Hi! I love all your writing. I was wondering, how did Wolffe react when Pup told him what she went through/where all the scars came from? Or did she never tell him the whole story?
A/N: This is a little part of Welcome Company that I never alluded to much... But I did have the scene in mind and never found the perfect way to fit it into the main storyline. Thank you for coming over and asking! Here's what happened that day. <3
All my love,
Rightful 🤍
Def not proofread.
Mentions of blood.
Mentions of injury.
Talk and depiction of PTSD and Trauma.
Story of Scars
Wolffe never pushed to find out what had happened to Pup in the time they were apart. He wasn't ignorant enough to believe that she hadn't gone through enough horrors to shift her personality, and her behaviors after they were reunited and settled only confirmed his expectations. It was all in the little things she did throughout the day, just mulling about the house that caught his attention and gave him insights that others wouldn't notice.
One of the most significant was how she never liked letting the hair on the scarred side of her head get long enough for the bare spots to show significantly. It meant she'd spend a couple minutes every week or so shaving down the hairs until they were almost at a peach-fuzz appearance in the refresher. Not only was it a habit that Pup never broke, she'd often close the door to keep Wolffe from entering during the process. Again, he never pushed the issue. Scars weren't only the visible kind -he had plenty of his own- and he loved her too damn much to intrude, but he also worried that it was some wound that she had to keep reopening and irritating every time she shaved the side of her head or looked in the mirror.
It was almost a full year after they settled into their home that Wolffe was eventually forced into helping her work through an issue he'd never live to forget or spent a day not thinking about.
Pup often did the hunting for the pair of them. On the off-handed chance Wolffe had tried to do so, he'd often failed miserably. Not having the patience or the practice to be any good at it So, Pup would always give him a timeframe for her to return, and give the reassurance that if she wasn't back by then, to send out Wolf and have him track her down. For almost an entire year this place had worked without a hitch and Wolffe had never needed to go looking for his wife or send out their canine to sniff her out. Until Pup got herself caught trying to come home after heading out a little further from the house than she normally did.
She'd taken a long route on the hunt for the smaller game that wouldn't be such a struggle to find or carry back home. It took her through a large rocky outcropping that often played roost to some birds she'd been particularly interested in bringing home. The shale-like cliffs weren't the least bit easy to move across, but Pup didn't believe any of her regular paths through this section of the mountainside would be of risk. It was a rookie mistake, and it ended up with her sliding down a razor-sharp, shale-covered cliffside and landing at the bottom in a heap of cuts, bruises, and an entire body that felt so sore she didn't want to think about moving.
Wolffe didn't wait the full three hours before calling in Wolf's help to go out and look for her. He knew birds were fast prey, and she should've been home long before noon considering just how many flocks had been passing over their house throughout the morning. And when they found her -quite quickly- Wolffe was instantly enraged. Not at Pup, but at the fact she'd been injured seriously enough that she couldn't get home on her own. His heart ached and that reminder of just how easily either one of them could die was quickly brought to the forefront of his mind as he got her up on Wolf's back to take her back home.
Inside, Pup didn't have the slightest hesitation about letting Wolffe clean. her up in the bathtub or dress the more serious wounds she'd earned in her fall. Even when he started assessing a nasty bruise forming on her shoulder, she didn't do anything more than answer his questions about her pain and what kind of movements she could manage without feeling some type of discomfort. Together they assumed she'd dislocated her shoulder on the fall and it had slipped back into place on its own. Luckily, it wouldn't be too serious that they needed to call for someone to take a look at it or do any type of treatment they couldn't manage at home. But it made her dominant arm nearly useless. And after a week and a half in bed -per Wolffe's stern orders- her buzzed hair had gotten long enough that she started getting irritated and mad that she couldn't move her arm well enough to get the task done.
It was later that night Wolffe found her out of bed and standing the refresher looking at herself in the mirror with tears streaming down her cheeks and a set of clippers lamely held in her hand. At first, he wanted to instantly grab the clippers away and carry her back to bed before she pushed herself too hard and reinjured herself. Only he saw that there was something else other than physical pain in her eyes and that she was fighting hard with herself.
Immediately, he approached slowly and lowered himself down to his knees just outside of the doorframe, and softly whispered to get her attention away from her own reflection.
"Puppy," His whisper trembled a bit, feeling helpless as to how to help her. "Tell me what you're thinking. I can't help you fight if you won't let me." He added, reaching a hand out to brush his fingers over her leg reassuringly. She looked at him with wide, bloodshot eyes and a look of pure sadness filling them. It nearly broke his heart seeing her like this.
"I hate looking like this," She moaned brokenly, wiping at her eyes and dropping the clippers to the floor with a loud metallic thud. "But I can't make it go away. I can't fix it!" Wolffe instinctually reached out to catch her as she fell down into him, holding him around his neck tightly and soaking the shoulder of his shirt with her tears. He held her back just as tightly, moving her legs to wrap around his waist and holding one hand in her hair and the other on her back.
"Oh, baby..." He sighed, kissing the top of her head and rocking her a little as he tries to figure out what to say to her. "Can you tell me?" His voice drops lower, almost rumbling in a comforting and safe way as his hand rubs up and down her back.
"It-It was... Corrie Guard-" Her voice breaks with deep erratic breaths and sniffs of a wet and runny nose. "When they-they cl-cleared out houses," Her fingers started digging into his back, trying to hold him tighter.
"I was so scared, and I-I didn't know wh-what they wanted from me! I didn't move fast enough, and one-one of them sh-shot his blaster right at the side of m-my h-head." She stumbled and stuttered through the horrific experience, and Wolffe had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and keep himself from failing to control his emotions.
Everything from rage to sorrow and guilt flooded his mind at once. Another reminder of just how mindless he himself had been at that time, and the nightmare thought of what he might've done should they found each other before Rex saved him. That trooper didn't have their own mind anymore, but the. baser part of him wanted revenge for such a transgression that had gone years without punishment. Yet there was nothing he could do now... Other than trying to hold his little wife and attempt to make her feel safe with her own mind and appearance.
"You're so brave pretty girl," he whispered close to her ear. "You... you're safe now. No one... will ever lay a hand on you again," Wolffe felt his emotions getting the best of him again, choking him up so even the simplest of sentences couldn't be uttered easily. "I love you more than life itself."
"I love you too," She sniffed wetly against his chest. "I'm, sorry I got out of bed..." Her eyes met his. Big and innocent with tears beginning to dry on her face. "I just..."
Wolffe smiled sadly, eyes flashing over to the overgrown hair on the side of her head. "I understand my little Pup." He kissed her forehead tenderly, lingering there for a long time just to take in her presence in his arms.
"Would you help me?"
It was a shock to his system. One that made his heart stutter and his chest burn with love and protective instincts for her.
"Yes."
Quickly, Wolffe had her swept up in his arms and sitting on the counter with her bare legs dangling off the edge as he was given the very first opportunity to really get a good look at the burn scars on the side of her head and the very clear imprint of where the blaster charge had been expertly skimmed just over her ear. Wolffe felt himself growl deep in his chest. The trooper hadn't missed by accident. It was a brutal and permanent threat she'd been living with ever since. Right in her face, always close to her mind both literally and metaphorically. He'd wanted her to hurt. Feel fear of him.
As he slowly began working the clippers over her head, following her quiet direction and praise, he thought about just how she'd b been able to live with it. Unable to comprehend just what that must feel like for her... And suddenly, he realized he knew exactly how it felt. His cybernetic giving him the pleasure of looking upon his pretty wife, was a very comparable life-long symbol of loss in the most severe way. And yet, Pup had long ago given him such a different view of the grey eye he possessed that it often slipped his mind that he still had it.
She changed him, and now... he needed to do the same.
"It's beautiful to me..." his voice trembled with emotion and tears began to flood his eyes as his fingers gently brushed the remaining cut hair off her shoulders and ear. "You aren't a mistake for carrying this scar, Pup. It's your claim to life. Your own body shows just how strong of a miracle you are." To keep himself from crying he had to suck in a deep breath. "You show everyone around you just how determined you were to live, no matter the amount of pain and fear you felt..." Wolffe leaned in, kissing her slow and soft. Feeling her lean into him gently, letting her defenses down.
"And if your living, despite that beautiful scar isn't the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me... then nothing in this world matters."
*****
no tags since all my moots have probably assumed I fell off the face of the planet lol 🙃
Coriolis Effect - pt. 17: “Arrangement of Operations”
A/N: Well, what can I say? Other than the fact I can't keep a consistent schedule? Hopefully this doesn't disappoint. More action will be coming soon. This was just a rough transition chapter for me and I had a difficult time trying to tie together everything I want to. I've been dreading these last few arcs here since the first chapters I drafted out. Still some plot twists, spice, and development left to come. I'm just attempting to make sure I don't crash a burn at the end of this work.
I do have some little one-shot blurbs coming as well... Hopefully in the next day or two. Nothing great. But it's about one of the more... well-known pilots. I'm hoping to make him my next full-length fic. If you're interested let me know.
Anyways. That's all for now.
Much Love,
Rightful 🤍
Mission details.
Secrecy.
Frustration beyond management.
Everything was coming to a head.
It felt as if everyone in the war room was holding their breath. Waiting for the final hour to finally admit that Kenobi’s plan was downright dangerous, and everything hinged on the gut-feeling that the compromise on Geonosis hadn’t been discovered yet. No outside help. Recon for outside information was a far stretch at best. And the 212th -despite sitting in on most of the mission briefs- weren’t even going to be making the trip for the gala event anyways. Echo had never found himself feeling quite this out of place amongst a group of Captains, Commanders, Sergeants, and Generals.
Cody stood at the far end of the war room table with an almost permanent look of pensiveness creasing the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Staring down at the holomap and surrounding information on digital displays covering the room. At his side was General Kenobi looking as cool and collected as ever. Not nearly as concerned as he should be. However Echo had a sneaking suspicion that he was just damn good at shielding his apprehension. After all, the mission itself felt like something that the other general in the room -Anakin- would’ve dreamed up on the fly less than one parsec away from a battle zone. Even. The younger Jedi was asking a lot of questions that normally never got asked. Echo had personally seen Anakin fly into danger without batting an eye. However as he got the chance to examine General Skywalker, there was a tinge of… hesitation floating in his eyes. Even Rex, who’d decided to take up a post next to him radiated a thick feeling of nervousness. It didn’t take much to assume the tension in the air was what had Hunter grimacing and rubbing at his temples.
“I still don’t understand why we can’t have someone else go under for this,” Echo nearly growled. “Isn’t there anyone else who knows what’s going on? Or at least smart enough to be briefed on the essentials beforehand?” He paused for a moment, sighing.
“Forgive me, Generals. I’m in no place to make demands. But I feel it would be a mistake to assume there aren’t spies on Republic payroll hired specifically for this kind of thing.”
Echo scanned his attention to General Kenobi who didn’t look the least bit offended. With over twelve meetings held over the last five days, decorum had been practically thrown out into the Jedi Temple hallways. No one wasted their breath addressing anyone by title at this point. There wasn’t enough time for it. And save for Tech who subconsciously insisted on calling Rex “Cap” no one took time to even address the informality. That being said, it was the first time tensions had risen to the point of Hunter stepping out of line. Even if it wasn’t by more than a little bit.
“Corporal, I understand your hesitance,” Kenobi said calmly. “If I am to be honest with you, I haven’t had a single moment of question as to what your collective worries are surrounding this assignment.”
Echo hated being reminded of the fact. His removal from direct contact with Jedi’s came as a bittersweet realization, but when in the presence of one, he’d long forgotten just how perceptive they could be should the need or desire arise. And with six clones overpowering two Generals in a war room, there was no mistaking why Kenobi left himself open to their thoughts and feelings.
“However, you are correct that the Republic has many resources available at our disposal for such a situation as this,” His answer was just as diplomatic as always. “Our collective problem resides in know who and when someone can be trusted to carry out the plan we have formulated.”
The seemingly endless question no one could find the answer to and the basis of all their problems. Everyone had tried for weeks at this point to avoid getting too close to the Separatists and their business dealings. Kenobi had reached out to trusted companions across the galaxy, Skywalker had done the same. And from what Cody and Rex had relayed over comms and after meetings, they too had turned to friends acquaintances, and even the Corrie Guard to try and get some type of helpful information. All they could learn was what everyone else already knew. Which wasn’t a whole lot.
“I understand that. But I don’t think sending one person into an entire mansion of Separatists is a safe way to go about this,” Echo responded. “At least let one or two of us go in with her.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing at the sound of himself damn-near begging. But for all it was worth, everyone in the room save for Kenobi thought the plan was voluntary manslaughter.
“Echo… she’s the only one who can speak to them in a believable way.” The General protested.
“It is not of good conscious to send any of you into what could be a very dangerous situation. But I must defend my reasoning.” Kenobi took a few steps away from the table and settled himself down into one of the many chairs settled around the room.
“If I was to send anyone and their knowledge of the weapons being sold fall short, it would be an immediate threat to not just our operation but to the entire stability of the war!” He said with a frustrated sigh. “I have no objections to your accompaniment to Naboo. It’s all for the better that there are more eyes on the gala to see any suspicious activity or recognizable faces. But I do not want to underestimate the lengths to which our enemies will go to ensure that their stolen goods are sold to their allies and not a stranger whom has lucked into an invitation and the immense amount of money necessary to even think about attending the auction.” He explained.
“Maybe she isn’t ready for that kind of work yet, Obi-Wan.” Anakin, who had been mostly silent for the meeting finally spoke up in a weak attempt to help out Hunter.
Kenobi looked to him with a somewhat disbelieving expression.
“Capability has nothing to do with enthusiasm.” Echo found himself gritting out the words before he could even stop himself. Everyone in the room snapped their attention to him and suddenly all that tension in the air had been magnetized to him. The thick weight of expectation to explain himself rode heavily on his shoulders and chest making it hard to breathe let alone form his frustration into some semblance of understandable words. Surprisingly it didn’t take long to figure it out.
“We’re been going over this plan for days. Memorizing entrances and exits, speaking to contacts about how this gala is going to proceed and where we’re supposed to blend in best on surrounding rooftops to avoid being seen. Everything is nearly perfect except for one small detail no one wants to talk about.” He breathed heavily, trying to control himself.
“No one asked Duchess if she was even willing to put herself on the line for this.”
That weight got just a little heavier.
“Her available mission details with Phantom Squad are… impeccable. And I’ve seen her work in the field up-close, but it’s dangerous to send her into Separatist hands less than a week after seeing them nearly torture her- one of the squad to death.” Echo could feel a stinging sensation in the back of his throat.
Kenobi’s eyes softened in that moment, looking about the room to all of the men standing there. Waiting for his word. Helpless to do anything but follow orders despite all the informality they’d been lucky enough to experience. All of the Batch present knew that their time was running out, and with both Crosshair and Duchess still so far away from what they all deemed normal, it was cutting into their patience. And more so, the protective nature they felt for both of them. This wasn’t an issue of who was the right man for the job anymore. Everyone was clear on the fact that Duchess could handle it the best, with the least amount of effort. It was her mentality that they feared for. And General Kenobi hadn’t bothered himself with experiencing first-hand what her condition was not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.
“I have sent her the mission request myself. Has she not been aware that this mission as it stands presently rests on her decision?” Kenobi asked with an eyebrow raised.
Finally Hunter found his words with a certain nervousness about them, “Not at present. She was advised by the infirmary to rest and we have not been keen on letting her worry about this until we’re certain she’s up to the task. Not just okay with accepting the responsibility.”
Kenobi gave a short of chuckle, seeming to understand just what they had been trying to get across all this time. “I have to say, that sounds very familiar. For duty to oneself can go ignored when the need of others seems more significant.”
Anakin looked to him with a accusatory expression. “You wouldn’t be talking about me would you?”
“Oh, of course not. You’ve never been the type to put yourself in unnecessary danger to save someone else… Only to end up needing saved yourself now, have you?” His somewhat sarcastic humor wasn’t the most well-timed, but it seemed that the longer they all stood there, a certain recognition had come about and now the question of Duchess’ involvement wasn’t so important anymore.
Kenobi took another glance around the room and took in a deep steadying breath through his nose. “I see that there are some decisions that need to be made. Alongside a few smaller details that need to be arranged should there be a change in planning. Either way, I must inform you that Anakin and Captain Rex’s presence today was not for posterity alone.”
“That’s right. Since Obi-Wan can’t oversee this mission through, Rex, the 501st and I will be taking lead of operations on the day of the mission.” Anakin added, trying to be as welcoming as he could.
“Given we are so… cautious, I am most regrettable about the whole situation. It seems there have been threats against a number of diplomats planning a rather long campaign of sorts. Hoping to find more allies in these challenging times. However the threats to their lives are strong enough that myself, the Marshal Commander, and a large portion of the 212th will be at their disposal for the duration of their movements.” Kenobi explained.
“Don’t worry about anything,” Anakin reassured, “I’m completely briefed, and as of today I know good and well what is at stake for all parties involved here. Besides, Naboo will be a very easy to navigate. If it’s helpful we can even leave a couple days early. I have a few connections on-world that could make the trip a lot less… hot and heavy. If you know what I mean.”
It was enough to calm Hunter down at least. Echo still wasn’t sure how he felt about it even if General Skywalker didn’t plan on barging in guns-blazing the day of. A few days on Naboo didn’t mean they wouldn’t be putting Duchess in a real pinch. But Kenobi -despite being cordial- had given his well-spoken ultimatum. It would be completely up to her. And she only had a day or two to decide given that Anakin had his wishes to leave in more than enough time. But with just enough time to give a formal goodbye to Kenobi and Cody giving a curt nod as he trailed hesitantly after him there wasn’t much room to think on the topic any longer. To Echo’s slight relief, Anakin dismissed himself as well, leaving Rex to speak to them alone without the pressure of either Jedi breaking down their necks or looking into their heads.
Rex settled his hands on his hips and stared down at the holomap for a moment.
“Well that was a shit show…”
Over to his right, Tech spoke up. “Although a ill-mannered statement, I must agree. Does General Kenobi sense something that we have not yet?”
Hunter stalked over to a chair of his own, sitting with his chest to the backrest and crossing his arms over the top. “No. He’s just nervous. But about the wrong thing.”
“What do you mean?” Wrecker chimed in.
“The General is more worried about the traitor and them being part of the Republic. No doubt keeping this low-brow isn’t easy, but no one is safe. And that’s what has him pushing this risky mission down Dutch’s throat. I don’t care for it.” Echo grumbled in answer.
“I don’t like it either,” Rex added in rather quickly. “You showed me her charts Echo. She’s lucky she can walk around well. I don’t think playing the part of a rich Separatist enjoying their spoils will be easy. Even if no one asks her to the dancefloor before the auction.” Echo simply nodded, already fully aware of the limited yet still demanding task of physically showing up to the event let alone blending in well.
“I am unsure as to Duchess’s motivation to complete the mission, but it is a fair assumption that -should she be willing- what the extent of her preparation would require?” Tech asked, reviewing what Echo could only guess were notes from the meeting.
“Well, aside from the technical information we all know she would need, I’m not exactly sure. I don’t know how often you boys get invited to upper-class galas, but I haven’t.” Rex admitted rather humorously. “That pre-mission checklist is one I sure would like to see though.”
“Your point being?” Hunter asked, raising his head away from resting on his arms to get a better look at the Captain.
Echo decided to spare his Sergeant, “When was the last time you thought about wearing high heels for an assignment, Hunter?”
***
Duchess had never seen a release examination before, but Crosshair’s what almost unbelievably difficult. Breathing tests, brain function performance compared to his baselines, cognition tests, reflexivity, and last but not least, an all-out stress-test. She likened the first half of it to the testing that many cadets had to pass before becoming fighter pilots. Small volts of current passing through muscles, and the nuanced information being recorded and deciphered through the machines hooked up to Crosshair. Over two hours of electrostimulation and he still didn’t seem the least bit exhausted. Duchess was at a loss for words. But the testing didn’t stop there. His last request for the test?
Exhaust himself.
Dutch nearly passed out hearing that. Given everything she’d come to know about the sniper, not only would Crosshair outlast most regs out of sheer physicality, but he would purposefully use every last ounce of mental and physical strength to remind everyone judging his performance that he was better. Elite. Overengineered. Built for punishment and hungry to prove it. Kix had been genuinely kind enough to offer him the choice of water or land. And to her utter shock, her sniper chose land. Foregoing the ease on his joints and the less varying ways to further punish his body in the days following his bacta treatment. In typical, frustrating, fashion Crosshair chose to run.
Being an “officer” meant Dutch didn’t have to participate in her own trials. Someone else might’ve felt relieved. Duchess did not. It made the painful reality of Crosshair’s situation all the more painful. A life forced into wartime servitude and could be taken away just as easily. A fucking joke. A fucking tragedy a best. Worth doing something irrational a worst. Either thought process did nothing to placate her frayed nerves as she waited in an adjacent room for her sniper to reemerge. Hopefully with Kix close behind carrying good news for his results.
She had declined to be present in the room whole the test commenced. Despite Kix being more than willing to allow her in and Crosshair being silently unsettled with the idea of her being out of his sight. Duchess couldn’t deal with the visual though. Everyone had already been through enough and the more she stressed herself, the longer it would take to heal. The Batch wanted to meet with her anyways, and leaving abruptly in the middle of Cross’ test. Wouldn’t be conducive to very acceptable results. Though things would’ve been different had she been able to speak to him.
Muscles in her thighs and the arches of her feet started aching when she heard boot falls echoing from down the stark, white, hallway. Four pairs, all distinct, and a metal clang that assured her of who was approaching. When she saw the first flash of black and red paint, a sudden feeling of weakness overwhelmed her. Heavily enough that she rested her back against the wall and slid down until she sat comfortably on the floor. Maybe it was purely physical and the remaining symptoms of her sleepless, foodless, week that made her feel so tired so suddenly. Duchess felt a sneaking suspicion that have 99’s around just allowed her the opportunity to put her anxiety and fear aside for a little while. Over and over, hey proved nothing bad could happen to her when they were around… Keeping in mind she allowed them. True to that suspicion upon their first look at her, their leisurely pace quickened seeing her sitting on the floor.
“What did Kix saying about your blood sugar?” Hunter asked with a more fatherly tone than friendly. Chastising in a gentle, yet stern kind of way.
“I’m not feeling lightheaded, my hands aren’t shaking and I don’t feel the least bit dizzy either,” she explained calmly. Watching their apprehension drain into a somewhat level temperament after sensing that she was telling the truth.
“How long has he been in there?” Wrecker asked rather nervously, looking at the door like he could see through it if he stared hard enough.
Duchess knew the feeling well.
“One hour and…” she trailed looking down at her chrono. “Eighteen minutes.”
Everyone shared glances and right away Tech, Wrecker, and Echo excused themselves into the observation room Kix monitored Crosshair in. She understood totally why they were so anxious to see their brother. Since landing on Coruscant everyone -except her and Cross- were involved in the long, strenuous, painstaking, tension-filled meetings. It left no time for visits and even less space for mental anguish and worry over treatment plans or what Kix was doing to heal Crosshair. Whether Duchess liked it or not, the Batch were expected to be soldiers first and brothers second. It broke her heat and stoked a damn-near lethal fire rekindling itself in her chest.
Left behind in the hallway with Hunter, they had some time to catch up on… well, everything.
“I don’t need to tell you because I’m sure you know… But his is going to take quite a while.” Hunter stated rather abysmally.
Dutch nodded. “He really can’t stand being perceived as anything less than…” She struggled to find the right word.
The Sergeant found it for her.
“Flawless,” He smiled sadly, “He refuses to be anything short of perfection.”
“Utterly ridiculous,” Dutch grumbled back, wondering how she could even begin to tackle the task of breaking her sniper from that awful train of thought.
“It’s always been that way for him. For us, performance was top priority, but Crosshair took it much more personally.” He said, beginning to ease himself down to the floor alongside of her.
“Crosshair always stuck out as a cadet. Tall like Wrecker, but not nearly as physically intimidating on first glance. So he took a lot of punishment for being different. More than any of us really. Especially because Cross would take heat for something we did. And to make things worse, he couldn’t prove himself even if he wanted to.”
“Because you were trained separately from the regs?”
“Yes and no,” He replied cautiously. “We didn’t train with regs often, but when we did it normally didn’t change their opinion of us. With our enhancements, skill came… easier. That didn’t mean it was effortless,” He paused to catch his breath. “Crosshair wanted to be seen as an equal more than anyone. But being a biologically crafted sniper meant that even the most difficult shot wouldn’t be impressive,”
“They just expected it from him,”
“Yes. So when he got any chance to prove his worth, he would do it. Any he never grew out of it.”
Hunter looked down both ends of the hallway with a surveilling gaze. One Dutch caught onto right away. There was business he wanted to discuss. Even the Batch was excluded and she knew exactly why. They had already discussed the mission once in each other’s confidence, and Hunter had been just as hesitant to make it remotely public. All things considered, it was the smartest plan of action.
“What did the General say today?” She asked hoping to kickstart the conversation.
“One minor change, one major one. We’re supposed to lift off for Naboo in three rotations,”
“That’s hardly worth making a big deal about,” Sometimes she couldn’t help but think Hunter’s worries were worse than her own.
“Also, Skywalker and the 501st are heading the mission now,” He added, looking to her with a scrutinizing expression.
Duchess knew she should’ve felt a certain sense of apprehension about such a large change she close to mission time. But knowing that it would be Rex coming along soothed what little nerves she held. As far as her own information went, everyone aside from Hunter thought she still was unaware of the plan. Hunter and herself decided that for everyone’s benefit and safety, he would brief her as information came to him, but they would wait until the last minute to declare that she would be taking on the mission and what responsibilities came along with it.
Hunter didn’t want any information being old enough that it could fall into the lap of someone who did not have the best intentions. After all there was a traitor present, and even though Kenobi and Skywalker were doing everything right, it didn’t make them immune. For Duchess, she didn’t want Crosshair to find out yet. And Hunter was the only person who could keep that kind of information to himself as long as she needed him to. She hated keeping anything from him, but the last thing he needed to worry about was her going undercover. Every single memory she had of his feeling about her going headlong into a mission were all marked with an overwhelming sense of worry and protectiveness well-masked as anger and sarcasm. If he was going to get off Coruscant in the next two rotations, he couldn’t know what the mission was, or how deeply she was involved. Really… no one could know until absolutely necessary. It would ensure her cover was as believable as possible.
“What about the rest of the Batch? Are they still fairly convinced I don’t know anything?”
Hunter chuckled, “Yeah, I’m fairly certain. Echo practically threw a fit over Kenobi volunteering you. Tech assumes you’ll accept, but he doesn’t have enough facts to put the pieces together. Rex is good at keeping a secret, so you have nothing to worry about there,” He nudged his shoulder into her, trying to get her attention. “They’re all worried about you…”
“And I am too,” she sighed, “You need to try and calm Echo down before he does anything hasty. I’d hate to have to break the news to him just so he doesn’t go AWOL trying to save me from something I’ve already decided to do,”
Duchess tried not to let that idea get the best of her.
“But from what you’ve told me, everything should be fairly cut and dry.” She tried to calm the Sergeant down. “Blend in, listen for anything having to do with the Republic and what they’re doing to fight us, go to the weapons auction and-”
Hunter cut her off, “Don’t bid until we give you confirmation.”
“Right. No bids until I get the go-ahead, and then play it casual for a few hours until I get welcomed to the back to pick up my weapons. From there, a crew will be there to pose as my goons…” She couldn’t help but change topic for a second.
“Finally, I get my own goon squad. It’s about kriffing time,”
Hunter’s skyward turned eyes and smirk reassured her it wasn’t just personally amusing.
“But that squad will bring a cargo ship to a loading bay holding the crates, and we bring them back safe and sound,” She finished, expecting Hunter to give a satisfied nod. Only when he didn’t, she frowned. “Did I forget something?”
“No you didn’t,”
“You’re afraid getting the weapons back is all we’re going to accomplish, aren’t you?”
Hunter sighed, “It’s not that I don’t trust your ability to listen well enough. I’m just not sure we’re going to hear sensitive Separatists movements at a kriffing gala. Doesn’t that sound just a little reckless to you?”
“From my experience, people talk about things they don’t know about more than things they actually do. I would venture to say that a lot of these people know where these weapons are coming from, and who’s supplying them. They might not know a specific name, but I highly doubt there isn’t a well-placed rumor floating around,” Duchess nudged into his shoulder lightly, “Let’s just hope I look convincing enough in a budget-bought gown.”
Duchess couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of herself in some stupid dress. Make-up, hair done, and some dress she’d have never bought otherwise. Part of her was excited for the opportunity to dress up. It had been so long she couldn’t even remember wearing something other than fatigues or a dress uniform. Even to that extent, medal pinning ceremonies weren’t something that Phantom Squad attended in the first place due to their status in the army. Therefore dress uniforms typically stayed in the closet at the apartment she lived in before leaving for Kamino. Since then, they’d been in that chest on Kamino, awaiting her return for when shore leave dictated a visit back to the water-covered planet.
In the past rotation or so, she’d dreamt up a few ideas of what she might like wearing. For all intensive purposes, anything within her price range was not going to appear very extravagant. So, her musings were kept to a minimum and only brought out of the recesses of her mind when she needed something insignificant to keep her busy. A few shops she was familiar with had clothes that might suffice, but with what money she had left over -a maybe a paycheck she’d been unable to collect- there could maybe be enough to fake real money and power.
Hunter seemed to notice her deep thought.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you looked excited for the idea of dolling yourself up for this,” A little well-humored smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and crinkled the skin around his eye.
“I am a little, but I’m not going to get my hopes up,”
“Why is that? What’s a little fun for yourself? After all, I’d say you deserve a moment for yourself after all the kriffing trouble we’ve had,”
“The Galactic Bank of Duchess is running low. Has been since I took out that deposit I gave to you in case we needed a cushion on mission. I guess I didn’t think we’d wipe out that much of it so quickly…” She explained, not sad about where the credits had gone, but a little let down that the money needed spent in the first place.
“Don’t worry about it, Dutch. We’ll get something together in time,” He reassured lightly, “But I do have a question I’m sure you don’t want to answer yet,”
“What’s that Sargent?”
“When are you going to tell him?”
Duchess felt her chest burn with guilt in that moment. It’s was the one part of the mission she had no plan for, and no real way of easing into it gently. Crosshair wasn’t going to like it one bit, but there wasn’t any way for him to stop her once Hunter submitted the documents she had already signed three rotations prior. Her sniper fighting the order wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but worrying him too much would be just as detrimental. That was the reason she asked Hunter to keep the details of the mission between the two of them in the first place. Crosshair needed rest. Not to fret over the nuance of her playing dress-up and acting the part of a bad guy for an evening. It was hardly the first time she’d done so. And something told her it wouldn’t be the last.
“What happens now?” she questioned.
“I talked to Rex for a moment after the meeting. Said something about getting you ready for the mission. What kind of preparation that was, I don’t know really. But I’m supposed to leave out in the next few hours and meet with him again,” Hunter informed her evenly.
“How are you going to get around disappearing from everyone?” Her curiosity got the best of her.
Hunter laughed, “Easy. Fake a headache,” He tapped his temples for a moment. “I hardly ever fake it, so they won’t question me if I say I have one,”
Duchess nodded, “What should I do? While we wait for… whatever Rex has planned?”
“Do what you do best. Take care of the man who doesn’t want anyone taking care of him,” Hunter gave her a pat on the shoulder.
“Even when he needs it.”
***
What is she doing?
She needs to eat again.
It’s been two hours, and I know she hasn’t done it on her own.
Where are my brothers?
