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goldentournesol · 4 years

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All That Matters

*gif originally posted by @heat-waveee *

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Reader doesn’t visit Spencer in prison.

Length: 3.0k

A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 12 FINALE AND BEGINNING OF SEASON 13!

Part 2: Here For You

masterlist

Spencer’s absence was felt in every aspect of her life.The bullpen wasn’t the same without him, her apartment, although they lived separately, wasn’t the same without him, even the jet wasn’t the same. She was so used to looking over and seeing his tall frame sprawled over that beige couch that she found herself glancing over out of habit just to find someone else there. It was just as disappointing every time. Her heart ached for him. It ached because she knew that there was nothing more she could do to help him or ease the pain he felt as he was being tortured in prison and it took a huge toll on her mental health. Everyone else had visited him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Hey, Spence.” JJ said tearfully as soon as he took a seat across from her in the visitation room.

“Hey, is everything okay? It’s not my mom, is it?” He hurriedly asked with slight panic.

“No, no, she’s fine. Y/N and I saw her yesterday, she asked about you.” She nodded, smiling in an attempt to reassure him. He mirrored her expression with relief when she told him his mother thought he was at the beach. A short silence ensued.

“How are you doing?” JJ asked, as sympathetically as possible. Spencer fought back tears.

“I’m okay. I’m, uh, really happy to see you.” He admitted, even though he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea she was visiting. However, she reminded him of the promise she made him the last time she saw him. She promised she’d never leave him alone.

“How’s…” he paused with a swallow, “Y/N doing?” The question came out tentatively, his facial expression displaying something between a grimace and a hopeful look. The last time he’d seen Y/N in the courtroom, she was in a silent fit of tears.

“She’s...fine.” JJ lied. Spencer raised his eyebrows questioningly. It didn’t take a profiler to know that that was a straight up lie. “Alright, she’s not doing very well. I just didn’t want to tell you that because I knew you would worry about it and I don’t think you need any more of that.” She gestured around. Spencer heaved a sigh. He expected her response, he just didn’t want to hear it.

Later that day, JJ found Y/N at her desk, nose deep in a file. Her eyes were frantic as they raced through the words on the page, hoping to find something useful. She had thrown herself into the case files, the Spencer-related and the non-Spencer-related. When she wasn’t occupied with the work, her mind would wander over to Spencer, which would send her into a whirlwind of panic, guilt, and rage.

Panic because she didn’t want to imagine what he was going through, alone, scared, hopeless--.

Guilt because she hadn’t visited him yet, she just couldn’t bring herself to see him. Not when she couldn’t wrap her arms around him, not when she couldn’t kiss him, or hold his hand.

Rage because time was moving so slowly without him and they weren’t any closer to getting him out.

She hadn’t heard JJ come up from behind her and rest a hand on her shoulder. She yelped out in response, having been totally focused on the file.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” JJ said as she was met with Y/N’s red rimmed eyes.

“It’s alright.” Y/N muttered softly.

“Y/N, when was the last time you took a break? Or got some sleep?” JJ asked, noticing the constant nervous tapping on her thigh.

“A break? I can’t--I can’t take a break, JJ!” She uncharacteristically snapped, standing from her seat. JJ took a step back at her sudden outburst, her friend’s eyes aflame.

“How am I supposed to take a break when he’s in there, probably terrified out of his mind?! How do you think he would feel if he knew I was sipping on some tea or...or styling my hair instead of helping him get out of there?” She spat, not even caring that she was gaining attention from people around her. She didn’t know that this was the guilt taking over and speaking for her, but JJ knew.

“He asked about you today...again.” She stated coolly, seeing Y/N’s angry expression soften immediately. She averted her gaze quickly, heart wrenching in her chest. She grabbed some files and made a move to leave, probably to shed some self-wallowing tears, but JJ stopped her by grabbing her arm gently.

“We’re going to get him out of there, I promise. But we need you on board with us. I suggest you go home and get some rest. This won’t be solved overnight.” JJ assured her with a determined voice. Y/N pulled her arm out of her friend’s grip and made a beeline for the exit.

It’s not like she didn’t want to see him, of course she wanted to see him. She wanted to see him more than anything, but she wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t rest until she caught the son of bitch who put him in there. Spencer wanted nothing more than to see her face and hear her voice.

At first, he genuinely couldn’t blame her for not wanting to visit, but as matters outside the prison began to worsen, the matters inside were on another level. Then, hope began to elude him. He stopped hoping to see her, stopped hoping for a future. Spencer struggled to see his future as anything other than void and bleak as the four walls of his cell consumed him every night. He tried to file away any resentment he felt for her, he even stopped asking JJ about her. Whether or not she chose to share anything about his girlfriend was completely her choice. It had become too painful for him to think about her, let alone talk about her.

And in the beginning, he was thankful for his eidetic memory because it allowed him to replay their conversations and memories on a loop. But now, the memories mocked him and kept him up at night. She became a part of his past life and he didn’t know whether his new life after prison could accommodate her.

What if they never solved the case? What if he had to spend the entirety of the 25 years in prison? Would she come see him then? At what point would she move on from him? Would she even bother showing up to break up with him? Or would he eventually have to learn from JJ that Y/N found a new lover as she mistakenly mentions her name in conversation?

This is ridiculous. She loves him. He knows that.

Right?

Curse the intricate inner workings of his brain. It never ceased. He shouldn’t be thinking this way. But pulling himself out of the darkest place he’d ever been was proving to be increasingly difficult.

Rage filled him as he learned of his mother’s abduction. He didn’t know why he expected Y/N to come take him home when he’d been released instead of JJ. He shouldn’t have done that. He also shouldn’t have felt disappointed when he saw Penelope all by herself right outside the prison doors.

But he did.

No one mentioned her on the way back to the headquarters, but she invaded his mind anyway. He didn’t have the time or the energy to be thinking of her, he needed to find his mother.

She had been eagerly awaiting his arrival in the bullpen with the rest of the team. She grinned for the first time in months as she saw his tall figure appear through the glass doors. She watched as Rossi grabbed Spencer’s face and kissed his cheeks before pulling him into a bear hug. She watched Emily stroked his hair and kissed his head. Even Matt threw his arms around Spencer. Tears fell as she watched the scene unfold across the room from her desk.

Spencer’s entire attitude shifted as his eyes finally landed on her. His smile dissipated, his shoulders were pushed back, and his eyes, his kind, soulful eyes were cold as they bore into her wet ones. She felt a shiver race its way down her spine. The air in the room shifted. It was eerily quiet, everyone waiting for the fallout. But Spencer stood still and silent, neither of them making the first move. There was so much left unsaid between them.

“Let’s go find my mother.” Spencer spoke as he averted his gaze from her and made his way to the conference room.

A silent sob wracked through her body as she fell back into her chair, her fingers gripping at her roots in frustration. Penelope rushed to her quickly and tried to console her, the rest of the team already in the conference room discussing the case.

“Go help the team, I’ll have Emily brief me later.” Y/N said, taking a deep, shaky breath as she pried Penelope off of her frame. Penelope reluctantly nodded and made her way into the conference room. Spencer’s expression was stone cold and indecipherable as he watched Y/N scurry off into the direction of the bathrooms through the window.

Hours later, they had managed to retrieve Diana after learning that Cat Adams was in fact impersonating Mr. Scratch along with some help from Lindsey Vaughn. They were now doing the best they could to track down the real Mr. Scratch, but the team had been caught in a horrific car accident, which led to Emily’s abduction. Spencer was currently at home with his mother. Y/N, Penelope, and Matt hadn’t gone with the rest of the team. Y/N had been too shaken up to go out into the field.

“Y/N, get Spencer and meet us at the hospital! Rossi’s refusing treatment until he talks to you two!” Matt yelled as he and Penelope raced to the hospital. Y/N nodded and called Spencer. Her name was the last he wanted to see on his phone, but he picked up anyway. He almost didn’t.

“Spencer! There’s been a terrible accident, Emily’s been taken by Scratch, I’m picking you up now! Rossi’s refusing treatment! I’ll explain everything on the way to the hospital.” She spoke frantically into the phone, speeding off into the direction of his apartment. He hadn’t even had time to reply before she hung up. Minutes later, he got into the car and noticed her panicked state.

“Are you okay to drive?” He asked, immediately noticing her rapid breathing, wide eyes, and white knuckles from gripping the wheel tightly. She met his eyes, shaking her head. Spencer saw the tears and switched places with her, driving to the hospital. He also noticed how she failed to manage her breathing.

“Hey, hey. Try to match my breath.” He breathed in and out slowly. She shook her head in disbelief, hating the fact that this was their first encounter. He was still the caring man she fell in love with, even though she knew he probably hated her guts right then. Her breathing evened itself out and she fiddled with her fingers.

“I’m good, I’m good.” She muttered, mostly to herself, “Spencer, I-” she began but he cut her off harshly.

“Not now, Y/N.” He spat as he rolled into the hospital, searching for JJ and Rossi. Y/N’s heart wrenched as he ran to JJ’s side, treating her with the tenderness she craved. She found Rossi and ran to him quickly.

“Where’s Spencer? Get Spencer.” He uttered, obviously in pain. Y/N brought Spencer over.

“What’s going on?” He asked, walking into the room.

“Shut up and listen.” Rossi demanded, eyes shifting between Y/N and Spencer, landing on Y/N as he spoke, “First, you, go through my pants pockets and find my keys. Second, you’re back on the team.” He referred to Spencer.

“Not sure I should be. Has the director approved that?” He asked.

“I’m making the calls now. I’ll take the heat. You’re back on the team.” He panted.

“I’ve got the keys.” Y/N said, holding them.

“There’s a little one there to a file cabinet in my office. Inside, there’s Chicago Bears season tickets. When you get them, call Matt Simmons. I promised him those tickets.” He seemed adamant.

“Rossi, did they give you something to make you loopy?” Y/N asked.

“I’ll get the doctor, we’ll get him into surgery.” Spencer stated and made a move to leave.

“Just shut up and listen.” He insisted, “Emily is missing. Stephen is dead. As for you two ass clowns, you’ll do me the courtesy of following my orders. And for the love of God, work through whatever it is you two are going through and then I’ll go into surgery.”

She and Spencer nodded as they left the room. “This has nothing to do with season tickets.” She stated and he agreed.

“Ass clowns?” Spencer muttered confusedly and she repressed a giggle.

They had been so caught up in the urgency of the case that they hadn’t found the time to talk, but Y/N was glad that Spencer was at least conversing with her, even if it was strictly about the case. With Emily now found and Scratch finally dead, they learned to breathe again. Y/N offered to drive Spencer home from Stephen’s funeral, seeing how morose he seemed. He reluctantly agreed and got into the car.

“I know you don’t want to, but we really have to talk.” She said softly, afraid that if she spoke too loud, he’d either snap or break. It was unclear which was more likely to happen.

“Now’s not really the best time, Y/N.” He spoke defeatedly, his hands running over his face and digging into the sockets of his eyes.

“It’ll never be the right time, Spencer.” She pushed, “I missed you.”

He laughed crudely, almost mocking her, “Oh, you missed me?”

“Yes, I missed you. Of course I missed you. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Sorry?!” He practically screeched, turning to face her. Her jaw clenched in reaction as she focused on driving.

“You’re sorry for what exactly? For not coming to visit me? For not bothering to write me any letters? For practically pretending like I didn’t exist? Do you have any idea how often I hoped to see you? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be disappointed to see one of my best friends because I was hoping it was you? I hated myself for it, but it happened. How could you, Y/N?!” He seethed, voice uncharacteristically booming through the small space between them. It was laced with hurt and betrayal. She abruptly pulled the car over on the side of the road and turned to look at him.

“How could you forget about me like that?” Spencer’s voice was small and shaky, tears threatening to spill.

Her own tears found their way down her cheeks as she stared at his heartbroken face, “Forget about you? I could never forget about you, Spencer.” She sniffled softly.

“You were all I could think about. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I’m pretty sure I developed an ulcer from the stress, by the way. I didn’t visit because…” she swallowed, pausing to blow her nose, “because I was angry. I was so angry, Spencer. Not at you, of course. At the situation. It was unfair to you and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I know no amount of apologies will undo it, but I couldn’t handle it. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle seeing you in there and not be able to hold you or kiss you or...or touch you.” She paused again to blow her nose.

Her words were disguised by the sobs, but Spencer managed to comprehend them. “It would have been too painful for me, I’m sorry. I was too weak and too selfish. You deserved so much better than that, I know.”

Spencer’s heart ached to see her cry, but he was so upset that he didn’t know if he could forgive her just yet. His throat got that familiar feeling of being so tight that he couldn’t speak. He just shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, turning away from her.

“Just take me home.” He whispered and she nodded, pulling herself together. Spencer occupied himself with a loose thread on his clothes, the soft hum of the engine was the only thing filling the silence between them.

She pulled up in front of his apartment complex and he was about to step out of the car when she reached for his arm, stopping him. She drew her hand back immediately, realizing that that was the first time they made physical contact since he got back. She hoped she wasn’t overstepping. He stared at her curiously at both reaching for him and drawing back.

“Spence, I understand if you want to end things. I just...I love you. I never stopped loving you and I never will.” She reminded him and he nodded, the tenderness she’d grown so used to returning to his eyes.

“I love you, too.” He spoke quietly, offering her a tight smile that obviously hid a lot of pain.

She watched as he got out of the car and disappeared inside the building. He hadn’t confirmed nor denied that he wanted to end things with her and she didn’t know if she should be relieved at that. All she did know though was hearing those four words from Spencer again breathed a new life into her lungs.

He still loves her.

That’s all that matters.

Part 2

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot

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cybushin · 3 years

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𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄. ---

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋. The walking definition of a YOUNG GOD, Genji Shimada was untouchable. Or so he believed, arrogant, aloof, and petty. He walked the streets like every step he took paved the road in gold. Known for a reputation of ALWAYS GETTING WHAT HE WANTED, a playboy with a neon smile wasting his youth away dripping in diamonds. While he excelled in his training, he figured that would carry him with enough favor. He cast his weight on the reputation of his FAMILY NAME, knowing that no other family could do anything about his arrogance, he suspected he would be a KING ‘till responsibility caught up with him.

Of course, that wasn’t the case behind the scenes. The elders of the Shimada clan were none too pleased with the head’s youngest. And Sojiro could only protect him for so long, hoping that Genji would temper with time. BUT HIS PATIENCE COULD ONLY LAST SO LONG. And eventually Sojiro’s love and protection ran out. The duty to remove Genji as a liability fell to his brother, a task that ended in a BLOODY FEUD.

Genji was FURIOUS when Hanzo turned on him, never having anticipated that his own family would be the ones to cut him down, and refusing to die kneeling, Genji fought back against the inevitable, unarmed and outmatched, he would go to the grave having said he fought for his survival with TOOTH AND NAIL. The ensuing struggle severely disfigured the younger brother as his regard for the condition of his body was out-favored for the likelihood of survival. In the end, he failed, and was struck down.

𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋. His body was cold by the time OVERWATCH, a program that had been keeping an eye on the Shimada’s illicit business for some time, saw it as a fitting investment to SAVE Genji. Believing his skills to be worth the cost of bringing a man back from the other side.

Due to the status of his injuries and the time he’d already spent as a corpse, much of his body was unsalvageable. The entire right arm, a portion of his right jaw, his right leg above the knee, his left leg mid thigh, his ring and pinkie fingers on his left hand, and several if not most of his organs, a lung and his kidneys included as well as a majority of his stomach wall. IT WAS AN EXPENSIVE FAVOR, A MEDICAL BREAKTHROUGH, to make the man live again. He was mostly paralyzed, hooked up to more machines then any human rightfully should be, but he was ALIVE.

At least enough to be offered an opportunity. In exchange for his cooperation and his skills, Overwatch would provide him with a new body, a second chance at a new life. And Genji, not wanting to remain bedridden for the remainder of the life he wasn’t supposed to have, agreed to their terms. THUS THE LONG AND PAINFUL PROCEEDURE BEGAN. Months in the making, his will to live was outmatched by a persistent fury. LIVING? WAS AGONY. The emotional and physical toll of his betrayal and the growing detachment to his body as limbs and organs were replaced with nanobites, tech and wiring, was more then he had anticipated.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇. By the time he was ready for field testing, he was assigned to the covert ops unit of the organization, BLACKWATCH. His skills seeming useful to their operations, and a place they could monitor his status for upgrades. PHYSICALLY HE WAS ALIVE, but that rage burned strong in Genji, stoked by an increasing feeling of being a prisoner in his own body. IT WOULD BE A LONG AND ARDUOUS STRUGGLE to recognize the man in the mirror.

HE WAS THE PERFECT WEAPON. So a weapon he became. Quiet and prone to outbursts of anger, he was a difficult agent to deal with. Effective in the field, but nigh unreachable personally. Much of Genji’s dysmorphia and anger towards his betrayal was centered on himself, but he projected it outwards like a shield. He felt like an outcast. Soon, however, he realized that Blackwatch seemed ripe for outcasts, a mixed bag of the unfavored by society, building something like unity between themselves. Genji remained prickly, but the unconventional companionship of Blackwatch’s core members often bypassed his unruly nature, and before long the jaded, bitter cyborg felt a KINSHIP with his coworkers.

This kinship would continue to grow as time went on, a bond like family forged through the strife they all shared and the difficulty of their job. Genji saw more of a family in Blackwatch then he ever had in his clan, something that only strengthened his distaste for all things SHIMADA. His loyalty to his team began to mellow out his rage, though still rather impersonal, he began to settle, more agreeable to be around for anyone unused to his aggressive personality.

It was this more subdued temperament that allowed Genji to begin being deployed with other branches of Overwatch alongside his duties to Blackwatch. Filling in for strike team operations when needed. He was given a new look, something more befitting of a man finding his place in the world. Though he still far preferred working with his usual team in Blackwatch, he made new friends and his social circle expanded. THINGS WERE BEGINNING TO LOOK UP FOR HIM.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇. He was deployed to Nepal when Overwatch fell. The mission was meant to be simple, but he found himself stranded now, headquarters was a crater, he had no idea what status any other agents were in, and nowhere else to go. HE WAS ALONE. But compassion wasn’t scarce, offered refuge by an omnic monastery in the Nepalese mountains, he remained, uncertain of his future. AN ANGER THAT HAD DIMMED BEGAN TO SPARK ANEW. Genji remained at the monastery in exchange for helping around the compound, finding an unexpected tutelage in one of the omnics there, Tekartha Zenyatta.

His life with the Shambli became a dual position of learning the meaning of inner peace from his newfound master, and trying to track down what Overwatch agents he could. With what few connections he still had, Genji eventually managed to get in contact with several, finding out about the death of both Jack Morrison, and more devastatingly, Gabriel Reyes. A man who Genji saw befittingly as family. But through his teachings with Zenyatta and a mourning that rang through him, Genji vowed to let his anger go to the grave with the organization that gave him a FAMILY again.

Genji began to write letters, correspondence so his friends knew he was still alive, and to keep tabs on their status. And his dedication to his studentship under Zenyatta increased, a responsibility he’d ran from a lifetime ago finally catching up to him. He found the PEACE he’d long since needed, and made amends with the body he lives in now. Though the feelings of detachment are etched through him like old ghosts, Genji is much better at reconciling with them now.

But his life at the monastery wasn’t meant to be permanent. The news was alight with word of Null Sector activity, a war teetering on the brink. Genji knew his place was out there, doing what he can for the world. Both a desire to act in the heroic image of the family that gave him renewed purpose, and a desire to reconnect with the very same people, pushed him to greater lengths.

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄. Leaving the Shambali behind, Genji became a Ronin, travelling across the world and protecting the innocent from Null Sector where he could. Being unaffiliated to any organization allowed him the ability to interfere in the coming war without restrictions. Any government that might protest can’t stop a man who’s files state he is deceased in them.

It’s this vigilantism that landed him in London, though he had received word of Overwatch’s reforming, he was radio silent on his choice to return. In fact, it was happenstance that brought him to rediscovering a group of Overwatch agents there. Able to save them and help hold back the tide, he was still undecided on whether to return to the organization. Genji knew his skills were more effective when he couldn’t be leashed by regulations and restrictions, something that lingered from his Blackwatch days. A STRONG DISTASTE for the rules that kept them from being their most effective.

Though, for now, he has agreed to partner with Overwatch and share what information and resources he has in exchange for their own. Not yet an agent again, but not a ghost to them either. Genji’s journey has been a long one, but he is grateful for what kindnesses he’s been offered in life, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do everything in his power to make sure those hands that helped him aren’t wasted. THE WORLD IS CHANGING, AND FINALLY, GENJI IS READY FOR IT.

#(HEADCANON) Learning to feel real again #Sorry for the long post guys but #HERE'S A WHOLE TIMELINE FOR GENJI'S LORE / STORY #because I needed to get it out of my head #so enjoy this #you get a cookie if you read it all #long post //

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raywritesthings · 4 years

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Fade In, Fade Out 1/2

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Earth 2 Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Quentin Lance, Barry Allen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Pretending to be her deceased doppelganger has as many drawbacks as it does benefits, so Black Siren decides it’s time to really switch things up on her enemies and allies alike. Oliver is confronted with his true feelings once again and must finally make a choice. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Laurel Lance, formerly of Earth 2, had a problem. Well, several problems. Actually, they were all the same problems she’d had before, only now they were even more compounded by the precarious position she’d placed herself in. Namely, impersonating a dead woman.

It had been the best way to ensure she could no longer be held by this or that group in this or that cell. She’d been tired and hurting and so, so fed up with it all. So she’d let herself finally do the one thing she’d been avoiding for almost two years now: be seen.

Now she was Laurel Lance, miraculously rescued darling of Star City. A former ADA with a sterling reputation and a loving family and friends. How nice.

While it had bought her a temporary reprieve, it was clear this had not solved all her problems the way she’d hoped it might. Diaz was still sending his men sniffing around to threaten her and her doppelganger’s father. The bitch in the Black Canary suit was still breathing down her neck, probably barely holding back thanks to her team. And this Earth’s Oliver was continuing his sanctimonious bull about caring one minute then pulling back the next and pretending as if they were perfect strangers.

