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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 18 Drugging Alt Prompt

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth Era

Warnings: Nonconsensual drugging, withdrawal symptoms

You slid to your knees beside his slumped figure in the back corner of the cell. Jerry and Aaron guarded the door, still wary of how many people had actually been inside the building. It remained unclear what they wanted with Daryl but given his current state, you could be almost certain he didn’t offer it to them. Bruises in various stages of healing covered the right side of his face and neck, disappearing below the collar of his ripped shirt and tattered vest. Dried blood covered him in patches, some from the busted lip and the cut on his cheekbone— another scar — but the rest was either not his or from wounds you could not yet see.

“Daryl. Hey, Daryl.” You tapped his less injured cheek solidly. “Open your eyes.” And he did— dull, hazy, unfocused blue pools. “Hi. Just had to go and get yourself kidnapped, didn’t you?” You smiled at him, hoping to see recognition flow into his gaze. The archer squinted at you and arched a lazy brow.

“Yer pretty. Whatcha doin’ in a place like this?” He threw up an arm in a languid gesture toward the grimy cell.

“It’s me, Daryl. It’s Y/N.”

“Pretty name fer a pretty girl.” He slurred, walking his fingers up the side of your neck and to your jaw before you took hold of his hand. You turned to the two men behind you, seeking any input.

“Seems like they used something on him. Drugged him.” Aaron offered, giving you his full attention while he answered but then he turned back to the door. It was still quiet out there but sometimes, those moments were the most dangerous.

“What do we do if we don’t know what they gave him?” You reached to pull the archer’s hand away from where his fingers were twirling your hair.

“Wait it out, I guess. Get him checked out as soon as we get back to the Commonwealth.”

“Fuck.” You murmured, startled by Daryl’s lips against your neck.

“Tha’s not a bad idea.”

You pulled his hand off your breast, face burning furiously when you caught Jerry grinning. “Not a word.” You warned him.

“Not a word.” Jerry agreed with a chuckle. “Think he can walk?”

“I don’t know. Let me—” This time, you laughed when Daryl shook his hands free of your own and gathered you up against him in the most awkwardly positioned embrace. “Daryl, can you walk?”

“Since ‘fore I’s a year old. Wha’ a silly question.”

You snorted, continuing to try to work yourself free. “I mean right now. This very minute. Can you stand up and walk out of here?”

The archer scoffed and even that sounded drugged. “No ‘cause yer sittin’ on muh legs.”

You heard Jerry almost lose it behind you and rolled your eyes with a smile. It didn’t appear that Daryl was in any immediate danger from whatever they had used on him to keep him calm and pliable, but you would still feel better with him away from this horrible place.

“If I move, would you stand up and follow me?”

“I’d follow ya anywhere.”

That sounded so sincere that you felt a sting in the back of your eyes. You two had been together for years and the man still managed to give you butterflies. He just never tended to do so in front of two of your friends. He was going to be mortified when they teased him later.

“Okay, let me go and then you can hold my hand while we get out of here, okay?” He released you almost instantly, blue eyes flickering down to your hands and back to your face. “Okay, let’s go.” You offered a hand and he took it, but when he tried to stand, his knees buckled and he sank back to the floor with a pout.

“Legs ain’t workin’.” He noted needlessly, staring at the offending limbs with a curious tilt of his head.

With a sigh, you turned to Jerry. “Will you?” The man offered you the sweetest smile.

“You don’t even have to ask, Y/N.” He lowered his gun and positioned it over his shoulder, bending to help haul Daryl to his feet. The archer swayed and almost went down twice, wide eyes studying the figure beside him. “I gotcha, man. It’s all good.” He tried to move forward, but Daryl remained stock still.

“Yer a big sumbitch, ain’tcha?”

It was Jerry’s turn to helplessly look at you while you smothered a chuckle. “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

“Right behind you.” Jerry swept his arm beneath Daryl’s knees and lifted him. Your partner was going to be beyond embarrassed when he came back to his senses.

Daryl was actually quiet throughout the journey toward the Commonwealth. You checked on him frequently, ensuring the four of you stopped so you could give him water and hold his hand as promised.

You knew the drugs were starting to wear off when he stopped reaching for you and started trying to walk on his own. Jerry placed him on his feet but kept a hand close, grabbing his upper arm when his legs gave way. He refused to be carried any longer though. He stumbled on unsure limbs with Jerry practically holding him up.

You encountered a few groups of walkers, forcing the archer to stand against a tree and let you and the others handle them. When one got too close to your back, you heard the whoosh before the corpse hit the ground with Daryl’s knife in its skull.

“Hey! You can see straight again!” You teased, handing the blade back to him. He mocked a laugh and then pulled you to his side with his arm over your shoulders, only slightly leaning on you as you walked. He must’ve been tired of Jerry.

It was after you had made camp for the night that things got bad.

It started as a headache.

You awoke alone, which had you nearly hyperventilating and calling out his name frantically while you grabbed your weapons and crawled from the tent.

“Quiet, woman. Ev’ry walker fer ten miles gonna hear ya.” Daryl hissed from beside the fire. You didn’t explain your reaction. You didn’t have to. Once you settled, he reached out for you with a quiet “c’mere” and pulled you against his side, his lips pressing against your temple. You had been without him for nearly two months. Others had given up hope but not you. You could feel he was out there. So could Carol. She had wanted to come with you but the kids needed someone there. You promised to bring him home and she believed you.

“Can’t sleep?” It was a silly thing to ask. But you avoided asking what they had done to him. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Head’s hurtin’.” He sniffed and threw a couple of sticks into the fire. You hadn’t even noticed he was sweating. His shirt was damp and he had unbuttoned it halfway. You placed a gentle handle against his forehead.

“Don’t seem to have a fever. You feel okay besides the headache?”

“Mostly.”

You accepted that with a nod, pulling away from him to get off the ground and onto the fallen log a little further back from the fire. “Come over here, handsome.” When he was close enough, you guided him to sit on the ground between your knees and lean back against your stomach. Petite fingers rubbed gentle circles on his temples, earning a quiet sigh as he began to relax into you.

“S’gonna get bad.”

“What is?”

You were glad you asked. Daryl had a lot of experience in withdrawal thanks to Merle. He knew what was happening and prepared you as best he could. But sitting at the mouth of the tent the next night while he writhed and moaned, hands clutching his stomach as if he could claw out the ache. Nothing could prepare you for this.

“Nothin’ ya can do fer me ‘cept try ta keep water in me, maybe somethin’ mild fer the hurtin’.”

He was stripped down to his boxer briefs, unable to stand the clothes touching his skin. You had tried to give him Tylenol but he had screamed— literally screamed —and swatted the pills from your hand. He did drink some water before the next round of stomach cramps started, then he had vomited it all up.