Are they with her?
Echo will make sure she eats something.
Crosshair couldn’t be the least bit bothered by the electrodes sticking to his skin or the sweat dripping down the center of his back and down the sides of his face. Every inch of his body was naggingly sore, but it was nothing he refused to push through. Save for a severe ache deep in his right shoulder, everything else could be ignored. Well enough that after two hours of nonstop movement, Kix still hadn’t called off the test for worry of his health. Long enough that Crosshair was certain he could stop at any time he pleased and go back to doing what he really needed to.
She’s been quiet all day.
I don’t like it.
Ever since they’d woken up together after his treatments had ended, Duchess hadn’t been acting right. Not overly different, but enough that he could tell something was different aside from her palpable nervousness. Crosshair didn’t pretend that he knew everything about her, but he did have a confidence that it wasn’t just lingering exhaustion, anxiety, or dehydration influencing her lack of desire to talk to him. She had barely said two sentences since morning for fuck’s sake. That knowledge alone kept him running at a steady pace.
It gave him time to think; Time to think of the right thing to say.
I love you.
***
A headache didn’t even need to be faked for Hunter to get away easily.
Duchess was still waiting on Crosshair and the rest of the boys were getting a little bit of rest while they could, knowing that sometime soon Cross and Dutch would both need to sleep and someone else would need to watch over them. The perfect rotation for a family that knew exactly what to do when it needed done. But he needed to do his own work to make sure everything kept working out smoothly and Duchess was well prepped for this mission. Sure, it was a stressful time. He’d been in worse and handled it better. Been in easier ones and royally fucked up. It was a human response to feel this tense all the time. To miss sleep because he was thinking so much. Refuse a meal here and there to spend the time more efficiently. Overstimulate himself amongst the lights and sounds of meetings with the Generals to ensure that the mission was low-risk.
He just didn’t expect it to be so fucking difficult.
Hunter didn’t realize how hard it was becoming to keep forcing himself through the steps of a mission that shouldn’t have been so difficult. They weren’t failing. But they hadn’t completed it yet. As if someone was watching over them so closely and planning their decisions so meticulously that nothing they could do was nearly productive enough. Two steps forward and three steps back didn’t even begin to cover the feeling that boiled deep in his gut. There just wasn’t enough information slipping through the gaps for them to catch up quick enough. Hunter hated feeling useless. Especially knowing that his enhancements -brutally ingrained into him- were of completely of no use to anyone for any reason right now. No smell. No sound. Nothing. Useless. Save for the slight possibility that Rex had some Jedi Mind-Trick up his sleeve that could help them get their next foothold on an icy slope that dropped off into a deep ravine of failure.
“Sergeant, you look like you need some sleep and caf. In that order,” Rex greeted him, clapping a hand over his armored shoulder.
“Caf first. Sleep later, Rex,”
They began walking through the gates to the base and towards the closest taxi service zone marked by paint on the sidewalk.
“Well… how are they doing?”
Hunter didn’t know where to begin, or explain what was more important. “Duchess is airing on stir-crazy waiting on something to happen. Some good news, a mission, literally anything to make her feel like she’s worth the air she’d breathing. Crosshair was in exhaustion testing when I left. Someone will send a comm when he finally decides he’s had enough time,”
Rex gave him a disbelieving look, “Enough time to do what? Kill himself?”
“If I know Crosshair well enough, I’d say so he can clear his head. I don’t know exactly what is going on between them, but it’s what I would consider serious. And from what I can tell it isn’t exactly… resolved,”
Rex gave a humph of a sound through his nose. “That sounds a bit messy. You’re not concerned about it?” He posed the question with a genuine curiosity that only two unit leaders without romantic relationship experience could ask each other.
Both of them quickly got into the back of a speeder that pulled up upon seeing them waiting in a pick-up zone and Rex gave an address that Hunter was totally unfamiliar with. Hunter took the time of getting settled in the back of the vehicle to really think about that question as thoroughly as he could with the somewhat limited and unlimited experience he’d garnered about relationships, Crosshair, Duchess, being a brother, and everything else in between. It was after a few minutes of sitting there did the Sergeant come up with a response that he felt confident with.
“I wouldn’t say concerned in a negative way. I don’t think Crosshair is truly irrational. He can overact sometimes. But it’s never came to a point that I’ve felt his judgement was untrustworthy. And Duchess has one of the most level heads I’ve ever seen despite everything I know she’s been through, and everything else I don’t know about,”
Rex nodded, listened intently.
“But when those two are together, there can be these moments of miscommunication. And not a simple kind. Because both of them say exactly what they’re feeling, but it doesn’t always come out right. And that can cause tension,”
“You mean the verbiage? Or timing?” Rex interrupted politely, attempting to understand as best he could.
“Timing for sure,” he affirmed.
“What happens then?”
Hunter tried to formulate the right words, “It’s almost like they circle around an issue,” he said holding one hand out in front of him steady and circling a finger from the other hand around the former. “Just working at each other from opposite ends until they somehow, silently, decide that the issue needs addressed and that it takes both of them to either fix it, or make total sense of it,”
The Sergeant looked to Rex who had a very fond smile on his face, “Have you ever thought about marriage counselling?”
Hunter rolled his eyes and groaned, letting his head hit the headrest with a dull thud. “Honestly Rex, I thought you of all people would understand,”
“I do understand Hunter, but if you know how they work out there problems and it works for them, I wouldn’t worry about it. It would be different if they never worked anything out and let it fester like an infected cut,” Rex sympathized. “I’ve had to solve a lot of problems with shinies… 501st men… kriff, even some of my ARC’s. But none of them had the idea to work through it together like that,”
“I just don’t know how to help either one of them when things get like that. And I don’t want either of them to get hurt,” Hunter tried to reason through his own feelings, wondering how a question Rex had asked sent him into a deep-dive on his own emotions.
“So they have a cool-down? How many times have you needed one with your vode?” Rex asked with a chuckle, “Sure yours might come on a shorter time-frame due to mission duties, or other things… But when it comes to a relationship, I have a feeling that they have a much longer expiration on dealing with issues that come up. Imagine a relationship where you aren’t being controlled the entire time…”
Hunter couldn’t imagine a dynamic like that. But he did see the sense in what Rex was saying about Crosshair and Duchess. There was undoubtedly something going on that he wasn’t privy to. He had a strong feeling it had to do with… well. Feelings. An issue he wasn’t even going to think about when it came to Crosshair. There was hardly a reason for Crosshair to discuss feelings with him on a good day, especially not a bad one. And for the past week alone, there was a lot to unpack. Even for a clone who had more than their fair share of issues to deal with and not nearly enough time to sort all of it out healthily. By the time Hunter had put most of his worries and issues to rest however, the speeder had stopped and Rex was exiting out with one hand held on the door to leave it open for Hunter to follow after him.
“Where are we exactly?” He asked, looking at the nose-bleed inducing sights of high-rise buildings all around him and the equally gut-churning sight of just as much building below him as well.
“Residential living for Senatorial staff, and other Republic officials that don’t live within the campus grounds,” Rex explained, looking down at his vambrace when a small alert pinged softly.
“We’re here to see a government official? This late at night?” Hunter asked a bit tensely, finding some of his decorum as they both were ushered through the entry doors to the high rise by a well-polished and heavily greased droid that didn’t have a single millimeter of rust or stay wire within sight.
“To be vague, yes. To be specific, they’re expecting us. So there’s not worry about disturbing anyone,”
The elevator they stepped into was controlled by yet another droid with just as much painstaking maintenance as the other one. Even in the reflection of the marbled walls and bright lights embedded in the celling trim, Hunter couldn’t spot a single blemish on the gold metal.
“I know we’re expected to keep a lot of our movements low-key, but this is making me nervous Rex. What’s going on here?” He asked, turning to face the Captain’s right side. The vibroblade sitting in the sheath on his forearm beginning to feel slightly heavy with a possibility of need to defend himself. Not against Rex, but what could possibly be waiting on the other side of the elevator door.
“It’s a meeting with a Senator. I’m owed a debt, and this was my payoff for it. I knew Duchess was going to need some help when it came to getting everything in order for the mission, and there was only one person I could think of who could really ensure that Dutch looks the part,” He explained as best he could, decorously avoiding a name of this Senator.
“Dank Farrick Rex! Just tell me who-”
Before Hunter could get the rest of the demand out of his mouth, the doors opened and a warm yellow light spilled in from a large penthouse. Two people stood with open posture and a first-glance non-threatening appearance that instantly made Hunter’s bristle begin to lay down flat against his neck. It wasn’t until he saw one very familiar silhouette and one that vaguely reminded him of many times the batch and himself had sat watching Senatorial meetings on the holo.
“General Skywalker. Senator Amidala. Thank you for seeing us so late,” Rex’s voice from behind him was cordial, but easy.
Unusual for a situation that Hunter would’ve found very tense. Even now his neck felt tight, and his hands were clenched so tight that the leather between his clammy fingers were squeaking with pressure and friction. He had no idea what he was walking into. And the arm that the Senator had looped through Skywalker’s made Hunter feel like he was certainly behind on the curve in more ways than one. Even for a Sergeant who was expected to think on his feet at all times, he was really missing the back-up that his brother’s constantly provided. He needed Tech’s quick wit, Wrecker’s easy ability to make friendly conversation, and Echo’s immense talent of reading social cues and the formality of Coruscant and it’s more… refined populations. Everything Hunter felt he lacked, he was feeling it to the fullest extent at that moment.
“So this is the Sergeant I’ve been hearing so much about,” The Senator said gracefully, taking a step away from Skywalker. Her manicured and soft hand reached out towards him, “It’s a true honor to meet you Sergeant Hunter. Your service is… invaluable to the Republic and people like myself who depend on you and your brothers,”
Hunter took her had out of pure instinct, hearing her kind words but not quite feeling the full effect of them right away.
“I can assure you that I am nothing but supportive of your current situation. And I will be doing everything I can to help you in the next few days,” she added softly.
“Thank you ma’am,” He spoke back.
“Please. Call me Padmé. I consider myself nothing more than civilian, and you shouldn’t think of me as anything otherwise either,”
***
Duchess’ were the first pair of hands that touched Crosshair once his stress test was deemed complete. Four hours and some change was spent in that singular room. To what extent she truthfully didn’t know. She didn’t stick around to ask Kix questions -being far too concerned about getting Cross back to their barracks. But from what she heard murmured by Tech whom she’d passed by in the hallway, he’d ran steady through the entire time. Not a dead sprint by any means, but fast enough to leave his shirt utterly soaked and his skin damper than if he’d just stepped out of a shower. Her sniper felt hot to the touch -not feverish- but hot. His ribs heaved up and down under her hands, steady and deep. Most importantly one arm wound tightly around her waist and stayed there with a hand fisted into her shirt. Concreting himself to her. Instantly walking along without a word spoken to their closeness or a single mention of what anyone could say about the image before them should the pair come into sight.
Duchess felt his protectiveness and exhaustion all at once. The weight of his body lying on her enough to remind her he was there in all aspects, but not enough to make her feel a struggle to move with him. Yet his breaths were labored and droplets of sweat ran off him onto her shirt and on the top of her head. Her main thought was to get him some water. The quicker the better. She determinedly got them down the winding hallways. Doing whatever she could to avoid any prying eyes. Ignoring looks from emotionless buckets snapping in their direction and near-identical faces that shifted when pairing the two of them together. The barracks wasn’t far. By design she supposed. Thankful didn’t begin to cover her feelings as they got through the doors and Crosshair stopped for a moment.
“Shower,” He said resolutely, leaning the both of them in the appropriate direction.
Duchess didn’t waver on the order. Only moving away from him once she was certain he could lean against the sink counter where she could turn on the water in the refresher and wait for it to get reasonably warm. Over the sound of water hitting the duracrete floor, wet fabric peeling away from skin could be heard behind her. She didn’t dare turn around, simply for Crosshair’s own privacy. Putting a hand in the stream, the back of her hand felt comfortably warm and Duchess did what she could to bide her time as respectfully as possible. Even when he was comfortable, she still didn’t know how to handle herself. Whether it was right to assume they were both on the same page and to take his behavior for the new normal, or begin to try and work up the nerve to admit her feelings again in the case that he truly hadn’t been able to hear her.
It wasn’t until she heard boots thump to the floor that she knew her time was done. Planning to give him as much space as he could possibly want, she took a step back and kept her head low. A scent of salt, sweat, and Crosshair filled her senses as he brushed up against her back to slip into the open stall. A genuine sound of relief echoed softly against the walls when water first touched his skin. Pitter pattering against what Duchess pictured to be tattoos, fresh scars, and the utterly devastated muscles flexing below. Imagining his closed eyes and flexed arms reaching up to slick the heat off his head and rinse the palpable fatigue off as best he could. Duchess wished there was something she could do. A switch she could flip so that this awkwardness would evaporate. So she could be everything Cross needed without feeling hesitant.
“I’ll go grab you one of my towels,” She said softly, keeping her eyes on the toes of her boots as she spun around towards the door to the main barracks hall.
“No.”
The quarrel ended before it began. Especially when a vice-like grip from his hand encircled her upper arm and the other caught a deft hold on the back beltloop of her pants. The unyielding pull to walk backwards into the stall was unavoidable and Duchess easily listened once again. Letting him guide her over the small lip that kept water from spilling onto the main floor. Patient. But nothing short of demanding. Water splattered down on her blacks and nearly had them soaked before her back hit Cross’ chest. Her boots already had a healthy level of standing water, and her best pair of socks squished uncomfortably. It would’ve been convenient for him to at least let her take her clothes off. But she assumed there was a good reason why he’d been so against the idea.
“Let me,” He murmured quietly, giving a small tug at her shirt.
“Get cold this way,” He reasoned unnecessarily, after Duchess raised her hands above her head; Going just far enough to brush her fingertips against his hair and the tips of his ears.
The shirt peeled away and hit the floor with a instantly forgotten wet slap of a sound. Crosshair reached for the button and zipper to her pants carefully, and undid them with enough patience to let her bend over to untie her waterlogged boots and pull the entire half of her ensemble off completely. He didn’t touch her or even make a comment about her… admittedly suggestive posture. It was only after she had straightened up did his cold fingertips slid back over her skin. Choosing to only begin when he knew she was ready and prepared for him. Duchess knew it was out of pure respect that he didn’t grope of get too touchy when she was in a compromising position. He liked her when she was strong, and taking advantage of the weak moments like that didn’t strike Crosshair as the right way to act. Duchess loved him for it.
He spent a long while tracing the dips and swell of her hips. Tender. Leisurely. With a trigger finger dragging just a bit heavier than the others. A bit sluggish, but Duchess knew better than to assume he was too tired to do more. He was going out of his way to be outstandingly gentle with her and she didn’t know what was happing -or why- this was what he wanted.
Duchess stayed liked that with him for what felt like a peaceful eternity. Just feeling his complex presence again in its purest form. The dichotomy of soft hands yet knowing they could create utter destruction should it be necessary. His protective posture guarding her away from the open gap in the stall, reminding herself of just how virile his strength was when directed towards someone with ill-intent. His steady breaths slowing to what she remembered best and the utter devastation she knew when that inhale and exhale were labored and pained beyond what anyone should ever experience. Crosshair held vulnerability in an beskar fist. Like he was terrified to lost control of it. Fearful of how soft he could become and what risk that would allow to infiltrate his life. Yet there he stood. Holding her close in lukewarm water with a silent plea that she not leave.
His eventual next move was to put soap in her hair. Massaging until thick lather threatened to fall down her forehead. But he gently guided her head back with one hand curled under her chin. Rinsing all the soap off and slicking the stray drops of water and bubbles away from her eyes. Tracing the other hand up and down her side. Squeezing softly when his fingertips dimpled soft flesh Duchess considered unworthy of attention. His thumb brushing over what she knew to be a thin and raised scar on her temple from where his armor had cut her so long ago. She had enough of a though to marvel at how one simple interaction had changed nearly her entire life. The fact that one mistake led her to a back to Coruscant where she stood skin to skin with a sniper that had got closer and deeper to her than anyone in the galaxy every truly had before.
It was Crosshair's kind of affection.
Not poetry or flowers. No chance of a slow dance or dinner date. Duchess couldn't care less. It was more attentive this way. No grand gestures to hide behind, or preplanned way of ensuring his affection was displayed perfectly for everyone to see. It was nothing more than the pair of them alone. In a hell of a situation at that. Yet somewhere in one man's unknowable mind, a shower for both of them was deemed of the upmost importance. He didn’t need words to show how he felt in that moment.
Duchess could feel his steady hands and a warm breath on her neck. A near imperceptible sway in his body weight moving them both from side to side like tenderly shushing an infant’s cries and fussing. Crosshair wasn’t just soothing her, but he was easing himself out of the strain and tension that had been coursing through him for over a week. Finally having the chance to reassure himself that everything could go back to normal now, and he hadn’t the need to feel so defensive of every small detail he could cling to.
Everything will be okay ner’ramser. She thought calmly.
It was the first time she’d believed it herself in weeks.
***
“What I need is time with her,” Padmé said with a certain tone of stress.
Anakin -sitting at her side- nodded understandingly. “I get that. We just don’t have that much time to get Duchess adjusted to the ins and outs of fashion faux-pas without abandoning the necessary steps to prepping her,” He explained.
“I doubt the she is unable to adjust, Anakin. You’re assuming that she isn’t talented in the art of a well-planned con,” Padmé chided him, standing from her place next to him on the couch to begin pacing her own living room gracefully. Hunter wondered why she felt it necessary to wear a dress with a train on it in her own home in the middle of the night.
“We need to reach some sort of agreement tonight. All of us. Otherwise we’re wasting time we don’t have. And without some sort of plan, Duchess is going to go in totally blind whereas we could’ve found a way to help her more than the Republic is willing to go,” Anakin spoke up, raising out of his own chair. Finding a path towards the windows overlooking the city’s skyline where he leaned against the wall with a pensive stare towards the Jedi Temple.
One hour had turned to two, and two had become four. Between a Senator, a Captain, a Sergeant, and a General, there was no good reason to explain why they couldn’t have found the best solution to the missing gaps and concerns facing Duchess’ looming mission. There was a question of her handling in the specific social circle at hand and whether or not she was equipped to handle the possible question of her fabricated power within that circle. The age-old worry of risk menaced just as severely. And had it not been for the Senator suggesting that as long as her clothes could conceal a weapon of some sort, they would still be stuck on that particular topic.
Rex had conveniently become their best delegate of strategy who only spoke up when there was a question of tension in the room. Working efferently as diffusing tension. Anakin was proficient at pointing out the weak points in suggestions, Padmé offered out-of-the-box suggestions that often held plausible success and Hunter remained steadfast as the gauge as to whether or not Duchess would be open to certain suggestions since she could not be there to speak for herself. For the majority of their time spent throwing around ideas and hoping one would gain traction, it seemed that the one major block was getting Duchess to the Senator for at least enough time to make sure that everything was smooth and believable to the eye.
“I have no doubt in Obi-Wan’s belief that she is ready for this kind of mission. There are nuances to which I would like to discuss with her on the very topic you are worried about,” The Senator said sternly. “I do not tolerate any threat to democracy. However I will not question the talents of a smart woman who is openly willing to do what must be done to ensure freedom. She must be given every affordance, including one to faith,”
And with that, Hunter watched as she removed a small comm device from a pocket hidden in her dress;
“Please clear my schedule for the next three rotations, and prepare for a departure from Coruscant for Naboo. I will be making a personal trip and require a few things be either rescheduled or cancelled.” She stated firm and concisely, keeping a steady gaze on Skywalker the entire time.
“Right away, Senator,” A woman with a strikingly similar voice to Padmé’s answered.
“Now. How much time do I have -exactly- before that transport leaves?” she asked, directing it to everyone and anyone in the room.
“Two rotations,” Hunter replied.
“Can she be brought to me without the rest of your unit being alerted that something unusual is happening?”
Hunter tried to answer as helpfully as possible, “I can get her to you, but I don’t know how long she can be away without suspicion being raised. That is, high enough suspicion that I can’t come up with a good enough excuse,”
Padmé thought it over for a moment, “I can manage that easily,”
“We’re still in session over how to best get her to blend in,” Anakin interjected, sounding upset that his uncertainty wasn’t being listened to.
It was at that moment Hunter saw a glimpse of mischief glint in the Senator’s eyes. And it seemed that he wasn’t the only person to notice it either. A flicker of something dangerously coy and sly. A look he imagined other Senators were terrified of when on the opposing side of it. Patient and cunning, yet explosive and dangerous all at the same time. For a split second it looked like Crosshair when he finally had a target in sight and knew exactly how his shot was going to line up. Like watching the target fall before he had even pulled the trigger. The Sergeant definitively saw a small piece of what made Anakin Skywalker and Padmé such a very unique yet impeccably matched pair. She could match his tenacity and drive.
“Captain Rex, there is a brilliant strategy I plan to employ,” She spoke, grabbing Rex’s attention after not being spoke to for a long moment.
“Pardon me, Senator. I’m unaware of it, but I would love to learn,” The blonde answered, nearly falling out of his chair he was sitting so far out on the edge of it.
“The best way to blend in, is to not blend in at all.”
Hunter looked all around the room to gauge the expressions before deciding on how he felt personally. It wasn’t what he would have considered the first move. Or even the second. After all most people needed some form of conformation to reassure others that they belonged within a group. The same reason that an outfit change on undercover missions was so very important when preparing. Hells, it was the whole reason the Senator was getting involved. But now that she had made up her mind, there was a question as to how far Padmé thought such a ruse could be stretched before it finally broke. Kenobi’s idea of her being implanted as a shadowed cornerstone of Separatist workings definitely couldn’t be backed up, let alone afforded if it came down to how many credits could be liquidated and given to Duchess in the mere case of emergency.
“How do you expect her to do that?” Hunter asked, still not decided on the idea.
Padmé smiled, “I saw her file. Rex sent it to me early this morning before we set up the meeting. I believe that the best way to avoid her becoming targeted for being different is to make sure that everyone in the galaknows she’s different. At least… for the time being. Besides, I’ve heard of her best traits is – well – how should I put this… feminine distraction. That, paired with her knowledge of the stolen goods in question, it would be almost too easy for her to simply be an ‘interested third-party’.”
Anakin pushed himself away from the wall, with his own surprise at figuring out her plan.
“You want her to waltz right in and charm everyone into thinking she’s just a Separatist sympathizer who’s got enough credits and knowledge to buy a whole armory worth of who knows what?”
“Of course. Neutral territories and governments do that all the time,” Padmé sighed. “Pose her as what she truly is in her work. A private military weapons contractor. Only, no ties to the Republic or the Separatists. They would be extremely welcoming to new credits, valued knowledge, and a beautiful woman who can appear very sympathizing towards their cause,” She explained.
Hunter looked to Rex who had caught on the back end of a very deep thought. One he came out of with a sense of understanding and a looking of plausibility that Hunter -despite his hesitation- couldn’t really disagree with. Sure, it sounded… A bit underdeveloped as a cover. But no one would suspect Duchess. Just like they had left behind evidence of chain codes because of the niche audience that would understand them, no one at the gala could believe that Duchess was one member of that small group who would comprehend what exactly all the data and possible information sitting out in the open could mean.
She could walk right in and be nothing but a guest. Sure, she could still bid on the weapons and secure them just like Kenobi wanted, but there didn’t need to be such a large ruse behind it all. No ties to Separatist government, no Republic ties either. No messy backstory or a need to explain herself more than a casual ‘I’m looking into my war-time business options’. She could be like everyone else there. Personally invested. Not politically. Essentially, Hunter knew Duchess could pull it off. All she would need to reinforce the story would be to know about the weapons being sold. And he was certain that all she would need was one good look at any of the stolen shipments and know down to the detail what they were, and how to play them to her benefit.
It seemed that everyone in the room was looking at him. In limbo for his leadership of Duchess and in-lieu opinion. Four hours of discussion and it came down to the simplest of solutions. Let Duchess go in just as she was. No data trail, no identifications to forge, just have her appear out of nowhere and win over their trust. The Sergeant had witnessed her do it time and time again without being part of a mission. With an ease that he couldn’t imagine was easily learned. It was just in her nature. Like the Gods had crafted the talent just like the Kaminoian’s had manipulated his genes. Even the most concrete-minded man Hunter knew had fallen victim to her charm. Moreso than anyone really. If Duchess could do what she did to Crosshair with genuine character; There was no telling just how much the Separatists would love to have her on their side.
He steadied himself and shifted his forearms to his thighs with a nod, “I’m confident that will work. She’ll be the first person I talk to when we get back on base,”
Everyone seemed pleased to say the least.
Padmé rubbed her hands down over her gown with thoughtful hum, “Sergeant, would you please have Duchess brought to me as soon as you can? I’ll send you with my private comm information so I can get at least a few minutes notice,”
Instant confusion hit him, “I thought we were sending her in… Like she is?”
The Senator laughed happily, walking over to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hunter. You’re a brilliant man, I’m sure of it. But you must understand I’m not going to pass up such fun opportunity,” her grin brightened.
“Opportunity to do what?” he asked, looking up at the woman.
Not a hair out of place. Every inch of silk and satin material on her dress steamed and stitched perfectly. Padmé Amidala was truthfully the embodiment of perfection. Hunter just didn’t realize until then that it wasn’t only her personality that desired it, but her career that dictated just how often she could allow herself many of the freedoms she fought for in the Senate. Her image was one that needed to present itself as constant, trustworthy, professional. It wasn't until she spoke that Hunter realized that within her power, she had given up so much in the way of creativity and genius that he saw flowing abundantly in her.
“I’ve never had the opportunity to dress someone up like a villain.”
Oh Crosshair, what a bitch it has been trying to characterize you based off one episode... But never fear, I've got just the thing to fuck your entire world up.
A/N: I'm happy to begin Coriolis Effect today! Please let me know what you think so far, an any ideas you might have of what's going to happen in the future! I would really appreciate if you would reblog these chapters... it would make my heart -and the algorithm- happy. ♡
***
On Kamino, there are many rules to be followed. Most of them are documented in the fine print on an employment contract before even setting foot on the property. Others are posted on signs in the long, stretching, hallways that are constantly filled with a sterile scent that never goes away. Some are simply spoken, either by the troopers who call it home or by others who’ve been around long enough to extend helpful advice to those who aren’t aware. And then… there are just some rules that aren’t spoken about. The type of guidelines that don’t garner a whisper, but promise a swift punishment of an incomparable kind all too late for reparations to be made. It’s the unspoken rules that get people into trouble on Kamino, and there are few who have ever been reckless enough to flout them. However, when it comes to the unknown there are so many things that can’t be accounted for when making a decision.
Having anything to do with Clone Force 99’s silver-haired sniper was undoubtedly the biggest unspoken rule on Kamino. From cadets in their first year of training, to visiting units who wouldn’t be staying for more than a few days; Crosshair was not someone to be toyed with. Never without his armor, and a ridged posture gave clear indication that stopping him in a hallway was a stupid idea. And if that wasn’t enough his venomous expression and icy personality would be ultimate confirmation to steer clear. His confident strut exuded power and an intense pride that most saw as dangerous. By some unknown reason, after years of living on Kamino it was obvious that some people weren’t satisfied with leaving the enhanced trooper’s silent warning alone.
Some would start small, working inch by inch; Maybe ‘accidentally’ knocking into him in the mess hall, or cutting across the hallway right in his path. Others wanted the attention and caused a scene, happily smarting off at the mouth about how defects are called such for a reason. But no matter what means were used, it always ended up the same. Fists would fly, then the shouting would start, followed by at least two units dog-piling to get the two troopers separated before a med bay visit was required. And throughout all of it, the unbroken promise of punishment would then be imprinted on the minds of those who’d witnessed the fight… at least until someone forgot again.
The first time had been his fault… or at least that was how she’d seen it. Standing in the hall with her datapad in hand, there had been a message sent to her that needed an immediate response. There was a shipment of munitions being unloaded that she was overseeing the progress of. Leaning a shoulder against the wall -believe it or not- to keep out of everyone’s way. Typing away, there wasn’t any sound of boots behind her to announce that a trooper was walking. Nothing to warn her that she was about to break the most dangerous rule on Kamino without even trying.
The sharp edge of Crosshair’s stabilizer bar was at the perfect height to cut across her temple. Jutting out just enough as he walked past to make a thin nick, a tiny bead of crimson dripped towards her cheek. At first she’d not felt it, but when her exploratory fingers came back with tinges of red, she’d immediately grumbled out at the helmeted trooper who’d apparently not felt the contact. He had a long stride that got him a few feet away before she’d found the voice to say something back.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going…” It was an immediate regret. She’d not expected the swift way he turned to face her, deadly silent. “You cut me.”
“Watch your mouth.” His modulated voice was venomously dripping with a careless attitude.
She wanted to put up a fight and at least demand an apology. But it was all she could do to wipe the dribbling blood off her cheek and flick her fingers at the ground in front of his boots. A small splat of the droplets came within inches of falling on the toe of his boot. A silent retribution that made her feel a little better, even though she was standing there mute… and bleeding. The trooper looked down at the crimson splatters on the floor, then back up to her.
“Fuck you.” She growled, turning to walk away where she could get to the med bay so she wouldn’t risk staining her uniform.
The second time wasn’t quite as vicious, but it was obvious to the other men -who wore the same colors as him- that there had been some bad blood between them. She’d been following one of the guard-troopers to a unit of cadets who were being assigned their first blasters. Too focused on watching the trooper push the crate of DC-17’s she was entrusted with delivering. She’d turned a corner far too quickly as she tried to keep pace with the long-legged man when she ran into a black and red wall. Her face met hard plastoid, the force of it knocking her to the floor with a groan. She reached for her nose, thankful when she felt that it hadn’t been broken.
Unfortunately, as her escort-trooper helped her to her feet she made eye-contact with the same trooper who’d cut her a few months back. Well… he was wearing his helmet again, but it was obvious that he was staring at her with the same intensity from before. That same feeling of nervousness mixing with the desire to fight back against his uncaring attitude. She shook off the troopers hands when she found her feet, noticing that another four men stood behind him all with their helmets on as well. All of them looked a little more shocked, and one of them -with goggles- was quick to ask if she was okay.
“She’s made it a habit…” Her unfortunate acquaintance said dryly, looking to his brothers with a small shake of his head.
Her snarl of a scowl made quite the impression on the trooper when he turned to look at her again, visibly straitening his shoulders in response. It was a small satisfaction, but the way his hands fisted at his sides made it clear she was only pushing her luck further. Not to mention, the trooper accompanying her was literally trying to pull her out of the staring match that had developed between them. His quiet advice to ‘let it go’ wasn’t lost on her, but there was nothing keeping her from turning away. This trooper was begging for a challenge, and she was motivated to give it to him. Even if she was trembling from again standing up to him.
“I’ll have your helmet hanging in my office, trooper.” Her entire body shook with the urge to show just how patient she’d been the first time they’d met. He flinched in a microscopic way. She felt that she’d actually won this time, finally seeing him break from the stoic posture always holding him so stiffly. Even if it was small that movement was all she needed to please the trooper still tugging at her shoulders.
That second incident was almost six months ago, and after five or six more flights to Kamino she was more than happy to report that she’d not seen that prick of a trooper, or his unit, since.
On a happier note, she’d finally been assigned to Kamino full time. Leaving the countless trips back and forth from Coruscant a thing of the past. With little reason to stay in the capital city, she’d been almost excited to see her apartment emptied into the two rucksacks she’d been limited to bringing with her. The shuttle ride had been a bittersweet one, with a few of the troopers aboard so used to spending their trips back and forth hauling her and her shipments along. They’d been terribly sweet, even feeling strongly enough to give her a short hug before there were too many eyes watching the unloading. She’d been shown to her quarters by a guard-trooper, who’d also been helpful in pointing out the areas of interest that she was already familiar with, but too polite to interrupt.
