Oh man so I just binged all of your works (100/10 loved them so much holy moly) and was kicking my feet in the air and giggling when reading Ghosts description of his dream home. Bc I’m literally laying in my bed with a skylight 3 feet above my head looking at the stars just KNOWING he’d love it
Hi baby, 🤍 I’m actually jealous beyond belief!!
But sweet baby Ghost would ADORE laying there with you. Although, I would need to warn you. He’s not gonna be able to stop from pointing out every single constellation he sees and telling you all about them.
Hey, I just came by to tell you that you are such a good writer! I been reading your fic of Crosshair and gosh🥺 you have me on the edge of my seat the whole time! And I love the fact that the chapters are are so well written and long as well. So really from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for creating it, you truly are amazing and have a gift on that craft. I hope you can continue writing because I can't wait to see and read how it evolves👏💜
Thank you, babe you're too sweet. 🤍
Sorry I haven't gotten to you till now, my messages have been a total garbage fire.
helloooo i absolutely fell in love with your phantom squad ocs 🥺🥺🥺 if its still okay, would it be alright to ask you to write more for them? like how they'd act around the person they like and such, particularly for ghost or specter? these boys have a tight grip on my heart i swear
A/N: Since I'm trying to ease into things, I will work with the man who inspired Phantom Squad for me, and that's Specter. By the way, thank you for requesting in the first place!
T/W's: Female-coded reader, intimacy, Specter being a total walking red-flag, daddy issues, sexual themes… def not proofread.
Behind Closed Doors - Specter
Honestly, a lot of the time you're dating Specter he's going to be off somewhere unknown. But even if he's home, there's a really good chance you won't even realize he's there unless he wants you to know. This man is the embodiment of black smoke wafting around in the shadowed corners of your house, silently watching and listening to everything you do. Depending upon how long he's been away or what's really heavy on his mind, will determine just how long Specter waits before making his spectral appearance human. It could be coming back from a particularly harsh mission, either physical or emotional. No doubt Specter wouldn’t admit to feeling weak mentally, but you would be able to tell the moment that he makes himself visible to you.
Oftentimes, he gives you a start; either walking into your bedroom without announcing himself in the middle of the night or just slipping through a window you didn’t even know was unlocked. He comes up behind you to snake his arms around your waist or present you with a necklace coincidentally in the shape of his hand. He always wears his armor when coming in, and at first, that can be a little unsettling as well. But by the time you convince him to stay and settle in for a little while, he’ll oblige just enough to take off his plastoid. But he still prefers wearing a thin facemask that covers the bottom half of his face around your house and even when sleeping. Typically you’re the one who has to make subtle hints about what you’d like to do with him since he’ll almost act like a skittish, feral, animal you’ve trapped in your home. Of course, there are occasions when he’s bursting through the front door like a man on a mission, knowing exactly what he wants from you, and how he’s going to get it in multiple different ways.
Most of the time, he’s very quiet and all-around broody even if he’s in quite a good mood. Really he’s not meaning to act quite so irritable, but it comes down to how long he’s able to stay, what kind of state you’re in, and how long he’s been away. Whether he’d ever admit to it, he’s never happy about leaving you for more than a couple of weeks at a time. Personally, it just feels like an abandonment of his duties and responsibilities to you, and will always be extra quiet and standoffish when it’s been longer. Although if you’re new to the relationship you might think you’ve done something wrong, Specter is actually just punishing himself for not being around more and taking care of you like he believes he is supposed to. The longer you are around him, the more you’ll take notice of the small ways he denies himself access to you as punishment for things out of his control.
That typically means he won’t touch you for hours after returning home to you. Even if you’re expecting him, and have the chance to be waiting to hug him right as he enters the door, he won’t hug you back. The stubborn and impossible man will just stand there stiffly, his head and gaze held straight and staring ahead as if getting affection from you at all is something he’s not allowed to enjoy or admit to loving. You could kiss him, hug him, practically crawl all over him with excitement that he’s come back safe, and for the most part, in one piece, and he won’t allow you or himself a single moment of relief until he’s suitably punished himself or lost the will to due to how you look so utterly heartbroken that he won’t reciprocate right away.