You sat with one hand on your face and the other lightly on his ankle. He had warned you to stay back as often as you could. That he would lash out. He wouldn’t mean to hurt you but he might. So you stayed close but not as close as you wanted. Your heart yearned to soothe him, to find the bastards that did this to him and kill them all over again. They got a quick death and left your partner here to scream in agony for something he didn’t want.

“Y/N…” he panted, sitting up only to wrap both arms around his middle.

Fuck. You moved quickly, grabbed the coffee can you had found on the way. Daryl had told you to grab it and hang onto it when he saw you kick it. He said it’d have some use.

And while you held the small can in one hand and Daryl’s sweat-slick hair in the other, you knew he was right. The dry heaving was worse than when he was actively emptying his stomach. Watching the already cramping muscles tense and twitch with every failing purge.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” When the retching dissipated, he was left on the bedroll, exhausted and panting but looking at you with clear eyes for the first time in hours.

“Y/N.” It was a quiet moment, a gentle reprieve. Within heartbeats, he arched with a sharp breath through clenched teeth and curled in on himself once again. You reached to wipe his hair away from his face but he snatched your wrist and shoved you back hard. “Don’ touch me!”

Your exit from the tent was quick and uncoordinated, tears you had been trying so hard to hold back were cascading down your cheeks. You stumbled to your feet and right into Jerry’s arms.

“How’s he doing?” The weight of the situation was showing on all of you, even the always optimistic former King’s guard. Right on cue, Daryl let out a guttural scream and something crashed inside the tent. You flinched, closing your eyes. After a moment, you felt large hands take hold of your shoulders, firm but gentle. “It’s not him, Y/N. This isn’t his fault. Or yours.”

“I know.” You whispered as Jerry bent to place a kiss against the crown of your head.

“Only a few walkers coming around from the noise. Aaron and I got the perimeter, okay? You just focus on taking care of him.” You nodded and started to turn away when he caught your hand. You looked back at him, zeroing in on that gentle smile. “And you. Make sure to take care of you too.”

“I will.” You patted his hand and watched him disappear back into the darkness. You gave yourself a few more minutes before you ducked back into the tent.

On the fourth day after rescuing Daryl, you awoke at the mouth of the tent. Your hand was still wrapped around his ankle but he wasn’t moving, wasn’t making a sound. You felt fear grip and twist your heart as you crawled into the tent, brushing his hair from his face. He was…sleeping.

He was still sweating, still curled in on himself, but he was actually sleeping. His face twitched every few seconds and his fingers would flex over his abdomen but he was actually fucking sleeping. You covered your mouth to subdue the sobs, careful to keep as quiet as possible. Leaning forward, you remained silent and simply watched him sleep. After days of screaming, actually begging you to kill him, he was resting.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there when you heard the crunching twigs and leaves of footsteps approaching at a fast pace. In two seconds, you had your knife and you were crouched at the mouth of the tent, ready to keep anyone or anything from disturbing the archer. Luckily, you were met with the concerned faces of Aaron and Jerry.

“We didn’t hear him anymore. Is he—” Aaron’s expression of naked fear and barely contained grief nearly brought tears to your eyes. But it fell away the moment you smiled.

“He’s okay. He made it.”

Jerry had carried Daryl again but he was too out of it to care or even notice. Once back inside the walls of the Commonwealth, you opted for the hospital. You hadn’t been able to keep him properly hydrated during withdrawal and he hadn’t eaten in god knows when. You couldn’t picture taking him home this way.

He slept through arriving, triage, IV placement, and well into the night. Carol was with you now, holding you tightly while you took a moment to let out all you had been holding in for his sake.

“It was awful. I couldn’t help him. I just had to sit and…and…and watch. What if he’d died like that?”

The silver-haired woman held you tighter, rocking gently. “He didn’t. He’s right here and he’ll make a full recovery. Tomi said so. You did that. When everyone else quit on him, you went and got him. Stayed with him. And now he’s here because of you.” When she pulled away, she hooked a finger under your chin and gently guided you to look at her, smiling one of those gentle smiles of hers that seemed to make almost anything better. “Thank you. I knew you’d keep your promise.”

You nodded and she let you lay against her and rest, slipping out at some point during the night when you were sound asleep, too exhausted to feel her move away or hear her leave.

When you opened your eyes again, the sun was up. You felt more rested but still run down. You truly couldn’t wait to be home, in your warm bed, and wrapped around Daryl while he recovered. You wiped at your sleep filled eyes while you stood. There were two trays on the bedside table. When had they brought them in?

You grabbed one and sat down on the chair next to Daryl’s bed, slowly eating the scrambled eggs and sipping the coffee. You had already finished both when he began to stir. You were up in a flash, leaning over him and willing his eyes to open. You needed to see those pretty blue eyes, clear and pain-free. Then, just maybe, you could breathe again.

It took him a few minutes to actually awaken but his breathing changed, picking up a little before his eyes finally peeled open. They were bloodshot but focused, darting around the room until they settled on you.

“Y/N.” He breathed. You watched the tension melt out of him. Your heart fluttered and you smiled, tracing his jaw with your fingertips. He knew he was safe just by seeing you.

“Hey, you. How’re you feeling?” Your hand moved to his hair, smoothing it back away from his face. He hummed in thought, letting his eyes close but only for a brief moment.

“Like shit.”

“I’m not surprised after what you went through.” You had to stand on your tip-toes to reach but you pressed a kiss to his forehead. Hearing the soft sigh he released warmed you from the inside out. “Tomi says if you eat and keep it down, you can go home.”

He hummed. “Home sounds good. Real good.”

You grabbed the eggs from the tray and sat on the edge of the bed. “What’re we waiting for then?”

“Can feed myself, y’know.” He winced as he adjusted himself to sit up, pulling off the nasal cannula to toss it aside with a huff.

“Dixon, I will make airplane noises if that's what it takes to get you to eat these eggs.”

“Ain’t gon’ need all tha’.”

He let you feed him without much of a fight.

That night, in your little house, you were lying on your back with Daryl’s head on your chest. After helping him with a shower— he swore he could do it himself but was suddenly tired and frail once your t-shirt was tossed into the laundry basket— and a small dinner, he had all but collapsed, exhausted from the ordeal and more than ready to be in his own bed. Dog was curled up at your feet. Daryl didn’t have the heart to kick him off once he saw how much the animal had missed him.

Everything was right again.

“I missed you so much.” You ran your fingers through his still damp mane, and he pushed his head into your hand when you began to lightly scratch his scalp. Your partner was truly a cat in human form. “I was terrified when we couldn’t find a trail.”

“Butcha did. Wonder who taught ya that?”

You tugged lightly at his hair with a snort. You let yourself smile for a moment, sighing when he nuzzled against your chest. “I thought I was gonna lose you out there.”

“Y’ain’t gonna lose me.” He said with a yawn.