Her quarters were small, curved walls like everywhere else on Kamino that made the room feel like she was inside a duracrete bubble. Expecting everything to be dormitory-style, she’d been surprised to see a personal refresher off to the right of the entry door, and even a small caf machine sitting on an otherwise blank desk against the back wall. Her bed was a little less than comfortable but she’d not expected much more from the strangely unsleeping Kaminoian’s. With only two bags of personal items to her name calling her transition a ‘new beginning’ wasn’t exactly far from the truth.
Like any day before, she’d been stuck inside her office mulling over the endless tabs of files and shipment orders being sent to her personal collection of five datapads. Alerts sounded at all hours of the day, limiting her sleep schedule to appointment times and whenever she’d pass out from exhaustion. Caf fueled her ability to get her work done and still keep up with the physical requirements that were expected of her. From what her records showed, there were at least five units that based their supply-stock out of Kamino, and that meant she was constantly inside the armory. She had her hands on every handgun and ion bomb brought through the doors; Checking for defects and any other shortcomings that would render the particular ordinance unusable by the soldiers who would use them.
“What’s on the docket today boys?” Her smile for the troopers was bright, but it was hiding the lack of sleep she’d been ignoring for the past few days. Even the question was unnecessary… she knew that it was a shipment of gunship artillery that was three days late from the factory. However making conversation with the men seemed to help everyone’s morale.
“Well Duchess, I’d say enough firepower to make the Seperatists cry.” One of the troopers laughed, joining alongside his brother to help lift one of the crates onto a speeder that would haul it to the armory.
A small smile tugged at her lips at the use of the moniker. It hadn’t been spoken a lot until word spread that she was the one in charge of getting their war-toys delivered on time. After that got around to all the troopers, they’d been quick to make sure she knew just how important her job was to them. Although she wasn’t much for being ‘royalty’ there was a lot to be said about how adamant they all were about giving her a name like themselves. An admission into their world, going far enough to give her a title far more suggestive to their appreciation than she believed deserving of.
“Let’s hope your right. I’m going to make sure they haven’t shorted us again like they did last time.” She jumped onto the back of the speeder, and squatting down to open the lid to the crate. Quick math and a few recollections on the shipment details later, she gave the nod of approval for the rest of them to be loaded in around her while she did her habitual checks.
“Duchess, you coming to the mess for dinner?” One of the more shy troopers asked once the speeder was full, leaving him leaning against it like he was too weak to ask without the support. She suppressed the urge to giggle at his nervous posture, sensing that there was probably a bet on the line. Considering that all his help had vanished somewhere amidst all the traffic inside the hangar.
“I’ll probably take it to go, trooper. But I’ll look for you while I’m there.” She gave a friendly wave, practically seeing the steam roll out from under his bucket. For men that were so unbelievably talented at what they did, it was hard to remember that when it came to any type of normal human interaction, they were all miserably lacking. At least… these on Kamino were. Others hadn’t been this shy.
Keeping her promise, when she’d seen that the mess hall was open for dinner Dutch made her way there with a lackluster motivation for finding the exact trooper that had been forward enough to ask what her plans were. She chuckled at the thought, wondering what exactly he’d looked like under that helmet. Finding a few of the nat-born mechanics standing at the back of the line she made a little conversation to help lessen the blow of the constant attention that developed when they came for dinner.
She didn’t blame them for being curious, because seeing nat-borns for the first time had to be a little shocking. Knowing that there are humans who don’t look the exact same as you was hard enough to believe when there was no opportunity to see for yourself. Add in the fact that half of them were more interested that she was female… it was more than enough to expect a few eyes to follow you around just about everywhere. Just when she’d thought that the trooper wasn’t going to show, a hesitant tap on her shoulder brought her attention to the helmetless soldier, trying his best to hide the embarrassment on his face. His ears were tinged pink, and his big brown eyes were as wide as the empty tray in his hands.
“H-hello ma’am.” He’d dropped her nickname in mixed company, his embarrassment of addressing her far more noticeable in his stutter and nervous feet.
“Hi trooper.” Her friendly smile only made his blush deepen. “I was beginning to think you’d clam up and not come find me.” She turned to receive the helping of whatever meal was on the single-item menu tonight.
“I was just… Been t-thinking about it- I guess.” He tried to straighten out his stutter with a little cough, looking over in the distance where a group of his brothers were watching them with rapt attention.
“Are those yours?” She nodded in the group’s direction, watching his little nod. “They put you up to this didn’t they?”
“Yes ma’am. Either I got the nerve to say hi, or they shave my head.” His little grimace was almost as cute as his embarrassment was. She just hoped that whatever this little conversation entailed, it meant that he could keep his hair for just a little while longer. “But I think their convinced by now…”
“What’s your name?” Her little smirk sparked his immediate desire to answer.
“CT-39-”
“No. Your real name, shiny.” She sighed with a false sense of exasperation. There was nothing worse than the way these men were forced to answer to a number. And she’d be damned before ever calling them by a row of random digits.
The trooper looked to her with an appreciate nod and smile, seemingly too gun-shy to come out at say it. He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, “I’m Toast…”
She couldn’t help but laugh a little. Of all the ones she’d heard, that was by far the most ambiguous. And the bigger question of how he got it loomed like a late-night bar story she’d love to hear sometime. Whether Toast liked the bread, or had the idea of burning clankers in mind there was little to deny that his name was one of her favorites so far.
“Well, Toast… I hope you can keep your hair.” She paused, looking down at her tray and seeing none other than a piece of toast sitting there. With a devious smirk, she placed it on top of his tray. “I’m sure this will help keep your vod off your back.”
***
From the moment his armor had made that little cut on her head, Crosshair couldn’t get out of the habit of looking out for her. Everywhere he went, around every corner, in every room, he was constantly waiting to run into her again. At first, it was pure rage that filled his motivation; Wanting to stomp out that tiny little flame of anger she thought was acceptable to show. It was the most standoffish anyone had ever been towards him, but there was a certain curiosity as to why she didn’t respond like everyone else.
Crosshair had been watching for her constantly when she’d ran into him that second time. He’d actually braced himself for her impact, seeing her face smack right into his chest. Admittedly, he’d not meant for her to fly backwards onto the ground, but he certainly wasn’t about to help her back up. No, that reg she’d been walking with was more than happy to get his hands on her before she could even register that she was sitting on the ground. To his excitement though, she’d practically ignored the reg when he advised her to leave the accident just that. An accident. That blaze of anger in her eyes licked high in hot flames, devouring the fuel supplied by his lack of a response. She had a filthy mouth, and that little threat of hanging his helmet like a trophy was definitely one he’d never heard before. But in his imagination, the idea of his visor silently watching over her while she work sounded more satisfying than letting her throw a punch at him.
Apparently that guard wasn’t the only reg who thought that touching her is a good idea…
Crosshair could see the look of fear on the troopers face long before he’d ever tried to get her attention. Contrary to what everyone believed, his eyesight wasn’t the only thing Cross was keen to. Unlike Hunter’s enhanced hearing, Crosshair couldn’t hear unfathomable frequencies, but he was attentive enough to hear the conversation just a few tables over. As always, regs had been built with a particular interest in making bets; This time, it all hinged on the one who was afraid of getting his head shaved. His only reassurance was speaking to “that armory lady” as they’d called her. At the time, he’d simply been bored with the idea. It wasn’t often that she came through the mess hall, and when she did, it wasn’t for more than the time it took to get through the line and get out. However, when he’d seen a flash of a green jumpsuit and black boots Crosshair almost snapped the fork he’d been holding in his hand. She was in the mess hall, and there was a good chance the trooper was going to take the bet.
She’d been stationed on Kamino for under six months as the Weaponry Director, from what he’d been able to gather from Tech. As for much else, she’d been careful enough not to give anything else away. He’d only seen her in fleeting a couple of times since she’d ran into him, and there was never an instance that she’d lingered for more than a few moments. Always in that baggy green flight suit with the cuffs of the pantlegs tucked into tightly laced and polished boots. She kept two DC-17’s on her person at all times, one in a holster on the belt sinched around her waist and the other strapped high on the opposite thigh. All things considered, it was highly professional, but that didn’t keep the regs from trying to make passes at her.
Crosshair watched the interaction down the most minute detail, seeing how gentle she’d been with the trooper and how quickly he’d fallen into a pathetic display of preening under her attention. She was all soft smiles and even softer laughter, completely opposing that venomous attitude she’d wielded against him in the halls. The reg looked like a love-sick puppy, and Crosshair couldn’t help but scoff. It was a pathetic display. If only that shiny knew just how bad her bark was, he might be afraid enough to not find out if she would bite.
“Crosshair, you listening?” Hunter’s voice finally snapped him out of his delusional fantasy of seeing her draw that blaster on her thigh and really give that reg a reason to stammer.
“What do you want?” He snapped, tearing his eyes away from the green-fatigued girl long enough to see Hunter’s appraising stare directed at the flimsy fork bending under the pressure of his fingers.
“I said we’ve got a job to do. I asked if you would be in the hangar at 0300 in the morning.” His repetition of the question had been slowed, as if Hunter thought he’d not understand.
“S’fine.”
In the time Hunter had taken away from his surveillance, the Weaponry Director had made it to the end of the chow-line, walking backwards with a smug look on her face. It was only the barest hint he’d seen in months of that hurricane of a personality. With a confident smirk, she took the slice of bread off her plate and sat it down on the reg’s, walking away with one last comment thrown over her turned shoulder in the troopers direction. Crosshair couldn’t help how quickly his own temper flared at the gesture. He felt like a red-hot durasteel target after a barrage of blaster fire had been thrown against it. The fork in his fingers snapped, breaking into two pieces with the jagged ends biting at the calloused skin on his palm under his fist.
“Karking hell, Cross! I didn’t think the food was that bad.” Echo grumbled from next to him, pushing his own uneaten plate away from him. Wiping off the little specks of food that had flicked onto his pauldron and chest plate.
Crosshair didn’t want to sit there anymore; Brewing hotly over how innocently she’d just given that reg something to gloat about for the rest of his life. Even worse, she’d found a seat with a few mechanics instead of leaving the mess, and Crosshair couldn’t stand to look at her any longer. He growled that he wasn’t hungry for what was on his plate, before quickly disposing of it and walking out the doors on the opposite side of the hall. He knew he’d be faced with questions about his abrupt departure later, seeing as his icy dismissal was still considered unusual behavior.
He would worry about that later. Instead, he directed himself to the bunkroom and retrieved his rifle for some target practice. Maybe he could get out of his own head enough by the time they sent Tech to find him, he’d be calm enough to give some excuse that didn’t have to do with the Weapons Director’s little flirt with a shiny. By then, he might be cool enough to let it go… but that was a long-shot even for a sniper. The two previous engagements, and all the other little glimpses he had stored of her hadn’t left his mind for a moment; It would have to be a sunny day on Kamino before he’d get her smirk out of his head.
The range only offered a little relief, but it was slowly chipping away at the swirl of questions floating around behind his tired eyes. Each shot burned a red glow through the target holos floating around the room, marking one step closer to forgetting about her for just one night. His jaw had been tightly wound in the mess, practically squeaking the enamel on his teeth. Here, he had to relax. If he didn’t the shots wouldn’t hit, and there was nothing he hated more than not making the shot count. Realistically, his body wouldn’t allow it. From his slack mouth, to the steady but comfortable tension in his back and shoulders, his constant training made shooting the one thing he could do without thinking about it. Measured inhales and exhales made the burn in his chest fade, and the slight register of his silenced rifle left the entire range quiet enough that he didn’t feel the need to be on edge.
Satisfied that he’d worked off enough of his unfounded frustrations he returned to the bunk room to be met with four pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly. A questioning silence made itself known by the pause of work, and late-night preparation for their deployment at a halt. Hunter set down his sharpening stone for his knives, Tech sat down the strange clump of wires and steel he’d been toying with for the past few days, Echo’s hand holding an impact to the bolt on his knee joint stopped, and Wrecker halted mid-motion as he was getting ready to lay down. All of them quickly read the expression on his face, and dropped their attention back to what they were doing to avoid any confrontation this late at night. Crosshair was quick to hide his lingering toil by cleaning his rifle as habit.
Step by step the routine was just as memorized as shooting was. Each product, every tool, all of it was ritualistically applied and used as the final measure to try and store his unfamiliar emotions about his latest personal recon on his only distraction. The Director was a diversion at best, and a death sentence if he couldn’t keep it under better control. That mean streak she’d displayed had given him a high that was more addictive than any thrill of adrenaline he’d ever felt on the frontline. And as badly as he didn’t want to admit it, Crosshair could not resist the unusual burn of covetousness he’d felt when that reg had the audacity to tap on her shoulder and merely ask for her attention.
He rested his rifle in its case, and did the same with himself on his bunk. Leaving him to stare at the low ceiling above him until he couldn’t fight the need for sleep. When the sounds of deployment prep gave way to four distinctive snores, Crosshair let unconsciousness come for him too. Dreaming recklessly about previous missions that bled into fears of losing his brothers at the hands of rusty droids and red-sabered Jedi’s. His deep-seated inability to fight his thoughts lasted for hours, morphing into a new kind of dread. One that had recently based itself in an uncontrollable want for something that he constantly cursed the regs for. Crosshair wanted that attention from her. Hard stares and an unfazed attitude left him with the inability to work through his jealously even in his dreams. Her fight was vicious, and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, but those soft eyes and smiles she gave to that reg were a different kind of attention that he knew nothing of.
Crosshair hallucinated often about what it would it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that kindness. Hearing soft laughter; Instead of her sharp tongue, he thought about soft hands roaming under his blacks. Seeing that flame in her eyes smolder into an all-consuming warmth that showed a different kind of fierce desire; One that would leave him begging for more inside a heat he knew very little of. Simultaneously wishing that he could find some way to stop tempting himself with an affection that he wasn’t worthy of. She’d proved that he wasn’t intimidating in the same way regs thought him to be. That slip of a girl made it clear that no man -including himself- could use his power to make her back down. That passion in her fueled his regulation-prohibited fantasies. Encouraging him to grind against his bed, attempting to release the pressure of his yearnings.
Crosshair was insatiable for just a little bit more of her.
***
The armory smelled like durasteel and blaster oil. It was her favorite scent on Kamino, reminding her that all of the paperwork she did had a physical impact somewhere in the galaxy. It was a huge room, with sky-high metal shelves containing every weapon imaginable to a giddy soldier, or Director. She smiled brightly, taking a sip of her first caf of the day enjoying the strong brew as it went down smoothly. In her other hand she held a datapad and scanner, beginning the process of pulling the required ordinance that were going to be put aboard the shuttle she’d walked past out in the hangar earlier. It was the only time of day that she found a quiet place to be outside of her quarters. So early, that the troopers getting ready for their deployment wouldn’t be ready to pick up their supplies for another fifteen minutes or so, and the Kaminoian’s were adamant that the ordinance of this room were her sole responsibility. Therefore it was her safe-space of sorts… and she wasn’t ignorant to the idea that most would consider a room full of blasters and bombs to be the least benign space on Kamino.
This particular order was pretty… extensive.
Enough explosives to take down a small city, and a gracious order of blaster and rifle cartridges that made her question how accurate their unit’s collective ability to shoot actually was. There was enough here to neutralize three hundred clankers in just blaster munitions alone. Who was this unit and what kind of missions were they being sent on? She scanned the datapad, looking for a unit number or something that could give her some idea.
Clone Force 99… She thought amusedly, wondering if she’d made the right connection to the only other 99 she’d ever heard of. In the lazy mentality she felt contented to sanction on a Friday morning, she wondered if this unit knew 99 personally. Maybe they’d grown up around him closely enough that they’d found a father-like figure in him… It was a sweet imagination. Of what Duchess really knew about clones, it was their upbringing and the lack of fair treatment they were all given that bothered her most. The ignorance of care that the Republic showed to the ethical treatment of their soldiers was obvious; Leaving her uneasy when she had to admit that she worked and accepted checks from the GAR. Deep in her mind, she hoped that all of the troopers who had made an attempt to get close to her knew that she stood more with them than those who lived cushy lives on Coruscant.
“Who are you?” A loud voice boomed from down the row she was currently in. Heavy footsteps approached loudly, and with a starling presence that almost made her drop her precious cup of caf.
The man who called to her was of hulking size, and she immediately recognized him as one of the troopers who’d been accompanying him… There was a sign of confusion in his pinched brows, and his huge arms crossed over his barreled chest as he got closer. She went to speak, and his expression immediately faded into amusement and a hearty laugh followed suit, leaving her wide-eyed and a little whiplashed.
“M’ jokin’! You’re Duchess, right?” He gave her quite the smile, and that tinge of worry she’d felt staring up at the huge man drained out of her.
“Yeah, that’s me. Who are you big guy?” She sat down her datapad and scanner to offer her hand out to the trooper.
“I’m Wrecker.” He chuckled, pushing away her hand and easily lifting her up by the middle into for a brutal hug. She groaned out a sigh, trying to save her caf from getting spilled down his back as he laughed again. “You’re the one who gets me all my explosives. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Wrecker! Put the Director down!” Another -less joyous- call echoed in the room, drawing her attention away from the heavy pressure around her ribs to see a long-haired trooper staring at the two of them. His straight posture and stiffening shoulders reminded her of an old memory. They looked almost identical in the way they carried themselves.
“Sorry Hunter… It’s Duchess!” He tried to explain away his over-excitement while setting her back down gently on the floor.
“I know who she is, Wreck. You can’t just pick people up.” He scolded his giant, child-like brother. “Nice to meet you Director.” She flinched at the name, and immediately set out to correct him.
“Duchess is just fine. I’m not a fan of titles.” Her friendly nod was apparently enough to erase the lingering reminder of how she’d made ass of herself in front of them on their first meeting. Hunter reached out a hand, giving her a firm handshake.
“Well Duchess, can we help you get anything else?” His gaze jumped to the crate she’d pulled down from the racks. “We’re not keen on letting you do all the work.”
“I’ve got everything but this one at the front office waiting for you. If you’d be nice enough to take this one I’d be grateful.” Her toe tapped the side of the box.
She let out a chuckle when Wrecker’s one brown eye lit up. It was obvious that he was the one who really loved the more heavy-hitting ordinance she’d approved for their mission. As for Hunter, she really couldn’t tell what he was about, other than taking on a leadership role. But most obvious was their distinctive appearances. So far, she’d only seen the two of them without their helmets but she was certain that there was much more in store outside of the armory warehouse. A little pinch in her stomach reminded her that he would be out there.
“I hope you don’t mind me mentioning… But you’re quite, unique.” She smiled when Hunter turned to her, his golden eyes the only thing that bared any connection to Fett’s genes.
“We’re all enhanced for certain desirable traits. As you can see, Wrecker is our demolition expert. I have enhanced senses: smell, hearing, the like.” His explanation sounded very rehearsed, and she had the urge to apologize for making him recite it.
She stayed quiet for the rest of the walk into the hangar where three other men stood outside of their ship on the slanted hatch. Each of them quite different in their own way, and it was obvious that they really were truly built for a specific purpose. But the one man that she’d already had met was the one who drew her constant attention. Behind her, she felt Hunter’s presence, and despite trying to keep her emotions in control she felt herself getting nervous. She even faltered, hesitant to accompany them any further.
“Would you like to meet everyone else?” Hunter asked a little mischievously, making it clear he remembered their first -literal- run-in with each other.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Hunter gave an amused chuckle, glancing right in the silver-haired man’s direction. She held her breath awaiting his long thought before another smile pulled at his lips. From this side, all she could focus on was his tattoo and how boldly it screamed his personality. Every clone who decided to get inked had a big purpose behind it. And although she didn’t frequently ask the reasoning, she thought Hunter might not mind answering. But she kept her tongue in cheek, until he turned back to her.
“Come on, they’ll be all be interested to see the armory’s queen.”
***
Tech had been a steady stream of information since the first moment he’d woken up, blabbing about everything from the flora and fauna of their target planet to the plans he was already prepping before they had any real idea of what they were going to be walking into. At first, Crosshair been happy to hear some quiet, but that was scrubbed away when he heard a laugh not belonging to anyone other than her. When he noticed that Echo and Tech were both looking away from him, he followed their gazes to see Hunter grinning down at her. Apparently he’d said something funny, because she was trying to hold back another laugh as they made their final approach.
“Boys, bow for the Duchess.” Hunter drawled sarcastically, throwing everyone a playful smile. Even going far enough to throw a patronizing wink in Cross’s direction at the last minute.
“I’m hardly royal, a handshake will do just fine.” She smiled at the pair next to him, actively trying to hide the glances that she took in his direction.
Gods, she’s so karking pretty. Crosshair tried to blame the thought on his lack of good sleep, and the constant slew of dreams he’d had of her over the night. But there was no good excuse for how badly he wanted to make her laugh like Hunter had.
Echo was the first to give an introduction, clasping her little hand in his and giving her a soft handshake. True of a reg had was quick to give her that smile all of them gave her when they got the chance. Tech was quick to follow suit, already trying to give her a history of her moniker to which she miraculously seemed to have all the time in the world to listen to. Cross watched her with another burn of jealously rising as she raised her eyebrows when Tech started in again; Nodding every so often or biting down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling at his goggled brother’s unavoidable spiel.
“However it’s all possible they’ve given you the name because they find you attractive.” Tech finished quite flippantly. A wash of awkward silence fell over everyone. As always Tech didn’t register his inappropriate insinuation, all focus going back to his datapad without even glancing back up. Even going far enough to give a little wave before disappearing into the hull.
Cross rolled his eyes, already feeling the desire to let Tech fend for himself on the mission grow exponentially. It was bad enough that he thought she was pretty, let alone Tech making such a blatant statement of it. Crosshair couldn’t believe the blush that painted over her cheeks when they looked to her for a reaction. Out of all the things he’d expected her to do after that, a brightly visible flush of embarrassment wasn’t one of them. She looked to Hunter and as always he just shrugged, leaving her to deal with the information however she pleased. A small pang in his chest thumped when Cross was finally given a new piece of information on her, about his fixation. Not her given name, but the one that she chose to go by now. There was a reason she’d chosen her clone-like name instead; But he was sure to find out why.
“We’ve met, but I don’t know your name.” She pinned him with a flaring look in her eyes. It was intense, but not in any way she’d shown before.
“Crosshair.” She bit her lip again, and nodding as she tried to look anywhere but at his eyes.
It was obvious that she’d had quite a bit more confidence staring into a visor than she could at his face. Self-consciously he scowled, thinking bitterly that it was because of his appearance that she’d been so quick to avert her gaze. It was obvious to him that she was more receptive to Echo and Hunter because they looked the most similar to regs. His jealousy built when the two drew her into a conversation -friendly at most- but it didn’t make it any better on his bruising ego.
“You went in the field?” Echo’s question brought his boots back to the planet, and he watched her nod shyly.
“Once. My shuttle got shot, and we took some nasty damage. We had to land, and it turned out the closest available place to us was a battle zone. Of course we didn’t have much of an option with an engine down.” She paused looking between all of them, making eye contact with him for just long enough to make him certain his presence was still felt. “After a few days of shooting, we got back in the air.”
Duchess said it like it was nothing. Crosshair couldn’t imagine her actually using those blasters hanging from her, standing alongside other soldiers and fighting to stay alive. There was a certain air of disbelief, but he was mostly infuriated that anyone had let her do so in the first place. It sounded like a nightmare made reality… He couldn’t help but try and discourage her from doing it again in the only way he knew how.
“What a hero…” He drawled. Much to his surprise, she ignored the comment. Continuing on until she checked the chrono on her wrist with a disappointed look.
“Sorry boys, I’ve got to go.” Her boots backed off the ramp hesitantly, trying to avoid Wrecker who’d finished his packing of the ship and was actively trying to haul her up into an arm in a hug.
He growled lowly to himself at the thought, holding himself back from getting involved to stay as neutral as possible with this many eyes around. He had a nasty feeling that Hunter was already more than aware; But there wouldn’t be anything more detrimental to his denial than making a scene over something as simple as a hug. He just hated that he wasn’t someone who could do that. To his satisfaction Hunter called the brute off with a sharp bark and glare, leaving Duchess free to walk away.
“Hey Crosshair!” She called out loudly from across the hangar, a huge grin on her face clearly visible from that far away. Then those bright glowing eyes locked on his, flashing a tinge of heat towards him. “Come back in one piece! No hero shit!” Her self-satisfied laugh fell like silk onto his ravenous ears, echoing sweetly long after she’d disappeared through the doorway to the armory access hallway.
Come back.
Oh sweet girl, if only you knew what you were asking of me…
A/N: As always... I'm begging for reblogs. It really helps out 💕
Dutch would start and end work just a few minutes early, leaving her plenty of time to get to the mess hall for ‘breakfast’ and ‘dinner’ which consisted of the same five meals that were on constant rotation throughout the cycle. After swallowing down whatever food she could stomach, she’d head back to her office and do more paperwork, or just retire back to her quarters when her day had just been too stressful. She liked having a more scheduled day, and it made her feel a little better knowing that there was at least one person on Kamino who appreciated that she left work at a certain time of day. Although her schedule allowed for a little better grip on reality, and a better handle on what day of the week it was, she still wasn’t benefitting in the form of sleep. Or a halfway decent attitude for that matter… But it seemed like everyone on the rainy planet was in a bad mood.
To her knowledge Crosshair had used the range hall almost every night since she’d given him her access card, and strangely enough he always seemed to leave something just a little out of place. Sometimes it was one of her datapads, moved from the table she always left them on to a crate just off to the side; Or even her lip balm hidden just out of eyesight underneath a folder of physical reports. Most often though, she found his toothpicks scattered at the back of the room. Just in one particular spot, every morning she’d come in to find at least six broken and shredded picks scattered in a little semi-circle just around six feet or so away from the wall. And after a few minutes of examination, she could picture the scene of him lying there. An image of his feet pressed against the back wall and a determined look on his face popped up when she’d take the time to pick up after him. Occasionally he’d leave a few unused ones on her table like he’d thought she might want one. However she’d not found it in herself to do more than stare at the little pointed sticks and think long and hard about whether or not she wanted to put on in her own mouth or just let him chew her up instead.
Crosshair has an oral fixation… Duchess could only blush at the thought, wondering what had sparked such an unusual habit.
Her week had started off fairly well, considering how much progress she’d made on her testing. However it came to a screeching halt, then proceeded to crash and burn after a meeting with the most horrendous man she’d ever met. She’d been requested by the GAR to meet with a panel who were overseeing the collective progress of those working alongside her in different sectors around the galaxy. The entire panel was called away on other business and couldn’t make the meeting; Therefore two Jedi Generals were given the task of overviewing her progress.
Introductions went well. They’d asked her to overview some preliminary findings, to which she complied wholeheartedly, with preparations for the meeting planned a few days in advance. General Plo Koon was the one who seemed most interested in her tests, and found the information most credible -and helpful- considering his battalion were almost always at the forefront of battles. He seemed quite protective of his men, and it was validating to hear someone else speak about the clones like they weren’t disposable. Unfortunately, the other Jedi who’d been adamant about being addressed as General Krell wasn’t so accepting of the sentiment she and Plo held for the troopers so dear to their hearts. She could’ve made a drinking game out of the constant slew of backhanded insults Krell dished out over the two hour meeting. Even going far enough to interrupt General Plo, to spew hateful comments like an “egregious oversight of craftsmanship due to a lack of battle knowledge”. Duchess couldn’t believe how satisfied Krell had been to remind her that “women had no place in war” and that her career was a “laughingstock of the Grand Army.” But for all she tried to ignore the outright denial that anything she said was worth hearing practically destroyed her. By the time the meeting ended, Dutch felt like every last bit of pride had been ripped from her chest. Not even the private holocall she received from a -very apologetic- General Plo later on that evening had made a dent in repairing her broken spirit.
Worst of all, the promise of dealing with Krell again in a week or two when her second round of testing was to be reviewed loomed like an inky cloud over her head. That’s what led her to the range hall with no intentions of doing any real work for the remaining time she was on duty. Duchess ignored all of the crates that hadn’t been touched yet, and even the reports that needed attention were left by the wayside. She ached to shoot a blaster that didn’t feel like it’d been made from speeder-scrap, or wouldn’t fire more than a few shots without jamming up like a cheap kid’s toy.
It was a ritualistic process, starting with freeing her top half of the stiff canvas material of her uniform. Unzipping it and tucking the sleeves down into the waistband so they wouldn’t feel bulky tied around her. For the first time since stepping foot on Kamino, she finally found the opportunity to take off her uniform in a public place. Duchess relished in the cold bite of air on her bare arms, almost feeling like she was breaking regulation by simply showing any skin above her wrists. A tiny flare of satisfaction rolled through her when she looked around, and didn’t see a Kaminoian asking her to “cover up”.
Next, she scanned through the simulation programs; Humming a tune of no real significance until the longest running simulation finally keyed up on the screen. Her mind was everywhere, and forcing herself to forgo her frustration for at least an hour or so sounded like a far better option than returning to her quarters and steeping in those negative feelings until morning. With an easy released breath, she welcomed the sound of the stimulation thrumming to life; Stepping to the shooting bench, and drawing a blaster in each hand. She was dead-set on forgetting why she’d came here in the first place.
The blasters had perfectly balanced recoil, making it almost too easy to dismiss all the ones she’d tested over the past few days. Of course they were just standard issue DC-17’s, but there was a reason everyone carried them. They were simply the best tool for daily carry. Not different to most troopers, Dutch had modified her pair; Making each one tailored perfectly to the akimbo style she preferred to employ. Her right hand was a little stronger, so the blaster had a little extra kick to it, while the left had a thicker barrel diameter, allowing for the recoil to not be as noticeable in her nondominant hand. They both expelled a beautifully bright blue bolt, and she loved watching each target flicker red when she met it with a direct hit. Time passed quickly for her, running through the repeating simulation.
She thought about her upcoming meeting, and although it was two weeks away, it didn’t solve the issue of her priorities differing with General Krell’s. Not to mention she was already falling behind schedule, considering she didn’t have a single assistant to help make the process a little smoother. And no matter how many times Krell said that she wasn’t qualified to make these type of decisions, she was still one of three people who’d been sent the weapons for testing. Acording to what she’d been sent from the other two people; They were in complete agreement with her findings. So, it left her with the frustrating realization that the General was being difficult simply because she was a woman.
Duchess cursed when her first shot missed it’s mark, already knowing that it was her straying attention that made the target float away, untouched and glowing brightly.
Her only motive was making sure that the troopers were given weapons that would keep them safe. She felt responsible for their deaths the way it was… but purposefully handing them blasters that would either jam, break or just not function properly wasn’t a possibility in her mind. In a moment of weakness, she thought about handing any of these guns to Crosshair. The image of him dying, all because she’d not stood her ground against one man. That was a guilt that she couldn’t live with. Because even if she lost her career, fighting for lives of men who’d not wanted to be born, that was the only way she could walk away without feeling like soldiers were dying at her hands. She needed to figure out a way to prove these blasters weren’t up to standard… she just didn’t have a solid plan on how to go about it yet.
Whether it was her focus on how she was going to beat General Krell’s unnecessary hatred towards her, or the time constraint pressing against her chest like a starship had been landed on her ribs; Duchess didn’t hear the door to the range hall opening and the tell-tale click of boots on the floor.