This makes it more frustrating because of the type Specter has. Often the women he ends up being with are quite affectionate physically and would admit to touch being a -of not their most- significant love language. He's always gravitated towards the shy and somewhat submissive girls. The ones who aren’t exactly whiney, but would most definitely cry if they got yelled at. The Phantoms often make the joke that he likes women with daddy issues and joke that it’s a good thing he's willing -and enjoys- being called “daddy”. It’s not a jab they make often, for should he hear them, it would no doubt end in a fight that wouldn’t end until blood is drawn. That never meant that Specter would deny the accusation. He couldn’t deny the truth that he liked the really soft girls. Aside from the matter of him being the most fucked up and hardened bastard of his brothers.
Once his self-denial is over though, things will always start off slowly. His unconsciously habitual need to sit you on his lap and just look over you and touch you is the first thing he does. Whether on the couch, in a chair, on the edge of the bed… anywhere he can sit down and haul you onto his lap, he’s going to drop everything and do it.
"Come here, let me see my pretty little pet..."
You assume it’s due to the years of after-mission experiences with his brothers being hurt that he does it. Meticulously looking over your whole body, touching softly, noting any marks you might have -and he always notices- and clicking his tongue as if even the smallest scuff on your hand or leg is the worst of the galaxy’s offenses. You always feel very looked after during these moments though, feeling his hands and eyes scanning over you gently. Giving you the first real moment of closeness with him after weeks or months without hearing his voice or seeing his face. Even the pinches of his thigh plates against your skin don’t phase you or draw attention away from his careful and immensely serious inspection.
Sometimes, if you’re clever enough, or just downright persistent, you’ll be able to return the favor. Getting to see under his armor and blacks in clear light, looking over new and old scars and tattoos, making your own small sounds of disapproval when you find a particularly nasty gash or another injury that looks far too serious for his less-than-caring attitude. Much in the way of his other protective instincts towards you, he’s almost always going to hide away his injuries and work from you. He’s of the unchanging opinion that you’re too sweet and innocent to hear even a single thing about his dark and twisted life away from you, and he’s hellbent on keeping it that way. It wouldn’t matter if you traveled with them between planets with plenty of knowledge about weapons, protecting yourself, and other less than savory knowledge, spending your time sightseeing in the more touristy cities and lounging in his bunk; You wouldn’t know any more than he’d allow, and that meant almost nothing. He needed it that way, to ensure what little sliver of sanity he did possess, didn’t dissolve.
"It's nothin' little one, can't kill me that easy..."
Specter enjoys time behind closed doors with you, almost stalking you from up close. The smallest domestic things you do give him an almost sexually pleasing satisfaction that he’s never gotten from anyone else. You’re cooking dinner? He’s already thinking about how he can bend you over the kitchen table. Reading a book? The sick idea of making you read out loud while he’s between your legs making you scream, comes to mind. Laundry? Specter likes the idea of tying you up with that scrap of a t-shirt you’re attempting to fold. He's a twisted pervert half the time, and it's a miracle you've even able to extricate yourself from his grasp on days he's totally unable to control himself.
"You're playing with fire, pet."
"I'm... taking off my makeup?"
"Why don't you let me make a mess of it first?"
You’re just so sweet and little that it makes everything you do almost irresistibly attractive and cute. Not to mention just how excited you are about seeing him… It strokes his ego watching you squeal and grin so big, talking about how much you missed him and how worried you were that he wasn’t safe. You often remind him of a little kitten or puppy when you act like that; so much so he can practically imagine what you would look like with a tail wagging incessantly behind you. It’s why he enjoys calling you his pet so much, there’s just too much resemblance.
Quite often, you’ll find yourself putting off some task or activity you’d planned with him all because he’s got you curled up in his lap: petting you softly, rubbing your back, running his fingers through your hair, and acting as if there’s nothing he’d rather concern himself with doing. Specter will never admit to liking cuddling, but there’s no doubt he puts himself in very ‘cuddly’ positions consistently. And as long as you don’t call attention to it, he won’t ever stop. When he’s in a particularly good mood, he’ll talk to you about his ‘missions’, or more accurately, how his brothers are and some of the things he noticed that he felt like you’d be interested in hearing about. Personally, he thinks it’s all trivial, talking about the natives on planets and how they celebrate birthdays, Revenant running across a litter of homeless tookas and how he brought them to a family close by to take care of, or Ghost finding a small piece of a meteor and giving it to him to bring home to you. It’s all… useless, in the grand scheme of things.
