#OC: Cerra Kilian | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dystopicjumpsuit · 3 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 22

The Desire

Rating: M - Minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 3.3k

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

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

Summary: 😏

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

Between the desire and the spasm

… falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

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

She nodded. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

Her breath stilled. “It is?”

“Since the moment I met you.”

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

He giggled quietly. “Are you serious?”

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

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

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

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

“Gregor,” she sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Yeah?”

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

“Should I grow it back out?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little help?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

“Bragging?” she teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart lurched.

“Please,” she whispered.

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

“Cerra…”

“I trust you,” she breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re no fun,” she pouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You imagined it?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she whispered. “So good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, love?”

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

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

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

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

”I love you, too.”

---

Next chapter

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

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dystopicjumpsuit · 3 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 23

Eyes I Dare Not Meet

Rating: M - Minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; unprotected PIV; a character is consensually pinned down during sex; discussion of blood, injury, violence, and character death; mentions of Plan 99; brief angst; fluff.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Cerra and Gregor return to Coruscant.

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

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams

In death’s dream kingdom

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Cerra woke gradually, surrounded by Gregor’s familiar warmth and scent. For once, no layers of blankets and clothing separated their bodies. He curled around her, his warm skin pressed against hers, his front against her back, his legs tucked behind her thighs, his arm wrapped around her waist, his breath soft against her neck.

She stretched luxuriously and arched her back, very intentionally rolling her ass against his hips. As she ground against him in leisurely, deliberate motions, she felt his cock harden rapidly.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “Are we in hyperspace?”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, stroking his hand lower down her belly. “How’s your shoulder?”

She rolled it experimentally, then glanced down to see that the bruise had already faded significantly thanks to the bacta. “Better. How’s my face?”

”Beautiful,” he replied.

She laughed. “I meant is the bruising better?”

He traced his fingers along her jaw and tilted her head so he could see her face. His thumb brushed over her lips. “The swelling is gone. Bruises are a little lighter.” He kissed her softly. “Did that hurt?”

”Not even a little bit,” she said. “But you should probably try again, just to be sure.”

He smiled and leaned in again, and her breath caught as she gazed into his eyes. Gods, he was so gorgeous. He hesitated before he kissed her, observing her closely.

”What’s on your mind?” he asked. “I recognize that expression.”

”I was just wishing I hadn’t wasted so much time when I could have spent it with you,” she replied.

”You did spend it with me,” he said, gliding his fingertips across her shoulder and down her arm.

”You know what I mean,” she said.

”Mm-hmm,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I just don’t think it was wasted time.”

”Still,” she said, “it feels like we have a lot of catching up to do.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled subtly as he smiled. “Well, it’s a hundred and six parsecs to Coruscant. Let’s make the most of it.”

He slipped his hand between her thighs and slowly dragged his fingers in circles around her clit. She breathed out a soft, contented sigh, tilting her head as his lips began to kiss a meandering path down her neck and shoulder. He shifted, and she felt the head of his cock drag along her ass and press between her thighs until it nudged against her cunt. She pushed back against him, and he slid into her languorously, moving with unhurried thrusts until he was seated fully inside her.

She was still sore from the previous night, and her body felt wonderfully drowsy and relaxed. Gregor’s stamina was mind-blowing. He’d fucked her for hours before they finally fell asleep, and even now she was too exhausted to move, but he touched her with gentle deftness as he rocked into her. Her pleasure gradually built with each slow, blissful drag of his cock, drawing hushed moans and sighs from her.

“I love the way you feel,” he whispered, his warm breath against her ear sending tingles racing down her neck. “So soft, so pretty. Do you like this?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckled.

He flattened his palm against her lower abdomen, pressing firmly to increase the stimulation of his cock, and she felt her orgasm building rapidly, her body tensing around him.

“Are you going to come for me, love? Will you give me one more?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, yes, fuck yes, oh gods, please—”

“Come on, then,” he coaxed. “Let me feel you.”

She yelped as her climax crashed into her, her muscles spasming uncontrollably, but Gregor didn’t slow his movements. His arms tightened around her, and he continued to thrust into her in a lazy, sensuous rhythm. He nuzzled his face against her short, velvety hair and kissed the soft skin just behind her ear.

“Can I have another?” he whispered.

She shook her head a little frantically. “I can’t.”

“I think you can,” he murmured. “One more, beautiful girl, and then you can have my cum.”

She shuddered.

“Mmm, did you like that?” he asked. “Do you like thinking about me filling this perfect little cunt until it drips out of you?”

She whimpered, her brain refusing to form words.

”I think you did. I could feel you tighten around me when I said it.”

”God,” she gasped.

“I’ll give you everything I have, sweetheart. All you have to do is come for me one more time. Will you do that for me?”

“I’ll try,” she panted.

“What do you need?” he asked. “Use your words, angel, tell me how you want me.”

“Harder,” she said raggedly.

“You want it harder?” he asked, thrusting deeply into her. “You want to feel what what I can do?”

“Yes, fuck yes!”

”You want me to fuck you like I wouldn’t do last night?”

”Please, gods,” she begged.

Still buried deep inside her, he gripped her hips and rolled her onto her stomach, straddling her thighs. He thrust hard and rough, and the additional pressure of her legs as he held them together made his cock feel impossibly thick. He took her hand in his, interlacing his fingers with hers as he pressed her into the mattress. The weight of his body on top of her, caging her in his arms and legs, made her feel utterly safe and protected, even as he forced the breath from her lungs with every punishing thrust.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped.

“Ye—yes,” she groaned. “Harder!”

He laughed quietly. “You asked for it.”

He increased his speed, setting a brutal pace that had her wailing and sobbing into the sheets, her words garbling into an endless stream of curses and pleading, until there were no words at all, only primal, unrestrained cries as she shattered into blinding ecstasy. Gregor followed her with a hoarse grunt, driving himself deep inside her as he flooded her with a rush of liquid heat.

He collapsed onto her, his breath coming in gusts. She reveled in the weight of him, the feel of his cock still lodged in her cunt as it slowly softened. When at last he raised himself from her body, she nearly begged him not to go, but he quickly pulled her into his arms as he pressed his lips to her forehead. Wrapped securely in his strong arms, she slept once again.

Cerra didn’t stir until Gregor cautiously began to extricate himself from the bed. She grumbled and latched onto him, prompting him to laugh quietly.

“I’m coming back,” he said. “I just need to check on navigation.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “You need to sleep, love. I’ll be back soon.”

She wanted to protest, but he was already gone. She must have dozed off immediately, because she felt like she had only blinked by the time he returned and crawled back beneath the blankets to hold her.

“Two more hours in hyperspace,” he said as she settled her head on his shoulder. “All the time in the galaxy.”

“We could just drop into realspace now,” she mumbled as she pressed her face against him. “Stay like this forever.”

”I think someone might come looking for us,” he observed.

”We could hang up a sign that says ‘nobody home.’”

“Mmm.” He stroked his hand across her shoulders. “Might get a little hungry.”

“Stop poking holes in my plan,” she said. “Besides, I have something you could eat.”

“You’re insatiable,” he laughed.

“I have two years of celibacy to make up for,” she pointed out. “Maybe not right now, though. I don’t know if I can even walk right now.”

“That’s certainly one way to keep you in my bed,” he said.

She sighed deeply. “I suppose we have to go back to real life eventually.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head with a quiet, contented sigh. “Not yet, though.”

They lay quietly, Gregor massaging her shoulders gently as Cerra drew tiny patterns on the bare skin of his torso with her fingertips. As tempting as it was to fake her death, kidnap Gregor, and disappear forever into Wild Space to find some lovely, remote moon where nobody would ever find them, Cerra knew that neither of them would ever seriously consider abandoning Rex and the others.

A thought occurred to her suddenly, and she felt a stab of guilt for not asking sooner. “Did anyone ever find out what happened to Nax?”

Gregor shook his head. “We looked for him, but we couldn’t find a trace. Rex put out the word to his network, but we haven’t heard anything yet. We’ll keep looking.”

“Even Echo couldn’t find anything?” she asked.

Gregor started to speak, then stopped.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Echo is gone,” he said.

Cerra’s heart lurched to a halt. Her mouth went dry, and her throat constricted suddenly.

“Wh-what?” she stammered. “How? When? Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Not like that!” he exclaimed. “He went back to the Batch. Oh, gods, Cerra, breathe!”

Relief flooded her, and she slapped his shoulder irritably. “Don’t scare me like that! I thought you meant—I thought—”

“He’s all right, Cerra,” Gregor soothed. “Big breath in.”

She inhaled obediently, held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled.

”Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, inhaling and exhaling at a slow, deliberate pace. “How long was I gone?”

He hesitated.

“How long?” she demanded.

“Over two weeks,” he admitted. “It took time to find you. We didn’t even know who’d taken you. By the time Rex’s contact—”

“Wolffe,” she interrupted.

“Eh?” Gregor looked startled.

“Rex’s inside man is Commander Wolffe,” she said. “I’m lucky he was able to get to me before Yularen’s pet sadist finished what he started.”

Gregor’s expression darkened. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

”Pretty kriffin’ sure,” she replied.

”Too bad. I’d have liked to tear him apart myself.”

She laughed quietly. “So bloodthirsty.”

”When the occasion calls for it.”

“You would have approved of the way I handled it, then. So much blood.” She shuddered. “Gross. I hope he didn’t give me anything nasty.”

”We’ll run a scan when we get back to the garage,” he said. “Pretty sure the senator can get us just about any meds we need.”

“Must be nice to have unlimited funds.”

Gregor hummed noncommittally, a pensive expression on his face. “There’s something I need to tell you, Cerra.”

Icy fear skittered down her spine at his somber tone. “What is it?”

“Echo might not be coming back.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded. “Why not?”

“His mission went bad. His team lost—a lot. Tech and Omega…” he trailed off.

“The kid is dead?” she asked, horrified.

“The Empire took her,” he replied.

“My gods,” she whispered.

“They’re going to get her back,” Gregor said firmly. “They’re not giving up, and neither are we.”

“Rex?” Cerra asked.

“He’s doing everything he can. For now, though, Echo is staying with the Batch. We might not see him for some time.”

“Kriff. Poor Echo,” she said. “What can we do to help?”

“I don’t know yet,” Gregor said, “but we’ll figure it out.”

“How?” she asked, feeling a wave of helplessness wash over her at the magnitude of their fight.

“The same way we always do,” Gregor said. “Together.”

The hectic swirl of Coruscant’s traffic was not nearly as relaxing to watch when Cerra was stuck in it. The airspeeder headlights were blinding; the crowded lanes were barely controlled chaos. Her brain—still in a haze of sex and exhaustion and stress and adrenaline—struggled to make sense of it all, and she was glad Gregor had offered to pilot the freighter.

It seemed to take hours before they made it through the frenzied upper level congestion and descended through the underworld portal. Level 1313 had many advantages, particularly for a group that relied on secrecy, but it undeniably had disadvantages, and one of them was the long kriffing commute.

“How am I supposed to rebel, resist, revolt under these conditions?” Cerra grumbled.

At last, the freighter docked on the landing platform, and Cerra hurried down the ramp. The garage seemed strangely full, though that might have been due to the way Fireball barrelled into her, pulling her into a crushing hug as Nemec and Rex crowded close, impatiently awaiting their turns. She buried her face against Fireball’s neck, and as she pulled away, she noticed a change.

“What’s this?” she asked, ruffling her fingers through his baby-pink hair that was noticeably longer than when she'd left.

“Nemec helped me dye it when we found out you were coming back,” Fireball grinned. “What do you think?”

“I think it suits you, just the way I said it would,” she laughed. “Pink is your color. Are you growing it out?”

He nodded. “Thought it might be a good idea to try to blend a little better.”

She laughed. “The pink will definitely help with that.”

“It’s temporary!” he exclaimed indignantly as he walked her to the bottom of the ramp, where Nemec clasped her forearm and gave her a quick hug, before she turned to Rex.

“Hey, Cap,” she said quietly.

He smiled as he pressed his forehead against hers, holding the back of her head gently. “You look like hell.”

“Should have seen her before the bacta,” Gregor said as he joined them.

“Barely knew it was me, right, Gregor?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’ll know you forever.”

Rex glanced at him sharply, but Gregor merely shrugged and wandered over to the kitchenette, where he started to brew a cup of caf. Rex introduced Cerra to Howzer and his men, and by the time she’d learned their names, Gregor rejoined the group, brushing his thumb lightly over Cerra’s fingers as he handed her the mug.

She took a sip and let out an audible groan of pleasure. “How do you always make the best caf?”

“Not tellin’,” he grinned.

“Suit yourself,” she said flippantly. “You’re just volunteering to be my caf dealer for the rest of my life.”

“If you insist,” he replied with a giggle.

Cerra yawned. “Gods, I can’t wait to take a shower and then sleep for about ten years.”

Gregor drew a breath to reply, but before he could speak, another voice called out from the garage entrance, “Might want to hold off on that.”

Cerra turned to see a clone strolling casually into the shop, and for a moment, she simply stared at him in confusion, until she spotted the distinctive scar on his jaw. Her blaster was in her hand and trained on the clone before she even registered the pain of hot caf as it sloshed from the mug and burned her hand. She didn’t flinch, though, and her eyes were hard and icy as she glared at him.

“What the kriff are you doing here?” she demanded.

---

A/N: The Mando'a phrase meaning “I love you” is Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum: literally “I hold you in my heart forever,” usually translated as “I will know you forever.”

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dystopicjumpsuit · 6 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 11

Between the Motion and the Act

Rating: M - Minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings and tags: fluff; a sneaky OT reference (literally wrote a whole scene just so I could make that joke); some angst; SMUT; oral sex; Echo x Riyo is GO!!!

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The team plans for Balmorra; Echo commences diplomatic negotiations with the senator from Pantora.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Between the idea and the reality

Between the motion and the act

Falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

cerulean-senator: Would you rather fight one rancor-sized tooka or ten tooka-sized rancors?

Echo grinned as he typed a response.

ur-fav-cyborg:That’s easy. I’ve already encountered a rancor-sized rancor, so I know the secret to defeating them. They’re hierarchical by nature, so I would rather fight the ten tooka-sized rancors and set them against each other. When they established which one was the alpha, I would challenge it for supremacy. My turn: would you rather eat nothing but dessert for a week, or no dessert for a year?

There was a pause as he waited for Riyo to respond. Rex and Cerra were debating the technical specifications they needed in their ship for the Balmorra mission. Echo and Rex had determined that their best chance of success was to extract Howzer when he was being transported. Rex’s mysterious contact hadn’t known exactly when that would happen, but had said it was inevitable. They’d pored over blueprints of the Gozanti-class cruisers that were being used as prisoner transports as they’d formulated a battle plan.

“What about a leech vessel?” Cerra asked. “Two points of entry.”

“That… could work,” Echo said. “Dock with the main vessel as a diversion, and then breach the hull with the leech.”

“We’d have to divide our forces,” Rex said.

“The pilot would have to stay with the ship anyway,” Echo pointed out. “Gregor can keep their troops occupied at the docking port while the extraction team boards from the leech.”

“Flank ‘em and spank ‘em,” Cerra said, tapping her beer bottle against Rex’s.

“Always so eloquent,” Rex teased as he took a swig.

“I learned from the best, and he learned from you,” she said with a grin. “You’re like my tactical granddaddy.”

“I thought you said I was a youngling,” Rex said.

“Granddaddy is a state of mind,” Cerra shrugged.

She slouched on the sofa with her boot-clad feet propped on the holotable, and Echo had the brief, tangential thought that Tech would have an aneurysm if he could witness it.

His comm chirped, and he checked the message immediately.

cerulean-senator: Wait, when did you fight a rancor? That sounds like a story worth hearing.

ur-fav-cyborg: I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you. Now quit stalling and answer the question, Riyo.

The reply was immediate and indignant.

cerulean-senator: I wasn’t stalling! I was thinking. I do like dessert, but a week of nothing but sugar might put me in a coma. I’ll have to say I’d rather go a year without desserts. Would you rather kiss a Gungan or a Wookiee?

ur-fav-cyborg: That depends. Are we talking a mouth kiss, or just a quick peck on the cheek?

cerulean-senator: Full-on mouth kiss, with tongue.

ur-fav-cyborg: In that case, I’d rather kiss a Pantoran.

cerulean-senator: You’re not going to charm your way out of answering the question, trooper.

ur-fav-cyborg: Worth a shot. Fine. Assuming consent from all parties involved, and given the knowledge that Gungan tongues are nearly a meter in length—which would present a high probability of death by choking—and considering that I’ve met some very nice Wookiees who almost certainly wouldn’t rip off my one remaining arm, I would rather kiss a Wookiee. But only if the Pantoran is unavailable.

“Care to share the joke, Echo?” Rex asked.

“Sorry, sir,” Echo said, stashing his commlink away.

“You know, we’re not in the GAR any more,” Cerra said. “He’s allowed to check his comm in meetings.”

Echo glanced quickly at Cerra, surprised that she had defended him. Rex sighed, and Echo immediately felt guilty.

“You're right,” Rex admitted. “Old habits are hard to break, but what are we fighting for if not the right to live our lives as we choose?”

Echo wasn’t sure what to say. Freedom was a complex thing to navigate when he’d been trained his entire life to follow orders. It was different with the Batch; they had always had a more relaxed dynamic, and all the members were accustomed to speaking their minds freely, even if the ultimate command decision defaulted to Hunter. But this was Rex, who’d saved Echo’s life more times than he could count, who’d been his longest-standing commanding officer, who’d hand picked him to join the 501st, who’d recommended him for ARC training, who’d believed in him against all odds, who’d fought to bring him back from Skako Minor when everyone else had written him off. Every instinct Echo possessed screamed for him to obey the captain.

Suddenly, he recalled something he’d overheard Cerra tell Rex. “He trusts you so much that he’ll do whatever you order.” Gregor had said something similar when he confronted Rex after the disastrous mission to 79’s. There was something about Rex that inspired absolute loyalty in his soldiers. The problem was, they weren’t just soldiers any more. Perhaps Riyo was right, and they had always been more than that.

Cerra stood and stretched. “I don’t know about you boys, but I could use some food.”

“Good luck finding anything,” Rex said as she dug through the kitchen cabinets. “I cleared out the conservator last night.”

“We have ration bars,” Cerra said. “I can’t wait ‘til Gregor gets back so we can eat some decent food again. Want anything, Echo?”

“I could eat,” Echo admitted. “Are we finished here?”

“I’ve got what I need to start looking for a ship,” Cerra said. “Rex?”

“We’ve done as much as we can with our current intel,” Rex replied.

Cerra tossed them each a ration bar, and when Echo’s comm chirped again, he checked it, careful to maintain a neutral expression.

cerulean-senator: Solid reasoning all around, but now I have blackmail material in the form of written proof that you want to kiss a Wookiee.

ur-fav-cyborg: Only under duress. Now it’s my turn: would you rather be too hot or too cold?

cerulean-senator: That’s easy! I would rather be too cold. You can do all sorts of fun things to warm up.

ur-fav-cyborg: Such as?

cerulean-senator: Drinking caf, wearing cozy sweaters, snuggling in front of a fireplace—and other things.

ur-fav-cyborg: What kinds of other things?

cerulean-senator: That’s for me to know and you to find out. My turn: would you rather have dinner with me or breakfast with me?”

ur-fav-cyborg: Both.

cerulean-senator: Great! When is a good day for you?

Echo choked on his ration bar and dropped his comlink. It skittered across the floor and came to rest against Rex’s boot. The captain arched one eyebrow and handed the comlink back to Echo without a word. Echo took it and sent a quick response.

ur-fav-cyborg: After the next mission?

cerulean-senator: Sounds perfect. I’ll meet you there and we’ll see where the night takes us.

Echo smiled and tucked his comlink away. Turning to Cerra, he asked, “Is your hand healed enough to spar?”

She nodded. “I’ve been wanting to practice those moves you showed me. Would you rather be my partner or my coach?”

“I’ll coach if Rex will partner with you,” Echo said. “Sparring is a little tricky with my prosthetics.”

“Rex?” Cerra asked.

“Only if you go easy on me,” Rex replied. “Remember, I’m a grandfather.”

Cerra snorted. “Sure, grandpa. When I fail to land a single hit on you, it’ll be because I’m going easy on an old man.”

Despite her self-deprecation, Echo found that Cerra was a decently competent fighter. It was true that she was far outmatched by Rex, but most opponents she was likely to face would not be genetically engineered supersoldiers with years of combat experience. She had good form and technique, and she took direction well. With a blaster and a few modifications to her armor, Echo suspected that she would be able to hold her own against a wide range of adversaries.

Just as Echo was contemplating the best armor mods to augment Cerra’s reach and upper body strength, Rex took her to the ground and pinned her. She tapped out immediately, contradicting Rex’s claim that she didn’t know how to back down from a fight. Rex stood and pulled her to her feet.

“Again,” Echo ordered. “And Cerra, remember what I showed you.”

She nodded and snapped into a fighting stance at once. Rex tested her defenses a few times, light punches to see how well she could block. He moved with rigid control, never taking it too far and risking hurting her. It was very different from the way Echo had been trained. ARC trooper training had been brutal and no-holds-barred. There was a very good reason that so few clones successfully passed, and that was that the training was extreme even by the Kaminoans’ standards. A nat-born wouldn’t just fail; they would very likely be killed or permanently debilitated.

“Attack, Cerra,” Echo ordered. “You can’t just dance around him all day.”

She hesitated, and Rex saw his opening. His fist darted past her block and tapped her jaw. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just to get her attention. She tightened her stance and returned the hit, albeit too slowly. Rex blocked her effortlessly.

“Like I showed you, Cerra,” Echo said. “Do it.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she panted.

Rex smirked. “You won’t.”

“That’s not Rex,” Echo snapped sternly. “That’s an enemy. Take him down, now. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to hurt Tup.”

Cerra gasped and dropped her fists. Rex struck just as Cerra turned, his blow connecting much harder than he’d intended. Cerra staggered backward.

“Kark!” Rex exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

Cerra’s large, wounded eyes weren’t looking at Rex, though. She stared at Echo instead. A trickle of blood dripped from her lip, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“How do you know that name?” she asked, her voice shaken.

“You called Fireball Tup the other night,” Echo said, taken aback. “I thought it was a friend of yours.”