“Better not. I can track now. I’ll find you.”

Now he snorted. “Yer something else, woman.”

“Damn skippy. Better hold onto me, Dixon.”

“Bet yer ass I will.”

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greenhybrid · 1 month

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YALL IS AO3 DOWN??? WHY IS IT NOT LOADING?!? I NEED MY MORNING SMUT?!!

#ao3 #ao3feed #ao3 fanfic #ao3 tags #ao3 stats #ao3 status #ao3 down #pls any god(s) that exist #i cant handle another cyber attack #nearly didnt survive the last one #ao3 withdrawal

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demigod-of-the-agni · 5 months

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"You're here eating SOUP?! I just fought my way through the stinkiest, dirtiest, coldest giants to find you, and you are here eating soup. Behen, I am going to scream."

Marvel Voices Infinity Comic #77

#he's so pathetic and sad looking #love that for him. he is official a wet beast #he can even be held in one hand!!! very tiny man material #his little squinty tired eyes..... they are everything to me........#(the diamond-shaped lenses tho..... you can't fool me)#sorry i am suffering from comic pavitr withdrawal for like the thirtieth time this week #you will see this loser. you must.#pavitr prabhakar #spider man india #marvel comics #spider man #“behen” translates to sister/sister in law ig but i don't speak hindi so i wouldn't know #i miss him already marvel give him another book or i will break in myself please. please i beg of you. give him More. eye need more #please why wont marvel hire the pavitr fanfic writers!!!!!!!!!!! we can do so so soooo much good for the world....... please...............#screaming forever. it's over. he won't come back i just know it #agnirambles

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annimator · 12 days

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Can’t believe Cellbit and Roier have been gay e feliz for 10 months (I am losing my faith in humanity/j)

#I’m going through withdrawal #the fanfics and copium aren’t enough #I want my dads back ;-;#qsmp #qsmp.txt #spiderbit #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier

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fanfics-and-bullshit · 10 months

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I was going to finish up a chapter and post it today but with ao3 down I have lost all motivation

#IM HAVING WITHDRAWALS #YOU EXPECT ME TO JUST LIVE WHEN THIS IS HAPPENING??#THERE’S A RUMOR THAT IT WAS HACKED; IS THAT TRUE????#bowser #bowser x luigi #luigi x bowser #bowugi #fanfic author #bowuigi #luigi #mario #super mario bros #ao3 author #ao3 #ao3 curse #ao3fic #ao3 works

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thewhumpcaretaker · 6 days

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒱: 𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓇𝓈 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: negative self-talk, panic attack, wound care, alcohol, extreme sexual tension, arguing

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

John’s entire body was pounding with adrenaline.

The little sedan’s engine protested against the 90mph he was breaking on the back roads. He couldn’t stop picturing Vincent on the floor where he’d left him. He had been…well, not too harsh. In reality, he should have left Vincent behind for good, if not shot him. But that ship had sailed the moment he had his epiphany about this man. He wasn’t a monster, just a dangerous animal, and that was something John could manage. But striking a balance between managing the Marquis and making him feel unsafe or undermined…that was already proving to be a challenge.

It seemed he had struck the balance correctly this time, at least. Vincent was in good spirits when he walked through the door, and possibly happy to see him for the first time ever. He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling mischievously up at John. Dog ran to greet him – it seemed the two had become friends already. “What did it look like, when you ran them off the road?”

“…Fiery.”

“This is what happens when I am challenged. Those who recognize my eminence will come to my defense.”

“Right.” John sighed. Vincent’s highs were as bloodthirsty as his lows. But he couldn’t help a half smile back at him. “I will come to your defense. Are we good now?”

“We are, as you say, ‘good.’ What did you bring?” He gestured to the bags John had just piled around the armchair.

“Food. Should last a few days so we don’t have to go back out.” He started unloading it into the mini fridge. “Toiletries, bandages, and a change of clothes. Also, painkillers.”

The little exhale of relief that that last item elicited was enough to break John’s heart. Vincent must really be suffering. “Tu n'imagines pas à quel point tu m'as rendu heureux. Donnez-les-moi immédiatement. [You have no idea how happy you’ve made me. Give them to me, immediately.]”

Despite the twinge of guilt that he had inflicted some of that pain himself, John had to refuse him. “Not on an empty stomach. Let’s eat first.”

It was an awkward time for a meal, too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but time had no meaning in this liminal room anyway – except the inexorable progress towards the moment when someone would find them. There was no schedule, no to-do list, only survival. “It’s odd to be on the run again,” he commented as he pushed start on the microwave.

“Not on the run,” the Marquis corrected. “Sending those bastards running from us.”

John didn’t have the heart to answer. Vincent wasn’t quite facing the gravity of his own situation, much less what it meant to John. It felt just like his own days of being hunted. The paranoia. The sleeplessness, too. After watching over the Marquis all night, his hands tingled with low blood pressure and his vision tracked along with an odd lag. It meant little to him – he could go days longer before passing out. The physical effects of exhaustion were merely something to factor in when judging how fast his reflexes could respond in a fight. But his own discomfort didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

Don’t think that. Helen wouldn’t want – He cut off his own thought with a deep breath. God, what would she think of the Marquis? Of John allowing someone to treat him this way?

But at the same time, wouldn’t she be proud to see him saving someone, caring for someone, offering forgiveness to a real scoundrel as she had once done for him? The fact that he couldn’t ask her twisted him, almost physically, somewhere in the belly.

It occurred to him that he would probably enjoy painkillers for his own headache, with dinner. By that, he meant whiskey. He’d bought that too, and poured it into one of the paper cups supplied by the motel. Upon seeing it, Vincent exclaimed, “C'est encore mieux! [This is even better!] A cup, please.” He hadn’t moved from the bed at all and seemed to thoroughly enjoy being served. Quite the change of tone from last night, when he’d threatened to stab John for getting him a glass of water.

“Choose one: meds or alcohol. You can’t mix them.” He handed Vincent the microwaved meal instead and took a seat at the nightstand, using it for a table.

“Tu ne m'as jamais laissé m'amuser. [You never let me have any fun.]” They were halfway through their meal before the dreaded question came up. “So what did Winston say?”

“What?”

“When you asked how I can survive. What did he say?”

John hesitated, but he wasn’t interested in testing the Marquis’ trust any more today. He had pushed him far enough already. He pulled up the message on his phone and showed Vincent the screen.

Winston: “No, it’s not possible. The entire Table wants him gone. He has made enemies at every turn. If this excuse hadn’t worked, they would have found another.”

John hadn’t replied.

“Bah. He has no idea what he’s talking about.” Vincent’s smile was suddenly made of teeth and extremely fake. He gave an unconvincing laugh. “Quelle absurdité. [What nonsense.]”

