You gotta get up

The drill is simple in theory. 

Shoot down Maverick, you win.

But, like your unfortunate lack of skill playing eight ball, the execution is getting there. The first team to go in is too cocky.

He gets them, easy.

Hangman and Phoenix give him a run for his money, but not by much. You’re up next, with Hangman as your wing man. 

Strapping into your jet feels almost surreal. It’s an awesome feeling to be back.

It’s not until you’re in the air that the flashbacks start. 

You and Hangman take off, having decided pre-exercise that you were going to try to divide and conquer: one of you as bait, the other lying in wait for Maverick to take it. You, as the pilot with the best evasive skills and maneuvers, drew the short stick as the bait in the experiment. 

you know that Hangman is notorious for leaving his wingmen behind, so you’re going to be looking for chances to give him a little of his own medicine.

“Ready, team?”

You’ve become more comfortable with the notion that Maverick is your dad. 

It hit you, while you were  lying awake last night, that maybe you should be mad that he left. Your mom always had been angry at him, but could you really blame him for leaving the crazy woman who gave birth to you?

the answer is no, because you did the same. 

“Ready when you are cap’n.” You flick on the proper controls and Hangman gives you a Shaka sign, signaling his okay. 

And then you’re off. 

The rush is exhilarating. It’s not until you can hear Maverick behind you and Hangman warning you that he’s on your tail and you need to shake him that the flashbacks start. 

You grunt, forcing your jet up and over in a backwards barrel roll to escape Maverick’s targeting system. You begin a classic evasive maneuver, the realize he’s not even on your tail anymore. 

“Majesty! he’s on me!”

“Shake him, then!”

But you follow your radar to where Hangman’s getting chased in a high speed game of tag, and readying your targeting system. 

“Majesty, where are you?” Hangman shouts into the comm. You hear the familiar beeping.

He’s done.

You’re on your own.

Majesty! Keep moving! there’s still a mission to complete! 

the rough voice of your former commander rings in your ears as you pull up in a steep climb, about to try a new maneuver. 

(Y/n). I’m sorry. Duchess’s vitals aren’t looking good.

You metaphorically slam the breaks in your plane (which you can’t do because there are none) and let yourself free fall. It’s a special trick that you and Tae always practiced. 

“What the fuck kind of maneuver was that?” 

Maverick’s rough voice breaks the comms. You click your targeting system on and hit him. The beep over the comm would be music in your ears if you weren’t stuck in the past. 

“Wake up! Y/n, we need to go fly before training starts!” Tae, your best friend and wingman (wingwoman?) has always been an early morning productivity person. You always joke about her absolute inability to sleep in, even when you’ve stayed up till three the night before engineering new tricks and stunts to try the next morning. “I have an idea!”

“Uh oh,” you say through a yawn, already tossing on your uniform and tying your hair back. Tae rolls her eyes, then practically sprints out of your dorm room, you got on her heels.

she collected me, up off the ground where you abandoned things 

“That was some damn good flying out there,” Hangman tells you. He’s bought you your first mocktail of the night - a fancy-looking ombré concoction that Penny’s cooked up for you. “If only I’d been alive to see it.”

“Don’t you worry,” Phoenix butts in. “We all saw it, and we also all saw her hang you out to dry!” her tone is just a little too gleeful. “Now that’s something to toast to!”

“You wound me, Trace.”

You toast with Phoenix, then excuse yourself from the pilot’s table, seeking some fresh air. You’d snapped out of your flashback, but Tae’s laugh still rings in your ears. You make your way out to the deck and lean on the railing overlooking the beach and the ocean.

“You’re one helluva pilot.”

You rub your nose with your forearm. 

“That’s what I keep hearing.” You close your eyes, wondering if you should confide in him or not. Probably not. He’s your instructor, not your dad. 

I mean, he’s also your dad.

“whatcha drinking?” You steal a glance at your drink, which has faded to a dull pinkish orange. Maverick’s holding a bottle. 

“Some kind of mocktail Penny came up with.” you take a sip of it. “I don’t drink,” you add after a moment. 

“Well, you’re better than all of us, then.”

You grin and shake your head. Looking out over the water, it’s easy to forget why you’re here and be transported back to the past.

“Now that,” Tae begins, setting down her gin and tonic on the table and admiring the multicolored mocktail Penny concocted. “That is what I call a mocktail.”

You take a swig.

“See, Duchess, Apollo was wrong. Mocktails can be fun!”

“I never said they weren’t!”

This is the last night you have at top gun, and, appropriately, you’re a spending it at the Hard Deck, which is a newer bar that just opened. You’ve made fast friends with the owner and her daughter - Amelia.

You glance outside and gasp, standing up. 

“Come on! look at the sunset!” 

You rush out to the front deck, wide eyed and giddy at the pure beauty of the sunset. Tae trails behind, watching you watch the colors paint the evening sky. 

“Can you believe it’s over?” You ask her. “No more coming to the Hard Deck, no more Apollo or Clipper, and pretty soon we’ll be deployed on the other side of the world.”

Tae sighs. 

“You know what I think? I think this experience will stay with us forever. I’ll always remember the pranks we pulled on the guys and the late night beach walks. It’s like graduating high school. or the academy. This chapter of life is over, and we need to move on.”

You give her a wry smile. 

“You know, you may be a dumbass ninety five percent of the time, but you do give some damn good advice.”

“Want another?”

you nod.

“You’re a damn good pilot. You’re top of the class for a reason. Don’t you ever forget that.”

you meet her eyes.

“Duchess-“

“Hey. You with me?”

Maverick snaps his fingers in your face, trying to snap you out of your daze. you shake out your neck.

“Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was telling you I’ve never seen a plunge like that executed correctly, and then you zoned out on me.”

You focus your gaze on a spot on the horizon.

“Yeah, uh, I was just remembering.. something.”

He looks at you, doing a once-over, face skeptical. He almost looks.. concerned? Again, you wonder, if you were in another life, would he be worried for you, his daughter, instead of you, his pilot. 

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Yes. You’ll understand. You’re probably the only one here who would. 

You smile sadly.

“Goodnight, Captain.”

he filled the holes that you burned in me at six years old 

The next morning, Maverick sends you all an email to wear “beach clothes you can run around in”, so you, Phoenix and Halo all put on your shorts and sports bras, and Halo puts on a t-shirt. The email also ordered you to meet in front of the Hard Deck, so that’s what you do.

You leave significantly earlier than the rest of the group specifically to see Amelia, who you still haven’t seen since coming back to the base. You tap your knuckles on the doorframe, drawing her attention. She looks at you, looks again, gasps and sprints towards you in some kind of flying tackle- hug. 

“Hey!” You exclaim, squeezing her tight and spinning her around in a circle. “You got big!”

Amelia giggles into you. 

“Mom told me you were back. I almost didn’t believe her.”

“Well, I couldn’t just never see my favorite tea party partner again, now could I?”

Amelia pulls away, observing you. Her eyes brighten as she remembers your tea parties from when you were in Top Gun.

“I’d forgotten about those! And Tae would bring those little cucumber sandwiches!” 

Her face falls in a frown.

It’s like a sneak attack, having someone mention her in passing. You’d been up almost the whole night before trying to calm the memories that have been resurfacing since your return to Miramar.

“I miss her.”

Sometimes you forget that Tae was almost as close to Penny and Amelia as you were. She would always come with you to watch Amelia and hang with Amelia and Penny on the slow nights. 

“Me, too.”

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” Penny comes over to you from the storeroom and hugs you. She then holds you at arms’ length and looks you up and down. “Now, I know you’re busy, but tomorrow isSaturday, and I’d love for you to come for dinner like we used to.” 

The unspoken with Tae beats down on you. You glance out of the window to see the rest of the squad gathered there in varying forms of swimwear. Most of the guys are wearing obnoxiously printed swim shorts, obviously wearing no shirts. 

“That sounds… great. I’ll be by. Text me, okay? I have to go.” You give Amelia another squeeze and beeline out of the bar, joining the group of your fellow pilots. 

Maverick’s the last to get here, wearing a white shirt and a pair of jeans, holding two footballs.

He introduces the game: dogfight football, offense and defense at the same time. It doesn’t really sound like there are very many rules in the game, only that you get touchdowns occasionally. 

He also divides the teams. You and Phoenix are together, Bradley too. 

And then you’re starting and you have actually no idea what you’re supposed to be doing; you never were adept at playing football. 

You’ve been paired up with Hangman, who must be going easy on you, because you get past him every time, even scoring a touchdown once. About half and hour in, he strikes a deal with Phoenix.

“Okay, Trace. Here’s the deal,” he says between plays. “The next touchdown, if it’s your team, I’ll buy a round for everyone the next time we all go out.”

“okay,” Phoenix glance at your team. You’re all looking pretty skeptical, as you should. “What’s the catch?”

“I my team gets the next touchdown…” he drags out. He leans in and whispers in her ear. Her face breaks into a cautious smile.

“Deal, Bagman, but I’m just warning you, that’s an awful deal on your part.”

He shrugs, flashing you a perfect smile. 

The next touchdown goes to Halo, who’s on Hangman’s team, and everyone turns expectantly to him, wondering what the bet was. He walks up to Phoenix, dips her and presses his lips to hers.

You let out a wolf whistle. She breaks the kiss and flips you off before pulling Hangman in for another one.

Coyote’s making a point of covering Bob’s eyes. Rooster has a hand over his mouth, pretending to retch and you jog over to him, patting him on the back, face splitting in a smile.

Penny shares a look with Maverick as they watch the two young people kiss. She’s smiling, and that makes him smile. 

“What do you think of her, now that you’ve flown with her?”

She nods at the pilot in question. 

There’s so much he can say about her: smart, confident, thoughtful. Reckless and sassy and a little bit too stubborn. She’s talented, anyone can see that, maybe even the best on the squad, but she’s holding back.

She’s hesitant to fly with anyone but herself, even leaving her comrades out in the open in favor of shooting down the enemy, which is surprising, considering her most recent deployment.

Her deployment. He finally got around to looking into that, the incident that sent her into leave for more than half of the last year. 

The report had been brief: routine patrol, they had gone to investigate a distress signal, not enough ammo or fuel. Someone detonated a missile too close. Duchess went down. Majesty took down three bandits in the span of five minutes before her aircraft was too damaged to continue flying.

There had been no saving duchess. she was waterlogged and impaled with a scrap of metal before Majesty was even there to save her. 

Very, very traumatic. 

It reminds him of Goose.

he’s surprised she’s even willing to fly at all after that.

“In all seriousness?” Maverick looks out over the game. She’s awful at football. Can’t throw a spiral. “She’s a good kid. Even better pilot. She’s been the closest to finishing the course out of all of them.”

She glances over at the two of them, waving to penny before jumping for the ball. 

“She reminds me of you,” Penny tells him. “You’re more similar than either of you know.”

Admiral Kazansky, AKA Iceman has been a mentor to you since the beginning. He’d taken a liking to you and your reckless flying when you’d first joined the Naval academy. Said you reminded him of a friend of his. You’d always thought he meant his wingman, and he had, but more recently, you’d realized that his wingman was the one and only Maverick, AKA Pete Mitchell, AKA your dad. 

You knock on the door and his wife lets you in. Her eyes are red and puffy.