Cerra spun and stalked out of the sparring ring, not stopping until the barracks door slid closed behind her. Echo turned to Rex, whose mouth was set in a grim line.

“Tup was Fives’s best friend after Umbara,” Rex said quietly. “The three of them were more than close. They were inseparable. Cerra thought of Tup as her little brother, and he was the first she lost. And a few days later, she lost Fives, too.”

“Kriff,” Echo breathed. “I had no idea.”

“She keeps to herself,” Rex said. “Probably more than she should.”

“Why?” Echo asked bluntly.

Rex sighed. “Cerra is a soldier, but she’s not like us clones. We’ve always had each other, even when we didn’t have anyone else. But Cerra’s family turned on her when she needed them most. It’s not easy for her to trust.”

“I thought she told Gregor everything,” Echo said.

“She doesn’t even tell me everything,” Rex replied enigmatically.

Echo remembered now that even Gregor had not recognized Tup’s name the night that Cerra mistakenly called Fireball by it.

“Kriff,” he said again. “I need to apologize.”

“Better give her some space,” Rex counseled. “If I know Cerra, she’d rather just pretend none of this happened. She’ll be all right.”

“That doesn’t seem like the healthiest way of dealing with it,” Echo said.

“Do you want to be the one who tells her that?” Rex asked.

“Fair point,” Echo acknowledged. “Maybe I’ll take the speeder bike and get some air.”

Echo strode out of the garage and hopped onto the speeder bike, riding without paying much attention to where he was going. He avoided the Federal District, and after a while, he piloted the bike to the top of a ramshackle skyscraper. Maybe sometime long ago it had been a beautiful and prestigious edifice like 500 Republica, but now it was crumbling. Still, it had an expansive view of the city and the setting sun, and he parked the speeder on the roof after a quick recon determined it to be abandoned.

He stared out across the city of trillions, hating how alone he felt. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Fives’s death than Rex had told him. They were soldiers. Cerra was a soldier. They were accustomed to losing people—it hurt like hell, but they knew the risks. What had happened to carve that deep well of pain in Cerra’s eyes? What was Rex not telling him? On impulse, he holocommed Riyo.

“Hello, Echo,” she said with a smile. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Is this a good time?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m done with work for the day, and I’ve just finished eating dinner. I’m all yours for as long as you want me. Is everything all right?”

Kriff, she was pretty. Her full lips curved in an alluring smile, and the sparkle in her golden eyes was visible even through the shaky hologram.

“Yes,” he said. “Everything is fine. I just wanted to see you.”

“I didn’t think you got many opportunities to be alone,” she said.

“I don’t, but I needed some air. Cerra and Rex are back at the garage.”

“And where are you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he frowned. “On top of some abandoned building in a part of the city where I would never bring you.”

“Is that safe?” she asked, concerned.

“I’m not worried,” he said.

“I’m a little worried,” she said. “Why don’t you come to my flat?”

Echo was startled. “Are you sure?”

“There’s a private landing platform that accesses my suite at the Pantoran embassy. I’m sending the coordinates and access code now.”

“In that case, I’ll see you soon,” he said.

Riyo paced in her suite, unaccountably nervous. It was strange; she could easily give a speech to tens of thousands of senators and dignitaries, but as she checked and rechecked her reflection to make sure her hair wasn’t doing anything strange and she didn’t have anything stuck in her teeth, her body filled with jittery energy. She smoothed her hands over her blouse, trying to brush away some of the wrinkles it had accumulated after a long day of committee sessions and meetings with constituents.

The door chimed. Not the main door; the private entrance at the back of her suite. A quick glance at the security holocams revealed Echo, helmeted and in full armor. Riyo’s heart lodged in her throat as she hurried to admit him. The door slid open, and Echo removed his helmet.

“Hello,” she said, feeling suddenly shy.

“Ma’am,” he said with a formal nod, and she realized this was just as awkward for him. Somehow, that eased her nerves.

“Please come in,” she said.

He glanced quickly around the room as he entered, and she wondered if he was looking for threats. It must be practically instinctive for him by now. His eyes came to rest on her, and he gave her a small, gentle smile that sent warmth tingling through her.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he said.

“Of—of course!” she stammered. “You seemed like you might need to talk to a friend.”

“Is that what we are?” he asked. “Friends?”

“I hope so,” she said.

“I hope so, too,” he replied. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope we could also be more. Is that something you want?”

There was something refreshing about his directness, accustomed as she was to the doublespeak and prevarication of her fellow politicians.

“I think you know the answer,” she said.

“I need to hear you say it,” he replied, taking a step closer to her.

Oh, stars, he smells amazing.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He raised his hand to her face, trailing his fingers along her jaw, brushing his thumb over her lips. She swallowed thickly as her breath became shallow and fast. She closed the space between them, tilting her head back to meet his gaze.

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” she said softly.

He slid his hand to the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, and then he kissed her. His lips were soft and warm, and Riyo let out a quiet, involuntary moan as his tongue brushed against hers. She felt as though she were drowning in him—his taste, his scent, his touch. When their lips parted, she gradually became aware that her arms had wrapped around him, seemingly of their own volition, as she had explored his armored body with her hands. He was holding her, too, his prosthetic arm wrapped firmly around her waist, and he traced a path down her throat with his thumb.

His gaze roamed over her, taking in the way her lips parted and her breasts rose and fell with each quick breath, the way her wide eyes gave away too many of her thoughts, and she felt vulnerable, exposed, as though he had laid bare her entire soul. Look away, her mind begged. Don’t let him see. It’s too soon for you to feel this way. What if he thinks you’re a pathetic little girl with a silly crush? He could destroy you, grind your heart beneath his heel and leave you a mangled, bloody mess.

But somehow, as she looked deeply into his eyes, she knew that he would never, ever do that. That he would carry her heart as carefully and securely as he did his own. And so, she traced her hands lightly down his chest plate until she reached the belt that held up his heavy kama and unbuckled it with a deft movement. Next, she slipped her fingers beneath the shoulder straps of his cuirass until she found the clips that held the two pieces together, and one by one, she teased them open. She removed the plates carefully, setting them aside, and then stroked her palms down his chest and abdomen, feeling the firm, wiry muscles beneath the dark red fabric of his jacket.

He watched her with undisguised hunger, and when she stood on her tiptoes to lick the bit of exposed skin at the top of his neck, he snapped, pulling her body tightly against his and crushing his lips to hers in a ravenous kiss. He walked her backward until she pressed against the wall, and when he rocked his hips against her, she could feel the rigid length of his cock through their clothing.

“Oh, stars,” she panted, breaking away from his lips. But he didn’t end the kiss; he worked his mouth across her jaw and down her throat, licking and biting and sucking gently on her skin, and the sounds she made would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been so aroused. “Don’t stop, Echo, please don’t stop.”

She felt his hand cup her breast and dimly wondered when he’d unbuttoned and slipped her blouse off her arms, but it didn’t matter, because he was making his way down her chest with that incredible, talented mouth of his, and then he was kneeling in front of her, and when he sucked her nipple into his mouth, her legs nearly gave out. She tugged at his pauldrons until they clattered to the floor, and then she felt the waistband of her trousers loosen and the fabric slide down her hips, leaving her utterly exposed.

Echo paused long enough to bite down on the fingertip of his glove and yank it off, and then Riyo felt the smooth, glorious slide of his skin against hers as he grasped her inner thigh and glided his hand upwards. She cradled his head in her hands as he sucked on her breasts, and when his fingertips brushed over her sex and felt her slippery arousal, he groaned against her.

“Fuck, Riyo,” he said, sitting back on his heels to take in the sight of her. “Look how beautiful you are. So, so kriffing beautiful.”

He leaned forward until he was nearly pressed against her, but before he touched her, he raised his eyes to her face.

“Is this all right?” he asked, his honey-gold eyes wide and serious.

“Yes, please yes,” she said. “Please, Echo, I need you to—oohh—”

Her brain skidded to a halt and took her power of speech with it as Echo slid his tongue into her, latching his lips over her cunt.

“Fuck!” she gasped, her voice barely a breath. “Gods, fuck, I can’t—”

He dropped lower and leaned forward, stroking his scomplink up the inside of her calf and encouraging her to drape her leg over him. His height made it a little difficult for her to reach, but once Riyo rested her thigh on his shoulder, he moved in between her legs, his tongue diving deep inside her as his thumb traced firm circles around her clit, not pressing directly on the sensitive flesh, but finding the perfect rhythm to drive all the thoughts from her head. Quiet grunts of pleasure escaped him, as though he had never tasted anything so delicious in his life.

Riyo was less controlled than Echo. She tried to keep her voice down so as not to draw the attention of the guards outside the doors of her suite, but she couldn’t suppress her whimpers and gasps as Echo devoured her like a man starved. Her leg trembled as pleasure swirled tightly through her body. Echo flattened his palm against her belly and slid up her body to cup her breast, squeezing gently and rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He gazed worshipfully up at her from between her thighs, and she locked eyes with him as the pressure in her abdomen finally snapped and sent her hurtling into ecstasy.

Her body crumpled, but Echo caught her, clamping his hand firmly over her mouth to muffle her cries, even as he wrecked her over and over with his mouth. At last, when he had wrung every last shuddering drop of pleasure out of her body, he lowered her onto his lap and wrapped her comfortingly in his arms, stroking his hand gently across her skin.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered in her ear. “That’s my lovely girl. You look so beautiful like this. You make such pretty sounds when you come. I hated to stop you. I wanted to hear every little moan and gasp and scream. Next time, love.”

Riyo shook her head. “Bedroom,” she gasped. “Soundproof.”

Echo smiled. “Lead the way.”

Cerra didn’t look up when the barracks door opened. The mattress shifted as Rex sat next to her on the bunk. He leaned close to peer at the holo she held.

“Was that at 79’s?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said.

In the picture, Tup’s long hair tumbled around his shoulders as Cerra hugged him close. They were both laughing uproariously as Fives made a crude gesture at the holocam. She remembered the night with crystal clarity, even though they’d all just done a round of shots with Jesse and Kix when Kix snapped the holo. Jesse had been teasing Tup about his non-regulation hair and had threatened to shave it off next time Tup fell asleep.

“Never!” Cerra had exclaimed, shrieking with laughter as she wrapped her arms around Tup’s head. “I’ll protect you, Tup!”

“Kix took this about five minutes before we all got bounced for being too loud,” Cerra said. “I’m honestly surprised we didn’t end up in the Corrie drunk tank.”

Rex cupped Cerra’s chin in his hand and tilted her face toward him. “Do you need bacta?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

He leaned in to confirm that she wasn’t seriously injured then stroked along her jaw. “You’re going to have a nice bruise. Gregor is going to kick my ass when he finds out how you got it.”

“I’ll tell him I had an argument with the speeder, and the speeder won,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dropped a vehicle on myself.”

“I’m sorry I hit you,” he said.

“No need to apologize, Rex. I know it was an accident.”

“Echo didn’t mean to hurt you, either,” Rex said in a low voice.

“I know,” she said. “It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ll talk to him in a bit.”

“He took the bike out for a spin,” he said. “It’s just us for now.”

“Just like the bad old days,” she said with the faintest flicker of humor. “Maker forbid.”

Rex had slept like the dead for more than half a day, but he still looked exhausted: the kind of bone-deep weariness that could never be cured by a mere few hours of extra rest. She wondered if she looked like that, too. His thigh felt reassuringly warm and solid as it pressed along her leg, and she shifted a little, seeking the comfort of his touch.

His breath ghosted softly across her skin, and she swayed unconsciously closer to him, close enough to see the individual hairs of the stubble on his jaw, close enough to smell the soap they all shared on his skin. His thumb traced back down her cheek, and when she raised her eyes, his gaze was riveted to her mouth.

“I’m not him, Cerra,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said quietly. “And I’m not her.”

At last, Rex dragged his eyes away from her mouth and shot her a rueful smile. “Quite a pair, aren’t we?”

She tried and failed to return his smile, then closed her eyes as he dropped his forehead to rest against hers.

“Rex?” she asked without opening her eyes.

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about giving up?”

“Every day,” he said. “You?”

“Every day.”

“Do you think you will?” he asked.

“Never.”

---

Next chapter

A/N: Want to read about the night from Cerra's hologram? It's from the first half of this one-shot: "Do It Again."

#bad batch echo #captain rex #captain gregor #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #star wars #the bad batch #bad batch fanfic #star wars fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumsuit writes #Spotify

56 notes · View notes

dystopicjumpsuit · 6 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 10

Shape Without Form

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

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

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings and tags: fluff; implications of stimulant use as a coping mechanism; Echo ships it; Riyo would jump that cyborg's bones right TF now if he would stop moving long enough

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo makes several discoveries.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

ur-fav-cyborg: The king is in the castle.

Riyo stared at the message, trying to decrypt what in the gods’ green galaxy Echo was trying to say. Then it hit her. King—Rex—of course. Smiling, she typed a response.

cerulean-senator: You know, this is an encrypted channel. You don’t need to speak in code.

The response came immediately.

ur-fav-cyborg: Can’t be too careful. Encryptions can be sliced. I would know.

cerulean-senator: Fair enough. How did the royal excursion go?

ur-fav-cyborg: He’s holding court now. Care to join? I can start a holocall.

Riyo frowned. Somehow, calling in seemed intrusive in a way that simply being physically present did not.

cerulean-senator: I’ll sit this one out, but I’m looking forward to a full report afterwards. Will you have time to comm me tonight?

ur-fav-cyborg: For you, always.

She smiled, feeling a warm glow rise to her cheeks. Maybe she was being foolish. She’d only met Echo a few times, but there was something about his gentle eyes and quiet demeanor that drew her to him. Beyond that, she admired his bravery and selflessness; after all, he had had the opportunity to walk away from the fight and start a new life with Omega and the rest of the Batch. Instead, he’d chosen to stay with Rex and save as many brothers as he could.

His dedication to his brothers reminded her of Fox, and once again, she found herself grappling with the thorny question that had plagued her since her first immediate attraction to Echo. How could she move on so quickly? It had only been a little over a year since she had lost Fox—a year of silent grief and misery which she was forced to hide from the galaxy. Meeting Echo had felt like glimpsing the sunlight after months of darkness. Would Fox have wanted her to continue on in that shadow realm?

No.

The knowledge was so certain, it was as though he was in the room with her, speaking the word aloud. Fox had cared deeply about her. He would never have expected her to spend her entire life mourning him. He would want her to find happiness.

She could envision finding that happiness with Echo. The temptation to spend more time with him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming. She wanted to know everything about him: what was his favorite food? His favorite color? Did he prefer showers or baths? Tookas or massifs? Had he ever been to Pantora? What was his favorite holonovel? Did he even like holonovels? What was it like to raise a young child? Would he ever want children of his own? Just how far up did those prosthetic legs go? Was he even interested in a physical relationship, for that matter?

She had so many questions, and she couldn’t wait to find out the answers.

Cerra refueled the freighter and restocked its supplies of rations and gear while Gregor and Fireball loaded it with their preferred weapons and ammunition. The ship’s medkit had fortunately not been used much, but she refilled its dwindling supply of stims. By the time they were finished, Rex had long since disappeared into the barracks, and Echo offered to take first watch, thank the kriffing Maker. Cerra had been running on nothing but caf, stims, and stubbornness for the past three days, and her eyes burned with exhaustion. She hadn’t wanted to go back to sleep after her unsettling dream, so she had simply worked through the nights, but now she couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Wake me up for second watch,” she told Echo as she headed to the barracks. Fireball and Gregor needed to rest up for their mission, and there was no way any of the team would consider waking Rex.

She changed quickly into one of Fives’s old black tops and a pair of baggy sweatpants that may or may not have belonged to her, then she moved quietly to Gregor’s bunk.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” she whispered.

He didn’t reply, but he scooted back against the wall to make room for her and stretched his arm out for her to use as a pillow. She crawled under the blankets and snuggled close to him, burying her face against his chest as he wrapped her securely in his arms.

“You’re the best,” she sighed.

He kissed her forehead, and she passed out instantaneously. She felt like she’d barely closed her eyes when Echo nudged her awake. If she had dreamt at all, she didn’t remember it. Gregor was sprawled halfway over her, snoring softly. She extricated herself from his embrace carefully, wiggling free of his arms before slipping her leg out from beneath his thigh. He slept through it all, dead to the galaxy.

In the dim light of the barracks, Echo watched her maneuvers with an amused smile. She shrugged, and he shook his head, crossing to his own bunk. She crept out of the barracks and closed the door silently behind her.

The watch was uneventful. She passed the time by taking inventory of their supplies again, starting a list of items to barter, scavenge, or steal. They were going to need a better ship for Balmorra; that much was certain. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to start putting out feelers among her contacts, though it would be helpful to know exactly what the plan was before she committed to a deal.

They were also running low on caf beans, which frankly constituted an emergency. She would need to schedule time to make a grocery run with Gregor soon. He had insisted on accompanying her every time she bought food ever since the incident months previously that she had begun to think of as The Great Ration Bar Debacle. According to Gregor, she had the palate of a philistine and a child, and she was not to be trusted to make intelligent choices regarding foodstuffs. Takeout: yes. Groceries: no. Besides, since Gregor did all the cooking, he was the only one who knew what ingredients to buy.

Gregor and Fireball were up before dawn, not that it mattered on Level 1313. The sunlight never reached this deep in Coruscant’s underbelly. Cerra had their caf ready to go in travel mugs, as usual, and she walked with them out to the freighter.

“Be safe,” she said. “And keep an eye on the kid.”

“You do know I’m a battle-hardened veteran,” Fireball pointed out.

“I know,” Cerra said. “That’s why I want you to keep an eye on him.”

Gregor giggled and pulled her into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles vigorously into the top of her head.

“Unhand me, miscreant,” she grunted, flailing her arms to try to break away.

He let her go, then pulled her into a hug. His bulky armor was uncomfortably hard, but she leaned into it anyway.

“Keep the lights on for us,” he said.

“Always,” she replied.

And then they were gone, and Cerra trudged back into the garage to finish out her watch. For once, she was caught up on her recurring tasks and didn’t have any special assignments, so she pulled out the armor chestplate she’d been modifying and began fiddling with it again. She pulled the faulty connectors to see if she could recondition them, but they seemed to have been damaged beyond repair. They were a specialized part, but perhaps she could retrofit the armor to work with something standard. She wished she’d had a chance to salvage a few connectors while she was on Karthon, but it had been a little challenging to go digging for parts with some scughole scrapper taking potshots at her.

She rummaged through Trace’s stockpile of connectors and pulled out a few options that might work. She lost track of time as she tested the parts. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear the barracks door open.

“Any luck?” Echo asked from close beside her.

Cerra flinched and dropped the connector, which bounced off the workbench and skittered across the garage floor.

“Not so far,” she said with a sigh.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“That’s all right. None of them were working anyway.”

Echo examined the array of connectors on the table, then reached into the pouch on his belt. He withdrew a handful of parts and dropped them onto the tabletop.

“What about these?” he offered.

Cerra stared. “Where did you get those?”

“From the armory in the Venator on Karthon,” he said. “I got distracted by the ambush and forgot about them until now.”

Cerra picked one up and inspected it closely. “These are perfect! Thanks, Echo.”

He ducked his head and mumbled something about caf. Cerra began reconnecting the control module as Echo wandered to the kitchenette. It didn’t take long, and soon she let out a victorious whoop as the HUD unit in the helmet synced up.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Echo, I could kiss you right now. I’ve been tinkering with this for weeks with no luck. I can’t believe it’s finally working.”

“Glad I could help,” he said. “Sometimes all you need is the right piece for a major breakthrough.”

“That’s way too philosophical for this early in the morning,” she grinned.

“And I thought I was being subtle,” he said with an answering smile. “Caf?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

“How do you take it?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “I don’t drink it for the flavor.”

“I know that’s not true,” Echo replied. “Gregor knows exactly how you like it.”

Does he? Cerra frowned, pondering. It was true that Gregor’s caf always tasted better, but she’d assumed that was just because everything he cooked was delicious, so it made sense that he would make the best caf out of the group.

“How can you tell?” she asked.

“Whenever you take your first drink of a cup he makes for you, you get this blissed out expression. I’ve never seen you do it when you taste anyone else’s caf, even your own.”

“Huh,” she said, stumped. “I guess you’d have to ask Gregor, then.”

Echo regarded her with speculation. Cerra shrugged and turned back to continue working on the cuirass. Soon, he rejoined her and set a steaming cup on the table. He waited expectantly, so she picked it up and took a cautious sip. It was… fine. It tasted like caf.

“It’s good,” she said. “Thanks.”

His expression turned smug, as if he knew something she didn’t, but he turned to inspect the cuirass. “Have you already tried on the full kit?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said affirmatively. “I ran into some issues with the pauldron fit.”

He nodded. “I had to modify the arm holes of my cuirass to accommodate the lost muscle mass. The pauldrons kept hitting it whenever I moved my arms.”

“That’s what I found, too. I made the whole cuirass narrower and reshaped it to fit around the chest, but the pauldrons are still catching.”

“If you want to try it on again, I can help you map out the cuts,” he offered.

“I would appreciate the help,” she said gratefully. “You mentioned something about other mods, too?”

“Let’s get the fit right before we start adding things on,” he said. “Whipcord launchers and flamethrowers are nice to have, but if the armor doesn’t fulfill its base function, there’s not much point to it. All it does is add a lot of unnecessary weight.”

They worked together in companionable silence, punctuated by occasional discussions about the technical side of clone trooper armor. Echo’s commlink chimed a few times, and he always typed out a quick response to whomever was sending him messages before returning to the work at hand. By the time Rex joined them, Echo had thoroughly marked up the plastoid in preparation for the next step, and Cerra began removing it and stacking it neatly on the workbench.

“Hey, Cap,” Cerra greeted Rex. “Fresh caf in the pot. Sleep okay?”

He nodded and ground the heel of his hand into his eyes as he stumbled toward the caf maker. In a rasping voice, he said, “Looks like you two have been productive this morning.”

“We’re making progress,” Echo said.

“Good,” Rex replied. “Always makes me nervous when she goes out there without armor.”

“You know I survived a whole-ass war without armor, right?” Cerra asked.

“And how did that work out for you?” Rex asked drily.

“No need to be a smartass,” she retorted.