Nor did she realize that the same silver-haired man who’d been infiltrating her dreams and thoughts, had begun watching her with hawk eyes. If she would’ve turned around, the sight of Crosshair’s toothpick flicking to the opposite corner of his mouth would have been more than enough to drag her thoughts far away from General Krell. His eyeline trailing slowly over her figure, hotly tracing over the bared skin. It was due to her engrossment that she didn’t feel the scorching heat of his eyes boring into her, detailing the way she moved as her shots reverberated off the walls. Duchess was far too busy thinking about Crosshair to realize that she was putting on quite the impressive show for him.
***
He thought he had done everything right in making sure he wouldn’t interrupt her. Waiting half an hour after her shifts, and leaving plenty early as well to avoid catching sight of her. However Crosshair couldn’t decide if he’d been cursed, or blessed to be standing in the range hall at that moment. It was a huge oversight, and an even bigger risk to stay long enough for her to notice him. But his eyes were glued to her, watching his personal definition of poetry in motion unfold before his very eyes.
Duchess had stripped the top half of her jumpsuit away, leaving her in a tight fitted, grey t-shirt that hugged her just tight enough to leave his imagination spinning. It was a stark contrast to her baggy pantlegs and tightly laced boots. Crosshair thought she looked like a karking pin-up; The idea of painting her on the side of the Havoc Marauder in plastoid with nothing under it, plastering itself in his mind. Seeing her so poised, yet dangerously unaware of how fucking hot she looked made for a lethal combination that the stoic soldier couldn’t get enough of. Those blasters had made more than a few appearances in his dreams… but often they were strapped to bare thighs teasing him into a full-on rut against his bunk. Seeing her use them though? That was an entirely different dream he’d undoubtedly take to the showers with him.
Crosshair leaned against the wall behind him, and took in every smooth movement and steady exhale that reverberated between the register of her shots. He felt hot under his armor, and the wall pressing into his shoulder was the only thing keeping him upright. Duchess had a beautiful rhythm when she shot. Crosshair could actually mimic her breathing pattern after just a few moments, feeling the subtle difference between his own pattern. What really got to him was seeing that she naturally dual-wielded her blasters instead of having a primary and secondary -as was standard curriculum for any GAR member. It was a hearty reminder that this girl was full of surprises that Cross knew he was never going to have the ability to anticipate.
It took no more than a few minutes before she finally called it quits. Holstering her blasters and staring out over the range with a breathless sigh. Deadly focus and a tinge of rage had filled her precision accuracy, but the second she let released the grips on her blasters it drained into a perfectly readable display of frustration and… misery? Crosshair didn’t know what was on her mind, but it was obvious that she’d come here tonight with the same intention as he did. There was something she didn’t want to be thinking about. And as she shifted her weight side to side, the aftermath of her grueling pace began to gradually decline until he couldn’t hear her heavy breaths any longer. Cross felt his teeth sink down into the toothpick between his teeth when she bent over at the waist and picked up a broken toothpick from under the heel of her boot.
As hedonistic as he felt for recognizing that she wasn’t asking for attention in a sexual way… seeing those pants flex and tighten over her ass made the pick in his mouth splinter much faster than average. He spit the useless one out and shoved a new on between his teeth in its place.
“Do you ever pick these things up?” She muttered lowly, apparently still unaware of his presence, yet happy to talk as if he was. A small flicker of pride swelled in him, wondering how often she thought about him… Or posed questions that he’d not been lucky enough to hear. Crosshair liked the idea that he was just as fresh in her mind as she was in his own.
“Never.” His low response resulted in her focus snapping to him, wide-eyed and lips parted just enough that he could see the tease of embarrassment that she’d not been alone.
“I didn’t mean to be so late.” She commented quietly, lifting her wrist to look at the chrono there before looking back to him with a particularly apologetic expression. In fact, if he had the credits, he would’ve bet all of them that Duchess looked a little embarrassed to be caught in the middle of a late-night therapy session with two DC-17’s. He enjoyed the thought of finding someone other than himself who thought that guns were a good way of ignoring problems. Ironically, she was the reason he’d been frequenting the rage.
Such a good girl… but oh-so willing to overlook the rules when she wants to. He mused languidly, half disgusted with himself for never forgetting to remind himself of just how badly he craved her; Making sure to repeat how wrong it was for a man like him to entertain the idea of having anything worth fighting for… For wanting someone as good as her. Entertaining the thoughts he held of Duchess were the only way he could quiet his anxiety, but her cure had just as many side-effects.
Silence fell over them as she began making her way towards him, holding her head high despite the obvious mental fatigue written as plain as Basic over her face. Sweat soaked through her shirt, and her normal gait was a little sluggish as well. Taking all things into account, Crosshair found it endearing that she was still putting on a pretty face even though she didn’t owe it to him. Even more so when he noticed her scanning through the simulation history, and pulling up the most recent program before hers. Cross nodded in confirmation when she turned her attention to him; Letting her know from a safe distance that she’d guessed right in making preparations for him.
“What are you staring at?” She asked quietly, turning and resting her back against the edge of the control panel. Her posture was confident, but Crosshair could see the hesitation in her eyes the longer she was given the opportunity to watch him. It was a struggle to find the urge to just look at her instead of answering.
“You. Being late all of the sudden.”
“Forgive me for being so unthoughtful of your time.” She grumbled lowly, turning to gather up a few things off a crate she thought to take back with her.
“I didn’t say I cared.” That stopped her dead in her tracks.
She dropped the datapad back down onto the box in an almost shocked manner; Yet still not flinching at his harsh tone. But she didn’t take the opportunity to try and turn around and face him again. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the hard surface, and Crosshair could already picture her teeth sunk deeply into her bottom lip as she tried to keep her nerves at bay. He gravitated towards her before he could find it in himself to stop. His wide stance holding her feet between his, and the light graze of his chest plate touching her shoulders when she inhaled deeply enough. Dutch was impressively still, leaving Cross just a bit frustrated as to why she wouldn’t just give up. He wanted her to let go of that act… and give him weakness for just a moment.
“What do want with me anyways?” She tried to turn her head to look up at him, but at this angle he was just too tall and perfectly in her blind spot to actually meet his gaze. It made ignoring the better judgement in the back of his mind that much easier to push aside.
Duchess held an air about her that reminded him of Senator Amidala, Hunter and Echo would occasionally make comments about her being pretty. However Crosshair was already picturing Dutch as a far better muse to paint on the side of the Marauder. In royal fashion Dutch could handle herself with a collectedness that only the most practiced could manage… yet unlike that politically-minded woman his brothers dreamed about, Duchess actually had some power. She had a smart mouth but she knew how to use it. And for a lack of better reasoning than personal preference, Crosshair loved that she looked just as sexy in a GAR-issued flight suit as she would in one of those dresses all the high-class women of Coruscant did.
Killer Queen. He thought humorously, biting his cheek to keep from smiling when he took note of the blasters teasing at the curve of her waist and the swell of her thigh. Cross just wanted to plaster himself to her, make her understand how difficult it was to practice training, half-hard with nothing but her on his mind and her scent lingering in the air.
“Who’s got you so worked up, princess?” He growled next to her ear, hearing the prettiest little hitch in her breath. It was pathetically cute seeing how she tried not to lean away from him. In fact, her back was flush against his, with her panting breaths only getting more pronounced with every second he lingered so closely. Thankfully his slip-up of a nickname seemed to pass by her attention, being too caught up in holding her breath.
Crosshair wanted to know who it was… make them pay for cutting too deep into her confidence. He’d do anything to ensure he was the only one who pushed her, because he already knew just how far he could tease and taunt before she broke. Duchess was far more tough than most believed, but there was a fine line between his form of teasing and outright disrespect. Cross got off on seeing her flares of anger; But he didn’t want to stomp them out. Strong women are rarer than anything in the galaxy, and he wanted to make sure hers got stronger instead of weaker.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about trooper.”
In all her professionalism, Crosshair relished in the way her body pressed against his. Even the neglect of his name was meant as an official warning to watch himself. However she’d willingly leaned her head back against him, resting against his chest so softly and allowing even easier access to the exposed skin of her neck. He shut his eyes for a moment, and paused to allow himself the pleasure of being this close. Crosshair knew this felt right to have her like this. He wanted her to take what she needed from him; Even if it meant dealing with the witty banter they both used to draw attention away from the physical contact they were both seeking out.
“I’m not a reg, Director.” His lips brushed the curve of her ear in a snarling warning. One that left her sucking in a harsh breath again, and gripping at the edge of the weapons crate with white knuckles. “Now. Answer me.” He leaned forwards, resting his gloved hands just outside of hers and pressing further into her space until he was certain she could feel his insistence.
Gracefully, she turned her head to the side and rested her forehead just at the bend of his neck. Each of her breaths fanning hotly against his throat in the most achingly sweet way, until his blood was boiling from the sensation of her skin against his. Gods it was wonderful to feel her so close. Even her hands just millimeters away from his elicited a thrum of dangerously tempting desire in him.
“I’m not good enough, Crosshair.”
***
Crosshair was a convincing bastard. He’d patiently guided her to sit on the crate, and pushed away from her to patiently pace the room until she felt like talking. And it took all of a few minutes to get a train of thought together that didn’t focus on how good it’d felt to have him against her.
She spilled the frustrations lingering over General Krell’s beratement earlier that morning and how conflicted she felt about passing weapons that just simply didn’t meet the standard. He’d seemed particularly interested when she’d glanced over the topic of treating troopers like humans instead of martyrs, and how giving them the best was the only way to ensure they lived to reap benefits of peace time. Duchess admitted to how hard it had been to keep her mouth shut, and just take the abuse because -in all actuality- she didn’t have much else of a choice.
Her entire story lasted long enough that Crosshair had been able to take apart his rifle, clean it thoroughly, and put it back together with time to spare. All the while, he simply listened. Occasionally looking up at her with harsh eyes when she repeated anything the General had said verbatim. The snipers presence was overwhelmingly soothing despite his hard expressions and overall silence. Dutch just hoped that his apparent frustration wasn’t due to her accidentally long-winded explanation. She didn’t know what the purpose of telling him had been, but by the time her voice had fell silent, that tension she’d felt in her shoulders was far less noticeable and the edge in her voice was nonexistent.
As for Crosshair, he didn’t look any different that he had when he’d first walked in. Currently, he held his rifle out towards the range and adjusted the one of the sighting dials a miniscule amount before looking back through it again. He looked practically unperturbed, with his knees spread wide on the crate he’d taken a seat on and a relaxed brow that was highly unusual in comparison to any other time she’d seen him. Something told her such a comfortability in Crosshair was a very rare occurrence, motivating her to memorize his relaxed posture and each languid movement he made.
“Now you’re ready.”
***
Fuck… Crosshair loved hearing her talk. She had such a pretty voice, and the longer he left her to voice her thoughts the harder it was to interrupt. Her tone lulled him into a state of relaxation that he’d never felt before; Loosening his tight muscles, silencing his own thoughts, and soothing that pinch of anxiety he constantly battled. Dutch had a way about her, and he thoughtlessly wanted more.
“It’s a Firepuncher.” Her wide eyes scanned over the length of the rifle with an interest that he’d never seen from her before. Like the durasteel was magnetized to her, she rose up from her spot and took a few careful steps towards him, holding her hands behind her back as if she was restraining herself from touching. Sealing his fate Cross held it out to her, watching as her small hands enveloped the rifle and carried the weight of it out of his possession. He bit back a groan at the sight.
His rifle was huge in comparison to her; Contrasting hard lines and sharp edges against her soft curves and sweet face. She held it gently, turning it over and back as she inspected it, biting her lip in concentration. As anyone who understand the importance of handling a weapon, she carried the weight well and avoided touching the steel more than necessary by leaving her hands strictly on the stock. Crosshair found himself mesmerized by her handling of his weapon, daydreaming about feeling her hands on him instead. Duchess hummed quite happily, and turned her back to him; Raising the rifle up to look through the scope with a steady aim that left Cross struggling to get comfortable beneath his codpiece. It’d taken mere minutes and he was already half-hard, fighting against the reaction only she could elicit from him.
“Perfect balance... But I’m surprised.” She murmured, the corner of her lips catching against the cheek rest just enough that he could discern the variance in her pronunciation. “When I thought about what you’d shoot… a ‘Puncher didn’t come to mind.”
“Since you’re such a smart girl, what’d you have in mind?” He teased dryly, taking the opportunity to readjust his hips and better accommodate his increasing discomfort of plastoid rubbing against him. At this rate, he’d be finishing in his blacks before he’d make it back to the refresher.
“This model is particularly… sensitive. They can be temperamental if you don’t know how to handle them right.” Duchess dropped the scope from her sightline, and gave him a mischievous smile that went straight to his cock. “Not many soldiers use them. They don’t have enough patience for a weapon that likes soft treatment. I don’t take you for the type.” She was teasing him mercilessly, as she tried to hand it back to him.
You’re eating me alive talking like that princess. Crosshair wasn’t dumb enough to miss her meaning, but Gods he wanted to hear more of it. It was a miracle she’d made it this far with such a dirty mouth. By all his observations she didn’t get in trouble because of it, and that made him burn with desire to know why she’d granted him the opportunity to hear it. But he still had one last thing in mind, and one thing he wanted to do before he finally listened to the voice in the back of his mind that screamed to get away before he did something he’d regret.
She tried to press his rifle back into his hands a second time, but he pressed it back against her; Nodding over to the spot where his broken toothpicks from the night before laid in a little collection on the floor.
“You think you can handle it better than me? Be my guest…” He scowled heavily, watching as she didn’t take a second to take him up on his offer.
He tried to brace himself as she lowered herself down onto her belly, protecting his rifle from the floor until she’d settled herself in beautifully sprawled out position. Her back arched up just a little to adjust for the scopes height with the rifle tight to her shoulder. Crosshair had to admit even his trainers would be impressed with how perfectly ‘textbook’ she looked. Instead of pointing her toes and letting her laces touch the ground she’d taken a perfect long-distance stance that steadied her short frame. Her legs spread just a little further than shoulder-width, she let her inner foot fall flat against the floor. Crosshair admired her as best he could without looking overtly obvious about it.
“Anything look bad so far?” She hummed just loud enough to break his hard stare on the curve of her ass and how he could see the outline of her thighs in those pants.
“You’re not tall enough.” He commented flatly, ignoring her real question to defend his utter loss for something else to complain about. “Not enough weight to hold it down.”
Duchess actually chuckled at that and pulled back from the scope to look up at him with bright eyes. Crosshair’s remaining defensed crumbled; And the knowledge that he’d be making a trip to the refresher after this crossed his mind. Thoughts of bruises covering her throat and all the pretty noises she’d make under him made his cock twitch against the plastoid concealing his erection.
“My apologies for not being enhanced… Us nat-borns aren’t very special.” She chuckled. “I didn’t get any cool talents when I was born.”
Crosshair actually stopped thinking for a second when he heard that. It was mentioned so flippantly, like she actually believed that his brothers -and himself- had something she considered enviable. He’d never heard anyone say that his being created was anything more than a science experiment that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Just one more thing that made her impossible to ignore. The silenced register of his rifle brought him out of his stupor, just in time to see Duchess get shoved back a few inches on the floor by the kickback. One instinct, he flinched towards her. His hands twitching at his sides after seeing just how brutal of a blow it’d delivered. Her low groan followed, and she reached for her shoulder with a wince pulling her brows together.
“I knew you had modifications but,” She paused and let out another wincing sigh. “That’s fucking harsh.”
“I told you. You aren’t big enough.” He repeated himself, not irritated with her -but at himself- for not paying better attention or at least giving her a better warning.
“I missed.” She sighed through the windedness straining her lungs and pointed down rage where a steel target glowed red from the heat of the bolt striking it.
Just off center of the head, she’d been unable to keep it steady. Realistically, it would’ve been a kill shot. But Crosshair was more than impressed to hear the frustration in her voice. For anyone to take a shot that seriously, he couldn’t help but give her a little respect for having such high standards. Even if it was her job to provide consistent results. And when he met her gaze again, he was gripped by how kriffing disappointed she looked. Cross felt himself aching to move closer. There was an easy way to fix it… But he wasn’t sure he could bear doing it.
“Try again.” He commanded lowly.
Duchess did as she was told. Firing over and over again until she was practically groaning each shot from the jerk of the rifle against her shoulder. Each shot tailed just a little to the right; Indicative of her inability to match up against the modifications tailored to his physical ability. Duchess tried everything to combat the kickback: Pulling a knee up to balance out her weak side, leaning to the left just enough to combat the force, and even aiming just left to correct the minute inaccuracy. And for all her frustration, Crosshair was losing his patience seeing her squirm around on the floor with his gun. Crosshair was annoyed because she just wouldn’t give up, even though it was painfully obvious she just wasn’t strong enough.
With a hissed sigh, he broke his informal parade rest and stalked over to where she laid. Paying close attention to her form as he kicked her feet apart just enough to straddle her right leg, putting his left knee high between her thighs. Technically, it would keep her from sliding back again but Crosshair couldn’t ignore how badly he liked knowing he was between her legs in whatever way she’d let him.
“Relax your mouth.” He reached up and wrapped his fingers around her jaw, squeezing it until she let her jaw fall slack in his hand; Finally letting out that tensed breath she’d sucked in when he’d knelt down over her. Cross flattened a hand on her back, pushing his palm down against her until she laid flat on the floor and he could measure her breath. After a quick pause, he growled;
“You mirror me, focus on my breath. Got it?”
Seven hells… you’ve already got a thigh plate between her legs. Like this couldn’t get any worse.
“Yes.” Her breathless response was music to his ears.
“Far back, left. See that target peeking a few inches out from behind that crate?”
“Yes.”
“Aim for it.” He commanded lowly, feeling her thighs relax under his pressing weight.
With one final prayer, Crosshair lowered himself down the rest of the way until he was plastered to her back. He felt her pause and key-in on his breath. Matching it perfectly, Cross felt her adjust her shoulders just enough to reach the target he was staring at down range, desperately trying to focus on it instead of how her ass rocked against his hips. His plastoid might’ve been enough to hide his arousal, but it surely wasn’t enough to keep the heat rolling off her body from radiating through the gaps in the plates covering him. And he couldn’t get over how karking good she smelled. Dutch was the perfect torture, and he was loving every second that she let him cover her like this. Carefully he wrapped his arms around her, and covered her hands with his own; Caging in her upper body to stabilize the little shake of the gun by taking some of the weight off her arms.
“Confident?” He asked with a hint of mockery to hide his weakening resolve.
She settled back against him tighter, and with a resolved breath she answered;
“With you…? Definitely.”
Such a good fucking girl. He sprawled over her hips with his own, and pulled himself tight against her. Steadying his breathing just long enough to make sure she could follow it easily enough.
“Then take your shot.” He ground out heavily against the shell of her ear.
Crosshair watched the shot leave his rifle, and could already tell she’d made a direct hit. It was actually perfect, and he couldn’t help but loose his concentration from the sensation of her body jolting back against him. She’d handled it flawlessly, but he didn’t miss the little whimper that escaped her when the gun rocked back into her shoulder once again. He wanted her to take one more shot, begging for another just one more excuse to feel her underneath him. To Cross’ utter shock, Duchess began laughing happily at the mere sight of finally hitting her target.
“That felt… amazing, Crosshair.” Her amusement echoed all throughout the range, making the entire room feel light. Her body shook against him with a reverberation that transmitted through his armor against his chest. Her arms got tighter around his, and for a just a second Crosshair closed his eyes and let her drown him in her excitement and warmth.
All his life he’d been taught that anything soft would only lead to pain and defeat. Trainers had drilled coldness into him and his brothers until there was nothing left but the fear of letting any emotion break away from its binds. Dutch was a threat to that. She could break through his deliberation without even realizing it; Using that soft smile and a sultry voice to destroy him quicker than any cadet-training he’d ever endured. No pain or scientific prodding would ever compare to Dutch’s beautiful way of getting into his head, and clearing out all of the anger and self-loathing he carried.
Crosshair knew he didn’t deserve it… and that’s why he was quick to stand up, taking his rifle from her and forcing a safe distance between them. Instantly, that softness she’d pulled to the surface had been shoved back down deep enough that it wouldn’t show again. And he needed to get further away before she could pull him back into that welcoming envelopment she’d willingly shared with him.
At least for one night.
“Go to bed.” He grumbled quietly, already halfway out the door and trying not to look at her again. “Get some actual sleep before you come back…” He paused, retrieving her access card from his belt and flashing it at her. “Otherwise, I’ll know about it.”
A/N: I'm back.! Sorry for such a long wait... But thank you to everyone who took the time to check in on me, I didn't expect so many of you to do that! Anyways, enjoy part 9!
Reblogs and Comments are always my favorite! -Plus they help me out a lot-
***
Drowsiness muted the bright wake-up call Dutch was expectant to receive. Thanks to the slightly sweaty warmth trapped under the blanket, she stretched out slowly with a low sigh rumbling in her throat as her muscles protested. The bed was delightfully warm, but unfortunately lacked the heat that would’ve followed if it had been shared with someone else. The bright lights above and the low thrum of ships taking off from the landing pads outside jumpstarted her to sit up, and ignore the slight tinge of embarrassment she felt when Crosshair wasn’t laying with her. Shoving down that insecurity, Dutch made an attempt to find her bearing with a look around the bunk hall. All of the batch were still sealed inside their pods. Four red lights marking them occupied and unwilling to face the day. At least, everyone but Crosshair it seemed.
She looked over the side of the bunk to see his ‘Puncher hanging from its strap where it’d been since the night before; And aside from the fact that his armor was nowhere to be spotted, it left little idea to where the sniper had went off to or if he planned on returning. That same tug of nervousness burned in her throat. Dutch tried to calm herself by remembering his promise of being much harder to get rid of. Her better sense said it was all too possible that she’d mistaken his meaning after such a high-strung display of emotions last night, however that optimistic part of her was holding out for him to return before his absence gave real cause for concern. He could be anywhere, and suddenly Crosshair’s frustration from her disappearance last night was looking that much more understandable. The longer she sat wrapped up under the blanket the frigid possibility that he was going to leave her to rumble through her own emotions, the coldness of the bunk room didn’t feel as biting.
As if the smug bastard had planned for it to happen that way, the doors at the end of the hall opened to reveal Crosshair with a couple boxes balanced in one hand and two cups stacked in the other. This fresh from sleep, Duchess struggled to think about anything other than how demanding his presence was. Long lines and sharp edges made Crosshair every bit of a lithe soldier, and not even the mystery items he carried could detract from the feeling she got simply by looking at him. Not even the height advantage she had -three pods up from the floor- made her feel any more dominant under the heavy gaze that met her the second he entered the room. This morning, he didn’t seem too bothered with keeping his footfalls silent; The sharp click of his heels sounding off the walls and floor as he approached. Steady hands raised the two cups up towards her, his characteristic silence asking for her to free one of his hands.
“The bottom is yours.” He remarked quietly, already using his freedom of movement to start pulling away at the top half of his armor.
Only then did he remove his helmet and begin the short climb up to where she sat motionless, dazed and biting her lip in concentration. She was still thrumming with anxiety of his arrival, and although Hunter was the one with enhanced hearing Dutch was certain it didn’t take genetic enhancement to notice the caution she planned to implement for this conversation. Crosshair settled himself at the side of the bunk, his legs hanging off the free edge with his thigh making subtle contact with her crisscrossed legs. He reached for the cup she determined to be his and traded it for one of the boxes he’d brought along; Sitting it in her lap so the warmth could transfer through the blanket onto her legs. In her haze it took far too long for her to realize that her worry was far too quickly developed. Crosshair didn’t present himself any differently than he had before they went to sleep. Still not very talkative, but polite in his own unique way. A familiar smell of food wafted up from the box sitting in her lap and Dutch felt her chest tighten with appreciation.
Did he… bring me breakfast?
With a cautious sip from her cup, she tasted straight caf. So hot there was no mistaking it was fresh, and not a trace of sugar or milk anywhere. A careful glance up proved Crosshair was watching her reaction and she gave a smile from behind the rim of the cup. It proved to satisfy him -and although he moved his head in a disappointed shake- Dutch could tell there was nothing about her response that had actually bothered him. True to his persona, there was no real way of figuring out what he was thinking even if it didn’t match the expression on his face. These cups weren’t from the mess hall, and there was no way the food inside her box was Republic-made either. It smelled too good, and breakfast-in-bed wasn’t exactly acceptable on base.
He went and bought this… Gods, is this really the same Crosshair?
“I didn’t expect you to wake up this soon…” He grumbled quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup with a hard focus on it like there was actually something worth paying that much attention to.
Dutch smiled again, pushing a knee into his thigh lightly, noticing his quick glance at her. Those honeyed eyes looked just as soft as they had the night before. Just as warm with a startling contrast to the rest of his character. She wasn’t ignorant of his subtle meaning either; Everything about Crosshair was steeped in indirect meanings and snide comments that weren’t necessarily meant to be taken at face value. Although he was grumbling about her waking up early, it was his own attempt to not leave her alone that really effected his attitude. Dutch quickly set out to reassure him that whatever measures he’d undertaken to pull this off hadn’t been a failure.
“Honestly, I didn’t think I would either.” Her ears burned at the insinuation she was making so freely, but it was the truth. Crosshair had been thorough in his late-night mission to ensure she remembered him in all aspects: The skin on her neck was still tender, as were her thighs where it was almost absurd how easily she could feel the individual bruises in the shape of his mouth. Dutch was far too weak to deny the thrill it elicited, knowing personally that Crosshair wasn’t always scowling… Relishing in the satisfaction that his mouth’s talents exceeded simple acts like talking.
Crosshair huffed something close to a murmur before taking a sip from his drink, his gaze wandering over her face and down to the base of her throat. There his brows furrowed, and he took another drink. Dutch wore an old shirt, the collar stretched out of shape with little holes scattered all over the material. Every inch of skin above her collar was exposed, and apparently Crosshair wasn’t happy with something that he saw. She shifted a little, wondering just how many marks littered her skin for him to be looking at so cautiously. If anything -for Crosshair’s sake- she hoped they weren’t too bad; He had been exceedingly concerned with all of them last night and that was hours ago… ample time for them to get darker. Dutch could only imagine what she looked like without the aid of a mirror or something reflective to look in.
“You bruise easily,” He scowled a little, and Dutch couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. She bit her into her lip harder, noticing a soreness there as well that wasn’t of her own doing. Quickly she came to the conclusion that he didn’t take well to the idea, and wasn’t happy that she couldn’t bear his particular type of intimacy well enough. “Should’ve stopped me.”
“What would you say if I told you I didn’t want you to stop?” She countered warily, noticing the slight raise of his eyebrows before they fell back into that slightly furrowed place they constantly rested at.
He waited a long minute before reaching towards her and tracing the swell of her bottom lip with his thumb, making a slow map over her jaw down to the sore muscles over the column of her throat, a soft sigh escaping his nose with a tendon jumping in his clenched jaw. The path of connected purple marks ended where she remembered him applying bacta; His undivided attention lingering there much longer before those sharp eyes returned to hers. Crosshair leaned just a little closer and pressed a soft kiss over the tender spot;
“I wouldn’t feel depraved for thinking you look so pretty like this.” He murmured softly against her skin, leaving just one more kiss before leaning away with both of their quickened breaths filling the quiet air.
Between her blushes and the irregular conversation between them, Dutch managed to eat somewhere close to half of her breakfast -finishing her cup of caf in half that time. It had been far too tempting to watch Crosshair instead; Paying attention to every little movement and the diminutive idiosyncrasies that presented themselves in his openness to her. He ate one specific thing at a time, working his way around his plate methodically. Like any other soldier he ate quickly, but seemed intent on holding himself back like he didn’t want to finish before she did. The second Crosshair noticed that she was closing the lid on her box, his eyebrows furrowed again and he restrained her from moving the box away from her lap. More than a little confused, Dutch mirrored his brow line with a questioning look thrown in his direction.
“You aren’t finished yet.” He shook his head, opening the lid back up and handed her the fork she’d abandoned in the box. Dutch was more than startled to see him so adamant, and accepted the fork with a hesitance to take another bite with how full she felt already. Only her silver-haired partner was uncaring, turning back to his own food with his attention split more evenly between his own caf and her progress.
“How much more do you expect me to eat?” She asked a little exasperated, feeling just a touch of nervousness with all of the possible responses he could give.
Dutch knew she wasn’t the slimmest girl on the planet, often restraining herself from a full meal in preference of looking a little more like the women in clothing ads and in holovids. Not to mention, being a soldier didn’t particularly allow for unhealthy habits like junk food and a lazy day on the couch. Since joining the Batch food was the last thing on Dutch’s mind and she didn’t particularly mind. It made her form a little more appealing to her own strict idealizations, and would ensure she didn’t look like she was spilling out of her armor. Duchess thought she held weight in what seemed like all the wrong places, creating a difficult appearance to view in the mirror when she wasn’t wearing her baggy jumpsuit or the forgiving pre-formed plates of her plastoid. And after last night, her figure was even more in question now that Crosshair was concerned.
“You were so tired you couldn’t stand. I expect you to eat all of it.” He gave her a dark look, speaking more to their midnight acts than his concern of anything having to do with her physical appearance or thinking that she wasn’t eating her fill on his account. “Now finish. You don’t want me to feed you myself.”
It was a great undertaking, but Duchess wasn’t about to back down from a challenge from Crosshair; Even if it was something as simple as him quietly fussing about her finishing her food. For the rest of the morning they sat in a pleasant silence, his honeyed eyes looking over her to make sure she wasn’t stalling to get out of it. After a whole-hearted attempt there wasn’t anything remaining in her to-go box and she turned it around to prove it’s lack of contents before shutting the lid and leaning back against the edge of the pod at her back.
“Are you satisfied?” At this angle all Dutch could see was the outline of his proud shoulders and forwent the urge to comment on it so she could take the -few and far between- opportunity to stare without permission for just a little longer.
“With you…? Never.”
***
Duchess was elbow deep in her datapads long before midday. Those chain codes had to start somewhere, and the best place to begin was right at the first four digits. Between her previous experience with every manufacturer within three sectors of Coruscant, it shouldn’t have been that hard to decipher where the shipments originated from. Unfortunatley her own words to the Batch were coming to haunt her in the most vexing way. The codes could be months old and it was all too possible that they were lost to any company database due to the constant demand for bigger and better weapons for both the Republic and the Separatists. Between multiple attempts to reach a few of her contacts at: Murr-Sonn, BlasTech, Krupx, and Balmorra’s main production factories there hadn’t been a single reply. None of her clearance codes allowed for access to the original chain codes that accompanied past shipments due to her transfer to field work, and not even making comms to the other two officers who’d been assisting her previous testing efforts on Kamino had been helpful. Regulations and security measures deemed her below clearance, and forced her co-workers to deny access to those records. Of course they tried to soften the blow with well-meaning wishes and ‘good luck’ with her new squad, but it wasn’t the least bit helpful. Dutch was just about to throw up her hands and start cursing an egregious lack of cooperation with all of the Republic’s inner representatives and business compatriots when Tech -who’d been holed up on his bunk all morning- gave a soft tap on her shoulder.
“You appear overwhelmingly distressed; Would another set of eyes aid you?” He asked rather hopeful, attention flitting between her sprawled collection of datapads and her face.
“Yeah, sure. I just hope you can so something more with these than I can.” Dutch knew Tech was far smarter when it came to technology, but even he didn’t know the whole story behind these codes yet. Even if she spent the entire day filling him in on the nuances of shipments and regulatory actions that kept weapons secure during and after transport it still wouldn’t solve the fact that she couldn’t get any more information until someone deemed her suitable to receive it.