But he can’t help but feel addicted to seeing how you lay your head in his lap and stare up at him with innocent, rapt, attention as he talks about whatever little things he think will interest you. Sure, he could leave it all unsaid and stop concerning himself with remembering to find things to tell you about, but that just doesn’t settle right with him. He’s going to always do everything he can to keep you away from his work and the risks of planet-hopping, but he wants to share some of it with you in a meaningful way. Especially when you bite your lip and grin really big when he complains about his brothers doing something stupid, and you don’t see it as annoying, but find it funny, and want to know about more occasions when they’ve done something similar or he’s acted in such a way. He finds it funny how you enjoy him. More than for what he can provide, or what his skills are. You just like to be near him, and it’s so strange considering other than his brothers, that no one else has ever felt that way.
So no matter how long he’s away or feels like he’s abandoned you, he keeps coming back in the middle of the night to see you. Silently begging for forgiveness for being so cruel and heartless, but unable to stay away from you like he knows damn well he should. He’ll spend his days doing a whole lot of nothing, eating home-cooked food, catching up on sleep when his body can’t take it anymore, finding ways to amuse himself by toying with you in every way he can think of late into the night, and putting all of your broken pieces together after he’s finished by turning on one of those shows you can’t ever stop re-watching, and holding you tight in his lap with his hands running over you, reminding himself that there’s a lot of useless things he does so habitually that they really can’t be considered useless if he does them for you.
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 🙃
I just discovered your writing and I’ve been binging it like crazy, you’re amazing!!!
Do you think you’ll be completing “Coriolis Effect”? I’m obsessed with it 🙈
Hi there lovely,
First off, thank you so very much. I love seeing people enjoy my writing, it gives me the best fulfillment in putting joy into your life even if only for a little while. <3
And yes, while I've been neglecting my account -and writing- for quite a long time, (You're my first real interaction in months...) I do plan on finishing out Coriolis Effect without taking any shortcuts.
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.”
“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.”
.
Artistic liberties where taken (I’m gay and wanted to draw buff women in tank top).
But yk Dutch is hot so it works! I want to draw more of her (or at least my interpretation of her) but for now here’s the sketch I did to get some ideas out on paper. Mostly the Dutch braids, red hair and outgrown silver hair. Anyways read this fic it cured my depression from the end of season two
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.”
First, thank you for this ABSOLUTELY AMAZING CREATION!!!!!!! I will attempt to do this comment justice for all the amazing details you have put into this work.
When Batch was announced all those years ago, before we’d even seen any episode, I gravitated toward Crosshair. And then we got to see them in action and while I loved Cross, Tech took most of my heart and ran. But I’ve never stopped feeling that protectiveness toward Cross, and it’s risen exponentially as the show has progressed.
You have so eloquently written Crosshair in the way I’ve always imagined him to be. It’s that loyalty and protectiveness that I also identify with, and what also makes Dutch so near and dear to my heart as well now. I love they way you’ve written Dutch, I see the woman I want to be when I read her. Confident, intelligent, fierce, capable, loyal, loving, and protective. I would also do anything for the Batch, there is no limit to that.
I sincerely hope this gets finished at some point, I am DYINGGGGGG to see how Cross finally tells Dutch how he feels and how they both come to realize that they are stronger together and that TOGETHER is what they will always be.
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.”
Just in time for fall, some art for @uponrightful of their amazing commandos- the pod brothers of Phantom Squad!!! Thank you so much for trusting me with your boys, I simply love them 🥹🥹 I’m eagerly awaiting more of these handsome fellas’ storyline, go check out Coriolis effect and Phantom Squad Extras to read all about them!!
Click the image for better quality and transparent version under the cut!!
Summary: You can try to break your bad habits all you want but somehow you always end up here, with Fives.
Pairing: Fives x AFAB!Reader
Warnings/Tags: 18+ *MINORS DNI*, This is pretty much just pure smut (PiV, oral, face-fucking, fingering), Soft dom!Fives, Dom/Sub dynamics, Mention of safeword, Language, Drinking/Alcohol use, Toxic dynamics/Controlling behavior, Fluff ending, Brief appearence by Crosshair
Word Count: 5000
A/N: “Bad Habits” by Ed Sheeran has lodged itself in my brain and it won’t leave. So, like Fives, I’ve decided to make my problems into everyone else’s problems.
Almost no actual song references. Just a smutty lil piece about being addicted to another human. Also, I h/c that Fives likes control. It helps him push back against the fear and the feeling that the rest of the galaxy views him as just a number. Likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are always so appreciated!
I want it to be known I was looking for a specific gif under the phrase "tent sex" (For a future fic lol) and THIS GIF OF WOLFFE POPPED UP LMAO. So now I'm thinking of tent sex with Wolffe.