“What happened?” Echo asked.

“Nothing,” she said sharply.

“Durasteel shrapnel,” Rex replied, prompting an irritated glare from Cerra. “Right in the thigh. Nearly bled the kark out.”

“And thousands of other people died in that battle,” she said. “Their armor wasn’t much help when they got vaporized or sucked out into space. It was sheer, stupid luck that I made it out.”

“I’m confused,” Echo said. “I thought you wanted this armor?”

“Oh, she does,” Rex said. “She just doesn’t know how to back down from a fight.”

“And Rex can’t go five minutes without starting one,” Cerra said, disgruntled.

“How long have you two known each other?” Echo asked.

“Forever,” Cerra and Rex said in unison.

Jinx, you owe me a Coke, she thought reflexively, and from the way Echo’s eyes snapped to hers, she knew he’d thought it, too.

“Cerra and I were assigned to General Skywalker’s command at the same time,” Rex said. “She was just as much of a pain in my ass back then.”

“Echo,” Cerra said with a vindictive gleam in her eye, “did Rex give you the ‘experience outranks everything’ speech when you met him?”

“He called me a shiny and told me to call him ‘Captain’ or ‘sir,’” Echo said.

“Sounds about right,” she said. “Of course, by the time he was lecturing me about experience, I’d been serving as long as he’d been alive.”

“As a desk jockey,” Rex snorted.

“Still counts, youngling,” she teased.

“He was probably just nervous because you were the first girl he’d ever met,” Echo said.

Cerra laughed as Rex gave them both a disgusted look. “Remind me why I asked you two to join me, again?”

“Because we both listed sedition on our resumés,” Cerra replied.

“No, it’s because I hoped you could annoy the Empire as much as you annoy me,” Rex retorted.

“You love it,” she said.

“Hmph.” Rex disappeared into his cup of caf for a long moment as Cerra finished removing her armor.

Echo had an odd expression on his face, and he looked back and forth between Rex and Cerra a few times before he seemed to make a decision. “Can I ask something?”

“Shoot,” Cerra said.

“How was Fives after Lola Sayu?”

Cerra felt like he’d punched all the air out of her lungs. She had no idea how to respond, or what could have prompted him to ask the question. She looked to Rex, who lowered his cup slowly.

“He… was angry,” Rex said slowly. “He said the Jedi had a double standard in how the clones were treated.”

“What kind of double standard?” Echo asked.

Rex hesitated, so Cerra answered. “They ordered him to leave you behind, to keep moving. But when the Jedi died, they somehow found time to give him a kriffing funeral. Just for the Jedi, of course. Not for the clones who died to protect all of them.”

Her voice grated with suppressed rage. Rex cleared his throat, patently uncomfortable with Cerra’s open criticism of the Jedi. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stop talking before she went too far.

“After that,” Rex said, “Fives was even more dedicated to protecting his brothers. He felt he couldn’t count on anyone else to do it.”

The group lapsed into silence, and Cerra found that the conversation wasn’t as painful or awkward as she had expected it to be.

“I asked him, once, if the burden he took on was too heavy,” Cerra said. “Do you know what he told me?”

“Given that it was Fives, I imagine he made a joke,” Echo said.

“He said he was used to it from wearing those massive pauldrons,” she said. “Then he asked if I wanted to sit on them while he ate me out.”

Echo choked. “That sounds like Fives.”

“Gross,” Rex complained. “Nobody wants to hear about what kind of depravity you two reprobates got up to during your leave time.”

“Who says we were on leave?” Cerra smirked. “Besides, you’re no-one to talk. I know what you were doing with—”

“No need to get into that now,” Rex interrupted hastily.

“Wait, who was it?” Echo asked.

“Nobody,” Rex said firmly as Cerra cackled with evil delight. “Now, about Balmorra.”

---

Next chapter

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

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Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 12

Prayers to Broken Stone

Rating: M - Minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 4k

Warnings and tags: lots of fluff; tiny bit of angst; borderline SMUT but mostly just suggestive; a gross situation involving rotten fish; two idiots refusing to acknowledge the truth

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Rex and Echo receive some intel from the Batch; the scouting team returns from Raada; Gregor and Cerra go on a supply run.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Lips that would kiss form prayers to broken stone.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Rex sat alone on the sofa, staring at a datafile on the holoprojector as Echo entered the garage hours later. Cerra was nowhere to be found.

“You see this?” Rex asked.

Echo moved closer and peered at the hologram. “No. What is it?”

“Came in from Tech while you were away.”

Echo checked his comlink and saw that there was indeed a message from Tech. “What’s it about?”

“Seems they had a run-in with the same type of creature that attacked Coruscant early in the war. The empire is,” Rex hesitated before continuing. “... cloning them.”

“What?” Echo asked, incredulous. “What does the Empire want with that thing?”

“Hard to say. That’s why Tech sent it to us—to find out.”

Echo grunted quietly in acknowledgment, staring at the hologram. “Where do we even start?”

“With this file,” Rex said. “I think it’s best to keep this between us until we know more.”

Echo glanced at him in surprise. “You don’t want to tell the rest of the team?”

“Nothing to tell. Yet.”

Echo waited a moment, uncomfortable with the idea of withholding intel from the rest of the team. When Rex showed no sign of continuing, he asked, “And when we do have something to tell?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge,” Rex replied with finality.

He and Echo reviewed the extensive data that Tech had been able to retrieve, but it was clear that it would take a significant amount of time to analyze it all. They poked at it for a few hours, until a soft sound emanated from inside the barracks. Rex closed the datafile abruptly as the barracks door slid open and Cerra emerged, looking groggy and disheveled, sheet marks crisscrossing her face.

She mumbled an incoherent greeting and headed straight to the refresher. Echo glanced between her and Rex, wondering exactly what the captain was playing at with this secrecy. It didn’t sit well with Echo; he’d grown accustomed to the more open dynamic of the Batch, where intel was freely shared, and every member had a say in the final decision. Still, he was sure Rex had his reasons—even if keeping intel from teammates did remind him uncomfortably of his time in the GAR, when he simply followed orders and hoped that those in command knew what they were doing.

It wasn’t the first time Rex had withheld information from the larger group, Echo mused, recalling their earlier conversation about the rumored secret intelligence network. Rex had mentioned Admiral Yularen, and based on Cerra’s reaction to the name, Echo knew there was a story there. He wondered if she would ever feel comfortable sharing it with him.

“I don’t know what the Empire is even doing as far out as Raada, but it’s nothing good,” Fireball said.

“It’s remote even by Outer Rim standards,” Gregor added. “Sort of place where nobody goes unless they’re either hiding or out of other options. Hardly any population.”

“Tell me what you found,” Rex said.

“There’s an Imperial base there, all right,” Gregor said. “Big. Secure. Bit of overkill, if you ask me.”

“I couldn’t even contact Nemec,” Fireball said. “Comms were jammed.”

“They’re still setting up the base,” Gregor said. “That’s our ticket in. Only saw half as many troops as I’d expect for a base of that size.”

“So what, we stow away on a transport ship?” Echo asked. “I don’t know about you, but my armor might stand out a bit.”

“Cerra can work around it,” Gregor said confidently. “She’ll find us some of that junk stormtrooper armor. All we have to do is sneak into the Imperial military headquarters and get onto one of those transports.”

“Is that all?” Fireball asked drily. “While we’re dreaming, can I get a large Blue Milkshake and legal personhood?”

Cerra’s eyes crinkled and she nudged Fireball, shooting him a tiny, amused smirk. He held up his fist, and she bumped hers against it as Rex looked on with a markedly unamused expression.

“It would be easier for just one person to infil HQ,” Echo said. “We could send a team with a ship to Raada to stand by, and our man on the inside will smuggle Nemec out of the base and rendezvous at predetermined coordinates.”

“I’ll go,” Fireball said immediately. “He’s my brother.”

Rex shook his head. “My intel says they’re scanning the identifying number of every clone trooper before they board the transports. Every one of us is either presumed dead or wanted by the Empire. We’d be executed on the spot. It will have to be a nat-born.”

“Agreed,” Cerra said. “Echo, do you think you could slice into the Imperial database and plant fake orders? Every base needs a supply officer.”

“You can’t be serious,” Gregor objected. “After what happened at 79’s?”

“Rex is right. It has to be a nat-born,” Cerra said.

“Then send Rafa!” Gregor said. “Or one of Chuchi’s guards.”

“Not a lot of Pantorans in the Imperial army,” Echo said.

“It needs to be someone familiar with military protocol,” Rex added. “Rafa would get arrested before she ever made it through HQ security.”

“It has to be me, Gregor,” Cerra said quietly.

“I don’t like it,” Gregor growled.

“You don’t have to like it,” Rex said. “It’s not your call to make.”

“It’s not yours, either,” Gregor retorted.

“It’s my call, and I’m doing it,” Cerra said firmly.

As it turned out, they had more than a week to plan the mission, which felt unfathomably luxurious. While Rex waited for his contact to confirm the schedule, he, Echo, and Fireball went to investigate a lead on a possible ship for the Balmorra mission. In the meantime, Cerra had a secret weapon to coax Gregor out of his sullen mood: a grocery run, his absolute favorite kind of mission.

Coruscant was a planet of many wonders. Home to trillions of beings, it was a vibrant hub of culture, and where there was culture, there was food. In the galactic capital, one could find any kind of food imaginable, and Gregor had a vivid imagination. Cerra would have been happy enough with whatever bland ration bars she could find in CoCo Town, but Gregor had eaten enough industrial food to last him for a lifetime, and now that he had the freedom to eat whatever he wanted, he refused to settle for rations unless it was an actual emergency—and even then, it was subject to debate.

To find the sorts of ingredients he required, he and Cerra had to venture to the upper levels, to one of Coruscant’s vast, sprawling open-air markets. There, vendors from across the galaxy offered up a dazzling array of wares: everything from fresh produce, meat, and fish, to baked goods and confectionery, to hand-made soaps and candles, to antiques and artwork, to an entire market district dedicated exclusively to cut flowers.

During the war, Gregor had heard about the market but never been allowed inside. The first time he’d visited, he could hardly believe such a thing existed in the same galaxy as Abafar. The opulence and abundance of the market contrasted starkly with the impoverished, hardscrabble planet where he’d spent so many months with no memories or identity. He’d learned to cook from Borkus, and he once told Cerra that as far as he was concerned, that was the only good thing that had ever happened on that Maker-forsaken rock.

Now, as he wandered through the market with Cerra’s fingers laced between his own, he made no attempt to disguise his wonder and delight at the bustling, colorful surroundings. The heady scents of roasting peppers, fried food, pungent spices, and hot sugar permeated the air, making his stomach rumble.

“We should get a snack first,” he said.

“Yes, please!” Cerra agreed. “Otherwise, I’ll just buy everything in the market.”

They found a food stall that sold griddled ronto wrappers stuffed with traladon cheese and a variety of meat and vegetable fillings. The cheese was melty and stringy; and the flatbread was crispy and a little greasy; and on the whole, it was absolutely delicious. They ate as they walked, taking in all of the sights, smells, and sounds of the market. They passed a vendor piping rings of batter into a gigantic vat of hot oil, and Gregor made a note of the location.

“We’re getting some of those on our way home,” he said.

“To share with the boys?” Cerra asked

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” he replied with a wink.

She laughed, and he grinned at her, his earlier surliness forgotten as he draped his arm over her shoulders. They stopped at every stall that offered samples, tasting and testing.

“Candilin oranges!” a vendor called out. “Get them while they’re fresh! These won’t last longer than a day, folks, so don’t miss out!”

Gregor tugged Cerra toward the stall.

“We can’t afford those, Gregor,” she whispered.

“The samples are free,” he whispered back.

He snagged a small piece of the fruit off of the vendor’s sample tray and sniffed it curiously.

“Smell,” he told Cerra, holding it close to her face.

She leaned in and inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed. It smelled fresh and bright and zesty, and it reminded her of the sun. “It smells delicious.”

He slid the fruit into her mouth, and she took a bite. Sweet, tangy juice exploded across her tongue, and she made a tiny sound of pleasure as an expression of utter bliss settled on her face. Gregor beamed at her as he popped the rest of the fruit into his own mouth. The vendor, a Nithorn, regarded them with shrewd little eyes.

“Ah, young love,” she squawked. “I’ll give you a special discount for being such an adorable couple.”

Cerra’s eyes snapped open, and she pulled slightly away from Gregor. “Oh, we’re n—”

“Not made of credits,” Gregor cut in hastily. “You know how it is when you’re just starting out.”

Cerra flicked an uncertain glance at him, but she didn’t resist when he pulled her a little closer and wrapped his arm around her waist. The Nithorn nodded sagely.

“Of course, of course,” she said. “But nothing is too good for your girl, am I right? Come on, I’ll cut you a deal.”

“How much?” Cerra asked.

“Fifty credits apiece,” the vendor replied.

Cerra choked. “I’m not saying it’s not worth it, but we don’t have that kind of money.”

“Twenty,” Gregor countered.

The vendor guffawed. “Sorry, kids, but I’m running a business, not a charity. Forty credits.”

“Come on, Gregor,” Cerra urged. “We can find something else.”

“Twenty-two,” Gregor said.

“Are you trying to destroy my livelihood?” the vendor asked. “Thirty, and not a decicred less.”

“Twenty-five,” Gregor replied.

“You are breaking my heart,” said the Nithorn. “Fine, twenty-five. Be sure to eat it today, or it will rot.”

As they walked away with their prize, Cerra said in a low voice, “We don’t have that kind of budget, Gregor. What were you thinking?”

“I’ll make it up somewhere else,” he shrugged. “It was worth it.”

They wandered through the produce stands, selecting an assortment of fruits and vegetables as they caught Gregor’s eye. He spotted a table heaped with round, russet-colored fruits.

“What are these?” he asked the vendor.

“Kavasa,” Cerra replied, recognizing the fruit immediately.

“That’s right,” the Twi’lek vendor said. “Fresh kavasa, straight from Corellia. Just got a huge shipment this morning. I’m selling it for half price, if you’re interested.”

“We’ll take a kilo,” Gregor said.

“Are you sure?” Cerra asked. “Don’t you want to taste it first?”

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yes, it was my favorite when I was little,” Cerra admitted.

“Then we’ll take a kilo,” he repeated.

Gregor found a vendor who sold freeze-dried fruits and vegetables, and he insisted on buying several cartons for their off-world missions. “If we have to eat rations, at least we can buy some that resemble real food.”

Their last stop was the meat market. He’d been wanting to try his hand at cooking brualki brisket since he’d first tasted it at Dex’s Diner.

“We’re all out of brualki,” the butcher said. He was a burly Devaronian with two broken horns, and his arms bulged with muscles developed over years of breaking down enormous primal cuts. “But I’m sure we can find something that will suit you. Ever tried joopa?”

Gregor was intrigued. “Never heard of it. What’s it like?”

The butcher launched into a detailed sales pitch about the merits of joopa rib roasts, and Gregor asked a number of pointed questions about preparation techniques and flavor profiles as Cerra let her attention wander.

“Our joopa is wild-caught, from a place called Seelos,” the butcher said. “Never been there, myself.”

Cerra didn’t understand a word of the conversation, but one thing she did understand was sticking to a Force-damned budget. “How much per kilo?”

“Ten credits,” the butcher replied. “It’s about half the price of brualki right now, so you’ll save a decent chunk of creds.”

“I’ll take a five-kilo roast,” Gregor said.

The bags of groceries were heavy as they headed to the freighter, but Gregor wrangled them with ease. They were nothing compared to the weight of the armor that he normally wore. The market had become even more crowded as the day advanced, and beings of every imaginable species jostled around them. They retraced their route back to the ship, and as they passed through the fishmongers’ market district, disaster struck.

A large, boisterous family of Gabdorins blocked most of the path as the parents haggled with a merchant. Gregor and Cerra squeezed by them single-file. Suddenly, two of the youngest children broke free of the larger group and began chasing each other. Gregor tried to back up, but it was too late. The children ran straight into him, taking him out at the knees. As he fell, he collided with Cerra and knocked her down beneath him. They landed with a splash in a reeking puddle of water and rotting fish.

“Sorry, mister!” the children shrieked as they ran off to continue their game.

Cerra gagged at the stench, and Gregor quickly scrambled to his feet. By some miracle, he’d managed to keep the grocery bags out of the splash zone, but his clothes were saturated with the putrid liquid, and Cerra’s were even worse.

“What the kriff?” Cerra sputtered.

“Watch your language, lady,” one of the adult Gabdorins snapped.

“Are you serious?” Cerra demanded, incensed.

“Hey, easy,” Gregor intervened. “It was just an accident. Let’s get home so we can get out of these clothes.”

Cerra grumbled mutinously, but nevertheless she followed Gregor as they hurried back to the freighter. Fortunately—if anything about the situation could be considered fortunate—the miasma of rotting fish guts cleared a path through the crowded market, and they made it to the ship in record time.

“In, in, in, in, in,” Cerra chanted, her words blending into each other in her urgency. “Put the groceries in the conservator. I’ll get the ship powered up.”

Gregor hadn’t even finished stowing the perishables by the time they were airborne. Cerra breathed through her mouth, but she couldn’t escape the fetid stench. The flight back to the garage felt like the longest of her life, and from Gregor’s occasional retching sounds, he was suffering just as much as she was. She piloted them down the underworld portal, and as soon as the ship touched down on the landing platform, they stripped out of their garments and ran for the refreshers.

Luckily, nobody else had returned to the garage yet. Cerra got there first and tugged her bra and briefs off before making a beeline for the farthest shower stall. Gregor was right behind her, pulling off his boxers and leaving them in a pile with Cerra’s things, then claiming the second shower stall.

“Uuuuuuuugh, that is the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me,” Cerra grunted. “Thank the stars I don’t have any hair; otherwise I’d have to shave my head all over again.”

“I’m not so lucky,” he said. “I hope I can get the smell out.”

The refresher began to fill with steam from both showers running at once. Cerra soaped her entire body from head to toe, and still the stench lingered. On the other side of the narrow tile barrier, she could hear vigorous splashing that indicated Gregor was scrubbing himself thoroughly. Cerra let out a low groan of pleasure as she stood under the hot spray.

“At least it happened at the end of the trip instead of the beginning,” Cerra said.

“Mm-hmm,” Gregor said noncommittally.

“We might have to burn our clothes,” she observed. “I don’t know if the smell will ever go away no matter how many times we clean them.”

“Yeah.” Gregor’s voice was strained.

She shut her shower off and stepped out. Gregor was facing the wall of his shower stall, his back to her as he stood under the water.

“Ah, kriff, I forgot a towel,” she said. “Do you need one?”

“No!” he said, keeping his back turned to her. “I mean, I’m not quite finished. I think I need to wash my hair again.”

“Okay,” she said, crossing to the bank of lockers where they kept a supply of towels and toiletries. “I’ll leave a clean one for you on the sink.”

“Thanks, Cerra,” he said. “You should go get something to eat. It’s been hours since we had those ronto wraps.”

His tone was brusque, and she hoped he wasn’t still angry about the Raada mission.

“Good idea,” she said. “I need to send the cleaning droid into the freighter anyway.”

She went to the barracks and dressed quickly, then powered up the cleaning droid and programmed it to decontaminate the ship. She lugged the groceries into the kitchenette and began to stow them away just as Gregor exited the refresher and headed for the barracks, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Droplets of water beaded across his broad shoulders and chest, and her gaze slid down his body, just for an instant, before she jerked her eyes away, focusing on finding space to fit the joopa roast in the conservator.

Nothing I haven’t seen before, she thought. Though if she were honest, Gregor was built differently from the other clones, even from the ARC troopers. He was thicker and denser, and she tried not to think about the way those shining droplets had slid down the planes of his—What the hell? This is Gregor! You know, your best friend and the one person you can count on in the galaxy? Stop thinking about his muscles, damn it!

She shoved the roast into the conservator and slammed the door, leaning against it to make sure it sealed. She swallowed. What was wrong with her? First sex dreams, and now this? She must be losing whatever tattered shreds of sanity she still possessed.

This is all Echo’s fault, she thought irritably. I never even thought about Gregor that way until he put the idea in my head.

She sighed and dug through the bags of groceries until she unearthed the candilin orange and a kavasa fruit. She sliced them with unnecessary violence and arranged them on a plate as Gregor rejoined her.

He was dressed—thank the Maker for small mercies—and he looked far more relaxed than he had in a long while. Now that she thought about it, he had been tense ever since the night they’d gone to 79’s. A wave of guilt washed through her at the realization that she’d caused him that much distress.

“Want to catch up on the Bake Off?” he asked.

“I think we’ve earned it,” she replied. “Don’t tell Fireball we watched it without him, though.”

Gregor flopped down on the sofa and turned on the holotable, and Cerra curled up next to him. As the show’s opening jingle played, she passed him the plate of fruit. He tasted a slice of kavasa experimentally.

“That’s delicious!” he exclaimed. “No wonder it was your favorite.”

She swiped a slice and popped it into her mouth, enjoying the familiar burst of juicy sweetness across her tongue. It tasted like childhood. It tasted like home. She closed her eyes to blink away the tears that pricked behind her eyelids, and when she opened them, Gregor was watching her with a small, satisfied smile. He reached over and tugged her legs onto his lap and balanced the plate on top of her knees as he turned to watch the show.

The show hosts were droning on and on in some ridiculous opening skit about being turned into tookas. Cerra’s attention wandered, and her eyelids grew heavy. Gregor shifted her legs and stood to take the empty plate to the kitchenette, but before he could leave, she snagged his hand and tugged him back down onto the sofa with a sleepy grumble that sounded suspiciously like “No. My Gregor.”

He laughed quietly and set the plate on the floor, then lay down next to her. It was a tight fit, and she wiggled up against the back of the couch to make room for him. He wrapped his arms around her and began to rub small circles on her back, and within minutes, the pair were asleep.

The room was dark as Cerra floated toward consciousness. She felt wonderfully warm and safe, held securely in a strong embrace, and she closed her eyes again, drifting on the border between slumber and lucidity. Soft, even breaths fanned across the skin of her chest, where a head rested heavily against her. Their legs tangled together, one strong thigh trapped between her own, and she realized two things at once: first, that thigh was pressed against her achingly aroused sex; and second, he was hard as a kriffing rock against her hip.