“I see you have been in contact with your previous associates,” His eyes scanned the conversations glowing on the screen as he read through them, eyes popping up to look at her over the edge of the screen just as he reached the bottom of her one-sided transmissions. “If you needed archive data you could have simply asked me to do it for you.” A haughty tone marring his posture as if her unawareness was actually meant to be an insult to him.
“You can do that?” She sputtered, her mouth falling ajar. “But that’s… illegal isn’t it?”
Tech chuckled, reaching into the little holster on his hip and pulling out his own datapad like it was the Maker’s gift to the galaxy and he’d been the one blessed to wield it’s powers. For a moment Dutch checked herself, quickly coming to the affirmation that at this moment that box of wires and circuitry in Tech’s hands was very much a gift. Buttons clicked, and he would occasionally talk aloud as he repeated certain codes to himself or the occasional ‘hmmm’.
“This is a matter of questionable legality, however I am not of the disposition to think any less of myself for taking advantage of unsecured data that could result in a successful mission.” He paused to glance up, and Dutch grinned widely at him. For all his big words she couldn’t help but want to hear him say ‘Their encryption is shitty, and I’m going to make them pay for it.’
“Tech… I’ve never agreed with you more,” His eyes flashed brightly at her grin and light chuckle. “Now, show me what you found and if it’s anything like I’m hoping, I’ll tell you everything about chain codes that I didn’t go over on the Marauder.”
Her barter worked in her favor.
With a quick press of a button Tech’s constant stream of downloading data was being transferred onto one of her datapads. Everything from batch numbers to spec sheets was being loaded at her viewing pleasure. And at such a fast speed they had two fiscal quarters worth of information on all of her contacted companies within just a few minutes. Dutch made room for Tech on the floor by scooting all of her surrounding things to one side, patting the floor. Her welcome invitation didn’t go unnoticed, and despite being a little worried that she wasn’t going to be able to keep up with him at how quickly he was taking in all of this information; Tech quickly turned away from his little datapad and faced her.
“This should take around three standard hours to download to completion. Is that an acceptable amount of time to finish your explanation?”
“Yes. I think that’s going to be plenty of time.” She nodded, reaching for one pad that had some notes she’d written in her spare time between fielding comms from her testing partners in case this particular conversation came up sooner than later. A bulleted list would keep her on track, but wouldn’t leave Tech without opportunity to ask the questions she knew would come up.
“Do you mind if I…?” He motioned towards his little recording device, a little tinge of blush appearing on the tips of his ears.
Just like how that trooper Toast had been so nervous to simply say ‘hello’, there was no denying that the Batch were just as appallingly underdeveloped in being vulnerable; Even if it was the simplest of interactions. As if asking for help, or simply being human just wasn’t acceptable and it made them appear ineffectual. It was hardly an adequate response for Tech to get so upset over something as insignificant as a recording. Dutch was already aware that her first conversation with him in the cockpit had been stored somewhere in the goggled man’s bank of data; However it wasn’t that big of a secret that he recorded just about everything. During their mission she’d seen that little red light glowing right as they’d stepped off the ship, and she didn’t think anything more of it until they were safely in the ship and the light had been turned off. Only after he’d asked to take a holo did she realize that Tech had a particular interest in capturing everything on digital film. It was a quirk… and it made him wonderfully human.
“Tech, you don’t have to ask again. I’m more than comfortable letting you do that whenever you want. I don’t say a whole lot of smart things, but you might just catch something every once in a while worth holding on to.” She chuckled lightly at her self-deprecation, finding it a lot easier to make a slight joke instead of admitting to struggling all morning to do something that took Tech less than a few minutes.
“I shall warn you from now on. Is that a suitable compromise?” His head tilted just a little, pulling on her heartstrings at how kriffing polite Tech could be even when he wasn’t trying.
“Yes. That will do just fine.”
Three hours passed a lot quicker than she thought they could after answering -complex- questions from Tech, with even more complicated answers. There were a lot of times Duchess felt like her answers didn’t hold the exact information he was looking for, but he didn’t take the chance to mention it either -something she was certain he would have no problem stating otherwise. It came down to her saying what she knew, and allowing Tech either to understand, or struggle to figure all of this out on her own; Dutch knew damn well that without all of Clone Force 99 there was no kriffing way it could get done. However there had been quite a few hypotheticals thrown about that made both of them more than a little nervous.
Chains weren’t easily forged, and between his field experience and her own technical knowledge of how complex they were it had been suggested early on that finding someone who had experience forging could be of good help in figuring all of this out. Or at least shed some light where everyone else was in the dark. It was something to bring up with the rest of the team when they got back, but Tech had been very confident that there wouldn’t be much need for a vote on the matter once Hunter heard their shared feelings. For all they knew there could’ve been a downed freighter and the blasters were sold under the table by some scrappers who knew good and well how much the Separatists would pay for new -or possibly war changing- ordinance. That idea couldn’t be the only one they explored though, and Dutch had a biting suspicion that something much more close to home was going on.
The war was a constant back and forth on all fronts, and Dutch did well to cut out the miserable truth that every hours spent fighting meant thousands of troopers dying; But she’d done the math over and over in the time before Tech had offered his assistance. If all of these chains represented a shipment of ion neutralizers, there would be enough firepower to destroy the entire planet of Coruscant in just one go. And although ion weapons were one of the most highly guarded ordinances to be in possession of, Seppies had just as many lucky breaks as the Republic did. And that’s what had Dutch chewing on her bottom lip, and Tech bouncing his knee in concentration as he scoured over the remaining few files that were being downloaded.
“Tech, what if someone inside was behind all of this?” She asked near-whispering her uncertainty to keep everyone but Tech from hearing her. Stupid, considering no one else was in the room.
“You’re considering an act of treason?”
Kark it all Tech, you’re making it sound a lot less possible by asking it that way…
“I’m just saying... It would be almost too easy for someone on the inside to ‘accidentally’ lose a shipment of weapons. Not that they wouldn’t face some sort of questioning for it, but if they knew the right way to respond the blame would fall on someone else very easily.” She shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest in preparation for the outright denial of her suggestion.
“What is your evidence to suggest that is a high possibility?”
“Think about it. A shipment leaves a facility and it changes hands at least twice. Once from the manufacturer’s carrier, to a GAR-contracted delivery business. Only then does that shipment get loaded onto a freighter chartering to its final destination. Between shipment transfers, who’s to say that one or two crates don’t get smuggled away and the delivery count just gets adjusted based off an error,” Dutch could almost hear Tech’s brain working to play out the scenario, and there was more to her suggestion.
“And look at those codes again, none of them are in sequential order. That means whoever took them, didn’t take an entire shipment at once. They did it over some amount of time… So that means it wasn’t just a downed freighter.”
“I wouldn’t have considered it myself, but… There’s nothing I can say to discredit you.” He replied after a long pause, running a hand through his hair with a somewhat stressed sigh.
“You don’t sound particularly happy that I might be right.”
Tech gave her a very serious look, one that made it clear her suspicions were based in more than just a gut-feeling. That an inference on half-finished data was beginning to make enough sense that the goggled man was already feeling the pressure Dutch had the moment she mentioned an inside man.
“It just means we can’t trust anyone.”
***
Coruscant’s range hall wasn’t nearly as small as Kamino’s; Allowing for the slightest physical advantage for practice on the more extreme ideas that Crosshair could think up when regular sims just weren’t challenging enough. Without shooting benches the whole firing line was free of obstacles, making even the most physically demanding training possible. He could run sprints down and back until his hands were shaking, then demand himself to aim steady with a thrumming heartrate and heaving chest. If one of his brothers were around, they could make the contests trickier. Hunter liked to give orders near-impossible to see if he had the ability to complete them, Echo was a fan of manipulating the sims to glitch the targets around the room with his scomp link, Tech would call out positionings just as fast as he could to see if Cross could keep up, and Wrecker liked to throw dummy mines as targets. Laying there, Crosshair knew he rose to the occasion every time; But he’d never had Dutch on his mind when him and his brothers were playing those games.
Like every day since the first sight of Duchess, he had more than his practice on his mind. Not even Hunter’s creative challenges were drawing his thoughts away from Dutch. They had been at it for hours at this point, neither of them paying much attention to the chrono on the wall or how the numbers just kept changing. Every game they played slowly increase in difficulty but Crosshair wasn’t playing to win like normal. Today there was almost a feeling of penance that glued his rifle to his hands. He needed to bide his time and make certain that his doll had the time to recover. It wasn’t until right after she’d fallen asleep that he’d made up his mind to let her rest for as long as she needed to. Dutch certainly wouldn’t appreciate that sentiment, but he couldn’t justify tempting himself with her sweetness when he was still so hungry for more.
Seeing her sitting there all wrapped up in a blanket… sleepy eyed and waiting for him to come back. The simple pleasure of seeing her look relieved to see that he hadn’t left her; That look alone made his knees weak and his mouth dry. Those pretty smiles and uncharacteristic shyness this morning was enough to drive him insane. It was bad enough knowing she wanted his company -breakfast or not- but when she denied him being too rough, his restraint almost broke.
She really does look pretty marked up like that… He thought, half listening to Hunter’s latest challenge with images of purple and blue staining the skin all over Dutch’s throat.
Crosshair had hated seeing them at first, angry with himself for not holding back just a little bit better or at least keeping their placement just a little lower than her collar. The mere thought of hurting her was more than he could bear, and seeing his own form of possessive destruction had been grounds for instant guilt. But hearing Dutch say she liked them though...? That was far more than he could have ever expected.
In that moment it took everything in him not to groan at her demure tone and embarrassed flush. Overtly satisfied with himself, and enjoying the idea of someone else seeing her like that and knowing he was the only man who could touch her. Yeah, he didn’t like them at first; Only now he had to resist from marking her again. Another man might ignore how sensitive Dutch is; Maybe go far enough to take advantage of it and push for another round if they’d been presented with the opportunity he had been given this morning; But Crosshair knew he wasn’t that kind of man. Dutch would need time, and he would just have to be patient.
And be a little softer next time for Maker’s sake… She still looked half-dazed this morning after you lost your fucking cool and decided to sink your teeth into her like a rabid dog. He chided himself for acting that far out of manner.
So after spending his remaining daylight hours working his patience in more ways than one, he was almost thankful to hear Hunter say something that didn’t have to do with the targets down range. The sergeant was looking down at his comm, studying whatever missive had been sent with a look Crosshair knew only came about when orders were being given. They were coming in a day early, but he wasn’t about to pass off General Kenobi as someone who liked to procrastinate.
“We have full permission by the GAR and Jedi Council to proceed. Clearance to load the Marauder will be granted in half a standard hour,” Hunter was already shutting down the range sims, half repeating his orders and half reassuring himself of the mental checklist that was beginning to form in his mind. “Just enough time to gather everyone and get prepped.”
“We’re low on supplies, any chance the prestigious General gave us access to the armory?” Crosshair wasn’t a huge fan of leaving on such short notice, however getting away from Coruscant was the optimal cancellation that could be offered as of present.
Hunter had his back to him, an amused chuckle shaking his shoulders as the final few sounds of running equipment in the room began to fade into silence. Cross knew his comment about Kenobi wasn’t particularly funny, especially to Hunter, who always made it clear that disparaging higher ranks was not acceptable - at least in when in mixed company. However his brother wasn’t keen on leaving his humor undisclosed.
“The General was more than happy to have the Weapons Director take care of it…” Crosshair rolled his eyes skyward, sensing just another one of Hunter’s unappreciated conversations beginning to take form as they exited the range hall.
“Something funny about that?” He humored Hunter just enough to stay within some semblance of cooperative measure; The last thing he needed was Hunter’s bad attitude.
“Well, last I remember… An access card is required for proof of identity,” Hunter shot Cross a sideways glance, an eyebrow raising in silent question as to whether or not he was still in possession of Dutch’s card. Unfortunately, Crosshair could hear it knocking up against the blaster cartridge in his ammo belt. The metallic clink over his hips solid proof that he would have to return it to her. Worse yet, admit to the fact that he had never given it back despite having no use for it any longer.
***
Dutch was out of the bunk hall within just a few minutes of Tech relaying Hunter’s comm. Without the same depth of gear as the Batch, it didn’t take long for her to get halfway to the armory with her backpack attached to her backplate and her blasters comfortably secured to her body.
There was that familiar buzz of anticipation, the same one she’d felt before their first mission and all of those that had come before with her old squad. Her throat was tight, and her legs felt just a little weaker with each step she took towards the armory. Dutch had spent the entire day going over theories with Tech, and now that they were being given the go-ahead a day ahead of schedule, there was a large part of her that felt woefully unprepared and wary of speaking to anyone that wasn’t part of the Batch. So many questions were still unanswered, and although Dutch didn’t put much stock in the belief that the Batch thought she was wholly prepared for any situation, she was near close to stumbling over her words when she was met by a security trooper at the door to the armory.
“I’ve got a shipment order in for Clone Force 99.” Thankfully the words came out smoothly, far more professional than she had been expecting them to.
“Hand over your access card and we’ll make this quick.” The trooper held out his hand awaiting a quick transfer, only now it was Dutch really felt like she was floundering to keep up appearances.
How could I possibly forget that I need my access card? It’s not like I wasn’t talking about this exact kind of thing with Tech just a few hours ago, honestly sometimes I’m such a kriffi-
“Looking for this?”
Duchess whipped around to face Crosshair, his helmet shielding his eyes with her access card pinched between his thumb and forefinger. The silver edge of the card shining sharply in the lights above them, casting a rich black shadow over the sniper standing intimidatingly before her. He looked deathly still, hardly moving even though she knew he was breathing. Just like early this morning, she caught herself staring at him and all of the sharp lines and commanding tones he used when in the presence of anyone aside from her. Crosshair didn’t look -or sound- particularly irritated that he was roped into this situation, but Dutch felt her embarrassment heighten when his head tilted to the side at her silence.
“Must’ve left it somewhere on the ship.” She tried to play off her quiet demeanor as she took the outstretched card from his hand, hoping that Crosshair would play along instead of mentioning that he’d been carrying it around for no less than a month at this point.
“On my bunk.” He stated smugly, just loudly enough to ensure that the trooper paying witness to their little interaction wasn’t overly innocent of the dynamic playing out before him. Dutch’s face flamed as she turned to face the unhelmeted trooper who was currently avoiding eye-contact with either of them.
Thankfully, the silence was broken when the scanner beeped, confirming that Dutch was -in fact- who she claimed to be. The trooper guided them down the halls, not that it mattered much to her; She’d spent a lot of time here before she was transferred to Kamino, making every dimly lit hallway a sort of déjà vu. This time around though, there was a silent shadow just a few steps behind her, making it difficult to focus on more than the feeling of Crosshair’s stare burning into her backside. He was making it hard on her by walking so softly, making his distance impossible to gauge without glancing over her shoulder and alerting him to the effect he was creating so easily.
“Mind me asking what a civvie is doing with a spec-ops squad?” The trooper ahead of her cleared his throat, trying to make conversation instead of walking in the stifling quiet. Part of Dutch was happy to answer, but the smarter half knew that Crosshair wasn’t going to take kindly to any reg taking much more than a passing glance at her.
“I was stationed here as the Weapons Director for a while, then got transferred to Kamino. After my duties were fulfilled, the GAR saw fit to send me for live testing with a squad.” She purposefully left out her initial time with the army, and the stretch of time between her old squad and her promotion. This trooper -nor Crosshair- needed to hear any of that considering the tensity already choking out easy conversation.
“Director huh?” The trooper looked over his shoulder at her, a feeling of appraisal fell over Dutch under his gaze. “Can’t imagine a little thing like you testing heavy infantry guns. Some of them have to weigh more than you.” He chuckled, loosening up a little when Crosshair didn’t say -or do- anything to deter him.
“You’re not the first to think so, definably not the last.” She sighed, rolling her eyes without any surprise at the trooper’s appraisal.
“Don’t misunderstand me, ma’am. I’m not discrediting your work. It’s just… surprising to see a woman doing a job like that. I haven’t met many girls, but none of them are predisposed for handling guns.” His head shook a little, bowing at his admission.
Dutch couldn’t help but smile a little. He was embarrassed, and doing what he could to seem nice without exposing himself to be as inexperienced as they all knew him to be. For what it was worth, Duchess appreciated his honesty and hoped that this trooper kept that sweetness about him.
“It’s probably a good thing you haven’t met a girl like me trooper. You can ask my squad, I might know guns, but I’m still more trouble than I’m worth.” She turned the last corner, waiting to hear anything from Crosshair. But nothing came of her veiled comment except for a little chuckle from the reg.
“Seems to me that your sentiment isn’t shared,” He pointed to a loaded transport speeder, stacked high with ammo crates and a few smaller boxes she recognized as ration supplies. “It was nice to meet you and part of your squad Director.”
Crosshair had been staunchly silent throughout all of this, and Dutch was beginning to lose to ability to discern the difference between a real shadow and the sniper lingering in her blind spot. After the trooper excused himself to tend to the front office, she felt Crosshair’s presence at her back double down heavier than it had in the darkened hallway. She tried to make her way to the crates, opening the lid of one to check its contents in a habitual way that was meant to hide her nervousness. She overlooked the contents, counting and recounting according to the information Tech had given her before she left. Seeing as nothing was out of place, Dutch turned around; Leaning back against the speeder like the option to linger here with Crosshair was a luxury she could participate in.
“Busy day?” She didn’t really expect much of an answer -if any- for such a useless question. However she couldn’t help but wonder where he had spent the day, or if there were more than a few things that had demanded his attention. Suddenly Dutch felt a little jealous… wishing whatever that might’ve been hadn’t called him away from her.
“Something like that,” He shrugged a little, taking a few non-committal steps forward. Still not within arm’s reach but just enough to make her want to close the gap. “You?”
“If you count answering a million questions from Tech as eventful, then yeah. It’s been a very busy day.” Dutch couldn’t help but show the frustration she felt. It pulled down on her shoulders and made her brows furrow, making for what she knew to be a less than soldier-like picture for Crosshair to be looking at.
“You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it was no problem.” Dutch could visualize the smirk on his face, wondering just how he had come to be so arrogantly smooth like this. Crosshair’s communication skills were lacking, and cryptic at best; Compliments that somehow didn’t give her the full appreciation for her work, yet teased her with the knowledge that he knew exactly how difficult playing 20 Questions with Tech was.
She just rolled her eyes, huffing indignantly as she pulled herself up over the edge of the speeder to sit on the empty edge that hadn’t been stacked with boxes. “Come on, let’s get this stuff back to the ship before I have another retrieval request sent in for me.”
Just when she thought that was going to be the end of their little conversation, Crosshair proved once again that a timeframe and mission could certainly be ignored as long as he was the one calling the shots. He closed the space between them, slipping between her spread legs with long fingers spanning over her thighs. Dutch watched carefully, swallowing to try and release the knot she felt forming there.
“Do you think a recon squad was sent after you?” His tone was dangerously low, and Duchess smiled all the while; There was something wonderful about the way he gave her so many opportunities to succeed.
“I never said anything about a squad…” Dutch couldn’t help but reach out and trace over the lines molded over his armor plates covering his stomach. They flexed slightly with his breathing, forming to his toned abdomen but not enough that she could get the same sensation as last night, where nothing but a shirt had separated them. She hoped he didn’t mind, but when he didn’t back away she took it as his unique form of an invitation. “I know one man who could do it alone.”
A static crackle emanated from Crosshair’s speakers, masking whatever sound he had really made in response. However his grip on her thighs tightened, making it crystal clear that he liked the subtle praise. In any circumstance besides this one, Dutch might’ve pushed her luck a little more; Maybe say something more on his talents, or just simply say that he looked kriffing good shadowed by the armory’s dim floodlights. There was one thing she did want more than anything though;
“Take off your helmet.” It wasn’t a question, but she posed it softly enough that the option to decline was still available. She knew he didn’t feel comfortable around the regs, and without some control he certainly wasn’t going to be receptive.
Slowly, he lowered his head towards her, and automatically Duchess realized he wasn’t going to do it himself. If she wanted it from him, she’d have to make the effort to get it. She shook her head a little, and reached to slip her fingers under the edge of the bucket. It felt much heavier than her own, and she spent just a flicker of her time looking at the sharp paint marking the crosshair over the left side of his visor. There was no doubt he did the design himself, the straight lines marking a typical fineline reticle that matched his tattoo, while she knew firsthand that his rifle used a rangefinder style with stylized bordering that opposed the minimal sight area. The rangefinder jutting up proudly from the side of his helmet was another mystery… what it looked like on his HUD display with -or without- the red and yellow veiwplates would go unanswered unless the miraculous situation of her wearing his bucket came to pass. Duchess spent so much time around weaponry that learning about the ordinance itself translated into information about the person who chooses a particular item. Especially when it comes to those who are very strict in their chosen weapons.
For the entire Batch, that life lesson had been proven highly useful, yet conflicting at the same time. Hunter preferred his vibroblades over any blaster, should he have the option. It reinforced the use of his heightened senses and how easily detecting electromagnetic currents in the droids he fought were. He didn’t need a blaster when every movement of an attacker was marked by a particular synapse in the droid creating the motion. Wrecker liked explosives far more than any demo expert or pyrotechnic she’d ever met; It spoke to his desire to make big impacts where it counted, and the open-armed way he shows emotions and other significant thoughts -although not expressed eloquently. Tech could dual wield like Dutch did, but often didn’t due to his datapad being just as deadly when detonating droid-poppers and reprogramming locked doors. He relied on his brain just as much as he did physical skills, and put more influence into his mind than aim. As for Echo, he somewhat benefitted from his scomp link, but it was more than obvious that he would prefer having his hand back instead. The amount of times she caught him lashing out at droids with his scomp during their mission detailed just how much he wanted his other hand to be useful for more than data connections.
As for Crosshair, there was much to be said about the conflict between his fighting preferences and his personality. His primary weapon was highly sensitive with a soft trigger that didn’t dimple the skin of your finger when firing. It didn’t agree with his aggressive personality, but somehow there wasn’t a conflict when it came time to perform. His tattoo and paint were minimal at best, but his -modified- scope held unnecessary detailing in the sight that could otherwise draw his eyeline elsewhere. Crosshair liked being thought of as simple, but there was far more than meets the eye once there was an opportunity to see the signs hidden in the lens of his scope. Even his reflector disks attached to his belt were a nod to more than his talent as a marksman; They were homemade -no doubt by Tech and Crosshair- but gave insight into the demand for precision at all times. If he didn’t place the disks right where they needed to, the entire shot would fail. Even one attacker in the wrong place could end the ricochet just short of completion. Crosshair never did anything without purpose, but Duchess could see how the struggle for perfection damaged what confidence he tried to bolster with sarcasm and arrogance.
“Was that all you wanted?” His annoyance was all a bluff, but Dutch didn’t call him on it. Instead, she looked at the black ink over his eye, reaching slowly as not to startle him, so she could trace over the permanently stained skin.
“No,” She smiled softly, her voice slipping just above a whisper. “What I really wanted was to see those pretty eyes.” Without his helmet, now sitting in her lap, the growled sigh that had been distorted by his modulator was left beautifully unfiltered. Crosshair didn’t particularly sound the same as other men she’d had experience with, but Maker… Dutch couldn’t deny his gruff sound of appreciation sounding far superior to any response she’d elicited in the past.
Her soft touches eased over his brow line, finally smoothing out those unbudging wrinkles that appeared when he scowled. He didn’t lean into her very much, but his fingers had hooked themselves under the lip of her armor, rubbing against the material of her blacks mirroring her easy touches. Time slowed, and they sat there in silence; Both of them taking what they needed from the other without the frenzied rush from last night. The sound of Crosshair’s comm made them both jump back, startled and in Dutch’s case just a little more dazed than she would ever care to admit.
“Crosshair, times up. Loadmaster isn’t going to wait much longer.” Hunter’s voice added the final nail in the coffin of the moment, Dutch grumbled under her breath, wishing she could’ve had just one more second.
“Tell that reg to shove it up his-”
“Enough, vod.” Dutch grinned widely, noticing just how attuned Hunter was to the sulking tones and quick temper that his brother held. It was all too easy to assume this wasn’t the first time a conversation like this had taken place; Maybe even this exact exchange.
Crosshair shot her a glare, but it didn’t dampen her amusement. Not even him ending the comm could keep her smile from fading. Dutch still didn’t understand why he didn’t like the regs this much, but she wasn’t keen on asking with his irritation building back up. She felt a little disappointed after working so hard to get him to soften up, but he didn’t disappoint. He reached to take his helmet from her, and brought the other hand up to grasp her jaw. Softly, he guided her face towards his; Bending down with his mouth hovering just a breath away from hers.
“What do you want now, doll?”
Dutch bit her lip, weighing her options. There were quite a few things swirling in her mind that just weren’t available with the rest of the Batch and the Loading Squad waiting for them. But she didn’t want to push him either… For all his stony confidence, there was still question as to how comfortable he was. It was just as new to her as it was for him, and crossing a boundary that hadn’t even been set yet was the last thing Dutch wanted to do. Crosshair didn’t strike her as the type to get too upset over a genuine mistake, but she wanted to be careful.
“Whatever you’ll give me Cross.”
His fingers pressed harder into her jaw, not enough to hurt but unyielding. It was pure Crosshair, and Dutch smiled when his lips crashed down onto hers. To her slight frustration he held her steady, not allowing for her to push back into him. She whimpered a little, fighting back against his hand until his thumb brushed over her chin; Dutch opened up gladly, melting forward and following his lead. He wasn’t the least bit hurried, his tongue gliding over hers and softly nipping at her bottom lip. Her palms fell flat against his chest, sliding up until her fingers felt buzzed hair at his neckline and began gently running her nails through it. And just when she thought she felt him start to fall into it he stepped away.
His honeyed eyes were blown wide and darkened. His heaving chest rising just quicker than normal and his one hand holding his helmet was white-knuckle tight. The other hand rubbed over the back of his head for a moment before he quickly shoved the bucket back over his wild expression and regained whatever command Dutch had taken so easily. With all the grace of a sniper, he slid into the pilot’s seat and drove them out of the armory, one hand fumbling in his ammo belt before holding something out to her.
The access card.
Dutch smiled, leaning up towards him and taking the card. For a moment she held onto it, looking at her ID and the new scratches that had been made after traveling in his belt for so long. There was a thin layer of blaster soot covering the white surface, and a few smudged fingerprints that were far too big to be her own. Flipping it over, she noticed small tally marks in a row along the bottom. Fifteen marks altogether, grouped into sets of five. They were tiny, but just as straight at the paint on Crosshair’s helmet. She looked up at him, wondering just what these marks meant and why he’d decided to tally them on her card. Not that she cared in the slightest, if anything she wanted him to keep it; That way he could keep track of whatever it was he’d done fifteen times before now.
She reached up again, and reached towards the pouch he’d pulled the card from. Crosshair stiffened, one hand pulling back away from the steering controls and his hips reflexively pulling away. Dutch shot him a little smile, holding up the card before reattempting to place it back where it rightfully belonged. He relaxed just a little, lifting his hips just enough that she could reach his belt and slipped the card back in before securing the snap on the pouch.
“It looks like you’ve used it more than I have…” She gave him a look somewhere between understanding and curiosity, hoping her own silent conversation was as easy to read as his own were. “You keep it, until you don’t need it anymore.”
***
Tech hadn’t stopped talking since the ship broke into hyperspace. It was all to do with finding a source that had knowledge of forging chain codes, and how Duchess and himself had a suspicion that a Republic affiliate was to blame. Over and hour had passed since Hunter had posed the simple question of ‘Did you find anything in all that data?’ and Tech was still rambling to the point that Crosshair was debating on stunning him just long enough to hear himself think.
He didn’t doubt the possibility of a traitor pulling shipments, especially after all the evidence was laid out -consequential at best- however. That still didn’t account for why the Separatists had been so lazy in wiping their databases. Based off the information on the base they’d infiltrated, it had been left in a hurry because of an attack that had been fronted by General Skywalker and General Windu. That particular information made the theory of an inside man that much more believable considering that Seppies never abandon a base that well-hidden without a kriffing fight. If a Republic officer was captured on the grounds, the entire plan would have failed the second those shipments were discovered.
“I suggest we ask around, and find out if there’s anyone who remembers shipments of Republic munitions being sold in short supply.” Tech finally took a breath, ending his spiel in a suggestion that everyone had already come to about an hour ago.
Crosshair looked to Hunter, seeing a mix between glazed over boredom and deliberation on his face. There was something to be said about the sergeant’s patience and how Hunter hardly ever interrupted Tech; Instead letting someone else have the honor of stalling the scientist out of his lectures. Realistically, Crosshair knew that should something happen to Hunter, leadership would fall to him; That’s why Cross was highly protective of his oldest brother. It had as much to do with consistency and it did loyalty. His brothers always took their responsibilities full force, and naturally Hunter was the best suited for the task of helping their mismatched talents meld into the well-oiled war machine they came to be. There was never a moment of real peace and quiet, but all things considered, Crosshair wasn’t the least bit unsatisfied with the position that he held now.
After a long span of thought, Hunter nodded. “Fine, we’ll start there. Any idea where we should head first?”
Tech looked just behind Echo in the co-pilot’s seat to where Duchess was sitting cross-legged, her blasters unstrapped and sitting in her lap. She went wide-eyed, no doubt surprised that Tech was putting her on the spot. Crosshair could tell they’d already talked about it, and whatever she’d suggested previously had seemed like a suitable option. It only served as reinforcement that Duchess was the most knowledgeable about where to find people who opposed the work that she did before joining them.
“I mentioned Lothal to Tech earlier.”
“What’s there?” Wrecker asked, just now joining in on the conversation for having spent the last hour somewhere in the ship to avoid Tech’s ramblings.
“Lothal has a large illegal trade. It’s driven by war technology and advancements that wouldn't reach civilian purchase for tens of years.” She explained confidently looking between all of them with big, hopeful eyes that made Crosshair want to put in the coordinates and fly them there himself.
“I thought they only sold ships.” Echo jumped in, not quite denying her claim but simply questioning the data itself.
“That’s just what they get caught selling. You can’t really hide a TIE fighter in Lothal City like you can crates of weapons. I’ve personally had a shipment get hijacked on its way to Coruscant; They tracked it back to Lothal, but by the time they figure it out they’d already been sold.” Dutch sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Turnover on weapons are just as fast as production. If you don’t have the newest, you’re bidding to get them.”
“It’s a start. Without some type of information, we’ll be debating for so long we never sort this out.” Hunter took back control, giving Tech a quick order for the coordinates to be set.
Crosshair had been perfectly happy to stay silent until there was no mention of the one thing he was certain would be talked about. This trip wasn’t anything compared to others before it, but that was before Dutch was part of the squad. Until now, none of them particularly worried about running into a little trouble, or even a substantial gunfight for that matter. But someone needed to mention it, and if Hunter wasn’t thinking that far ahead, Crosshair wasn’t going to let it slip by and risk getting his doll injured.
“Separatists are buying, that means a squad of clones asking questions isn’t going to be very well received.” He stated flatly, noticing the way Echo tensed and Tech began quickly working at his datapad. Even Hunter gave it a long pause, before turning to look at him with a message that said ‘You don’t care about asking, it’s what happens after that.’.
“It’s highly unlikely that our presence will be noticed by any enemy forces.”
“Tech is right… There are a lot of different sectors in Lothal City that facilitate illegal trades, and not just smuggled military property. You can buy anything there.” Dutch nodded, rubbing her hands together nervously and sending a soft look up in Crosshair’s direction.
“So we go in, have a look around and when we start running into our target area then we start canvasing.” Hunter said quite decidedly, shooting another look in Crosshair’s direction for some approval before calling the plan a go before they finished up for the night.
