't got the numbers to make him pay for what he did, but Mothma made him think we did."
Kallus snorted a soft laugh, the irony of the woman that would have seen him court marshalled a decade before now fighting for his life was not lost on him. Exhaustion tugged at him and he repositioned, trying to wake himself up a little more.
"Get some sleep, Kal. We'll be here," Zeb promised.
"You said after it was done," Kallus mumbled. They must have been flushing his system with meds. It was the only reason he was losing focus that quickly.
"What's that?"
His lids were too heavy. He reached a clumsy hand out. "I'm sorry."
"Nothin' to be sorry for. Just get some sleep."
"No." He forced his eyes open and looked over. "For what I did. For Lasan. I'm so sorry, Zeb."
He heard Zeb breathe out a sigh and the Lasat reached a large hand out to his shoulder. "You ain't that person anymore. Not n' a long time now. You're family now."
Kallus opened his to eyes and Zeb squeezed his shoulder gently. "Nope. You don't get to argue when the Spectres call you family."
"Wouldn't dare," Kallus answered and felt sleep pulling him under. Against the odds, he'd made it - they'd made it - and they'd live to fight another day. As long as they lived, there was hope.
---
End.
Notes: This idea slammed into me a while back and just wouldn't let go, so, being Whumptober, it felt like a perfect fit. And what is hurt without the comfort at the end? I just really love the idea of the entire Ghost team collectively adopting Kallus and him slowly wrapping his mind around that. I Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing this!
Leon continued to move backward, working arm held before him. He didn't know if turning his back on Arthur would mean the man would attack, but Leon was reluctant to turn his attention away. Right now, Arthur's advance was slow.
"Arthur. Please. Wake up."
Arthur didn't even blink, those grey eyes shifting from Leon's bloodied face to his neck.
Leon swallowed. Where was Merlin? It'd been long enough since he'd left them to scout. Had he been killed by the remaining bandits? Had the sorcerer that magiced Leon and Arthur found the servant?
Arthur brought his sword up, no longer holding it out by his hip but bringing it to his opposite shoulder to grip it with two hands. Leon had seen that position countless times on the practice field. Had seen it on skirmishes and battlefields.
"Arthur. Arthur, no. You'd don't want to do this. It's Leon."
Arthur charged, long legs eating the ground as he prepared to swipe his sword across Leon's chest. Leon twisted out of the way, ribs protesting and breath catching in his lungs. The knight hadn't moved fast, but Arthur had moved with none of his typical grace and speed, allowing Leon to avoid the blow even as injured as he was.
But Leon was injured. And unarmed. Arthur was neither.
Screw letting a potential enemy know where they were.
"Merlin!" Leon shouted. "Merlin!"
Something cracked in the woods ahead. Leon whirled around, hoping to see Merlin running toward them, but there was nothing. Nothing but sudden explosive pain in his side. Arthur, in his uncoordinated situation, hadn't managed to get the angle or thrusting power needed to pierce Leon's chainmail. But the slash to his side had unexpectedly hit his broken ribs. Leon's knees buckled, the pain from his right side spreading across his chest as it became hard to get in a lungful of air.
With one arm numb from the earlier fight, Leon couldn't catch himself. He face-planted into the ground again, the other side of his face thankfully, and rolled onto his back to see Arthur standing above him. The prince lifted his sword high, and then, using both hands, plunged it into Leon's shoulder near his collarbone, an inch from where the chainmail sat.
Leon screamed. And in the distance, before he passed out, he heard someone scream his name back.
I don’t know how early I need to send my prompt for next week 😅 but I have it now! Because April 25th is my sons bday I have toooo make it:
Son
🥰🥰🥰🥰
Here comes the weekly prompt!
SON
Thank you so much, dear Sully, for submitting it. It's a special prompt. Maybe even a difficult one. I'm very exciting to read what the Galladrabble Crew will come up with...
And since it's your son's birthday: Happy happy Birthday from all of us to him. I hope you'll have a fantastic day together, celebrating and that you'll eat a slice of cake for all of us!
I also don't know how old your kid is but since dinosaurs are the coolest thing ever, no matter your age ... Happy Birthday!
And to the rest of you: Enjoy this Galladrabbles week. I already know I will! *rubs hands gleefully*
Prompt: Just a scratch (bitten, bleeding, stabbing)
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Kakashi, Tenzo, and Genma
Rating: M (maybe T)
Words: 1135
Notes: Character death, angst
--------------------------
The world stuttered to a halt in a rain of crimson droplets. Tenzo spun in a full circle as a wind jutsu ripped through armor and flesh. He hit the ground hard while their target and guards fled higher into the hideout. In Genma’s peripheral vision, Yugao crouched in a corner with a dazed expression on her face, tanto dripping on the ground. Reality lost connection to time as Genma watched the scene before him play out in slow motion.
“Damn it,” Kakashi growled, panic edging his voice as he reached Tenzo’s side. The man dropped to his knees on the rough stone. “What were you thinking?”
Even when Kakashi shook him, Tenzo didn’t answer. A pool of crimson spread beneath his body, soaking into the knee of Kakashi’s pants. The jonin pressed against the gaping wound in Tenzo’s chest, seeking to staunch the blood flow. There was no point; it had already slowed. Brown eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling as Kakashi pushed his fingers against the man’s pulse point. “Come on,” he urged, voice starting to shake.
Genma didn’t move for several long moments, providing Kakashi the space he needed. Yugao slid her blade back into its sheath and glanced at Genma for confirmation. He offered a tight nod, then took a step forward. Genma rested three fingertips on Kakashi’s bare shoulder. He ignored the shudder that passed under his hand and pretended not to hear the almost sob in the back of Kakashi’s throat. “Now isn’t the time,” Genma reminded his captain.