“Fives,” she breathed.

She tightened her arms around his shoulders, determined to savor every second of their time together, knowing that they would have to wake up and return to their duties all too soon. She flattened her palm against the hard muscles of his upper back, stroking him languidly. Where were they this time? Florrum? Cato Nemoidia? Did it even matter? She pressed her lips against his forehead, inhaling deeply. Something was different about his scent. New soap? She liked it. It smelled comforting, somehow—familiar.

“Where are we?” she whispered, but his only answer was a soft snore.

She shifted, inadvertently dragging herself along his thigh and moaning quietly at the friction. Fives, responsive even in his sleep, rumbled deep in his chest and rolled his hips, grinding his cock against her. Gods, it had been too long. She’d forgotten how damned big he was. How long had it been this time? Weeks? Months? She couldn’t even remember. The campaigns blurred together, punctuated by those brief, rare occasions when they both had shore leave at the same time. Where are we?

Kriff, she was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being away from him. She missed him so much that it poisoned their time together: even now, with him lying safe in her arms, the knowledge that he would be gone again soon weighed heavily on her chest. How long do we have this time?

Where are we?

Her breathing settled into a regular rhythm, and she drifted back into oblivion. She was deep asleep when the man in her embrace shifted with a quiet, drowsy grumble and then went abruptly rigid. In the darkened garage, illuminated only by the Are you still watching? message on the holoprojector, he carefully disentangled himself from her and pulled away.

Hours later, Cerra awoke, disoriented and utterly alone.

Next chapter

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

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 16

Falls the Shadow

Rating: M - Minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 3.9k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; hand job; service kink; command kink; fluff; bonding; angst; flawed characters; smoking/drug use (depending on how you HC death sticks); DJ chose violence after seeing one too many shitty fanon takes about Gregor; remember how I said Chapter 9 was the last of the heavy angst? I lied, I'm sorry.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The strike team makes their final preparations for Balmorra; some difficult conversations are had.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Between the essence and the descent falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Riyo awakened slowly, feeling blissfully relaxed and wonderfully safe. The gentle light of a Coruscant dawn spilled through the window, bathing the room in a golden haze. Her back pressed against something solid and warm, and soft breath fanned against her bare shoulder. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, and it tightened ever so subtly as she took a slow, deep inhale and shifted her body. Echo’s scent surrounded her, and she took a moment to revel in his nearness.

He stirred, and his lips grazed across the sensitive skin just where her shoulder curved up to her neck—right where he’d bitten her only a few hours earlier. She let out a small, content sigh and rolled back against him until their bodies were pressed fully against each other, his thighs tucked in behind her knees. He’d taken off his prosthetic legs the night before, and she felt a deep sense of happiness that he felt safe enough with her to put himself in that vulnerable position. His hand flattened over her belly, large and strong, and she couldn’t repress a smile when she remembered exactly how that clever hand had touched her the night before.

“You’re not a morning person, are you?” Echo grumbled quietly.

“Afraid so,” Riyo confessed. “Is that a deal-breaker?”

“Nobody’s perfect,” he said, shifting their positions so her head rested on the shoulder of his scomp-arm. “Besides, I’m in too deep to end it now.”

She sucked in a small breath. “Are you?”

“Mmm,” he said, stroking his hand down the curves of her waist and hip and pressing a gentle kiss behind her ear.

She rolled over to face him, gazing into his beautiful, sleepy eyes. His face was soft, and his mouth curved in a small smile that made her want to kiss him all over, so she did. She covered him in tiny, light kisses, her lips just brushing over his skin, as she swept her hands over the hard, wiry muscles of his torso, and lower. She brushed against his cock and found it rigid and hot, and she pushed back the blankets so she could see him as he rolled onto his back.

She began to tease him gently and soon discovered a strand of her long, lilac hair had somehow gotten wrapped around his shaft. She pulled it away carefully, and he hissed and thrust his pelvis away from the mattress.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

“No, it felt amazing. Do it again,” he said.

He probably didn’t intend it as an order, but Riyo’s breath kicked up, and she looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. She brushed her fingertips over him with the lightest touch imaginable, and he groaned quietly.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I just—”

He looked at her inquisitively.

“I liked it when you told me what to do,” she admitted. “When you—commanded me.”

“Did you?” he asked, a hint of speculation in his eyes. She nodded, and he smiled. “Lie down next to me. Rest your head on my shoulder again.”

She obeyed.

“Now touch me again, just like you did before. Nice and soft.”

She licked her lips and reached for his cock, barely touching his skin, circling it with her fingertips, drawing the faintest lines up and down his shaft.

“That’s it,” he rumbled. “Keep going.”

She did as she was told, tilting her face up to look into his eyes. His gaze was riveted on her small lazuline hand as she caressed his cock with utmost tenderness.

“A little harder,” he said.

She took him in a loose hold, stroking up, down; twisting her wrist slowly. His breath hitched, and he pressed his lips into her hair. She traced a fingernail lightly down the underside of his cock, and he moaned as his head fell backward onto the pillow.

“Harder,” he grunted. “And a little faster.”

She squeezed and began to work him at a steady pace, feeling a rush of slickness between her thighs at Echo’s commanding tone. She loved knowing that she was giving him exactly what he wanted—that even though he was giving the orders, she was the one taking him to pieces with agonizing precision, just the way he liked. His breath became ragged in her ear, and she shifted to straddle his thigh, desperate to find relief for her aching cunt.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Squeeze it harder.”

She tightened her grip and increased her speed. He wrapped his scomp-arm around her back and pulled her tight up against him. She rolled her hips, feeling the familiar tension begin to gather in her core muscles. He thrust into her hand, panting and moaning.

“Squeeze me as hard as you can,” he ordered, his voice tense.

She wrung his cock in her hand until she was sure it must be agonizing, working fast and hard as the muscles in her forearm began to cramp. Abruptly, Echo reached up and pulled her into a kiss, latching his mouth onto hers as a groan wrenched from his chest. His body convulsed, and she felt the hot spurt of his release jet into her palm, coating her skin in thick, glossy pearls of cum. Pleasure flooded her mind, nearly as intense as a physical orgasm as she felt him come apart in her hand. She continued to stroke him lazily as his cock softened, until his body relaxed back into the mattress and he loosened his grip on her. His breath came loud and rough, and an expression of utter bliss settled on his face.

She gave a satisfied little smile as she raised her hand to admire the shiny fluid covering her palm and fingers.

“Kriff me,” he panted. “You’re amazing.”

“What’s the plan?” Echo asked as he surveyed the retired mining vessel on which their entire mission depended. “New hyperdrive and weapons?”

Cerra had called it vintage; Echo thought she was being too kind. Antique seemed more appropriate. Or scrapheap.

“The hyperdrive will have to wait until I can steal—I mean, source one,” Cerra replied. Echo smirked as Rex narrowed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “This one isn’t the fastest, but it’s in good shape, and for this mission, sublight speed and maneuverability are more important. I figure I’ll upgrade the ion engine and the maneuvering thrusters while you install forward cannons.”

“Makes sense,” Echo said. “Shields?”

“It already has a pretty impressive shield generator onboard, probably to protect it from asteroid impacts,” Cerra said. “We can recalibrate it for plasma weapons. Should be able to withstand anything a standard Gozanti-class cruiser can throw at you.”

“What can I do to help?” Rex asked.

“Try to convince Echo that this plan is insane,” Cerra said in a sardonic tone.

Rex shrugged. “That’s why he’s the ARC trooper.”

The upgrades and calibrations took several days. As Echo and Cerra worked, Fireball and Nemec bickered good-naturedly about what they should name the ship.

“Jango’s Revenge,” Fireball suggested.

“Not bad,” Echo called from his position at the front of the ship.

“Bit on the nose, no?” Nemec objected. “Might as well hang up a sign that says ‘Clone Deserters Inside.’”

“Then you probably also don’t like Kamino’s Fury?” Fireball asked.

“Immediately no,” Nemec said.

“What’s your brilliant idea, then?” Fireball retorted. “Shippy McShipface?”

“Miner Blues,” Nemec said. “Get it? Because—”

“No puns!” Cerra declared from where she dangled beneath the ship, suspended by a work harness.

“Killjoy,” Nemec muttered.

“Did you call me?” Echo asked.

“What about Remora?” Fireball suggested.

“What does that mean?” Nemec asked.

“It’s a creature Commander Gree told me about once,” Fireball said. “He always used to read all about different animals from around the galaxy. Remoras latch onto bigger fish, like the leech vessel latches onto the main ship.”

“Clever,” Cerra called. “I like it.”

“You’re just siding with Fireball because he’s your favorite,” Nemec said.

“Guilty as charged,” Cerra said dramatically, flipping upside down in her harness so Fireball could see her as she blew a kiss at him. He ducked his head with a bashful smile, and she cackled as she hoisted herself back up and continued her work.

“I like it, too,” Echo said.

“It is pretty good,” Nemec admitted begrudgingly.

“What’s pretty good?” Gregor asked as he and Rex strolled into the shop, back from whatever Force-forsaken errand they had been running.

“We’re naming the ship,” Fireball said.

“Oooh,” Gregor replied. “I was thinking something like—”

“No puns!” Cerra and Echo yelled in unison. “Jinx—Double jinx!”

“Now what happens?” Nemec asked, looking from Cerra to Echo and back again, but they both refused to respond, each determined to win.

“With neither of them allowed to talk? I’ll finally get some peace and quiet,” Rex sighed.

Once the major upgrades were complete, Cerra turned her attention to the smaller repairs and maintenance tasks that were inevitable on a vessel as old as the Remora. As she worked, she had plenty of time to listen to Echo and Gregor hammering out the logistics of the Balmorra mission. As they refined the details of their plan of attack, Cerra grew more anxious. Everything relied on precise timing, and if a single thing went wrong, the entire operation could end in a bloody catastrophe.

She tried to take comfort in the fact that Gregor would remain on the Remora, but the closer they came to zero hour, the more she began to imagine the many ways the mission could fail. Her anxiety came to a head when Rex was abruptly called away to meet one of his endless mysterious contacts, meaning that he would not be accompanying them on the mission.

It was the night before the strike team was scheduled to depart. Fireball and Nemec had gone on a munitions run, and Echo was in the shower after a long day of cleaning the Remora’s life support conduits. Gregor sat on the sofa, inspecting a crate of grenades as he pulled out a few last-minute additions for his personal arsenal. Cerra flopped down next to him, and he immediately abandoned his task, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her against him.

“Sticking with EMPs?” she asked.

He nodded. “And maybe a few smoke bombs. No thermal detonators. Wouldn’t want to blow a hole in the ship and launch us all out into space.”

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Nah. This is a picnic compared to what I used to do in the war.” His thumb traced lazy circles on her shoulder.

“If it’s so easy, maybe I should be the one piloting,” she said, and his hand abruptly stilled.

“No.”

She tilted her face up to look at him. His jaw was set firmly, and his eyes held an uncharacteristic hardness.

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s too dangerous,” he said.

“But you just said it was a picnic,” she argued.

“For me,” he said, pulling away and turning to face her. “Do you have any idea what kinds of missions they sent me on in the war?”

“Of course, I do,” she said, incensed.

“Then you should know I can handle this,” he replied curtly.

“I know you can,” she said. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Cerra!” he said, raising his voice. “I am a grown man. I know what I am doing.”

“I know that, but—”

“There is no ‘but,’” he said, rising abruptly from the sofa. “You need to stop treating me like I’m some weak, defenseless child!”

Cerra’s jaw dropped in shock. “That’s not—I don’t—”

“Do you think I don’t know that you’ve been trying to get Rex to bench me?” he snapped as he began to pace. “I’m not a fool.”

Cerra leapt up from the sofa. “I never said—”

“You didn’t have to!” he yelled. “It’s obvious that you don’t think I am competent!”

“That’s not true!” she exclaimed. “That’s not why—”

“Then why?” His voice was loud and angry, and something snapped in Cerra’s brain.

“Because I can’t lose you like I lost Fives!” she shouted. “Fuck! I can’t go through that again!”

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, gazing intently into her eyes.

“I—I mean you’re my best friend, and it would break my heart if anything happened to you,” she stammered. “What did you think I meant?”

He stared at her a moment longer before his face hardened. “Right. And how do you think it felt when you ignored me and went waltzing off to Raada?”

“That was different,” she objected.

“How?” he asked. “Because you think I’m helpless?”

“No!” she exclaimed.

“That I need to be protected?” he continued without letting her get another word in. “That I’m not capable of making my own decisions?”

“You know I don’t—”

“Stop!” he shouted. “Just stop, Cerra. What was it you said about Raada? It’s not your call.”

He stormed out of the garage, and she heard the engine of the speeder bike start up and fade into the distance. Cerra dropped to the sofa and cradled her head in her hands, wondering how the kriff that had gone so spectacularly wrong. She jerked her head up as she heard a soft sound behind her, whirling to see Echo standing just outside the fresher, and from his expression, he’d heard everything.

She sprang off the sofa and stalked out of the garage, slapping the control panel to close the door behind her. It slid shut quietly, and she wished it were a hinged door so she could have the satisfaction of slamming it. The landing platform wasn’t the ideal location for brooding, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. She found a rolled-up tarp and kicked it open, then flopped down on top of it. It wasn’t the cleanest, but it was a damned sight better than the filthy platform. She pulled a pack of death sticks out of her pocket and lit one, lying on her back as she took a deep inhale.

If there was one good thing about the deafening roar of Coruscant’s underworld traffic, it was that it was loud enough to drown out her thoughts. She willed her mind to empty as she stared up into the spiraling lights of the skylanes. She always loved watching the traffic. It was her favorite way to unwind after a mission—except usually Gregor was out here with her, sharing a bottle of spotchka and making her laugh until nothing hurt except her cheeks.

The door hissed open, and she rolled her eyes.

What do I have to do to get some gods-kriffing-damned privacy around here? she thought irritably.

Heavy, metallic footsteps approached. Echo crouched down beside her. She didn’t look away from the traffic.

“You know those things will kill you,” he said conversationally. “It’s right in the name.”

She exhaled a slow, steady stream of smoke before she answered. “I’m sure a blaster will get me first.”

“Fair enough,” he said, sitting next to her on the tarp. She held out the half-empty pack of death sticks in a wordless offer, and he silently waved it away before leaning back to look up at the skylanes. “Better not let Rex catch you with them.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Rex,” she said, forcing her eyes to unfocus so the lights blended into an endless, eddying stream.

An awkward silence descended between them. Echo shifted uncomfortably next to her.

“You should have one,” she said. “It would give you an excuse to cover why you’re really out here.”

Echo laughed shortly. “Straight to the point, eh?”

She shrugged. “Diplomacy is for politicians. No offense.”

“None taken,” Echo said mildly. “Riyo would be flattered.”

“She should be. She’s a good egg. I’m happy for you two.”

“I didn’t realize you cared,” Echo said.

“Damn. Don’t hold back.”

“I can’t figure you out, Cerra.”

“Nothing to figure,” she said.

“I know that’s not true,” he said. “You and Gregor—”

“That’s none of your karking business,” she snapped.

He paused for a moment, then quietly said, “Fives would want you to be happy.”

Hot, fierce anger coursed through her, and she took a long, steadying drag of smoke before she answered. “So, what, I should just get over it?”

“I didn’t say that,” he protested. “I would never say that. Do you think I just got over it? I learned to live with it, Cerra, and it karking hurts, but I’m not the one lying out here on a filthy kriffin’ tarp, self-destructing and pushing everyone away whenever they get too close. Losing Fives taught me that it’s even more important to stick with the people who care about you.”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “Fives was murdered by the people who were supposed to care about him.”

Echo blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

Her eyes snapped to him, an expression of bleak and utter devastation settling over her features. “Rex never told you, did he?”

“Told me what?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Fuck,” she said. “That is just kriffing like him, not to say anything because he thinks he can protect you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “What happened to Fives?”

She took a deep breath, trying not to say anything she would regret. “What exactly did Rex tell you?”

“He—he said…” Echo trailed off. He stared into her eyes, and his jaw firmed. “Tell me what happened.”

She spoke slowly, her voice low and trembling with suppressed rage and grief as she told him everything: Tup, the executed Jedi, the malfunctioning chip, Fives’s investigation, the chancellor’s accusations, Fives’s final conversation with Kix, and what came after.

“He was confused and terrified, and they hunted him down and executed him like a rabid hound,” she said hoarsely. “His own brothers.”

Echo’s eyes were wide and horrified. “Who? Who was it?”

Cerra paused, realizing how dangerously close she was to sabotaging Echo’s relationship with Riyo. If he found out that the senator had been in love with the man who’d executed his twin, who knew how he would react? As far as she knew, Cerra was the only person in the galaxy who knew about the connection. She couldn’t betray Riyo’s trust like that. She would take the knowledge to her grave.

“I don’t know,” she lied. “Some Corrie.”

She ignored the quiet inner voice that pointed out she was making exactly the same choice as Rex did when he withheld information to try to protect his people. She didn’t care. She’d rather be a hypocrite than an oathbreaker.

“What the kriff?” he rasped. “Why didn’t Rex tell me this before?”

Cerra shook her head. “We didn’t know the full story until all the inhibitor chips activated at the end of the war. By then… we were just trying to stay alive.”

“Is that why you deserted?” Echo asked.

She glanced at him sharply. “Rex told you, did he?”

Echo shook his head. “It wasn’t too difficult to figure it out, once I knew you’d served.”

Cerra’s hand shook as she lit another death stick. “No. That’s not when I deserted.”

Echo waited quietly for her to continue, and dread swirled in her stomach in anticipation of his reaction. What would he do when he discovered that she’d abandoned her post—not after the disastrous end of the war, but before any of them even had a hint of the carnage to come?

She took a long drag and exhaled slowly. “I left after the battle of Coruscant.”

Echo was silent for a moment, and Cerra held her breath as she waited for the inevitable contempt and recrimination. No matter what he said, it couldn’t be worse than what her family had put her through, or the shame she had heaped upon herself since that fateful day.

“Why?”

She swallowed thickly. In all the time that had passed, nobody had ever asked that question, though she had had plenty of time to ruminate on it.

When she didn’t respond after a moment, Echo asked, “Rex said you don’t know how to back down from a fight. So… what happened?”

“Kix,” she whispered.

Echo frowned. “The medic? I didn’t realize you knew him that well.”

“He and Fives were good friends after Umbara,” Cerra said. “Kix was helping me investigate Fives’s death. He was so close to figuring it out…”

“Was he killed, too?” Echo asked, his voice hard and forbidding.

“MIA,” she replied. “Just… gone. After that, I just—I couldn’t—” She paused to take a few deep breaths before continuing. “I knew that something was wrong, something big. Tup, Fives, Kix—everyone who started investigating the chips either ended up dead or disappeared. And I realized that everything I believed in—everything I’d spent my life fighting for—it was a lie. So I ran.”

“You abandoned your post,” he said in a neutral voice.

“Like you abandoned the Batch?” she asked nastily.

He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “What the kark is wrong with you, Cerra? I didn’t abandon them. They’re just on a different path.”

She launched to her feet and strode to the edge of the platform, flicking her death stick butt into the abyss. She was being massively unfair, and she knew it, which only made her angrier. Her fists clenched, inadvertently crumpling the pack of death sticks. With a ragged scream of frustration, she flung it into the abyss. She swayed dangerously close to the edge, and Echo’s strong hand closed around her wrist and yanked her to safety.

She jerked away from him, glaring furiously. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because you’re my sister!” he snapped.

Her jaw dropped.

“What?” she asked, stunned. Echo took a step toward her, and she backed up automatically.

“I heard what you said that night at 79’s,” he said. His voice was rough. “I know you and Fives were married. He was my brother, Cerra, my twin. And that makes you my sister, whether you like it or not.”

She stammered incoherently, not knowing what to say or how to react. It had never even occurred to her that Echo would think of her as family—or even want to. He stepped closer to her again, and this time, she didn’t pull away.

“Family doesn’t just stand back and watch each other drown without doing anything to help,” he said.

“Mine did.” Her voice cracked on the words.

“Well, I’m not kriffing going to,” he said.

Her head ached, and her throat felt like it was closing on itself. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a broken, hoarse croak. There was so much pain in the sound that Echo’s eyes immediately softened, and he reached for her hand slowly, giving her plenty of time to retreat. She let him take her hand, and she realized he’d never touched her before that night.

“You have to let him go,” he said quietly.

“How?” she whispered, unable to force her voice to project.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

Tears blurred her vision, and finally, finally, she allowed them to fall. She stepped close to Echo, and he wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face against his shoulder and sobbed. She wept for Fives, and for Echo, and for herself, and for everyone and everything that she had lost, and Echo held her until neither of them had any tears left to shed.

Next chapter

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

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dystopicjumpsuit · 7 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 8

In the Wind's Singing

Rating: M - Minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings and tags: fluff; bonding; discussions of autopsy/corpses; Coca-Cola is canon in Star Wars; no, I'm not joking; SMUT; masturbation

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The strike team returns from scouting Balmorra.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Voices are in the wind's singing

More distant and more solemn than a fading star.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The hologram flickered off, and Rex stared thoughtfully at the empty space where it had projected. Slowly, he said, “I want you to start looking into the clone assassin’s identifying code. Find out how it was wiped, and see if you can replicate the process.”

Cerra wrinkled her nose. “Does that mean I’m going to have to dissect his arm?”

“That’s for you to find out. I know you’ll do whatever it takes,” Rex said. “In the meantime, I’m grounding you for a few days. No sparring, no supply runs, no missions until your hand is healed.”

She felt a surge of impatience, but his tone brooked no argument, so she simply nodded. Some battles were simply not worth fighting, and she knew Rex would win this one anyway.

“I need to leave this afternoon to meet with a contact,” Rex continued. “Will you be all right alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Hand isn’t that bad.”

“Good,” he said. “Then you can get started on that ID code today.”

“Aye, aye, Cap,” she said with a mock salute.

Once Rex was gone, Cerra opened the stasis pod and examined the dead clone assassin’s forearm. Unlike the inhibitor chips, the identifying codes were not an implant; instead, the data was coded directly into the clones’ wrists. Nothing on the surface indicated how the ID data had been wiped. There was no scar, no wound—nothing except cold, smooth, brown skin. When she scanned it, a hologram appeared, but the contents were empty. She had a sinking feeling that she was going to need to remove the skin and examine it under a microscope to learn more.