Cross gave a short nod, not particularly happy with the arrangement as of yet but not badly enough that he felt like giving a competing idea. When they landed specifics would be given, and then he could voice an opinion if one was necessary. The one he feared most was Hunter taking Dutch along with him and Echo instead of assigning her with him. But until then he could only hope his ori’vod was as observant as he claimed himself to be; Even if that meant admitting that he liked Dutch enough to not want her on-mission with anyone else.
With his personal approval, the plan was agreed upon and Hunter called for lights out. Not that everyone had to sleep necessarily, but with Wrecker on board, lights out just meant no loud kriffing noises that would keep everyone who wanted to sleep, awake. Echo bid his goodnight right after Hunter, giving Tech the guarantee that he would be up for shift change and poking at Duchess with his scomp before disappearing into the back. Crosshair sneered at the little exchange, hating how Echo had taken to her so easily. It had nothing to do with jealously, or even his desire to keep the interaction from happening again. Just the simple fact that Cross couldn’t bring himself to act like that made it all the more irritating to see.
He watched Dutch stand next, arms reaching high towards the ceiling and her back arching as she gave a long stretch. Her weight shifted side to side, making her hips sway just enough to make Cross set his jaw. He’d spent the whole day trying to keep his distance, only to have Hunter’s comm save him from making a scene in the armory, and now sat captivated by her doing something as simple as standing up. She asked Tech if he wanted her to take his shift so he could sleep, only to frown a little when he declined.
Such a sweet girl, why did you ever take a liking to me? He mused, thinking of all the men in the galaxy that could give her the same affection she gives everyone else; Dutch chose to let him take hold on her instead.
She sauntered past the chairs, a hand coming out to brush alongside his lower leg hanging off the side of the crate with a little smile as she walked past. Crosshair hadn’t particularly given her any real idea of how to navigate affection with him, and for the most part there wasn’t really any way he knew how to communicate it. But somehow or another she had figured it out flawlessly. To a certain degree he should’ve expected her to catch on quickly, no matter how little he helped. Duchess really did live up to her name, bitter as it sounded in his mind. He wasn’t too upset for how the regs had noticed her queen-like mannerisms hidden behind green jumpsuits and two DC-17’s.
Sleeping arrangements had been adjusted since Dutch was aboard and there really wasn’t enough space for even four people to sleep comfortably. Two makeshift hammocks had been strung up in the back of the ship, making just enough room for one person to man the flight controls while the others slept. As for Crosshair, the top bunk of the three provided in the hull was normally saved for him. It allowed him the room to sit and clean his rifle until he couldn’t ignore the draw of rest. And tonight was unlike any other.
He sat on the bunk, his rifle stripped and laying in the same order his trainers had shown him as a cadet; A new-to-him oil rag in his hand and a boar brush sitting just off to his right leg. It was the third time today his gun was to be cleaned, and for all it was worth, he still wasn’t getting his mind off Dutch. She had made a trip to the back of the ship and collected her datapad, and for the majority of the evening spent it with her face lit in a bright blue glow with a look of concentration that proved to interrupt Crosshair’s own focus.
Duchess was about as stubborn as Tech it seemed; Especially when it came to this mission in particular. Every second of spare time she had was spent scouring over the information Tech had relayed to all of them earlier as if all of it was new. She’d been chewing on her bottom lip for ages, and he was certain that if she didn’t give it a rest soon her eyes would blur and she’d make her lip bleed. Her armor was long discarded and sitting atop her backpack in a neat pile, alongside her blacks that had been switched out for a pair of grey sweatpants and the same t-shirt she’d worn the night before.
Crosshair was halfway finished with his second pass over his rifle parts when Echo roused from his hammock in the back of the ship and stumbled through on unsteady legs to relieve Tech. It was only then that Duchess looked up from her datapad with a sleepy expression, and hauled herself off the chair she’d been sitting in, once again, stretching out like a loth cat after laying in the sun all day. She caught Echo just as he passed by, clearing her throat and smiling up at him weakly;
“Can I take your shift for you?”
Crosshair couldn’t help but scowl when she offered. It would’ve been different if she hadn’t already asked Tech, or maybe slept a little then asked Echo. He knew she was trying to prove herself in any way she could, but taking hyperspace watch just wasn’t something any of them thought she needed to share responsibility of. And both Echo and himself knew she was far too tired to stay awake for the whole shift even though there was virtually a zero percent chance of anything going wrong.
“Get some sleep Dutch, we’re going to be here for a few days… relatively. Just let us take care of it for now.” As any reg would’ve, Echo was exceedingly polite in denying her, giving a smile and moving past quietly as not to wake anyone with the sound of his boots clanging against the durasteel floor.
Duchess just nodded, and watched her feet as she slipped through the hull. Either not noticing that Cross was still awake, or too tired to have any more conversation for the rest of the night. Nevertheless, he put his rifle back together without pulling his attention away from Dutch getting prepared to crawl into one of the hammocks hanging limply from the sinch bolts on the celling.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She jumped a little upon hearing him speak, answering the question of whether or not she thought him to be awake.
“Going to get comfortable… read over these files again.” She murmured half asleep, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes and fluttering eyelashes.
And I thought you couldn’t get any prettier…
“No, you aren’t. Toss the datapad and come here.” If he didn’t sound just a little stern she wouldn’t listen; Even this close to passing out he knew she wouldn’t listen to an order without some type of pushback.
Duchess looked down at the pad one last time, and sat it down in the hammock with a heavy breath blowing out her nose. She tilted her neck to the sides, low pops sounding on each side as her vertebrae gave way after being stuck in the same position for so long. Quietly she sauntered over, her socked feet silencing any sounds that could wake up Hunter who was on the middle cot, or Wrecker who was on the bottom. Her height presented a little problem, but after a couple of attempts she’d found enough support to pull herself into his rack without causing a disturbance to the others.
Crosshair shifted himself back, resting his back against the wall and spreading his legs with a pointed look in her direction, silently guiding her to crawl between them. Her warmth spread across his body in seconds, heating up the slight contact against his legs. The bunk wasn’t quite deep enough, so his feet hung off the edge; However he didn’t want her falling off or feeling unsafe so he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tight to his chest. Duchess gave a little hum, wiggling her shoulders against him, already trying to get comfortable. With a light smirk, he reached for his rifle; Sitting it across her lap and handing her the scrap of fabric he’d been cleaning with.
“Your punishment; For not cleaning your own when I told you to, and for making me scope every inch of Coruscant to find you.” He whispered quietly, bending down close enough to feel her ear against his lips; Feeling her breathing quicken just for a moment before settling back down. He knew she was tired, but this was the only way he knew how to keep her with him without coming outright and asking.
He had to give her credit, she immediately reached for the pin just above the trigger housing -which would begin the process of stripping it down- however he reached around with his other hand, stopping her.
“I thought you said clean it…” She tried to twist around to look at him, but once again he’d chosen to keep himself hidden as best he could. He couldn’t look at those sleepy eyes for very long the way it was, but when they rested on him, that was a whole new kind of challenge to overcome. And tonight, he didn’t have the patience or strength to push down those feelings.
“Just the fingerprints doll.” He gave a little hum of laughter, entertaining her sleepiness with a reminder of how sweet she’d been when he found her in the med bay. Only now he had every intention of making sure she didn’t leave this bunk until it was absolutely necessary.
Crosshair watched every movement she made, how even though she was on the verge of falling asleep, each motion of the cloth was meticulous. She started at the barrel, working it over every slope and ridge with small fingers that made the task much simpler for her than it was for himself. Every cleaned section was kept away from her bare skin, making certain that none of the oils on her hands would be left behind once she was done. On occasion she would make a little grumble, if a particular spot wouldn’t shine like the rest; And after the third time, he finally spoke up about it.
“Ablative coating is wearing off, it won’t shine up anymore.” She simply nodded, moving down past the mounting rings on the scope and focusing a lot of time at the cartridge slot where he knew she expected there to be blast residue on the inside.
Crosshair was more than surprised to see the care she took in doing the job, of course it wasn’t really necessary considering it had been spotless when he handed it to her. Nevertheless, he could tell there was something other than her punishment keeping her awake. Every so often she would look up to where her datapad sat; It would glow to life every so often, pulling her attention away just enough that the hand working over the rifle would pause for a moment. There was something about it bothering her, leaving Cross fumbling with ideas as to how to ask her about it. He glanced around, looking to see if anyone was watching before he broke the silence again.
“What’s on your mind doll?” He leaned closer to press a kiss to the nape of her neck, reveling in her weight sagging even further into him. Another soft kiss fell just behind her ear, then one more a little further down on the column of her neck.
“M’ afraid of not finding them in time… Can’t quit until the mission is finished.” It was a fitting response, not just for its present answer, but for the simple fact that she hadn’t given up on cleaning his rifle either. Duchess didn’t quit, and of all people Crosshair felt that he knew that feeling better than any of his brothers did. The pretty little thing never denied a challenge, no matter what she was dealing with.
So kriffing tough… Just keep going sweet girl, you’re almost done.
“You can’t think about a mission when you don’t have clean weapons.” He teased softly, running his hands down her sides and over her thighs were his fingerprints were still visible from last night. He brushed over each one, leaning back down to kiss her temple.
“Good thing mine are polished.”
Kark if she didn’t find a way every time. Crosshair squeezed a little on her thighs, huffing out an indignant laugh. Leave it to him to find the one woman in a whole galaxy who wouldn’t let him win even once. But after a moment, he realized that Duchess was probably the only woman who had enough resilience to look past his brash comments and find some semblance of his real meaning behind it. . Then be quick enough to make him think twice before coming back for a second try.
She was past the trigger guard when he counted her third yawn. At this point he would’ve let her stop if she wanted to. But assuming she wasn’t lying, he suspected that she wasn’t going to quit until she was satisfied. The back end wasn’t much of a task, with the majority being a poly plasti that wouldn’t benefit from the oiled rag, Dutch finally leaned back, holding the butt end of the stock on her knee.
“Finished.” Although he couldn’t see her face, he could tell there was a sleepy smile on those pretty lips.
Crosshair relented, gripping his rifle by the stock to avoid from marring her work and leaning to rest it on the floor, leaned into the corner of the bulkhead. Between his legs, Dutch stirred a little, shifting onto a hip and trying to push herself back onto her knees. He caught her by the hem of her shirt;
“No you don’t. You’re not going back down there to keep me awake with that datapad all night,” He grumbled, noticing the pinch between her brows and the slight irritation that made her lips flatten into a harsh line. “Tech is bad enough, I don’t need you making it worse.”
He readjusted himself a little better to lie down, letting go of her shirt and reaching back to prop his head up with his hands. Dutch was still between his knees, but hadn’t really grasped what he was getting at yet. Not planning on making it any easier, Crosshair closed his eyes and decided to be patient, or wait for her to make a move.
“Then what would you like me do Crosshair?”
“I don’t care.” He replied flatly, letting that nasty habit of acting like a prick take over. Internally cursing himself, Crosshair hoped his attitude hadn’t pushed her too far.
It took her a moment, but she eventually decided to slip between him and the wall; Laying on her side with her back facing him in a last-ditch attempt at defiance. Her body heat was utterly addictive, and although he knew he’d have to face some questioning for it in the morning, he pulled her into him; Her chest tight to his back and a knee bent up high enough to fit between her thighs.
“Not enough space for that…” He complained quietly, masking his personal desire to have her as close as he could. Cross knew he was being self-conscious, and being kriffing unbearable about it, but Duchess didn’t make say anything on the contrary.
There wasn’t a pillow, so he sacrificed one arm for her; Slipping it under her head, and keeping his other arm wrapped tight around her middle. Her lower abdomen peeked out from her shirt and his hand slipped under it. The sensation of her supple skin under his calloused palm feeling more like silk on lava rock. A happy sigh emanated from her, instantly settling his tenseness and melting away his fear of her asking him to move away.
“Goodnight Crosshair…”
“Say it again.” He demanded, forming it as more of a plea in his head than it had come out.
“Goodnight?” She asked cautiously, her hand coming to rest against his; Her thumb rubbing over his knuckles.
“No.”
“Crosshair.” She repeated it fucking perfectly, her voice low and soothing on his soul.
“Again.”
“My Crosshair.” It was whispered this time, but still every bit as mesmerizing. Duchess said his name like there wasn’t a curse that followed it. Unlike the regs and nat-borns who saw him as a defect and spoke his name like it left a sour taste in their mouth. Duchess said it with care: Soft sounds and a gentle enunciation that he never heard before, and was certain he could never find anywhere else again.
He loved hearing it, and the contented rumble of a chuckle was the only sign that he accepted her possessive statement. He dipped his head down, placing one more kiss on her temple only to find that she had already fallen asleep. Her soft breaths and relaxed expression creating a perfect picture that Crosshair wished he could keep forever… Maybe tuck it up in his helmet and pull it out when recon missions stretched out for too long. Just a little reminder that not everything in the galaxy wanted to use him, or kill him.
Pulling her just a little bit closer and resting his chin atop her head, he truly felt like he could sleep. She would be safe here. Protected from all sides, and unless someone was confident enough they could wake her up without him noticing first, there was no chance of her leaving this bed until both of them were good and ready. Here, he didn’t have to worry about what they would find in Lothal City or the fear that his doll would get hurt in the process. Until she woke up, Crosshair could do what he wanted to more than anything: protect his girl.
Cheers to another -extremely long awaited- upload!
Although... I've finally got the whole story outlined! I'm so fucking excited, and I can't wait to hear your speculations for what's going to happen in the future!
Would you like to see a -blurred- picture of my post-it note wall for this story?!?
***
Duchess sat in the floor of her room, staring into the visor of her own helmet with gritted teeth and fisted hands that threatened to tremor with any tighter of a grip. It looked familiar, yet so foreign that she’d not been able to do more than remove it from her chest and sit it down on the floor. The textured surface made her whole body tense, but she did her best to withhold the revulsion to touching it. And it’d been far too long of a staring contest, but she couldn’t budge from her kneeling position on the floor. The black visor had transfixed her to an unending film of memories that she’d done well to ignore. What had once been a pearly white helmet, had been tinted in shades of grey and blackened carbon scoring that told a long story of her life before Kamino. A life she’d tried to forget, but let subconsciously motivate her in every decision she did.
Chipping grey paint -just centered between the brow lines- had once taken the shape of two blasters with their barrels crossed. Hand-painted lines that had been done on a gunship right after a successful mission. It was callback on her first nickname; The one her boys had given her. That paint had been their idea of making her ‘part of the squad’ and it was one of many treasured recollections that helped soothe the nightmarish memories away. Therefore her dueling pistols had become a symbol of her namesake that they’d found just as much humor as truth in. Dutch could remember how happy she’d been to get her name that day. One little image, and a name aside from her given one had made all of the difference in her life at the time.
They called her Akimbo, for the same reason that Crosshair had such a surprised look in his eyes after catching her in the middle of a sim. It wasn’t often women joined the fight… especially dual wielding. But at the time, needed the extra firepower to make up for her lack of physical strength compared to the troopers at her side. Specially designed, and quite honestly the best weapons she’d ever owned; Modded for speed and tailored to her a little more vigorously than the ones she carried now. Made to kill, and for a long time Dutch never had a problem with using them for that purpose. But everyone has clear vision looking back on past mistakes. For it only takes one decision to completely destroy a life… or in her case more than that.
She’d lost five men who’d been more like brothers to her than any blood family ever would be. A deep pain emanated from the hole in her heart where their memory rested, long undisturbed by a constant attempt to ignore that hurt. Their names were etched into her soul like memorials on a gravestone, but she’d not spoken them aloud since the day they’d been ambushed. It was hard to remember how long she stayed holed up in their bunk room, simply sitting in the silence and praying they’d appear again and say she was being upset for nothing. After a week, she’d been forced to leave. -Albeit kicking and screaming when two troopers had been asked to escort her away.- How unfair it all was… How they’d been so loving, and loyal. Only to be thrown away like trash instead of the beautiful humans they were. Dutch willed herself to stay loyal to the army after their decommissions in the hopes that she could make her boys proud. Make up for all of the times they’d sacrificed themselves for her, when they weren’t required to. Heavy hearted, and dreading the next morning, she couldn’t help but stare at her helmet. Wishing she didn’t own it; Cursing herself for feeling sad when she knew better than to let something like duty affect her so deeply. Her boys never liked seeing her upset; And neither would the Bad Batch.
She gripped the helmet in her hands and set her jaw with tear-filled eyes, wiping a cleaner-soaked cloth over it until all that was left was the black striations of carbon that could only be removed with tools not at her disposal. Each bend and crevice clean of dirt and scuffs, marking not just the physical -but mental- attempt to remove what bad memories and dirt she could. Occasionally, a tear would splatter in fat splotches but Dutch was resolved to pay them no mind. Even in the solitude of her quarters, she didn’t want to show her weakness. Her fear of repeating the same mistakes over again, and destroying what humanity she had left. The Bad Batch weren’t that close in her heart, but only time would prove if she could withhold that desire she held for loving everyone. Even if it meant they would eventually be taken away from her.
You’re a soldier again… Don’t let them down. It was a strong motivation but she couldn’t be honest with herself when she questioned if ‘they’ were her sweet boys, or Crosshair and the rest of 99.
Her loyalty didn’t waver for either side, however those steely brown eyes and sharp tongue were a constant thought in the back of her mind as she made final preparations. Crosshair hadn’t been an actual problem until now, and Duchess was under the impression that his opinion of her was going to be of the upmost importance. Little arguments in the halls were just par for the course, but if she was going to do this… it meant being around him far more than she’d prepared herself to initially. He was confusing enough the way it was, let alone how easily she’d fell for him that night. Being a soldier was one thing to contend with, and now she was making that situation even more touchy by joining his squad. Literally disrupting the dynamic she knew that was unique and well established amongst each unit. Neither her or Crosshair could’ve expected anything like this though; So she hoped that he might find it a little easier to accept knowing she’d not had any other choice.
More than that, she wasn’t expecting a knock on her door.
Sounds of muffled chatter could be heard, and it was all too easy to guess who it was based off of the booming laughter heard just a few seconds later. Duchess quickly gathered up her armor and sat it on her desk, turning her helmet so that karking visor couldn’t stare at her anymore. She wiped off the residual cleaner and gathering sweat on her hands, straightening out her shirt even though it was perfectly fine the way it was. Another quieter knock sounded right as her finger hovered over the control panel next to the door. Her heart was thrashing, and she could still feel the sticky, dried tears on her cheek. Nothing about her appearance was reassuring, but she couldn’t leave them standing out there when it was obvious they’d came to go over the mission with her as early as possible. Her fingertip touched the panel, triggering the sounds of rolling tumblers inside the wall to let the doors slide open. Four members of 99 stood there with varying expressions on their faces. All but the one man she was most concerned about meeting.
“Hi boys.” She tried to keep her tone as level as her anxiety would allow for, meeting each pair of eyes for a lingering moment to make sure they’d all felt acknowledged.
“We’re not interrupting, are we?” Hunter spoke first, a little tinge of apology in his voice.
“No. Of course not.” She took a few steps back and motioned for them to enter. It was much safer if they talked away from any prying eyes and ears that might’ve been lurking the halls.
Each man filed through, and Dutch watched how they all took a careful look around her quarters as they tried to find an open seat. Wrecker sat on her clothes chest, making himself at home with wandering eyes looking all around. Tech seemed perfectly happy to stand, with a datapad-like device she remembered from last time she’d seen him taking his attention away from anything else. Hunter took the only real chair available at her desk, taking a deep inhale that made her nerves fray further when she realized he was literally smelling everything inside the room and probably learning as much through his silence as he would by asking her a question. With no room left, she pointed to the bed.
“Echo?” She smiled friendly, hoping it would make the tension just a little less awkward if they saw she didn’t mind sharing with them. “You can sit there if you’d like.” He gave a polite nod, and sat just at the corner like he was afraid of sitting too far back and invading her personal space. He stretched his metal legs out, and she noticed how aware he was of his legs getting too close to her white sheets.
Dutch’s attention turned back to the sergeant who’d picked up her helmet, accidentally rustling some of the other plates around in a quiet clatter. She felt a sickening twist in her gut when Hunter tried scratching at the scoring marks covering the left side. His nail making a gritting sound as he tried to scuff it off. Almost instantly, Tech’s device in his hand was hovering over her bucket, his eyes flitting across the screen for a long moment before he looked up to her.
“This damage was caused by a Proton Detonator.” His analytics had been all too correct, and Duchess was already sensing the next question coming. She just didn’t expect to it to come from Echo.
“Proton Detonator? Those are hull-crushers for starships.” He looked between her and Tech with wide eyes, trying to piece it together on his own. “How did you get so close to one?” It was a loaded question, but there was no use in ignoring it any longer.
If any of these men were going to think about trusting her with being part of their squad, she’d need to answer any and all of their questions. No matter how miserable it was to think about it. Dutch knew this was her last chance to say she was deserting; Wherever sentence came out of her mouth would decide if she lied and left the GAR to find someone else to fill her position, or rose to the overwhelming challenge and came clean in hopes that the batch would understand that she was willing to sacrifice her past -and if need be- her future.
“My last mission was for intel on an abandoned Separatist outpost in orbit. We were sent in to get whatever information we could that hadn’t been destroyed. But we didn’t get close enough to land. It was set-up, and although we’d been assured there wouldn’t be a need for support our gunship was attacked.” It wasn’t the whole story, but she hoped that 99 could understand why she didn’t want to go into detail.
“I was in the gunner’s nest when one of those Detonators went off. By the time we crash-landed on planet, we were swarmed with droids.” That was the farthest she could go without breaking down. A decision had been made, and her voice was already warbling under the emotional pressure of knowing that she couldn’t turn back now.
There was a long pause, and Dutch took the opportunity to sit down in the floor. Looking down at her socked feet until she felt under-control enough to glance back up at Hunter. Surprisingly, he was already looking at her and there was a glint of sadness floating in his brown eyes. His tattoo was a stark reminder of how dangerous the man was, but she didn’t feel the least bit fearful because of those eyes.
“They were special to you… weren’t they?”
“My brothers.” Dutch chose her words very carefully, seeing the understanding shared between herself and all of the men in the room. All troopers -enhanced or not- were so family-oriented that to hear someone nat-born say something so serious was a real display of loyalty and trust. Not just her own faith in them, but theirs in her.
“I’m sure you know we’ve seen your file.” Hunter continued, taking the weight of the conversation somewhere a little less sensitive and Dutch let out a breath of thankfulness.
“I assumed. I’m sure you have questions.” She countered, crossing her legs and bracing her forearms on her knees in preparation for the same conversation she’d had just once before in her life.
“And I’ll have answers -real answers- for all of them.”
***
“She’s doing what?!” He felt himself shaking already.
He’d only heard the news just moments ago and he was already at the breaking point of a precipice with an unknown fall. The entire batch knew before him, and as usual he was the last to be told. Revealing any unknown news wasn’t an easy process around Crosshair, but this was a completely different situation. That sleep he’d gotten was doing nothing to help the pounding headache beginning to burn behind his eyes, and the calmness he did so well to maintain ripped to shreds the second Hunter had said Dutch’s name.
“Orders came from the Chancellor himself. The Director is being assigned to our unit for field testing on weapons.” Hunter repeated it slower as if he’d not understood it perfectly clear the first time.
“Damn you Hunter! I heard you the first time!” He barked loudly, uncaring of how any of his brothers thought about his reaction.
At this point, it didn’t matter. Nothing he’d done was making a difference. One simple order from a man on Coruscant had ruined days of work to assure himself that Dutch would be somewhere he knew she would be safe. Someplace he could watch over her, and maybe pretend that at some point there was a chance his life wouldn’t be like this forever. It was a fucking joke… but it was his lie, and now he didn’t know what to do other than lament how miserably he failed.
“Crosshair, she’s not incompetent. What she’s seen on a battlefield isn’t-” Hunter didn’t get the rest of the sentence out.
“She’s been…” It was a hell of a thought. One that he should’ve seen the second he’d saw her in the range. Her form was too good for simple practice without some other experience. Maybe if he’d been more focused on what was right in front of him, her attempt to skew the truth wouldn’t have been so easily overlooked. Per usual, Duchess had her way of making him forget everything. Including how to look at the most obvious things instead of how damned overwhelmed he’d become.
Duchess wasn’t helpless, that much had always been clear to Crosshair. It was one of the reasons he liked her so much. But stepping into a warzone again wasn’t acceptable, even if she’d done it before. The mere idea of someone approving such an idea sent a cold rush of anger though his body. Blaster wounds were fine on himself, but he’d seen how pretty her skin was. No scar should ever be made on her. Stressful situations didn’t matter when his own life was on the line. After all, there were five regs that could take his place the second he was killed. But there wasn’t another Dutch. She wasn’t replaceable, and for all Crosshair could afford to care about it, thinking about her accepting such orders was inconceivable.
Crosshair couldn’t think about her shooting those blasters anymore. He had no strength to imagine what she looked like ducking behind cover when an ambush of battle droids came searching for her. Above all, the thought of her dying made him feel physically ill. It only took one wrong move before someone got their lucky shot. It happened all around him, someone didn’t check their blindside before stepping out of the ship; Intel was bad, and the whole mission falls to the depths of hell within an instant. It drove him into a spiral of frustration and heartache. He knew she wasn’t going to back down from this, and Cross had no idea what he was supposed to do about it.
Sleep didn’t come for him or his brothers, who spent the rest of the night where Crosshair wanted to be more than anywhere else. He knew each and every one of them were accepting of her, already talking about how well-trained she was. No doubt Wrecker had already made himself at home, being far too nice and hugging her. Crosshair could practically visualize Dutch struggling to breathe under the unnecessarily tight pressure squeezing her lungs, feet dangling off the floor. It made his teeth grind to think about anyone getting close to her. Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to go down there and make sure no one else thought anything more than professional towards her. Hunter was undeniably sensing everything from the smell of her bed sheets to the sound of her heart beating without even realizing that Cross would give anything to have that kind of privilege. Tech wouldn’t have a filter for asking her questions, making it far too easy for the goggled genius to get a head start on knowing things that he, himself didn’t know how to ask in the first place. Echo would be the most tolerable of the batch, but the ex-ARC wouldn’t be oblivious to the simple fact that Duchess was gorgeous. Even a reg like Echo wouldn’t be hard-pressed to think that she was more than just a nat-born GAR officer.
They were all getting their chance to impress her, or at least make themselves look more welcoming that he was. Regrettably, he’d already had the sweet torture of being much more acquainted with her, it just wasn’t safe for him to be around her. Crosshair knew he couldn’t trust himself. He never did anything halfway; It was all or nothing. And Dutch was just the one thing he wanted to have all to himself.
The second she walked through the hanger bay doors there was a moment where Crosshair couldn’t breathe. To his frustration, Hunter was right at her side again. Talking easily and gesturing to the different crates surrounding the ship. They walked up slowly, giving Cross enough time to slip just far enough back into the ship so he didn’t risk the low chance of being spotted staring outright. Her wide eyes had a calculating sharpness to them, and although that nervous habit of biting her bottom lip was present everything else about her looked shockingly veteran.
Her armor was tailored to fit, making her shoulders a little too broad to look natural and the typical gait of her steps appeared just a little more stiff than normal. She didn’t look comfortable in her kit, but he assumed she’d been long removed from the necessity of wearing it. Those infamous blasters were in their rightful places on her hip and thigh, held in plastoid holsters instead of the ones she’d normally kept them in. Crosshair lamented at how the armor did nothing to help her look the least bit bigger. He knew what she looked like under all of it… for the most part. But, there was nothing about her presence that screamed authority. And that was going to be a colossal drawback considering Hunter was the shortest, and still stood a head taller than her.
Always look for the weakest link… He remembered his training at the worst possible moment. Crosshair didn’t have the luxury of spending another second worrying about how her simply being around them was going to be a huge risk; It was time to ship out, and he didn’t want to be anywhere in her proximity when the landing gear came up.
***
Loading a ship came as muscle memory, starting with the biggest crates first and working down until all that was left was herself and the bag strapped to her shoulders. Determination to work just as hard as the rest of the batch fueled her to step up and offer to carry in almost everything, however each man were quite amused that she’d even thought to ask in the first place. It left her to make due with a last minute walk around the ship; Detailing was much of it from outside as possible to prevent being completely unfamiliar with it should she need to help with a repair or damage.
“What do you see?” Hunter’s careful question was poised so not to scare her, but she still felt the slightest twitch when he’d first spoken up. She’d not heard him approach, and it was a miracle considering how heavy his boots were. Even Crosshair’s boots made a sound when he walked, but she had the sneaking suspicion that he’d always meant for her to hear him coming.
“Omicron Attack Shuttle… With a lot of modifications.” She smiled widely, seeing just another habit of the batch appearing. For men who didn’t seem to appreciate their differences amongst the other troopers they call ‘regs’ they sure seemed to make a point of everything they touched having something special about it.
Hunter chuckled, motioning for her to follow him once again. Walking a leisurely pace around to the nose of the ship, occasionally dragging a hand over dented durasteel plating or glancing up high at the pilot’s viewport as he went. Dutch didn’t really know what he was wanting to talk about all the way up here, but she was certain it had something to do with privacy. Nevertheless she followed dutifully every so often feeling the pinch of her armor against her inner thigh or arm. To be expected, he finally stopped right at the tip of the nose and turned with pinched brows.
“I know we’ve discussed your ability to perform already, but I’m asking a favor of you.”
“Yes sir.” They both gave a smile at her imposed formality, but it didn’t last long.
“I want you to take this mission with an air of caution. It’s been a while since you’ve been part of a squad, and I don’t want to take the risk of getting you hurt because things don’t go as planned.” He explained quietly, once again glancing back up over her shoulder at the cockpit again. “This is simple data recon. But-”
“There’s always a chance it won’t stay that way.” She nodded, understanding fully just how any single mission could be far more than even the most battle-experienced men were expecting. After their visit had turned into more typical conversation last night, it was apparent that not even Tech could foresee everything despite how smart he was. “I follow orders well, Hunter. Don’t hesitant to give me one, though.”
It didn’t take any more time than walking the length of the craft for Wrecker to yell out a quick ‘loaded up’ to which Hunter was already more than aware of. Dutch filed in behind the sergeant, leaving Echo and Wrecker to follow them up the stairs into the hull. She tried to ignore that it smelled a little… well, a little stale. The reminder that they spent more time on this ship than anywhere else only made itself more clear when she saw the lived-in chairs at the front of the ship, and the overall feeling she got when the hatch shut. When Tech sat down in the pilot’s seat her eyes went wide in surprise. He wasn’t necessarily her first guess… but the longer she watched him work over the controls the image was already becoming quite normal. Echo assisted Tech, which seemed a suitable fit considering his scomp link and the overall character she’d drawn from his reserved nature. All the while Hunter overlooked the operations and Wrecker sat with what looked like a deconstructed droid popper in his hands.
It left one man out, and none of her conversation with Hunter or offering to load the ship had made a good enough effort to dull the sensation of Crosshair’s unyielding eyes trained on her the entire time. His talents were being put to great use, considering she’d not seen or heard from him the entire morning. The image of him doing just this but with his rifle popped into the forefront of her mind, eliciting a small shiver and a trail of cold chills down her arms. Crosshair was somewhere behind her, just out of peripheral in such a practiced way she probably could turn her head and still not catch a glimpse of him. Nevertheless, it was unsettling how palpable his adverse reaction to her being there was.