He was worried she was going to ruin his Laurel’s reputation. Maybe she should, since he’d pretty thoroughly wrecked her own image of Ollie, try as she might to maintain him in her mind. But doing anything too out of character for this Earth’s Laurel would just put her right back into danger.

Her old way of doing things had lacked security, but now it was hard for her to make any kind of move thanks to public scrutiny. She needed to be able to get away; a new fresh start on this godforsaken Earth. But she needed to keep Diaz and all her other enemies looking one way while she snuck off in the other direction. But how to do it?

And then, it turned out, the opportunity presented itself.

Quentin, her doppelganger’s father, took a call late one night. It was from this Earth’s Thea Queen, who was apparently saying goodbye.

“And Nyssa thinks there’s more of these Pits? Well that’s, that’s something… I’ve never even heard of these places you’re saying. Ojos del — well, whatever you said. And where’s that Kamchatka, that sounds — oh, Russia. Yeah, I wouldn’t have guessed that. Well, you’ll be seeing a lot more of the world than most people do.”

Laurel sat there, not really reading the law book he had pressed on her for the umpteenth time. If they were talking about a Pit, was this that magic Pit thing that wasn’t supposed to exist anymore? The one that brought people back from the dead or whatever? The dead were dead, no matter if you came to a whole separate Earth and met them again.

That’s something, he’d said, with such a wistful tone to his voice. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and it burned in her gut, angry and jealous despite it all. If he wanted his Laurel back, why didn’t he go do it instead of trying to force her to be her? Ugh, it sounded confusing even in her own head.

But as she glowered across the room at him while he talked to the other Thea on that phone, she took him in. Old, thin, frail as he was, he could never make that kind of journey. Great, now she was feeling pity, too.

The more she thought about it, though, the more she realized that these Pits still being active was something. Something that could help her, too. If she wanted everyone’s eyes off her, why not give them something else to look at? Watch the birdie.

Laurel took out her phone and made liberal use of autocorrect and suggested search to find the information she needed about Kamchatka. Then she started searching for plane tickets.

Later, after Quentin was sleeping, Laurel went out that night to the cemetery with a shovel, hoping to God this wasn’t part of some officer’s beat. There was nothing much she could do once she’d dug up the casket besides shovel the dirt back on top and pack it down. Maybe people would assume the casket had been removed since she wasn’t supposed to be underground anymore. And now her doppelganger wasn’t either.

Getting her on a plane wasn’t too difficult, but God was she glad she’d borrowed some money from Quentin so she could hire some help to carry the thing up the mountain.

“I want to see the springs,” she told her guides. “The ones off the beaten path. You know what I mean, right?” If there were rumors about these Pits, they had to come from somewhere.

The two exchanged glances. “No one goes to those springs now.”

“And why not?” Damnit, had the idiots already destroyed this one?

“There are men. They guard the springs jealously.”

Oh. The other guys. Right. Tommy’s weird evil dad’s minions or whatever.

Laurel shrugged. “I think I can handle myself. You two wait here with my birdcage.” Leaving them to exchange perplexed glances, Laurel turned and continued her march through the mountain range.

It was funny. She could have wandered around here for days without finding it, except that, two hours into that, out of the shadows leapt a man in ninja gear. That kind of blew the whole thing, didn’t it?

Laurel knocked him right off the cliff with her scream, then twisted the arm of his buddy who tried to attack her from behind, getting possession of his sword and stabbing him in the gut with it. He dropped to his knees, cursing in some foreign tongue while Laurel examines her new sword.

“Not my style, usually, but I think I’m gonna keep this. Thanks.”

He didn’t reply. Probably because he was dead. Well, she’d at least made this easier for Speedy and Friends whenever they showed up.

She found the casket abandoned on the path by the time she got back. Huh. Maybe she should have paid those guys extra. Quentin wasn’t made of money, though. No matter how much he was going to owe her once this whole thing was done.

Few things sucked more than carrying a dead body up a mountain by yourself. One of the things that did suck more was carrying a dead body that looked exactly like you up a mountain by yourself. Laurel did her best to keep her eyes on the path as she put one step forward after the other. When she finally found the crevice in the rocks that led into the springs, she sighed in relief.

This was definitely the place. The ninjas had set up a small encampment to the side of the cave, and in the center bubbled a mysterious-looking water.

“This better work,” Laurel muttered to herself, then unceremoniously dumped the body into the waters with a splash that had her quickly backing away to avoid the droplets.

What would it be like, meeting the fabled Perfect Laurel? Was it rose-tinted glasses that had everyone on this Earth making her out to be a saint?

She paced the edge, waiting for some kind of sign she hadn’t been duped. The waters had gone totally still. What the hell was she going to have to do, fish her doppelganger out? She hadn’t even brought a net.

Then the waters started bubbling again like someone had flipped the switch for the hydro-jets. She slowed, laying a hand on the hilt of her new sword.

With no warning, the previously dead body made an impossible leap from the waters, landing in a crouch with her hair hanging in her face like a wet curtain.

“Shit,” Laurel breathed to herself.

Her doppelganger’s head snapped up, eyes wild and mouth snarling. Certainly nothing like a saint. She had a split second to recognize the pulling back of her lips for what it was before she was ducking to avoid a sonic scream. She retaliated, catching her disoriented doppelganger in the side and sending her rolling across the cave floor. She didn’t get up.

Laurel listened to make sure they hadn’t caused some kind of cave-in, but it sounded like the rock was holding. Then she crept over to see if she’d accidentally killed the other woman again. The rise and fall of her chest said she was still breathing. Good.

What the hell had the whole wild woman act been, though? Was it permanent? What was she going to do with her if it was?

It was weird watching herself. Laurel paced to the other side of the Pit and stood against the wall, waiting.

She’d give her doppelganger half an hour before she just placed the return plane ticket at her feet and took off.

---

Laurel, always of Earth 1 and formerly dead, shivered as she came to, rolling onto her side and curling in on herself with cold. She was soaked to the skin and exposed to the open air of whatever this place was. Her ears were also ringing. She shook her head, feeling her damp hair sticking to the side of her face.

“Ugh.”

“You said it.”

Laurel blinked and looked around. How had she heard her own voice come from another direction?

Leaning against a rocky wall was her. Or, it looked exactly like her. “What is this?” Was it some kind of illusion? A person that could mimic appearances. Though while this other her was dressed in sensible gear for what looked like hiking a mountain, she discovered she was in one of her nicer but rather thin dresses. God, it was freezing.

“What do you remember?” The other her asked.

“Talking to Oliver?” She’d been trying to encourage him, because she’d known he was probably beating himself up about her getting hurt, and then everything went kind of fuzzy after that. She thought she could remember him shouting for someone…

“Ugh, of course you do,” the other her said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, basically you’ve been dead for about two years—”

“Wait, what?”

“And I just brought you back. You’re welcome! Only took your own doppelganger from another Earth to get the job done.”

Her doppelganger. That’s what this was. So she was from Earth 2, she was pretty sure Team Flash had called it. Where they there now? It would explain why there was what had to be a Lazarus Pit to the right of her even though Nyssa had destroyed the one at Nanda Parbat.

“Why did you bring me back?” There was something about this other her’s attitude that suggested it wasn’t strictly out of the kindness of her heart. She reminded Laurel uncomfortably of some of her worst behaviors in the midst of her spiral.

Her doppelganger smiled, and it definitely wasn’t nice. “Smart question. See, I’ve been trying to live my life on this Earth for the last almost two years, but things keep getting in the way. Mostly the people from your life. So I figure if I give them you back, they won’t keep bothering me. We’re even, see?”

There was so much she wasn’t being told, and she wished that wasn’t an old feeling. “You’ve been pretending to be me?”

“Only for a little bit. Hey, at least you don’t have to come up with a story for the press as to how you’re still alive. Someone can fill you in on the cover. I’m heading out of here and do not follow me.” Her doppelganger hefted a duffle bag higher on her shoulder.

“How am I supposed to get home from wherever this is?” She gestured down again her bare feet and lack of possessions.

The other her grumbled impatiently. “Here, take some of this stuff.” She grabbed a pair of black boots and a League-standard tunic from a small pile near the other end of the cave they were in. Laurel hurried to put both on, not really caring to ask who they typically belonged to when it meant she could finally warm up a little.

A passport hit her in the face. Then a printed out boarding pass came flying, which she caught before it could smack her as well.

“Tag, you’re it,” her double said. “And I guess you can have your dad’s credit card back.”

Laurel straightened back up. “You stole his—”

“Of course I did. I’m getting his precious daughter back for him, so what’s he going to miss a few hundred bucks for? I only bought plane tickets and a guided tour, calm down.”

Laurel did not calm down, and instead marched over to her double and snatched the card from her lose grasp. “You might think the snarky act helps protect you from other people hurting you, but let me tell you from experience that it just hurts worse watching everyone walk away.”

Her double glared, leaning into her space. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I am you. Or I was.” Laurel shook her head. “Why have you even been staying on this Earth? Haven’t you got your own?”

“And nothing there to return to.” She could see in the mirror image of her own eyes a deep-set pain and sadness. Laurel wanted desperately to ask, but she had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to be seeing it at all.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Look, there’s no point to this. We can’t both be you, unless we want to pretend you’ve been lying about being an identical twin your whole life,” her doppelganger finally said. “I’m leaving. Wait five minutes, then head down the mountain path. There’s a little touristy station set up at the bottom, and they can direct you to the airport.”

“You’re really just going to lay low the rest of your life on some totally strange Earth?”

“About the only option I have left. Believe me, I’m looking forward to semi-retirement.” With that, her double turned and walked out of the cave, with not even a snarky goodbye to show for it. Laurel winced; she’d been pretending to be her? Did the others know, or did they all think she’d come back from the dead with that attitude?

She had no watch, so Laurel guessed at five minutes and headed down the path. Sure enough, the tourist trap at the bottom of the mountain did have information on transportation to the nearest airport. She also discovered she was in Eastern Russia.

Laurel prioritized getting to the airport over getting access to a phone. Her flight was pre-scheduled, after all. She bought some new clothes for herself before boarding so she didn’t have to come into the Star City airport looking like a terrorist. Thankfully, her father hadn’t cancelled his credit card. She’d pay him back, assuming she still had a job.

She couldn’t believe she was really back from the dead. Around nothing but strangers, it didn’t feel real. She also couldn’t sense anything like the bloodlust Thea had had, but she wasn’t really experiencing anything that might trigger her anger. But she’d need to figure out if there was a way to get more of that Lotus sooner rather than later.

Thea, her father, the team and Ollie, how were all of them? What had she missed in her years of being dead? Did they miss her or think about her at all? It would be selfish of her to wonder if Oliver ever thought about what she’d confessed to him, right? Even she’d known that was nothing but a memory now. Hopefully he and everyone else were just happy and safe, at least as much as they could be in their line of work.

She followed her fellow passengers out into the Star City airport, breathing a little easier now that she knew she was back in her home. No matter how much she or it changed, she’d always feel that way.

Laurel started looking for a help desk, but a hand landed on her upper arm before she could take more than two steps.

“Let’s go.”

Laurel froze. “Ollie?”

He looked about the same as she remembered. It had only been two years, after all. But his expression was guarded, even hostile as he looked down at her. She almost wanted to draw back from him.

“Quentin called. Whatever you’ve been setting up in Russia, you’re going to tell me and him.”

“I wasn’t setting anything up. I just came back to life.” It was occurring to her that he thought she was her own doppelganger, that this dislike and distrust wasn’t really for her. “I’m the real me, Oliver. I’m not the other Earth one.”

His eyes widened for a second, before he shut down again. “Come on.” He yanked on her arm to get her moving.

He thought she was lying. Well, they were going to see her father, apparently, so she could just convince them both at the same time. It figured her own doppelganger would leave her a mess to clean up.

---

Oliver didn’t trust himself to speak as he guided her out to the car. The fact that she wanted to try this game again, fooling him, was proof that he’d been right to doubt her attempt to turn over a new leaf. God, what was she planning to do to Laurel’s reputation? Her legacy?

“Ollie, please,” she said as he turned the key in the ignition. “I’m telling the truth. One minute, I was in the hospital with you and the next, I was waking up in some cave in Russia with an identical copy of myself telling me I’d been dead for two years.”

“A Lazarus Pit.”

“From what I could tell.”

He smirked to himself, but nothing was funny. “The only Lazarus Pit my Laurel knew about was destroyed, so why would she assume she’d been resurrected with one?”

“Because I made an educated guess when I woke up soaked to the bone next to a bubbling hot spring. Why can’t you ever just believe me?” She demanded, and it sounded so much like her — the real her — that it tore at his heart. Oliver kept his eyes on the road.

“Because you’ve done this before.”

“My doppelganger.” Her head dropped back against the seat rest. “Oliver, I don’t know what she must have done or said the past two years, but I promise that’s not me. I don’t want to think I could be that cruel to try and trick you like that twice.”

“Then where’s your other self?” He avoided describing it in a way that made it sound like he believed her. Even if everything — her tone, her inflections, the chunky knit sweater she was bundled in, just the way that she moved — was perfect in a way Black Siren had never managed.

This Laurel didn’t seem like she was mocking herself.

She sighed wearily. “I wish I had a better answer, but she took off. Said she wanted to get away from all of this, so she was tapping me back in.”

Oliver frowned. She’d only been impersonating Laurel in the public eye for a short while. Would she really give up the visibility and protection against Diaz that Quentin kept claiming she wanted so soon? Unless — and something cold seized his heart — this was the visible protection. A Laurel out there in the public eye and Diaz’s sights while she ran off for who-knew-where.

Could she really be? He looked in her eyes for the first time and couldn’t detect any hint of a lie. Yet somehow it still felt like he was falling into some sort of trap.

“Ollie, you’re going to miss the turn,” she said. “If that’s still where my dad lives.”

“Uh, right.” He made it sharp, then pulled up outside the apartment building. He started up to his unit and she fell right into step with him without a word.

Quentin answered the door after two knocks. He’d been expecting them since he’d been able to get the number of the return flight off his credit card purchase. Oliver had volunteered to collect her in case something more was going on than a simple joyride on Quentin’s money. Now he wasn’t sure what to say to the man.

“So, five-hundred bucks later, how do you feel?” Quentin asked her.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry,” she answered, stepping forward and wrapping him into a hug. Quentin’s eyes went wide and his arms hovered in the air. He looked to Oliver.

“She’s—” Oliver cleared his throat and tried again. “She’s claiming to be our Laurel.”

Quentin gaped. “How?”

“I can explain, I promise,” She said, then looked up. “But how are you?” One of her hands rested over Quentin’s chest.

“I- I’m not sure,” he answered.

Oliver started ushering them all inside on the off chance one of the neighbors stepped outside and heard this. They gathered in Quentin’s sitting room, Quentin on the couch, Oliver standing against the side wall and her pacing the space between couch and coffee table.

“Okay, so I guess there’s a Lazarus Pit or something like it in Eastern Russia. There’s this mountain range called Kamchatka.”

“I was talking to your sister on the phone about that,” Quentin said to him. “She — Earth 2, I mean — was in the room with me.”

“I didn’t see Thea or anyone else, but I think the League might have been set up there at some point,” she continued. “Someone’s things were left behind.”

“Malcolm’s people,” Oliver said, and watched her nod. “He’s dead, by the way.”

Siren already knew that, but this Laurel’s shock looked genuine. “How did it happen?”

“He took Thea’s place on a landmine.”

Her eyebrows raised even higher. “Contradictory to the end, then. Where’s Thea now?”

“On a mission with Nyssa and Roy.” He wondered if she thought she’d have better luck convincing his sister. Oliver wasn’t so sure, because at the moment he badly wanted to be convinced even despite the warning voices in his head urging him to hold back.

“So your doppelganger brought you back with this Pit?” Quentin asked. “I mean, why? And why the hell didn’t we think of that first?”

“The bloodlust, for one thing.” Assuming she was telling the truth, this Laurel would need the Lotus cure the same as Thea had two years ago. Oliver crossed his arms. “Have you felt any symptoms?”

“Not so far. But it’s only been a couple days since I came back.” She looked from one of them to the other. “Do I have a grave we could check so you both feel more sure about this? I can tell you I woke up in my navy blue evening dress. It was a little cold for Russia.”

“I want to believe you, honey, of course I do,” Quentin said. “You have no idea what I’d give to have you back with us.”

“Then just give me some trust,” she said, reaching for his hands. “I’m your daughter. I almost went to work at a corporate law firm in San Francisco until you called me out because you knew that wasn’t who I was. I used to race Sara up the tree in our yard, and I always let her win after the first time when I made her cry and you told me it was my job to take care of her. We went out to dinner before everything at the prison happened, and you told me you were proud of what I was doing as the Black Canary, and I finally felt like I had made it somehow! Like I’d done right by you,” She said, her voice wavering.

Quentin stood, one of his hands cupping her cheek. “It’s really you. It has to be. Oh, my baby girl.” He crushed her to him, drawing in a ragged breath as she held on just as tight. “I don’t know why she did it, but I’m just so glad it’s really you.”

Oliver had to look away. It was too hard to watch. If this was some trick, it would only hurt all the worse once it was revealed. If this was real, then he’d been nothing but cold to her since she’d returned. Why did he always have to screw up when it came to her? He knew what he felt deep in his heart, but every time it came for him to act, he just—

“Ollie.” She had come up to him at some point, and he hadn’t realized he was that far into his own head. “I know I can’t ask you to trust me. But you know me better than anyone.”

He stared at her, willing himself to find some small thing out of place. If he didn’t see it now and he let himself believe, he would be lost. He knew that much about himself. And if it was all a lie, he didn’t think he could find his way back out again this time.

“What did you tell me in the hospital?” He finally asked, his voice sounding gruff to his ears.

“That you shouldn’t try to take on everything alone,” she said. “Even if you feel you have to to protect everyone.”

She was right that those had been some of her last words, and yet he couldn’t be certain that they were the only two who knew that; he himself had told Felicity, and as much as he wanted to believe she wouldn’t have spread it, he didn’t have that guarantee.

“And the other thing?”

She hesitated, glancing back at Quentin and licking her lips. “I told you that you were the love of my life and always would be.”

He heard Quentin make some startled sound, but he was too blurry in Oliver’s vision to make out any expression. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear it so that he could see her — Laurel — and he stepped forward, cupping her face with both hands, and kissed her forehead.

Oliver wrapped her in a hug after, as it sunk in that he didn’t have to leave this time. She was here in the real world with them. Laurel was alive, so much more than a dream.

She rested her hands at his back, seeming unsure, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt over how he had practically shunned her since finding her at the airport. He held her just a little bit tighter for a moment before finally letting her go, stepping back and running both hands over his face in an excuse to wipe at his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand why you needed to check.” Her eyes stayed more on the floor than on her father as she turned to him and asked, “Could I use your guest room for a little? The time difference is kind of catching up to me.”

“Of course, honey. I, uh, had it set up for your doppelganger, but she took her things with her so it’s open.” The father and daughter headed back down the hall while Oliver walked over and sank onto the couch with unsteady legs.

Laurel was back. Truly. It was nearly overwhelming in its relief and yet the enormity of that fact was also hitting him. How did he explain this to Thea and the others hunting to find and destroy the Pits? How did he explain this to his team, whose experiences with the Laurel they’d known ranged from bad to worse? To his son, who was aware of the hero Laurel had been — and still was, now — but who had been warned to keep away from the woman who looked like her?

Quentin returned, taking his own seat in the armchair across. “I’m dreaming, right?”

“Feels like one,” Oliver agreed, knowing he had the experience to support that feeling. But there had been no strange glitches, and he was aware of all his memories, good and bad. This was all real.

“You’d think I’d get used to this. My daughters coming back, the whole world changing around us.”

Oliver nodded.

“Laurel and you.”

He froze and looked up, meeting Quentin’s gaze. “I… needed to know it was her.”

“Course you did. But I need to know things, too. Like just what your intentions are. I mean, you’re practically engaged, Oliver.”

He winced. “In a manner of speaking.” The thought caused his heart to sink deep down into his stomach or somewhere near it. A feeling he’d been having lately when his thoughts turned to Felicity and their tentative agreement.

Tentative because, and perhaps predictably, he’d started reconsidering at perhaps the worst possible moment: after their impromptu wedding alongside Barry and Iris. He had called the speedster up after the West-Allens had taken their honeymoon, just to catch up.

“We’re mostly just working on thank you cards now. Apparently super-fast writing also leads to super-fast hand cramps,” Barry had told him.

“Well, feel free to skip ours. Actually, what did we get you? Felicity never said.”

“Oh. It was, uh, an espresso machine.”

There was something off in the way Barry had said it, the pause and then the flat tone at the end. “Is it not working?”

“No, it does. I mean, I think so. I don’t actually drink much coffee since the caffeine doesn’t affect me,” Barry had admitted with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.” Oliver had felt his cheeks redden. He’d known that, thinking back on it. Shouldn’t Felicity have known that? He should have checked with her before they bought something, but she tended to take those things upon herself since she said teaching him Amazon was beyond her pay grade. “I guess Iris is making use of it?”

“A little. It wasn’t, uh, it wasn’t on the registry.” He’d been able to visualize the uncomfortable shuffling Barry must have been doing on the other end as he spoke. “She kind of had her fill of making coffee at Jitters, you know?”

“Right.” Oliver had closed his eyes, very tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Could you send me the registry list? I can—”

“No, don’t buy something else. It’s fine. I mean, we’re not upset or anything.”

“About the gift,” Oliver had finished for him. “But you’re upset about something else.” Barry wouldn’t have even gone into any detail on the gift like this if something hadn’t been bothering him.

“Upset’s a strong word, Ollie. It’s just, you know, after the wedding was crashed and we lost Professor Stein and everything else, it kind of didn’t feel like our day anymore. And then we figured out a way to get some of that back and- and—”

“And we made it about us,” Oliver had realized with a wave of shame. What had ever possessed him to think that would have been a good idea? Yes, Felicity had asked, but he had been the one to start using the wedding backdrop as a way to hint he thought they should move things forward, and in doing so had upstaged Barry and Iris at their own celebration.

It had been the Lance family dinner all over again, where he’d subordinated Laurel’s feelings or those of Sara’s parents to a relationship he and she had wanted to try and force into working. Why was he always so selfish?

“Barry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what can make that up to you—”

“Look, we can just drop it, okay? What’s done is done.” Barry had sounded desperate to move on. “I just hope things work out for both of us, you know? We both got our dream come true.”