Mechanical repairs were no problem for Cerra, but she was wildly unqualified to undertake any kind of medical examination, let alone an autopsy. For the thousandth time, she wished Kix were there. She worried that she would compromise the evidence, and the longer she had the stasis pod open, the more the clone assassin’s body would degrade. With that in mind, she sealed the pod again and began researching autopsy techniques on the Holonet. She watched autopsy vids for what felt like hours with a kind of gruesome fascination, barely noticing when the proximity sensor alerted her that the freighter had returned.

Echo, Fireball, and Gregor entered the garage to find Cerra sitting cross-legged on the couch, utterly engrossed by a vid projected from the holotable as she ate from a promising-looking container. Echo’s stomach rumbled.

“Boys,” she greeted them without looking up.

“Something smells good,” Echo said.

“I got takeout from Dex’s,” she said. “There’s more in the kitchen.”

“Is that brualki brisket?” Gregor asked.

“Yeah, I got extra for you,” she said. “There’s also brakkenback stew, nerfburgers, and two orders of each kind of protato on the menu.”

A woman of taste, Echo thought, heading to the kitchen to examine the options.

“Ugh, what are you watching?” Fireball demanded.

“Autopsy vids,” she mumbled around a bite of brisket.

“While you’re eating? Gross,” Fireball said.

“Gotta figure out what to do with our friend over there,” Cerra said, pointing at the stasis pod. “Besides, it’s not like I’m eating directly off a corpse.”

Echo pulled a face. Gregor went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets until he found a small medkit. Then he swiped the remaining container of brisket and a bag of fried protato wedges and flopped down next to Cerra on the sofa.

“Next time, you can buy dinner, and then you get to pick the holovid, Fireball,” Gregor said. “Cerra, did you take your antibiotics?”

“What antibiotics?” she asked distractedly.

“That’s what I thought,” Gregor said drily. He extracted a couple of pills from the medkit and handed them to her. “Take these.”

Cerra automatically took the pills and swallowed them, then handed Gregor a tub of glockaw sauce without taking her eyes off the holovid. “Ooh, look, they’re about to peel off the skin!”

Fireball gagged. Gregor dipped a protato wedge into the sauce and popped it into his mouth, chewing happily. Echo looked down at the container of stew he’d selected, and his stomach lurched, cheeks going even grayer than usual.

“I, uh, think I’ll hit the shower,” he said, setting the stew back on the countertop.

Cerra and Gregor didn’t respond, too immersed in the holovid. Despite himself, Fireball drifted closer, leaning over the back of the sofa with his eyes glued to the vid. He absentmindedly reached for a protato wedge, and Gregor slapped his hand away. Cerra wordlessly handed her half-empty bag of shoestring fries to Fireball.

Echo shrugged and headed to the refresher. He took his time in the shower, knowing that the rest of the group was likely to be distracted. The hot water relaxed the muscles in his back and soothed his aching limbs where his prosthetics connected. His mind drifted to Senator Chuchi—Riyo, as she’d insisted he call her. He couldn’t imagine the beautiful, gentle Pantoran watching holovids of corpse dissections. When Rex had opened the stasis pod to show Echo and the Batch the clone assassin, Riyo had carefully avoided looking at the man’s face. She hadn’t become desensitized to death and violence the way Cerra and his fellow clones had, but she was fearless, even in the face of Rampart’s attempts on her life.

She was so lovely. Sweet, but strong. As he pictured her smooth, cerulean skin, her soft lilac hair, and the subtle curves of her body, he felt his cock stiffen. Seizing the rare moment of privacy, Echo soaped up his hand and began to stroke himself, careful to keep silent. He braced himself against the shower stall with his scomp arm, tilting his head back to let the warm water flow over his neck and chest.

He envisioned Riyo around him—her mouth, her body, her sighs of passion and her enveloping warmth, her wide golden eyes glazed with need. His breath became ragged. It had been months since he’d been with a woman, he was acutely conscious that any of the team could walk in at any moment. Gritting his teeth to hold back his groans, he squeezed harder and increased the speed of his hand. Before long, the surging pleasure overwhelmed his control, and he spilled hot, white jets of cum onto the shower floor.

All his breath left him in a rush, and his head sagged to rest on the arm that braced against the shower wall. The water started to run cold, so he finished washing and toweled off, dressing quickly and returning to join the others.

Echo suppressed a laugh when he saw Fireball sprawled on the sofa with the other two. The two clones had removed their armor and now wore only their black body gloves. The holotable was cluttered with empty wrappers and takeout containers, and somebody had filled a bucket with ice and several bottles of ale, two of which Gregor and Fireball were already drinking. Echo noticed that the bulky bandage on Cerra’s hand had been replaced with a neat bacta patch, and the medkit had been put away. The group had turned raucous, and Fireball kept up a running commentary on the vid.

“You call that a primary incision?” he jeered. “I could do better blindfolded, with a vibrosword!”

“If you’re so confident, maybe you should do the autopsy,” Cerra said.

“No thanks,” Fireball said. “It’s one thing to watch a holovid. It’s something else when it’s a brother.”

“I know,” Cerra said. “That’s why I’m not drinking. Gotta keep my head clear so I can focus on the techniques.”

Echo grunted as he heated up a bowl of stew. “I can’t believe you’re still watching that. Why not put on something like the Great Galactic Bake Off instead?”

Cerra twisted around to look at him. “You’re a Bake Off fan? Have you seen this week’s episode yet?”

“No. I usually watch it with Omega,” Echo replied.

“Hmph, Charo Intan was robbed last week,” Gregor grumbled.

“You’re just saying that because the Sullustan got Galaxy Baker,” Cerra teased.

“His technical bake was a disaster!” Gregor exclaimed. “The judges are out of their minds.”

Fireball listened to the exchange with a look of utter bewilderment. “What are you even talking about?”

Three heads swiveled to stare at Fireball.

“You haven’t heard of the Bake Off?” Gregor asked incredulously. “Do you live under an asteroid?”

Fireball shrugged.

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Cerra said, punching the control panel of the holotable. “Prepare to lose your sanity and any hope of a social life.”

Echo was surprised at how nonchalant Cerra seemed, especially after the previous night’s disaster. He took his bowl of stew to the sofa and nudged Fireball out of the way as he sat down. It was a tight squeeze with the four of them, so Cerra scooted onto Gregor’s lap to make room. Fireball picked up her legs to drape across his thighs.

Echo couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between Cerra and Gregor. He had assumed they were a couple when he’d first arrived, but he had second-guessed himself when their obvious affection for each other never seemed to go beyond platonic demonstrations. But Gregor’s reaction to Cerra’s distress the previous night; the tender, intimate words he’d whispered as he comforted her; and in particular his anomalous hostility toward Rex made Echo reevaluate his assumptions yet again. But now the commando seemed utterly unfazed as Fireball joined their little snuggle pile, even as the younger clone settled in cozily beneath Cerra’s calves.

Fireball rolled up one of Cerra’s pant legs and began to doodle on her skin with a marker, drawing complex, abstract swirls in black ink. The familiar opening jingle of the Bake Off started to play, and Echo gave up on trying to unravel the complexities of—kriff—whatever was going on at the other end of the sofa, turning his attention instead to the holovid.

Once again, it seemed Echo was the odd man out. It seemed strange and wrong to watch the show without Omega, and he missed his brothers’ familiar camaraderie. He didn’t think Cerra was intentionally excluding him, but he couldn’t help feeling a little stab of envy at how easily she and Gregor had allowed Fireball into their little circle. The younger clone hadn’t needed to work for it at all; they’d simply absorbed him. Echo frowned as he wondered if he had done something to make Cerra hold him at a distance.

As if on cue, she rummaged through the bucket of ice, retrieving two bottles of ale and cracking them open. To Echo’s surprise, though, she held one out to him, and when he took it with a silent nod of thanks, she clinked her bottle against his and took a sip. Echo reflexively drank his as well, watching out of the corner of his eye as Cerra settled back against Gregor. The commando shifted to wrap his arm around her, tugging her closer to him and easing her head onto his shoulder.

“This is the week that useless Garr Tevv goes home,” Gregor declared. “I can feel it.”

“I don’t know, buddy,” Cerra said. “The judges don’t seem to share your opinion of Sullustans. I think he’ll make it to the finale.”

“What’s wrong with Sullustans?” Fireball asked.

“Heh, it’s a long story,” Gregor chuckled.

“You can’t judge all Sullustans by what Borkus did,” Echo said.

“Oh, can’t I?” Gregor asked. “How do you feel about Skakoans?”

“Fair point,” Echo conceded.

“Why are there so many contestants from Separatist worlds?” Fireball asked.

“Something about bringing the galaxy together after the turmoil of war,” Gregor said.

“By making them compete against each other?” Fireball sounded confused.

“Friendly competition,” Echo clarified. “Although it hardly seemed friendly when Timi Riniath stole Runa Mone’s conservator and left her custard out to curdle.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe they let Timi stay in after that,” Cerra complained. “Such a cheater.”

“I still think it was an honest mistake,” Gregor said.

“No way,” Echo and Cerra retorted in unison.

“Jinx, you owe me a Coke,” Cerra said automatically.

Echo inhaled sharply, and Cerra’s face went rigid as they both realized what she’d said. How many times had Fives repeated that sentence? He and Echo spoke jointly so often that it was practically their catchphrase. Fives and Cerra must have shared the same tendency for her to have picked up the habit.

“Kriff,” she whispered. “Sorry, Echo. I wasn’t thinking. It just slipped out.”

“That’s all right,” Echo said uncomfortably. “It was bound to happen sometime.”

Gregor rubbed a soothing hand on Cerra’s back. Fireball looked more confused than ever, but he wisely didn’t ask questions and went back to his drawing.

“Good to know you shared the same brain cell with Fives as I did,” Echo said to diffuse the tension. “Feels like there’s still part of him with us.”

For once, it seemed he’d said the right thing, because Cerra visibly relaxed, and a small smile crept over her face. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

The recap segment of the show ended, and they all turned to the holovid. Fireball occasionally asked questions about how the competition worked, which Gregor answered enthusiastically, and soon the group became fully captivated. They cheered for their favorites and booed the contestants they disliked. At some point, a second round of beers was passed around, and by the end of the show, Fireball had already downloaded the old episodes onto his datapad so he could watch them next time he was on a long hyperspace jump.

Cerra looked haggard and was probably feeling the lingering effects of the sedative Gregor had administered as well as the aftermath of everything else that had happened the previous night. She didn’t manage to stay awake through the whole episode, lulled to sleep by the way Gregor absentmindedly rubbed her shoulders and the soft drag of Fireball’s marker against her leg.

“I’ll take first watch,” Fireball said quietly.

Gregor nodded, standing cautiously with Cerra in his arms and staggering a little under their combined weight. Cerra jostled awake with a startled grunt.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Gregor said. “I’ve got you.”

She blinked owlishly at him and looked around.

“Good night, Cerra,” Fireball said.

“G’night, Tup,” she murmured as she burrowed her face into Gregor’s shoulder.

Fireball and Echo exchanged confused looks with Gregor, who just shrugged and turned away to carry Cerra to the barracks. Echo and Fireball cleaned up the detritus of their impromptu watch party, and then Echo headed for the barracks as well.

“I’ll take the second watch,” Echo told Fireball. “I don’t think Gregor has slept at all in the last two days.”

Inside the barracks, Gregor had already tucked Cerra into her bunk and was changing out of his body glove into a pair of sweatpants. Echo eased down onto his bunk and detached his leg prosthetics with a sigh of relief. Gregor climbed into his own bunk, and the barracks descended into silence.

By some miracle of fate or the Force, Echo slept. When Fireball shook him awake to stand watch, Echo flinched away, his heart racing. Fireball held up his hands placatingly and returned to the main room. Echo dressed quickly and reattached his legs, then went to join him.

“All quiet?” Echo asked.

“So far,” Fireball said. “But I got a comm from my brother Nemec. He wants out. Do you think Rex will help?”

“I know he will,” Echo said firmly. “We’ll start planning the extraction as soon as Rex gets back.”

The anxiety in the younger clone’s face eased, and he nodded gratefully when Echo told him to get some rest. Before he returned to the barracks, though, Fireball had one more question.

“Echo?” he asked hesitantly. “Who’s Tup?”

“No idea,” Echo said.

---

Next chapter

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

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dystopicjumpsuit · 7 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 6

This Last of Meeting Places

Rating: M - please head the warnings; minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 4.1k (I know, but trust me)

Warnings: use of alcohol as a coping mechanism; panic attack (described); blood and injury (including self-inflicted); threats of violence; medical emergency; heavy angst

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Cerra and Gregor go undercover at 79's.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

In this last of meeting places we grope together and avoid speech.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The roar of the crowd washed over Cerra as she entered 79’s. Deep, thumping music pounded in her ears, and neon lights flashed through a dizzying haze of smoke. The club was packed and dark, but she spotted Gregor in seconds, drawn to him like durasteel to a magnet. The tension eased out of her shoulders slightly; he had her back, and he would never let anything happen to her. He leaned casually against the bar, chatting with another clone, and he only acknowledged her with the barest flicker of a glance.

She threaded through the crowd, making her way slowly to the bar. Her head hurt. 79’s was one of the few places where clones were free to cut loose and have a good time, so it had naturally become Fives’s main destination during shore leaves. Cerra had loved the frenetic energy and gritty atmosphere, the electric buzz of sex and booze and spice and blasting music and bodies coming together on the dancefloor. Now it was nearly impossible for her to view the club as anything other than a punishment.

Rex’s voice hissed in her ear. “Smile, Cerra. You’re supposed to look like you’re having a good time, not like you’re about to burn the place to the ground.”

She schooled her features into a pleasantly vacuous expression. Gregor angled toward her for Rex’s benefit, and his eyes lit with amusement at her sudden shift. She suppressed the urge to flip him the bird, and instead focused on the conversations swirling around her. Many of the clones were discussing Admiral Rampart’s sudden and shocking fall from grace and subsequent arrest. A few complained about forced retirements. In general, the mood was more somber than she would have expected from a nightclub, but plenty of clones were eager to forget their troubles, and the dancefloor thronged with the gyrating bodies of drunken troopers and civilians grinding on each other.

She skirted around the perimeter and finally made it to the bar, realizing only as she arrived that there was a good chance that the bartenders would recognize her, if the staff hadn’t turned over in the past couple years. Her shoulders tensed as she searched covertly for familiar faces behind the bar, but for once, it seemed that luck was on her side: she didn’t recognize any of them, and none of them showed any sign that they knew her, either.

Gregor shifted to make space for her at the bar, and she slid into position behind him, brushing against him lightly for comfort. Beneath the rough wool of his uniform, he was warm and reassuringly solid, and he slipped a hand covertly behind him to give her a quick, encouraging pat. She ordered a double of Dodbri whiskey, tossing it back as soon as the bartender pushed it across the bartop to her. It was cheap and strong, and it burned like hell going down.

“Slow down, Cerra,” Rex said. She could hear the frown in his voice.

A clone squeezed in next to her, jostling obnoxiously into her personal space. Cerra’s heart lurched when she saw his face so close to her own.

It’s not him, she told herself sternly, ignoring the way her stomach flip-flopped inside her.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he grinned. “Can I buy you a photon fizzle?”

Cerra nearly grimaced at the idea of the sugary abomination of a cocktail. It was actually the perfect drink to sell her persona if she wanted to convince everyone in the club that she was just another party animal looking for a good time.

Showtime, she thought, batting her eyelashes at him in what she hoped was an alluring manner. It had been years since she’d flirted with anyone, but once upon a time, she’d been pretty good at it.

“That’s the best offer I’ve had all night,” she said in a husky tone. “What’s your name, trooper?”

She felt Gregor stiffen behind her. The clone’s eyes darkened. Shit, maybe she was laying it on a little too thick.

“I’m Stew,” the clone said. “Want to get out of here?”

“Amateur,” Rex jeered through the comm.

Cerra traced a finger up Stew’s chest. “Pump the brakes, soldier. I haven’t even gotten a drink yet.”

“Ease up on the bedroom voice,” Rex said. “You won’t be able to do much surveillance if you’re hooking up inside a supply closet.”

Cerra gritted her teeth. Her standards were significantly higher than a supply closet, thank you very much. And she wasn’t likely to hook up with anyone in this bar, no matter how much her mind chanted Fives, Fives, Fives when she saw their faces. Another clone stumbled closer, clapping Stew on the shoulder.

“Don’t mind Stew, ma’am. All that time shooting heavy artillery has scrambled his brains. I’m Trapper, and my brain is fully intact.”

Cerra faked a sultry laugh as Stew shoved Trapper away. “So, you’re telling me Stew has a big gun?”

Behind her, Gregor choked on his drink. Trapper looked comically disappointed, and Stew preened.

“Yes, ma’am,” Stew said. “Biggest gun in the fleet. And I always hit my target.”

The bartender slid two photon fizzles across to them. Cerra braced herself for the saccharine onslaught.

“Here’s to heavy artillery,” she said, clinking her glass against Stew’s, “and a man who knows how to handle his weapon.”

Gregor snorted. Cerra took a sip and tried not to gag on the chewy, slimy orbs in the cocktail. The sweetness made her jaw cramp. Stew chugged his drink with a delighted smile.

“Want to dance?” he asked hopefully.

“Try to get him to take you back to his booth,” Rex said. “We need to get him talking about something other than the size of his blaster.”

“I think I’d rather sit and talk with you boys,” she said, casting a simmering look at Trapper, who rallied immediately. “Do you have a table?”

Trapper nodded enthusiastically and looped an arm over Cerra’s shoulders. “Right this way, beautiful. I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“That’s because Stew never asked before he propositioned me,” Cerra said with a touch of acerbity.

Trapper slapped Stew on the back of his head. “That’s no way to treat a lady, dickhead.”

“Ow!” Stew said, rubbing his head as he trailed behind them. “Watch your kriffing language, you degenerate.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cerra caught a flash of the iconic crimson and white armor of the Coruscant guard. Her heart began to race, and her palms felt damp and hot. It’s not Fox. Fox is dead. It’s someone else. Fox is gone. He can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt anyone ever again. She worked to control her breathing, wishing that her mouth didn’t suddenly feel so dry. Stew and Trapper were still squabbling, and she made herself focus on their conversation.

“Quit complaining and order that round of shots you owe us,” Trapper said, steering Cerra toward a corner booth with a good view of the dancefloor. Two troopers were already seated inside, and they both straightened up and watched with interest as Cerra approached with their brother.

“Stak, Razor, I’d like you to meet my friend, er—” Trapper stopped, realizing that he still didn’t know Cerra’s name.

“Kallie,” she lied, forcing a smile to cover her shakiness.

“Nice to meet you, Kallie,” Razor said. “Is this idiot bothering you?”

“Not at all,” Cerra said as she slid into the booth, positioning herself so she had a clear line of sight on Gregor. The Corrie must have left the club, because there was no sign of red armor in the crowd any longer.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dump like this?” Stak asked.

“Has that line ever worked?” Razor asked his brother.

“No, but I’m an optimist,” Stak grinned.

Something about their names nagged at her memory. Had she met them before? If so, she hoped that her appearance had changed enough since she’d abruptly deserted the GAR that they wouldn’t recognize her. All four troopers were wearing their gray uniforms, so she couldn’t even identify their units from their armor paint.

Not the 501st, she thought. Rex raised his boys better.

Trapper flopped down into the booth next to her, effectively pinning her between himself and Stak. Across the club, Gregor raised an eyebrow inquisitively. She could practically hear him ask, You good?

She sent him a covert thumbs-up under the guise of sipping her horrible cocktail. The three clones sharing the booth with her looked at her expectantly.

“At least it’s subtler than Stew,” she said with a hollow laugh. “He went straight for the kill.”

Trapper, Stak, and Razor all heckled Stew as he approached the table bearing a tray of shots. The beleaguered trooper gave her a wounded look.

“I hear he has a huge blaster, though,” she added, taking pity on the gunner.

“It’s really more of a cannon, if I do say so myself,” Stew said with false modesty as he set the tray on the table and slid into the booth next to Razor. He passed out the shots, leaving one extra on the tray.

“Who’s the sixth shot for?” Cerra asked.

“The commander,” Razor said.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Gone,” Stak said grimly.

Cerra’s stomach dropped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Stupid. Should have known. Should have remembered. We always left a shot for Hardcase.

Stew gave her a reassuring smile, and then the clones raised their shots in a toast.

“To Commander Ponds,” Razor said, the others echoing him.

Cerra dropped the glass, which bounced off the table and rolled across the floor. Miraculously, it didn’t break, but it did splatter cheap rotgut all over everyone in the immediate vicinity.

“Shit! Sorry, so clumsy,” Cerra gasped, wiping herself with a napkin to cover her confusion.

Shit, shit, shit.

Across the bar, Gregor tensed, ready to spring into action if she needed him. Stak and Trapper mopped up the spilled booze while Stew retrieved the errant shot glass before somebody could step on it and break it.

“Sorry, boys,” Cerra said again, hating the way her voice trembled.

Rex’s voice hissed in her ear. “Tap the table twice if you need Gregor.”

“That’s all right,” Razor said. “Not the first time one of us couldn’t hold our liquor.”

Cerra shook her head in mock disapproval, making sure Gregor saw the motion. “That was a terrible pun, Razor.”

“It was,” he said with a twinkle. “Maybe you should… ‘pun’-ish me for it.”

Trapper, Stew, and Stak groaned simultaneously. Cerra relaxed a bit. Once she’d gotten over the shock of hearing Ponds’s name, she realized that she had never met Stak and Razor after all; their names had been familiar to her because Ponds had once told her about their heroic actions on Ryloth.

It had been at a family dinner—the dinner when Uncle Shoan had brought Ponds home to introduce him to the family. Cerra’s father had teased Shoan ruthlessly about undermining the chain of command. Shoan had retorted that her father would know all about it, as he’d been a colonel when he’d married Cerra’s mother, an enlisted mechanic. The night had devolved into good-natured bickering, and Ponds had jumped right in as though he’d known them all for years. Cerra had gone back to the Resolute afterwards feeling a warm glow of hope that someday Fives would receive the same welcome from her boisterous family, if she were ever brave enough to take the next step with him.