“Dutch! Did you bring anything fun for me?” Wrecker nudged her shoulder, and pointed back at a stack of crates sitting there. Off instinct she turned in her chair, and found herself examining the boxes with a list of codes and instructions for each item inside rattling in her brain. Offhand, she could remember at least ten different explosives that weren’t regulation standard and five blasters that would be the main focus of her testing.
That train of thought derailed the second she caught sight of Crosshair sitting atop them, one long leg hanging off the side and a hellish scowl forming razor sharp lines all across his face. Golden brown eyes practically glowed in the constant light provided by consoles and panels crowding the ships walls, and if it wasn’t for the accusatory look in them Dutch would’ve been happy to accept that he looked threateningly attractive. She’d done well to hide her surprise of seeing that he was staring at her, but one look at his rifle laying over his lap and she felt the rush of embarrassment swelling in her throat. It’d not been long enough to forget, and simply seeing his hands on it was enough to remember how they’d felt against her.
“Uh, five blasters and some explosives…” She tried to shake the thought from her head, looking back to see Wrecker giving her a strange look of confusion. Her oblivious nature had gotten her into another staring contest with Crosshair and she’d not even realized it’d been whole minutes since he’d asked his question. “But I thought this was strictly recon?”
“Recon is simply that… unless you have a proclivity for pyrotechnics.” Tech jumped in at the first opportunity, opening the conversation up to everyone who had their own opinion on Wrecker’s hobby of creating explosions.
Duchess sat back in her chair, listening to the conversations that trailed off in a multitude of directions with closed eyes. For a while it did the trick to soothe her anxiety, helping lift the heavy weight of her armor off her chest and provide just a small amount of relief. The batch were a lot more than she’d bargained for originally. Jokes and brash comments about one another seemed to be the main channel for camaraderie and laughter; Allowing her to simply sit back and just enjoy how their personalities became that much clearer with time in hyperspace.
They were vastly different from her boys, not just in appearance either. Her boys had been far less traveled than 99, but then again she reminded herself of how little time they had served in comparison to the batch. Her boys were much quieter in general, and had nowhere near the same energy when it came to dogging on each other. The batch had their fair share of negativity to throw around, but it didn’t have the same edge to it that she’d spent so much time around with her previous unit. For a long time she assumed all squads were that way, but sitting in the Marauder made her seriously rethink it all. And after a good, hard look she came to the conclusion that competitiveness amongst the batch was far different from what ‘regs’ were used to. Being the same man physically created a lot of tension when it came to hierarchy -if there was one established. And no matter how you looked at it, troopers were always trying to prove themselves to be the best version. Insecurity overruled confidence in arguments, and the batch were nothing if not confident in themselves.
“You look scared… how pathetic.” A hot breath and familiarly growled words graced her ears with a tauntingly smug tone.
Don’t let him have the satisfaction.
“For staring at me like that, I’m surprised you aren’t more observant.” She countered breezily, not bothering to open her eyes or even shift away from his lingering presence behind her chair. If anything she thought to lean closer; Force Crosshair to make the next move and prove her wrong.
“A smart mouth won’t keep you alive either.” He muttered back bitterly, the sounds of his hands gripping the leather seat squeaking under his intense grip. Hands she knew to be calloused and lithe in their movements when he wanted them to be.
“It’s a good thing I’m hard to kill.” She bit back venomously, shifting her gaze just far enough to catch her second glimpse of him. It was just the slightest peek at his silvered hair and strong jaw shadowed to look ever sharper in the deep shadows his position afforded him. Crosshair was all angles, and she was far too weak to ignore just how badly she wanted him to cut her with those razor sharp lines and words.
You can’t intimidate me Crosshair; You’ll have to try harder than that to make me quit.
“I’ll remember you said that.” His lips brushed the curve of her ear and miraculously Dutch managed to keep her breathing from suffering a noticeable stutter. What she couldn’t help was the automatic clench of her armored thighs, or the slight clip of the plastoid meeting between her legs. Crosshair didn’t seem to notice, but his simple presence wasn’t very reassuring with his full view of her entire body over her shoulder. A low sound in his throat that resembled a sulking huff rumbled, and he disappeared from her back just as easily as he’d emerged. No sounds marking where he’d disappeared to, or even giving her a hint as to how he managed to walk around so quietly on grated floors.
Only when he wants me to know he’s coming… She thought bitterly, wondering how she could learn to hear him coming.
She opened her eyes to see that each member of the batch were either focused on something in their hands, or doing just as she had with their eyes shut and head leaned back against their chair. For a moment she’d wished that someone would’ve noticed that interaction, but her good sense knew it was better they’d not. No one was any wiser to ask about her and the sniper’s relationship, and for the time being she was happy to keep it that way. They had a mission to complete after all, and worrying about Crosshair wasn’t a good mindset to have walking into a job unpracticed, and virtually unprepared for what was awaiting her on the other side of hyperspace.
***
Another mission… the same orders.
“Crosshair, we need some eyes up high.” Hunter’s nod was all he needed to head off in the direction of a rock formation jutting up high into the sky about two klicks out from the Seppie base.
This place reminded him much of Ryloth with the sandy rock formations and lack of wind. There weren’t many obstructions to limit his effectiveness, but it was just as easy for any attackers to see his position if he wasn’t careful enough. They’d arrived at mid-day, making it even easier for any of them to be spotted on approach. Tech and Dutch faced the most exposure, with their mainly white appearance starkly contrasting the rust-colored landscape. The air was dry, and it wouldn’t affect his shots, but the heat creeping under his collar could make a long engagement difficult on his charge cartridges. They got hot quickly in the best conditions, and with the steady heat beating down on him Crosshair tried to better assess his positioning as he broke away from the group.
Distractions were low, and it made the high climb to the top of his perch far quicker. Even having enough time to scope behind them to check for any mechanical life that could be lingering just out of his brother’s eyesight. Raising two fingers to his bucket Cross sent a silent signal to the figures standing below, watching their gazes fan out in all directions as they tried to get a pin on where he laid. Damned if Dutch wasn’t the one to tilt her gaze just over her shoulder and flash a pretty smile and a wink right at him.
Only you, pretty girl. He thought dryly, watching though his scope as all recognition of her features disappeared behind the identical visor all of his brothers retrieved from under their arm.
“Comm check.” Tech was the first voice spoken clearly through the speakers pressing against his ears. Five voices gave way to radio silence just long enough for Tech to give a thumbs up.
“Wrecker, Tech. You two take care of any security shields. Keep everything quiet for us.” Hunter pointed towards the right side of the facility, reissuing orders they’d already agreed upon on the ship. The two split off for the access controls all of them had memorization of.
“Dutch, Echo, you two stay with me.” Cross watched in collected frustration as the datastick necessary to collect their information was tossed from Tech to Hunter.
Crosshair had done well to control himself until he watched her retrieve the two blasters from her holsters and take off with Hunter leading, Echo trailing uncomfortable close behind her. Finally he figured out why he hated seeing armor on her. Before those DC’s were retrieved, her posture was just as it had always looked to him. Relaxed, maybe even graceful if she wasn’t aware that someone -like himself- was watching her. It’d only taken Hunter’s order for his pretty girl to let a clone trooper take her place.
She moved identically to Echo, tells of how her old squad had been the main benefactor to her training. However there was just enough variation between her and the post-ARC trooper that Crosshair couldn’t make any degrading remark on any mishandlings. She stuck to cover, and kept her head moving left to right at all times. Even Hunter’s hand signals didn’t faze her, making it unnecessary for her to follow at the back of the formation. Her short legs should have made it almost impossible to keep up, but she wasn’t struggling to maintain the quick pace that got them to the first set of doors to the abandoned compound.
Don’t leave her alone, Hunter….
“Tech. Breach on one.”
“Hunter, you’re clear to five.”
It was all static noise for Crosshair at this point. As invested as he was in Dutch, the surrounding area was under his control. That meant listening for the thrum of a vulture droids or the unlikely echo of blaster fire inside the compound. Of which either would be a nightmare scenario that he didn’t want to face without knowing exactly where his brothers or Dutch were.
“Breach target on six.” Tech was giving out short orders, followed by a slew of information that -as usual- did nothing but crowd Cross’ hearing with data dumps of garbage.
“Shut up Tech.” He growled out, unable to keep radio silence with talk about thermal sensor malfunctions echoing in his crowded mind. Thankfully quiet fell over them again, and Cross took a moment to scan back up to the top of the building where unmanned turrets sat motionless.
Twenty-five minutes…
And as if the Gods had heard his anxiety and wanted to make this even more stressful, the loud register of blaster fire echoed in his helmet. Clanking metal and robotic voices could be heard over muffled orders, and Crosshair couldn’t do a damn thing about it but sit and wait. They were six floors underground, making every last bit of his equipment useless.
“Tech!” Hunter’s long exclamation proved the least bit insightful as to what was going on.
Not even Cross’ sight lens on his helmet was working though the bomb-proof steel holding him from them. But without orders, he couldn’t move. There was a long exchange of gunfire, followed by loud clanks of metal falling to the floor. All the time Cross scanned for just one droid to come into sight, he counted the indicative sound of the rusty sentries falling to the floor. When the first battalion began filing out onto the roof, Crosshair put his brother and Dutch’s count at somewhere around thirty-two.
The turrets were the first priority, and with precision Cross did maximum damage to the guiding systems needed to get the heavy guns operating. All five were deactivated in just enough time to hear a loud explosion, followed by raucous laughter from Wrecker. The constant firing drown out any sound of Dutch, but he could pick her pattern of shots apart from his brother’s; Splitting his focus between downing the B-2’s scrambling into position on the roof and counting the pauses in her shooting that marked a kriffing efficient reload time.
“You over the hill Crosshair?” There was a light lilt of laugher that followed Dutch’s little tease, and he couldn’t help but feel the sting of it in that moment. He knew he couldn’t take immediate pressure off her, but all of the droids on the roof were deactivated and it would make their escape that much easier. Droids hardly ever hit a running target.
He waited for a moment, and in it he heard the 99th round from her pistols reverberate in his ears. It was damn good timing, and he couldn’t resist taking it.
“Reload, Dutch.” A tinge of a smirk pulled at his lips when he heard her laugh again through heavy breaths that seemed to take precedent over any of his brother’s laboring heaves.
“Breach One is clear for exit.” He added flatly, finally seeing some movement in his sight lens of five heat signatures crowded in formation and moving towards the door with blasters drawn; Half focused on the doorway and the others aiming down the hallway they’d come from.
“Give us eyes Cross.” Hunter breathed heavily, rushing through the door and breaking for cover behind a long support wall that ran the length of the sprawling courtyard ahead of them.
“Wrecker, focus on the hangar doors.” Cross barked out, trailing steady aim over the collection of droids beginning to fall into battle formation rows. He was felt cold fury rush over him when they opened fire. Quickly, Cross retaliated; Taking two or three droids with each pull of the trigger.
A fiery explosion from Wrecker’s explosive charges took care of the growing mass at the hangar bay, and Crosshair took one last look down. All five still accounted for, and for all of his irritation with the situation there was a hint of jealousy when he saw Wrecker putting all of his attention into shielding Dutch from the blast and debris falling around them. It was the final straw on this dismal mission, and he’d never wanted to get down from such a good vantage point in his life. The only thing he could look at was how easily his brothers fell into protective instinct around her. Each of them unconsciously posturing her to their back, and pushing her closer to the middle of the circle they’d formed.
You’re lucky Dutch. They might have saved you this time, and maybe even next time. But I assure you these hills have eyes and they’re always watching you pretty thing. I am a patient man, and soon enough you’ll figure out the simple fact of the matter.
You are mine.
***
It’s just droids… It’s just droids… You did your job… Everything’s fine…
Adrenaline so was so high Duchess couldn’t feel the a single nerve not alight with flight or flight pushing her closer to the ship. Wrecker was counting up his droid count behind her and Echo was yelling for him to shut up just long enough to get back on the ship without being shot. Her blasters were drawn, running high on the reaction to hearing the sound of droids fast-approaching inside the facility. She was doing everything she could to keep up with the long legs of the men surrounding her. The loud footfalls finally came to a slow when they came up to the door to the Marauder; Hunter pulling off his helmet and ordering Tech to get them in the air as soon as possible. She took a steadying breath, putting her blasters away, taking a moment to look behind the ship at that rock formation Crosshair had been set up on. The glint of his scope was nowhere to be seen and for a moment she was about to ask someone where he was.
At least she thought about it, till heavy hands wrapped firmly around her waist and lifted her up; Imposing their strength to carry her up the stairs that were already lifting up off the ground under Tech’s piloting. A low rumbling voice sounding from the missing batcher as Cross sat her down roughly on the floor of the ship. He stood achingly tall over her; the rifle rising high above his helmet accentuating just how impressive Crosshair looked in comparison to his brothers -who’d just been in such the same close proximity to her. She bit her lip under the protection of her helmet, and looked up at the emotionless visor wondering just what his own expression looked like.
“Do not make me move you again.” He warned, leaning down just short of his helmet touching hers.
Dutch’s face flushed, and it was all she could do to give a quick nod of her head. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline, or she was just not protecting herself well enough from Crosshair’s inherent effect on her. Either way she felt heat creep under her armor at his commanding tone, feeling far more interested in what he would do if she didn’t listen instead of simply heeding the warning like he intended her to. Crosshair turned away, leaving his threat to linger for a moment before pausing on his way to the back of the ship.
“Clean your blasters while they’re hot.” He tossed the comment over his shoulder as if he’d not just manhandled her into the ship just to get her the most intensely sexy threat she’d ever received.
On top of all of it, she was coming down off her adrenaline high and it was showing in her shaking fingers and a pounding in her chest that had been far less drastic before Crosshair decided to make such a show of his frustrations by hauling her -not very light- ass onto the ship. Wrecker seemed to be riding out a rush of energy, picking up the Gonk droid she’d been introduced to and holding it over his head and doing some squats, laughing all the while about how great those detonators she’d given him were. Echo and Tech were huddled over the flight controls, and it was only then she noticed Hunter standing at her side with an look that told her he was keen to the tremors she was still feeling all over her body.
“What’s your count?”
“Twelve. You?” She obliged his obvious attempt at getting her mind off of the surprise conflict. Recalling -what seemed like- a countless number of B-2’s that had swarmed them, with a hazy mind and shaky emotional reaction to all of it.
“I always forget to play. But you’ve got Tech and Echo beat, and it’s only your first deployment. I’d say you’re doing pretty good.” He nudged her towards the seats just behind the pair sitting in the cockpit. “Take that bucket off Dutch, you did your duty for the day.”
“I didn’t take orders very well.” Her quiet lamentation didn’t do more than cause a little smile to appear on the sergeant’s face as she lifted her helmet off and sat it on the floor at her feet.
“No you didn’t…” He chuckled. His teasing tone was so surprising considering they’d literally been in a gunfight just minutes ago. “But even the best soldiers can’t fight instinct to protect themselves. Those blasters aren’t just for show, and I’m glad you didn’t wait for orders to react.” Hunter reached into his belt, pulling out the datastick they’d recovered and tapped Tech on the shoulder with it; Handing it over with such a casual nature she couldn’t help but stare at his steady hands.
Dutch marveled at how her own body felt like it was in the middle of an earthquake, while every last man on the ship looked particularly unbothered by the entire ordeal. Had it been a couple years ago, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at their mission either, but she was literally sitting on her hands so no one would see how badly they were shaking. Even in the small interaction with Crosshair he’d been deathly calm, close to bored despite his constant state of aggression. Dutch tried not to let herself cave to the pressure of holding herself to their level of professionalism but by the time Tech had coordinates set for Coruscant she had talked herself into believing that twelve droids was a pathetic accomplishment.
She wanted to be strong like they’d been, giving out orders and working so effortlessly. They made it look so easy… And although she knew what to do, it was all because she’d mirrored her boys for so long that when a mission needed doing she just tried to act like them as best she could. All of it was just a well-practiced act that she was certain didn’t fool any of the batch. Yes, she’d done what needed to be done. But Crosshair hadn’t been wrong; She was kriffing terrified of losing again. Losing everything felt like a death you were forced to live though, and she didn’t want to go through it again.
They all fell into a silence for a few hours, mulling about or letting the high-strung energy fade out by getting a drink of water; Taking turns talking about what they’d noticed in the compound on entry or debating whether or not it was Wrecker’s fault for tripping a thermal sensor that had activated the security droids that would have stayed in stasis if the brute had been more cautious. There was a slight argument between Tech and Wrecker, but after just a short back and forth, Dutch realized that this was a typical occurrence and she was just experiencing the first of many missteps that made their missions that much more interesting. Only after Tech had stuck the datastick into the central drive at the control panel did everyone’s attention to the fast-paced stream of data scanning up the screen. So fast, that she could see a single word of it clearly. Fortunately, Tech was more than happy to provide a run-down of what exactly they’d collected after Hunter gave a low grumble about ‘reading speed not being universal’ with a light smack on the back of his brothers head.
“The collection of data looks to be a catalogue of shipments that were sent to the facility.” He obliged them by starting at the beginning, working his way down through an extensive list that included everything from ration-style meals to replacement parts for damaged freighter ships.
Dutch listened intently, absorbing as much as she could and hoping that there was something of use. Separatists were often sloppy, and frequently thought that covering their tracks wasn’t necessary when they believed their encryption was superior. Lucky for them, Tech didn’t need an extra minute to decode or rebuild any partially destroyed files. For the most part it was inconsequential, and all of the batch seemed to think so as well. Quietly making remarks about how nothing was of any use; Proving just how ridiculous the orders were and the overwhelmingly disrespectful it was to sent all of them on a mission to recover ‘refresher product lists. That was at least, until a weapons registry came into view however from the very first looks there was something telling Dutch it looked wrong.
She stood from her chair and got close enough to begin searching the long list without a care as to the men standing there and watching her. A different person might’ve thought that Seppies just weren’t smart enough to format their dockets differently than the Republic; However each line of chain code had a disconcerting familiarity to it. There were far too many consistencies for it to be a coincidence, and after a long pause of standing in Tech’s mumblings about it being destroyed information, Dutch was certain that this was exactly how it’d looked in the system before the failed data deletion. She was surprised that the genius didn’t see what she did, but after listening to him, she realized that there wasn’t a single reason he should know what these codes meant, or why they didn’t correct in their current state for a substantial reason. Each line held a certain section that stood out like a sore thumb, particularly because the GAR’s own chain was embedded in the middle of each long line of numbers.
“These chain codes aren’t right.”
“What was my conclusion.” Tech nodded, taking her comment as agreement.
“No. Nothing has been tampered with… but there’s still something wrong with them.” She countered softly, hoping not to upset the pilot by saying he was wrong.
“What are you seeing that Tech isn’t?” Echo seemed to key-in on her disgruntled expression first, drawing everyone’s attention to her quiet study of the jumbled mess of information. For a moment Dutch tried to think of the best way to explain it without needing a complicated mess of a backstory.
“You see this, -she pointed at the first four digits of code on the first line- “That’s a factory assigned chain.” She retrieved her own blaster from its holster, pointing at the small set of numbers engraved on the spine of the grip and turning it to face them. “Every blaster is required to have one by law. Just like a speeder bike has a VIN number.” She put the blaster away, watching as tense shoulders dropped and a couple held breaths were released.
“Okay? What’s wrong with that?” Hunter pressed, adjusting to lean against Tech’s chair.
“You see, every time a blaster changes hands -by business or organization- there’s a digital change in code. The original VIN only serves as a placeholder until it’s owned by someone outside of the manufacturer.” She pointed at the VIN code on the holo again, “This shouldn’t be here anymore.” She took a pause of breath, seeing that none of them were quite following her yet.
“Keep talking, we’re just listening.” Echo assured from her side, still looking at the codes flickering in pixelated hues of blue and white.
“None of these codes have ever been fully altered. A chain code -on any weapon- shouldn’t be longer that eight to ten characters.” She turned and made eye contact with Hunter;
“On Kamino, that’s why restocks of the armory are always at the beginning of a week’s cycle. Because I’m sent a docket of factory-provided chain codes that have to be switched to a code provided by GAR’s army office on a separate list. It can take a long time because you have to double-check that nothing got lost in the transfer. By the end of the cycle, that’s when you typically get deployment briefings. By then I’ve had enough time to catalogue and store all my orders on a GAR-formatted docket.”
Dutch quickly excused herself for a moment, moving through the hull to grab the datapad from her bag. On her way back through, she caught a glimpse of a boot hanging off the side of a crate above her head; Glancing up to see silver hair and glowing brown eyes looking down at her again. The sound of a discarded toothpick crunched under her boot as she did her best to ignore the final member of her clone-based audience. Dutch felt more nervous now knowing that Crosshair was paying attention than she did guessing whether or not he was a few minutes ago.
“This was the last docket I filled out before getting transferred.” She showed each of them the four numbers that began each chain code on an order of DC-15’s that had been ordered in preparation of a class of graduating cadets. “These four numbers are the GAR’s official insignia code. It’s a baseline number that tags each weapon as military property in a registry system.”
“In case someone steals a blaster from a trooper… or something like that?” Hunter’s question made her feel exponentially better in her explanation.
“Exactly. But on this Separatist docket… The same code is right here.” Her finger circled around the same four digits embedded right in the middle of the chain. To prove it wasn’t an accident, she went down through the list, pointing out every single line that had the GAR’s signature inside it trying to hide her shaking fingers by only leaving her hands in view for a moment at a time.
“It’s a highly unusual circumstance. I can’t believe I didn’t see it…” To her side, Tech sounded practically distraught that she’d found some worthwhile information before he did. She felt bad for him; But was quick to reassure him that it wasn’t something he would ever be expected to know.
“That’s the point, Tech. Only people like me see this kind of stuff; There’s only around one hundred of us who handle the military’s base intakes. Whoever tried to catalogue this, didn’t plan on a datapad-pusher seeing this... Any recon troopers wouldn’t have knowledge to understand, and it would’ve been shoved off to the side when you gave your findings on Coruscant.” She gave him a crooked smile, hoping it would heal his visually bruised ego.
“It’s stolen weapons then?” Echo was the first to ask the really important question.
“Yes. But I can’t say what kind with the information I’ve got here…” She sighed, looking back at the codes another time. “Manufactures give VIN’s off batch numbers. And batch numbers get reused after specific models aren’t produced anymore. They don’t plan on the original code being kept very long. Different manufactures can sometimes use the same code on accident; It makes transferring data in the armory really difficult when you’ve got BlasTech and Merr-Sonn using identical VINs.”
“You’re sure these were stolen? Not just a glitch in the files?” Hunter’s voice of reasoning pulled her focus away from the lines of numbers.
“I’m positive. Codes have to be registered with someone at all times. If these were stolen I’m certain there will be record of a shipment never reaching it’s destination.”
“You’ll tell the General on Coruscant, Dutch. They’ll take this kind of information better from someone who sees it daily.” Hunter gave a curt nod and turned to walk away from the cockpit, giving her a little wink and a smile as he left.
Her first mission back had been exactly what she’d feared the most. And she could still feel her fingers trembling as they held her datapad, risking exposure of her anxiety to all of the sharp-eyed men aboard the ship. However it was a damn good thing she’d taken the chance to tell them why those files weren’t scrambled. There was real evidence that could be useful, and it was one success that no matter what she thought, couldn’t be marked off as dumb luck. Even if it was something as simple as a stolen weapons shipment, it was a good start on proving that she wasn’t useless.
Dutch felt the last leg of her adrenaline sputtering to the finish in a fiery crash just waiting for her to give up and sit down long enough to get comfortable. To her side, Echo was looking at her with a bemused expression, his eyes darting down to her bent knees and shaking fingertips. Although he didn’t say anything, it was obvious he knew she was trying her best to push through the flight and stay awake just like she thought they were going to.
“Tech, you’ve got first watch?” He asked, leaning up and rolling his shoulders with a low groan that resembled just how Dutch was feeling inside. His goggled brother simply nodded, far too engrossed in the chain codes she’d proven to be a real topic of focus to provide a real answer.
“Grab a rack Dutch. You’ll feel better if you do.” Echo’s stiff recommendation and pointed nod made her turn around to spot three minimal bunks suspended from the wall. They were a far cry from uncomfortable after such a long day, and although she was dead on her feet, everyone else deserved to stretch out more than she did.
“Thanks, but I’ll just take a chair if that’s okay with you.” Her little smile seemed enough to halt Echo’s persuading. “But who’s going to take watch after Tech?”
He seemed particularly taken aback by that. “It’s voluntary. Normally whoever doesn’t need the sleep takes over.”
“I’ll take it then.” She offered firmly, sitting down in her chair and bending over to tug off her boots before they rubbed any more of a blister on her heels.
“I don’t think so.” He countered flatly, seeing her struggle to get her shaking fingers to work the clasps on her pauldrons to come loose. “You can’t be shaking like that. Sleep it off, then you can think about taking a shift.”
Dutch stared at the trooper as he began to walk away, trying to think of something to say other than arguing that she didn’t need the rest. However Echo didn’t seem the type for being argued with over something as simple as self-procured duties. But, there was one thing that she felt the need to tell him before she struggled with getting her armor off for the night.
“Hey, Echo. Thank you…” She watched him pause in the aisleway, turning around one last time with an eyebrow raised in questioning.
“For what?”
“Watching my back today. I didn’t deserve that, but you went ahead and did it anyways.” She explained in an almost whisper.
“I’ll protect you just like I would my brothers. You deserve that, Dutch.” He turned all the way around, leaving her to start pulling at the clasps on the armor that had been rubbing her raw all day.
“You do good work soldier. Now sleep… and pray someone quieter than Wrecker takes next shift.”
a/n: WE BROKE 250 FUCKING FOLLOWERS!!! I LOVE YOU DEARLY!!! SO HERE'S AN EARLY UPDATE! 💕
There were always times in Crosshair’s life that offering everything he could just wasn’t enough to satisfy what was being asked of him. Blood, sweat, tears, and his sanity on occasion were stretched so thin that you could feel the strings straining under impossible pressure. In those times, he had no way of healing the broken strands of himself. No one to turn to, and nowhere to hide long enough to let them mend on their own. He wasn’t old enough to say he knew what life really had to offer, but what he’d seen so far didn’t look very promising. Becoming cynical was almost expected… maybe even encouraged in certain company. Crosshair was figuring out that there was at least one place -one person- that challenged his jaded attitude, and relentlessly reminded him that there was a somewhere he could find peace. It was only that he didn’t deserve that peace in the first place.
Duchess calmed the storm in him better than any spiced he’d ever smoked, or any successful mission ever would. His body felt different; Relaxed, but not the same way he felt before taking a challenging shot. Each breath came easier than normal like there wasn’t a coil of razor wire wrapped around his lungs. And his mind… oh his mind. How quiet it was inside his mind when she was close enough that he could touch her. Duchess was so many things wrapped into one. Crosshair saw her as life in an untouched form; So pretty, and no idea of what death and blood on a battlefield was like. Only she was genocide all at the same time. There was an endless fury that waged war on every part of him, as if she’d found a mission worth dying for, inside of him. Dutch was a fearfully made contradiction of soft lips against his neck and a quick wit that rivaled his own.
“You’re going home.” He promised her with a rough tone he knew to be far too harsh considering her circumstances.
She nodded against him in quiet agreement, raising her good arm up to grab at his chest plate, attempting to wriggle her fingers under the edge of it. Such a soft display would’ve otherwise sent him over the edge, but there was still a tenseness in every movement he made. Boots echoed down the hallway from the room he currently stood in. There was still the plan of getting her out of here…
But his smart girl had already given him exactly what he needed.
Gently he guided her head back to the pillow she’d ignored in preference of his shoulder, and sighed when she whimpered and fought to stay close to him. Even in this state she was damned persistent. He just hoped she wasn’t so head strong that she’d try to get up and follow him. Because he’d have to leave, if just for long enough to get her discharge forms prepared. Once he was sure she’d stay put, he exited to see both of the regs standing there with questioning looks on their faces. Apparently he’d not been careful enough to hide his weakness towards her well enough. They both looked like they’d seen the grim reaper bow down to an angel… And maybe, that’s exactly what Crosshair had just done.
“You know her?” Haze asked with a nasty smile on his face; Crosshair just wanted to wipe it off once and for all.
Smugly, he pulled her access card from his belt and flashed it at them. Both medics stared at the thing like it was a live explosive he’d just pulled the pin on. It was the greatest victory to date in his war against the regs and their unmatched arrogance in all things. And that was saying something coming from the sniper who was more than happy to prove his own talent at the first opportunity.
“She’s to be discharged. Immediately.” They both flinched at his angry tone.
“What’s her ID?” That was a pathetic question, but he’d have to answer it nonetheless.
"ID 060800.” He repeated it flawlessly, leaving the codes visible only to the regs so they’d have absolutely no way of doubting his knowledge. But even if they did, Crosshair had no issue with persuading them in a number of ways. He was willing to do anything to get her out of here; The still-bleeding cut on his hand was proof.
“Your CT?”
“9904.”
All the fight in those two drained upon realizing just who they were talking to. On Kamino, names and numbers were more powerful than faces; Even if you weren’t an exact replica of everyone else. That number came with a long list of stories that often emanated with images of blood and sounds of bones cracking in the midst of silenced slurs about ‘degenerate defects’. Eventually, the tattoo gracing Crosshair’s face made sense to them and their look of seeing death was becoming ever more fitting the longer they stood in Cross’ presence.
Crosshair almost smiled when both men suddenly took a hesitating step towards him, fists tightened as if they thought to test their luck against him. Crosshair could see the flaws in their training the second they rested their weight on their back leg, leaving him furious that they’d even made it this far with such a bad form. Regs were always held to such a lower standard, yet he and his brothers were treated like mistakes even though they’d been forced to prove themselves better repeatedly. He would’ve been beaten harshly for such things. And a part of him was voracious to prove how easy it would be, to prove how lacking they were in comparison to him… Not because he could fight, but because for once he felt like fighting for something.
Haze made the first move, rushing Cross with a clenched jaw. Plastoid clashed and the loud smack of fists echoed deadly though the room. He felt the initial contact of a fist against his face, but there wasn’t any sting to follow. His eyesight didn’t even blur from the strike, making his own returning punch that much clearer. He gripped at Haze’s collar holding him tight to his own chest, letting his bandaged hand take the brunt of the pain of striking between the armor plates covering the medic. Growls and grunt were passed between the two of them, each struggling to get the upper hand.
Crosshair had almost a full head of height on him, and there was advantage to it. Both if his hands came to grip his collar and yanked him down against a bent knee, forcing him down over and over until a hollow gasp ripped from Haze’s throat. Biting pain shredded through Cross’ hand when his attackers fingers dug into the bandages covering it. He could feel his wound splitting with each quivering jab at the cut. Crosshair hardly needed to toss him to the floor in the end. Haze was just too weak to fight back any longer. He fell to the floor in a clattering heap, clutching at his ribs and pulling his knees up to shield from any more blows. Crosshair just felt cold. All of his energy drowning out the burn in his hand and the bruise that was already forming on his face. The other reg had simply stood and watched the whole time; Never making a move to support his brother or do the right thing… Just liked he’d ignored protecting Dutch earlier.
“You’re weak.” He spat angrily, rising to his full height with every intention of beating both of them into the floor.
“I-I don’t want trouble with you…” The reg’s voice tremored and he raised both hands in defeat before Cross could even make a move towards him.
“That’s too bad. Because I do.” He smirked.