Oliver had hesitated.

“Right?”

“Yeah. Right,” he’d managed uncomfortably. Then he’d made some excuse or other and hung up the phone. He’d only felt it would have been an even lower blow to Barry to admit that his wedding hadn’t been interrupted by Oliver’s dream — far from it.

His dream was now sleeping just twenty feet down the hall.

Oliver dropped his head into his hands, feeling it starting to throb in his temples. He knew he loved Laurel and always would, had stopped denying that to himself over a year ago. But he was in a relationship — even a relatively chaste one since his misgivings about their not-quite wedding — with Felicity.

He’d been using William as an excuse, which wasn’t fair, but what he now couldn’t determine was, was it fair to William to have introduced Felicity into his life as a sort of surrogate only to end things with her? Or was his growing unhappiness in that relationship only going to teach his son a warped version of love and family?

They’d had no marriage certificate when they’d jumped in on Barry and Iris’ ceremony. They still didn’t. They weren’t really married. And he didn’t really want to ever be now. But was it right for him to start something with Felicity because he had been lonely and heartbroken, only to end it because the reason for his loneliness and heartbreak no longer existed?

“I know how I feel, I just don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally. Oliver jumped a little when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Well, the first thing you gotta do is be honest with yourself and with the people in your life about how you’re feeling.”

“How do I do that without hurting someone?”

“Sometimes you can’t,” Quentin told him. “Sometimes you just can’t control how people are gonna feel, Oliver. But you have to let them feel it in their own way.”

He was right. He was right, and Oliver knew it. He also knew that avoiding the truth to avoid pain was one of his greatest failings. But by God, he had to get past this. Not for his sake, but for the people in his life.

“I should inform the team so they can start getting used to the idea,” Oliver decided. “And I need to talk to Felicity.”

She deserved an explanation, uncomfortable as it might make him to give it. He should have been honest with her about his remaining feelings for Laurel whether she was dead or alive, that it would always be a part of him. He would be honest with her now.

Oliver left the apartment, turning and heading down the block. But as he looked back over his shoulder at the building, he frowned.

The window of the guest bedroom was open.

He turned back around, walking and then breaking out into a jog. By the time he reached the hallway to Quentin’s floor, he was flat-out running.

Oliver rapped on the doorframe, waiting with impatience for it to open. Quentin blinked in surprise when he did so. “What—”

“I need to check something.” He walked straight back down the hall and knocked on the guest bedroom door. “Laurel?”

“You said you already checked it was her, and she’s sleeping,” Quentin argued.

“I’m not checking that it’s her, I’m checking—” The door was unlocked and almost bounced off the wall when he threw it open.

Oliver’s heart froze.

“She- she’s gone!” Quentin exclaimed behind him. He brushed past Oliver, going to the window and sticking his head out. “Laurel!”

It did no good, as she hadn’t been anywhere outside when he’d noticed the open window. Why had she gone? Where had she gone? Whatever the reason or location, he had to find out, and fast.

He couldn’t lose her again. Not this time.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #black canary #black siren #green arrow #my writing

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

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Christmas in Storybrooke: 6/11

I know the number of chapters keeps getting lower, but usually I have the opposite problem. So when I outlined this, I underestimated how much I could fit in each chapter, so they keep getting combined. But it's been working out since posting a chapter each day has been more difficult than anticipated.

I'm a little nervous about this chapter because it and the next one are the reason for the M rating. And, well, it's Henry. Just remember - he's an adult. Andrew J. West. Andrew J. West. Repeat that mantra. It isn't smut, but Henry is definitely acting like a grown man. Having said all that, I love this chapter so much and hope you enjoy it too!

The title of this chapter comes from the song by Kelly Clarkson. I've been listening to her Christmas album a lot as I write this and my CS Secret Santa fic, and this song is so perfect for Henry and Evie!

Summary: My Hallmark Christmas movie fic in which flights get cancelled and Henry’s “best friend’ gets snowed in with him in his quirky hometown for Christmas. Only with magic and fairy tale characters.

Rating: M for suggestive scenes and adult situations, not smut

Trigger warnings: Henry is an adult. Read that again: Henry is an adult. Look at the picset: that’s Andrew J. West. If Henry actually behaving like an adult makes you feel icky, the don’t read this.

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @kday426 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @yohoyohoafandomlifeforme @distant-rose

Chapter Six: Wrapped in Red

The day Henry met Evangeline Crawford, he knew they had at least one thing in common. He had been staring down at his phone, not looking where he was going, when he smacked right into her. She was struggling to carry a box of paperbacks as she moved into the apartment across the hall. When he knelt to help her collect them, he teasingly asked her what grade she was in.

“Is that some sort of sick pick up line?” she had snapped with clear disgust.

He had rubbed the back of his neck, distressed that she had misunderstood. He had waved the book in his hand around. “I can tell you’re a grown woman. It was a pitiful joke about your taste in literature.”

She had snatched the copy of Ella Enchanted out of his hand and stuffed it back into her box as pink stained her freckled cheeks. “Lots of people read YA lit these days. Ever heard of The Hunger Games? Divergent?”

But the box she clutched defensively to her chest wasn’t filled with dystopian novels. Instead, they were all written by Gail Carson Levine, Shannon Hale, Melanie Dickerson, and Marissa Meyer. They were all fairy tales.

Henry really hoped in this moment that Evie’s reading tastes meant she had the heart of a true believer because what he had to tell her was incredibly difficult to believe. Of course, she’d almost fallen through a portal, so there was that.

She clutched a mug of hot cocoa in her trembling hands. His mom sat across from them at the kitchen table. His siblings had been sent outside to “practice their magic” on clearing the walk of snow. Hopefully, there would be no Frosty impersonations along the way.

“So,” she said, setting her mug down slowly, “you said let’s go inside and sit down. Well, we’re sitting. Now care to explain to me how a hole opened up in your parent’s shed and almost swallowed me?”

Henry let out a long, slow breath. “Okay, I don’t really know how to ease into this, so I’ll just say it. Storybrooke wasn’t on the GPS because it’s not supposed to be here. It was created by a curse that my mom – Regina – cast the day my other mom was born.”

“Seriously?” Evie’s voice was halfway between incredulous and hysterical.

“My mom,” Henry continued, pointing at Emma, “is the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. I introduced them to you as my Uncle David and Aunt Mary Margaret, but they’re really my grandparents.”

Evie scowled at Henry. “You must really think I’m stupid. Those people are nowhere near old enough to be your grandparents.”

Henry swallowed nervously. “They are if time was frozen in Storybrooke for 28 years.”

“This is . . . this is . . . “

“Impossible?” Emma finished for her softly, putting a hand gently over hers. “I understand how you feel. I felt the exact same way when Henry first brought me here. But It's all true.” She tugged on Evie’s hand. “Come here, let me show you something.”

Evie seemed to be in a daze as she followed Emma to the front door. From the doorway, they could see Hope with her hands outstretched, sending bursts of magic to clear the snow from the front walk. By the side of the house, Leia and Charlie were supposed to be doing the same with the driveway. Instead, they were using magic to hurl snowballs at each other.

“Leia Snow and Charles David!” Emma shouted. “Is that what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”

“No mom,” they grumbled, turning reluctantly back to the driveway.

Evie swayed slightly on her feet. “Am I dreaming?”

Henry put his arm around her and guided her back inside. But instead of steering her to the kitchen table, he sat her down on the sofa. He took both of her hands in his; they were cold as ice.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he said hesitantly.

Evie shook her head. “So, you’re saying that this town is magical?”

Henry nodded.

“And you’re the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming?”

He nodded again.

“So, that makes your adoptive mom, who? The . . . Evil Queen?”

Henry squirmed a bit. “Um, yes, but she’s given up her evil ways.”

Evie nodded, staring down at the floor. “Are you telling me that fairy tales are -”

“True? Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

Her brow wrinkled as she lifted her gaze to his. “Your book. That was all true?”

He chuckled. “I like to say it’s inspired by real life. I did get kidnapped and taken to Neverland like the character Elias in my book. And Peter Pan was an evil demon. But the rest? I made up.”

“So Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily aren’t co-captains of a an all-female crew of pirates?”

“Um, no. As a matter of fact, you met Tinkerbell yesterday. Tina?”

Evie dropped her head between her knees for a moment, then sat up and massaged her temple. “Who else have I met?”

“Well,” Henry began hesitantly with a glance at his mom, “my stepdad is Captain Hook.”

Evie rolled her eyes and let out a wry laugh. “Of course he is. He’s missing a hand. What? Did he hide is hook because I was coming?”

Emma shrugged apologetically. “We didn’t want to freak you out.”

Evie surged to her feet. “So instead you let me stumble around in the shed and . . . and . . . I don’t even know what happened in there!”

“It was a magic bean -’

“A magic bean?” Evie shouted, hysterical now. “What the hell?”

Henry stood, reaching his hands out tentatively to rest upon her shoulders. He was relieved when she didn’t shrug him off. “They open portals,” he explained slowly. “They used to be rare, but Tiny has cultivated fields of them on the outskirts of town. People use them to travel between the realms.”

“We keep a bag here and in the sheriff station in case of an emergency,” Emma spoke up. “I’m sorry we didn’t keep them in a safer place.”

“I’m . . . I’m . . . ,” Evie’s eyes looked panicked as she pressed her hands to her cheeks, “I need to go lie down.”

“Evie -” Henry started, but this time she did shrug him off when he went to hold her.

“Give her time, Henry,” Emma encouraged him, reaching out and squeezing his hand.

He looked up the stairs and hoped she wasn’t going up there to pack her bags.

************************************************

Henry tried to give Evie space, but after almost an hour, he couldn’t take it anymore. He made his way upstairs, opening the door of his old room as slowly and quietly as he could. The room was dark, and Evie was curled up on the bed in the fetal position. He couldn’t see her face as he eased down on the bed, wondering if he should say something to her. He reached his hand out twice, but both times, he snatched it back, unsure if she wanted him to touch her.

“Who’s Tiny?”

He startled as she rolled towards him. “I’m sorry?”

“Tiny,” she repeated, sliding up to lean back against the headboard, “you said he grows the magic beans.”

“Oh, um, he’s a . . . giant.” He winced, knowing how crazy it sounded.

She arched a brow. “As in Jack and the Beanstalk?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but Tiny wasn’t the bad guy, Jack was. And . . . um . . . Jack was a woman.”

Evie blinked. “Okay.”

Henry slid up to lean back next to her, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. “The true stories are a lot different than the ones you heard growing up.”

She nodded, and they were both quiet for a really long time. Finally, she shifted closer to him and nudged his shoulder.

“I just have one question.”

He took her hand. “Anything.”

“How did you manage to hide a giant from me all this time?”

He laughed in relief, relinquishing her hand to envelop her in a tight hug.

****************************************************

Evie looked nervous as he opened the passenger side door for her. She stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the mayor’s mansion, her eyes wide.

“You grew up here?”

Henry cleared his throat. “Yeah. It was quiet and boring, though, trust me.”

She reached for his elbow and clutched it as they made their way down the walk. “I’m even more nervous about having dinner with them now that I know who they really are.”

“They can come across as a little . . . intense,” Henry admitted, “but they aren’t the Evil Queen and the Wicked Witch of the West anymore.”

“And Robyn’s Dad was Robin Hood.”

“Yes, but my Aunt, she . . . kind of tricked him into thinking she was Maid Marian.”

Evie stopped abruptly, and he turned to see her shaking her head incredulously. “Don’t take this the wrong way Henry, but your family is really screwed up.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me that. I lived it, remember?”

“And your other grandpa is Rumplestiltskin who married Belle, also making him the Beast, but he also is the one who took your stepdad’s hand, so he’s also the Crocodile?”

He gave her an admiring grin. “You catch on quickly.”

She shrugged, seeming pleased. “Well, they don’t exactly want idiots on the FBI.”

They had reached the door now, and before Henry could even ring the bell, his mother had opened the door and embraced him. She then turned tentatively to Evie.

“Henry called and said he told you everything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evie replied, “and though my head’s still spinning a little bit, it’s also kind of . . . an adventure.”

Something about Evie’s expression seemed to make Regina relax her stiff posture and release a breath. “I’m so glad you’re taking this all in stride. I was a little worried . . . “ she trailed off as she ushered them inside.

“Just as long as you don’t serve her any apples,” Zelena teased as she came out into the foyer to join them.

“That’s not funny,” Regina hissed.

Zelena rolled her eyes and winked at Evie. “I’ve always been the one with a better sense of humor.”

Evie laughed as Zelena threaded her arm through hers and escorted her into the dining room. As they passed the stairway, Henry noted that heavy plastic still hung from the ceiling.

“Was the upstairs heavily damaged?” Henry asked his mom.

Regina waved her hand in irritation. “No, it’s just that the work crew isn’t too keen on putting a lot of work into it with the holidays and all. The three of us are going to have to camp out in the den tonight. I apologize for the state of my home, Evie.”

“No need,” Evie assured, as they all took a seat, “I’m honored that you had me over under the circumstances.”

“Well, you need something besides burgers at Granny’s and Pop Tarts,” Regina snarked.

“Mom!”

“Well, it’s the truth,” his mother huffed.

Henry dropped it as Robyn bounced in with a basket of rolls. “Hey, Evie!” she said as she plopped down beside her mother.

“Hey isn’t the proper greeting,” Regina corrected her.

“And don’t slouch, dear,” Zelena added.

Robyn sat up straighter, though she let out a huff as she did so. “Be glad you don’t have two moms,” she told Evie.

“I second that,” Henry laughed, giving his cousin a fist bump.

“Okay, you two, enough of that,” Regina scolded mildly. Then she picked up a spatula and started cutting into the dish in front of her. “I hope you like lasagna, Evie.”

“I love all Italian food,” Evie replied, accepting a helping from Regina. “One of the things I love about New York are the restaurants – especially the Italian places.”

“Well, I hope you like my recipe. It’s famous here in Storybrooke, but this isn’t little Italy.”

Henry had never seen his mom so nervous about her lasagna. She was usually downright cocky about it. Now she was holding her breath and watching as Evie took her first bite.

“I can see why,” Evie told her with a genuine smile, “this is really, really good Ms. Mills.”

“Thank you, and please, call me Regina.” She rose from the table to get the wine, and as she walked past Henry she whispered, “I really like her.”

Henry wanted to clarify to his mom that he and Evie were just friends. He wanted to roll his eyes when Regina winked at him. But honestly? He was pretty sure his feelings were obvious to everyone in town. But were they obvious to Evie?

***************************************************

“So, how bad was it?” Henry asked as they got out of the car at Emma and Killian’s house.

“Not bad at all,” Evie told him. ”Your Aunt’s a little . . . “

“Insane?”

Evie chuckled. “I was going to say eccentric.”

“How polite of you. Or are you doing that thinly veiled insult thing you say southern women are so good at?” Henry nudged her. “Should I call you Scarlett?”

Evie backed away from him with her hands behind her back, her winter boots leaving tracks in the snow. “Please, if I were a southern literary character I would never in a million years be Scarlett O’Hara.”

“Oh?” Henry asked. “Who would you be then?”

“Scout Finch, of course.”

“Ah, the tomboy.”

“Mhm, and Scout is way more fun. Scarlett would never do . . . THIS!” She punctuated the final word by attempting to throw a snowball at Henry’s head. He doubled over laughing when the snowball burst into a small flurry before it made an impact. Evie’s disappointed pout made it even funnier.

“And like both Scout and Scarlett, you know nothing about making snowballs. Have you ever even been in a snowball fight?”

“Yes!” Evie grumbled, putting her hands on her hips, “We do get snow occasionally back home, for your information.”

Henry gathered up some snow in his mittened hands. “Okay, and how did those go for you?”

Evie glanced away from Henry. “Kind of . . . the same way that first snowball I threw. But I thought it was just because the snow was . . . mostly ice and mud.”

“That’s pitiful, Scout Finch,” he said as he continued to work the snow in his hands, “because the key to a good snowball is to pack it really well. See?”

He waited until Evie had drawn close to see his snowball, then he grabbed her and shoved the snowball down the back of her shirt. She drew in a sharp breath at the sudden cold, then screamed as she danced around to dislodge the snowball.

“You are going to so pay for that fairy tale boy!”

“That’s a horrible nickname,” Henry laughed nonchalantly as he worked at another snowball. Evie was gathering up snow, but he wasn’t worried. She still wasn’t packing it hard enough as she ran for him. But instead of throwing a fistful of loose snow like the last time, she leapt towards him and smashed it in his face. He sputtered to get the snow out of his mouth and blinked his eyes. Evie was already sprinting away from him as she laughed, and he took off after her. Soon they were slipping and sliding all over the snowy lawn as they threw snowballs and stuffed other ones down each other’s shirts. By the time they made it inside, they were breathless with both exertion and laughter.

They stomped as much snow off their boots in the mudroom as they could, then peeled off their snow encrusted coats, hats, scarves, and mittens. Henry found a drying rack in the laundry room, and they draped all their wet outer wear over it.

“My clothes are soaked too!” Evie said with a half moan/half laugh.

“Me too,” Henry said, rubbing at his wet hair. His nose and ears were numb too.

Evie shivered as she rubbed at her arms. “I want nothing more than my warm pajamas.”

“And a pile of blankets,” Henry added as they made their way towards the stairs. The house was quiet, and his parents had turned off the Christmas lights. It seemed everyone else was already in bed.

They made their way as quietly as they could to the attic, and then Evie grabbed her pajamas from the end of the bed and dashed into the bathroom. Henry peeled off his wet shirt, then struggled out of his soaked jeans. Even his boxers underneath were wet. He hurried into fresh ones as well as a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. Then he draped his wet clothes over the radiator. He had just finished up when Evie came out of the bathroom. He turned towards her, and what he saw caused the breath to rush out of his lungs.

It took his mind back to that summer. Evie had come across the hall in a tight little black dress, the back half undone. She was red-faced and irritated that she couldn’t reach the damn zipper. To say it was a little dress didn’t really convey how short it was. It was for work, some undercover thing, and her legs had been on gorgeous display.

Just like they were now. She was standing there, the light from the bathroom spilling around her, in nothing but her pajama top. It was the same button-up flannel thing she had been wearing all weekend with the little snowflakes all over it, and it hit the top of her thighs. Nothing overtly sexy, but a complete turn on all the same.

“I - uh – forgot to grab the bottoms,” she explained, tugging at the hem of the shirt. He moved towards her, unable to speak. “Henry?”

Her hair was down, the ends slightly damp and curling slightly. It was hanging over one shoulder, and the side of her neck that was exposed drew his attention. He reached up and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, then drew his finger down the skin just behind it. She drew in her breath a little, but didn’t speak or pull away.

“Do you remember that day you came over and asked me to zip up your dress?”

She nodded. His gaze shifted to her eyes, which were watching him intently.

“You turned away from me, gathering your hair up off your shoulders. I felt like I was some bumbling teenager as I worked the zipper. I noticed this freckle here,” he bent and kissed the one behind her ear, “and the one here,” he kissed another on her neck, then he pulled back, his nose brushing hers. “I saw freckles on your shoulder blade, right next to the strap of your bra. I even noticed a cluster on the back of your right knee. And I wondered just how many you had and what it would be like to count them all and kiss every single one.”

She still didn’t speak as he pressed a kiss to the freckles on her nose. “One,” then he kissed each cheek, “two, three,” he kissed her forehead, chin, and each eyebrow, “four, five, six -”

“Henry,” she breathed as his lips hovered over hers, “there are a lot more than six freckles on my face.”

“Oh, you’re right. I missed one here,” he brushed a kiss against a freckle just below her lower lip.

He grinned when her breath hitched. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but then their arms were around one another as their lips moved together. He cupped her face as he swiped his tongue across the seam of her lips, and she parted for him on a sigh. Evie slipped her hand up the back of his shirt, running her fingertips along his spine. He broke away from her lips and kissed the freckles at the hollow of her throat. She let out a moan as his lips drifted lower, his nose nudging aside the neckline of her shirt. Then he was undoing the buttons, and he glanced up to see her eyes closed, her head tilted back. He took his time kissing each and every freckle as he undid the first button, then the second. He felt her tremble slightly when he exposed her breasts.

“Henry,” she moaned, “maybe we should . . . “

Her words were contradicted by the way she dug her fingers into his hair. And maybe they should have paused and considered what this meant for their relationship, but by the time Evie’s shirt hit the floor, neither of them were considering anything other than the way their bodies reacted to each other’s touch.

#cs ff #ouat ff #henry-centric fic #henry mills #christmas fic #christmas in storybrooke

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slayercordelia · 7 years

Note

Omg, number 24 for the bellarke prompts please!!!!

gosh, the twenties are quite popular aren’t they :) thank you so much for sending in this request it makes me so happy !!!

24 - “you’re the only one i trust to do this.”

It was nine thirty-five on a Monday morning when Bellamy Blake got a call from Clarke Griffin.

He was greeted by a cough, sniffle and “I’m sick!”

“Well I would offer to look up your symptoms on WebMD but it seems all that knowledge from the half of your pre-med course you actually did take have helped you work it out yourself,” he said, smiling cockily, he was pretty proud of that little burn.

“Ha, ha!” she coughed out in a dull, unamused monotone. “Well I’m sure that brilliant fully completed history degree you got there will really come in handy when I get all the good articles and you end up writing, yet again, about Mrs. Smith across the road’s terrible disdain for modern technology. I’d love to see you put yet another spin on that one,” she grumbled back.

Being sick may have made her sniffly but it in no way deminished her ability to completely and utterly destroy him.

“Ouch, did you call for any reason other than to make me feel bad about all my life decisions up until this point?” he asked, tapping his pen on the desk.

“Not all, I did like that one decision you made last week when you got me a coffee on Thursday morning, that one was nice,” she said in joking contemplativeness.

“It was buy one get one free, Clarke.”

“Okay, well whatever. I’m calling because I kind of need you to cover my Person of Interest interview for me today?” she asked reluctantly. He could practically see her wincing on the other end.

“Claaaarke-” he groaned, tipping his head back in his seat, but he didn’t get a chance to launch into a full grumble-rant. She knew the tell-tale signs by now, and how to avoid at all costs.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal I get it you have a life too surprisingly enough, but you’re the only one I trust to do this. Please Bellamy,” she whined, a sound made ten times more unbearable than usual with her croaky throat.