“Sarah…” you say, hugging her. “It’s back?”

she shakes her head. 

“we don’t know. he can’t even talk without the pain coming back.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t-“

“He’s in his office,” she tells you gently. “You know he always wants to see you.”

You purse your lips, smiling tightly. 

“Thanks, Sarah.”

You ease the door to Ice’s office open, He turns to face you. He’s paler, gaunter, and wearing an overcoat and a scarf. you know enough to know he’s not doing well.

“Hey, Ice.” 

He points at the seat across from him.

Right. He can’t talk.

“I had to see you.” You sit down and reach into your purse. “Kevin sent me this.”

You pull out the wrinkled, folded photograph and hold it out to him. His shaky hands pull it taut as he squints at it. You hold your breath, waiting for some kind of surprise to show on his face. Something, anything. 

“Did you know? Is that why you kept me around?”

Your voice shakes uncontrollably. Like most things recently, you want to be angry, but you just don’t have the strength or conviction anymore. You just want to know.

Ice hands you the photo back and types on the computer. 

Yes.

No.

your breath catches. 

“How long?”

Since we met.

You sigh shakily. 

“Why? why didn’t you tell me?”

Ice stares at you. 

You stare back. 

“How long did the doctor say you have?”

Weeks. 

You gnaw at your lip. 

“I don’t want to lose you, too.”

You’re not going to.

You shake your head, wiping under your eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. 

Losing Ice hurts. He’d always been there for you when you needed to talk. Even now, when he can’t use his voice. 

He clears his throat.

“Tell… him.” His voice is raspy and wet. It grates on your ears like it must on his throat.

you nod vigorously. 

“I will. I just… I want him to like me, you know? before he feels obligated to, I mean.” you stare at the picture of the two of them on Ice’s desk. “I don’t even know if he’d be happy to know.”

He will.

there’s a soft knock on the doorframe. It’s Maverick. Of course it is.

You grip Ice’s hand.

“Looks like your next appointment is here.” Your laugh is wet. “Bye, Ice.”

You nod to your father as you leave. his brow is furrowed in confusion, but he nods back.

Penny and Amelia’s house is one thing in North Island that’s always stayed the same. the smell of candles burning constantly, amelia’s artwork hanging on the walls, (which, admittedly, has gotten a lot better over the last few years) and the little bits of clutter scattered around the house. 

You’ve dressed up a bit, put on some makeup and washed all the gel out of your hair for the occasion. when you get there, Amelia drags you to her room almost before you can say hello to penny. 

“Okay. Where’s the fire?” You tease, once the door is shut and you’re sitting on Amelia’s bed. She’s giddy in anticipation to tell you her news. 

“I have tea,” she whispers conspiratorially. You lean in.

“Lay it all out for me.”

“Mom had Mav over last night.” her tone is smug. She’s obviously very happy to be able to tell you this news. “He tried to sneak out but I caught him. And,” she looks around and lovers her voice even more. “He’s coming over for dinner tonight!”

“No!”

“yes!”

“That’s crazy.”

It’s crazy that you literally keep running into him. It’s not like you’re avoiding Maverick, per se, but you still don’t know how to break the news to him. 

Hey man, great lesson today. Oh, by the way, I’m the daughter you didn’t even know you had because my mom ran away when she found out she was pregnant. Yeah, I know it’s fucked up. If I was on good terms with her I would ask why, but she only calls me when she’s drunk. 

That’d go over well.

Amelia crosses her arms.

“That’s my tea. Now, tell me yours. Tell me about Top Gun.”

You look around her room. She repainted the walls a shade of yellow that you love. There are pictures hanging on the walls. One, a big one over her desk, is your favorite picture: a selfie you took of you, Amelia and Tae when you took her to Malibu to learn to surf.

“I love that picture,” you admit. Amelia nods, getting up to remove it from the wall. “Top Gun’s… not the same without her. Nothing is.”

Amelia’s always been wise for her age.

“I see her everywhere. I mean, I know I don’t, but I do.”

You smile tightly.

Grief sure is strange. Even Amelia feels the loss of Tae heavily.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Girls! dinner!”

“What were you two talking about in there that was so important I couldn’t be part of the conversation?” Penny asks over the steak she’s prepared. 

“Oh… nothing…” you take a sip of water.

“Just how Y/n’s in looooooooove,” Amelia singsongs.

You shoot Amelia a dirty look.

“We were actually talking about how the two of you have been canoodling.”

Maverick stops, his fork hanging in midair. Penny’s expression is priceless. 

“Yeah, I mean why else would Mav be invited to Saturday dinner?” Amelia asks. You nod along with her sagely.

“This used to be a girls night,” you explain to him. “When Duchess and I were in Top Gun.”

“ah,” is all he says.

You pat your pocket, remembering the gift you had brought for Amelia and Penny.

“Actually, we were just talking about how Tae and I would take Amelia out on the weekends,” you tell Penny. “And I just remembered I brought this for you guys.”

You take the strip of photos from your pocket. It’s a photo booth strip from a long weekend taken to Disney. All four of you are smushed into the booth, wearing matching Minnie ears, leaning into each other and grinning.

“I have a copy, so you keep that.”

Penny admires it, sad smile forming on her lips. Amelia peeks over her shoulder, grinning. You avoid Tae’s eyes. They used to pierce you. The still do.

“I’d like to toast.” Penny raises her glass, setting the strip down. “To new beginnings.”

“to new beginnings,” you agree. 

You don’t get very far into dinner before your phone rings. You decline the call. five seconds later, it’s ringing again. 

Decline.

“Do you need to take that?” Mav asks (he’s gotten you to stop calling him sir, finally.) and you shake your head.

“It’s my mom. Hang on.”

Penny and you share a look. She raises an eyebrow. you shake your head.

Nothing to worry about. 

You’re suddenly very hot as you excuse yourself from the table. you’re not quite out of the kitchen when you pick it up. 

“Mom?”

“Y/n? Is this my disappointment of a daughter?”

you sigh into the phone, staying silent. Her jab sends tears welling up in your throat. Spending time with Amelia and Penny has always reminded you of the mother you could’ve had. 

“Where’s your deposit? Where’s the money you owe me for giving you life and a roof over your head?”

You hurry to ease the door shut. The deposit. Goddamn. She’s sober enough to remember it. Ever since you moved out, you’ve been wiring her deposits every month to make sure she keeps living. You’d hoped it was enough to send her to rehab, but she refused to go. 

“The deposit?” you say faintly, heart dropping. 

Her voice gets thin and screechy over the line. You can’t bring yourself to pull the phone away from your ear as she spits barbs at you. You cover your mouth to muffle the wet sobs escaping your throat. 

“You never wanted what’s best for your family! You left me for the Navy. You’ve never done anything right and that girl - Tae - died because of it.”

She’s never gone there before.

And you’ve never had anyone lay it out for you. 

“Mom. mom. mom, stop!” You gasp out. “Everything I’ve done if for you! The money, the house, I stayed. For you!”

You don’t hear the porch door swing open. 

“I didn’t owe you anything! I never did! I didn’t ask for you to have me!” 

Your mother begins to argue with that, that you forced her to have you. You cut her off with a gut wrenching cry.

“I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME!”

You tear the phone from your ear and slam your thumb on the red button. 

“Y/n.”

Penny. 

You drop your phone, defeated. Penny reaches out hesitantly and uses her fingers to wipe your cheeks. 

She’s hugging you and you’re crying before you can even know what’s happening. 

To new beginnings.

begged you to want me, but you didn’t want to.

“Rooster.”

he’s pissed, drinking his second bottle.

“Rooster.”

You sit down next to him. 

“What do you want?” he snarls. You gingerly put your hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

He leans into your hand. You sigh. 

“Phoenix and Bob are gonna be okay. I went to see them before I came here. They’re not injured. Just shaken up.”

He slams his bottle on the table. You finch away.

“Did Maverick send you?”

“what? No.”

Surprisingly, it had been Hangman who told you that Rooster was sulking in the Hard Deck. He’d seemed worried about him, so you went to check up on him.

“He likes you, you know. Thinks you’re a good pilot.”

“I am a good pilot.” You nudge his shoulder. “But so are you. So are Phoenix and Payback and Coyote.”

“He pulled my papers, you know. So he must not think I’m that good.”

You hesitate. this has always been a sore subject for Rooster. Saying the wrong thing could result in making it worse- not better. 

“He flew with your dad, right?”

Rooster rubs his face and takes another swig from his bottle. 

“Yeah. But I’m not my dad. He thought I’d-“

“Maybe he was just scared, you know? Maybe he cared so much for you that he didn’t want to lose you.”

If he had known that you were his daughter, would he have pulled your papers, too? Or would he have wanted you to be like him, be a pilot in the Navy? 

“whose side are you on?” Rooster snaps. “You’re saying the same things I’ve heard my whole career. No one thinks the great Maverick could make a mistake, I guess.”

“that’s not what i’m saying, Bradley!” you take a deep breath. “Like it or not, he cares about you. You’re the closest thing to a -“

You cut yourself off, because, strictly, Rooster isn’t the closest thing he has to a child that he has. You gulp back the words. 

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Can I… tell you something? But you have to swear not to tell anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Rooster promises. You hold out your pinky, and he stares at it. You raise your eyebrows at him. he looks around, no doubt making sure there’s no one who would make fun of him for pinky swearing, and interlocks his pinky with yours. 

You reach into your pocket, retrieving the wrinkled, folded picture and hand it to him.

“That’s my mom,” you say, pointing to the woman. “and that…”

“That’s Maverick!” Rooster looks triumphant in his revelation. “So, what, Mav dated your mom?”

“No! Well, yeah, but that’s not what i was trying to tell you. Look at the date on the picture.”

Rooster squints and brings the paper closer to his eye.

“Wait. That’s..”

“twenty six years ago, and ten months after that was taken, I was born.” 

Rooster drops the picture, mouth falling open. He’s staring at your face, no doubt picking out features reminiscent of Mav’s. You shift uncomfortably.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“I know!”

“Does he know?”

You hesitate. He might. There’s been a lot on his plate, though, and your last name could be forgettable if they only dated a couple of months twenty some years ago. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Roosters eyes widen.

“Wait so I can’t tell anyone?”

he groans when you nod.

“Y/nnnn you can’t just dump this on me and tell me I can’t tell anyone! That’s too much pressure!”

 You snap your fingers in his punting face.

“You listen to me, Bradley Bradshaw. If you tell a single person I will hunt you down and slice you into tiny pieces and then cook you and let Hangman feed you to his horses.”

You cackle at the pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes. “That’s right. I remembered your deathly fear of horses, bitch!”

He’s pale, but his face breaks into a smile.

“I’m glad you’re back to normal, Majesty. You had me scared there for a second.”

You know what he means. Since Tae died, for a while, you had no will to do anything or see anyone- in other words, you were super duper depressed. Lately, you’ve felt lighter, like you can laugh and smile again without feeling guilty. 

Here’s to new beginnings.

It’s strange, how in just a few hours, your whole life can totally and completely change. In just a few minutes, the strangest things can happen - the worst and the best.

In the span of five minutes, you solidified your top spot in the top gun academy. 

In the span of two, you ruined your relationship with your mom.

In the span of one minute and thirty seconds, Your best friend died because of a choice you made.