Cerra dug her nails into the skin of her thigh to bring herself back to the present. Ponds was gone, and Fives was gone, and there was no such thing as happily ever after. The best any of them could do was survive, and try to piece together whatever fragments of their shattered lives they could dig out of the rubble.

The four clones at the table still hadn’t taken their shots, so Cerra lifted her photon fizzle and repeated their interrupted toast: “To Ponds.”

They all knocked back their shots, and Cerra chugged what remained of her drink.

“Cerra. Slow down,” Rex repeated, and maybe he had a point, because the club started to look a little wobbly. The syrupy cocktail must have been stronger than it tasted.

“Atta girl,” Trapper said approvingly, draping his arm across her shoulders.

“Best commander we ever had,” Razor said glumly. “Not like these natties.”

The other three clones made identical faces of disgust.

“Natties?” Cerra asked, feigning ignorance.

“Natural-born officers,” Trapper explained. “Not clones. No offense.”

“None taken,” Cerra said. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Treat us like cannon fodder,” Stak spat. “Most of them have never even seen combat, but they act like they’re better than us. Like we’re worthless.”

“Expendable,” Razor agreed.

“That’s horrible,” Cerra said sincerely. “After everything the clones have sacrificed, it’s unbelievable that the Empire is treating you like this.”

Stew leaned in, hunching his back to the rest of the club. “I’ve heard rumors about clones going AWOL,” he said in a low voice. The other three clones looked around nervously, watching for eavesdroppers. “Even high ranking officers.”

“How high?” Trapper asked darkly.

“At least one marshal commander,” Stew said.

Cerra stifled a gasp. In her earpiece, Rex whispered, “Cody?”

“I don’t believe it,” Stak declared. “If one of the highest-ranking clones in the army had gone AWOL, we’d have heard about it.”

“Would we?” Trapper asked. “Seems like the empire would want to keep that intel quiet if they hope to avoid mass desertions.”

“Why bother?” Razor asked. “They’re already replacing us with those useless TK troopers. What do they care if a few clones leave ahead of schedule?”

“Because they don’t want us to survive,” Stew said grimly. “If we all get wiped out on the battlefield, they won’t have to worry about us causing any problems down the road.”

Stak reeled back. “That’s—that’s—you shouldn’t be talking like that,” he said, shooting an anxious look at Cerra.

“Keep them talking,” Rex ordered.

She dropped a soothing hand onto Stak’s clenched fist, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “You should know that a lot of people are grateful for your service to the Republic.”

“Don’t you mean the Empire?” Razor asked, eyes narrowed.

Cerra shrugged. “Sure. Slip of the tongue.”

Four identical pairs of eyes peered suspiciously at her. Dank farrik. She was losing them. She took a gamble.

“My—late husband was a clone,” she said.

Stak sucked in a breath that was audible even over the thumping music. All four troopers gaped, visibly shocked. Marriage to a clone was very, very illegal.

“Cerra?” Rex asked uncertainly.

“We always said we were going to run away together,” she continued, ignoring her captain. “Find some nice, remote moon and start a new life. He had names picked out in case we had children.”

Her voice cracked. Damn. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She was only telling them this to get them to trust her. So why did it feel like she’d ripped open her chest and exposed the remnants of her mangled heart?

“Kriff,” Razor cursed. “What happened?”

“He died,” she said, her words coming out in a broken whisper. “Trying to save his brothers. I would never dishonor his memory by betraying any of you.”

Stak turned his hand over to hold Cerra’s. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

Cerra looked around the table at the four troopers, whose faces now held no trace of suspicion—only pity. Something warm tickled her face, and she reached up to swipe it away. She stared down at the gleam of moisture on her fingertips. Stak was right. For the first time in two years, she was crying.

Kriff.

“Excuse me,” she said, pushing against Trapper to force her way out of the booth. “I need to use the refresher.”

He moved, but not fast enough, and in her desperation, Cerra crawled over the top of him to escape. She stumbled blindly toward the refreshers, the strobing lights of the club blurring through her tears. Inside the refresher, she braced herself against the sink and took several deep, gulping breaths. She tilted her head up and caught sight of her devastated reflection.

“Fuck!” she screamed and punched the mirror. “Fuck! Fuck!”

The glass shattered with a satisfying crunch under her repeated strikes. Dimly, she heard raised voices outside the fresher door, and Rex shouting something in her earpiece, but she couldn’t make out any of it over her own guttural sobs. She sank to her knees on the grimy floor, and all of her grief and anguish poured out of her like the blood and tears that mingled together and dripped down onto the filthy tiles.

The door burst open, and someone cursed violently, then scooped her up and carried her back out into the flashing, pulsating club. Bodies jostled against her, but the arms that held her were strong and steady as they pushed through the crowd. Abruptly, they exited the club. The music receded, and the cool night air washed over her.

“Cerra!” Gregor said. “Cerra, come on baby, tell me you’re all right.”

She heard a strange keening sound and was mortified to realize it was coming from her.

“Echo is inbound,” Rex said, his voice clipped and harsh.

“Negative,” Gregor snapped. “There’s no time. She’s injured. Have to bring her in on the bike.”

“Copy that,” Rex said. “Echo, return to base and help me prep the med station.”

“On my way, Captain,” Echo said.

“The speeder is right here, honey,” Gregor said in a soothing tone. “I’m going to get you home. Karking damn you, Rex.” He muttered the last bit.

“Hey!” A shout came from behind them. “What the kriff do you think you’re doing? Let go of her!”

She could hear footsteps running toward them. She took a gasping breath, trying to steady herself enough to tell Gregor that she was okay, that she could walk. But instead, she lost control and began to hyperventilate, wheezing helplessly.

Gregor whirled around to face their pursuers, clutching Cerra to himself.

“Piss off,” he growled fiercely. “She’s coming with me.”

His voice had no trace of his usual good humor, and she could hear the deadly commando that lurked beneath the easygoing surface.

“You’re not taking Kallie anywhere,” one of the voices barked. “There’s four of us and one of you.”

“I like those odds,” Gregor said. “Now piss. off.”

Cerra choked, clawing at her throat. Her hand was slippery with blood.

“Kriff,” Gregor whispered, crouching down and setting Cerra gently on the plastcrete. He leaned her against himself and rubbed between her shoulders. “Breathe, sweetheart. All the way out. Come on, love, all the way out, then count with me. One, two, three, four, five. Now breathe in. One, two, three, four, five.”

“W—what’s wrong with her?” a voice asked. “She’s bleeding! What happened to her?”

Gregor ignored the questions and kept coaching Cerra’s breath until she slowed into some semblance of a normal rhythm. Her entire body trembled, and she felt sweaty and cold at the same time.

“Hey, asshole, I’m talking to you.” The voice was hard and angry and very close.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Gregor snarled.

“What do you mean, what did we do to her?” the voice asked. “We were just talking, then she went to the fresher, and the next thing we knew, you were kidnapping her!”

“I don’t think he was kidnapping her, Stew,” a second voice said.

“Can you stand, honey?” Gregor asked gently against Cerra’s ear, apparently having decided to ignore the other clones.

Cerra nodded weakly. “I think so.”

Gregor stood and pulled Cerra gently to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. Once he was certain she was not about to pass out, he guided her onto the speeder bike.

“Easy, love. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

One brave soul approached and asked, “Kallie, are you all right?”

Cerra looked up and saw Stak fixing her with a worried stare.

“I’m all right, Stak, I just—” Her vision swam.

“Kark, she’s losing a lot of blood. We don’t have time for this.” Gregor mounted the speeder bike, cradling Cerra in his arms, and they were in motion before Stak could object. Gregor piloted the bike expertly through the skylane, muttering a combination of reassurances and curses in Cerra’s ear. She must have blacked out at some point, because the trip seemed much shorter than it should have, and then he was carrying her again—easing her out of her coat—laying her gently on a cot—examining her hand.

“Medkit,” a voice said, and it sounded just like him.

“Fives?” she whispered brokenly, but there was no answer.

She felt the sting of antiseptic as Gregor cleaned the wounds, and her eyes flew open at the sensation. Echo was handing Gregor medical supplies, and Rex paced in the background.

Not Fives. It’s Echo. It’s not him.

“You have glass in your hand, sweetheart,” Gregor said. “It’s going to hurt when I pull it out.”

“I’ll be fine,” she croaked.

“I’m going to count you down from three, okay? Three, two—”

A searing pain shot through her hand, and then he pressed the wound firmly with a gauze pad.

“Who taught you to kriffing count?” she gasped, her eyes watering.

“She’s got her potty mouth back,” Gregor said with a tiny laugh. “She’ll be all right.”

He pulled out a few more shards, then stitched up the worst of her injuries and applied a generous coating of bacta before wrapping her hand in bandages. Cerra kept her eyes trained on the ceiling, knowing from experience that it would be a bad idea to watch him work. Finally, he finished up and draped a blanket over her.

“All done, love.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead as she felt a pinch on her shoulder. She whipped her head to the side and saw him withdrawing a hypospray.

“What was that?” she demanded, and then the world went black.

Echo began to clean and sanitize the improvised med station, gathering up the blood-soaked gauze and swabbing away the trail of red droplets that had oozed from Cerra’s hand as Gregor had carried her through the shop. Gregor handed the empty hypospray to Echo for disposal, then checked Cerra’s vital signs as she succumbed to the sedative he’d administered. Once he was satisfied that she was stable, he tucked the blanket more securely around her and stood. Tension radiated from him, and Echo gave him a wide berth.

“What happened?” Rex demanded.

Gregor snapped. He shoved Rex against the wall and pinned him in place, his forearm locked against the captain’s throat. Echo dropped the biohazard containment bag and rushed to intervene.

“You know kriffing well what happened,” Gregor snarled. “You knew she wasn’t ready, and you sent her in anyway.”

“She wouldn’t have gone if she didn’t think she could handle it,” Rex gritted out.

“She will do anything you tell her to, and you know it,” Gregor said, slamming against Rex again.

Rex shoved him off. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Banthashit,” Gregor snapped. “I could have gone in alone.”

“And what good would that have done?” Rex demanded, a challenge clear in his voice. “Did you learn anything useful?”

“As a matter of fact, I did hear something interesting about the Balmorra system. I didn’t have a chance to find out more because I was busy watching Cerra’s back,” Gregor retorted.

“Oh, and you did a great job,” Rex taunted. “Guarded her so well she damn near bled out.”

Gregor laughed—a harsh, ugly sound that seemed out of place and wrong coming from him. His fist lashed out so fast that Echo almost didn’t see it happen. Rex stumbled backward, blood pooling in his mouth.

“Kark you, Rex. Stay the fuck away from her.”

Gregor strode away to stand guard next to Cerra’s makeshift cot. Rex started to follow, but Echo laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Rex shot him a questioning glance, and Echo jerked his head toward the landing platform. With one last look at Cerra’s unconscious form, Rex turned and followed Echo outside.

“What is it?” Rex asked.

Echo paced back and forth, anger and confusion buzzing just below the surface. “What the kriff, Rex? She and Fives were married? You didn’t think that was important enough to tell me?”

Rex didn’t meet his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I didn’t know.”

---

Next chapter

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

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dystopicjumpsuit · 7 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 4

The Supplication of a Dead Man's Hand

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

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

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: angst; injury; fake medicine; hurt comfort; alcohol use; Fox girlies don't come for me

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The Rex, Echo, and Gregor return with Fireball, and Riyo gets to know Echo a little better.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones. A huge thank you to @freesia-writes for beta reading this chapter!

Here the stone images are raised, here they receive the supplication of a dead man's hand under the twinkle of a fading star.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Setting up the surgical pod took the better part of the day, and Riyo was grateful she had no pressing business in the senate. She knew Cerra didn’t really need her assistance, but it was such a relief to not have to keep up her careful masquerade, and Riyo was grateful for the invitation.

If she were completely honest, Riyo had to admit she found Cerra somewhat intimidating—even a little terrifying, at times. There was something about her silent intensity that made Riyo wonder just how close the woman was to snapping at any given moment. It made the senator nervous, and she found herself babbling awkwardly in her presence.

Cerra surprised her. Yes, she was prickly, but she was also surprisingly kind, and Riyo had ended up revealing more about herself than she had ever intended. She wasn’t sure why; Cerra certainly hadn’t pressured her. Quite the opposite, in fact. But when Riyo had spoken of her grief for Fox, something about Cerra’s reaction made Riyo think she empathized more than she let on.

They had just finished calibrating the surgical pod and was running a final diagnostic when a loud beeping sound reverberated through the garage.

“What’s that?” Riyo asked, alarmed.

“Proximity alert,” Cerra replied, wiping her hands on a rag. “It’s probably Rex.”

Despite Cerra’s calm demeanor, Riyo couldn’t help but notice that her hand drifted almost imperceptibly toward the blaster strapped to her thigh. Riyo slipped off the pod and hurried to the front of the shop as they heard the familiar clang of a ship landing on the platform outside the garage.

She’d be lying if she told herself that the opportunity to spend more time with Echo hadn’t formed a large part of her motive for visiting the shop, and she was relieved that he had returned before she needed to depart. A small stab of guilt coursed through her. Am I being disloyal to Fox? Is it too soon to be interested in someone else?

Cerra followed more slowly. The freighter ramp was down, and Rex disembarked first, supporting a clone in green armor as he limped out of the ship. He was carrying his helmet, and his face was tense with pain. Gregor and Echo followed behind Rex and the new clone, and Gregor thumped Echo on the back, laughing triumphantly.

“Welcome home, boys,” Cerra called. “Need any help?”

“I could eat. Not if you're cooking, though,” Gregor said with a cheeky grin.

Riyo’s eyes flitted to Cerra, wondering how she would react to the commando’s casual taunt, but surprisingly, a tiny smile flitted across her lips, and she hurried to help Rex as he reached the bottom of the ramp.

“It’s your lucky day,” Cerra said. “The senator brought snacks.”

“Fireball, I’d like you to meet Cerra Kilian and Senator Riyo Chuchi,” Rex introduced them.

"It's nice to meet you, Fireball," Riyo greeted the young clone.

"Senator," he gasped through gritted teeth.

Cerra moved to support him under his other arm, easing his helmet out of his hand and passing it to Riyo. “Easy, buddy. I've got you. Do you need a medkit?”

He shook his head. “Rex patched me up on the shuttle.” His voice was tight. “Just waiting for the bacta to work.”

Together with Rex, Cerra led Fireball to the shabby old sofa and got him situated as comfortably as possible. Riyo went to the kitchenette and doled out the soup she’d brought in a heated delivery canister, then distributed it to the grateful team, checking in with each of them to make sure everyone had made it back safely. Cerra declined the cup Riyo offered her, mumbling something about checking the ship’s supplies, and then disappeared into the freighter. Riyo went to Echo last and settled next to him on the sofa, basking in his soft, warm smile as she handed him his food.

Cerra was relieved to escape into the silence and solitude of the freighter. She could only hope that someday her treacherous brain would stop seeing Fives in the face of every clone she encountered. It wasn’t as difficult when she had time to prepare, and she knew that she would eventually have to get used to it if she stayed with Rex.

She took a quick inventory and restocked the ship’s medical supplies. Even from inside the freighter, she could hear Gregor telling the senator about the mission. It sounded like it had gone relatively smoothly, right up until Fireball took a blaster bolt to the thigh. But the clone was alive and free, so Cerra counted it as a win. She worked methodically, telling herself that she was just being conscientious, and not that she was avoiding interacting with Fireball until her brain had time to catch up to reality.

It’s not him, she told herself sternly.

Heavy footsteps on the ramp warned Cerra of Rex’s approach.

“Did you get the pod up and running?” he asked.

“Just finished when you got back,” she replied.

“I’d like to remove Fireball’s chip as soon as possible,” he said.

“Do you think he’s up to it?” Cerra asked. “His injury looked nasty.”

“It’s too dangerous to leave it in,” Rex said with finality. It was unmistakably an order, even if it wasn’t phrased as one.

“Understood,” Cerra nodded, before adding, “So long as he agrees.”

“How are supplies?” Rex asked, ignoring her tiny show of insubordination.

“Getting low,” Cerra acknowledged. “I’ll have to make a run soon. But we should have enough bacta and stims for now.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “When you go, take Echo with you.”

Cerra frowned impatiently. “We’ve been through this. It’s too risky for a clone to go. If anyone recognizes him—”

“They won’t,” Rex interrupted.

“You don’t know that,” Cerra said with an irate huff, but she let it go for the moment.

She finished restocking the supplies, and when she exited the ship, Riya and Echo stood alone on the landing platform. They leaned close together as they spoke, and Cerra hurried into the garage, acutely aware that she was encroaching on a conversation that was not meant for her to hear.

“Have you been keeping safe?” Echo asked.

He stood close to Riyo, close enough that he could smell her subtle, sweet perfume. Close enough for him to admire the way her tattoos curved over her cheekbones and emphasized her beautiful eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “My guards have doubled their shifts, but they haven’t uncovered any further threats against me. It seems that Rampart was the only one behind the assassination attempt, after all.”

“I hope so,” Echo said. “I hate to think that you’re putting yourself in danger for us.”

In the semi-darkness, the whirling lights of air speeder traffic reflected in Riyo’s golden eyes as she stared up at him. “Isn’t that what you did all through the war? Put your life on the line to protect us? It seems only right that I return the favor.”

“That was different,” Echo objected. “We were soldiers. That was our purpose.”

“You’ve always been more than that,” Riyo said, taking his remaining hand in both of hers as she swayed closer to him. “May I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” he replied.

“It’s somewhat personal, so please don’t feel you need to answer if you’d rather not,” she said hesitantly.

Echo smiled. “Noted. Please go on.”

“Why did you decide to join Rex?” she asked. “You had a chance to have a life away from all of this—a life with Omega and your brothers. What made you choose to stay and fight?”

He paused for a moment, considering. “Fighting is—well, it’s all I’ve ever known,” he said slowly. “It’s what I was created for. When I was with the Batch, I was still risking my life nearly every day, but it was for petty, meaningless things. Missions that only served to make someone else rich. With Rex, at least I’ll know that I’m fighting for something. For a cause. That I’m risking my life to make a difference, to help people. And if I die…”

Riyo looked away, distress written plainly on her features. Echo cupped her chin gently and tilted her face back toward his, ghosting his thumb across her soft lips.

“If I die,” he continued, “it will be for something worthwhile.”

He felt her take a deep breath as she gazed up at him. “Echo—”

Raucous laughter burst from the garage, and she startled away from his touch.

“I should probably get back to the embassy,” she whispered, tearing her eyes away from his.

“Would you like an escort?” Echo asked.

“It’s kind of you to offer,” Riyo said with a smile, “but you must be exhausted after your mission. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Echo replied.

“Perhaps some other time,” she said.

Echo nodded, not wanting to pressure her. “Of course, Senator.”

He helped her carefully into her speeder, then watched as she piloted away from the platform and disappeared into the swarm of Coruscant traffic.

Rex caught Cerra’s eye and tilted his head meaningfully at Fireball. She took a deep, steadying breath, then went and sat next to the clone.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Free,” Fireball said with a shaky laugh.

She smiled. “How’s the pain? Are you up for having the inhibitor chip extracted?”

“Yes, sir,” he nodded.

“You can just call me Cerra,” she said. “Everybody else does.”

He nodded again, visibly relaxing. “Does it hurt? When you take out the chip?”

“You’d have to ask Rex or Gregor what it’s like,” Cerra said. “But you’ll be sedated, so you shouldn’t feel a thing. I’ll have to shave your head, though. Got any preferences for a hairstyle?”

“How do you think I’d look with a mohawk?” he asked with a roguish smile that reminded her so much of Fives that Cerra nearly gasped aloud.

It’s. Not. Him.

“Let’s find out,” she said with a forced smile. “You can always shave the rest of it off if you hate it.”

Echo rejoined the group just as Cerra finished shaving the sides of Fireball’s head. Since they already had experience using a similar pod to extract the inhibitor chips from the Bad Batch, he and Rex performed the extraction. Cerra and Gregor observed so they could handle the procedure in the future if necessary. The chip came out without any complications, and before long, Fireball was recovering on the sofa, sipping a glass of water while the rest of the team sat around him on crates, sharing a flagon of spotchka.

“Kilian, you said?” Fireball asked, eyeing Cerra curiously. “My first assignment was under an Admiral Kilian.”

Cerra nodded. “My uncle, Shoan Kilian. Whole family is military. That’s just what Kilians do.”

“And what did you do?” Fireball asked.

“Supply officer,” Cerra said with a self-deprecating shrug. “The more things change.”

“The admiral was a good man,” Fireball said. “I heard he retired.”

“He did,” Cerra said. “He lost someone close to him.”

“Ponds,” Fireball nodded.

Cerra looked at him sharply. “Yeah. After Ponds d—” The word lodged in her throat, and she swallowed before she continued. “Well, after Ponds, it was like all the fight went out of him.”

“I guess that’s understandable,” Fireball said.

“Not to me,” Cerra replied.

Echo followed the exchange closely, his gaze flicking between Cerra and Fireball. Cerra shifted, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

“I’m going to get some air,” she said. She grabbed another bottle of spotchka as she made her way to the edge of the landing platform. She sat down and dangled her feet over the abyss, staring out at the whizzing speeders.

She hadn’t spoken to her uncle in over a year. She hadn’t spoken to any of her family, actually. It was too much of a security risk, and besides, she couldn’t bear to face their disappointment and anger after she’d abandoned her post on the Ro-Ti-Mundi following the battle of Coruscant. In their eyes, it was the worst possible thing she could have done. She sometimes wondered if they would have preferred her to have gone down with the Resolute rather than desert.

She avoided her uncle Shoan for an entirely different reason. He knew better than anyone in her family what she had gone through, but at least he had retired honorably after his lover’s death. A bounty hunter had executed Ponds as Shoan watched, helpless to intervene. It had been a brutal but swift death in the line of duty, at the hands of a clear enemy. Fives had been hunted like an animal and then gunned down by his own brothers. He had been lost, confused, and terrified, and he had been murdered by the very men whose lives he was trying to save.

So no, Shoan did not understand Cerra’s decisions.