He sighed loudly so he knew she could hear it. “Are you sure there’s no-one else?” he asked, strained.

He knew there was nobody else in this office she was willing to even contemplate giving such a responsibility to. She trusted him and him alone, they were a set, the ‘wonder twins’ as their Editor-in-Chief Marcus Kane liked to say.

“Oh, yeah, and allow our resident “Cheech and Chong” impersonators Jasper and Monty double-team the youngest CEO in the history of the city?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Seriously! Think about it! There’s a reason the two of them have been banned from doing a Person of Interest interview ever again, even individually!”

It was a funny image, and he did let out a few chuckles while playing out the scenario in his head. They were talking about the same two guys that had asked the Mayor if he had got divorced because of his apparent gay affair with the Seahawks coach on the grounds that ‘the people wanted to know’. THE MAYOR! They were lucky he thought it was a joke about their friendship and didn’t truly understand quite what they were getting at. The idea of letting them talk to a professional businessman at all after the bollocking they received was enough to make even Roan smile slightly.

“Okay, but are you really sure it has to be me? There’s really nobody else?” he asks, biting his lip.

“Nobody but you Bell, it has to be you, you’re the only one I can count on,” she said and he didn’t even try to hide the beam on his face (of course, if she could see him, it would have been more of a small contemplative grin because of course he didn’t care whether she depended on him alone or not).

“Besides,” she started, “it could get all 50 Shades you know, young CEO, she’s attractive too. Oooh, but wait you have to be okay with bondage because otherwise it could be a deal-breaker,” she chuckled lightly which came out as more of a crackle through his shitty phone.

“Ha ha!” he replied monotonously like she had done.

“I’m serious!” she giggled, “you could meet the Christina Grey to your Andrew Steele.”

“Well I’m glad the tapes of my kinky interview with your sex-fiend CEO will bring you great pleasure to listen back on.”

“So is that a yes?!” she squealed and he moved the phone away from his ear.

“That’s a yes Griffin, I’ll have the tapes on your desk tomorrow morning,” he sighed, smile still prominent.

“Gosh! Thank you so much! You’re a life saver!” The relieved grin was pretty much audible.

“Oh, and Clarke,” he started, smug smile now slapped across his face, “I would have done it as soon as you asked. It’s just nice to know that I’m ‘the only one you trust’ and ‘the only one you can count on’.”

“You bastard!” she laugh coughed.

“So you leave your big profile in my apparently extremely dependable hands and then call me a bastard? That’s not very polite.”

“I’m hanging up now!”

“See you tomorrow Griffin.”

“Later Blake.”

Around four hours and ten episodes of The Office later, there was a knock on Clarke’s door. She groaned as she pushed herself up from her sofa and pulled her duvet tighter around her shoulders.

“I swear to god if you’re trying to sell me more cookies this isn’t going to end well!” she shouts, unbolting the door.

There, in her doorway, holding a red container and a tape recorder was none other than Bellamy Blake.

“Sorry, I think girl scouting ended last week, but can I interest you in a tape recording of a particularly saucy interview I just partook in?” he grins.

She groans, rubbing her eyes. Yup, he was still there. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re sick so… I brought you soup! My mum always made me leek and potato soup when I was ill, and I always made it for Octavia. Guaranteed recovery within a day, the Blakes swear by it,” he keeps flashing her that winning smile.

“You brought me soup?!” She chuckles slightly in disbelief and there’s a smile on her face, the kind that only comes with the overwhelming surge of appreciation when those you care about care for you. And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Bellamy.

“Well, the soup and the interview, I thought you’d want to review this footage immediately,” he grinned like he was telling a joke she wasn’t supposed to understand just yet, “oh, and also, the soup’s cone cold. Turns out I don’t actually own a flask.”

He holds out what he brought her and instead of taking them she widens her door, “Well since you went to all this effort to get this to me, you should get to enjoy the miracle soup too. The stove’s in the kitchen, I trust you can reheat it yourself? I’m simply too ill,” she grins, coughing for dramatic effect. He half-sighs through his smile as he steps through her doorframe and over to her kitchen.

“Of course, I’d never want to put you out of your way Princess.”

She turns on the cooker for him and hops onto one of the barstools around the surface in the middle of her kitchen.

“Well… you were right,” he says, pouring the soup into a pan.

“Hmmmnn, I usually am but about so many things, you’re going to have to be more specific,” she says, tracing spirals on the counter top.

“The CEO,” he says, like he really doesn’t want to have to elaborate.

“Still lost here Cryptic Christopher, if you hadn’t noticed I’m slightly ill and my brain isn’t working at it’s usual capacity.”

“She hit on me,” he says with a slightly embarrassed chuckle of disbelief. He had his back to her so she just had to imagine the blush on his cheeks (it wasn’t difficult).

Clarke’s so stunned her head snaps up and she actually has a coughing fit, “No way!”

“I know,” he said, scratching his neck with his free non-stirring hand.

“Well, what did she say? What did you say? Was she nice? Is there a future? Shall I start the wedding plans?” she questions, bewildered with a touch of… something.

“I’m not giving you any spoilers, you just gotta listen to the tapes,” he teased.

“Oh, Blake, come on you can’t do that to me!” Now it’s her turn to grumble.

“Oh, Griffin, yes I can,” he mocks. “All I’m saying is… there’s a higher comedic value if you listen to it without any prior knowledge.”

“Oh God, that bad?”

“No spoilers!”

“I can’t wait!” she grins, the grip of the something gone.

“Careful with that,” he almost scolds, pointing at the spoon full of soup in her hand once he’d served it up into two bowls, “you gotta blow on it before you put it on your mouth, it’s too hot otherwise.”

“That’s what she said,” she states proudly and bursts into laughter.

He gives her a disbelieving smile which makes her laugh even more. “You… are two years old. Are you sure this cold hasn’t got serious neurological repercussions?”

“Sorry, it’s The Office, I’ve been rewatching it all day. There was nothing else to do.”

The disbelieving grin intensifies.

“So you mean to tell me that while I’ve been slaving away doing all your dirty work like a bitchboy, you’ve been sat on your ass watching Michael Scott make an idiot out of himself over and over again.”

“Maybe?” she says, more like a guilty rhetorical question, stirring her soup.

“Well that is just not acceptable, which Jim prank are we on now?” Bellamy asks, looking over at the screen and picking up his bowl to move to the sofa.

She follows him, filling him in on where she’s at and bringing the pan of soup to the coffee table.

It feels natural. Her and him, him and her. Sat in the middle of her beaten leather sofa reciting iconic lines, eating magical soup, comparing the characters to their own unbelievable colleagues (Miller was a definite Stanley). It’s comfortable, like they should have been doing this all along, and when Wells slams the front door shut as he gets home from work and she wakes up with her head on his shoulder and his hand resting loosely round her shoulder it doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. Which is saying something because Bellamy Blake is possibly the most awkward person she’s ever met.

And after he leaves when he sees the time she feels a little better than before.

But we’ll credit that to Blake’s miracle soup.

read more of these two idiots working together here

hit me up with a number (or if you’re feeling extra funky, come up with your own prompt) and i’ll write you a hopefully satisfactory co-worker drabble :)))

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke au #bellarke ff #my writings #coworker!bellarke #the 100 #bellarke

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geralehane · 7 years

Text

Clarke’s father is put on life support, and becoming Lexa Woods’s girlfriend is her last chance at paying his bills. It was supposed to be about money. Insensitive, immoral, impersonal. She was never supposed to fall in love with her. or, a gold digger au (gdau)

ch. 5 | read on ao3

This is really not what Clarke’s been expecting when she decided to drop by Lexa’s apartment, unannounced. She’s wearing a matching lingerie set, for fuck’s sake. The one she bought specifically for the occasion, no less.

So her surprise at having found another hot blonde in Lexa’s apartment when she’s come there with one purpose in mind is completely justified, in her opinion.

It’s not like they are dating, so technically this isn’t cheating. It’s not like Clarke has any feelings at all. Well, she does have pride, and she’s not going to lie - if Lexa’s two-timing her, it does sting a little bit. Not to mention it messes her plan up quite a bit.

All those thoughts fly through her head in a second as she stands at Lexa’s door, gaping at a tall blonde woman frowning back at her. She’s all sharp gaze and sharp cheekbones, and when it’s clear she isn’t going to acknowledge Clarke in any way other than judgmentally studying her, Clarke clears her throat and speaks.

“Is, uh, is Lexa home?”

The woman’s confused frown turns into a scowl. “You must be Clarke.” Well. This is taking hospitality to a whole new level - one far below the usual socially acceptable standard.

“That’s me,” Clarke tries not to stutter. She’s not easily scared, usually. But this woman has quite an intimidating presence. Now that Clarke gets a closer look at her, gets past her first assumption, she can see she doesn’t look like she’s just been fooling around. in fact, she looks impeccable, dressed in a manner similar to Lexa herself. Her stance resembles Lexa’s, too: tall and proud, if a bit sleeker. Just a touch more predatory.

So Lexa’s not cheating – not seeing other people, Clarke corrects herself. Who is this woman, then? An associate? Do business associates frequent each other’s apartments?

“Anya.”

Oh.

Oh, so this is – oh. This is only the most important person in Lexa’s life, as Finn once put it. Anya Chand. Lexa’s advisor and business partner.

And, judging by her glare, not a fan of Clarke’s. “Lexa,” she replies in kind, not taking her eyes off Clarke. “I was merely making the acquaintance of Miss Griffin.”

Clarke has to bite her tongue to hold a jab she really, really wants to make. But something tells her that pissing Anya off is a poor decision. She needs to ask Finn about her later. But now, she shifts her gaze from Anya to Lexa and feels a small smile tug at the corner of her lips when blue meets vibrant green. “Hey.”

Lexa’s voice softens, so subtly Clarke almost misses it. “Hello, Clarke. Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Clarke contemplates whether pushing past Anya and entering the room would be wise. In the end, her stubbornness wins. She edges past Anya, slightly brushing her shoulder with her own as she walks in to give Lexa a soft kiss on the cheek. “I wanted to see you,” she says quietly, watching Lexa’s eyes soften with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her lips. “I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time. Wanted to surprise you.”

“You did,” Lexa lets her know, that barely-there smile still dancing across her lips like a fading shadow. “Thank you.”

“A weird thing to be thankful for.”

“Not quite how I see it.”

“Then Miss Griffin and I are more alike than I thought.” Right. Anya. Still very present and very much not a fan of Clarke. What has Lexa been telling her to have her this angry with her seconds after meeting her - barely?

Clarke struggles against the urge to childishly roll her eyes and turns away from Lexa to face Anya who’s still standing near the door. She hasn’t closed it, Clarke notes. Interesting. “I’m sorry, this is really rude of me,” she says with a smile that becomes a touch warmer when she feels Lexa’s tentative hand on the small of her back in silent support. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by Anya, whose glare grows colder. Huh. So I’m a rift. Interesting. “It’s just… been a while since I saw Lexa.”

Anya crosses her arms with a wry, humorless smirk. “Four days is a while?”

Clarke’s voice is quiet when she replies “yes” and glances at Lexa over her shoulder. Catches her eyes with her own once again and smiles. The gaze Lexa gives her in return sends a small, involuntary shiver down her spine, and Clarke’s not quite sure it’s a bad one. It’s loaded with so many things Clarke’s afraid to question and decipher.

And, no matter how much Lexa’s visibly trying to hide it, one of the things lurking in her eyes is hunger. For Clarke.

If it weren’t for Anya, Clarke’s pretty sure they would have already solidified the unspoken, unknown-to-Lexa deal they’ve got going on. But Anya is here, so Clarke has to make do with what she has.

She turns back to Anya. “Anyway, I think it’s time I properly introduce myself. I’m Clarke.”

Anya’s manners don’t allow her to ignore Clarke’s outstretched hand, but it’s clear as day that she wants to. Her handshake is firm but cold. “Anya.”

“My adviser,” Lexa pipes up, her hand more confident on Clarke’s back now as it rests there comfortably.

“Oh, that Anya!” Clarke pretends to be pleasantly surprised. “I’ve heard many good things about you.”

“Have you?” One sharp eyebrow rises. “Like what?”

Clarke shrugs. “You’re a great adviser.” That earns her a chuckle from Lexa and yet another wry, dark smirk from Anya who nods appreciatively. She admits I won that one, Clarke thinks to herself. So she’s fair, more or less. Good.

Awful and terrible if her plan is ever discovered, but for now, good.

Of course, Lexa has to take a call and of course, Clarke is left alone with Anya, both of them sitting on the couch. Clarke feels awkward. Anya, it seems, doesn’t feel like anything but staring at Clarke with a dark curious sparkle in her eyes.

She tries to build a bridge. “So how long have you known Lexa?”

“Long enough to know when she’s not thinking with her head,” Anya deadpans. “How much?”

Clarke frowns at her, confused. “Excuse me?”

“How much do you need from Lexa? I’ll pay you double to leave her alone.” Anya’s talking to her slowly and patiently - entire unlike her gaze that burns through Clarke’s skin. She’s reclined on the couch, looking relaxed in her lounging pose. But Clarke sees the angry twitch in her jaw, can trace the wrinkles near the corners of her lips that point downward. Sees the restless index finger that she taps her knee with as she continues to study Clarke. It’s clear how coiled she is, how tense. It’s clear she’s worried about Lexa.

None of this makes up for a fact that she just indirectly called Clarke a prostitute.

She sees red before stomping on it and letting out a breath. She could play dumb. Frown and tell Anya she doesn’t know what she’s talking about; but that won’t change the way Anya thinks of her. And Clarke is not dumb; nor does she want to be perceived as such.

Anya’s smirk makes a reappearance when Clarke raises her chin and presses her lips together defiantly. “Lexa has things other than money. Things that you, I’m afraid, won’t be able to offer.”

There’s a smudge of nastiness to the curl of Anya’s lips. “Ah. Like the ability to put your father into a program he desperately needs?”

Anya is smart. Anya is dangerous precisely because of this. Most of all, Anya is right. But Clarke won’t - can’t - let her know that.

She presses her lips together tighter. “That’s not what I meant.”

Anya shrugs. “But that’s what it is,” she says easily, putting her elbow on the headrest of the couch and propping her head on her hand, looking at Clarke. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Clarke; and you meeting Lexa days after your father is put on life support in her hospital could be classified exactly as such. You know,” her smirk widens, “by someone who believes in coincidences.”

“We met in a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere,” Clarke defends herself, already knowing it’s a losing battle. What is she doing?

Don’t play her games, she scolds herself.

“People have orchestrated schemes far more difficult to execute,” Anya shrugs again before reaching for her whiskey glass and taking a measured sip. She hums when it burns down her throat. Clarke grimaces and drinks some of her water, eyeing Anya’s glass enviously.

“That’s not why I’m here,” she tells Anya exactly what she’s told Lexa before. Just as expected, Anya merely scoffs.

“I’m not Lexa. I don’t fall for bullshit pretty girls spew to get what they want.” She gets suddenly serious. Her mocking smirk fades and her lips press together, deep frown etching a line through her forehead. When she looks at Clarke next, there’s no anger anymore. No glare. Only carefully masked worry underneath impassiveness. “Look, Clarke. I’m going to be honest with you and I hope you show me the same courtesy. I get it. For the first time - you’re the first girl of hers that actually makes sense. I know you don’t need her money - at least, you don’t need it for yourself. So I’m gonna say it just this once. Back off. This is your chance. Break things off and live your life and don’t ruin Lexa’s. And if you’re worried about her cutting your father off, don’t. I’ll make sure she doesn’t, no matter how she feels about the situation.”

It’s scary - how perceptive Anya is. Could Lexa have been like her has she not been blinded by her own desire?

(Or is it yearning?)

Anya’s words are smooth and flawless and they make the perfect sense, and perhaps that’s partly why Clarke feels such a strong need to defy her. That, and the fact that she can’t trust this woman at all. If Lexa’s somewhat familiar, easy to understand, her buttons known to Clarke, were pressed by Clarke already - Anya is entirely uncharted waters. Anya could be telling the truth. Or Anya could be simply waiting for her to slip up so she can expose her before Lexa, who knows why.

She doesn’t know her agenda, so she chooses to stick to her own.

Quiet, cold rage seeps into her tone when she speaks, and only some of it is for show. “That’s not why I’m here,” she repeats herself, stronger this time. “And - does Lexa know how lowly you think of her? No matter what happens between me and her, my father will be receiving treatment whether or not you ‘make sure of it’. Because he is not a part of it and because Lexa’s not like that.” the last part is emphasized. It burns at the tips of her tongue even after it slips, and Clarke’s surprised and afraid to find she believes that.

Slowly but surely, Lexa’s proved herself to be honorable. Trustworthy. Things Clarke is not - but what else is new?

Anya’s grin drips with venom. “As naive as you are young,” she notes, taking another sip. There’s danger lurking beneath her once-again-mocking tone when she says her next - and last - words to Clarke. Not like Lexa, though. The quiet danger of Lexa’s voice is exciting and intoxicating. Anya’s is terrifying.

“I’m her mentor. You’re her fling. Who knows her better?”

Anya’s words - Anya’s entire presence - still burns in Clarke’s mind as she sits in the hospital chair, watching her father’s still form. His lungs have been collapsing, but the new machine seems to be helping. The new room too; it’s bigger and it seems to Clarke that it’s a little easier to breathe in there. It could be her imagination.

Finn is pensive next to her, and his thumb caressing the back of her hand is nothing more than an afterthought. “Anya is dangerous,” he declares.

Clarke snorts. “Ya think?”

“Sorry. I’m just - I’m thinking out loud, I guess.”

“Just tell me everything you know about her.” Clarke sighs. Blows a fallen strand of hair away from her face. “I need to be prepared. More than I was today. Much more.”

She left Lexa’s place as soon as Lexa came back into the room, quickly making up a hurried excuse. Lexa’s leveled glare at Anya didn’t go unnoticed by her, but she couldn’t stay there any longer, too afraid of giving something away under Anya’s watchful stare. Wrong look, wrong expression, subtle stiffening at having Lexa near her - and she’s doomed.

So she ran. Lexa called her once, half an hour ago, and she shot her a quick text asking about her plans for tomorrow evening - it was mostly an impulsive decision to placate Lexa. Now, she has to plan a date and also be briefed on everything Anya. God, med school seems like a walk in the park in comparison right now.

Finn nods. “Anya is – well, if she doesn’t approve of you, it’s not that big of a deal. She doesn’t approve of anyone. She certainly doesn’t approve of any girl Lexa’s dated in the past. And she’s, like, scary smart. Both of them are, but Lexa’s blind when it comes to pretty girls,” he grins. Clarke shivers.

‘I’m not Lexa. I don’t fall for bullshit pretty girls spew to get what they want.’

“Right,” she hurries to change the topic, suddenly uneasy. “What else do you know about Anya?”

He shrugs, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Lexa listens to her a lot, and, as I was saying, she doesn’t approve of anyone - and in the end, she usually turns out to be right.”

In Clarke’s case, too. Perhaps, Anya and her could have been friends in some other world - although friends seem too strong of a word. Allies? “Perceptive. Yeah, I got that. She saw right through me, and it’s bad. I need to take care of it.”

Finn is thoughtful when he says his next words, seemingly not listening to Clarke very closely. “You know, I think - I’m pretty sure Anya’s the closest thing Lexa has to a friend,” he stares off in the distance, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “That’s really all I can give you, though. She’s not in public much, not like Lexa.”

“She mentioned she was her mentor.”

“Yeah, maybe that word works better.”

Well, shit. Anya entering the equation really messes some things up. They’ve taken a dangerous turn. She can easily persuade Lexa to dump Clarke and kick her father off the program, the last one just for the hell of it, or as punishment. Whatever it could be, Clarke’s not about to bet on her father’s life.

“I have to get her to trust me,” she muses, barely noticing Finn letting go of her hand.

“How are you going to do that? People like Lexa and her - they don’t even trust themselves.” There he goes being overdramatic again. Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes. She has bigger things to worry about.

Anya’s close to Lexa. Anya’s her friend. Anya, most likely, genuinely cares about Lexa. That’s her strength - and her weak spot.

“I’m going to take care of her friend and mean it.”

Clarke doesn’t know whether to feel proud or disappointed of her date-planning skills right now as she watches Lexa hold onto the ice rink barrier for dear life. When Lexa slips and goes down, blinking up at her owlishly, a hat Clarke put on her head askew, Clarke decides to feel proud. It’s not every day you watch a billionaire fall on her ass.

She silently praises herself once again for picking a rink that’s usually deserted on a weeknight. It’s small and it’s not in the centre, but its secluded location and pretty lights more than make up for it. Right now, with the sky dark above them, the lights burn dim and warm, illuminating snow slowly falling around them. It’s a lovely view.

Lexa, clumsy and helpless, is even more lovely of a view.

“I’m sorry,” she manages through chuckles that she tries very hard not to turn into full-blown laughter. “I thought this was a cute idea for a date, what’s with it being the end of November and all.”

“Well,” Lexa huffed from where she sat on the ice, “it was. For you.”

This time, Clarke does let out a short laugh and gracefully skates over to Lexa, offering her a hand. In hindsight, she really should’ve seen this coming.

She laughs again when she’s pulled on top of Lexa. “I guess I didn’t really think there was something great Lexa Woods hasn’t mastered.”

She watches green eyes study her. There’s warmth, but there’s something as well, seated deep within Lexa’s stare. “I haven’t mastered a lot of things, Clarke.”

Clarke groans and shakes her head. “Please, don’t - none of that cryptic thing you got going on. Not tonight. Please? We’re two girls on a date. That’s it.” She stands up, helping Lexa up as well before dusting herself off. Lexa warily does the same, one hand gripping the barrier. “By the way,” she drawls. “It’s a fifth one.” at Lexa’s confused stare, she waggles her eyebrows. “You know. The fifth date. The five date rule?”

Lexa has to think for a second before her eyes widen ever so slightly. “Oh. I don’t really follow those… rules.”

Clarke takes her hand to assist her as she slowly and carefully makes her way on ice, the other hand still holding the barrier. “Do you follow any rules?” She half-teases, half-asks Lexa.