And within five minutes of that incident, you weren’t too far behind. 

In one minute, sifting through a box your stepfather sent you, you find a picture you’ve never seen before: Your mother, wearing a smile you’ve never seen on her face before, wrapped in the arms of a handsome navy pilot, all teeth and jawbone and eyebrows. 

And with thirty seconds of your arrival at the Hard Deck, that very same pilot comes waltzing in. 

Penny pauses her conversation with you, about how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, how sorry she is for you, and strikes up a very similar conversation with him.

They have history, you can tell. 

Penny taps the counter over the barstool next to you - one of the only ones available in the crowded bar.

It only takes his polite smile to cement it in your head that this is him. 

This is your father. 

You don’t let anything show through, though. You stir up your shirley temple and smile, introducing yourself as majesty. 

“Ah. I’m in the Navy, too, you know. I’ve never met a Majesty before, though.” 

“Well, sir, this is a Navy bar… and I was on leave up until just recently. It doesn’t surprise me that you haven’t heard of me, since I was stationed in the Peninsula before , and everything there is pretty hush, hush.”

“Maverick,” he says, smiling again, but genuinely. He holds out his hand and you shake it. “Pleasure to meet you, Majesty.”

“likewise, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I finally see someone I know.” 

You bounce off, holding your drink tightly, acting as if your whole life hasn’t just been shaken up by a chance encounter at one of the many Navy bars in North Island. 

Approaching the group of other lieutenants, you steal a glance back at him grinning at Penny with the same stupid lovestruck expression that you saw in the photo.

Yep. That’s him. 

Maverick watches Majesty’s retreating form before she disappears in a group of rowdy pilots, wondering where he’s heard that name before. Majesty. 

He vaguely remembers some news from the peninsula about a year ago, but as the lieutenant had said, the news from there is very limited and very filtered. Something about a pilot whose call sign was Duchess…

“Uh oh.” Penny’s deadpan voice interrupts his thoughts. “You’re thinking. That’s never good.”

She slides him his beer and he laughs softly at her joke. 

“You know that pilot- Majesty - well?”

Penny glances over to where she disappeared into the group of pilots. She’s laughing along with the group while playing pool. They watched her take a shot.

The first thing he thinks is, she sucks.

“Yeah.. She’s a nice girl.” Penny starts deftly making a drink with the confidence of someone who’s done it a thousand times. “She watched Amelia for me when we were going through a divorce. Truly a lifesaver for both of us.” Penny meets his eyes. “She’s had a hard life, that one, and she’s not really ever had a reprieve from it, either. It’s good to see her laughing again.”

He sighs, knowing there’s a lot of pilots who joined up to get away from difficult families. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t recognize Bradley Bradshaw himself walking in until he walks up to Majesty and plants a kiss on her cheek,

He raises a hand.

“Penny, check, please?”

You’re having a surprisingly fun time at the Hard deck. You haven’t been clubbing since before you were deployed, and certainly not to a bar.

Who would you go with?

but the pilots you’ve met - and the old friends you’re seeing again are nothing but kind. (at least, to you. It’s been five minutes and Rooster and Hangman are already going at it) 

Phoenix introduces you to the pilots you don’t know, but there aren’t many. You swim in the same circles as most of them.

You line up a pool shot and slide the stick quickly, aiming the white ball at a general cluster of colored balls, and missing all of them completely.

“Now that,” a cocky voice begins over your left shoulder, “That was an astoundingly awful shot, your highness.”

You turn to face Hangman, who’s significantly taller than you, but you still stare right into his eyes. 

“I’ve never played before,” you defend. “And it’s Majesty.”

“Sure it is, darlin’. Lemme show you how to shoot pool.”

You cross your arms.

“Are you going to mansplain eight ball to her, Bagman?” Natasha- Phoenix - juts in. 

“Yeah, are you?” You ask, voice intentionally provocative, meant to make him splutter. Frustratingly, he doesn’t, only coolly lines up a shot - making it perfectly. 

“No, I’m offering to explain how to play properly, so it’s more fun for the both of us.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

Before you can respond with another teasing comment, the music shuts off, making way for a loud, unhappy groan from almost everybody in the bar.

You hear the familiar intro to Rooster’s favorite song, (It’s the only one he learned how to play) and hand the stick off to Bob, whose wide eyes widen even further.

“That’s my cue to leave,” You announce to the group. “I can’t listen to this song for the fifty-thousandth time.”

You blow a kiss to Phoenix and wave to the rest of the pilots, hugging Fanboy, a close friend of yours, and bid adieu to Penny, slipping her a twenty.

“Thanks Penny. See you later, yeah?”

Penny winks at you and waves. You lean into the door and press out into the cool night air, the sound of the ocean suddenly the only sound you can hear - besides Rooster’s muffled voice and piano playing. 

You walk around the bar, getting ready to head back to base. The last thing you expect is to meet eyes with Maverick, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Sir? Are you okay?”

Your voice startles him out of his daze. He shakes his head slightly. 

“Yeah. I’m good.”

His eyes drift to Rooster again through the window, a peculiar expression passing over his face.

“…Well, I’m headed back to base. Have a good night, sir.”

You turn around, hands in your pockets, beginning the short walk back to the barracks.

“Wait. Do you mind if I join you?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and stop to wait for him to catch up with you. How strange is this, the man you just realized was tour father walking with you back to the barracks. 

You walk down the beach in silence, watching the waves crash on shore. There’s not much to say. 

“Are you here for the mission?” he asks eventually, finally, one of you breaking the silence. 

“I.. actually don’t know, sir. They didn’t tell us anything but the fact that we had to be in class tomorrow.”

You meet his eyes, briefly analyzing his face before turning your gaze back to your boots in the sand. There are some features, you suppose, that are similar in your faces. little things, but if he’s your father, you definitely take after your mother. 

“So.. yes. Then you must be a damn good pilot. Penny seems to think so.”

You laugh.

“Penny has what I like to call ‘Mom goggles.’  She thinks everything I do is the greatest thing ever.” 

It’s his turn to laugh.

“‘Mom goggles’? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Well, you’re not married. Give it time and you’ll figure it out.”

Maverick puts his hands up.

“Hang on. How’d you know I’m not married?”

You gesture to his hand. 

“No ring on your finger. And by the way you were shamelessly flirting with Penny literally all night.”

“I was not!”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. 

This could’ve been us.

you clear your throat, looking out over the sea. The sun has fully set, now, and you’re getting close to base. You yawn, covering your mouth. 

You turn up the path to the base, in a comfortable silence when the your phone rings. You fumble through your pants, unzipping the pocket where you’ve stashed you phone. It reads one word, one you’ve been dreading. 

Mom.

 You cast Maverick an apologetic glance and then take the phone  call. 

“Hey, mom. What’s wrong?” You can hear the resigned sigh in your voice. Captain Mitchell has stopped walking, waiting for you. You shoo him away, not wanting to inconvenience him more.

Your mother’s voice is unintelligible. Staticky and blurred. 

“My baby!” she finally says in words you can understand. “Where are you? I came home and looked in your room and you were gone!”

You rub your eyes. 

“Mom. You’re drunk. Where’s Kevin?”

Usually, by this point, Kevin, your stepdad would step in. 

Maybe, you think, somewhat bitterly, he’s come to his senses and left the crazy lady. 

“Out,” is all she says. “You’re not still running around with the Navy, are you?”

She’s says the word Navy like it’s a slur. 

“Mom-“

“Because this is just a phase, (y/n). You’ll get over it and realize that I was right all along. You don’t belong on the battlefield, you belong in school.”

“Mom, as a matter of fact, i love my job and i’m not planning on leaving it anytime soon.”

This is a conversation you’ve had many a time. Almost every time she’s drunk she calls you up to criticize your life choices. 

“Then you’re a failure.”

“Gosh, I really wonder why I left.”

That’s when you hang up, abruptly cutting off your mother mid sentence. 

You make it all the way to the barracks before you angrily start punching things. The nice thing about living on base again is the free gym available to you, so you change into a ratty old shirt and shorts and go down to the officer’s gym, where punching bags are already hanging. 

You do a quick job of wrapping your hands, then begin the assault on a bag, sending it swinging with a punch.

You keep going and going and going until your knuckles feel like they’re bleeding or broken or at least bruised, and all the stress and anger with your mother has burned off. 

You hit the shower after the gym, then collapse into bed.

Your phone is lit up with four call notifications and twenty six text messages from your mom, which you promptly ignore, silence your phone and fall asleep.

“Duchess, fly away!”

“Get out of there!”

“It’s okay.”

“Majesty!”

Your eyes snap open, your back and arms are covered in sweat. You hold your breath in and let it out, trying to calm your heartbeat. 

You glance at the clock. 

Jesus Christ, it’s only three in the morning. 

This mission can’t come soon enough.

—

The Legacy always felt like home for you. When your Master got and named the cruiser, he always told you that the Legacy and the men who cared for it were the best of the best. You stand on the bridge, combat armor fully equipped, cloak thrown over your shoulders. You always get cold upon takeoff.

Your Clone Commander and right-hand-man, Jex, stands with his helmet under his arm, speaking quietly with Admiral Jakobsen while you observe takeoff, waiting for your mission partner. 

The newest distress signal came from your home planet - Onapesca. Unlike other Jedi, you actually remember your family, your parents and your cousins. Sometimes the memories blur, but others, it’s like you’re six years old again. The Council had disagreed and had had to vote on who they would send… until the next call came in, requesting you by name. Onapesca has a very specific force signature, and only those who know how to access that ‘frequency’ can enter the atmosphere without being battered and killed by force storms and the like.

And so, the Council sent you - and the Jedi with the most similar Force signature to you, General Skywalker. 

“So, I hear this is the party ship,” Anakin’s voice sounds behind you. You turn, brushing the sides of your cloak back as you turn. He’s there with Rex, who approaches his brother and best friend with a complicated handshake. “What’s she called, again?”

“Anakin, Rex. Welcome to the Legacy.”

“General, we’re ready for takeoff,” Jakobson tells you. You nod, turning back to the big windows that let you look out over the cruiser. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Admiral.”

Jex and Rex inform both you and Skywalker that they’ll go to speak with the troops before reporting back for the briefing for today. The journey to Onapesca from Coruscant is quite a long one - three day’s worth of space travel to reach the outer ring of storms. You’ve already debriefed the 500th, but the small force of 501st troopers brought with Anakin and Rex are none the wiser, so you schedule a full debrief in othree hours - enough time to get everything settled for the journey.

There’s inner turmoil poorly masked inside your soon to be partner (maybe it’s just poorly masked to you). 

“Is something wrong, Skywalker?”

Anakin glances at you. You keep your gaze firmly locked on the receding planet of Coruscant, lights flickering, lighting the whole planet up. 

“I can feel your anxiety, you forget. Is something bothering you?”

The blockade he’s built flickers. You try not to peek in, but you catch a glimpse of orange and blue and white. Wide blue eyes. 

That can only be one person.

“Ahsoka? Where is she, by the way?”

Anakin bumps your shoulder.

“You know, you’re not supposed to do that.”

You wait silently.

He sighs.

“She’s back at the temple. Training.”

“Is she not your Padawan?”

“She didn’t want to come.”

That’s unlikely. You stay quiet, making sure your disbelief radiates toward him.