Lost in her thoughts, Cerra didn’t hear Gregor’s approach until he lowered himself to sit next to her on the edge of the platform. Had it been any of the other clones, she would have scowled at them until they went away. But it was Gregor: warm, steady, funny, comforting Gregor, who had taken a single look at Cerra and simply claimed her as his best friend the day that Rex introduced them all those months ago.

He settled next to her, bumping her shoulder with his and holding out his hand for the bottle of spotchka. Cerra handed it to him wordlessly, and he took a long drink. They sat together in silence for some time—unusual for the commando, who could run his mouth with the best. Sometimes, he reminded Cerra of Fives in that way. Gregor was gentler than Fives, whose sense of humor sometimes made him a little abrasive, but both of the clones had a way of drawing everyone around them into easy, friendly conversations that somehow became unshakable bonds.

Cerra felt immensely lucky to have a friend like Gregor, which is why she didn’t shove him off the platform when he inevitably started talking.

“How are your ribs?”

“Fine,” she said. “Definitely not broken.”

He gave her a skeptical look but let it go, and they once again lapsed into silence. Unfortunately, he couldn’t resist prodding again.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

She shrugged. Suddenly, she felt exhausted. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm loosely around her back and pressed a kiss to the top of her shaved head. His lips were warm against her skin, and she sighed as he rested his head against hers.

“Talk to me,” he cajoled.

“I talked to Riyo today,” she began slowly. “About Fox.”

Gregor’s shoulder tensed. “Yeah?”

Cerra hesitated, not wanting to reveal Riyo’s personal story that she’d shared in confidence; not even to Gregor. “They were friends. When she talked about him, it was so different from how I’ve always thought of him.”

She paused, and Gregor waited in silence as she gathered her thoughts. He squeezed his arm around her encouragingly, and she scooted closer to him, reaching for the spotchka bottle. He handed it to her, and she took a fortifying drink. At length, she continued.

“It was like, in my head, I’d built him up to be this monster, but Riyo only ever saw him as a good man.”

Gregor waited a moment to see if she was going to continue before he replied, “We all want to think the best of our friends. Heh, and the worst of our enemies, too.”

“Do you think Fox was under the influence of his inhibitor chip when he killed Fives?” she asked. Her voice sounded very small.

“Maybe,” he said. “We can never know for sure. But I think it’s a good thing that you can consider the possibility.”

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied firmly. “It’s progress.”

“Did it bother you to hear me talk about him the way I did before?” Cerra asked, feeling a stab of remorse about the many, many times she had cursed Fox in front of Gregor.

“Nah, kriff that brother-killer,” Gregor said easily. “I never knew him, and I don’t give a single kark about honoring his memory. But I give a lot of karks about you.”

Cerra laughed, a thick, ragged sound. “You’re a really good friend, Gregor. Maybe don’t say that in front of Riyo, though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Is there anything else on your mind? You’ve been even quieter than usual the past few days.”

She looked behind them to make sure they were still alone on the platform before she replied.

“It’s Echo,” she confessed. “It’s strange to have him here, this constant reminder of Fives.”

“Is it the usual problem?” Gregor asked.

Cerra had told him months before how she struggled when meeting new clones, but that was not her current issue.

“No,” she said. “He looks different enough that I don’t get… confused.”

“What is it, then?” Gregor asked. He sounded a little defensive, and Cerra knew that he was torn between his friendship with her and his loyalty to the clone who’d helped rescue him from the Imperial base on Daro.

“It’s nothing he did,” she hastened to reassure him. “It’s just hard to meet the other person in the galaxy who was closest to Fives, but we don’t know each other at all. It’s like this giant, looming thing. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know how to tell him that Fives and I—”

She faltered.

“Maybe you should get to know him,” Gregor suggested.

“Rex certainly seems to think so,” Cerra said with some asperity. “He wants me to take him with me on my next supply run.”

Gregor chuckled. “I don’t think Rex will ever stop feeling responsible for the boys in the 501st.”

“He needs to channel that energy into something productive instead of hounding me all the time,” Cerra said, disgruntled. “I hear needlepoint is very soothing.”

“Heh. I should ask him to embroider me something. Maybe a TK trooper helmet with the words, ‘Aim. Shoot. Miss.’”

“You know, you’re the one who taught them how to shoot,” Cerra pointed out.

“Good thing, too. We would probably be dead by now if I’d taught them properly,” Gregor said.

“Oh, so it was a strategic decision from an elite commando, then,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said with a giggle.

Cerra snuggled closer to him, reaching across to hold his free hand. She knew that the hoarseness in his voice sometimes made him self-conscious, but to her, it was the most comforting sound in the galaxy, because it was his.

“You know I never met Fives,” Gregor said quietly. “But I do know Echo. He’s a good man, Cerra. He saved my life. If Fives was anything like his twin, then it’s even more of a damn shame that I’ll never get to know him.”

“Fives would have loved you,” Cerra said. “I can’t imagine what kind of bizarre pranks the two of you would have gotten up to if you’d met.” Gregor laughed and nudged his knee playfully against her leg. “He’d be happy to know I have you to watch my back.”

“I always will,” Gregor promised, squeezing her into a hug. They stayed that way for hours, watching the airspeeders streak across the neon city, their dazzling lights swarming through the darkness of the night sky: a spiraling, unnatural galaxy of stars beyond number.

---

Next chapter

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

54 notes · View notes

dystopicjumpsuit · 7 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 7

Wind in Dry Grass

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

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

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: angst; mentions of blood and injury; vomit; implied alcohol abuse

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The team grapples with the aftermath of the mission to 79's.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Our dried voices, when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless as wind in dry grass.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Gregor was uncharacteristically subdued as he piloted the freighter through hyperspace. Echo watched him out of the corner of his eye. The commando’s simmering rage the previous night had burnt itself out quickly, but he had been noticeably tense that morning when Rex had ordered him, Echo, and Fireball to scout the Balmorra system. Echo had half expected Gregor to refuse to leave Cerra’s side, but he had stalked wordlessly to the freighter and prepped the ship for departure.

Fireball napped in the crew quarters, avoiding them both. Echo still wasn’t certain how a simple recon mission had gone so spectacularly wrong. One minute, Cerra had been chatting up a few troopers, and the next, Gregor was carrying her into the garage as she bled all over the floor. The holofeed from Gregor’s surveillance cam was dark and blurry, and it had been impossible to make out in any detail what had happened to Cerra when she went to the refresher. Gregor flatly refused to discuss it.

The audio feeds, though, had been crystal clear, and so had the anguish in Gregor’s voice as he carried Cerra to safety. Echo had never seen him so shaken, not even when he was running for his own life. Still, his hands had been steady as he’d pulled shards of glass out of Cerra’s hand and stitched the wounds closed. He’d moved with an efficiency that demonstrated that he still remembered his training, regardless of whatever else he’d lost on Abafar.

Once Cerra was resting safely, that intense focus and self-control had cracked. Gregor’s fury as he lashed out at Rex was so out of character that Echo wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t witnessed it.

“Better wake up Fireball,” Gregor said, interrupting Echo’s train of thought. “We’re coming up on Balmorra.”

True to his word, they dropped out of hyperspace within minutes. The planet loomed before them, a grim and hostile sphere of churning gray. Echo began his scan.

He cursed. “Place is a fortress.”

Gregor shot him an inquisitive look.

“There’s a facility down there, all right,” Echo said. “But security is so tight we wouldn’t be able to land before they blew us out of the sky.”

“What are their defenses?” Gregor asked.

“Sensor buoys in the atmosphere. Automated anti-aircraft cannons. Gun turrets on the facility. Unknown number of ground forces. And the facility itself is dug into a mountain. There is no way we can get in there. We couldn’t even breach the atmosphere without being detected.”

“Can you tell what the facility is?” Fireball asked.

“If I had to guess?” Echo asked grimly. “I’d say a prison.”

“Then who are the prisoners?” Gregor asked, staring out the viewport at the forbidding planet before them.

“Don’t know,” Echo said, “but I’m not sticking around long enough to become one of ‘em. Let’s head back to Coruscant. We can report to Rex on route.”

Cerra was dead. She was in hell. There was no other explanation. She had died and was being tortured for her misdeeds for all eternity. Her head throbbed. Her throat was raw and parched. Her stomach roiled. Searing agony shot through her hand. She groaned and cracked open one eye to see the deserted garage.

Not dead, then. At least, not yet.

The shop was totally silent. A bottle of water and two painkiller tablets sat on a table next to her. As she reached for the bottle and caught sight of her bandaged hand, the disastrous events of the previous night came back to her in a rush.

“Kriff,” she rasped.

She swallowed the painkillers, then took a drink of the blessedly cool water, swishing it through her fuzzy mouth. She pushed off the blanket that covered her and saw that somebody had removed the cursed high heels, but she was still wearing Rafa’s dress, and it was spattered with blood.

“Ah, karabast. Rafa’s gonna kill me.”

The room spun around her as she forced herself to sit up. She waited a moment for the nausea to subside before she stood and made her way to the kitchenette. To her surprise, Rex stood next to the caf machine.

“I thought everyone was gone,” she croaked.

“The others are following a lead,” he said as he turned to her. Exhaustion was etched deeply under his eyes, and his face sported a massive bruise and a split lip.

“Kark me,” she cursed. “I didn’t do that to you, did I?”

Rex smiled painfully. “Don’t flatter yourself, kid. You couldn’t land a hit on me stone-cold sober.”

“What happened, then?” she asked.

“I ran into a pipe,” Rex said.

Cerra arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him and immediately regretted it when pain lanced through her head. “Don’t lie to me before caf.”

“Fine,” Rex sighed. “I ran into a fist.”

“Whose fist?” Cerra demanded.

“Doesn’t matter. I deserved it,” Rex said, handing her the cup of caf he’d made.

“I doubt that,” Cerra said, chugging the caf as she retrieved the small medkit that they kept in the kitchenette. “Come here and sit down.”

Rex sat obediently on a crate, and Cerra dabbed bacta on his lip. He stared up at her as she worked, his amber eyes—Fives’s eyes—clouded with remorse.

It’s not him.

“Sorry about last night,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked you to go.”

Cerra frowned. “At least we got some intel. Yeah, it sucked, but you were right; there was no other option.”

Rex shook his head. “No. I should have found another way. I will find another way. I won’t put you through that again.”

“Well,” Cerra said in a speculative tone, “Gregor did suggest that you could wear the dress next time.”

Rex laughed and then winced. “Stop making jokes. It hurts to laugh.”

“Who’s joking? I bet you’d look great in those heels.”

She finished treating his injury and returned the medkit to its shelf.

“Do, uh, you want to talk about it?” Rex asked, his voice tight with discomfort.

Cerra pretended to misunderstand him. “About how you’d look in this dress? Probably better than me.”

He didn’t laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“What do you want me to say, Rex?” she sighed.

“You could start by telling me how you ended up with half a kilo of glass in your hand.”

She shrugged. “The usual way.”

“Let me guess. It ran into a mirror.”

“The mirror had it coming,” she said flippantly.

His eyebrows furrowed. “How many drinks did you have?”

“Two,” Cerra said, instantly defensive.

“One of them was a double,” Rex pointed out. “And what about before you got to the club?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because you put the mission and your squad and yourself at risk,” he said. He was using his Captain Rex voice—the voice of command—and it raised her hackles instantly.

“Kraytshit,” she snapped. “You got your intel, and everybody is fine.”

“Dank farrik, you aren’t fine!” Rex exclaimed. “And you drew attention that we don’t need.”

“Everybody important is fine,” she bit out. “And don’t use that farking voice on me, Rex. You’re not a captain any more, and I’m not a lieutenant. We’re both just deserters.”

Rex’s jaw dropped. He stared at her in shock, and Cerra knew she’d gone too far, but she was so angry; and she was so tired; and her head hurt; and when she looked at him, all she could see was Fives’s eyes, so full of pain; and her heart felt like it was shattering all over again when he looked at her like that.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it any more.

She needed out.

She needed air.

She spun on her heel and stormed out of the garage. Neon signs and airspeeder headlights flashed disorientingly, and she stumbled as she crossed the landing platform. She barely made it to the edge before she vomited. She retched over and over until her stomach was empty, and then she collapsed, knees drawn up to her chest as she hunched over them. Her body shuddered, and her eyelashes were suspiciously damp, but at least she could pretend it was just from the effort of throwing up.

The wind in the underworld portal never stopped blowing, and she closed her eyes as it washed over her. If she ignored the smell, she could almost imagine she was back home on Corellia, feeling the ocean breeze.

Heavy footsteps approached, and Cerra knew Rex was giving her an out if she still needed space. She’d seen him move in total silence while wearing a full kit of armor and a heavy kama. She stayed where she was, but she didn’t open her eyes. He sat next to her with a sigh.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“Me neither.”

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. He quietly offered her a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she said. She rinsed out her mouth and then drank the rest of the bottle. When she finished, Rex spoke.

“Do I make you feel like you’re not important?” he asked.

“No!” she said immediately. “Of course not.”

“Then why would you say that?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

It was a lie. She knew she didn’t have the clones’ fighting skills, endurance, or discipline. Beyond that, they had an inherent bond of brotherhood that she could only observe from the outside. She’d once shared a similar bond with her own family, but she had lost it along with their respect when she deserted. Rex let her tag along with his squad out of pity and some sense of obligation, but last night had demonstrated how much of a liability she was.

It was true that she was useful for gaining access to locations and resources that were barred to clones, but Trace, Rafa, or any other nat-born could do the same, and they could manage it without teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. The fact of the matter was that Rex would probably be better off without her. But she had nowhere else to go, and selfishly, she clung to him as the last shred of connection to her former life.

Rex spoke hesitantly. “Cerra, what you told those troopers last night, was it true? Were you and Fives married?”

She could lie. She wanted to lie. She wanted to tell Rex that it had just been a sympathy ploy to gain the troopers’ trust. But it didn’t make much difference now, so she told the truth.

“Yes.”

Rex’s face crumpled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I would have been court-martialed if anyone found out,” Cerra said. “Fives would have been sent back to Kamino for reconditioning or worse. You know the risks as well as I do.”

“I would have helped you!” Rex exclaimed. “Gods, Cerra, I never would have betrayed you or Fives.”

“I know,” she said. “But we didn’t want you to have to carry that responsibility on top of everything else.”

“Did anyone else know?”

“Only Tup,” Cerra said. “He witnessed it.”

“I wish you had told me,” he said.

“I guess we’re both too good at keeping secrets,” she whispered.

An uncomfortable silence descended as they both stared out into the abyss of the underworld. Cerra’s head swam miserably, the swirling lights of the traffic making her dizzy and nauseated. She forced herself not to look away, feeling as though she deserved the punishment after her spectacular failure.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save them,” Rex said quietly. “You could never blame me more than I blame myself.”

She whipped her head to the side to stare at him. “I don’t blame you, Rex. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have done more. I should have—”

“You did everything you could,” she interrupted firmly.

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “You can’t think like that. We can’t change the past.”

“Then what can we do?” he asked, sounding as lost and helpless as she felt.

“Keep fighting,” she said. “The only way we know how.”

Rex sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “It was Gregor.”

Cerra stared at him blankly at the abrupt change of subject. “What?”

“This,” he gestured at his split lip.

“Gregor hit you?” she asked, astonished. The idea of Gregor—sweet, kind, funny, laid-back Gregor—hitting Rex, of all people, was incomprehensible. “Why?”

“He was afraid for you. We all were.”

Cerra sagged under the weight of her guilt. “Oh, Rex. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” he said. “Cerra, I know you’ve been through hell, but you don’t have to do it alone. I am here for you. Let me help.”

Her throat tightened, and those pesky tears stung her eyes again. She blinked rapidly to clear them. Gods, her head hurt.

“Do we really have to do this now?” she asked.

“You can’t push everything down forever,” he said.

“Watch me,” she said with a strangled laugh.

“Gonna have to talk about it at some point.”

“I tried,” she said. “I thought maybe Echo… But it just stirred everything back up again.”

Rex frowned. “When did you talk to Echo?”

“Yesterday morning, while we were on the supply run.”

Rex cursed. “That why you were off last night?”

“That and other reasons,” Cerra said, not wanting to elaborate.

“Wish you’d told me.”

“You had more important things to worry about,” she said.

Rex frowned. “There it is again. ‘More important.’ Cerra, you are part of this team. You are important, and not just to me and Gregor.”

She didn’t believe him, but she nodded anyway, desperate to end the conversation. “Thanks, Cap. I’ll get my shit together, I swear. I won’t endanger the mission again.” Rex looked like he wanted to say more, but Cerra stood and brushed herself off. “I should go wash off all this blood. Come get me if you hear from the team?”

He nodded, and Cerra hurried to the refresher, where she took a long, long shower. When she finished, she tossed Rafa’s dress into a bucket of cold water and hoped for the best. It was a struggle to get into her coveralls with only one functional hand, but she managed. Then she went to the kitchenette and dug through the conservator, hoping to find something greasy and unhealthy to take the edge off her hangover. She found nothing in the conservator except ingredients, thanks to Gregor’s obsession with feeding them all home-cooked meals, so she gave up and choked down a dry ration bar.

She missed Kix and Jesse. Jesse would have been cracking jokes and making her laugh through their shared misery, while Kix doled out his magical hangover cures and lectured them both about proper hydration. She missed Tup. Sweet, adorable Tup, who’d been practically glued to Fives’ side after Umbara and had become the closest thing Cerra ever had to a younger brother. How many times had she, Fives, and Tup nursed identical headaches while secretly regretting nothing? Standing duty while hungover was practically a GAR tradition. Except those assholes bounced back twice as fast thanks to their enhanced metabolisms, and they never failed to tease her about it.

Rex’s commlink chimed, jolting Cerra out of her reverie. He answered it, and the flickering blue hologram revealed Echo, Gregor, and Fireball in the cockpit of the freighter.

“Boys,” Rex greeted them.

“Rex,” Echo said. “We completed our scan of the Balmorra system and are headed back to base.”

“Sitrep,” Rex ordered.

Cerra suppressed a dry laugh. He just couldn’t turn off the habit of command.

“There’s a large Imperial facility. Heavy fortifications. We’re going to need detailed intel about what’s down there before we make a move,” Echo replied.

“You didn’t get close enough to tell?” Rex asked.

“Negative, Captain,” Fireball replied. “Planetary security was too tight.”

Gregor carefully avoided looking at the holocomm, instead fiddling with the controls of the ship.

“I’ll give a full report when we arrive, but I don’t think we could take that place with an army,” Echo said grimly.

Rex grunted. “Might not have to. I’ll do some digging and see what I can find about what the Empire is keeping down there. In the meantime, we’ll follow up on Cerra’s lead about high-ranking clone officers who’ve gone AWOL.”

“Copy that. ETA nine standard hours. Echo out.”

---

Next chapter

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

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dystopicjumpsuit · 6 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 9

Death's Other Kingdom

Rating: M - Minors DNI

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

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; oral sex; unprotected PIV; heavy angst (very sad y'all); grief; mention of pregnancy. NOTE: this chapter is, I think, the heaviest in the entire story. When I wrote it, it gave me a two-week writer's block. If you are not in a good headspace, I recommend skipping to the first aurebesh divider and reading from there to the end, as the last half of the chapter includes important plot information (the first half is important for characterization, but y'all already know Cerra is straight up not having a good time).

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo and Cerra have an uncomfortable conversation.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Her thighs spread wide across his broad shoulders as his mouth moved against her. His strong hands gripped her hips and lifted her off the bed, and gods, the rasp of his beard was an exquisite contrast to the smooth, liquid heat of his skillful tongue. He brushed his fingertips across her entrance, and her body convulsed, even as he held her in place with his other hand.

“Fives,” she gasped. “I need you inside me.”

“Mmm,” he rumbled, and she jerked in response to the stimulation. “How do you want me?”

“On your back,” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her clit one final, thorough suck that wrenched a loud cry from her throat. He slapped her ass and lowered her to the bed, then rolled over onto his back. “Hop on, darlin’.”

She moved to straddle him, bracing her hands on his chest as she sank down onto his cock, taking him all at once.

“Oh, fuck,” he panted. “Kriff, you’re so gorgeous. Your pussy feels amazing.”

She shuddered as her body adjusted to his girth, and she leaned back for a moment to enjoy the view. Her fingers traced the intricate black lines of the tattoos that covered the copper skin of his chest and arms.

“Gorgeous,” she repeated, dropping forward to trail kisses in the wake of her fingers. She began to roll her hips, taking him deep inside her, stretching her out in the most delicious way. He bent his legs to get a deeper angle, and—oh kriff—his thick cock glided into her sensitive cunt again and again, winding the tension in her body to impossible heights. Her legs trembled with exertion, and he slid his hands up her thighs to grip her hips, pressing her body down as he thrust up into her.

“Fuck, Fives, that’s incredible. I love the way your cock feels inside me. It's so perfect, it’s like…”

“I know,” he said. “Like we were made to fit together.”

Her heart clenched at his words. She gazed into his stunning amber eyes, their faces so close together that they shared each other’s breath. How could it be this good? She had never felt such a connection with any other partner, as though their souls were enmeshed—as though their bodies were one and the same.

“I miss you,” she breathed. “So much. I—”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I’m here now.”

“Tell me you love me,” she whispered. “One more time.”

He groaned, thrusting harder and faster into her. “I love you so karking much, Cerra. My beautiful, beautiful wife—fuck—”

“Gods, Fives, that feels so good, don't stop, don’t leave me—”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make all of this worth it. Kriff, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you—oh, shit—I love you, I—fuck! Love you, love you, lo—”

He came with a loud grunt, emptying himself deep inside her. The hot spurt of his release triggered her own orgasm, and she crashed against him with a sob, tears squeezing out of her tightly closed eyes as she pressed her face to his chest. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe. She rode him through their shared climax, and as they slowly came down together, his softening cock remained inside her body.

He stroked his hands languidly up and down her back and softly kissed the top of her head, nuzzling his face into her hair.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Very good.”

He let out a satisfied sigh and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Fives?”

“Mmm-hmm?” he asked, his voice drowsy.

“I love—”

Cerra gasped as her eyes snapped open. Her heart raced, and her breathing was shallow. The barracks was dark, and she looked around carefully, spotting the slumbering outlines of Gregor and Fireball. If she had cried out in her sleep, she must not have awakened them, so perhaps there was some mercy in the universe after all.

What the hell was that?

