#oc fluke

“Fluke,” he’d said suddenly at first-meal, drawing confused expressions from his squad. “What?” Wilde asked next to him.  “I think that’s what I want my name to be,” he shrugged, picking at the edge of the bandage secured across his nose.  “Why?” CT-3605 snorted, receiving a sharp elbow to the side from their squad’s 01.  “I’m not sure if your name should be picked entirely out of spite,” Shiner smiled at him. “But if that feels right to you, kih’vod, that’s what it’ll be.” “Thank the kriffin’ maker,” Gripp groaned. “I was getting tired of calling you ‘two-one’. Now we just need to find a name for ‘fivesy’ here.” He hooked an arm around 3605’s neck, grinding his knuckles into his head. Fluke chuckled as an exasperated grin stole over Shiner’s expression. 

Graduation, medic training, a stint in the 212th, then command training. He’d done it all. Must’ve been a fluke.

With Wilde as his lieutenant and their new incoming Jedi, Fluke was now a captain of the new 763rd, though he was certain the formwork alone would be the end of him. 

Their new general would be here soon. Fluke took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow hiss as he tried to push the nerves down. 

Commander Cody had told him this jetii was a Healer and that his General Kenobi knew her well. 

He checked the time at the top of the datapad. 1430. General Bakki was set to arrive shortly after late-meal. He pulled at the collar of his uniform–it had become somewhat itchy over the stretches of skin that had been tattooed on their first run ashore as shinies–as he noticed his leg start to bounce. 

He frowned at the offending leg as though that would solve anything, eventually just setting aside his datapad to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. Get it together, a familiar voice hissed in the back of his mind.

He smelled the caf before he registered the door to his office sliding open. 

“Maker, Cap, you look like shit,” Wilde smirked as he set a steaming cup down in front of him. 

Fluke glared, but lifted the mug to his lips immediately, sipping the bitter liquid, doing his best–and apparently failing, if Wilde’s snickers were anything to go by–to disguise his distaste for it. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” Wilde asked, scooping up Fluke’s datapad from the desk. 

Fluke sighed, willing his mind to actually function. Wilde sputtered. 

“The kriff is all this?” he grumbled as he scrolled through the seemingly endless formwork. “We haven’t even shipped out yet!”

“New kind of unit means everything’s gotta have a flimsitrail,” Fluke shrugged, taking a sip of his caf. “Under a damn microscope.”

Wilde scoffed, raising his mug in a mock toast. “To the experimental 763rd.”

Fluke smiled wearily, clinking his mug against Wilde’s as his comm beeped. “Go ahead.”

“Captain,” one of his troopers–the kid was so shiny, he wasn’t sure if he even had a name yet–said, sounding somewhat nervous. “Um, sir–”

Fluke suppressed a sigh. “What’s the matter, trooper?”

“Sir, uh, the new General is here, sir,” the shiny stammered. 

Wilde nearly spat out his caf with a soft curse. 

“Understood,” Fluke said, hoping he didn’t sound as flustered as he was beginning to feel. “Thank you, um…”

“Sig, sir,” the trooper supplied. 

“Right. Thank you, Sig.”

The comm cut off and Fluke scrubbed a hand down his face. Kriff.

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Kresta

Kresta took one look at the Pelta-class frigate from the viewport and was instantly nauseous. The crew aboard consisted of nearly 600 troopers. It had the capacity for just as many patients. She couldn’t do this.

She froze in her steps, vision blurring as she stared at the ground. Her companions kept walking.

“Of course, there is a command structure beneath you, so it’s not as if you’d be managing–”

“General,” the commander murmured, tapping the general’s shoulder. 

They both turned back to face her.

“Kresta? Are you alright?”

She blinked, shaking her head gently, as though that would clear the maelstrom of thoughts flooding her brain. She tucked her shaking hands behind her. Just breathe, she heard the other man’s master whisper in the back of her mind.

“Yes, sorry, I was… lost in thought,” she replied easily, forcing her mouth to curve upwards.

“Lost in thought,” Obi-Wan repeated, eyes narrowing slightly. He stepped nearer to her, his voice lowering slightly. “Or lost in worry?”

She smiled softly, somewhat genuinely. “You know me too well, Obi-Wan.”

“It’s going to be alright,” he tried to reassure her. “Kresta, you are one of the strongest people I know. You’re an expert swordsman and an even better Healer.”

“If I might add, sir,” Cody hummed. “Captain Fluke was a medical officer for the 212th for some time. He’s one of the best.”

“You see, my dear?” Obi-Wan said, his hands resting on her shoulders. “You are going to be just fine.”

She nodded. “Thank you both,” she said, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind her ear. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

Obi-Wan smiled again. “I know all too well.”