Out of self-preservation, the reg put up his fists and tried to attack. They were slow punches, and Crosshair saw the basic training he’d done as a cadet surfacing in them. Each combination was easily defendable, giving Cross no chance of losing after years of actually fighting instead of sparring against vod. The reg ducked and evaded as long as he could, proving just how scared he was of a real challenge. It only fueled Crosshair’s opinion of him. Reinforcing just how faint of heart he was when it came down to making the right decision when called of him. Naturally, the struggle was over the second Cross got both hands under the edge of his pauldrons, pulling him off balance and hooking a leg around the regs’. A quick jerk wiped his legs out from under him and sent him hurtling towards the ground with Crosshair following suit to finish the job.
“You did nothing!” He seethed, throwing well placed fist and hearing the crack of bone under his bleeding knuckles.
“You. Didn’t. Protect. Her.” Each word punctuated with a hard punch to the ribs. Once he saw a broken nose and heard the struggle to breathe, he relented. Standing back up and wiping the mixture of their bloods off his beaten knuckles on his thigh plates. He hoped that it would stay long enough to remind both of them that he was to be feared. Crosshair knew everyone thought he was weak because of his size… It just made winning all the more enjoyable.
“Talk about her like that again… I’ll kill you slowly.”
“W-won’t do it again…” Haze mumbled brokenly, just now finding his breath well enough to speak through windedness and fractured ribs. Crosshair hoped they would be smart enough to lick their wounds and go back to their bunks a little wiser. But asking a reg to be smart was a stretch for even the most optimistic of people; Of which Crosshair was not a part of that group.
Assured they wouldn’t try and get up, he turned on his heels and made his way back to Dutch with a feeling of guilt marring his posture. Blood was splattered on his armor, and his knuckles were split open from clashing against armor plates. He looked around, spotting a bedsheet and wiping at himself until there wasn’t any chance of getting it on her. That anger was fading with each step closer to her bed. Cross was certain he’d done the right thing, and the only savior was that she’d not seen or heard any of it.
He’d come to keep her safe, but there was a trade-off that proved his fears of getting too close. Dutch didn’t deserve his hands on her… lethal forces covered in scars from the worst battles of the war. She deserved someone to defend her, help her, but not in the way that he wanted her most. What he did in the range hall -and tonight- was too much. It was what he wanted more than anything, but it was a risk he was far too hesitant to take again. Crosshair wanted to love her up close. Let her touch him, and quiet his mind so there wasn’t a blackness crowding his senses. But that couldn’t happen, because he was a solider. And soldiers are meant to be weapons.
Taking care of his brothers made the process of getting Dutch prepared almost second nature. He removed her IV first, placing a bandage from his own belt over the prick to keep it from bleeding. The bag was fully emptied, and he studied it for a second before removing the heart monitor off her finger. Crosshair didn’t like seeing people strung up to wires and machines; Memories of seeing Echo for the first time flashed in his mind as he looked down at Dutch. It made his gut churn with frustration when he’d not seen the O2 device stuck to her chest; Whispering an apology as he pulled down the collar of her t-shirt just enough peel the it away from her skin. Her personal datapad sat at her leg, and he picked it up first, tucking it in the gap between his belt and armor before lifting her off the cot.
“Cross?” She sighed, again turning her face towards him. Only this time she opened sleepy eyes, thick eyelashes fluttering as she tried to focus on him better.
“It’s me doll.” He’d give himself hell for the nickname later, she was just too pretty to be real. Right now though, Dutch needed someone to be soft for her and he knew he couldn’t do it for long. But he’d give it his best shot despite feeling of self-reproach slithering into his mind.
“Gotta go back to work.” It was the most steady thing she’d said. And Crosshair chuckled in astonishment. Unable to fight back the charm he found in her defiance, shaking his head when she kept trying to make it clear;
“Only three days… to finish.” She murmured sadly, her brows pinching together in defeat.
He remembered every word she’d said in the range. All about that General, and the job she’d been slaving over for weeks on end. It had become a habit of his to check the range hall logs -by stealing Tech’s datapad- when he had a spare moment on mission; Looking to see if she was leaving at the end of shift or staying longer than he’d told her to. And as her deadline got closer, she’d slowly drifted away from her set hours. Lingering sometimes six or eight hours past shift before she left. A little part of him wondered if she was waiting for him to come back and continue where they’d left off on the floor. Letting her get one step closer to driving away the remaining bit of emotion that maintained him the title of a dutiful solider.
There wasn’t much he could do about his feelings for her. He couldn’t quit caring, but anything more than that risked her job, and his life by extension. There inly his only way of releasing all of this heavy weight of responsibility he felt towards her. Those sedatives were for prolonged injuries; The Kaminoians used them on Hunter frequently after he’d been pushed too far. Sometimes he would be brought back to the bunk room after being given the same drugs and sleep for days. Duchess had been given a full dose of it, so it allowed Cross just enough time to move about freely, without her getting in the way or asking questions before he could help.
“Sleep for now.” He whispered, carefully hiding her face in his chest so the bright lights of the bay wouldn’t wake her up.
That Jedi can wait pretty girl… I’ll take care you the only way I can.
At first Crosshair was preoccupied with the wave of her scent filling his nose the second he stepped over the threshold into the dark room. It was her sweet scent, concentrated into an overwhelming measure that he instinctively inhaled like she’d done to him in the med bay. Unlike the batch’s bunk room, there wasn’t a weather wall for a window to give natural light, so it was virtually pitch black.
There was at least one benefit to having good eyes. He spotted her bed, desk, and a clothes chest right away. Dutch made her bed just as tightly as a solider would, but a set of blacks laid at the foot of the bed where she’d not taken the time to fold them. A second pair of boots sat just next to the door as well, but they didn’t have the same polish as the ones she wore now. There wasn’t any decoration per-say, but he could see Duchess in every little item around the room. It was the most domestic thing he’d ever seen, and as he moved to lay her down on the bed, Cross felt so out of place amongst it all. Just more proof of how different they really were. How grossly misaligned his desires truly were when it came to thinking about what was possible if a relationship between them ever progressed passed simple acquaintance. How he shouldn't feel so sick simply by not feeling her in his arms.
Hearing her quiet murmurs and keeping sharp attention on her injured arm as she tried to get comfortable, Cross felt autopilot switch on. He moved to take off her boots first, untying the tight knot and loosening them so they’d slip off as easily as possible. Not wanting to make a mess, he sat them beside the other pair with a tug in his conscious as to what to do next. Her jumpsuit didn’t look comfortable, and with the sleeves tied around her waist he didn’t like how the bulky fabric limited her movement.
It was a respectful act of getting the uniform off. Untying the knotted sleeves, and pulling the zipper the rest of the way down to expose a pair of underwear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Black, with a little frill along the edges, lacy little things. They looked so fragile he couldn’t believe they could even be sold let alone bought. It was obvious that he wasn’t the most experienced when it came to the full act of intimacy. Mostly it came down to the bare necessities being removed -or pulled to the side- so neither party had to spend more than a few hasty minutes finding release. He’d been with a few women before… but none of them had ever worn anything quite like these. And he'd not spent more than half an hour with any of them because he didn't care to. The dichotomy between her starched uniform and those elegant black panties made for a hell of an image that Crosshair didn’t have the benefit of circumstance to appreciate fully.
Cross tried not the let his gaze linger in any one place for too long; Each inch of skin revealing itself as he eased the trash-worthy uniform off her legs. Balling it up and throwing it into the bin sitting next to her desk. He’d locked the door, avoided security cameras in the halls and made a mess of the two medics all to get to this moment. There was nothing left to do but leave her to sleep.
Yours…
It echoed in his mind. A cruel joke he’d have to live with for the rest of his life. There wasn’t much of a meaning behind it after taking account for the painkillers in her system. If he was being honest, her recognizing him in the first place was quite the miracle. Fruitlessly, he was grabbing at fictional proof. He meant nothing to everyone; just a number to be catalogued and ordered around like a droid. And he didn’t believe in giving anyone hope that he was anything different. He’d been created to kill and die on a battle field, not debate why it was a bad idea to lay next to her and make sure she didn’t roll over onto her injured arm.
Cross.
Even his name sounded better coming from her mouth. It was his brother’s nickname for him, but she’d never heard anyone call him that before. It was just the way she seemed to be wired; To make everyone feel more human, like they were supposed to have names instead of numbers. Duchess honestly believed that clones deserved humanity when they didn’t know how to be human in the first place. Nothing she did made any sense to him. She liked to fight against him, but wouldn’t stand up to the General who was undoubtedly the reason she’d been injured in the first place. The plasma burn was an serious injury, but she was still adamant that she get back to work less than a day later.
That wouldn’t a problem anymore, he’d make sure she never left Kamino without it being on her own terms.
Anything was possible when it came to orders from Coruscant; There was a bubble of ignorance that surrounded the planet, leaving everyone else to simply say ‘yes sir’ and complete the order at all costs. Finish the job with no mistakes, otherwise the punishment by superiors is worse than death by the enemy. Crosshair’s decision to see her tonight had ended with blood and a fight; The exact opposite of what he knew was best for her. He realized that watching from a distance would keep her safer than this up close intervention; Carrying her away from trouble was just a different kind of risk all in itself. Few times did Cross like playing dangerous games, and for the past year he’d been playing a game that could very well end in messily all because Duchess had taken permanent residence in his head. Distance was the only way to keep both of them safe. It was this thought that forced Crosshair to leave just minutes after getting her settled and head straight to the range hall with her data pad still tucked into his belt.
***
Duchess woke up to cold wind blowing from the air return onto her bare legs. Her sheets were kicked off and laying half on the bed, half on the floor. She was slow to clear the fog in her mind, and recall that she’d been in the med bay before now. It made sleeping in her underwear and t-shirt far more uncomfortable, realizing that she didn’t remember a karking thing after walking into the med bay. Even her treatment was absent in her recollection, and the thick bandages were the only thing proof the entire thing wasn’t a dream.
Her datapad and blasters sat on the desk across the room, which made her question if she’d really came back by herself. She never slept with her weapons so far out of reach, especially if she thought she couldn’t fight off a threat. And with one arm out of commission, it would’ve been a no-brainer to keep them close. The boots she’d worn were sitting next to the civvie pair she wore on days off… instead of next to the foot of the bed. Then, the balled up jumpsuit she’d worn caught her attention. It was tossed into the trash can, with giant holes marring the right sleeve. Above all, she noticed the bandage over where she assumed an IV line had been placed. It wasn’t med bay issue. If anything it looked like a field-kit bandage that troopers were issued for deployments. The thick material was far different than the flimsy one she would’ve been given by a nurse droid for such a small little pinprick. All of it counted as memories that just weren’t anywhere in her mind. Overwhelming for how quickly she’d woken up, still battling a trace of whatever medicine she’d been given.
It was a slow process to get up and grab her datapad. Her jaw dropped upon seeing that she’d slept somewhere close to 54 hours… Her alarm hadn’t even gone off, and after further inspection she realized it’d been turned off. She’d missed two entire shifts, and there wasn’t a single thing she could do to make up for it. Somewhere in the back of her mind there was a voice saying she’d been obligated to be present for a meeting or appointment at her office, but she couldn’t be so sure by how fast her head was spinning. A huge error on her part… but those meds had been far stronger than she’d expected necessary considering her injury. Anxiety formed a knot in her throat, and she felt like throwing up. She only had one day to prepare for her meeting with General Krell, and there wasn’t an ice cubes chance on Mustafar of getting an extension.
By some cancellation she did get a copy of her injury report sent from the medical wing with full details. Whoever treated her had been more than forthcoming by adding in the scans of her arm without the prompting she’d expected to be necessary. At the bottom of the sheet, her discharge wasn’t filled out, however her attending medic -Tabs- had signed off on it anyways. Dutch bit her lip when that name just didn’t ring a bell. But her day had to start somewhere, and that meant going back to the med bay to get her arm looked at again… and maybe something to help with the pain that was beginning to thrum under the wrappings with her constant movement.
She arrived to find two droids who were patiently waiting for her at the door, and quickly set to work on getting her back up to speed on what exactly her treatment had been two nights ago and more importantly what was expected of her to get healed back. They warned her scarring was probable on the more damaged parts of her wrist, but she’d shrugged it off. Duchess knew what she was risking when she’d started that stress test in the first place; And with so little time to finish her work, a few scars were the least of her concern.
“Where’s Tabs?” She asked the droid reapplying some thick gel over her arm, watching it pause as if in thought.
“Medic 3497 is not attending today.” It responded after a quick dive into whatever circuitry held it’s memory and working schedule.
It was the extent of her conversation with the droid who’d been undeniably rough with her; Holding back whimpers and groans was hard when you were trying to think of a response to useless conversation that all droids tried to make. Thankfully the process wasn’t extended, and with a small bottle of painkillers in her pocket, she left the bay almost in a jog to get far away from the poking and prodding tendencies of nurse droids. It had reapplied bandages from the bend of her elbow to halfway down her fingers, making any real work impossible with her dominant hand. She winced trying to force her fingers into bending, but each one was slightly swollen and tightly wrapped straight. There was no way she could shoot anything with her hand like this.
She met a trooper at her office door, peering into her windows and knocking when he didn’t see movement inside. Under his arm he held a few datapads that looked like they had her name written all over them.
“Can I help you trooper?”
“Yes ma’am. Are you the Weapons Director?” He asked in that dry, professional, tone.
“Yeah. Whatcha got for me?” She pointed with her good hand at the datapads he held onto, watching as he hesitated to hand her three of them. Only then did he notice her other mummified hand hanging limply at her side. His bucket tilted a little, and then she realized that he wasn’t going to let her carry them if he could do it for her.
“Ma’am.” His placating tone was in full effect despite the modulation his helmet offered.
“On my desk will be fine.”
As if her day wasn’t strange enough, the lights in her office were already turned on. And sitting on her desk was a cup of caf… But she could see the steam curling over the lip of the cup like it’d been freshly poured. She’d not been present for two days; No caf in the galaxy was good enough to stay warm for that long. Even her collection of datapads were rearranged into stacks and put into the wire baskets that deemed them suitable to be sent away, or still needed work done. Unlike two nights ago, there wasn’t a single datapad that still needed work finished. All of them were moved to be sent out. And without question, the trooper she’d just met picked sat down the three he’d been sent to deliver, and picked up the other stack in her basket.
“Umm. Let me check this one.” She asked weakly, picking up a particular one that she’d marked off as a two hour job. Scrolling through to see the document had been completely finished, and her digital signature was signed at the bottom of the document. Duchess had a funny feeling that the rest of them were filled out the exact same way.
“Director?” The patient trooper prodded her to thaw from staring at the finished report.
“Sorry about that… Go ahead and take them.” She smiled to hide her absolute puzzlement, gesturing to the door. “Don’t shut it, I’ll be out right behind you.” The trooper nodding silently, raising his free hand in a little wave as he exited.
My quarters… now my office? She thought staring down at the steaming cup of caf.
Dutch brought it to her nose and sniffed a couple times before taking a sip. There was a perfect bitterness to it, and she whined quietly for it was exactly what she’d been needing to get herself jumpstarted. It couldn’t have been sitting there for more than a few minutes… and with that trooper standing there when she’d arrived, it made the gap even smaller for how the mystery person had left it there. Everything else aside, they’d either been really lucky or they knew that she liked her caf plain: without milk or sugar.
Either by the fresh meds in her system, or her work deadline looming in the back or her mind; Duchess didn’t let the kind gesture bother her too much. She never made habits of locking her office door, so anyone could’ve opened it up and brought caf to the wrong office. What she really worried about was the range hall, and the plasma she’d neglected to clean up. There was going to be a huge mess… and she’d have to comm for a droid to come and get the plasma up off the floor and the shooting bench. That is, it is wasn’t damaged beyond repair.
On her way to the range, she comm’ed for a clean-up crew to come and take care of the mess.
“Hello. This is GAR officer 060800, I’m requesting immediate caustic material clean-up in the range hall.” She put on her best ‘director’ voice, hearing a long pause on the other end.
Eventually a voice came through on the other end with a confused lilt. “Ma’am your earlier order was completed at o’seven hundred hours yesterday.” He paused to let her take in the new information. “Was there another exposure since then?”
In that moment, Duchess walked into the range hall to see that there wasn’t a single trace of plasma anywhere. Even the air smelled of cleaner instead of the sour scent of the plasma fluid she’d been burned with. All of her crates were just where they’d been left last, but there were datapads sitting on top of a few that she’d not gotten to yet. The table at the back of the room was clean, and all of the flimsi files there sorted into two neat stacks that she had no personal knowledge of ever making.
“Director? Is everything okay ma’am?” The worried trooper on her commlink brought her from her astonishment.
“Uhh… Everything’s fine.” She rushed out. “Sorry about that. I must’ve forgot, it’s been a long day.” She murmured aloud, shaking her head at how fucking bizarre all of this was.
“I understand ma’am. Have a good day.” The light beep of her comm ended the conversation with the soldier who’d probably had the strangest conversation of his life with her.
She practically stumbled up to the first crate and took the datapad off the top. It glowed to life with an impressive data store of notes, figures, and specs for a blaster that she’d literally not had in her hands on yet. Each note was meticulous, speaking of details just like she would have about everything from energy cell durability to mentioning how ROF was inconsistent after prolonged used on -not just this particular blaster- but on BlasTech’s entire range of models sent to her. There were POV videos that showed these inconsistencies… but the sound was missing, and so wasn’t any hint at who the shooter was. It was a full work-up on this blaster. And there were three other crates that had been left the exact same way.
Duchess sat the pad down, and repeated the same process with the remaining crates. Each one was exhaustive down to the smallest element, and she found herself sitting on the floor of the range hall with datapads spread around her, glaring blue light making her growing incomprehension stagger higher than the skyscrapers on Coruscant. All of the work she’d needed to complete was finished. It was a astonishing amount of work for anyone to do, let alone someone besides herself -who knew the most about these weapons. Between the time it took for physical tests and then the time to record certified details on forms the math of how they’d managed it literally didn’t add up.
She thought of Crosshair immediately. After all he was the only one who had access other than herself. But that idea just wasn’t possible with the data that she had gathered. He was on-mission as far as she knew, after checking the last time the Bad Batch had checked in any left-over ordinance after their last mission; Meaning they’d been gone for at least three weeks and still hadn’t returned. Dutch had even been quick enough to check the range hall logs for any use in the past two days just in case the armory logs hadn’t been updated yet. But there wasn’t a single person who’d entered since she left the night of her injury. It left her with no viable suspect, and a huge gratitude with no one to give it to.
In her time spent overlooking the data files, there was just one thing that looked out of place amongst the overwhelming perfection. Each procedural section was filled out in a mirror of her own language and nuances, but there was one difference. Whoever had taken it upon themselves to help her, had given themself a name. Or at least an identifying title that would serve as their name in the files and on the video titles.
They called themself Duke.
Duchess almost laughed when she saw that. It was a purposeful moniker, and one that she was certain didn’t have a purpose aside from letting her know that they knew her. They weren’t necessarily taunting her, but it was certain that they expected to keep their real name hidden in the process of giving her a vague hint as to their identity. She appreciated their sense of humor, and tried to take in in stride despite feeling guilty for not being able to make it up to them any way she could.
Whoever thought they were the Duke to her Duchess was more than deserving of the title. Dutch just hoped that they weren’t too beaten down… Testing one weapon to completion in a day was a huge undertaking; Easily far more than she could accomplish. But to finish four in under 54 hours? That sounded inhuman… and maybe some of it had been finished with the assistance of a droid. Either way, Duke deserved everything she had to offer in thanks. And she already knew where to start.
With General Krell.
***
The batch retired to the bunk room after the second night of meals without their resident sniper joining them. It wasn’t particularly odd for Crosshair to disappear for long stints after a mission, but there hadn’t been a single word from him over comm either. However the sight of him sleeping in his bunk surprised them far more than it ever had before. It was kriffing unusual, and all four of them immediately noticed the many signs that something was different about their little brother.
Out of character, he’d taken off his armor and left it in a scattered pile on the floor. Little curls were forming at the tips of his hair -long overdue for a haircut- with water droplets maintaining a damp glossy look. Long legs sprawled out over the bunk, with one half-hanging off the side and resting on his pack at the end of the bed. Instead of sleeping on his back like standard, he laid belly down with his arms over his head and crossed at the wrists. Even the top half of his blacks were discarded on the floor, putting a multitude scars hidden by thick black tattoos on display under the yellow tinted work-lamp Tech left on as a nightlight. His back rose and fell deeply, and it was plainly obvious that he’d worked himself to exhaustion at the range hall. His arms had notable definition, his traps, lats and shoulders looked practically swollen with how overworked they were, and the arteries in his arms still hadn’t deflated, giving him a fresh-out-of-sparring look that none of his brothers had seen in a long time. Each man stared at Crosshair’s passed-out slumber with wide eyes and the same question forming in their mind.
What has he been doing all this time?
Hunter had a good idea, as did Echo since he’d been the only other brother privy to the situation Crosshair had been dealing with. The two had spoken about it once or twice, but they hadn’t gotten into specifics. More so vague comments passed between each other that wouldn’t catch Tech or Wrecker’s attention. Hunter gently nudged Echo and gave a curt nod that only assured the ARC that his suspicions were correct. Neither of them had been involved as deeply as Cross had been, but it was obvious what he’d asked of them wasn’t nearly as strenuous as they’d first believed.
“I believe he’s down for the count. Don’t you think?” Tech chuckled quietly, before pushing his goggles up a little higher on his nose.
Wrecker laughed low enough to not wake his little brother, “I’ll say. He looks like we did after that mission on Yalbec Prime.” He turned to Hunter and Echo standing behind them, “Almost bigger than you Echo.”
“Stow it Wrecker.” Echo grumbled back. “He looks dead.”
“On occasion so do-”
“I said quit it.” Echo wouldn’t let Tech get the last word in. Shoving between them to get to his bunk next to Crosshair.
The otherwise silent bond Echo and Crosshair had, Hunter watched as it presented itself before him. Echo knelt down and began picking up Cross’ armor piece by piece and stacking it just like they’d been taught to do as cadets. Chest and back plate first, followed by thighs and so on. It wasn’t often that any of them showed comradery in such a deliberate way. But since Echo had joined the batch, Hunter found himself noticing how the ARC’s little idiosyncrasies often surfaced in acts like this. Cleaning up after someone when they couldn’t do it themselves, offering to take weight off a heavy pack on mission, all of them could be shrugged off as Echo just being anal about things being clean or just wanting to do things himself; But Hunter could see that he was just being a brother.
From his bunk across the room Hunter stared at Crosshair for a long time. Trying to get a read on him without the typical need to hide his investigative looks and unconsciously deep inhales. Growing up Crosshair was always quiet, as far back as Hunter could remember Cross was the last to quit at anything, even if it mean getting hurt or punished. For all his personal attempts to get his little brother to take a break -even for a minute- age had only made Crosshair that much more obstinate. But it came with a high price. Echo hadn’t been far off when he’d said Cross was sleeping like the dead. Sleep was a rare thing for Crosshair, even if he’d never admit it openly. But tonight there wasn’t a chance that anything could wake him up.
“I finished that last report a few hours ago.” Echo admitted quietly, sitting down next to Hunter and taking up his own watch over Crosshair. “Do you know what he was doing?” He asked quietly, staring down at his scomp link and spinning it manually with his fingers.
“Not really. I was just supposed to distract Tech long enough that Cross could get his datapad away from him for a little while.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling a little tension beginning to build at the base of his skull. “Did you figure it out?”
“Hunter, he was doing her weapons testing…” Hunter’s surprised expression seemed to make him pause. “She got injured badly enough for suspension. Apparently they have a relationship that I’m just not aware of.” Echo huffed, sounding a frustrated with the situation. “I think he’s trying to keep her from losing her job. General Krell is overseeing her.”
Hunter sat marveling at Echo’s news, and how it was the last puzzle piece that he’d been searching for all day to answer a question that had been lingering after a meeting he’d been asked to attend alone. One with General Plo Koon, who’d been very adamant that he come alone, without the assistance of his brothers.
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to work.” He said with a dry chuckle, shaking his head when he finally realized what kind of situation he was going to deal with in the following days.
“What do you mean? Did your reports and mine not get the job done?” Echo was already beginning to ask the wrong questions and jump to the more obvious conclusion. However Hunter couldn’t blame him, because he just didn’t have all the information yet.
“I was given orders that there will be a transfer into our unit.” Echo looked more shocked than Hunter had ever seen him before.
“You can’t be serious…” They both looked to Crosshair with the shared understanding that their little brother had gone out of his way to protect Duchess. Only to have his private toiling ruined before she even had the chance to give that presentation tomorrow morning.
“And there’s more.” Hunter wasn’t fan of dropping bombshells on anyone, especially his brothers. But there wasn’t much he could do other than pray Echo wasn’t taking this as hard as he knew Crosshair was going to. “Remember how she said she’s only been in combat once?”
“Yeah. Something about getting shot down or something.”
“That was true to an extent. She was shot down, and had a forced landing. But she was a heavy gunner for a unit before being promoted.” Hunter felt a weight in his gut settle as he saw realization wash over Echo. Each of them understanding without words that she’d been part of a unit before… “She’s had over thirty confirmed missions.”
“Did they?” Echo’s question was cut short by his own aversion of talking about death in any scope of conversation if it was avoidable.
“All five were evac’ed on a med ship. But from what I was told, nothing could be done for them.” Hunter retold the most necessary information, leaving out most of the details simply for Echo’s sake. The ARC could make a more than accurate guess what happened to Duchess’ unit once they were deemed unfit for duty without him being explicit.
“You know he’s going to fight this order.” Echo murmured lowly, glancing back at Crosshair again with softened eyes than mirrored Hunter’s. “I think she’s… special to him. As strange as that is to think about.”
Hunter blew out a breath he’d not realized he was holding, and looked down at the scuffed toes of his boots with a knowing glare directed at whatever force was working so hard to test them. He knew it was the GAR, but a soldier couldn’t lose his dutifulness for it just didn’t happen so easily. It wasn’t that Duchess would be part of the unit. He didn’t particularly care simply because he’d seen her battle reports. She could hold her own, and it wouldn’t be hard for her to fit in amongst the major percentage of the squad. Tech would be far too happy to have someone listen to his ramblings, Wrecker liked literally everyone, and Echo was already fairly accepting of the change. As for himself, he knew that she wouldn’t be much of a distraction based off the character he’d seen so far. After all, if she could deal with Crosshair there wasn’t much else in the galaxy that could shake her from responsibilities or pressure. No, her orders to join them wouldn’t be an issue. It was going to be how Crosshair handled admitting that his protectiveness hadn’t been good enough to save her from the one thing Crosshair hated more than anything… War.
***
Duchess was nervous to give her report. It was bad enough she couldn’t stuff her arm into the sleeve of her uniform, so she’d been forced to forgo a professional appearance and lean solely on her information and -hopefully- a little perseverance to deal with General Krell. His pessimism was particularly suffocating, and there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it without risking her position, and more importantly her struggle to stay on Kamino after such a long fight of trying to get here. Every detail of her testing, and that which ‘Duke’ had done were memorized. The data had been sent to the Generals yesterday, and at this point all she could do was plead her case to Jedi Master Plo, knowing that Krell had already made up his mind.
Dutch felt confident up until the second the hologram glowed to life. There she saw Krell looking sinister as ever with a wide smile that made her stomach flip instinctually. A sudden urge to throw up overcame her, and she hid her bandaged arm behind her back to prevent the evil man from finding any more ammunition to use against her. It didn’t matter though, because he looked overwhelmingly satisfied with himself. To his right, Master Plo looked utterly disappointed. His shoulder were slumped slightly, and all of the controlled justice he’d displayed in his previous meetings with her looked as if it’s been doused in cold water. It was in that moment Duchess realized that nothing she said today was going to matter… That something had happened, and there was a plan already in motion that was going to prove Krell had the upper hand.
“Generals.” She nodded stiffly, putting on a stiff parade rest and a staunch look of indifference to greet the two. Both men nodded in silent acknowledgement, only adding to the growing knot forming in her throat. “How must I proceed?”
“That won’t be necessary dear.” Plo put up a placating hand, in the pixels she could see his eyes crinkle in the slightest. Something she’d figured out to be his version of smiling. “Your reports were highly insightful and concurred with the evidence that other proctors found.” He said gently. However she still didn’t feel happy because Krell was still smiling like a blood sucking leech.
“I’m not sure I understand General.”
“Your testing phase has been completed. And by order of the Chancellor himself, there is no further need to allow the weapons aforementioned to be contracted by our military forces.” He explained.
“However.” Krell snarled happily, driving a knife right through her gut. “I have yet to inform you that the Chancellor has dictated orders for live combat testing of previously approved ordnances.” Duchess stared at Krell with a clenched jaw, desperately trying to hide the thrashing undercurrent of emotions coiling around her lungs and squeezing at her heart as she finally understood why he’d been so damn happy about this meeting. Live combat testing meant front line battles with a unit of troopers. It meant she’d been assigned to a squad, and be deployed just like… just like she’d done with them.
Your lie is coming to an end. And there’s nothing you can do about it anymore.
The time it took to come to the realization felt like years, when in reality it’d only been a few seconds since Krell had spoken her future into reality. All of her hard work had paid off, but a new punishment came. She’d fought to keep the troopers fighting out there well-protected; But in that sacrifice she didn’t realize that Krell was going to make her pay for it by sending her out to the front lines… again.
“When will I deploy?” The words felt heavy in her mouth, it’d been years since she asked that question. There was an edge to it, and both Generals caught on quickly. Each one responding in opposite ways that whiplashed her senses. Her whole body tremored as she waited for the two men to converse between themselves.
Krell mumbled something far too low for her to make out, before shoving a datapad into Plo’s taloned hands, simply walking out of view with a slew of grumbled curses and complaints. It was the exit she’d expected, but part of her wanted to scream that he come back and explain to her why live combat was the next suitable step for her career priorities. As if she’d not spent her time clawing up the ladder to avoid facing the same pain and heartbreak she’d experienced the last time she’d set foot on a gunship.
“My dear child… I regret to say that I had no ability to stop this from happening.” Plo sighed, tilting his head down as if he was trying to console a small little girl who’d scraped her knee. “This ordinance is unavoidable I’m afraid, and General Krell has given me the heavy responsibility of briefing you.”
She nodded stoically, unwavering in her desire to just fight off the frustration and anger threatening to spill over. “Yes sir.”
“You’ll be on-mission in two days. Further recon intelligence will be sent to you at the close of this meeting.” Plo let out a particularly heavy sigh, “Are you still in possession of your armor kit?” He asked quite miserably, mirroring her own woe as she thought to the plastoid sitting at the bottom of her clothes chest.
“Yes sir.”
“Very well.” He nodded quite gracefully, reminding her of how openly he’d shown his emotions and how unusual it was for a Jedi to do such things. However Plo was very intent on making sure she understood how opposed he was to all of this. It was more than she deserved to have such a kind man -whom she really didn’t know that well- being so cautious of her feelings and taking a strong interest in why she was almost shaking in her boots.
“I know your past to a small degree… But it’s nothing compared to the feelings you’re experiencing.” His head tilted down further in sadness. “It’s a very small consolation, but I can assure you that I was able to make one amend in your favor dear girl.”
“Master Plo, I’m forever grateful. But you should’ve have done anything for me.” She smiled weakly, hoping he couldn’t tell how miserably she felt. “W-what did you do?” She stuttered heavily upon asking the unprofessional question, praying Plo didn’t see it as a sign of weakness, but one of trust and respect for his actions.
“You’re being assigned to a unit with exceptional skills. You live on Kamino, therefore I was very motivated to keep you there as often as possible.” He smiled again.
“What number?” It was the most breathless she’d even been, waiting for the answer. Going through the list of units she knew of, and how many of them didn’t return to Kamino. There were only a few who called this wet rock home, and she never expected what Plo finally said.