“She’s still having problems from the latest. I didn’t want to overwhelm her with another mission so soon.”

Finally, you turn to study him. He’s tired, eyes dark, heavy with a sort of exhaustion that comes and doesn’t go. 

If he’s this tired, how is Ahsoka?

“She’s fourteen, Anakin. I wonder sometimes if she should be here.”

By here, you mean in the war.

“We were younger.”

“Look how that turned out.”

You turn away from him, walking down the path out of the bridge. 

Look how that turned out.

You’re nine. 

This is a clear memory - one you revisit often. 

Anakin is a year older than you, ten when you meet, although you’ve been in training a lot longer, first as a youngling for a brief stint and then a Padawan learner, when you turned eight you were given a Master. 

He’s kind, one of the Masters who would visit the Crèche often in search of a Padawan. He sensed your Force presence and the ability you’ve already developed, requesting you to be his Padawan. 

As a young, advanced Padawan who’d beat some of your seniors already, you stuck out like a sore thumb. 

Until Anakin.

Until he found you hiding away in the gardens, wiping tears with the backs of grubby, mud stained hands, after a particularly humiliating win. 

He comes over and unravels the fortress of vines and flowers you’ve grown over yourself like a wall. The plants like him. They know that he’s just as different as you.

“I heard you crying,” He says. 

Your tears dry immediately at the sight of him. He can’t see you cry, you have to prove that you’re just like the other Padawans.

“I cry too,” he tells you, skipping right over the gap in conversation. You sniff shyly. 

“… you do?”

How could he, the Chosen One, cry? He’s already made a name for himself!

“Yeah,” He’s suddenly bashful. “I miss my mom sometimes.”

“Oh.” 

You miss your family, too.

“That’s okay. I miss my family, too.”

It’s his turn to be surprised.

“You do?”

He’s perked up, and so have you. This is strange - another Jedi who even remembers their birth family. 

So you talk, and talk, and giggle at his bad jokes.

It’s strange. You both need someone, someone who’s not your teacher or a friend, someone who understands the hurt of remembering.

And your Masters find you teaching him

how to manipulate the plants with only your hands, giggling when the flower he’s growing spits a wad of pollen in his face.

They share a look, and know this is the start.

Fourrteen, and blood runs hot.

You’re still getting bullied, but now Anakin is bigger than the bullies now.

He sprouted like a weed the past year and a half, growing what seems like five feet in the shortest span of time possible. He towers heads over your steadily growing self, now, all corded muscle and catlike movements. 

The next time you’re made fun of, pushed around in the height of insecurity, he’s there to throw a well-timed punch to the face of a nineteen-year-old Nautolan who’s shorter and stockier than him. 

“Anakin!” your voice has climbed octaves as the two brawl. Full-on, no sabers, no Force, brawl. Over one stupid comment and one poorly thought out shove. “Stop it! get off him!”

He doesn’t stop.

The other spectators are both screaming the the two Padawans to stop, and egging them on. Your throat catches on a sob, emotion building up, the feeling of helplessness is not one you’ve ever enjoyed.

You don’t know what else to do.

So you crack the force like a whip, sending them flying in opposite directions. Spreading your fingers and hands out separating the two Padawans, suspending them in the air just in time to stop them from hurtling into the marble walls. Everyone in the training hall goes silent at the sight of your huge feat of The Force, probably feeling the repercussions through the veil as Master Bosque, Master Kenobi, Master Secura, and Master Yoda crash into the room, seeing the two males floating, suspended in the air while you dig yourself dents into the marble floor, crackling under the weight of The Force. 

Anakin paddles his arms, trying to get free of your hold. 

At the sight of your Master, you let them down, setting them gently on the floor of the training arena. 

Anakin’s eyes are on you.

His eye’s swelling already, but he’s otherwise fine. The other… well, his robes are torn, he’s bleeding from one eye, and one of his tentacles is displaced. Definitely worse off than your best friend. 

Anakin winks at you as Obi reprimands him, and you bite back a smile as you leave with your own Master. 

After this, Yoda offers you specialized training to harness your capabilities over The Force, but that’s another story completely.

Sixteen, and Anakin is distant.

He doesn’t seem to know how to act around you since you’ve filled out a bit, gotten prettier, learned how to dress for undercover missions you go on together, posing as clueless teenagers roaming the streets of Coruscant.

Recently, you’re not friends, out roaming. You’re hopeless romantics, ducking into alleyways to pretend to break the code. 

You’ve dressed up in a nice little dress , hidden your sabers under the skirt and thrown on a bit of makeup.

Of course, this is all provided by the Order, for a mission investigating an emerging Coruscant Spice ring. Dangerous spice, that is, not the stuff you can snort and get a little woozy.

Anakin’s wearing a relatively nice-looking local suit, hair gelled back and braid tucked into a high collar. You can easily hide yours under your hair, but he’s got his shaved head to deal with as well. (and that little rat-tail on the back of his head).

He puts his hand on the small of your back - more like hovering it there- and you skirt the streets. 

You slip into an alleyway, one where you’ve been informed of a deal going down.

Anakin presses you against the wall and waits for the signs of life. Footsteps, a scuffle. Something.

You try to meet his eyes. He avoids it.

Your Masters are in your ears, just like your heartbeat thinking for itself. 

There it is. The deal. Someone’s coming into the alleyway.

Everything’s blurry with the scent of the cologne he’s spritzed on, something gross and insufferable. 

His lips are clammy on yours, you can’t really focus on the kiss: your first, and probably only. You’re listening in, and when the dealers leave, he’s looking at you. 

Looking at you.

“Don’t even think about it, Skywalker.” You click your comm on, wiping your lips. “Masters, come in. We have the location for the next deal.”

Anakin drags behind, quiet for the rest of the night.

After that, you go away for a while. Try to complete your Sentinel courses. Get everything ready. You go off world and try to give Anakin space.

Turns out, all the space in the galaxy isn’t far enough.

Age 20, newly knighted and  reunited, you join forces again to combat a string of terrorist attacks.

As a Sentinel, you’ve always felt connected with the general population, maybe more so than the rest of your Jedi peers. So, on your first mission after the Knighting ceremony , yourself and Anakin investigating a string of explosions and bomb threats, it was up to you dealing with the informants. 

The latest is a near-human around your age, witness to the bombing attempt of a sector of civilian shops. He’s bigger than you, charming, and a total flirt, and you can tell that Anakin absolutely hates him. 

You can trust him, you think, with being civil. He’s not been overly emotional since that brutal day on Tatooine when you were eighteen. 

Anakin, newly Knighted and full of pride and the sort of accidental prejudice that you’ve found lately in the Order, is certainly a sight to behold. In comparison to Aster, the informant, he’s wider, taller. More severe, more lithe, all corded muscle. 

He can be intimidating.

Not to you.

Never to you.

But he stands behind you so menacingly during your interview with Aster that you have to tell him to leave in your head. 

Aster smiles charmingly at you, pearly whites gleaming. 

When he leaves the first day, Anakin tells you that he has a bad feeling about him.

“You have a bad feeling about everyone.”

Now, it seems like so much could have been prevented if you had only followed his advice.

You sense his presence entering the room, even with your eyes closed. 

“You’re thinking about it, too.”

The briefing went well, no complications. Both groups of troopers fully briefed and in training together.

“The last mission we were on together.”

He sits down cross from you, your knees touching, the force flowing like it used to.

Like before the blowup, before the fall.

“Why are you so mad?” He’s waving his hands around, face red, twisted. You have this roiling boiling pot of overflowing rage in the pit of your stomach, tears huling up in your chest as you try to verbalize how you’re feeling. 

Because of Anakin, Aster is dead. Because of Aster, Anakin could be. 

And because of you…

Because of you, and your misjudgement,  this is the first mission you’ve been on, and the first you’ve failed. 

“Because, Anakin! You… You disrespected my orders, and you gave me your word.” You have tears threatening to spill. He’s never seen you mad, not like this. You take a. deep breath. “You promised me that you would go with the plan. You told me that you wouldn’t - that you-“

You breathe slow and heavy. 

“You put yourself in danger. You disregarded me, my orders, and my authority. And because of you…”

Anakin isn’t even shameful. There’s no regret in his eyes. The tears spill over.

“He’s dead. You helped kill a man, Anakin. He’s dead and you have no remorse for what you’ve done.”

Anakin gets this look in his eye, the one he gets after you’ve bested him in training. Like has angry and disappointed in himself but he’ll never admit it. 

You can’t be around him anymore for fear of saying something that ruins your relationship.

You get one, two, three, four steps in before…

The angry monster rears its head. 

“It’s cause you’re fucking him, right? That’s why you’re mad.”

His voice grates on you like he knew it would. 

How dare he.

“I let you cry to me, I held you in my arms and I put up with your bullshit. Get over it. I’m sorry your mother died. I’m sorry you think the world is against you, but that gives you no right to treat me like shit. I’m done with your bullshit. Get over your fucking attachment issues. I’m done.”

You spit out all the pent up anger like lava over your best friend. He’s so angry he’s seething, torn by your unusually biting words, words from someone he thought he could trust. You can’t stop the last words of your tirade from slipping out.

“Fuck. You.”

“You wouldn’t, I’m not rich enough.”

You close your eyes, laughing darkly.

“You’re pathetic. You don’t deserve that title you carry, that saber you wield. You wonder why everyone in your life leaves, well, mystery solved. They’d rather die than suffer through what I have.” 

You ignore the guilt building in your stomach, tears streaming down your face. You want to throw up. Anakin’s gone sheet-white, and instead of apologizing for letting your emotions take over, you turn tail and run.

You open your eyes, biting back the same jumping feeling in your stomach, like you want to puke up all your intestines and hide away in a hole for the rest of your life. Anakin won’t meet your eyes. maybe you won’t meet his.

“That was… hard to watch,” He drags out eventually. “I’d forgotten…”

“All the awful things I said?” You laugh, hollow. He nods. “You’re lucky.” Tears prick at your eyes at the memory of the pure hatred running through your veins.

“When I got home that night my sabers turned red. That’s the most hatred I’ve felt ever, for myself, not just you. I purified them, but the color never came back.”

Anakin’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t know that could happen. They did use to be blue, didn’t they.”

“Matching set,” You say. Your hands are shaking. “Anakin, I’m-“

“I’m sorry,” He darts out at the same time. He barrels on. “For doing what I did. For letting my emotions cloud my judgment. For attacking you when you were down.”

It sounds like he’s been rehearsing this apology, just like you. 

“I’m sorry, too,” You say. “Anger is never an excuse to say all those awful things, even if we weren’t in the Order.”

You fiddle with the hem of your robes.

“You changed my life.” Anakin breaks the silence. “I don’t know if it was for better or worse, but you changed me.”

“We changed each other, Anakin.”

You sit, knee-to-knee, like that, studying one another, finally at rest with what happened what feels like so long ago.

Arrival on Onapesca is a risky maneuver. The Force storms that surround the planet hide it away from your searching, and it takes almost half a day to fully breach all three barricades. You don’t know what awaits you, there’s no way to see through The Force the happenings on the planet.