Cautiously, “…Did you have enemies? That you knew of?”

“Everyone is an enemy,” Vincent said impatiently. “That’s the nature of every court since the days of the Romans. One builds alliances, not friendships. Of course they want me gone, they want anyone gone who has enough ambition to rival their own. But I have leverage somewhere, I know it, I just have to play them against each other, I have to…” He cut off, shaking his head, once again caught up in wracking his brain to find a solution.

Even more cautiously, “…Are you thinking in terms of regaining your seat, or escaping the Table?”

“‘Escape’ from my life’s work, yes, very appealing. Why didn’t I think of that? I told you, Mr. Wick: your task is to restore my title. Not to shunt me off into mediocrity. I will not hear of this again.” He threw away what little remained on his plate and stormed away to the bathroom. John heard something thrown against the wall, then a long silence.

It seemed unwise to leave him alone in that state. Downing the last of the whiskey, he went to the door and knocked. “Marquis.”

No answer. He took a risk. “Vincent.”

“Laisse-moi. [Leave me alone.]” Even through the door, his voice sounded shaky and clouded over. By the angle it came from, John could tell he was sitting on the floor.

He sighed. There had to be an excuse for every act of kindness. Well, then, he would make one. He went to the shopping bags and fished out a bottle of pills. Returning to the door, he tried, “Tu ne veux pas les analgésiques maintenant? [Don’t you want painkillers now?]”

“Tu es vraiment un – [You’re such a – ]” There was a hint of desperation in Vincent’s voice. John realized that he must be unable to compose himself enough to be seen. All the progress of the morning had been undone in a few minutes. Vincent had been undone in a few minutes.

“Je ne te regarderai même pas. [I won’t even look at you.]”

Another moment of silence, and then the door opened enough for Vincent to put out a hand, expecting a pill bottle. Instead, John gave him individual pills, not trusting him with the whole thing. “Putain, c'est ça ? Donne-moi la bouteille. [The fuck is this? Give me the bottle],” he said. John kept his eyes averted as promised, but Vincent’s tone was hollow and resentful enough to convey the glare that was no doubt directed at his head just then.

“Deux pour l'instant. Ils ne disparaîtront pas si vous en avez besoin plus tard. [Two for now. They’re not going to disappear if you need more later.]”

The door slammed again. Running water, and then a small thump against the ground as Vincent sank back to the floor.

John sunk down on the other side, coming to his level.

Through the wood paneling, he could hear ragged breaths that each died out in an almost inaudible, high-pitched whine of terror. Another panic attack. Vincent was completely raw, agonizingly so. Even for a man with a temper and a bounty on his head, it struck John as odd. You didn’t get to the top if you had meltdowns like this in every stressful situation, and no way to manage them. There had to be something weighing on the Marquis that he wasn’t talking about…either that or he was far more unstable and vulnerable than John had even realized.

He seemed really desperate for the pain to stop. Had the stitches torn out earlier, when he pushed him to the ground? “Je vais attendre en silence, mais quand vous serez prêt, laissez-moi entrer. Je dois refaire vos bandages. [I'm going to wait silently, but when you're ready, please let me in. I need to redo your bandages.]” What a cold thing to say, given the circumstances…John’s protectiveness overcame him again, and he added, “Respirez lentement. Ça va aller bien. [Breathe slowly. It’s going to be okay.]”

Vincent was not in a position to respond, it seemed, so John fell silent as promised. With time, the sounds on the other side of the door slowed somewhat.

But no good deed could go unpunished with Vincent. After a long moment, “Vous aimez ça, n'est-ce pas. Penses-tu que tu es si important que je vais m'effondrer si tu me laisses tranquille pendant cinq minutes ? Tu es l'enfoiré le plus arrogant que j'ai jamais rencontré. [You love this, don't you. Do you think you're so important that I'll fall apart if you leave me be for five minutes? You are the most arrogant motherfucker I've ever met.]”

“Pensez de moi ce que vous voulez. Je suis là pour toi. [Think what you will of me. I am here for you.]”

The door opened, and Vincent leaned back against the wall, giving him room to step inside. “I don’t understand you, Wick. Why are you doing this?”

“You can call me John, you know. And your guess is as good as mine.” He closed the toilet lid. “Sit down.”

Now that he could look at Vincent, the sight made him reel with something devastatingly protective, on the borderline between vengefulness and cuteness aggression. Puffy, damp eyes, reddened around those icy irises, stared numbly up at him from a hunched frame, only inches from his waist in the confined space of the bathroom. Cold sweat plastered Vincent’s hair against his forehead and he still shook ever so slightly. John suppressed the urge to pull him into the tightest possible hug and instead went down on his knees to inspect the bandage, moving slowly to avoid giving pain.

Vincent didn’t fight him for once. His skin was cool to the touch but sweat drenched. Given his condition, John was expecting to see that the wound had become infected, but it was as clean as yesterday. He covered it with waterproof bandages. “You should take a shower. Something warm. I don’t know why you’re so cold…tell me next time, okay? I’ll get you a blanket or something. Don’t want you going into shock again.”

“D'accord. [Okay.]” Vincent swayed weakly for a moment. “I’m not in shock. I’m just…it’s been a hell of a day. I can handle myself.”

“…There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Too far. A glare. “You’re offensively bad at reading people, Wick.” Not John. “I am fine. Or is being shot in the chest not reason enough to have a bad day? I suppose you hardly notice it anymore – a properly conditioned punching bag, aren’t you? Get out before you embarrass yourself any further.”

John sighed. “I’ll leave your new clothes on the sink. Call me when you’re done and we’ll switch waterproof bandages for gauze.”

He sat down in the armchair, facing the door again while Vincent showered. The exhaustion was more bearable when he was up and doing things. Now, he was in danger of nodding off. He was in a sleepy haze when he came back to the bathroom to remove the waterproof bandage and apply gauze and medical tape while Vincent leaned back against the sink, hands braced against the countertop. The room was in a haze too, filled with clinging, misty warmth and the smell of Vincent. Free of the sweat and perfume, his scent was…surprisingly, even sweeter somehow, but in the manner of wild things. A baby animal, a rivulet of tree sap turning slowly to amber… John’s breath caught in his throat and stayed there until his hands were no longer making contact with Vincent’s now glowingly warm, kitten-soft skin. He turned away while Vincent pulled on the shirt.

“Clothes fit okay?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Obviously not, but one must make do. It doesn’t matter to me.” He cast a genuinely miserable glance at the mirror, giving himself away. John had tried to select something that at least wouldn’t disgust him – a grey turtleneck and dress pants, some fresh underwear and socks both in grey as well. But they were Walmart clothes, and that was comically far from being Vincent’s cup of tea.

John wondered if the blood would come out of that button down, and the vest…probably not.