“Too many,” Lexa looks up from her feet clothed in ice skates to smile at Clarke. “You know that.” She does. She knows a lot about Lexa, right from the source - she just doesn’t know whether or not she can trust that.

Or she chooses not to, because if she does, then that makes her even more of a horrible person.

Not tonight, she reminds herself.

“So,” she says, attempting to sound cheerful. “Anya hates me, doesn’t she?”

Lexa looks up at her again, stilling her movements. A small frown settles on her features. “I want to apologize for her behavior. She’s not thinking clearly when it comes to my personal life.”

“Funny,” Clarke says. “She mentioned the same thing about you.”

Lexa’s smile is bitter. Clarke can easily see that. “She’s right. Both of us are.”

“I’m not mad at her, you know. It makes sense. For her to be like this. Especially with my dad and you and – this whole situation, I mean-”

“Clarke.” Lexa takes her hands in her own; her wobbling a bit and struggling to stay upright don’t let the moment become as serious as she no doubt intends it to. Clarke holds her up, smiling involuntary. “Clarke,” she repeats, this time with a grin and a small rolling of her eyes. “I thought we went over this already.”

“We didn’t. Not really.” Clarke sighs. “Anya is wrong about me, but I think she’s right about - I mean, she has a right to be this apprehensive. I just want you to know I don’t blame her. And I also have no idea how to prove I’m not doing this for any reason other than finding you cute in this hat,” she flicks at one of the hat’s ears, snickering when Lexa jokingly scowls and leans away slightly.

“So you think I’m cute?”

“Lexa.”

Lexa sighs. “Okay. I don’t know what to say to you, Clarke. I choose to put my trust in you. I hope that’s enough.”

“Enough? It’s everything, Lexa.” Clarke finds herself meaning her words once again as she looks Lexa in the eye. It is everything. And Clarke’s going to take that away from her.

Lexa’s silent as she continues to look at Clarke, so she speaks up. “I’m just - I want your friends to like me. At least a little.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have many of those. And I like you,” Lexa says simply. Then, she grins. “I mean. You’re alright, I guess.” her repeating Clarke’s words to her makes Clarke’s smile grow wider. She doesn’t quite realize that until it’s already there, stretched across her lips.

“I see you keep taking those risks, Miss Woods,” she teases. “Keep it up and I’ll let you fall on your ass again.”

“Too late,” Lexa says quietly, and Clarke can see in her eyes that she’s about to turn this heavy. Her next words confirm Clarke’s suspicions. “I think I already did.”

Okay. When Clarke mentioned the five date rule, she didn’t mean this. But Lexa’s leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her lips that burns - with tenderness and adoration and gentle hunger - and Clarke gasps at the butterflies in her stomach, unexpected and strange.

Lexa’s ability to make any moment so perfectly sappy astonishes Clarke as much as it confuses her feelings, it seems.

She needs to deal with it. Later. When she’s not softly kissing Lexa under slowly falling snow on an empty skate rink.

What a mess.

#gdau #clexa #clexa fic

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yxllowish · 7 years

Text

EVERYTHING that made me feel things in the Rogue One Novel

Get ready for a long as hell post. I am also terrible so I put a lot of my thoughts in as well. This is a LONG post (About 5K). Also massive spoilers, you have been warned. Another warning I wrote half of this tipsy and sad about rebelcaptain so eh

“Lyra loved her daughter, but love wouldn’t save them today.“

“Bodhi Rook had only ever doubted himself, and today was no exception.” My poor baby, Bodhi spends a lot of this novel doubting himself and that is so sad, he is the sweetest there is

”“Do you want a warning?” Kennel asked. “Before I do it?”

“Not really,” Jyn repeated.

Kennel grunted and rolled from one side to the other. “I will give you one anyway. Next work crew we are on together. I will kill you then.” “

Earlier in the same chapter, Jyn literally stated that she’s run out of friends, and it appears she does not care much whether she lives or not. Which is sad and not okay. This is also not the only time she more or less embraces death, on Jedha she is also kind of willing to die. Something that is so hard to miss in the movie and something that builds a lot to her character that you kinda miss otherwise.

“"Were you always like this?” she asked after the stormtrooper had passed by.

“Before Wobani? Back to when you were a kid?”

“Yes,” Kennel replied.

“Me, too,” Jyn said.” Jyn you liar

“You are being rescued,” a voice said. It was electronically distorted, but too high-pitched to be a stormtrooper. A cold metal hand snagged her collar, hoisting Jyn until she was wriggling half a meter in the air. Before her towered the spindly chassis of a sunlit security droid, black as night save for theImperial insignia on its shoulder plates and the dead white bulbs of its eyes.

“Congratulations.” this is so much better omg???

“Left alone in the cabin, she took the opportunity to examine Cassian’s duffel and its contents: nothing but gear. Weapons and portable medpacs and signal boosters. No holoimage of a dutiful wife or tattered childhood security blanket. He packed impersonal and he packed light.

Jyn pulled out a blaster pistol, tested its heft and grip, and strapped it on her hip. A BlasTech A-180 wasn’t her weapon of choice, but it was sturdy and low-profile.” Honestly? Jyn just TAKES the blaster and it’s the best thing every. And Cassian lets her?

“He listened to Chirrut’s endless chanting (May the Force of others be with you. May the Force of others be with you.), muffled by the cloth sack. The combined effect seemed simultaneously profound and absurd.

Most of all, he listened for Jyn. He listened for her struggles. He listened for her voice. He tried to determine which steady tread on the sand was hers.” Mind you, this is only about a quarter into the novel?

He wasn’t sure what troubled him more: what he was doing to Jyn Erso, or what she would do to him if she ever learned the truth.

“Was it concern that made him fixate on her? His mission was to find Saw and, through Saw, find the pilot; find proof of an Imperial weapon that could mutilate the galaxy. If possible, he was also to find and eliminate Galen Erso-a man very likely culpable in that weapon’s creation. Jyn was first and foremost a means of finding Saw. She’d already served that purpose, which meant she was now expendable.

She dominated his thinking nonetheless. Cassian believed neither pity nor pragmatism explained it.He had sacrificed Tivik without hesitation.

Maybe it was the need he’d seen in Jyn, the fire that had carried her through the fighting in the Holy Quarter. It seemed obscene to leave that need unanswered, abandoned to the dust.” How is this canon? How is this not some fic some of us wrote?

“Again, that distant, distracted thought of Cassian.

“"I assume logically, rationally, that you fight with the Rebellion. It’s difficult to imagine Saw steering you any other way, and you always had the same anger…” He smiled for a second time. Here it was unforced, without self-mockery or bitterness. “-the same insistent sense of righteousness as your mother. It frightens me to imagine you grown, somehow working to oppose injustice in the galaxy, whether from a laboratory or a starfighter; it frightens me, and I think the Rebellion could ask for no better friend.

"Yet if it isn’t so? If I’m wrong, and you left the Rebellion and Saw behind but this message still finds you? You make me no less proud, Jyn. If you found a place in the galaxy untouched by war-a quiet life, maybe with a family-if you’re happy, Jyn, then that’s more than enough.”

Jyn’s jaw ached, clamped shut to hold in her screams. She couldn’t swallow could barely breathe. The cave walls rose around her until the only light in the blackness was the sapphire glow of the hologram. “ I don’t think I can or have to explain why this stuck with me, Why this is sad. Jyn spends a lot of time refusing to call Galen her father and this is what he has to say to her. This makes the ending of the movie and novel sad as well. Just like everything else.

“JN-093 finally thought to look at the shadow in the sky. She stared at the structure, indefinably large and eclipsing the sun.She knew a weapon when she saw one, no matter how incomprehensible.

“They did it,” she murmured. “The rebels finally did it.”

Two sputtered weak laughter.

“I don’t think that’s the rebels,” he said.

When the storm front hit them, JN-093’s armor protected her just long enough to make her death painful. In her last flicker of brain activity, she felt she’d failed her squad. The novel showed a lot more than the movie of the lat moments in Jedha City, but I guess that makes sense not to have time to shove into the movie.But it’s still sad and it made me feel a lot of things.

“"What do you think?“ she snapped. He knew what had happened to her; he ’d witnessed her state in Saw’s chambers. She wanted to lunge across the cabin, slam him against the bulkhead, force the calm from his demeanor. She wanted to crack open her skull, let the light and sound of the hologram pour from the cave. "Everything happened so fast. But I’ve just seen it!” She heard her own ragged insistence as petulant. Childish. You were better off catatonic.” This is not the only time Jyn is dramatic as hell, and I get her. She is desperate for someone to be on her side and see what she sees, and to her dramatic methods are the only methods in this instant.

“He looked at Galen Erso through his scope and saw his daughter’s eyes.

With a hoarse and ragged cry, he swept the rifle away from the rocks and set it in the mud at his side.” More things I literally cannot believe are canon to the story somehow. The nail is the coffin in deciding whether he’d shot Galen or not is THIS? He debated it before, knowing it would kill Jyn (and make her kill him in return), but he kind if accepts his death? He’s tired of running from his crimes and former killings, making him sad as well and this novel will ruin me.

This is also the moment that kind of changes it all for him, after this all his cares about on Eadu is to save Jyn. That is literally the only thing he cares about in that moment, to get her to some kind of safety.

“She had to leave or die with her father.

“Move!” Cassian urged.

She took his hand and let him show her the way out.” self-explanatory to be honest.

“For a while, she fantasized about revenge. She could wait until Yavin. Find a way to collapse the whole ziggurat on Cassian and General Draven and Mon Mothma and everyone who had been complicit in the murder of her father. She’d told Saw that all the Rebellion had ever brought her was pain; since it had come crashing back into her life, stolen her from Wobani prison, that was more true than ever. It seemed only right to return the favor.

She luxuriated in thoughts of retribution awhile. Then she stopped. Whatever else she was, whatever she’d done in her short, brutal life, she wasn’t a murderer.” Honestly, I love Jyn so much? She is so dramatic. This is her reaction to Cassian’s betrayal and their following argument. You can’t plot revenge to kill everyone that betrays you, babe. Especially someone that cares about you, not that you know that yet.

“Only Cassian and K-2 remained. The droid looked down at her. “Jyn,” he said. “I’ll be there for you. Cassian said I had to.”

She held back a laugh and looked to Cassian. The man who’d betrayed her. The man who’d admitted his guilt and decided to fight for her. He saw her staring and looked back at her quizzically.

It wasn’t how betrayals were supposed to go.

And she remembered that while Cassian-and Bodhi and the Guardians -had seen her at her worst, she had seen them broken, too. Bodhi, who had been tortured; the Guardians, who had lost their home; and Cassian, who had betrayed himself as easily as he had Jyn. They all had their shame.” Novels have a way of capturing feelings that movies cannot possibly do. Sure, an actor who is terrific at their job can give us, the audience, a glimpse into what they are feeling in a moment. But they can’t make us understand what is actually going on inside of their heads, and for that novels are great. Here we have a lot of the feelings described in details, giving us something more to work with. More understanding in a way. This novel has been really tough for me to get through because I know how it ends, but it also feels worth it? Because now I have an understanding of the characters I did not have beforehand. Feelings only grazed upon in the movie makes so much more sense now.

“"I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad,“ she said, by way of explanation.

She didn’t know if Cassian really understood, but he said, "Welcome home,” and she knew she was.” I just had to add this, because it is such an important sentence. Not only for the fandom, but also for Jyn (and Cassian). It means a lot to most of us, and like I mentioned in the paragraph before this one, not all feelings translate perfectly onto the movie screen.

“"Cargo shuttle SW-0608?“ The voice on the comm had returned. "You are cleared for entry.”

Jyn dropped the crystal and squeezed her hand in a fist, almost shouting in triumph. She spun and was startled to see Cassian standing close to her. On instinct, riding the joy of the moment, she grabbed his arm and squeezed.

He looked at her with a wry, curious smile. She dropped her hand and brushed past him. “I’ll tell the others,” she said.

The cave was getting brighter all the time.” Here we see how the relationship between Jyn and Cassian improve in almost an instant and it is so important because all of a sudden she trusts him and his actions. Even if she might have before, she is herself aware of it now. The cave could be a reference to Plato’s cave, but I’m not 100% sure about that one. (x). To be fair, that could actually be the case, but instead of enlightenment from being your own self and not a reflection from the sun, Jyn is seeing the rebellion and the people in it in another light. She sees herself as a part of it now that she had realized that there is something more to it than the little she could see reflected from the sun on the surface of the cave wall. Although I admit that this is me reaching, but it could actually fit quite nicely into the story.

“"Hardly the right attitude, ma'am.“ Sefla arched his brow. "Morale is everyone’s problem. So if Captain Andor won’t do it, it falls to me as an AllianceSpecForce lieutenant to brevet you the rank of sergeant. Congratulations." “ I saw some confusion on what rank Jyn would have, and there you have it spelled out. Then again she could surely get a promotion in the future (you know in all those headcanons where they don’t freaking die).

“So Jyn had secreted herself in the cockpit, squeezed in tight between Cassian'sshoulder (smelling of blaster oil and Eadu’s dirt) and the main console.” Not the thing most people would think about in this situation is it?

“Baze, with a touch as light as a windblown leaf, touched her shoulder.

"Good luck, little sister,” he said. He spoke with warmth and gravity, as if the words were a Jedha custom or an honor of the Guardians of the Whills.

Jyn didn’t know. She didn’t have to know. She smiled at him, searched for words and found none. She hoped he understood her gratitude.

Cassian waited for her at the ramp. Together, in the garb of the enemy, they stepped out onto Scarif. “ It might just be me, but the closer we get to the end, the more it becomes clear that death is the inevitable ending to this story? Everyone getting along and clearing up what beef they had against each other? Not that Baze and Jyn did, but him calling her little sister is so significant and important and it all kind of hints at the angsty and sad ending we all know we will get.

“If she fell back on old instincts, what then? She could risk herself for a person. Wrestle an innocent girl out of the crossfire. But if she found herself alone, she didn’t know if she could risk herself for the cause.” Here is a moment that made me glad I watched the movie first because I know she is strong enough to actually do it in the end. She doubts herself but she grows even more and does what’s needed of her, a growth that m amazing.

“He trusted Jyn’s fury and her fire. Most of all -though he was loath to admit it- he trusted Jyn because of Chirrut Imwe. Those whom Chirrut trusted, Baze could find a reason to trust as well.” Look at this beautiful part right here my friends. Just look at it!!

“They weren’t his friends. They hadn’t gone drinking with Bodhi after his crush on Bamayar had rejected him, or helped him reassemble his astromech after he ’d stupidly taken the droid apart on a dare. But they had saved him from Saw Gerrera, believed him when Saw and his people hadn’t. They’d never once put him in cuffs.

They’d needed him on Eadu and never once pretended they hadn’t.

They wanted to stop the Death Star.

They didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Bodhi should have felt guilty.

You don’t have to feel guilty.” Bodhi feels so much guilt all the time, which is understandable with where he came from. But he is such a sweet person and it’s hard to even think that he doubts himself as much as he does. Sadly, this is who he was left to be after his captivation with Saw.

“Cassian held his ground, staring down at her until his lips finally twitched into something like a smile. His eyes remained hard and troubled. Jyn wasn’t sure if he’d gotten worse at hiding things or if she was simply getting to know him too well.”

“Was this hope? Facing fear after fear, for oneself and for friends and for the galaxy, all out of some desperate need to accomplish the impossible?Maybe, Jyn thought, she’d been better off without it.” know how I talked about how they suddenly care for each other. Or you know not suddenly, but it does become more and more apparent that they actually care.

“And she stopped.

The next name stood out with burning intensity, so obvious she might have found it by touch.

“What?” Cassian asked.

“Stardust,” Jyn said. “It’s that one.”

“How do you know that?” Curiosity and urgency mixed in his voice, as if he wanted to say: Be sure.

Jyn was sure. “I know because it’s me.”

Cassian looked at her with astonishment. Then he turned back to the console, gripped the controls fiercely. “Kay, we need the file for Stardust!" “ I could not skip out on stardust, sorry mates.

“With one second left until total shutdown, K-2SO chose to mentally simulate an impossible scenario in which Cassian Andor escaped alive.The simulation pleased him.” This is the last thing Kay thinks of and if that’s not sad and perfect then I honestly don’t know what is? It is so painful but also so beautiful. (this is a mini warning; yes I will include everyone’s deaths)

“And when Cassian and Jyn were atop the tower, transmitting the tape? He’d swoop in and find them like he had on Eadu, and they’d all make for the open shield gate together.

That was the plan. That was his plan.” stop it Bodhi

“We may not make it back. She’d heard Cassian say the words to Bodhi, but not to her.”

“He was dying, of course.

He felt Baze’s heavy, familiar tread pound the ground, smelled his brother’s sweat as he leaned close. He wanted to say, Baze! My eyes-I can’t see! but Baze Malbus had always needed comfort more than humor.

"Chirrut,” Baze murmured. “Don’t go. Don’t go. I’m here…”

He wondered for a moment how Baze had crossed the battlefield to reach him. But of course the Force had reunited them before the end.

Baze’s callused fingers rubbed life into the back of Chirrut’s hand. “It’s okay,” Chirrut said. “It’s okay. Look for the Force and you will always find me.”

He tried to smile, but he was no longer sure he could.

The words of the chant echoed in Chirrut Imwe’s heart once more before he died:

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.” Look, I am going to ignore that Brother mention until I die ok. No brothers here mate. Also, death. Sadness.

“If he didn’t have the chance…he’d done enough. It was okay.

“This is for you, Galen,” he said, and started for the ladder

.Bodhi Rook heard the ring of metal once, twice, in the cabin, and then the soft clatter of something rolling across the deck. He turned in time to glimpse the detonator. He heard nothing as the cabin flared impossibly bright.

Like a pilot should, he died with his ship.” He’d done enough. It was okay. Yes, Bodhi it really is, you did good my baby. Sadness.

“Baze saw a dying trooper fumble for a grenade and lob it in his direction. The grenade would land short of its target; but Baze could barely stumble forward, let alone run for cover. He wrenched himself about, craned his neck to see Chirrut one last time.

When death had come for him in the shadow of the walker, he had faced it with defiance. Now there was grief.

There was no fear.

Baze Malbus died in pain, but it did not last long.” Sadness. At least he got to see Chirrut one last time.

“The shriek of a TIE fighter rose on the wind, but at first she ignored it. Then the vessel itself swept into view, descending toward the platform with its great cockpit eye fixed on her. She froze, unsure whether to run or to drop to the catwalk in the hope of hiding.

She ran, and the fighter’s cannons pulsed.Emerald light and fire stained her vision.

The catwalk undulated like a flag in the wind, then dropped away altogether. The sound of ripping metal filled her ears as shrapnel tore at her legs and sleeves. Her face felt like it was aflame.She reached out desperately, felt her fingers close around something- the remnants of a guardrail or the underside of the twisted and dangling plank- and she screamed a breathless, silent scream as the muscles in her overtaxed shoulders seemed to tear.

The broken catwalk swung haltingly in the wind. Jyn clung as tight as she could and tried to slither upward as her sight began to return. Through a smeared and smoky filter she made out the blackened edge of the platform, barely an arms length away.” Here we have the scene we never got in the movie. The scene I think a lot of people kind of would have wanted to still be in, but what do,

“Her eyes stung as ash mixed with tears, but the smudge only grew clearer. A perfect gray sphere hung high above the planet, its surface etched with lines like circuitry.

She hadn’t seen it on Jedha. Not really, not in the state she’d been. But she recognized it anyway, knew it with her subconscious mind, and felt no surprise.

The Death Star had come to Scarif.” I’m actually going to be cheeky and just add what I had written down how Jyn sees it instead: “Clinging to the ruined catwalk, Jyn stared at the planet killer lodged in the bright sky.

Cassian was dead. K-2SO was gone. Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze might have been alive, but it was hard to imagine anyone surviving the war zone she saw below the tower. No one had called her comlink for a long while. If she wasn’t the last of the men and women who’d come from Yavin 4, she suspected she was close to it.

She’d done better than most; it would take the Empire a whole battle station to end her.” Worth noting is that Cassian is not actually dead, but just like in the movie, him being shot by a trooper makes everyone assume that he is gone.

“Like that, her nightmare was over.

Behind the man in white, stepping out of the smoke, came a bloody and limpingCassian Andor. He looked like a man who’d fallen twelve stories and clawed his way back to the top. He looked as beautiful as anyone Jyn had ever known, but she couldn’t spare a moment to even shout his name.” Look at this shit right here, it is possibly the best. Jyn acknowledging how beautiful Cassian is and he literally saves her in the last second, allowing her to finally transmit the Death Star plans.

“Jyn couldn’t give him what he’d come for.

That was the crux of it, really.

Because he’d given her what she needed, and he’d done the mission right, and he found that was enough.

She believed someone was out there. Maybe it was even true.

He did want it to be true. With all his heart, he did.

Her faith carried him with her. He didn’t say any of it. He didn’t want to disturb the silence as they rested against each other, hurting and relaxed, listening to the hum of machinery and the distant billowing of fires. He stowed thoughts of old missions and thoughts of the future away; decided to focus on what he could see and hear and smell for the last moments of his life on Scarif.

When Cassian Andor died, he would be ready, and he would be content.” Sadness. My heart is aching a bit too much for me to type anything right now. Because he’d given her what she needed, and he’d done the mission right, and he found that was enough.

“Instead she looked to Cassian.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.When the words finally touched him, he gently smiled and took her hand. She entwined her fingers with his so that they didn’t drop away.

(…)

Somehow she found herself closer to Cassian than before. Her breathing matched his, or his matched hers, deep and steady.

(…)

“Your father would be proud of you,” Cassian said, so soft Jyn barely heard. She thought it was true, even though it wasn’t why she’d come to Scarif-not entirely, not really.

It was good to hear aloud, from the lips of someone close.

The rumbling overwhelmed all other sound. Jyn tightened her grip on Cassian, and he found the strength to hold her. The world grew brighter, emerald at first and then a clean, purifying white. In Jyn’s mind, the cave below the broken hatch was illuminated with the strength of a sun, and then the walls turned to dust and there was no longer a cave but only her spirit and heart and everything she had ever been: the daughter of Galen and Lyra and Saw, the angry fighter and the shattered prisoner and the champion and the friend.