You stand on deck in the small transport cruiser, Anakin at your side. You’ve cleared the cockpit, save Jex and Rex who will pilot the cruiser through the tunnel you create. The rest of your clone force is in the hill, the safest from the storm. Anakin is here for two reasons: He’s always been adept at lending you strength through The Force, and the second is a secret from him: he can take over if the strain weakens you to the point of not being able to support yourself and the ship.

Rex and Jex sit in commander’s chairs, operating the ship’s shields.

“On my count, lower the shields, Jex.”

Jex clicks a switch, salutes at you. 

“Three,” You begin. You close your eyes, holding your hands out in front of you, The shield begins to bloom from your fingertips. Anakin stands behind you, ready to grant you his strength.

“Two.”

You picture an invisible barrier between the ship and the swirling, volatile mess in front of you. You bring your arms out wide, willing your force signature to become you. 

“Now! Anakin!”

Your eyes snap open as his power overcomes you, and you plunge into the storm. 

The tricky thing with the entry to force-planets like Onapesca is that, along with the shield, you must also fend off attacks and phantoms, using an immense amount of control and drawing on The Force with the ability of a Jedi Grand Master.

Luckily, you have Anakin to aid you. 

You’re sure Jex and Rex think you look positively insane, but it’s working. 

You lash your hands out all around you, feeling the waves of energy cascading upon you, harnessing it, adding to the shield. The ship begins to pick up speed, torpedoing straight through the second storm barrier, and with it, your movements faster. 

Anakin and you, a sole being in The Force, Waves crashing over you but you don’t move, you press the water away, swimming to shore.

The high-speed noise and drag stops suddenly, bringing dead silence. You open your eyes, just to see the shield of multicolored light fade away, into a bright blue, cloudless sky. 

You look down into your home planet, all greens and shining cities, made of marble, metals and jewels, supported in the sky by the force, and the home world below, waterfalls from the islands cascading down into more of the same beautiful, mountainous landscape, refracting light, dancing like a hundred rainbows over the lakes and seas. 

The sun is going down as you approach the main capital city of Onapesca, Ostero. 

Ostero is a wonder in itself, buildings crammed together around green spaces, carved marble and gold architecture, all the forces of nature working together to build the connection to every building, a metaphor for the constant connectedness that the force brings to the world.

The people in the streets are a wide diversity of travelers and locals lucky enough to find themselves in this haven of a city, or they would be, if there were any.

The streets of the Capital are barren of any trace of life as the transport flies over them, bound for the castle. 

“That’s very unusual,” You point out to your companions: “What’s going on?”

The ship hovers over the castle. You’re jolted into Anakin, and you both fall to the floor, you on top of him. He grunts softly, and you roll off him.

“I’ve lost control of the cruiser!” Jex calls out. Rex is clicking furiously at the buttons.

Then it hits you.

“Oh!” You facepalm. “The hanger uses a Force pulley to bring in ships! I completely forgot about that!”

“You remember that from when you were seven?” Anakin asks, incredulously.

“No, I read it in the mission brief.”

Sure enough, the cruiser is being reeled downwards. You rush over and shut off the engine entirely, completely trusting the Force pulley to not send you crashing down.

“Things work different here on Onapesca, boys.” Your lips curve into the smile as the familiar hangar comes into view. “It’s almost like magic.”

It starts with fanfare, and you think, okay, this is normal. Trumpets and horns and big leaves and colorful sparks heralding your return.

Then comes the weeping. Lines of citizens weeping happily, to which all of your companions seem very awkward about.. Truth is, this is a little out of the ordinary.

After the weeping, when you step into the first courtyard that the hanger precedes, it gets really weird. Banners with your face on them in the Onapescan script that you can only haltingly understand. Statues of you and your family facing the sky. 

“Is this normal?” Anakin whispers. Jex and your crew are having an absolute field day with one of the particularly racy statues of you - a statue with a physique so drastically different from yours it’s, admittedly, funny.

“Absolutely not. Skipp, I’ll skin you alive if you send that holo to anyone.”

The aisle set out for you leads to a set of double doors entering the first lift, but they don’t open when you try them with a wave of your hand.

“What-“

“Your Majesty!”

it seems almost directed at you, so you turn your head, to see a disheveled looking old man in long robes - robes of a priest, the King’s right hand man- running towards you from one of the floating stone lifts off the path. 

“…Pieth?”

Pieth is older, frailer and thinner than he was when you last saw him, but he’s almost the same otherwise. Your Uncle’s best friend and companion, Pieth had tried to mentor you before realizing you were Jedi. 

“You’ve arrived! Ha ha ha!” he does a strange little dance. He was always a little eccentric, that Pieth. 

“Pieth, I’m here to respond to the distress call? I’ve brought a small clone battalion and a fellow Jedi Knight to assist you-“

“My dear friends!” Pieth rushes into an embrace with Anakin, who eyes you, paralyzed. “Thank you for accompanying our Queen and assisting us!”

Wait. 

“Pieth… did you say…”

This is the first time Pieth falls silent. 

“Pieth, my uncle? It was he who sent the distress call?”

Pieth glances at your companions, eyes hovering on Anakin, whose whole body is tense. Like you, he and the clones have made the same connection as you.

“The late King Karthik died the last week. Our people have been in mourning and in hiding for fear of the virus that killed him.”

Your mouth drops open. Queen of Onapesca?

The death of your uncle, while tragic, was not unexpected. He had always been sickly, and that had been many cycles ago. You’re actually surprised he even lasted this long.

“The throne… Is mine?” 

“Traditionally, the throne falls to the heir with the strongest pull to the Force. In this instance, this is you, and with your companions, you will be the most capable Queen of Onapescan history.”

You share a look with Anakin. 

“Pieth, I think you’ve drastically misunderstood my purpose here.” You glance around the courtyard, the statues all making sense now. “I’m here to respond to a distress call, Not to become Queen of Onapesca. Also, my only force-sensitive companion is Master Skywalker, these men are some of the finest soldiers in the Republic, yes, but they are no Force-users.”

Pieth smiles knowingly, waving a hand. You turn to see some shrubbery between two statues of you doing increasingly raunchy poses part, leaving…

“Ahsoka!” Anakin barks. Ahsoka at least has the sense to look sheepish. You tilt your head. Being back on Onapesca has really messed with your ability to sense presences. 

Anakin practically drags Ahsoka over to you. She’s a mess of scrawny elbows and knees, orange skin blushing slightly as she glances at you, undoubtedly checking if you’re mad. You could never be, of course. You grin and wink at her, much to Anakin’s disdain. 

“Come, your majesty. Honored soldiers. High Priest and Priestess.”

Ahsoka and Anakin both stare at you behind Piethz Ahsoka mouths, What the Fuck! and Anakin hisses at her, Ahsoka! We don’t say the fuck word!, ensuing a hushed argument behind you, and all you can do is let Pieth tell you of the happenings on Onapesca, in revelry of your new title.

What does this mean, becoming Queen of Onapesca?

Will you be able to give the throne away? 

Or will you have to leave the Jedi Order entirely?

-

oooooook so…

I sort of have a plan for the rest of this series (like 5 more parts), so those are gonna come around eventually.

On a separate note, i’ve been busy with end of school stuff for the past month or so, so sorry for the weird update timings.

You’ve tried and tried and tried to move on. It works sometimes, just distracting yourself, mediating, training the younglings at the Creche, plotting missions you won’t go on. Designing drills and challenges for jedi to practice with (especially Jedi who wield two blades, like you).

Becoming a Master Sentinel has also been an adjustment. After the death of Bosque, you had to take over as the head sentinel on coruscant, moving into an apartment in the highly populated domestic sectors, walking a beat, helping out civilians, catching runaway pets and showing off your lightsabers to small kids (they are always fascinated by the fact that you have, not one, but two white lightsabers, something different, something unique).

You’ve made friends, encounters frequent, while you’re on shore leave, which is how you’ve found yourself in the latest fix: a wedding.

You’ve never been to a wedding before, as all of your friends are Jedi, bound by the code, but your now close friend Callia needed a plus-one to a wedding of one of you other friends, and you weren’t about to let her go alone. So, you had set off to do something you’d never done before: shopping.

It’s a wonderful experience, shopping is. The shops overwhelm you with colors you’d never see in the jedi temple- the flashiest thing you wear is the custom beskar chest plate you’d been gifted after a battle with a high ranking Mandalorian house member. The rest of your attire is strictly shades of brown and the white-and-teal clone armor you wear on your arms in combat. 

So the silks and cottons and lush fabrics of the dress shop you’ve stepped into are a shock to you. Callia- bless her- is a whirlwind who does al the work for you, picking out ten different dresses of varying styles and colors appropriate for a wedding, tossing them (and you) into a dressing room.

After a rigorous amount of spinning and pinching and hemming and “hmm”ing and denying scandalous dresses, you come out with two dresses, one, “just in case,” and to “build your wardrobe,” because Jedi, apparently “dress like colorblind grandmothers,” according to Callia. 

This is how you end up sitting on the bathroom counter of Calia’s apartment, letting her pint your face with brand new makeup - the products she has wouldn’t work on the tone of your skin, considering that she is Pantoran, and therefore, blue.

She’s radiant, of course, with the golden Pantoran formal headdress adorning her light hair, big eyes, drawn in dark eyeliner, light purple dress draped over her thin frame. She won’t let you look at yourself until she’s done with you. She grabs your chin, dabbing a dark pigment on your lips, smiling.

“Okay, look.”

You turn, eyes widening as you take in the reflection of a girl- not a Jedi. Who you could have been, had you found your way to coruscant on your own, without the help of the Jedi.

could you be attending your own wedding?

no.

There’s no room for doubt and The Force. 

You inhale. Was this a mistake?

No, because this is the duty of a Sentinel. Live among the people. Personify the Jedi.

Your dress, a simple sage green dress with a square neck that reaches to your mid-calf, is perfectly fluffy enough for you to hide your sabers under the skirt, thanks to your thigh holsters. 

Your hair is pinned back, artfully framing your face in just the right places, and the makeup Callia has painted on is the perfect simple face. 

Understated, she calls it.

the rest of the night is uneventful- aside from you struggling to walk in your heels, the misting of your eyes at the sight of the pure happiness passing in the bride and groom’s faces as they tie the final bow and celebrate their union. 

It’s warm when the reception ends. You hug your friends whose wedding you’ve just celebrated, wishing them luck through the force, and the you and Callia begin the journey home. On the transit, though, you take off the heels that have been killing your feet, leaving them in plain white socks. It’s okay, because you and Callia are the only ones in this carriage.

The stops drag on as you sit in silence, eyelids drooping, the high fading from the great time you’d had tonight.

The doors slide open to a ruckus, shaking you awake, Callia also takes her head off your shoulder, glancing distractedly at the door. Clones.

More specifically, royal blue painted clones. The 501st.

Fives, one of your favorites of Anakin’s troops, catches sight of you and does a double take.

“General?” he calls out. You smile tiredly at the matching sets of brown eyes that land on you, suddenly feeling completely out of place without your armor, sitting here in civvy clothes coming from a civvy event. 

“Hey, boys,” you say, standing up and bowing to them respectfully, just as you would another jedi. “I didn’t know you were on leave, too.”

“Wait! Hold the doors!”

Another clone voice, and two pairs of pounding footsteps, and then a blond trooper enters. Rex, and… Anakin.