When nothing happened for several seconds. Genma made his voice gentle, but firm. “Get up Hatake, we have a mission complete.”
The snarl that left Kakashi’s throat made Genma take an instinctual step backward. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet in case the man decided to swing for him. Grief made people do strange things, but he’d never thought that Kakashi would abandon his duty so easily. Kakashi lowered Tenzo’s body back to the ground. The man’s ashen face spoke of their failures, but Genma couldn’t focus on that now. He watched Kakashi’s fingers leave a bloody streak over Tenzo’s cheek before closing his eyes forever. Kakashi bowed his head then placed the porcelain cat mask over Tenzo’s face.
Standing, Kakashi pulled his Anbu mask back into place. He didn’t look at Genma or Yugao as he drew a kunai from the pouch on his hip. Genma’s throat constricted at the pain that rolled over him. His grief felt like a candle beside the inferno of Kakashi’s. Over the past year, Genma had teased Tenzo about having a crush on Kakashi, but he hadn’t been sure that the feelings were returned. Genma knew better now. He also knew that emotions like that were only good for one thing: getting more people killed.
Kakashi moved toward the step without bothering to look at his teammates. Genma lunged forward and grabbed Kakashi’s arm. “You can’t just charge in there and—”
“Will you stop me?” Kakashi’s voice made the air’s damp chill feel like a summer breeze. His right eye blended into the shadows of his mask, but the crimson sharingan spun wildly in the left. Lightning flickered along his fingers, glowing in the space between them. “Can you stop me?”
Genma released Kakashi’s arm and took a step back. Yugao stalked closer on silent feet, stopping at Genma’s side. At least she had enough sense to let Kakashi go. “What do we do? He’s not thinking—”
Wood splintered overhead, followed by a quickly aborted scream. Wind whistled across the stones, shattering glass before being drowned out by the chitter of birds. A feral growl swallowed a second, louder scream. Genma nodded back toward the room where Tenzo lay. “Stay with him. I’ll get Kakashi.”
There wasn’t time to make sure that Yugao followed orders. The begging had started above. “Please, I didn’t know—”
Genma pounded up the stairs behind Kakashi and stepped into carnage. The door had been blown inward off its hinges; scraps of wood littering the floor like kindling. Both guards were on the ground, chests blown open by chidori and their faces locked in a grimace. Eerie blue light flooded the space. Kakashi towered over their target. Lightning paled the man’s face more than fear as he raised both hands in surrender, weaponless and trembling. Kakashi held death steady in one palm.
“Where are your orders?” Kakashi bit off each word, sharp as razor wire.
The man reached inside his vest and offered a thin, leather book. Kakashi jerked the volume from his grasp and tossed it toward Genma. “It’s there,” the man said,as he stumbled toward his feet. “Everything you need is in there. I surrender, I’ll go willingly—”
Kakashi spun, burying his chidori in the man’s chest. Blood sprayed against the wall behind him, dripping in meaningless patterns. The man’s body slumped to the ground, dragging Kakashi with it, and the light went out. Near darkness bathed the room, and it took Genma’s eyes a minute to adjust. Kakashi slumped over the dead man, chest heaving with a noise that sounded too much like a sob for Genma’s comfort.
Metal clattered as the kunai fell from Kakashi’s grasp, followed by the dull impact of fist on flesh. Kakashi slammed his hands against their dead target’s chest again and again. His breath sped toward panic with every punch, curses and half-sobs breaking the wheeze of pain. Genma reached out.
Kakashi spun, fist sailing through the space that Genma’s head had occupied moments before. The second punch caught Genma in the ribs and his armor softened the blow. He caught Kakashi’s wrist and spun, trapping it between them. “Stop,” Genma hissed, struggling to contain the fury as an elbow slammed into his ribs. He tightened his hold. “Dammit, Kakashi, stop. it’s over.”
The words had an instant effect. The fight bled out of Kakashi’s body, and he shoved Genma away. “You think I don’t know that? He’s gone, and none of this matters. None of it will bring him back.”
For a moment, Genma recalled a younger Kakashi, standing in the cemetery with tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d lost the final pieces of his family when Minato and Kushina died. Genma saw the same bone-deep despair in the man’s eyes now. Kakashi shook his head. “I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save any of them.”
“I know,” Genma answered, wishing he could offer something besides acknowledgement. Grey and red eyes rose with a question that Genma ignored. He caught Kakashi by the shoulders in a rough hug, felt the sob that ripped through his friend’s chest, and stayed there until it steadied. When they moved apart, he squeezed Kakashi’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s take him home. We can do that much for him.”
Gordon knew what it felt like to suffocate, to run out of air and try to breath in nothing. For him though, someone else was always there to pull him out, to replace the nothingness with sweet blessed oxygen.
For others it was sometimes too late, and for that he always hated himself. It was his belief that asphyxiation was perhaps the worst way to die, the way your lungs burned and screamed at you to breathe when there was simply nothing left to breathe. It was painful and slow and something that nobody ever deserved to experience.
Yet something he would always risk himself if it meant saving one more person from dying that way.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Perhaps standing on the edge of an unstable cliff to check out a beautiful view wasn't the smartest idea... Gen thought as the ground he was standing on suddenly collapsed underneath him, sending him into the rushing water below.
------------
Alright so this chapter is actually more of a prologue of the story. The real action comes in the second chapter which will be longer and better written. It’s also got more sengen so just a heads up on that!