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a sex dream. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she thought about sex at all, and yet she could feel the hot, slick arousal on her thighs, and from the way her body quivered, she knew that she hadn’t just dreamed about an orgasm—she’d had one.

Her head ached, tears stung the corners of her eyes, and a sob lodged in her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth, refusing to give it voice. She forced herself to breathe slowly, silently, until the pressure in her chest eased. Carefully, noiselessly, she rose from her bunk and crossed the barracks, sneaking out of the room so as not to awaken the others. She went straight to the communal refresher, blinking in the harsh light as she caught sight of her reflection. Her face was swollen and crisscrossed with indentations from her bedsheets, and her eyes were rimmed with red. She splashed cold water on her face and then took a long drink straight from the faucet. As she dried off, she heard someone enter the fresher behind her.

“Everything all right?” Echo asked.

“Yeah, fine,” she said. Her voice was shaky, and from his expression, Echo didn’t believe her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Definitely not,” she said. She couldn’t imagine a more awkward conversation than explaining to a near-stranger that she’d had an erotic dream about his deceased twin while simultaneously discovering that her sex drive was not as dead as she’d thought. “Thanks, though.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes, and she felt that familiar twinge of guilt again. He wanted to help, she knew, and it wasn’t like she shut him out for fun. It just never seemed to be the right moment to let him get any closer. She sighed, and brushed past him to exit the refresher. To her chagrin, he followed closely behind her.

“Cerra.” He reached for her shoulder, and she forced herself not to flinch away from the contact. “I know that Gregor is usually the one to help you through this, but I have some experience with feeling like you don’t have control of your mind. So if you need to talk about the nightmares, I’m here.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” she said.

“But I heard you crying,” he said, gesturing to his cranial implant.

She froze, every one of her muscles locking up. Heat crept up her chest and over her cheeks as she stared at him with wide eyes. She knew the exact moment that he realized the truth, snatching his hand away as though she’d burned him.

“Oh, er…” he trailed off, eyes darting around the garage, looking anywhere except at her.

“Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are,” she said with a forced laugh. “I’m afraid Gregor won’t be able to talk me down from this one.”

Echo looked confused, which was marginally better than the wretched embarrassment on his face a few seconds earlier. “So you and he aren’t together?”

“Gods, no,” she said, aghast.

The idea had literally never even occurred to her. Gregor and her, together? She would be the worst partner imaginable for him. He needed someone soft and gentle and sweet and patient. Everything she was not. Besides, he didn’t see her that way. He would have said something if he had; the man had absolutely no filter.

“My mistake,” Echo said. “I just thought—Never mind.”

Cerra was happy to drop the subject. It felt wrong, almost disloyal, to think about Gregor while she could still feel the residual wetness from her dream about Fives cooling on her thighs. She frowned. Except it wasn’t a dream; it was a memory, or the twisted, distorted dream of a memory. Now that she was awake, she remembered the moment with perfect clarity. It was the last time she’d been with Fives before Ringo Vinda.

They’d had an all-too-rare week of shore leave together, and they had spent most of it in bed, desperate for the comfort of each other’s bodies after months apart. It wasn’t just about sex, though they did that plenty as well; much of their time they spent simply holding each other and talking, hiding from a cruel and unforgiving galaxy in the safety of their hotel bedsheets. Their last night together, Fives had made love to her for hours, until the bedding was a sweaty jumble, and they collapsed into a boneless tangle of limbs. As they finally drifted toward sleep, he whispered a question that still haunted her.

“Do you think it will take?”

It hadn’t, and she had never seen him again. All of their planning, their hopes for the future, had come to nothing. The next time she saw Kix, she begged him to administer a pregnancy test, convinced that the grocery store kits were giving her false negatives. When his test also showed a negative result, she had refused to believe it. She’d argued with the medic, and when he tried to reason with her, she lashed out.

“You’re wrong!” she screamed. “He’s not gone! He can’t be gone! He can’t be—”

Steady, levelheaded Kix had been so patient with her, far more so than she deserved. He had held her hand while she vented her grief, and when she calmed down, he pulled her into a tight hug.

“I know,” he said. “I can’t believe it, either.”

Not long after that, he had commed her asking if she would be willing to work with him to find out what had happened to Fives, for all the good it had done. Kix went missing mere weeks before the battle of Coruscant, and the rest was history.

Echo regarded her with an expression of acute discomfort. Cerra sighed.

“Want a cup of caf?” she offered. “Looks like I’m done sleeping for the night.”

Rex didn’t return from his mission for another three days. In the interim, Cerra was even more withdrawn than usual, and Echo eventually gave up trying to coax her into a conversation. He and Fireball never did get an opportunity to ask about the mysterious Tup. She threw herself completely into her work on the identifying code, but came up empty repeatedly. She enlisted Gregor and Fireball into her quest, examining their forearms and repeatedly scanning them as she searched for clues as to how the assassin’s code was wiped.

Echo noticed that Gregor was quieter than usual, too. He cooked every meal for the team, and he made sure Cerra remembered to change her bacta patch and take her meds every day. He made endless cups of caf exactly the way she liked, and he reminded her to get up and stretch every few hours. In between, he worked out or sparred with Fireball in the makeshift gym, seemingly preferring to keep his body busy.

The first time he offered to spar with Fireball, Cerra asked the younger clone if she could examine his forearm before they got started. While Gregor changed into gym clothes, Echo overheard Cerra speak quietly to Fireball, explaining the dangers of Gregor’s head trauma and asking Fireball to be careful where he hit the commando. As it turned out, her warning was unnecessary, since Fireball never managed to land a hit. Gregor may not have regained all of his memories, but he was still an elite warrior, and Echo privately wondered whether Cerra might be overcautious when it came to the commando’s well-being.

On the third day, Riyo arrived with more supplies. She brought her bodyguards this time, and as the Pantoran men unloaded the supplies, Echo stole a moment alone with the senator, tucked away behind a pile of crates. Kriff, she was so beautiful.

“It is good to see you well,” he said.

“And you,” she replied. “Rex tells me you’ve been busy. Not taking too many risks, I hope?”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Besides, I have a good team watching my back.”

“I can’t help it,” she admitted, taking his hand and stroking her thumb across his knuckles. “Every time Rex tells me you’re on a mission, I feel like I can’t breathe until I hear you’re safe.”

Echo’s heart thumped at her confession. Her touch was gentle and warm through his glove, and he wished he could feel the softness of her skin. Without making a conscious decision, he raised his scomp to touch her face, pulling back at the last moment. Was it his imagination, or did the barest hint of disappointment cross her features? Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth almost imperceptibly.

“Riyo,” he said quietly. “I—”

“Senator Chuchi?” a loud voice interrupted.

Riyo jumped, and Echo flinched. They pulled away from each other just as one of her bodyguards rounded the pile of crates.

“There you are, Senator,” the guard said.

“Yes, I’m here,” she replied. “I was just discussing Rex’s mission with Echo.”

She lied with a politician’s ease. Even so, every instinct Echo possessed told him he could trust her.

“Yes,” he corroborated. “I was just telling the senator that we expect him back later today.”

“I’d like to speak with him,” she said. “Will you send me a message when he arrives? I’ll enter my private, encrypted channel into your comlink.”

“Of course, Senator Chuchi,” Echo said formally.

“Very good,” she said with a conspiratorial smile as he handed her his comlink.

“You could stick around the garage until he returns, if you’d like,” Echo offered, hoping to spend more time with her.

“I wish I could,” she said. “But I need to take care of some business at the senate.”

“Understood,” Echo said, pushing down his disappointment.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” she said softly. “Please comm me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Rex returned within a few hours of Riyo’s departure, and Echo sent her a quick message to let her know. The captain called the group together almost immediately. Cerra handed him a bottle of water, which he chugged before beginning to speak.

“My contact was able to confirm that at least one marshal commander has gone AWOL,” Rex said. “Cody has not been seen in several months. There may be others as well, but the Empire is keeping a tight lid on things.”

“What are the odds Cody would join us?” Echo asked.

“Good, if we could locate him,” Rex replied. “But it’s a big galaxy out there, and tracking down a single clone who doesn’t want to be found would be next to impossible.”

“It might be worth a try anyway,” Gregor said. “He’d be a valuable ally.”

“Possibly, but we have another more pressing problem,” Rex said. “My contact also confirmed that the Imperial complex on Balmorra is a prison, and they’re keeping clones there.” He paused as the assembled group exclaimed in outrage and horror, and then he added, “I don’t know how many are down there, but I have confirmation that Captain Howzer is one of them.”

“That settles it, then,” Gregor said, his face grim. “We have to find some way to get him out.”

“Echo indicated that it would be impossible to infiltrate the base,” Rex said.

“Then we’ll find another way,” Gregor argued. “I am not leaving a brother to rot.”

“I don’t think it can be done with our current forces,” Echo said.

“Fireball may be able to help with that,” Cerra interjected.

The group turned to look at the young clone, who had a slightly panicked expression at the sudden attention.

“Uh, yes,” he stammered. “A friend of mine, Nemec, wants out. He’s a good man, a good brother. He’ll join us if we can extract him.”

“Where is he stationed?” Rex asked.

“He’s been assigned to the new base on Raada,” Fireball said.

Rex shot him a sharp glance. “Raada?”

“It’s an agricultural moon,” Fireball said.

“I’m familiar,” Rex replied. “It could be tricky.”

“Yes, sir,” Fireball said. Disappointment was plain in his voice.

“But that doesn’t mean we won’t get him out,” Rex reassured him.

“Thank you, sir,” Fireball said.

Cerra nudged her shoulder against Fireball and gave him a quick, encouraging smile. Echo could see the young clone relax as she did so.

“Tomorrow, I want Gregor and Fireball to go to Raada and find out what we’re up against,” Rex ordered. “Echo and I will start planning to take on Balmorra. Cerra, what’s the status of your work on the ID number?”

“No progress to report, Cap,” she said. “Sorry. I’m thinking we might need to call in some help on this one.”

“Tech might be able to help,” Echo volunteered. “Shall I send him Cerra’s data?”

Rex nodded shortly. “Do it. I need Cerra back on requisitions. How’s the hand?”

“Fully recovered, sir,” she said, then she winced. “I mean, Rex.”

She gave him a mutinous little smirk, and he shook his head before smiling back at her. “Good,” he said. “I’m going to need your help getting ready for Balmorra, too.”

As the team broke apart, Rex reached out and dropped a hand on her shoulder.

“Echo, Cerra, a word?” he asked.

“Sure, Cap,” she said with an inscrutable expression.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you talk about your feelings,” Rex said with a quiet laugh. “My contact had other news, but I didn’t want to discuss it in front of the full team until we know for certain what’s going on.”

Echo frowned. “What is it?”

“There are rumors that the Empire is building a secret intelligence agency,” Rex said. “Details are scarce, but if my contact is correct, Admiral Yularen is one of the leaders.”

Cerra cursed. “I should have left that fucker to die on the Resolute.”

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten your shiny medal,” Rex said.

“Because it’s done me so many favors,” she said bitterly.

“Cerra, if this is true…” Rex said.

“Yeah. He’ll definitely recognize me,” she replied.

“You’ll have to be even more careful out there,” Rex said. “We are exactly the kind of operation that this agency will be looking for.”

“Understood,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Echo asked.

“It is,” Rex said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to eat everything in the conservator and then sleep for twelve hours straight. Wake me up if someone dies.”

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dystopicjumpsuit · 4 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 21

The Emotion and the Response

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

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

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: language; blood and injury; a panic attack; sensuality.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: A reunion.

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

Between the emotion and the response falls the Shadow

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

The coordinates Gregor sent dropped Cerra quite literally in the middle of nowhere, parsecs away from the nearest star system, inhabited or otherwise. As the shuttle shifted into realspace, she saw the reason he’d chosen this place. Instead of the black emptiness of space she expected, the Archeon Nebula stretched out before her: a luminous, golden cloud of gas and cosmic dust. It was an incredible view, but that wasn’t why the commando had sent her there.

The electromagnetic radiation of the nebula interfered with long-range communications, including any signals from tracking beacons that she might have missed on the shuttle. Short-range comms would still work if she boosted the signal as high as it would go, but she was invisible to the Empire and everyone else in the galaxy so long as she stayed put.

She navigated away from the hyperspace lane and powered down all systems except life support and comms to avoid detection by passing vessels, then she increased the range and sensitivity of the shuttle’s proximity sensor to maximum. With the tiniest shred of luck, the next ship that arrived would be Gregor, not smugglers, pirates, or worse. Of course, her luck hadn’t been particularly stellar lately.

While she waited, she raided the shuttle’s supply cabinet and was disgusted to find that it didn’t even have a basic medkit. Supply officer on that Venator ought to be busted down to private, she fumed with a disgruntled, unintelligible mutter.

On the plus side, there were a few expired ration bars, which she ate, because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal, and a few bottles of water, which she drank, because she had no idea how long she’d be waiting for Gregor. That karking mudscuffer Yularen had split her lip badly when he hit her, and she winced as she chewed the desiccated rations, hoping that she wouldn’t reopen the wound.

She stripped off the plastoid TK armor and the compression bodysuit and headed to the refresher. The shuttle didn’t have a shower—not even a sonic—but she scrubbed off as much of Daivik’s dried blood as she could in the tiny sink, washing until the red swirls that circled the drain disappeared and the water ran clear.

The familiar harsh, medicinal scent of the soap stung her nose and transported her instantly to her time in the GAR, filling her with an odd sense of nostalgia. She examined the swelling bruise on her shoulder where Daivik had struck her. It hurt like a sonofabitch. She rolled her shoulder gingerly, testing her range of motion. It wasn’t terrible, but she wouldn’t exactly call it great, either. She’d had worse injuries, but that didn’t make her current ones any more fun.

Should’ve killed that scughole before he beat the shit out of me, she mused. I’ll have to remember that next time I get my ass captured.

She sighed and stepped back into the compression suit, and then headed to the cockpit, where she curled up in the pilot’s seat to wait, stretching and shifting in the cramped seat to try to get more comfortable. Her eyes felt gritty and dry. Her body ached. Without the sublight engine running, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the life support system and the faint clangs of the ship itself as it drifted in the emptiness. The displays and buttons of the ship’s navigation panel were barely bright enough to see anything, but nebula cast a faint glow through the viewport, subtly illuminating the cockpit in soft, golden light.

She gazed out the viewport as her eyes grew heavy. There was something strangely comforting about the nebula—knowing that it continued to create new stars even as others flickered and died throughout the galaxy. The darkness hadn’t won. Not yet. There was still light. There was still hope. And even the stars that died continued to shine long after they’d burnt out.

Her head throbbed, and her lids drifted closed, only for a moment. Just a few seconds, really. No more than that. She needed to stay awake while she waited for Gregor. She… She needed…

She slept.

She had no idea how long she’d been out when she jerked awake, startled into consciousness by the blaring proximity alert. She cursed silently as she lunged forward and toggled the switch so the alarm would stop screeching. The comms crackled to life.

“Code tango-two-one-eight. Watchman to Scrapper, I’ve reached the rendezvous coordinates. What’s your status?”

Cerra’s heart lurched at the sound of Gregor’s voice.

“All good here, Watchman,” she replied. “Send me a ping, and I’ll dock with your ship.”

“Copy that. See you soon.”

Within minutes, she docked with the freighter, and before she boarded, she programmed the shuttle’s hyperdrive to overload. She hurried across to the freighter and sealed the hatch, signaling Gregor to release the docking clamps. By the time she made it to the cockpit, they were already at a safe distance from the shuttle, and within seconds, a blinding flash confirmed the shuttle was destroyed.

Gregor sprang out of his seat and rushed toward Cerra. His eyes widened when he saw her bruised, bloodied face, and he pulled her into a crushing embrace. Cerra let out a tiny whimper of pain, and he loosened his grip immediately.

“Are you all right?” he asked, checking her frantically for injuries.

“I’m all right, Gregor,” she said as relief flooded her. She was safe. She was home. “There was no medkit on the shuttle, otherwise I would have taken care of it already.”

He pushed her gently into the copilot’s chair and reached across her to grab the small emergency medkit they kept in the cockpit. He knelt between her knees as he pulled out a tube of bacta, biting down on the finger of his glove and yanking it off with his teeth. As he leaned close to dab the gel on the bruises and lacerations that marred her face, his dark eyes filled with such distress that her heart twisted inside her to see it. His touch was incredibly gentle, and Cerra took a moment to simply enjoy the way his skin felt against her, his fingers were warm and comforting in contrast to the cold bacta.

“Is there more under the suit?” he asked.

She nodded and reached for the autofastener, but Gregor found it first and tugged it down, careful not to pinch her skin as he unzipped the tight-fitting garment. As he slid the pressure suit cautiously down over her shoulders to puddle around her waist, his breath caught when he saw the extent of the bruises that mottled her skin.

“Those fucking bastards,” he growled. “I’ll kill them.”

“Sorry, buddy, I beat you to it,” she said with a pained smile.

He grunted. “As long as they’re dead.”

He smoothed the bacta onto her shoulder with the lightest touches, easing her bra strap out of the way as he worked. The soft, warm glow of the nebula caught on the planes of his face, throwing the angles and lines into stark relief. He knelt so close to her that she could see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath, the subtle pulse in his neck with each heartbeat. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, at once so familiar and so unique, and a memory flashed in her mind: strong arms wrapped securely around her; a thick, solid thigh slotted between her legs; the firm press of a body against her hip as she drifted on the edge of consciousness.

“Gregor?” she whispered, then swallowed thickly.

“Hm?” He raised his eyes to hers inquisitively, and he was so close that she could see the golden flecks in his irises.

“I don’t want to fight any more,” she said. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

His eyes softened. “I know you didn’t.”

He was so, so close. Her gaze drifted down to his mouth, and when she looked back up, he was staring at hers, too. His hand stilled and rested against her shoulder, and she knew he could feel the way her breathing became rapid and shallow. Almost without realizing she was moving, she raised her hand to his face and traced her thumb across the chiseled line of his cheekbone. How had she never noticed how sharp it was? Maker, he was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him, like staring directly into a star. No wonder she’d spent the last several months avoiding looking too closely. She trailed her fingertips along his jawline, feeling the scratch of his stubble, and he leaned imperceptibly closer.

He looked so much like Fives, and yet so different at the same time. When did his face become so incredibly important to her? When had his voice become as vital as the air that she breathed? When had he gone from being her dearest friend to being the one person in the galaxy that she could not imagine living without?

She brushed the pad of her thumb over his lips, and his eyes drifted closed.

“Cerra,” he whispered, and his warm breath washed across her skin, sending prickles of awareness through her body. “Don’t do this.”

She froze, and hurt flashed through her, worse than anything Yularen and his thugs could ever inflict. She withdrew her hand immediately and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She was such a fool.

“S—sorry,” she stammered. “I shouldn’t have—I’m so sorry.”

Gregor pulled his hand away from her shoulder, and she steeled herself for his rejection, swallowing down the tightness in her throat. But instead of moving away, he cupped her chin softly and turned her head to face him.

“Don’t do it unless you mean it,” he said.

Her eyes darted to his, and she saw the truth there, written plainly as it always had been, if only she hadn’t been too stubborn to read it. Something deep inside her chest snapped, and she pitched forward, closing the short distance between them as their lips collided. Pain lanced through her bruised mouth, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she couldn’t exist for another second without kissing Gregor. She needed him more than her next breath, more than the blood coursing through her veins, more than life itself.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, sliding her whole body forward in the seat. Her thighs pressed open to accommodate him, and it seemed the most natural thing in the galaxy to wrap her legs around his body. She flattened her hands against his back, then dragged them up his shoulders, up his neck, to caress the velvety shorn hair at the base of his skull, and then further, to tangle her fingers in the longer curls at the crown of his head.

His tongue slid against hers, and he let out a short, urgent sound and clutched her body tightly against himself. He tasted like everything she had ever wanted. His hands roamed across the bare skin of her back, one of them settling low to press her hips closer, and the other gliding up to clasp the back of her neck. He pinned her against his body as his lips moved away from hers and he began to work his way down her jaw and neck.

She dropped her head back, her body lighting with arousal beneath his lovely, talented mouth. The light abrasion of his stubble made a delicious contrast with the soft, gentle warmth of his lips and tongue. He reached a particularly sensitive spot at the base of her throat, and she gasped, unconsciously grinding her hips against him. He rewarded her by sinking his teeth lightly into her skin, raking them across her until she writhed and moaned, clutching his head closely to herself.

The moment felt surreal, as though her brain couldn’t quite process what was happening. She’d spent so long denying the truth that it felt as though her entire universe had been inverted—and yet at the same time, the touch of his lips, the grip of his hands, the press of his body against hers seemed so incredibly right that she could no longer imagine going without them.

“Shit,” he said suddenly, breaking away from her.

“What?” she asked, dazed.

“You’re bleeding.”

Startled, she raised a hand to her chin and was horrified to feel a slick of blood on her skin. “Kriff!”

Gregor extracted a square of gauze from the medkit and pressed it against her lip, holding it gently but firmly in place until the bleeding stopped. While he waited, he dropped tiny, feather-light kisses across her face, over and over, until she began to giggle.

“Stop smiling,” he said sternly, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re going to make your lip start bleeding again.”

“Then stop being so perfect,” she retorted.

He paused to consider. “Best I can offer is ten percent off.”

“Well, that hardly seems like a bargain at all,” she said.

“Take it or leave it.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, and she caught her breath.

“I love you,” she blurted.

His eyes widened with shock.

“I mean—” she stammered, panic threading in her voice. “I—I mean—”

She laughed nervously, and then the laughter turned to shallow, gasping breaths as the edges of her vision began to darken and black spots swam before her eyes. Her lungs heaved, but there seemed to be no oxygen in the cockpit. She scrambled backward in her chair, trying to put some distance between herself and Gregor.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Gregor said. “All the way out, come on, Cerra. You know what to do. Breathe all the way out. One, two, three, four, five. Now breathe in through your nose, sweetheart. One, two, three, four, five.”

He held her hands in his warm, reassuring grasp, and as she brought her breathing back under control, she suddenly remembered what he’d told her that awful night at 79’s.

“Easy, love. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

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A/N: I know nebulae don't cast light like that IRL, but this is Star Wars, where they totally do! If you want to see the nebula in question, check out Rebels Season 3 Episode 18, "Secret Cargo."

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