You stop short, locking eyes with him, until Callia breaks your intense stare, nudging you with her elbow, clearing her throat.

“Ah, yes. Everyone, this is Callia. Callia, this is Fives, Jesse, Tup, Kix and Hardcase. Over there, the blond, that’s Rex, he’s the Clone commander for the 501st legion. And… that one,” you point at Anakin, “Is General Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi of the Grand republic, the one I told you about.”

The significance of this phrase is loaded for each of you. 

To Anakin, you suppose this might mean you’ve told Callia everything. Everything that he said, that he did to make you fall apart.

To you and Callia, you’re referring to the one you grew up training with, your former best friend, though you’ve spared her the details of the argument that made everything go south. 

Callia, ever the extrovert, strides forward and pumps Anakin’s hand.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Y/n’s other best friend!”

Well, maybe you left out the former part of the relationship.

“…hi?” Anakin shakes her hand with his glove on, eyes still on you. “Other best friend, huh?”

“Well, she told me how you two grew up together and stuff, so yeah!”

“Callia,” You say. “This is your stop.” 

Indeed, her cue to leave is indicated by the holo over the door. 

“Oh, well, it’s was nice meeting you guys!” Callia waves to the group of clones gathered awkwardly in the corner of the compartment. They all wave back, vaguely confused by the Pantoran girl who promptly bounces out of the transit vehicle, blowing you a kiss right as the doors close. 

“Well, she seems nice,” Anakin tells you, grinning slyly.“Bestie.”

you groan.

How is it that, through the vacuum of space, miles and miles away, you can sense his presence, but on the public Coruscanti transit system, somehow you’re surprised by his appearance?

“She doesn’t seem to grasp that I’m not allowed to have any ‘best friends’.”

Rex shakes his head.

“Don’t know you were living with the civvies, General.”

you shrug. 

“It’s new. just this leave I’ve moved into the city.”

Fives shoulders his way to you, face alight with humor.

“What’s got you all dolled up, General? I didn’t think the Jedi were allowed to wear anything but browns.”

“You know, gives, that’s exactly what my friends said when the saw me.” you wave your shows in the air. “I was at a wedding.”

“A wedding.”

“Yes, Skywalker, a wedding. That’s what civilians do. They go to weddings and they go shopping and do all these pointless things just for the fun of it.”

Anakin steps toward you.

“Civilians? But you’d been doing so well at fitting in, with your friends.” He sneers the last word. “Now you refer to them as others?”

You step towards him, too, narrowing your eyes.

“I can have civilian friends, you know. That’s what Sentinels do. We can’t all just swing out lightsabers and blow things up and walk away without consequences.”

“No, face it, Y/n, you’re running. Like you always do.”

“You’re one to talk about running, Skywalker.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming wave of weariness. You’re tired of arguing with him and the tense silences and the broken moments. Biting back a reproach, to tell him exactly what that means, you glance around.

The Clones are probably tired of it, too.

“Whatever, Skywalker. I’m not doing this with you again. It always ends with both of us going home hurting.”

Anakin’s perplexed by this, you can see it on his face. Behind him, Rex has a peculiar expression of relief on his face. He probably just wants to see Jex again without having to separate their generals from another screaming match.

Anakin’s shut up, at least.

“This is my stop. goodnight Rex, boys,” You pause, then, quietly, “Goodnight, Anakin.”

It’s not until you tuck yourself into bed and turn over that you realize that this has been the first day since his death that you’ve not thought of Bosque once. 

Some part of you jolts at the notion of forgetting him, but how could you? He always was and is a huge part of your life, even in his absence.

And you will always hold him near, but that doesn’t mean you have to regret him all day every day.

You felt him today, you realize. Stepping back from the argument, bidding a polite goodnight to someone you could easily hate. 

You can almost feel him hand on your shoulder, showing you the way.

———

This is what your Master would always tell you.  He always was referring to the loss of civilians, the failure of a mission that could have succeeded. You never thought it would apply to losing him.

You arrived at the temple older than most younglings — five years old, feisty and strong, very strong in the ways of the Jedi already.  Back home on Onapesca, The Force was used peacefully, the ways taught to their young. You, however had been unfittingly volatile with your abilities, and so, the Jedi found you. 

With already advanced training, it only took you four years to become eligible to have a master, and were taken on quickly by Master Bosque, a human such as yourself, one of the only Sentinels left in the order.

From the age of nine on, you and Bosque had been attached at the waist.

Even after becoming a knight, you went on missions and outreaches frequently with him, even becoming a Sentinel such as him, although your affinity had always been split between healing, The Force itself and your notable technique for sabers, as demonstrated by the three beads that used to hang on your braid. 

His death came to you like an abrupt ending you always knew would come but never thought it would. 

“Master?” 

The young Togruta Padawan interrupts you melancholy reflection, using the title that’s almost yours. 

“My apologies, young one,” you say properly. “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

Ahsoka is her name, and she’s as bright eyed and bushy tailed as you can be, going into an active war zone as a fourteen-year-old. Her braid is strung with a yellow bead — proficiency with that saber she wields. You can feel her desperation to prove herself wafting through the air, and, if you focus hard enough, it comes in waves, ripples in the air. Her energy reminds you of someone you haven’t spoken to in so long…

“You’re okay, Master L/n. I’m just wondering if you know my new master.”

Her new master? 

“Obi-Wan and I are close, yes.”

“Not Master Kenobi, Master Skywalker!”

Your breath leaves you and doesn’t do you the favor of coming back. Anakin with a Padawan? That would not end well, especially with what you’ve heard about his… unique combat tactics. Of course, you haven’t seen him since right after your Knighting ceremony.

But he’s been plaguing your thoughts since after the Siege of Cassiopeia, the prospect of his return to your life, along with Obi-Wan’s a mixture of bittersweet emotions, of feelings that you don’t know if they will stay covered. 

“Anakin? I didn’t know he was taking a Padawan.”

Ahsoka shrugs, sharp incisors gleaming. 

“He’s getting one whether he likes it or not.”

Whether he likes it or not, is for sure. 

“Yes, I know him. We grew up together, trained together since both of us were young Padawans with young Masters.” you pause, trying to formulate an unbiased explanation of Anakin, whose very presence always seems to affect you in the worst ways. “He’s… hard to capture in words, I would say. But… He’s awfully skilled in mechanics and piloting, with his blade, of course, as well. Hard headed, stubborn, irritating, but he’s also funny, and caring and… the most loyal person you will ever meet. Protective, too.”

“He sounds great.”

You refrain from agreeing with her. He is great. He’s just a difficult topic for you to broach right now. Ahsoka keeps darting her eyes at you, then back to her holopad.

“Was there something else, Ahsoka?”

“I’m really sorry about Master Bosque, Master L/n.”

Even just his name knocks it out of you. Everything seems to leave you breathless and gasping for the past you can never return to. You feel your vocal chords tighten.

No attachment.

“Thank you.” 

There’s not much to say about it, at least not to her. You ache to tell someone how you feel, but it seems that a Padawan whom you just met may not be the best choice. 

You grip your lightsabers and close your eyes, searching for a semblance of your Master, a sign, any sign that he’s watching over this journey, that he’s helping to better the tasks ahead.

(he’s missing from The Force, just like he is from your life, unjustly gone from the world that still needs him)

(you still need him)

In the village where you grew, you were taught to respect the Living Force. Your mother, your family, and the population who helped to raise you, the daughter of an important someone or other, had always taught you that the spirits of the lost would always be with you, and that you had a unique gift: you could not only sense the spirits, you could call them, channel them. Later, within your training as a Jedi, you learned that the spirits you once knew were actually The Force, and that the sense you’d had for them was an understanding most grown Jedi strived to reach. 

You feel no such spirits upon entry to Christophsis. 

It’s almost a vacuum of the Living Force, such a characteristic is becoming increasingly common in the war.

The Force beacons to the two Jedi on the planet, where your destination must be. You close your eyes, reaching out to Anakin, looking for the link you used to have, looking for his distinct signal. Like his unique radio frequency, he sends ripples through The Force, the layer under reality that you have the ability to sense. Not quite through The Force, halfway between the realms. 

He’s there, alright.

The link that you have suppressed for so many cycles pulses in the back of your mind like an old memory, which you suppose it is.

You must prepare yourself for the confrontation that awaits.

The front is impossible to break, not without reinforcements, not with the limited resources that are steadily depleting.

Anakin believes that with a little assistance from the Council, they can power through and break the line, though, as sore as it is to admit it, continuing his tactics might have the very very very slight possibility of failing.

Maybe. 

Rex can’t know that he has his doubts, though, because Anakin knows that Rex is counting on him. And Obi-Wan.

Definitely Obi-Wan.

The end of the latest battle heralds another sore reminders of the lack of supplies and dashed team spirit, even for a victory. 

Something’s off. It’s a feeling that started at the end of the aforementioned battle, a stirring in the back of his mind, a feeling that feels familiar, something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Sent reinforcements, we have,” Yoda tells him and Obi-Wan. “Bothering you, is something, Skywalker?”

Anakin clears his throat. 

“No, Master Yoda. Everything-“

The hologram cuts out before he even finishes his excuse for distraction. Obi-Wan and Rex are both staring at him. What do they want?What do they have to say?

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan starts. Anakin squeezes his eyes shut. The feeling surges. What is this? Why does he feel it now, after years of trying to reach out, why is this coming back to haunt him now?

“She’s coming, isn’t she?” He demands, somewhat belligerently, feeling like a petulant child, whining to his master. “You feel it, right? Did you know?”

“Anakin, I’m as surprised as you are. As far as I knew, she was still on Cassiopeia carrying out covert operations.” Obi-Wan shakes his head, leaning on the podium. Anakin turns to Rex, hoping he’d heard from his best friend, Y/n’s clone commander.

“Don’t look at me, General, I haven’t heard from Jex since the radios went dead. He told me they were headed back to Coruscant.”

Anakin rubs his eyes, feeling the storm brewing. 

This girl.

It’s almost comical, the expression on both Skywalker and Kenobi’s faces, their confusion when they meet the whirlwind that is Ahsoka Tano. It’s fine, they’ll adjust, she’s a perfect little version of Anakin, (She kind of reminds you of yourself, if you’re being honest) and even if he doesn’t see it, she’s the best Padawan he could have gotten. 

You step away from the conversation, getting a report from one of the Clones in blue - Hach. The situation doesn’t sound good. 

you’ll see what Rex has to say about battle strategy, but you have a pretty good idea of what the next step is.

“Why don’t you take Ahsoka to go observe. Get her familiarized with the ground.” 

“Who, the youngling?” 

“Padawan!”

And so, the three Jedi are left alone, and you finally get a chance to look at them, see how they’ve changed. Obi-Wan, bless his soul, is virtually unchanged, the only difference is his armor. Anakin, however… 

You haven’t seen him since recently after the both of you were Knighted, since the night of the huge argument. His hair is longer, his face rougher, a short scar marked over his right eye. His mechanical hand, one of his many impressive feats of engineering, is scratched up and dulled after many battles. His blue eyes search you, probably trying to gauge the same thing that you are— if you’re still angry.

You’re not, if anyone was wondering. Your anger has strictly faded into a cold feeling of indifference— or that might be the layers of suppression that result from years and years of denying what actually happened that night.