Soon all those things, too, burned away, and Jyn Erso-finally at peace- became one with the Force.”

Honestly, this has been such a wild ride, but I am still so so so happy that they got to die in each other’s arms. It’s at least something. Now I’m going to go back to crying and let the heartache consume me. Sadness.

Extra thoughts:

Okay, there is so much character development in this novel that doesn’t go deep enough in the movie, like all of them are changed in some way by the end of it. The most obvious change is in Jyn, something that the novel makes a big deal of, her change is even what makes Cassian change his mind of what he thinks is right or wrong. (”Jyn was changing. And through her, Cassian would do what was required of him.They all would.”). Jyn goes through a massive change in the movie to the better, but her change in the novel is even more evident. It is insane to think of the girl from early on who literally does not care whether she dies or not because she’s lonely, to the girl who doesn’t care because she has a purpose. Something she thinks is right and is something worth dying for.

Jyn is so angry at Galen? Something that I did not see in the movie at all, to me she just appears to be really sad about it? (”Unwanted images of Saw Gerrera, of Galen Erso (My father is alive. My father is a bastard…) crept into her mind, spilling out of the hatch and crawling behind her eyes like parasites.”). Actually. Jyn is angry a lot, at almost everyone in her life, at everyone who has left her at some point, Which is totally understandable, given how young she actually is.

What most people see in Jyn that makes them believe in her and trust what she does is fire. More than s few times other people describe the fire they see within her, the fire that motivates her and gives them something to believe in. It’s actually quite funny because it’s not all coming from characters that have talked to each other about it.

At some point, very early on after they’ve met, Cassian is actually more concerned about Jyn than himself. He’s cold and thinks that the cold must be worse for her than it is for him, and the exhaustion as well. Like what the fuck I did not sign up for these feelings. Cassian appears to want to wrap Jyn up in bubble wrap most of the time, which is both quite sweet and ridiculous given what kind of person she is.

Also, he is constantly thinking about her, sure both is positive and negative ways. Sure he thinks she’s a pain is his ass, but then again he CARES about her and it’s very nice. Like it’s a lot of love/hate but milder? Because that’s the sad part. They could have been so great together, and they and we all know it but they do not have that time and everyone is left what a lot of what if’s.

There is a lot of times when they think of each other that I stopped myself from including because this post is long enough as it is already.

The destruction of Jedha City is a terribly sad moment for a lot of our favourite character, Bodhi makes it feel as if he’s failed his task. He’s doubting himself here as well, something he does not deserve. To him. the destruction is all his fault. At the same time, there is a (more obvious) sadness from both Baze and Chirrut. Something that I cannot remember being in the movie, not to this extent at least.

I think for me personally, the worst part lies in the fact that I usually don’t care for heterosexual ships? Like they are usually so abusive and not good for any part but this time there is none of that. Sure, Cassian and Jyn might not think they care for the other. But it takes a few short conversations for Jyn to imagine a date with him and an almost equally short time before Cassian is more concerned about her than himself. Something he does not do. It’s a lot of aching that I didn’t know I could feel for a het ship.

Jyn is so painfully young, I never realized when I watched the movie. Most of her decisions are based on emotions and she is so hurt that I genuinely ache for her. I’ve seen more than one person thinking she is a boring and not well-developed character, but dear she is quite the opposite. In fact, most of the characters are given a depth that is not fully shown in the movie, and it makes it all so so much better. But also so much worse when you know that they will soon be facing the inevitable death on Scarif.

It took me endless cups of tea to get through this, and I only cried a few times. But like me crying is a good thing, it means it meant something.

This one line about sums it all up: “What are you doing, Rogue One?”

Bonus:

“Fight me, she wanted to beg.” I’ll fight you Jyn.

#rogue one #the novel #rogue one novelization #spoilers #i guess #like a lot of it #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #chirrut imwe #baze malbus #galen erso #otp: hope and stardust #jyn x cassian #star wars #mine #can you believe i compare jyn's journey to plato's cave

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ladyrevanhalin · 5 years

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ONLY LIGHT CAN CAST SHADOW: CHAPTER THIRTEEN - SEROCCO AND THE CATHAR MASSACRE

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753210/chapters/38115335

The Miraluka planet of Katarr was brimming and alive with the Force. It was the reason why the Revanchist had suggested that they rendezvous here before taking the prisoner to Coruscant to go on trial. It would be far easier for the Revanchists to recover from their recent nightmare on Flashpoint in a place that was so full with energy from the Force.

Many were deep in meditation as the ships—the Stalwart Nightingale and the Williwaw—sat landed on the planet’s surface. Away from the others so as not to disturb them, the Revanchist sat in the med bay of the Nightingale with her apprentice, tending to his head wounds. Across the entirety of his skull were a network of crude stitches which seemed to be holding him together. It appeared as though Demagol had performed a vivisection on the man’s head in an attempt to observe the brain. There were soft spots also along many of the stitched points. The Revanchist could only assume that the doctor had drilled through the bone in these places.

In all, Malak was lucky just to be alive. The guilt of this thought ate away at the woman’s soul. Had it not been for the stroke of luck with that Padawan from Taris, it was almost certain he would have been dead before she could reach Flashpoint.

The man grimaced, letting out a groan as his Master applied a Fresh kolto patch to his head. The Revanchist winced at the sound.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m trying to be as gentle as I can…. I… I’m sorry….”

“Why do you keep apologizing? You’re not the one who carved my head open.”

“I may as well have been…”

“Halin…”

“Please don’t call me that.”

Malak let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t like the Revanchist.”

The woman froze, her hands trembling. She swallowed, so as to contain her emotions from escaping. The words cut through her like a knife.

“The Revanchist,” he continued, “is so caught up in chasing phantom visions that she forgets the real war is happening right in front of her. Halin, on the other hand… Halin would have sensed the distress of a friend much sooner… I’d rather follow Halin into battle than the Revanchist….”

He waited for a reply from her, but the woman remained silent, her eyes downcast, lost in thought. Malak sighed again.

“I’m not sure why I bother…” he said plainly.

The Revanchist choked on the well of emotions caught there in her throat. She made a move as if to leave, but her apprentice caught her wrist before she could do so.

“Please… Please just speak to me,” he said to her. “I’m trying to understand… To understand what’s happening to you. You’ve not been yourself since we met in the grove on Dantooine. I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so cold lately…”

There was another moment of silence between them. He waited, and waited… and finally, she answered:

“The Council was right…”

The man looked at the woman in disbelief, wondering if he had heard her correctly. Even as Halin, the woman before him had always had her fair share of disagreements with the Jedi Council. These disagreements were what drove her to enter the war—what drove her to become the Revanchist in the first place… and now, she was saying that they were right?

“…I had sensed your distress some time ago… Not long after having arrived on Deralia…”

“Then why did you ignore it if you knew something was wrong?”

“Because you are Malak.”

The man looked at her, puzzled at the answer. He’d assumed that the name she’d given to him was a passing whim, meant to separate their current actions from their time in the Order as Halin and Alex…

“I don’t like Malak either…” he replied bitterly.

“Don’t say that…”

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Please….”

“Please what? Please just accept that my closest friend left me and all of the rest of those who followed her to be tortured to death by the Mandalorians? Well you know what, Revanchist? I can’t do that! You don’t care what happens to any of us! Look at me! Look at what they’ve done to me! Do you think that this,” he said, pointing to his scalp with his free hand, “hurts? Well, what hurts, even more, is you! I….”

He caught himself before he could say it. ‘I love you’ were the words that wanted desperately to escape his lips, but he could not bring himself to say it out loud. Not now… He looked at her face. Her eyes were wide with obvious remorse as she stared at him. This situation must have caused her just as much pain as it had him. He sighed, letting go of her wrist.

“I miss Halin…” he said gently.

“I’m sorry…” she said in a voice no louder than a whisper. “I truly am…”

“Sorry doesn’t alter the past….”

“I know that… but it can alter the future… I’ve decided to disband the Revanchists once we return to Coruscant….”

“What!? You can’t be serious…”

“One of them is already dead because of my foolishness, and I almost you as well. The Council was right. It was stupid of me to involve anyone else in this. I shouldn’t have let you follow me. I shouldn’t have let any of you follow me!”

“We followed you because we thought that you were right—because we believed in what the Revanchist stood for… We believed in ‘justice for the innocent.’ We believed in you…”

She simply shook her head. “You’re all better off without me. I… I can’t ask you to risk your lives in vain….”

“If we stop now, then everything will have been in vain.”

“But…”

“But what?”

The young woman froze. She’d heard the voice again—and this time, it hadn’t been a vision. There on Dxun…. There was more there than just Mandalorian outposts, or even Sith tombs… There were even greater forces at work. She debated for a moment whether she could tell him. Perhaps… perhaps little at a time… Until she was sure that he was ready to understand….

“I’m a danger to all of you… it’s these visions… I’m no seer, but they’re so… so vivid… I don’t know how to control them… and all I see… all I see is darkness… so much darkness….”

Her words concerned Malak. Just what kind of darkness was she talking about here? “Can you be any more specific? Onderon, for example… what did you see exactly?”

“I saw the planet and its moon… at first, everything was peaceful… but then a sort of shadow started stretching from the moon, like an eclipse that engulfed the entire planet… and then… and then there was a voice…”

“A voice? What sort of a voice?”

“It was difficult to distinguish at first… and yet it seemed as though it were always there… and it wasn’t the first time that I heard it either… The same voice was in my previous vision…”

Malak was a bit confused by this. She had told him previously of her first vision, but had never mentioned any sort of a voice… “But what did the voice say to you?”

It was here that the woman froze in hesitation. “I… I can’t say it… I dare not repeat it…”

“You need help. Maybe back on Coruscant there is a seer among the order who can help you interpret their meanings… Who can help you learn to control when the visions come…”

“And then what? I can’t stay there… Someone needs to help the Republic with their war, Malak. And while I don’t want to risk you or the others, it doesn’t mean that I plan on stopping myself.”

Malak just shook his head. “I swear you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met… Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. You can’t do this alone… Discuss it with the others if you will, but I think that they’ll agree with me.”

“I put all of you in danger. I knew that something had gone wrong, I sensed your distress, but I did not act. I foolishly continued on my own, thinking that you would be able to handle the situation just fine without me…”

“Well then, change the future,” he said. “Don’t go running off on your own anymore. Let us help you… Promise me that much. If there is something that you need to investigate… another one of these visions, you’ll take me with you. And if you sense that something is even the slightest bit wrong, you’ll attempt to check in with someone from that company… We all knew that this would be dangerous, Halin. We knew it when we first decided to join you…”

“Please don’t call me Halin….”

“I’m sorry… I can’t help it. You’re not the Revanchist—not to me, at least. It’s too impersonal. Will it really kill you to let me call you by your name? At least in private?”

She bit her lip. “I suppose if the others aren’t around…”

“It’s settled then. At least until you manage something that’s less of a mouthful, for me, you’re Halin.” He smiled at her, as if attempting to lighten the mood.

Halin returned the smile. “And I promise to check in more often instead of rushing off on my own… Even if you are Malak.”

“There you go again… I still don’t understand why you call me that. I still prefer Alex. I get it that you want to disconnect from your life as Halin… but is it really necessary for me too?”

“Surely it isn’t so bad…”

“But is it necessary? Malak… what does that even mean?”

The woman smiled again and took up a fresh kolto patch to change the one she had previously placed on his head. “You know, I call you ‘Malak’ as a compliment…. It was clear after you refused to leave me in the grove…. Malak is the Angel.”

The man would have raised an eyebrow at this, but extraneous facial movements pulled on where the stitches were, and so they were best avoided. The Revanchist removed the old patch and applied the new.

“You are Malak because you protect,” she continued to explain. “Because you watch over… It is for this reason that I left you in charge on Suurja…” It was at this point that her expression became somber again. “Why I had assumed that all would be okay….”

Again, silence fell upon the two. This time, it was Malak to break it. “I’m sorry I let you down…”

Halin sighed. “You never let me down…. I suppose I just assumed too much. I was naïve…. I realized that this was a war, but somehow I thought just scouting would be less dangerous… The fighting was over. There was no reason for there to have been an ambush on Suurja… They shouldn’t have known we were there…. I’m so sorry… You did everything that you could, Malak. Hazar should have been my responsibility, not yours… He was too young. I never should have let him near the front with your company… I should have been there to stop it…”

“Halin, if you had been there, they would have captured you too. They would have tortured you too. And Opela, and Fiolli… We should just be grateful those of us who made it through did… How does it look up there?”

“Pretty bad,” the woman admitted, examining his injuries. “I’m doing what I can, but you’re going to have some nasty scars…”

“Maybe I’ll just have to start going around with a hood all of the time like you do,” he said half-jokingly. “Or I could always get a tattoo or something to cover them. I’ve always wanted an excuse to get one…”

“Now that I’d like to see,” Halin laughed. “All right, nerf-herder, I should go check up on the others…”

“Nerf-herder? I thought I had been upgraded an ‘angel’ now.”

“Watch it, Malak—even angels can still be nerf-herders. Now get some rest. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, watching as the Revanchist left the med bay. They would need to get the prisoner to Coruscant as quickly as possible. Malak didn’t like the idea of keeping him around, yet Halin had insisted that the best option would be to have the Republic hold him on trial. He supposed that might have been the most ‘Jedi’ approach to the situation… but a part of him craved to see the demented Doctor suffer in exactly the way he had made the Jedi suffer. A trial would be justice, but a greater satisfaction would have come with revenge.

><><><><><

The Revanchists were returning to Coruscant with the prisoner in tow. They were all understandably shaken after the events on Flashpoint. The situation had been like a cold splash of reality to the overenthusiastic advances the group had made. Suurja was a lesson to be remembered.

In light of her companions’ obvious uneasiness at the prospect, the Revanchist herself had agreed to be the one to watch over the prisoner they carried. He was quite different in appearance than the Mandalorians she had witnessed on Dxun during her investigations. His armor was generally more lithe and slender, and seemed to be outfitted with some additional equipment for medical or scientific purposes.

He had been knocked out by a rogue Mandalorian who had been helping the Taris Padawan at Flashpoint station, but it was unknown whether the unconscious state of the prisoner would continue until they reached Coruscant. After all, the Core Worlds were a long way from the Outer Rim… The Revanchist hated being stuck on guard duty, but she supposed that it was only fair given the way things had turned out up until this point.

She had been there for a few hours already when the prisoner began to stir. She moved a hand to her lightsaber to be ready in case of any dangerous situation which might arise. The prisoner was bound, but, given his history, she did not wish to take any chances…

“Don’t move,” she warned him. “They’ve told me all about you, Demagol the Flesh Carver.”

A low chuckle erupted from the suit of Mandalorian armor. “Did they now? I suppose I should be flattered that you’ve heard of me, Jedi… You weren’t among my patients though… I would have remembered a pretty face…”

“You would have remembered the name of the Revanchist, Demagol! I was not there when my company was ambushed on Suurja and brought to your laboratory on Flashpoint. I was not there when you killed a Padawan among them in cold blood, or when you nearly tortured my apprentice to death. But I am here now and I will see to it personally that you pay for your crimes.”

“The Revanchist? Is that so… Somehow I always thought you would be a man… and taller.”

“Don’t try my patience. Many would not be so kind as to take you to Coruscant for trial. It’s a bit ironic, really… that after your heinous experiments on Jedi, your life should only be spared now because of the mercy of the Jedi….”

“Don’t lecture me about your mercy missions, Revanchist. We both know very well that there’s no place for such foolishness in times of war. You and I are not so very different, you know? We each support the war effort in our own unique ways, unorthodox they may be….”

The woman clenched her teeth. “I’m nothing like you, Demagol!”

“Ah, you see, but that is where you are wrong….” The low laughter began again. The Revanchist could feel it echoing over and over, pounding inside of her skull. She clenched her hands over her ears, trying to muffle the sound, but it just kept pounding and pounding, as if it were not coming from the outside at all. And then… and then the voice came, slipping through the noise like oil over a smooth hard surface…

‘You are no hero… you are no savior… like the Flesh Carver, you will be… the Butcher!’

“Shut up!” she screamed, “Get out of my head!”

Without warning, without thinking, she grabbed her lightsaber hilt in one hand and reached out, her fingers stretched out as if to lock him into a choke and, while she never physically made contact with him, the Mandalorian rose from the ground, clutching at his throat…. But the laughter did not stop. The laughter continued pounding and pounding and pounding until…

“Halin? Halin!”

It was Malak’s voice. Suddenly, she realized what she was doing and let go of the prisoner, deactivating her lightsaber and returning the hilt to her belt. She clutched her hand which hand locked the prisoner into a choke and massaged it gently through her glove. The sound of the voice and of the laughter had suddenly stopped, but her temples were still throbbing, her ears still ringing.

“What were you thinking!?” her apprentice exclaimed. “I was watching the security cameras and suddenly heard you scream and saw your lightsaber… What was going on!?”

“The voice! The voice was there… He was laughing and then came and it… it…”

“Laughing? Halin, what are you talking about? Demagol has been unconscious the whole time. Whatever that Mandalorian did to him back on Flashpoint knocked him out good…”

“The whole time…” Halin murmured in repetition.

“I don’t like this. You’re mixing the visions with reality. It’s like you don’t know what’s what any more…. You need help.”

“No! No… No, I’ll be fine… I need to meditate, that’s all. My mind is restless….”

“It seems a little more than restless… You almost killed him, Halin.”

“I know that! I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” She massaged her hand again, as if to check if it were really her own. What she had felt in that moment… What she had felt was hate, desperation, unrestrained raw emotions… and what had alarmed her the most about it was how natural it had felt. “Please,” she continued, more softly this time, “I need to meditate… Did anyone else see the security footage during that time?”

Malak shook his head, “Not that I am aware of.”

“Good,” she said, giving a single nod. “See to it that it stays that way…. Lock the prisoner away and ensure there is nothing nearby that could be used for escape. I will be meditating in the Starboard dormitories should you need me.”

With this, she swiftly left, still rubbing her hand the whole time. Malak was concerned. He knew very well what he had seen. It was a common Sith technique used to cause asphyxiation, crushing the windpipe of one’s opponent. While he’d heard of it before, he’d never actually seen the technique in person. After all, the Sith had hidden their presence since the time of the Great Sith War. But this wasn’t some Sith who had suddenly come out of hiding… This was his friend. This was his Halin….

Once he had finished securing the prisoner, he left to go find her. Something was very much not right. It was only getting progressively worse, and if they didn’t figure out something soon, then surely her mind would be lost… He knew very well that she was against seeking the aid of the Order on Coruscant, but it may very well have been her only chance for stopping the progression.

He found her in the starboard dormitory, just as she had said. However, upon entering, he felt that there was a second presence in the room. A strange, dark presence. Something else was here. Something seemed to be following Halin. It was then that he heard it…

“Tse satsetop sirbmu ni…”

Malak looked about frantically. Was this the voice that Halin had been talking about?...

“Tse satsetop sirbmu ni!”

He looked to where it seemed to be coming from. There was a footlocker with a faint red glow between the cracks of the opening—a glow that seemed to be coming from inside. He approached the footlocker when he heard:

“Don’t touch it!”

It was Halin. She’d broken her meditation and had rushed to him, catching his arm. He turned to look at her.

“It’s trying to trick you into letting it out,” she continued.

“But what is it?” Malak asked.

The Revanchist swallowed. She hesitated, glancing around the room to ensure that no one else was there before replying to him. “It’s a Sith Holocron.”

“Here!? But what is it doing onboard?”

“It’s something I picked up while on Dxun… While I was investigating the moon and the Mandalorian base there, I found it…”

“Don’t tell me you opened it!?” Malak exclaimed, ripping his arm from her grasp

“Of course not! I’m not stupid! But I couldn’t just leave it there either…. What if it were somehow responsible for corrupting the Mandalorians? Or even worse—what if they discovered how to access its knowledge of the Dark Side? It was too dangerous to be left there…”

“I wouldn’t say that here, on a ship full of Jedi, is any less dangerous…”

“Well, as you recall, it was not my original intention to be among everyone again so soon… I was hoping to be able to locate a safe place where it could be left or destroyed before the Council sent me to retrieve you from Flashpoint…”

“Why didn’t you leave it with the Council while you were there?”

“The thought had crossed my mind… but how do you think they would react if I brought them such a thing? Many of them had already condemned me for starting the Revanchist movement in the first place, and the situation with Hazar and Flashpoint station only served to worsen my relationship with the Council. You should have seen Master Zez-Kai Ell when I appeared before them… Imagine what they might think if I brought them a real Sith holocron! They would probably assume I was some sort of Sith Lord come to uproot their entire ancient tradition.”

Halin tried to force laughter at her own remark, but it only faded breathlessly into a terrified expression on her face as she again clutched at her own hand.

“Malak?” she continued, “Do you think me a bad person?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I wouldn’t have followed you if I did…. But I do think that you need help. You can’t take on the burden of everything by yourself. You need to leave the holocron with the Council.”

“I’ve already told you why I can’t do that… Besides, who is to say it wouldn’t corrupt them as well?”

“While you may not agree with all of their choices, and neither do I… the Masters are far more experienced in dealing with such things… I have an idea. You said that Opela and Fiolli were also meeting back with us on Coruscant?”

“Yes…”

“Then have Opela bring it to them.”

The Revanchist considered the thought. Opela had a good standing relationship with many of the high Council members…. At least, before she had joined the war effort. There was no doubt that it would be easier for Opela to bring such a thing before the Council than it would be for her to do such a thing herself. Yes… Yes, perhaps such a thing would work after all…

“Tse satsetop sirbmu ni!”

“Hush, you!,” Halin said, turning sharply to the footlocker where the holocron was stashed. “I’ll not have you causing any more problems on board.” She turned back to Malak. “We contact Opela immediately and explain to her the situation. In the meantime, the starboard dormitory is to be closed to everyone. No one may enter until we’re docked and the holocron is being removed—this including ourselves… On that note, I would rather not stay here. It’s becoming restless with so many Jedi around and I don’t know how much longer I can resist its temptation in such close proximity….”