They passed the next few hours slowly unwinding. Another drink, after that mess. John fought to pry Vincent’s freshly warmed chest out of his mind. Vincent, for his part, began to genuinely brood. He complained that the painkillers weren’t working, that he needed more. John gave him one more, and refused him alcohol a second time. But he remained restless, standing up occasionally to pace even though each step was clearly painful, and raiding the mini fridge for pudding.

Shortly after sunset, with a faint pink still penetrating the curtains at the edges, he looked over at John. “I’ve figured out why you’re doing this.”

“Why?”

“You’re attracted to me.”

John almost spit out his whiskey. “What?”

He was leaned back against the bed, grinning smugly, “I know when someone is flustered by my presence. That’s critical information in my line of work. I was just lashing out when I accused you last night, but I was right after all. You carried me out of the car just because you wanted to. You lingered every single time you touched me. You. Are. Attracted.” He pointed the spoon at John with each word. “And that’s why.”

John’s face was beet red. “I get a marker on you if you survive. It’s simple.”

“That’s not what you said in the bathroom.”

“Okay, it’s not about the marker. I don’t know why. But it’s not because I’m attracted to you.”

“Yet you are.”

“…Yeah. I – look, you know what you look like. You don’t need me to tell you you’re attractive. So what’s the point of this?”

He shrugged. “Maybe we could have a little fun. Stress relief.” He was licking the god damn spoon and John found it to be positively urgent that he look elsewhere.

“I don’t do ‘a little fun.’ Call me boring, it’s not for me. Where is this even coming from?”

Vincent’s smile was all teeth and concealment again, as if all his honesty went into his words and he had to compensate by at least hiding his emotions. “I just need something good to happen today. Your painkillers don’t do shit.”

John hesitated. The Marquis had no idea how he was tempting him right now. But he shouldn’t do this. He was buzzed. He was confused about his feelings. It was a bad idea. “I killed two people for you. You got away from the Tarasovs. That wasn’t good enough?”

“Good enough? You should know by now that I expect excellence.” He advanced towards John, managing to swagger even through the pain. John leaned away from him, completely tensed up.

“Back off.”

The Marquis stopped and his smiled faltered, replaced by a blush of his own at being so plainly rejected.

God it was painful to see him like that, knowing that he could just make that feeling go away by saying yes. But he’d regret it. He knew he’d regret it.

“I’m tired. I haven’t slept in a full day. Let’s just…let’s go to sleep.”

“Done watching over me then, as soon as I call you out?”

“It’s not a callout! I’m…not ashamed that I want to. Okay? It’s just not a good idea.” John stood up as if to walk somewhere, realized he had nowhere to walk to, and sat down again. “We have to take shifts. Hold onto a gun, and wake me up if anything happens, or if you get tired. I only need an hour or two.”

Vincent stared at him for a good ten seconds. Then he sunk back onto the bed. “You’re the most depressing person I’ve ever met, Wick. Can’t enjoy pleasure even when it falls in your lap. Would have felt like fucking a funeral urn anyway.”

“Mm-hmm.” John switched off the light.

But the silence was more tense than ever, and even though he’d felt ready to pass out a few minutes ago, it took John far too long to get to sleep.

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers #// withdrawals #// alcohol

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books-and-dragons · 1 month

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interesting to me that when ao3 goes down it's always 'number one trending topic', 'thousands of people talking about missing reading fics', and all sorts of other fanfic withdrawal symptoms, generally just feeling, and being impacted by, the Absence of Fanfic

but it's never 'leaves a comment on fanfic', 'gives kudos and recommends to friends', 'follows author/interacts with them in any way shape or form and otherwise lets them know how much you value their writing and fanfiction in general'

#books talks #okay to reblog #every time ao3 goes down it's this again #and look i too always have big fanfic withdrawal that isn't the issue!#over the years fanfic definitely gets less appreciation and thanks than it used to #which can in turn affect author productivity and want for engaging in fandom #fanfic and fanart are both ways for fans to reach out to other fans for connection #so connect!#i think this phenomenon of 'wanting fan content but not engaging with fic/art/etc' is part of a bigger issue of consumerism in fandoms #specifically this being on the rise #but those are bigger conversations #and as fascinating as this topic is i am rambling #ANYHOW #once ao3 is back online go leave a comment on the fic you were just reading! or the one you'd been about to read!#make a fic rec list for your followers to check out once the archive is back online #go check out and reblog some fanart in the meantime!#ao3

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

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Fever - Tech - Pt 6

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved!

Part 6 for Fever.

Febuwhump Day 11

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, reference to vomiting, delirium induced violence, guilt

WC: 4,723

Twenty-nine hours… for another twenty-nine hours, that fever ravaged him. Twenty-nine hours of strangled screams and desperate pleas. Twenty-nine hours of promising him the pain would end; of holding him as his stomach churned, and fighting against violent attempts to flee or fight or rip the IV from his vein. Twenty-nine hours of watching the doubt and sorrow steadily grow in his brothers’ eyes as first Echo and then Hunter took turns working alongside me to keep him safe even as they relentlessly encouraged me to choke down a few bites of rations and sips of water, tried to convince me to sleep but, even during those fleeting moments when I yielded, body settling restlessly atop Crosshair’s borrowed mattress, I found no reprieve as the worry coiled in my gut churned anew from his every cry of pain.

When the room finally fell into a strange quiet, I found myself hesitating; floundering in confusion from that foreign stillness. My eyes cautiously fell over the sleeping form atop my cot, blindly watching his torso swell with deep, unhurried breaths. I barely noticed my hand reach for the scanner, nor the way it shook in my unsteady grasp as I held it over him, vision faltering ceaselessly into unintelligent swirls of color as I struggled to make sense of the readings.

“Doc?” Blinking back some of that disorientation, I swallowed against the dryness cloying my throat, attention briefly flicking to Hunter before returning to the small screen.

“His… his fever broke.” The words sounded strange. Heavy yet somehow hardly there at all. “I need… I need to change the sheets… I don’t – I don’t want him to wake up in dirty sheets.” The scanner was no longer in my hand – I must have set it down as I began reaching for the dark grey fabric.

“Doc.”

“And-and clean blacks-he’ll want… he’ll want clean blacks…” Why was my voice cracking?

“Hey,” He called softly, but I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge him, focus locked on the task lest something break inside me. “Hey-hey; Doc, look at me.” My entire body bucked as his hand brushed over my shoulder, a tremble stealing over me with such a sudden violence, I couldn’t begin to form a response before he gently pulled me to face him, and the worry in those umber eyes only fueled my growing distress.

“Okay,” The word sighed from him with a deep understanding that left what façade of control I’d clung to crumbling as tears pooled atop my eyes. Body deflating in a slow breath, his arms slid around me, holding me just enough to ease me against him. I tried to force out some words of dismissal, tried to prove that I was fine even as my shoulders jerked with each shattered gasp, mouth twisting into a scowl beneath the effort to restrain them.