“Y/n, my dear, It’s been quite a while,” Obi-Wan says, warm smile flitting onto his face. 

“It has, Master Kenobi. Strange how the time goes.”

Anakin nods at you. Obi wan elbows him. “Ow!” He rubs the back of his neck. “You cut your hair.”

You smack your lips awkwardly. 

“Well,” Obi wan breaks the uncomfortable silence, already stepping away. “I must go speak with the troops. Anakin, why don’t you update Y/n on the status of the battle.”

You thank The Force for granting you this momentary reprieve from the heartbreaking news you carry, but it comes with the price of painstakingly awkward conversation with Skywalker. 

He’s brash and direct, just like you remember him, updating you on the latest supply shortage, the power outages, the horrors of this war, appearing around every corner. 

“I didn’t know you were off of Cassiopeia. I thought the Siege was still in effect,” He admits. You shake your head, remembering what you need to tell him. 

“We went radio silent during the last stages of the Siege, which reminds me,” you snap your comm out of its slot on your gauntlet. “Can you tune me to your frequency?”

He tilts his head, grinning slyly. 

“Four years and you still haven’t learned how to program a comm?”

“Jex is a mechanic, Skywalker,” You drop the comm into his black- gloves hand. “And for your information, I know how to do it, I just …prefer not to.”

“Oh, I’m sure, and I wasted all that time on Naboo teaching you how to program them, just for you to mooch off poor Jex.”

“No one’s mooching anything! Jex is happy to help me!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“What that supposed to-“

You’re cut off by the beeping from both of your comms, meaning Rex’s found something, probably something that’s just going to heighten the risks of the upcoming battle. 

Is there a tactical advantage to sending Ahsoka, the smallest of you all, to sneak past the force field? Sure, yes. Does it pleasure you to torment Anakin with his new spitfire padawan? Of fucking course. 

So the two bickering Jedi set off to set charges  on the barrier, leaving you with Kenobi and Rex.

“What’s the plan, Generals?” The clone asks. You glance at Obi-Wan.

“Whaddya say, old man? the old fashioned surrender?”

He sighs.

“Y/n, I resent it when you call me that, but… yes. The old fashioned surrender should give them enough time.”

You grin.

“Sounds like a plan.”

The downside of a plan going, well, according to plan, is that you have no more time to speak to anakin and Master Kenobi about what will happen upon return to shore leave on Coruscant. 

It’s late, Ahsoka has retired to her quarters on the Resolute, leaving only the three senior Jedi in the common area, reflecting and writing reports of the events on Christophsis. You take in a deep breath, steeling yourself.

“Master Kenobi, Skywalker,” You address them formally, trying to stay detached. “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely… honest about the events of the final battle for Cassiopeia.”

Both Jedi fixate on you, concern evident on their battle-worn faces.

“I didn’t want to distract you before going into combat, and perhaps I was sparing myself the grief of reliving it… but… on Cassiopeia, I was captured.” Better to start off with the beginning of the story. “It was part of the plan, but the tactics of the Separatists were even more convoluted than what any of us could have imagined, so, Master Bosque saw the plan’s acceleration.” You take a deep breath. “It was… sloppy, it was tragic. We lost everyone on the mission, except myself… and Jex.” You pause, to recuperate yourself, to keep your voice from cracking, but it grows think in your throat. “Bosque was killed. I’m sorry. I know how much he meant to both of you.”

You breathe shakily. Kenobi seems frozen, paralyzed by grief. His oldest friend, gone at the hands of this war. Skywalker’s blue eyes have hardened, his mouth turned down. Bosque helped Kenobi train him, as well. He was to Anakin what Kenobi is to you. 

“Upon our return to Coruscant for shore leave, there will be a ceremony, commemorating Bosque, followed by my induction to the Order of Mastery.”

Anakin recoils at this.You know how much he wishes to become a Master.

Deafening silence, the millings about of Clones.

“I should- I want you, Master Kenobi, to conduct the ceremony as my honorary Post- Master. And- and I knew you would want to see him. One last time.”

You hold your breath, partly in suspense, mostly to keep from breaking out in sobs. You have not wept for him. You will not.

You will not.

But these two— if anyone could make you cry for the Master you wish was still here, they could.

So you leave.

You leave them to their grief.

A coward’s move, yes.

But you are a coward.

The first day is hard. You walk around, feet bare on the soft grass trying to remember. Remember anything, at all. Not even your name, you don’t remember anything. 

You’ve found yourself in a lush, green square, maybe a kilometer in each direction, forested, and you can hear a rushing river towards the lake. The kicker is: this square is surrounded by towering walls. Walls that are too tall to climb safely, walls that, is you stare at the for too long, give you the chills.

While the first day is hard, the second, you go back to the elevator and look around the boxes, unloading them one at a time and burrowing through them. Shoes, clothes, enough food for two weeks. Some plywood, and axe and a bucket.

Most chillingly, a note.

Stay alive.

You venture out into the grey walls that day, making sure you’re back well before sunset, when the cool air chills you to the bone. You make a fire and dry your clothes completely.

That first month, you alternate between exploring and building. You build the chicken pastures and coops, tackling the cows next. You plant the seeds that have been supplied for you, and gradually build up a shelter that turns into a hut. You collect moss and use old scraps of packing fabric to make yourself a mattress and a pillow.

the next month, the boys start arriving.

You welcome them to the place you’ve dubbed the Glade and introduce yourself by the name you’ve finally remembered.

Y/n.

Alby, Siggy, and Alfred listen to you. They’re good guys, but they suggest ways to get out, something you’ve tried time and time again.

You take them over to the name wall, where you’ve carved yours big and in the middle, and let them do theirs like yours.

Alfred dies first and you bury him yourself, exactly six feet under. You learn a valuable lesson that day, though. 

you’re not alone.

Someone’s watching.

Two more sets of three boys show up, then a few of two, for about a year, and then one boys comes up in the elevator - the Box - every month, heralding supplies and another 30 days lost to the Maze.

You run the Maze in the days and organize the Glade on your off days. You’ve appointed everybody a place in the glade, including your best friends, Newt, Keeper of the gardens, and Minho, who you’ve resolved your position of Keeper of the Runners to, as with the arrival of more boys, there’s fires to put out on the daily. That’s not to say that you don’t run the maze, of course, but you find it depressing. Only Minho, Newt and Alby know the truth. There’s no way out. You mapped every inch of it yourself, built the map in the forbidden cartography room.

The wall of names fills. You always have the job of carving lines through the boys’ names who’ve passed, usually doing something stupid, or getting stung by the Grievers.

On the eve of your fourth year in the Maze, you and Minho are running late. Very, very late, and as you bolt around a corner at full speed, pursued by a clicking griever, you think briefly about Newt and what he’ll do once you and Minho are gone. 

“Come on, Y/n!” Minho screams. You take a tight corner and speed up at the sound of the Griever slamming into the wall. It doesn’t stop. 

Minho, the sweet, lovable, absolute dumbass, has slowed his own run so you can catch up.

“Run!” you scream, passing him. The Griever scrabbles and screams. 

The Glade.

If you don’t shake this Griever, it will endanger the Glade. 

The walls are shifting as night falls completely, you can see the opening thinning. Not fast enough. You slide through, shouting at Newt to give you the fucking spear, and then, just as Minho breaches the Glade’s threshold, you throw the spear like a javelin and hit the Griever right in its slobbering mouth. It screams and collapses, right as its body is concealed by the closing walls. 

You settle down on the grass, head between your hands as you come to terms of what just happened.

You faced off a Griever.

And survived, and kept Minho alive, too.

The boys gather around the two of you, the only two runners that day, and solemnly pat your shoulders. Newt’s eyes are teary as he embraces you, someone he considers to be his younger sister. You suck in a wet gasp as you card your fingers through his hair.

“You… you need a haircut,” You tell him, trying to bring some light to the situation. Minho remarks something about liking it, and suggests that he might need to grow his out like Newt has. 

“Mean hoe, if you do that, I’m disowning you.”

Minho laughs and you hug him.

Just you  and your boys.

You’re out of the Glade when the Greenie arrives. Running the maze, while Ben is sick, you and Minho quickly fall back into rhythm. Out here, out in the Maze, you feel ironically free, stuck in the stone walled prison. It gives you a break from constantly putting out fires (though you do feel a little guilty leaving Alby with the incoming Greenie) and greeting yet another Greenie who is surprised that you, the only girl, are the leader. (There’s only been a few, but you’re long overdue for the next. Chuck, the most recent, is a cherubic twelve-year-old who was surprised a group of boys could do what they had alone, before meeting you. After which you adopted him as your child)

Today is a very routine day, jogging along until the sun reaches its peak, stopping and eating lunch, and then running again.

Both you and Minho know that there’s absolutely no way out, but it’s nice to pretend for a while. Minho fills your mental blankness with funny anecdotes and remarks that would sound flirty or downright creepy from anyone else but your Mean Hoe. 

When the sun drops low enough to start casting shadows, you head back, having found absolutely nothing new. 

Right near the eastern entrance of the Glade, Alby is introducing a wide-eyed Greenie to the last of the brief tour - one that covers about an eighth of the extensive one that you traditionally conduct the day after the elevator brings the newest boy up. You and Minho jog over, and you can just see Minho putting on his surly attitude. He nods at him.

“Greenie.”

Minho, who has done this literally every single introduction jogs away, to the map room in the woods. You roll your eyes, knowing that he’s probably patting himself on the back for another great performance. 

“Hi,” you say, smiling. You offer your hand for him to shake. Shit, he’s actually cute, though. Scruffy black hair, wide copper eyes and cheekbones for days, he stares at you like you’re a mystery, which, in a Glade full of boys, you suppose you are. His touch is weirdly familiar, calloused hand gripping yours firmly. “I’m Y/n.”

Alby interrupts the moment by putting a gentle, threatening hand on the Greenie’s shoulder. 

“Y/n’s the leadership around here. Shes like a sister to the boys.” 

The message is clear: Y/n is off limits.

The Greenie swallows visibly, and you find yourself entranced by his adam’s apple and his chiseled collarbone. Alby clears his throat. 

“Y/n, I think Clint needed your help with Mike’s leg.”

That distracts you.

“What happened? did he tear his stitches again?”

“Better go check it out.” Alby shrugs. “He looked worried.”

“And you just decided… not to ask him what was wrong?” You bid the two goodbye and storm off, muttering under your breath about stupid shucking useless boys.

After an hour of careful stitching and stapling, you and Clint successfully graft a piece of skin onto Mike’s leg. You’ve missed dinner, so the two of you stop by the kitchens to see if Fry has saved any food, and are rewarded with his famous grilled cheese sandwich, a delicacy in the Glade.

The Greenie bonfire is another tradition, where every group of Gladers celebrate another arrival around the biggest bonfire of the month. Gally makes his special mix, The cooks supply bonfire snacks later in the night, and the community of boys you’ve built celebrates together.

You gratefully accept the jar from Gally, the stony- faced keeper of the Builders, and search out Minho from the group of boys, laughing and joking around. He’s sitting with Dan, dazedly looking out into the fire, tuning out the party. 

You gulp down your drink before offering him a sip. He waves it away, leaning his head on your shoulder. You ruffle his hair before catching Newt’s eye. You haven’t even talked to your other best friend all day, so you wave at him and make your way over. Minho squawks unintelligibly over losing his pillow.