Malak nodded. It was agreed. They would leave the holocron for the Council to dispose of. Malak was a bit relieved by this. After all, perhaps it would allow for his friend to get some much-needed rest. He had never seen her in such a state as she had been locked in the room with Demagol… But at the same time, her visions had started before Dxun. No… no, surely there was much more to it than this. She knew something that she still wasn’t telling him. There were greater powers at work here. Something was watching them. Somewhere, an invisible puppet master was pulling all of the strings attached to this war. Only time would tell whether they were all a part of the puppet show as well.

><><><><><

Opela followed in close step with Master Atris as the Council Member carefully transported the holocron through a series of passages leading to a vault underneath the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. The thing seemed to be screaming all of the while, as if it knew and understood their intentions to dispose of it. The whole task made Opela rather nervous. She could feel the dark side energy which radiated from the holocron. She regarded Master Atris with a concerned expression, but the Master remained focused with her gaze forward.

“What language is it speaking?” Opela asked. “I’ve never heard anything like it before….”

“It is of the ancient Sith tongue,” the Master replied. “Pray you never have to hear it again…”

“What is it saying?

“Things that I dare not repeat… Explain to me where you found this again?”

Opela shook her head. “I didn’t find it. Halin did when she was on Dxun she said…”

“Ah yes, the self-proclaimed ‘Revanchist’… She should have told us of this rather than about the Mandalorian base when she appeared before the Council… No doubt she was debating using its knowledge for herself. It wouldn’t be the first time she attempted to access knowledge that was forbidden…”

Opela was confused by the way of which Master Atris spoke of Halin. It seemed that her distaste for the woman was rooted in occurrences from even before the emergence of the Revanchist. “Master Atris, why do you despise her so?”

“I feel no such thing,” the Master replied. “Hatred is the path to the Dark Side… I merely believe that she should show more respect for the Council’s decisions and try to see their wisdom behind them rather than reacting so violently in opposition. Her actions were irresponsible and cost one young Padawan his life. I’m only glad now that you and the rest have returned so that her poor influence can harm you no longer.”

“She meant no harm in her actions. She had thought all of us to be safe. It was why she had chosen to place everyone where she did, based on their strengths… Though I’m sure she will consider placements differently in future scouting…”

Master Atris stopped, causing Opela to stop alongside her. “Future scouting? Don’t tell me that you intend to follow her back into this war…”

“I made her a promise, Master Atris, and I intend to keep it.”

Master Atris continued walking, quickening her pace this time so that Opela practically had to jog to keep up with her.

“No! She will lead all of you astray! It is foolishness! This holocron only further proves such. Mark my words, Opela Moraf—the horrors that you will find in war are ones that no one can fully cope with—Jedi or not—without grave consequences. Continuing to follow down this path will lead you to violence, hatred, destruction, and ultimately the Dark Side. You will not return as yourself—if you return at all!”

It was at this point that the two made it to the doors of a large vault beneath the temple.

“You are not permitted beyond this point. There are many relics of the Dark Side here that could easily corrupt a mind unprepared. That is, if you’ve not begun to be corrupted already. Reflect upon my words, Opela Moraf. For if you leave this temple and join with the Revanchist again on this crusade, you will not remain a Jedi.”

><><><><><

“Why did you come with them here?” The Revanchist asked, the irritation evident in her voice. Her arms were folded as she stood face-to-face with Talon Chan on the Deralian deep-space shuttle that Opela and Fiolli had returned upon. “Deralia needs you in case of another attack. If the Mandalorians return, it will be in much greater numbers than before.”

“Halin, they need you just as much as they need me,” Talon protested.

“I told you, I’m not Halin anymore!”

“Revanchist or not, you’re still Halin Chan. You’re still my little sister.”

“And you’re still not listening to me. You shouldn’t be here!”

“Why are you like this? It seems like you’re avoiding me….”

“Well, if it seems like I’m avoiding you, then perhaps that’s because I am. I’ve already lost someone under my command and I don’t need you foolishly following me around and getting yourself killed while trying to deal in Jedi business.”

Talon shook his head. “You just don’t get it, do you? I’m trying to help you, Halin…”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Why do you hate me? What did I do deserve this from you?”

“I don’t hate you, I—” She stopped herself mid-sentence, swallowing hard. She understood well why the Order discouraged contact with family members. It was a strange set of emotions that surrounded Talon’s presence, and she didn’t understand them. It made her feel uncomfortable. It made it difficult to focus. The woman let out a sigh. “I don’t hate you….” She repeated, more gently this time.

Talon was no less confused about his sister’s treatment of him. He wasn’t certain whether she was trying to protect him or trying to forget him. The man sighed and reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’m just worried about your safety… Being a Jedi was never a ‘safe’ thing to begin with, but war… war is something completely different…. People aren’t willing to negotiate. Lives are lost every day. Likes are taken every day….”

He broke off and turned from her, going to a locker there on the ship. “I wanted to bring this for you,” he said, opening the locker and pulling out something gleaming in bronze. “You’re going to need it if you end up on the front lines…”

The Revanchist looked at the thing which Talon Chan held before her. It was a suit of armor in the style of the Deralian Royal Military Guard.

“I’m not wearing that,” she said simply.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Jedi robes don’t offer the greatest protection against blaster fire…”

“That’s what a lightsaber is for. Besides, how is one supposed to move in that stuff?”

“Halin, please take it.”

“Fine. But I’m not wearing it.”

Talon rolled his eyes. “You always were stubborn, even as a kid. Just… promise me you’ll be careful out there…”

“Only if you promise to go back to Deralia.”

“I promise.”

“Then I swear to you that I will be careful not to get hit be any stray blaster fire.”

Talon chuckled. “That’s close enough I suppose… Well then, if I’m going to be getting back, I’ll need you to get off of my ship. Otherwise, you’re coming back with me.”

The young woman smiled. “Goodbye, Talon. I’m sorry our meetings are so brief…”

“I’m just happy they exist at all. Given our track record before, I would say it’s quite the improvement.”

“I’ll show myself out then. Have a safe flight. May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you.”

><><><><><

“She didn’t seem happy,” Opela told the other Revanchists of her encounter with Master Atris upon bringing the Sith Holocron to the Jedi Temple. “She said that if we continued, we wouldn’t be Jedi any longer…”

The group was gathered about the Stalwart Nightingale attempting to decide their next course of action. The Council had anticipated that the group would stop once they returned to Coruscant, but the Revanchists had other plans. They had a cause, and Flashpoint had only served to strengthen their resolve. There were undeniable atrocities being committed in this war, and it was up to them to put an end to them.

There were murmurs among the group at Opela’s words, but the Revanchist seemed more certain than before. Her blue-grey eyes burned with a defiant determination. It had become more than just a war to help the Republic defeat the Mandalorians. It had become a war to win over the Jedi Council—to re-define what it meant to be Jedi.

“If we stop now,” the Revanchist began, “then everything we have strived for until this point will be lost. Deaths will have been in vain. Sacrifices will have been for naught. We cannot allow their fear to control our actions. You saw the way that they reacted upon our return. You heard all that they had assumed. Are we to allow their ignorance to determine who we are and what we stand for?”

“I agree with the Revanchist,” Malak said. “I say we press onward.”

“Any opposed?” the Revanchist asked. She looked around the others. There was concern clearly in many of their eyes… but no one dared to speak up. Whether it was because they agreed or because they were afraid to be thought of traitors to the cause was unknown. After all, the last mission they had gone on had been quite gruesome. It was only likely to go downhill from there.

“It is settled then. We continue as planned. Ferroh? You had mentioned you had lost contact with your people on your home planet? That Cathar was one of the first planets attacked at the beginning of the Mandalorian crusades?”

The Cathar hesitated. “Yes… The Mandalorians had never forgiven my people for defeating them in the Great Sith War… After all, the Cathar are a proud warrior race, but our planet is not within the Republic… I’m afraid that no one knows for certain what happened on-planet though. The only ones left of my people that I’ve been able to make contact with are all refugees, scattered on different worlds…”

“I see… Malak, what is the latest update on the Mandalorian front?”

“The Republic is still trying to hold the defense between The front and Taris… It looks as if Admiral Karath is planning to mount a defense at the planet Serrocco to buffer against the Mandalorian advancement.”

“Then we divide our forces,” the Revanchist said. One group will head to Serrocco to make contact with and aid the Republic military there. We will not wait for the battle to clear and risk another ambush unprepared from leftover soldiers… The other group will follow me to Cathar to investigate what remains. If Cathar was the start of this war, perhaps we can find some clue there as to the Mandalorians’ goal and how to stop them.”

“I would like to volunteer to lead the group to Serrocco,” Opela stated. The Revanchist regarded her with confusion. Only weeks before, when they had been headed to Deralia, she had been hesitant to accept any positions of leadership… and yet now she had volunteered on her own accord?

“Why the sudden change in heart?” the Revanchist asked her.

“If we’re meeting the Republic military leaders, then you’ll need someone who can deal with the diplomatic aspects of the situation. Negotiation is a strong point of mine. If we’re acting against the Council’s orders, then it will take negotiation to convince the Republic to accept our aid.”

A small smile crept to the Revanchist’s lips. It was good to see Opela finally taking some initiative. “Very well then, Lieutenant Moraf. I leave the Serrocco company in your care. Fiolli, Nisotsa, Tavlon and Xaset—you will join her. The rest of you are with me. Serrocco Company will take the Williwaw and Cathar the Nightingale. If there are any complications, you report back immediately to your commanding officer. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a bought of ‘ayes’ from the group. Things were taking shape again. Things would be better off this time around. She could sense that much. Perhaps this would finally be the turning point for the Revanchists.

><><><><><

While the battle had yet to start, the situation on Serrocco was far worse than Opela had initially anticipated. She couldn’t say that she agreed at all with the Republic’s decision of Tactics in the matter. They had chosen to place their surface-side outposts and camps near the cities of the native Stareb species. Their reasoning was that they assumed the Mandalorians would not want to possibly destroy anything that could be valuable for looting after the battle.

Opela could not follow this logic. After all, the Mandalorians were not space pirates. In her opinion, all conflict should have been kept away from both the Stareb cities and human settlements alike. It was selfish for either side to knowingly place innocents in danger because of their fighting. What was the point in conquering a planet if there was nothing left by the end of it to be conquered?

Opela sat aboard the Williwaw, waiting for a reply to her transition for a request of an audience with Admiral Karath of the Republic Navy. He was the one who was in charge of the Republic’s fleet in this sector, ad so any and all negotiations would have to ultimately pass through him if they were to be of any consequence. So far, there had been no such luck.

The woman let out a frustrated sigh, debating whether she should take a break from waiting in order to check out the camp. She was quite curious to see what a Republic military camp would look like up close. This transmission was important though. She couldn’t risk missing it.

Finally, a sound came over the communicator. “This is Darrick Kilvaari, communications aboard the Courageous. We’ve received a transmission request from you, Williwaw, over?”

“Yes, Courageous. This is Lieutenant Opela Moraf, Jedi Knight, representing the Revanchists. I wish to speak with Admiral Saul Karath, over.”

“The Admiral is busy with preparations for the battle I’m afraid…”

“Tell him that the Revanchists are looking to aid the Republic in any way possible during their fight. I have both healers and combat specialists aboard. We are ready to provide Jedi support immediately if permitted to do so, over.”

There was a short pause on the line followed by: “Please stand by, Williwaw. We’re contacting Admiral Karath now, over.”

The silence resumed and the anticipation that came with it caused the absence of sound to become deafening. So much of their mission relied on being able to cooperate with the Republic military forces. This meeting was important for them. It was important that it be successful. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Darrick Kilvaari returned over the transmission.

“Admiral Karath is heading planetside. He’s agreed to meet you at one of the army commissaries in four standard hours. Name is Little Bivoli, over.”

Opela breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, there was some progress. “Got it. Tell the Admiral I’ll be there. Thank you so much, Kilvaari, over.”

Finally, she could afford to step away from the communications console. She would have to prepare for her meeting with the Admiral. She changed into fresh robes, checked her general appearance, and then set out. After all, it would reflect poorly if she were late, and should she miss the Admiral, there would perhaps not be a second chance to make the Revanchists’ appeal…

><><><><><

When the time came, Opela Moraf went out to the commissaries ship known as the Little Bivoli. The place was rather a bustle. It seemed to be quite popular with both the soldiers and locals alike. So much so that Opela began to wonder whether it would even be possible to get a table at the place. Beyond that, she had never met the Admiral before, and so she wasn’t exactly certain what he looked like. With this many people around, it might prove difficult to actually find him. That was, at least, until she heard a commotion coming from the area around one of the far tables.

“You’re lucky you’re a finger, boy! On the Courageous, the Admiral would space you for that!”

It seemed that the Admiral was already here. Opela acted quickly. After all, she did not want to miss him. She headed to the location of the commotion and found the Admiral walking away from the situation to his own table with a rather stern look on his face. She approached him.

“Admiral Karath, I take it?” she asked him.

“I am he. And who might you be?”

“My name is Opela Moraf. I am a Jedi Knight and lieutenant with the Revanchists. I was in contact with the Courageous earlier and they informed me that I should meet you here in order to discuss future negotiations between the Revanchists and the Republic military…” She reached a hand out to shake his.

“Ah yes, Lieutenant Moraf. Welcome. Please pull up a seat. Tell me more about your proposal,” he said, accepting her handshake.

While certainly official in his proceedings, the Admiral seemed amicable enough. Following his gesture, the Jedi Knight sat at the table. “Well,” Opela began, “I fear I must begin with a disclaimer…”

“Oh? And what sort of a disclaimer is that?”

“Our movement of the Revanchists is not sanctioned by the Jedi Council. I must inform you that we are acting on our own. However, I assure you that, even so, our intentions lie purely in the protection of the Republic and its people…”

The Admiral groaned and Opela could not help but to be put back by his reaction. “Great,” he said. “The last thing I need is to be dealing with more rogue Jedi…”

More? The statement caused the woman some confusion. Had other Jedi approached him with similar proposals previously? And if so, why had the Revanchists not heard of them until now? “I beg your pardon?”

“Recently I’ve had to deal with a troublesome Padawan who turned and killed his classmates. I was bringing him in to the Council when the ship was ambushed and he escaped. I’m sure you’ve heard the news recently….”

“Not really,” Opela admitted. “Our investigations haven’t left much time for keeping up with anything outside of the war. I find it difficult to believe that such a thing could happen though. Jedi are pacifists by nature….”

“And yet here we are, discussing your involvement with my company during the war.” And with this, he gave a laugh. “It seems rather ironic, don’t you think, that you of all people should be lecturing me about the peaceful nature of the Jedi. As much as the support would come in handy, I’m not going to risk the Republic’s relationship with the Jedi Order just to satisfy the desire for combat of a few young Knights.”

“But you yourself admit that the Republic needs Jedi support…”

“Even as an Admiral, there’s only so much I’m sanctioned to make decisions about when it comes to the finer political points of this war.”

“You mean like how close your troops are setting up to the Stareb cities,” the woman said, turning her focus to the stone spires only a couple of miles away.

The Admiral grew red in the face, slamming his hand on the table before standing up. “Look, Lieutenant, guys down here are army. My business,” he said, pointing upward, “is up there with the naval positions. I don’t choose the placements of ground troops, and I don’t question the authority of those who do. Now I suggest you show yourself out of this camp before I decide to call up your Council and tell them all about this.”

Opela inhaled deeply, being careful not to allow the Admiral to intimidate her, and stood as calmly as she could. “That will not be necessary,” she said. “I thank you for your agreeing to meet me. If you will not accept our aid here, then we will find alternative means of supporting our cause. Goodbye, Admiral Karath. May the Force be with you and with your fleet. I shall leave you to conduct your battle strategies as you see fit.”

If there was nothing that could be done in conjunction with the troops directly, then perhaps it would be best for them to re-focus their efforts toward protecting the Stareb cities, or to assisting injured left on the battlefield once the fighting commenced. Sure it wasn’t the sort of involvement that there had initially been hoping for, but at least it was something they could do that might make a difference in the battle, however small that difference might be.

><><><><><

Opela Moraf returned to the Williwaw with a report of her meeting with the Admiral. She sent a transmission to the Stalwart Nightingale, explaining to the Cathar company their lack of success thus far. It was a frustrating time just getting the Revanchists to be recognized in the war. The Republic respected the Jedi Council, and largely depended on their support. Unfortunately, it would take more for them to be willing to risk upsetting them…

The day was a rather frustrating one. The Serocco Company was forced to remain apart from the military camps. Instead, they split up, making their way to different camps across the planet’s surface, each one positioned near a different Stareb City… They did what they could in subtlety to encourage the troops to move their positions, but no one was willing to risk the consequences of disobeying orders from the higher-ups in the chain of command, and after the conversation that Opela had had with Admiral Karath, a warning had been issued to avoid Jedi scouts trying to become involved in the war effort. Needless to say, the military was not very cooperative.

The Starebs themselves were no more receptive of the warnings. Gullible as they were, they did not seem to believe that, without the warning sirens going off, there was no reason to consider evacuation. It seemed as though everything the Serrocco Company tried was a wasted effort.

According to the soldiers they had been able to speak to, the Mandalorians were expected to drop within the next day. Time was of the essence.

It was around sunset when the thing finally happened. Warnings began to sound. The dark shapes of ships in the atmosphere above increased. Flashes of light began to appear in the sky. It was happening. It was happening all so quickly… The Mandalorians had arrived!

><><><><><

Cathar was a lush planet, thick with vegetation and non-sentient species. It was strange that somewhere so seemingly teeming with life should feel so very void. Even the abandoned buildings were alive, carved directly into the great ‘city-trees’ as Ferroh said they were called. It was all so beautiful, yet so morbid. So alive… and yet so dead.

The Revanchists searched through every empty hall, down every winding road, in every abandoned tent and hut… and found nothing. Nothing but silence—an eerie and unnatural silence.

“It’s just as it was when I last visited… it appears as though everyone has simply vanished,” Ferroh stated.

The Revanchist pulled her cloak around herself in order to better keep the native insects away. This place made her uneasy. The Force felt strange here. In the cities, there was no sign of life… but also no sign of death. No sign of battle, or conflict… Nothing! No clue as to what could have possibly happened to the Cathar people. It was as if someone had deliberately washed away any trace of its history.

It was their intention to extend their search beyond the cities when they all felt it. All at once, billions of voices crying out in horror…

><><><><><

It was a planet of mostly desert landscapes, tall stone spires stretching toward the orange sunset. It was all so beautiful… Like dancing flames, their light reflecting off the glassy mirror of sand. All was calm, all was still. Lights began to appear in the sky. More and more until…

Honor… Without honor, let them burn! Let all of them burn! Let Serrocco burn!

All at once, the lights in the sky grew closer, larger, until everything was consumed in one brilliant flash. Suddenly the flaming orange of the sky engulfed the entire surface, burning wildly out of control. Screams of children pierced her ears so sharply that she thought her eardrums would surely burst. Pieces of stone mingled with blood and limbs flew in every which direction, the great stone cities crumbling into mere ruins of glass and sand.

And through all of it, slipping through like an oil, oozing over the flames and feeding their destruction, a peal of laughter began to resonate in that place. It was everywhere! Everywhere…

><><><><><

They all felt it. All at once, billions of voices crying out in horror… and then all being silenced at once.

The Revanchist was bent over clutching her abdomen and seemingly wreathing in pain. The shock of the experienced vision coupled with the great disturbance that all of them had felt in the Force had caused her to vomit. Her entire body was trembling.

Her apprentice seemed to immediately notice the difference in her reaction compared to the others, for he rushed to her side. Unable to help himself, her name sprung from his lips. “Halin—!”

She was in too much of a state of shock to protest. She looked as though she could very well vomit a second time. She had grown quite pale, as if every ounce of blood had been drawn from her veins in an instant. Her eyes were wide and pupils dilated, silent tears flowing down her cheeks. All she could do was to repeat, almost incoherently: “I feel it… I feel it… I feel it….”

Seeing that she was in no state to continue forward, Malak decided to take charge in her stead. He was sure that he wouldn’t hear the end of it from her later, but right now, they had all experienced great pain. They needed someone to direct them from there, and Halin Chan was in no condition to do it.

“Cathar Company,” Malak said, addressing the group. “We need to return to the Stalwart Nightingale, now! We should make contact with the Williwaw and ask if Serrocco Company has sensed the same… If they’ve had any developments…”

“Serocco,” the Revanchist breathed. “I feel it… I feel it….”

The company regarded their debilitated leader with concern. Malak glanced among them, trying to read their expressions. Halin was in a very vulnerable state. It had seemed she’d experienced another one of her visions, and if it had coincided with the great loss which all of them had felt, it could have very well accounted for her intensified reaction. His fear, however, was that it would be seen as a weakness in her leadership.

The movement was barely holding together as it was. After all, all that they had was their leader and their cause. Take away one of the two, and the whole structure would be left on the brink of collapse. Malak had determined that he would not allow for this to happen, even if it meant he had to take over himself. Protectively, he placed an arm around her as if to shield her from the threat of judgement, and encouraged her to rest her head on his side.

“What are you all waiting for?” he said, addressing the others with as much authority as he could muster. “I said move out. To the Nightingale!”

><><><><><

The meeting after Serrocco was a difficult one. Because they had been spread out attempting to assist the Starebs, many from the Serrocco company were not physically close enough to a transport to make it off-planet in time. Even so, Many ships had been grounded, unable to lift off before the nuclear warheads from the Mandalorian fleet had come raining in from above. It was unlikely anyone survived on the surface. Opela and Fiolli were close enough to the Williwaw that they were able to save themselves and the ship. Nisotsa and Xaset had made it off-planet, but with a group from the Republic army, and were being sent back to Coruscant to face the Jedi Council for ‘attempting to interfere with Republic military activities.’ No one had heard a word from Tavlon.

The war had only just begun and their numbers were thinning with each battle. The Revanchist sat with her head hung in her hands. Another… Another, and there was nothing that she could do to stop it. She felt powerless. She hadn’t even been able to command her own company during the occurrence. The shock of Serrocco and the vision of the attack had happened so suddenly that it was as if someone had bashed her over the head with a plasteel cylinder. If it hadn’t been for Malak, she wasn’t sure how she would have been able to even get back to the ship.

Opela approached the Revanchist and seated herself alongside her. She was unsure how she could console her friend in such a situation. The loss of another among their ranks had upset all of them greatly… “There was nothing you could have done….”