“You did good, Doc. He’s alright.” His voice swept through my hair in a quiet rush of heat, sending a shiver blooming down my spine, and instantly I found myself clinging to him, hands clawing into his back, his shoulders, sobs screaming from me with every ounce of fear and exhaustion and relief I’d had to fight back for far too long; the crushing strength of his embrace the only thing keeping me from falling apart entirely.

“Alright,” He murmured against me, “It’s alright, now – you got him through it.” My knees threatened to buckle, but he merely held me tighter. “Shh.” A wave of static sent gooseflesh down my neck, my arms; body curling desperately into him in a moment of pure need, face pressed to his chest as I hid in his embrace. “Shh, just breathe, cyar’ika.” That word… “I’ve got you.” I’d heard it before; I was certain I had, but hearing it in the deep timber of Hunter’s voice left a flush of warmth rippling in its wake.

“Good… just breathe.” The quiet praise fluttered from his lips in a slow sigh, one hand beginning to drag tender circles over my back until I found myself wilting against him, convulsing sobs fading to trembling exhales. Still, he held me, broad form sheltering me from the world beyond his touch.

“We’ll get him comfortable; okay?” He continued in a gentle promise, shifting just enough to let his lips whisper atop my brow as he spoke. “Get him in fresh blacks, clean him up a bit; change the sheets,” I could hear the small smile in his voice, “But I want you to get out of here for a couple minutes – hit the fresher and find something to eat; get some sleep if you can.” Before I’d managed more than the beginnings of an objection, he added in that same quiet, “We’ll stay with him – take my bunk.” His cheek slid against my brow, hand abandoning that soothing movement to settle warmly over my jaw as he tilted my head up to let him touch his forehead softly against mine.

“That’s an order. Alright?” The terrible gentleness of his words robbed them of even a whisper of command, rendering it into a quiet plea that I couldn’t bring myself to fight, and I felt his relief ease the tension from those broad shoulders as I gave a small nod. “Alright.” He held me a while longer, until tremors no longer seized through me with each unsteady breath and the tears had long since dried from my cheeks before finally guiding me across the room, arm wrapped firmly around my lower back to steady me.

Echo and Wrecker stood waiting just beyond the medbay door, and I vaguely noticed Crosshair perched around the corner to the bunk room. It felt strange to finally step out of that room, and I found myself floundering a moment, unsure how to exist in a reality free of the constant need to stand watch of the man now soundly sleeping behind me.

“He’s…” I started, but my voice faltered, jaw shifting uncertainly for several seconds before remembering what it was I was trying to say. “His-his fever broke, so…” My eyes slid shut, willing myself to truly understand the words coming out of my own mouth, “He… he should… wake up soon.” A hum caught in my throat. I didn’t notice my legs waver until Hunter’s arm tightened sharply around me to keep me from falling.

“Echo.” At the quiet call, the arc quickly moved to ease me against him. I felt myself blink, mind belatedly understanding what was happening, and a sound broke over my lips that was meant to be some dismissal or reassurance or at the very least, something coherent, but the nearly choked grunt fell painfully short.

“Come on, Doc; mind if I hold on to you for a bit?” My gaze wondered blindly to find the brilliant gold of his eyes, jaw shifting only briefly before yielding beneath that terrible exhaustion and, with a heavy sigh, merely let myself melt into his touch. Some distant whisper of logic noted the footsteps treading past us as Wrecker and Crosshair joined Hunter in the medbay, but it took all of my focus to follow Echo’s slow movements as he carefully guided me away.

“Maybe you should get some rest, first.” He offered gently, pausing beside Hunter’s bunk, but I was already shaking my head, eager to rid myself of the sick and sweat and dread clinging to my skin. “Doc, you’re barely standing.” He pressed, barely whispering the words even as his hold tightened around me. Drawing a deep breath, I strained to drag myself back to proper awareness.

“M… I’m fine.” Still, the short words left in a mumble, but I managed to press myself forward, legs just steady enough to steal that first step before Echo quickly moved to stay with me.

“Okay-okay.” He murmured, shifting to hold more of my weight at the first hint of a tremble threatening my stride. I barely noticed the deep worry creasing between his brows as he reluctantly let me step away from him through the refresher doors; barely noticed the effort of peeling the fabric from my aching body or the unnerving sensation of the sonic pulsing mercilessly around me until my bones throbbed, but I was relieved to find a clean set of blacks awaiting me atop the counter once I was done.

It wasn’t until I pulled the top over my head, noted the several inches of excess length in the sleeves that I realized they weren’t mine. Crosshair. His scent just lingered in the dark fabric. I didn’t bother rolling the access fabric about my wrists and ankles, too weary to do more than bunch the material high enough up my calves to prevent me from tripping as my feet dragged beneath me to the door.

Echo was already there, pulling me back against him the instant his eyes found mine. I think I was already beginning to fade during the short walk to the bunk room, body sagging heavily against him, eyes refusing to open for several seconds between each tedious blink. Some gentle murmur danced around me, but the only thing that mattered was the comforting embrace of the bed rising up to meet me, the collection of scents surrounding me, the relief that I could finally sleep.

There was a fleeting moment of frustrated denial, of wanting to pointedly ignore the sound of my name floating through the darkness despite the little thrill that always accompanied hearing it whispered in the gentle voice, in knowing the gruffness so innate to his speech as he addressed his brothers always quelled into a tender murmur when he spoke to me. Still, the exhaustion pressing me mercilessly into the blissful warmth of a bed I knew wasn’t mine left me reluctant to abandon the comfort of sleep, not until he pressed in that same tender whisper.

“Tech’s waking up.” Chest jerking in a small gasp, my eyes instantly flew open, needing mere seconds to focus on Echo’s face; to note the small smile on his lips and feel a rush of relief wash over me in its wake. There was no urgency in his stance, no danger or cause for panic. “Thought you might like to be there.” I answered with a weary but earnest smile of my own, nodding as I forced myself to leave the bed. The supportive touch of Echo’s hand slipping over my lower back was unnecessary but felt right, and I found myself leaning gratefully into him.

“How long was I out?” I asked, voice thick with sleep.

“A good five hours.” He nearly praised, and I scoffed.

“One of these days, I’m going to force you all to redefine what ‘a good amount of sleep’ is.” I grumbled, but the laughter was clear in my words, and he let out a quiet chuckle, thumb absently brushing atop my spine.

As we entered the medbay, I nearly laughed anew at the intensity with which the others were studying the peacefully sleeping form nestled on my cot. Crosshair’s mattress was gone, and they managed to move both my mattress and Tech back to the bedframe protruding from the center of the far wall. Wrecker hovered protectively just bedside the bed, hand resting atop his brother’s shoulder, while Hunter leaned against the counter near them.