“Hey, Newtie,” you greet the Keeper. He’s not yet showered, so his face has smudges of dirt and grime marring his features. “Greenie. Still no luck on the name?”

The Greenie shakes his head no, and you sigh, sitting down beside him.

“Well, we have all of tomorrow to coax it out of ya.” You sigh. 

His mouth drops open and his eyes voice out okie a fish. You grab his shoulders and pull him up. 

“Cmon, you’re the guest of honor. Newfie’s just been keeping you all to himself, I guess.”

You wave your hands at each group, you and Newt alternating between explaining who everyone is. Passing by the fight circle, Gally’s latest victim, Nick, runs into Thomas. You and Newt share a look, both knowing full well what Gally’s expression means.

“What’d ya say, Greenie? Wanna see what you’re made of?”

The Greenie shakes his head, but everybody’s already chanting his name. You push him lightly towards Gally, sending the Builder a pointed look. Don’t kill him on his first day.

The boys are circling. You blend back into the audience, eager to see this boy’s potential.

The fistfights are only allowed on the first day of every month, after the greenie arrives. Any other time, you’ve prohibited them from ever happening, else the boys get stuck in the Slammer for a week. 

And, so what if you enjoy whooping ass during these night, proving who’s really in charge.

Gally is bigger than the greenie, and, after a few rounds, is getting cocky. This is his weakness. You and Minho share a look. It’s always difficult to know when to step in to these types of things. The Greenie suffers from it too, getting too confident and ending up hitting his head hard on the sand.

He freezes on the ground, eyes immediately finding you. 

“Thomas,” he breathes out. He jumps to his feet. “I remember my name! Thomas!”

A smile splits your face, this being your favorite part of orientation, the elation of recalling something - anything. 

“Thomas!” You yell, with the rest of the gladers. You’re the first to him, shaking his hand. Alby pats his back hard. 

“Welcome to the Glade, Thomas.”

The sun rises and you with it, as corny as it sounds, but you have an orientation day ahead and the post sunrise glade calm is the best way to really introduce a greenie to the environment. 

Thomas.

You hadn’t been able to sleep last night, turning his name over and over in your head. Why does it sound so familiar? did he mean something to you?

You weave through the maze of hammocks- the boys sleep outside when it’s hotter out -  and prod thomas’s shoulder. His eyes shoot open, jerking up, mouth poised to shout. You clamp your hand over his mouth, finger to your lips. 

“Get up. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“This is the Glade, the only place in the Maze we stay safe,” You explain. The watchtower is the beginning of all of your tour. “Every morning, those walls open. Every night, they close, hiding us from the monsters in the maze.

“Monsters?”

“Grievers. Nasty things. That’s why we run the maze, because there’s always a chance the walls don’t close, and we want to be out of here by the time that happens.”

Thomas looks out over the Glade. The runners are just departing. Minho and Dan. 

“What if I want to be a runner?”

You purse your lips. Another one of your ponderings last night was how to break the news to him.

“Newt told you. You need to be chosen.”

“By who?”

“Me,” You say. “Newt, Alby, Minho, Gally. All the Keepers and the ones who have a say in goings on in the Glade vote to choose the new runners.”

“But-“

“I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m saying you can’t be one immediately. That’s what today’s about. Finding your place in the Glade.”

The breakfast bell rings, Fry always vigilant on his timing.

“C’mon Thomas. Time for breakfast. Then we begin.”

He’s taking the tour, your patient answers to his every question, the Glade well enough for a greenie. Right now, he’s in the phase where he tries to find a way out.

“What about climbing the vines?”

“Tried it. That’s how Alfred died. They don’t reach the top, and even if they did, the Glade is an Island in the Maze.”

“going down in the box?” 

“Doesn’t leave with someone in it.”

“what about the shaft? I saw some rope, maybe-“

“Tried it! Everything you can think of, we’ve already tried.”

You wave your hand at the wall. 

“It never gets us anywhere. The best chance- the only chance we have is by running the maze.”

Thomas falls silent.

Finally, he’s come to the realization every Glader has to make.

The stars are beautiful tonight.

Thomas has stayed up with you to put out the fire. The boys have died down, all heading back to the homestead and their cots, leaving you to do the customary duties of putting out the fire and brushing up.

Thomas folds up a few blankets, setting the old CD player down on the growing pile, before picking up the cups and glasses from the night- and Gally’s special drink. You watch him, your gaze drifting over him dazedly, and up to the stars.

A sudden beat drops. You snap your gaze to Thomas, whose hand is hovering over the play button. The other, he uses to beckon you over to him.

You saunter over, lacing your fingers behind his neck, pulling his face close to yours, staring into his copper eyes, the warm campfire light ricocheting off his irises. You begin swaying with him to the beat of the music, eyes sliding shut, foreheads touching.

“I love you,” he whispers. “You could never know how much.”

you lean your head on his shoulder, humming along. There’s never been a stop to the butterflies he gives you, even as his arms pull you in by the waist, flush against him. 

“You’re cute,” You tel him, reminiscent of the first time you ever met him. He pulls back, inches from your lips.

“And you’re beautiful.”

you close your eyes again, lips finally touching his.

It’s a beautiful night in the glade, and you’re just happy to be here, slow dancing under the stars with your love.

—

“Fine. A kiss. But don’t expect me to tell you if you’re not there. I need me my Frypan desserts!”)

Thomas is strictly your best friend, and he’s never seen you other than that. 

He’s my best friend.

It’s the runners’ off day, so Thomas is sort of drifting around the glade, doing odd jobs for you in the medjacks building. He’s been acting a little weird, almost saying something and then pausing, turning away a little too quickly.

Quiet, which isn’t something you normally get from Thomas, especially on days when it’s just the two of you hanging out. 

His bronze eyes flick away from you as you turn around to tell him that you’re finally done organizing the tools for Clint, and that now you two can go out into the glade.

“Honestly, Thomas, I don’t see why you don’t just go bother Newt. He’s your friend, too.”

Thomas gives you that adorable puppy face. 

“Maybe I like you better than Newt.”

“That’s reasonable, I am better.”

He laughs at that, a little harder than you would’ve thought your stupid joke would have merited. You grin.

His laugh is the best.

You could probably listen to it on repeat for a week and not get tired of his laugh. 

“C’mon, Tommy. Let’s get some vitamin d.”

He follows you out into the sunny Glade. Newt waves at you from the gardens, and, shielding your eyes, you wave back. Deciding to go see what he’s up to, you and Thomas jog over to the gardens, where Newt tosses you a shovel. You miss it, and i smacks thomas right in the face.

***

“Y/n, I’m fine, really.” Thomas pushes against your grip, trying to sit up. You push him right back down onto the cot, still patching up the bloody stripe the shovel cut on his cheekbone. 

“Thomas, you took a shovel to the face. You’re fine when I say you’re fine.”

He smiles that perfect smile, then grimaces, clenching his jaw. You pause, momentarily distracted by his chiseled jaw and cheekbones, before stringing up a needle.

“I’m going to stitch it, then you’ll be done, okay?” 

Thomas rolls his eyes, but complies, only flinching slightly as you begin to suture the wound.

Poor Newt, who was so guilty for cutting Thomas with a rogue shovel that he followed the two of you here, Thomas shaking with laughter, and you biting your lip to keep your face straight. You’d had to kick him out because of his fussing over Thomas.

You tie off the stitch and admire your handiwork, meeting Thomas’s eyes. He raises his eyebrows and you sigh, letting him sit up.

“Thanks, Y/n. Really.”

“Couldn’t have you running around with that gash on your face, could I? That’s what friend are for.”

Is your mind playing tricks on you, or do you see a flicker of disappointment on Thomas’s face?

He’s my best friend.

“Except Newt,” He says, after a beat of strangely awkward silence. “The only thing he’s good for his hitting you in the face with a shovel.”

You snort.

“Yep, Newts my right hand man solely because he beats the sexist greenies with his shovels.”

“Hey, those things could be lethal.”

***

It’s a hot day, so you’ve finally got a reason to put the pool to work. 

It’s not actually a pool, but a blocked off part of the stream at the edge of the glade, more like a water hole, but It’s a great cool off for the days when the suns beating down on you. Because you and Thomas technically have a free day today, You and him go and change into swim clothes- you into shorts and one of your sports bras, him into his athletic shorts. 

He strips his shirt off and jumps in from the ledge off of a bank. 

The water hole is half open to the sun, and half shrouded by trees. A couple years back, someone decided to put up a rope on one of the lower hanging trees to be able to swing in. Newt, ever the cautious one, led a seminar on how to swing into the water hole without breaking your neck, to which about none of the boys listened to, competing between each other who could get the highest jump, or the most flips.

You swing in off the rope, vaulting over the water and landing with a splash in the cool water. You dunk your head so your hair falls back behind your back. You glance around, looking for Thomas, thinking he might have climbed out to swing in the rope. 

A soft wave of movement around your feet has you looking down, just in time to be hoisted into the air by the boy you’d been looking for. You yelp and squirm in his grasp, laughing loudly  before being tossed in the air and landing with another splash.

When you resurface, Thomas is crouched so that you can only see his shoulders, lazily carding his hands through the water. You’re behind him, and he doesn’t bother to turn, so you get a great view of his spectacular back and arm muscles.

“Whose idea was the water hole?” He asks, finally turning to you. God, his chest and shoulders are even better to look at than his back. “I’m thinking Minho, but something tells me Gally has a fun side hidden behind that grouchy façade.”

You giggle. 

“You did not just say grouchy.”

“so what if I did?” he crosses his arms. “Whatcha gonna do about it, princess?”

He’s called you princess before, but this time feels different. Today feels different.

“Nothing, It’s just funny.”

You smile, but he doesn’t say anything, just staring at you.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Something stirs in your stomach, a fluttery feeling, not something you’ve felt before. Thomas is still staring at you. Any other guy, even Newt or Alby, or even Minho, would make you uncomfortable, staring at you this long. But Thomas… he makes you feel seen.

He’s my best friend, you remind yourself.

You walk towards him, poking him in the side. He scoots away.

“What, Tommy? And don’t say nothing, because we both know that that’s a lie.” Thomas finally breaks his stare and looks past you, contemplating. 

God, he’s gorgeous.

He’s my best friend.

“Thomas?”

He meets your eyes.

“Nothing.” His voice is strained. 

Your heart sinks.

 “Nothing, except that every time I look at you my head goes fuzzy. Nothing, except lately, all you’ve done is drive me absolutely insane. Nothing, except that I shucking convinced you that cuddling annd sharing clothes was normal best friend behavior, and that I almost quit the runners because I wanted to spend more time with you, and I have to tell you because if I don’t I swear it’ll kill me.”

… and fills with helium and you’re soaring in he clouds.

And you’re on him and you’re kissing him. His lips are soft and perfect and surprised at first, but they respond to yours, fervently kissing you back.

He breaks from you, eyes wide.

“Y/n.”

You kiss him again.

Because he’s your best friend.

Because he’s so much more.

bonus:

“Yeah! Woohoo!”

Minho’s cheers echo through the glade.

“Oh, Shuck off, Mean hoe!” you scream back, still wrapped in Thomas’s arms.

“I win, Bitch!”