“But I could have…. I saw it happening… If only I could have seen it sooner, I could have stopped all of it… I could have saved Tavlon… I could have saved all of them…. If only I could learn control….”

“Tavlon died a hero. He died trying to protect innocent lives… He was a true Revanchist.”

A silence passed. Opela placed her hand on the other woman’s back as if to comfort her.

“Malak told me about what happened on Cathar when Serrocco was destroyed…. He was worried—and still is. He cares very deeply for you, you know…”

“He is my closest friend,” the Revanchist replied simply. “I don’t know what I would do without him sometimes. It’s like we’re two sides of the same coin.”

Opela smiled at this response. She was glad that the other was finally beginning to see the connection between the two of them. She hoped that, for Malak’s sake, the Revanchist would come to realize on her own the way in which he felt about her. Even if it were nothing more than a mutual understanding, at least he wouldn’t have to hide it anymore.

After the groups had rejoined following the investigations on Cathar and on Serrocco, Malak had approached Opela again about the situation of his special ‘bond’ with Halin. He’d been increasingly worried for her lately, particularly because of a series of ‘visions’ she had been having. Lately, they had seemed to grow more and more intense, completely incapacitating her at times, as the one had at the time of Serrocco.

It was Serrocco which had forced Malak to take action. He’d had to assume command over the Cathar Company when it had happened and practically carry Halin back to the ship she was so incoherent. He constantly felt her distress and pain since they had left from Dantooine several months prior, and it bothered him. While Halin was the sort of charismatic idealist that took to inspire people to follow, whatever shadow of darkness was threatening her had stifled her capacity for leadership. He was concerned as to whether the pressure of being the ‘Revanchist’ was what was causing her deteriorating mental stability. He knew he couldn’t convince her to stop, but he thought that perhaps he could at least convince her to share more of the responsibility.

He had hoped that, with his and Opela’s combined persuasion, he could convince her to allow them to handle much of the effort in her stead. So far, there had been no luck, but the fact that she was still weakened from Serrocco had only increased the necessity.

“You certainly are,” Opela said to the Revanchist’s comment about herself and Malak. “You know, he’s only trying to help you… Maybe you should let him…”

The Revanchist simply shook her head. “I can’t ask that of him… He’s always been so shy around others when I wasn’t there, and I don’t think he’s fully forgiven me for what happened on Flashpoint… I couldn’t put him into that sort of a situation again. It makes him uncomfortable…”

“I think seeing you like this makes him feel even worse…”

The Revanchist sighed. “There’s just no winning either way, is there?”

“At least until you’ve recovered… Give him a chance. He might just surprise you.”

Opela watched her companion, waiting to see how she would react. It was what was best for all of them… she only hoped that the other would see it that way.

“I suppose… but just until I’m well again… You know, I’d hoped for his sake we would have been able to join the Republic in combat by now. It’s where he truly shines…”

“There will be a time,” Opela said, patting the Revanchist on the back. “It’s a big war, and there’s a role for everyone to help. Try to rest. We need you battle-ready when the time comes… It would make Malak feel better.”

><><><><><

The news channels were all abuzz in the Republic and across the entirety of the Outer Rim Territories. Taris had finally fallen under siege from the Mandalorians, and it didn’t look as though the Republic were going to be able to repel them. All of the Jedi had been recently pulled from Taris by the Jedi High Council following a recent tragedy with the deaths of several of the Padawans there, presumably by one of their own, so there were none to aid on-surface when the invasion came. This happening so soon after the destruction of Serrocco had made it a dark time for everyone.

The Republic was growing desperate for a way to defeat Mandalore the Ultimate’s growing army of Mandalorian neo-crusaders. Likewise, the Revanchists were growing desperate to find a means to be able to officially enter the war. It seemed as though their entire effort thus far had been running from shadow to shadow trying to do what they could, but not be caught doing it.

“Halin?” Malak said gently, tapping on the doorway to the chamber in which the Revanchist had been meditating. “There’s someone on the Communicator… says they want to speak to you directly…”

It was then that he noticed how pale she was. Sweat was pouring from her temples. Her body was stiff and she didn’t seem to be breathing. Not again…. Swiftly, he went to her, kneeling down and taking her hands. They were like ice. “Halin! Halin, you need to snap out of it! Focus on my voice. Open your eyes… Dammit, Halin, open your eyes!”

Finally, her eyes flew open and she gasped for air. Malak gave a sigh of relief. It must have been another vision. He didn’t like how frequent they were growing, and they were taking a toll on her both physically and mentally. He wasn’t sure how much longer she would last if this kept up… When she had decided to first set out, she seemed to have attracted the attention of some sort of dark power. Slowly, whatever it was that she had awakened was trying to take hold of her.

“Calm down,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, as he had when he had seen her on Dantooine the night that she had decided to leave. “What did you see?”

“Space,” she said, softly. “I saw space…”

“And what else was there?”

“Asteroids…. Debris…. And strange creatures….”

“Creatures? What sort of creatures?”

“I…. I don’t know…. I had never seen anything like them before…. It was like some sort of an eel, or a snake…. But they were massive! And they lived in open space… They filled me with a sort of dread, though I wasn’t sure why at first. They had seemed to be asleep…. But then, there was a light…”

“A light?”

“Yes… It looked like… Like some sort of a dying star…. And when the creatures felt the light, they began to awaken…. And when they did… When they did, they began to feed… They consumed everything… everything in sight…. And then…. And then they traveled further… deeper into space. They were approaching systems… systems I recognized… Inhabited systems with billions of people…”

It was at this point that he could hear tears threatening to fall from the way that her voice broke. He held her tighter. “Shhhh…. Did you hear the voice again?”

“Yes… It started when they approached the system, but you broke my trance before I could make out what it was saying….”

Malak was somewhat relieved that he had come when he did. Who knew how much worse it would have been had the vision continued… It seemed to him that this voice was the thing that truly terrified Halin, even more so than the visions themselves…

“I’ll tell the person calling that you’re unable to respond at the moment…”

“No…. No, if they’re trying to speak to me directly, then maybe it’s important. Maybe it will finally be something to turn things around for all of us…”

“You’re in no condition to receive calls right now. You look like death…”

“They don’t have to see me,” she protested, pushing her way out of his arms. “I’ll wear my cloak and over holovid they won’t notice a thing!”

Malak sighed. He’d wished she would have stayed like that a little bit longer, there in his arms. These were stressful times and having her so close made him feel a little better. He hoped that he made her feel just as safe as she had made him feel.

He watched her pull herself up. Her legs shook at first, like a newborn animal that was trying to stand for the first time, and so he put his arms out to catch her in case she were to fall, but she managed to stabilize herself on her own. She pulled her cloak from where she had lain it and put it on, pulling its billowing hood over her head. Neither her face nor frame were visible when she was like this. She was like some sort of specter of a figure, ambiguous, yet unquestionably authoritative in appearance.

“Come, Malak,” she said. “Put me through with the caller… did he give his name?”

She was already walking toward the communications array and so Malak was left with no choice but to follow. “He said he represents Lord Adasca of Arkania, and says he has a proposal for you, but that he could only present it to the Revanchist leader directly…”

What he didn’t tell her was that he had claimed that he was the Revanchist when the call had come through, but that his lie had not been believed. He’d hoped to save her from the trouble by doing so, but the ruse was seen through immediately. Apparently, the caller had anticipated that the Revanchist would not be so easy to reach, and suspected the falsehood when he’d first answered.

The Revanchist sat in the seat at the communications array and pushed the button to accept the call that had been on hold. A hologram of a Duros Male flashed before her. “Ah, greeting, Revanchist Leader. I’m so happy that you have decided to accept my call,” he said upon seeing her cloaked figure. “My name is Eejee, and I’m calling on behalf of Lord Adasca of Arkania.”

“So I’ve been told,” the Revanchist replied. “I’ve heard that he has some sort of a proposal for me?”

“Yes,” the Duros replied. “He insisted that I only give the invitation to you directly.”

“A bold request, given that he has chosen not to call me himself.”

“The Lord apologizes, but he has been busy entertaining a special guest as of late, and has had little time, so as his secretary I’ve been keeping up with his business work as able.”

“What sort of an invitation is this?”

“To view a new weapon that has been in development.”

Halin further paled under her hood. A new weapon… The timing of it all… It must have had something to do with what she had seen in her recent vision.

“And just what sort of a weapon is this?” she managed.

“I’m sending over files with the details now. It’s quite an interesting thing, really… You see, Lord Adasca wants to be certain his project does not fall into the wrong hands… He’s asked me to contact specific groups who he think might be responsible enough to control such a thing.”

“I see… and who else has he contacted about this?”

“Now now, that information I am not at liberty to disclose freely. If you wish to see, then I suggest that you consider meeting us in the Omonoth system in five days time aboard Lord Adasca’s flagship, the Arkanian Legacy. We look forward to meeting you in person, Revanchist.”

The transmission ended and data was displayed from what the Duros Eejee had sent about the weapon in question. Halin removed her hood so she could more clearly view the information. Her apprentice could sense the disturbance in his friend and Master and moved closer to view the information with her. It was information on a species of large space-dwelling beasts called ‘Exogorths.’

“It’s just as it was in my vision…. I have to go,” she said, standing.

“Halin, you can’t. You’re still recovering…”

“I told you what I saw, Malak! If those things are there as he says, and if someone were to release them into an inhabited system…” She stopped. She couldn’t bear to think of the results that might come from such a thing. “I have to go…”

“No you don’t,” Malak said firmly. “You’re staying put—I’ll go!”

“Malak, don’t be ridiculous. You heard already. Lord Adasca is only willing to deal with me directly…”

“He sent his secretary to call us. I say we return the favor. I’ll say you were busy with other matters and sent me in your place.”

“It’s too risky. If we fail…”

“It’s too risky for you to go on your own! Send me on the Williwaw with Fiolli to pilot. We don’t need a large group for the task.”

“Malak, no! My decision is final!”

“Any chance I could bribe you?”

The woman gave him a look of disbelief. “Bribe me? Malak, you can’t be serious. We’re not kids anymore and this isn’t any time to be playing around! Now as your commanding officer and as your Master, I am telling you no!”

“And as your friend I am telling you that I won’t let you go running off again when you’re too weak to fight back if something goes wrong.”

“I can fight just fine if I have to. As I recall, the last time we sparred I had you bested after only a few minutes.”

“The last time we sparred,” he said, growing rather exasperated with her persistence, “you weren’t barely coherent from the after-effects of your visions! You’re not going!”

“Just watch me!”

“Halin, don’t make me do something we’ll both regret…”

The woman laughed. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” he said, using the Force to pull her closer to him and swiftly applying pressure to a point on her neck, rendering the woman instantly unconscious. “I’m making you a promise.”

He set her back into the communications array chair and downloaded the data from the Consul regarding the information from Lord Adasca. He knew he would be in for an earful when she woke up, but it was for her own good. He would go to the Arkanian Legacy and see exactly what this proposal from Lord Adasca was all about…

><><><><><

The Williwaw was regrouping with the Stalwart Nightingale after Malak’s meeting with Lord Adasca on the Arkanian Legacy. Things certainly hadn’t turned out the way that anyone had expected during the deal. To Malak’s surprise, the other parties invited by Lord Adasca included not only the Republic Military’s Admiral Karath, but Madalore the Ultimate himself! As expected, things went very much awry…

However, as badly as the situation there had turned out, what Malak was dreading, even more, was his return. He’d not spoken to Halin since leaving on the mission, and given the circumstances of his departure, he couldn’t imagine that she would be very happy to see him again. Whatever he had imagined couldn’t have possibly prepared him for the sort of welcome which he received.

The fire in her eyes when he saw her was unlike any which he had seen in her before. And despite their obvious difference in size, he could not help but to feel intimidated. She marched straight up to him and slapped him across the face.

“Ack!” Malak exclaimed, rubbing his cheek. It would seem as though she had finally recovered from the Serrocco vision. “What was that for!?”

“For being a disrespectful nerf-herder!”

“I missed you too,” he muttered.

“You know, in a real military setting, a stunt like that would have you spaced!”

Malak rolled his eyes. “Guess I should feel lucky I have such a benevolent Master then… Are you feeling better now?”

She turned away. “You know, I would have been fine, going on my own…”

Malak sighed, “Somehow I doubt that, Halin… I’m almost surprised I’m even back myself after how things went there. Mandalore himself was there.”

With this, Halin’s eyes widened and she swiftly turned back to him, practically lunging at him as she grabbed the utility belt suspenders of his bodysuit and pulled his face closer to hers so as she could look him in the eye.

“Mandalore the Ultimate!?”

“Yes,” he said, slightly dazed by the ferocity of her reaction. “Lord Adasca called him there under a flag of truce. Apparently, he wanted to see who would offer him the best price for the weapon that he’d been able to develop.”

Halin paled and let go of him. If Mandalore were to get hold of such a thing…

“Please tell me….” She stopped, afraid to finish her thought.

“No… No, Mandalore doesn’t have it. No one does. One of the scientists responsible for its development seemed to have a higher moral ground than the rest of the bastards involved… Sacrificed himself playing hero by baiting the creatures away to some part of the unknown regions,”

Halin breathed a sigh of relief. “I suppose things turned out for the better then… Whoever the scientist was, he’s saved more lives than he probably could have imagined… It’s a shame we never got to meet him… He will be remembered though as a hero of the Republic…”

Malak nodded. “I didn’t come back empty-handed though.”

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Malak pulled something out of a bag that he had been carrying with him and tossed it to Halin. “Catch,” he said.

She caught the thing, which was a rust-red colored droid head of some sort.

“Lord Adasca had several of the things aboard the Arkanian Legacy and they attacked us at some point. They resembled the model I found you schematics for a couple years back, and so I thought you might be interested. Consider it an apology present.”

Halin examined the droid head. The memory core still seemed to be intact. With such a thing, she could probably study the droid enough to replicate one should she choose. The war was growing more and more complex with every passing day. Any advantage that they could gain would be for the better…

“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily,” she said to him, looking up from the droid head.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Master,” he said, bowing to her in a mocking fashion.

Halin rolled her eyes. “All right, nerf-herder, you’re on probation. Any more stunts like that and I’ll have you spaced for real.”

Malak grinned. He liked it when she was spirited like this. It reminded him of how she had been before they had left to form the Revanchists. And even though she had claimed that Halin Chan was dead, for a while, it felt as though he had Halin back there beside him.

><><><><><

“Let me through!” the Revanchist demanded, pushing her way past her apprentice in an attempt to get to the Communications Consul. “I want to speak to them myself!”

Malak grabbed her arms, dragging her backward. “Halin, don’t you think it would be best if Opela handled the situation…”

“I don’t care if it’s what’s best! Those fools have no right to make demands like this!”

“Whether you agree with them or not, they’re still the High Council.”

“Whether they’re the High Council or not they’re still a bunch of Gammorian-faced hypocrites!”

A call had come recently from Coruscant. It was the Jedi High Council contacting the Revanchists with a formal cease-and-desist order. After hearing about the Adasca Affair, they had decided that there was no place in Jedi dealing in arms deals for weapons of mass destruction. While they had turned the other cheek until this point, this was a situation which they felt that they could not ignore.

“Hundreds of Systems would have suffered the consequences had that situation gone any differently!” the woman continued in protest.

“I know that better than anyone!” the man replied. “I was there, after all!”

“What we are doing is right, and the Republic will fall without us!”

“Halin, please…”

“Don’t call me Halin! They’re the ones who killed Halin!” And with this, she let out a sob.

It was at this point that Opela approached them. She had finished the call with the Jedi Council and wore a somber expression on her face. It couldn’t have gone well…

“They won’t be swayed,” she said simply. “If we don’t go back, they’re going to have an arrest warrant issued for all of us… Honestly, I don’t see any way out of this…”

“No,” Halin said tearfully. “No, we can’t… Not now…. Not yet….”

“I’m sorry,” the other woman continued. “I did what I could… They say that, if we come willingly, there will be only minor suspensions for all of us…”

“No,” the Revanchist repeated, swallowing hard and managing to contain the rest of her tears. “No, we continue our course back to Cathar.”

“With all due respect, I don’t think that’s the wisest decision at this point…”

“There is something there that we missed, I can feel it! All we need is something! Some shred of a thing that will show to them the importance of the Jedi in the outcome of this war… If Cathar is where it all started, then Cathar will be our best option…”

“But with the communication having been open, it’s possible that they were able to track our signal and already know where we are headed. They could come after us themselves if they choose…”

“Then let them come! Let them come and let them see for themselves, but I will not be taken back and branded as a traitor for doing the right thing. Others have already given their lives for our cause. We cannot stop now…”

There was a moment of silence between all three. Either decision they made, there was much at stake. So much to be lost…

><><><><><

The Revanchists made their way through the grassy planes and marshlands of the planet Cathar. After a vote among the crew, they had decided to press onward. While there was much for them to lost in continuing, there was also much to be gained. If, as the Revanchist had said, they were able to find something to justify their actions to the Council, then they would be forced to hide no longer! And if the Council approved, then others would help them! They would no longer have to hide from both sides. They would openly be able to help and fight alongside the Republic’s military forces. They had to at least try.

The cities of Cathar were just as they had left them before—eerily empty with no trace of life or death to be found. There were no battered or battle-scarred buildings or piles of rubble anywhere. It was all so very strange…

“Ferroh,” the Revanchist said, addressing the native Cathar within their company, “is there any place where your people might have fled to in the event of an emergency situation?”

“Maybe the beaches,” he replied, “but they wouldn’t have been able to stay for long if they did. Cathar people aren’t suited well for wet climates….”

“It’s worth at least checking out… Company, move out! We head for the shoreline. This could be our last chance to be able to find something to convince the Jedi Order to support our cause. We cannot fail!”

><><><><><

The sounds of waves could be heard in the near distance. It had been a two-day hike from where they landed to the nearest waterfront. They were weary, but hopeful. The Force resonated differently here than it had in the settlements. There was still some sort of residual energy from whatever had taken place years before. They could feel the moisture of sea spray in the air and quickened their pace. They were so close now—so close to discovering the truth about what had happened to the Cathar.

They could see the beach now. There were faint traces of an attack here, but not much else as far as they were able to tell at this point. There were some small scattered debris, a few scraps of clothing and trinkets…

“Halt right now, Revanchists! This crusade of yours has gone on long enough.”

The company spun around and saw several Jedi Masters approaching them, many of whom here on the Jedi Council. It seemed as though Opela’s concern that they might have been tracking the communication was well-founded, for there they stood now, closing around the Revanchists.

Halin began to tremble. No… No, not yet… We’re so close… We just need a little more time…

“You don’t understand,” the Revanchist said to them. “It’s more clear now than ever that the Republic needs us…”

“There is nothing warranting Jedi aid in another war!” said one of the Masters.

“You are to abandon this childish cause of yours and disperse—forever!” stated another.

“No!” the Revanchist protested. “No, I refuse!”

It was Malak who stopped her before she could do something she would regret. He took hold of her wrist, preventing her from rushing toward the Masters. “Halin, don’t… We’ve done what we could. It’s time to go home now…”

The Revanchist swallowed hard, collapsing to her knees defeatedly, her back hunched over. Her apprentice finally let go of her wrist. In her entire life, she had never felt so very empty… So defeated… She closed her eyes, letting her senses take in the flurry of stimuli around her—the presence of the Masters, the broken spirits of her comrades, the roar of the sea, the taste and smell of the salt…. These were the last moments that she would ever feel as the Revanchist…

But when she opened her eyes, she saw something there before her, half-buried in the sand. She wasn’t sure what it was that compelled her to pick the thing up, but the moment she did… the moment it hit the light… all began to change.

From further up the hill, a stampede of Cathar began to run in their direction, seemingly running for their lives. Halin Chan quickly got to her feet and all of the Jedi there, both Master and Revanchist alike, quickly made way for the terrified crowd to pass through.

It was then that they noticed what followed behind. A group of Mandalorians led by Mandalore the Ultimate’s right-hand man, Cassus Fett, was shooting at the Cathar people, chasing them and driving them toward the sea. Swiftly, the Revanchists sprung to action, each drawing their blade and attempting to defend the poor Cathar from the Mandalorian onslaught.

What was strange, however, was that none of their blows seemed to hit. It was as if none of the Cathar, nor any of the Mandalorians, seemed to notice the Jedi at all! However, it was very evident that every one of the Jedi there could see what was happening. Halin spun around observing their surroundings. This feeling… It was the same way she felt during the start of one of her visions…. But this time… This time everyone could see. It was a vision that all of them were sharing! But rather than a vision of the future, this was a vision of the past.

Many of the Masters shouted out in protest, insisting that the attack on the Cathar people halt, but it was of no use. These were two separate times, and while the past could communicate with the present, there was no way for the present to communicate with the past. But while the present could not communicate with those in the past, perhaps one other from the past could.

As the Mandalorian attackers began driving the Cathar deeper into the sea waters, one Mandalorian woman moved in front of Cassus Fett, blocking the path between the Mandalorians and the Cathar.

“Cassus, wait,” the Mandalorian woman said. “They’re already defeated. There’s no need for us to do this…”

But Cassus Fett would not be swayed. “The Cathar left a stain of dishonor on the Mando’ade,” he stated. “Today, I wash it clean in the waters of their own presumption. But, if you truly believe that they need a defender to stand with them, then do so!”

And with this, he gave the signal. The Mandalorians, with their jetpacks, flew above the Cathar people and their lone defender and, in a swift and merciless act, opened fire, raining down an assault of terror and destruction from above.

When the dust of the battle finally settled, the Mandalorians and the Cathar alike had all vanished. The Jedi stood stunned at what they had all just witnessed. It was at this point that Halin finally looked down at what was in her hand—what she had picked up just before the vision had begun. It was the mask of the unknown Mandalorian woman. The woman who alone stood up to Cassus Fett and swore to protect the Cathar people from needless slaughter.

“They were beaten,” Halin murmured. “You didn’t have to do it… One of you knew, but the rest… the rest didn’t listen…”

And with this, Halin brought the mask of the Mandalorian woman to her face. “I don’t know your name, but I will take up your cause… I will wear your mask until there is justice—until the Mandalorians have been defeated once and for all. So swears… Revan!”

#kotor #kotoredit #female revan #revan #revan malak #revalek #jedi exile #star wars #mandalorian wars #fanfic

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