Crosshair, however, was tucked into the very corner, perfectly still beyond that little sliver of wood spinning absently between his lips as his teeth ground beneath nerves still raw from the chaos of the past few days. Even that tiny movement paused the instant his attention shifted, expression frozen in that same mask of suppressed tension, but something about the way he looked at me left me hesitating for just a moment, painfully aware of the way his gaze took in the entirety of my form still clad in his blacks with the briefest flick of those piercing eyes.

My brow hitched in a silent question, almost challenging him to voice whatever little quip might have sprung to mind in that fleeting look, but I didn’t wait for him to respond before continuing toward the bed.

“Breathe, guys.” The little tease escaped in a quiet chuckle. “If he wakes up to you all staring at him like this, I wouldn’t blame him if he panicked again.” Hunter’s jaw shifted stiffly a moment before he forced a deep breath in to his lungs, letting his stance loosen with the slow exhale.

“I know,” Wrecker mumbled guiltily, “We’re jus’ worried about him, is all.” I offered him a warm grin, hand sliding over his arm a moment before automatically reaching for my scanner. Echo didn’t follow me into the room, instead turning to approach the sniper. Crosshair’s eyes snapped to mine for barely a breath longer before turning his attention to the arc, head tilting slightly so I could only just see his lips shift around words too quiet for me to hear.

“Everything looks good.” I assured them as a list of vitals began dancing across the screen. Tech’s lashes fluttered slightly as I spoke, and I instantly felt my expression soften. Leaning down slightly, I let my hand sweep tenderly through his hair, treasuring the softness of curls now clean of sweat from that blistering fever and, allowed to dry naturally, had puffed out into a luscious mess. His torso swelled beneath a leisurely breath, eyes slowly cracking open.

“Hey Tech.” I murmured, willing a gentle warmth into every syllable. He stared dumbly toward me for a long moment, body lingering in that blissfully laxed trance as his mind slowly took in the stillness around us. Finally, those eyes widened, struck by a sudden realization, and, breath fleeing him in a trembling huff, closed amidst the violent flood of relief. Void of strength or shame, he didn’t fight the quiet sobs, tears falling unhindered into the pillow.

Wrecker’s fingers tightened around his arm, thumb tracing small circles atop the dark fabric. A moment later, Hunter moved to join us, silently reaching forward to grasp one of Tech’s hands in his, followed by Echo settling his hand atop his brother’s side. I was surprised to hear the door open behind us and glanced back just in time to see Crosshair vanish into the hall, heart sinking in confusion and disappointment, but, when he returned with Tech’s goggles I found myself beaming at him.

I was just finishing my report when slow footsteps trudged into the kitchenette. Tech still had a blanket draped about his shoulders, eyes half-lidded behind the familiar orange lenses of his goggles, but I was elated to see him finally well enough to walk on his own.

“Good morning.” I greeted warmly as he lowered himself heavily into the seat across from me and couldn’t help but laugh softly at the confusion that instantly pulled at his gaze.

“Per standard operating procedure during lightspeed travel, it’s currently…” He let the words fade at the sight of my teasing grin. “Ah, yes…” He relented, offering a wisp of a smile in return.

“Think you can handle a smoothie?” I offered, already pushing myself to my feet.

“Yes, that would be…” There was an air of distraction in his almost mumbled reply, “Yes; thank you.” I quickly prepared the drink before letting myself sink into the chair beside him.

“You okay, Tech?” I let the smile slip from my lips as I set the cup down before him. He started to answer, paused, and drew a deep breath before trying again, gaze locked pointedly on the absently dance of his finger atop the dinged metal of the table.

“After I was… exposed,” He finally managed to force the words out despite the nervous shifting of his jaw, “Wrecker has informed me that it was you who, well, carried me back… Is that correct?”

“Oh.” The sound of surprise escaped me before I could begin to restrain it. “Um, well… yeah for a while, at least. I think we were probably only halfway to the Marauder when Wrecker caught up with us, and he took you from there, but,” I gave a small shrug, “before that, Echo needed to provide cover fire, and I’d already given you something to start neutralizing the spores, so…” I let the words fall away, unsure why he’d bothered asking.

“That is… impressive.” He admitted, and I could see the deep flush creep through his cheeks. My face instantly pulled into a wide grin.

“Yeah?” I chirped, catching my lower lip between my teeth as I beamed at him. “What? Didn’t think little ol’ me could haul you around?” I teased, gently bumping my shoulder against his.

“Well… no, I didn’t.” He admitted, blush deepening, which only served to fuel my glee. He cleared his throat and reached for his datapad. “Here, I believe this is of interest to you.” He said quickly, eager to change the subject. I let my attention shift to the screen as he began to drink. Lyrics. I stared almost blindly at them for a long moment, mind seemingly incapable of properly reading them in those first few glances.

“Tech… what is this?” I heard the breathlessness in my own voice, fighting vainly not to risk allowing myself to assume, to hope as I turned wide eyes back to him. He seemed struck for a moment, whether from the intensity of my gaze or something else entirely, I couldn’t fathom, but I felt the air catch in my chest as I waited for his answer.

“Well, I thought that was…” He cleared his throat once more and, voice softening, began again, “It is an old folk song. It seems to have originated on Saleucami, but I believe it matches the” Before he could finish, I flung myself toward him, arms locking him against me hard enough to force a small huff from his lips.

“Is this… Tech how did you…” I could barely gasp the half-formed questions, body shaking with glee as I pushed myself away from him to see the shock in his eyes. Nearly hyperventilating, I looked back over the words as though reading them for the first time, and I could hear that soothing melody, felt how the words would dance amidst the notes I’d heard throughout the entirety of my youth.

“Can I- can you send this to me?!” I begged pushing his datapad back toward him.

“Of… of course.” He replied, fingers tapping absently atop the screen, and I eagerly wrenched mine from my hip to open the message the instant it arrived, throat already shifting around the lyrics in a something just below a whisper. A giggle caught in my throat as I turned back to him. He was slightly more prepared for the violence of my second embrace, only just tensing beneath my touch, but, when I pressed my lips to his temple, fingers slipping through his hair in a motion that had become painfully familiar over the past few days, his entire body went stiff.

“This is amazing, Tech.” I breathed the words against him, desperate for him to hear the depth of my sincerity, “You’re amazing… Thank you.” I rested my forehead against him for a moment longer before turning away, hand darting out to snatch my datapad as I started from the room in a rush, eager to toy with the newly revealed knowledge in the semi-privacy of the medbay.

“Um,” I froze as he carefully grabbed my wrist, gaze turning back to find him staring once more at the worn table, that anxiety again leaving him tense. I waited in silence as he struggled over the stiffness suddenly lodging in his throat. “I… I fear I also owe you an apology.” As though only just realizing he’d reached for me, he quickly pulled away with something like shame stealing over him.

“What? You don’t…” The way he glared as his fidgeting hands was enough to grant me a dreaded understanding. “Oh… oh, Tech, I hoped you wouldn’t remember that.” I sighed quietly, returning to the seat beside him. His jaw shifted but closed without offering a response. “Hey,” I called, hands sliding over his, and the absent movements of his fingers instantly stilled. “Tech, look at me.” The quiet plea only fueled his guilt as he pointedly lowered his gaze to the flooring beneath us.

I found myself reaching for him once more, but this time with a gentleness as my fingertips slid softly over the clenched muscles balled beneath his cheeks. Releasing a deep breath, I moved to stand near enough to rest my chin atop his head, touch easing him toward me in a soft invitation. He didn’t fight me, merely allowed me to hide him against my chest, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone as my other arm wrapped firmly around his shoulders.

“I know you know none of that was your fault.” I murmured through a soft smile, “You know exactly what happens to cognitive function with all those chemical imbalances, and I hope you now that I know it, too.” There was teasing lilt in my voice as I murmured the gentle reminders against him, head shifting to let my lips dance against the mess of curls still in a hopeless disarray from the his bedrest.

“I acknowledge that my emotional response is not driven by logic,” he admitted in something of a mumble, “but that knowledge has offered little relief. I… I nearly killed you.” He barely whispered the words, body shrinking against me, and I had to take a slow breath to reign in my own emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He startled as the apology fell from me in a tense plea, so taken aback, he finally allowed himself to look toward me. “Tech, I know what that kind of delirium can drive people to do. I should have taken precautions. That’s on me.” I stated firmly, “Not you.” I watched the beginnings of an objection form over his tongue, but he let that initial response die as his gaze fell to the skin below my eyes for any lingering discoloration.

“And this?” he asked, fingers pausing barely a breath from my nose. I scrunched it up in a hapless smile, delighted to see the gesture ease at least a touch of that guilt.

“Like I told Hunter: occupational hazard.” Before he could stop himself, his eyes rolled at the dismissive reply, and I let out a quiet laugh. With a final sigh, I pulled him back against me. He hesitated, but, slowly, let his hand sweep up my back, shoulders finally beginning to loosen.

In the day and a half it took to finally reach Kamino, Tech made gradual improvements. He still struggled to merely tread the length of the ship alone, but he was well enough to insist upon returning to his post in the cockpit despite my objections. The instant he settled into that familiar chair, however, the burst of comfort it brought him quieted my lingering concerns.

As we landed, Wrecker automatically moved to his brother’s side, arm locking the still unsteady man against him as they started toward our barracks while the rest of us gathered what few crates of supplies needed to be hauled out of the Marauder for restocking.

“CT-9902, you are to report to medical bay 7M.” I was moving the instant I heard that unnervingly melodic voice; could already feel my heart flooding my veins with adrenaline as rage sent sparks rippling down my fingers. Two lanky figures stood between us and the route to our barracks. One seemed more interested in their datapad than the man they were speaking to, while the other addressed Tech directly, and I could see the discomfort and hesitation growing in Wrecker’s expression, gaze flicking between his brother and the scientists before him.

“Oh kriff.” Hunter’s low curse flitted just beyond my awareness, attention locked on the Kaminoan reaching toward Tech’s shoulder. Lips wrenched back in a feral scowl, I threw myself between them.

“Don’t touch him.” The threat in my snarled words was unmistakable, and it left a suffocating silence in its wake that I found myself pointedly oblivious to. “Any questions regarding these men can be directed to me. Any procedure requests or additional testing will be approved and performed by me.” My knuckles cracked beneath taut muscles locking them into fists. The Kaminoans shared a hesitant glance before turning back to me with that air of superiority, and I instantly felt my shoulders draw back, head tilting slightly as my legs tensed.

“Try it.” I dared, willing them to test me if only to feign some illusioned permission to retaliate.

“I’m afraid CT-9902 is needed elsewhere.” My head snapped up at the familiar voice, surprised to see Shaak Ti gliding nonchalantly toward us. “I believe his medic has already provided a detailed report and has proven her capabilities in treating the exposure.” Her voice sang softly from lips held in an easy smile. “Please pass my apologies on to Nala Se, but I must insist on addressing Republican matters first.” The one with the datapad read over something for a brief moment, long fingers floating atop the screen before looking back to the Master Jedi.

“Very well.” They hummed, but I could hear the discontent in their voice before both turned and tread back through the hanger. Shaak Ti watched them a moment before turning toward me, brow hitched in a tiny smirk.

“Thank you, General.” I murmured, straining to force back some of the tension still coursing through my body.

“Such animosity will not award you any favors among the Kaminoans.” She warned in something just shy of teasing, but I couldn’t bring myself to feign even a whisper of that mirth.

“I couldn’t give two kriffs about earning their favor.” I spat, glare shifting to follow the retreating forms just as they vanished into the endless halls. The look of sympathetic understanding on her face threatened to send a blush up my neck despite how my teeth ground against it.

“I agree that some of their methods… aren’t ones I would prefer.” She relented, “But there is a need for diplomacy between us if a balance between our beliefs is to be reached.” I said nothing, unable to bring myself to yield in light of the memory of Tech’s desperate fears, and I didn’t doubt how effortlessly the woman before me could sense that as those dark eyes studied mine. She released a slow breath, the quiet of that simple act infecting me in a way I was hesitant not to call intentional.

“Given the… unique nature of this squad, I do not believe it would be wholly unreasonable to appoint a single individual to oversee the entirety of their care.” My eyes widened slightly, hope just beginning to ease the rage still coiling through my chest. “I will speak with the Kaminoans on your behalf, but you must earn this title by proving you can conduct yourself in a manner worthy of such a position.” She pressed, brow raising slightly. Drawing a deep breath, I stood tall before her, shoulders squared.

“Yes, General.” I replied formally, fighting back the relief and gratitude vibrating through me. She bowed her head slightly as she moved a hand to rest warmly atop my shoulder.

“Thank you for taking care of them.” She whispered those parting words with a knowing smirk before turning and, with the same unhurried grace, returned to the troupe she’d surely been speaking with moments before. The instant she was out of sight, my shoulders sank beneath a shuttered sigh.

After granting myself mere seconds to breathe, I turned back to find the others watching me with something near enough to shock to leave me frozen. It took a moment to gather myself, to think over the risky display of obstinance that had left them so taken aback, the stroke of pure luck in Shaak Ti’s presence that had saved me, and I knew I’d have done the same a thousand times over to keep Tech away from the Kaminoan labs.

“I keep my promises.” I explained simply and, without waiting for them to reply, moved to Tech’s side, arm automatically slipping around his waist to offer what support I could to help him to our room.

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