They continued their walk towards the ship–her ship. 

As they walked, the few troopers they encountered would stand rigidly still at attention until they had passed, returning to their tasks. 

“Commander?” Kresta said, looking past Obi-Wan’s shoulders to see the man, following close behind. 

“Yes, sir?” he responded. 

“Is there a way to… I mean, is it possible to perhaps… ask the troopers in the– ah, my unit to not… uh–”

Thankfully, both Cody and Obi-Wan seemed to understand. “Sir, you are free to ask just about any of your troops whatever you’d like.”

Obi-Wan nearly scoffed. “What Cody isn’t saying is that their training is rather… rigid, and while they’ll do their utmost to follow any order you give them… well, as you said, ‘old habits die hard.’” He winked at Cody and she was sure he was rolling his eyes behind the dark visor of his helmet.

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Fluke

Fluke stood rigid at attention as the Generals entered the hangar. Half of all troopers otherwise unassigned lined up next to him, the other half lined up next to Wilde across from him. Despite his brother’s helmet, he could practically see him mouthing ‘haalur’ at him. Get it together, the voice whispered again.

He turned his head, watching as his old general and commander stepped off the ramp. Then he froze. Just behind Kenobi and Cody was the most striking person he’d ever seen. 

She was tall, standing about the same height as her companions, though he suspected that she’d end up a bit shorter without her heeled leather boots. He could just start to make out the hint of her curves from the green and brown fabrics that hung from her form with far fewer layers than he’d seen on most other Jedi generals. Everything about her drew his eye; the sleeve of tattoos peeking out of her pushed-up sleeves on her left arm–the glint of metal he caught from the split of her skirt, the freckles that dotted across her face like a star map–but her hair shone in the industrial light like a fiery crown with braids running back on either side of her head to hold the copper tresses back from her face in a style that almost reminded him of his own. 

He forced his jaw shut and his face forward just as Kenobi and Cody finished their quiet conversation and finally looked ahead at the lines of troopers. He wished he wasn’t in his dress uniform, the collar itching again. 

“Captain,” General Kenobi greeted him warmly, a gentle smile pulling at his lips. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too, sir,” he responded. 

“Su cuy’gar, vod,” Commander Cody chuckled. 

Fluke cracked a smirk. “Gar cuyir balyc, ori’vod. Not for lack of effort, according to Stat’s comms, Commander.”

“Stat is… exaggerating.”

“Captain,” Kenobi cut in. “This is a dear friend of mine and your new general.” 

Fluke was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing anymore as she stepped forward, greeting him with a soft smile and a light bow. 

“Hello, Captain,” she said. “I’m Kresta Bakki.”

Her voice was strong and steady, like rain against the window of the Kaminoan training rooms. Her accent was similar to Kenobi’s. 

But what struck him now as she stood before him were her eyes. Bright and curious–if a little apprehensive–and the most vivid sea green he’d ever seen in his short life.

Snap out of it, di’kut, he thought.

“CT-5121, sir,” he said, body going even more rigid than it already was. 

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“At ease, men,” Kenobi ordered to the lines of troopers, his voice clear. There was one loud thump as the men adjusted their stance simultaneously. 

General Bakki looked almost startled but seemed to fight to maintain her calm expression. 

General Kenobi leaned towards her, telling her something Fluke couldn’t quite make out. He smiled and she nodded. 

“I’m sure you all have better things to do than to stand here watching me,” she called, raising her voice to echo across the hangar. “Everyone but the officers should go about their business. Oh, um– dismissed.”

Kenobi nodded as she turned to him. She spoke softly with him until Fluke and Wilde were the only two left in the hangar.  

“What’s your name, Captain?” she smiled. 

He tried not to melt at the sight of her smile. 

“Fluke, sir,” he said, suddenly feeling a hint of insecurity over his chosen name. “And this is Lieutenant Wilde, CT-8111.”

“Sir,” Wilde nodded at her. 

“It is good to meet you both,” she said. 

“Would you like a tour of the ship, General?” Fluke asked. It felt right to ask, even though it was protocol. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” she answered with a soft smile that set his heart ablaze. 

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To be continued…

Next Day ⪢

Thanks for reading! - River

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Their mission to aid the 501st and 212th on Felucia was going well enough. The Steadfast orbited the planet, most of their medical crew treating the numerous patients. The rest of their unit had been on the ground since they’d arrived yesterday, including herself as there hadn’t been any injuries so bad as to need her “jetii dral” as the troopers often described her Force Healing. Her men ran through the field to pull the fallen troopers back to the landing pad to be triaged while she and a few troopers joined General Skywalker and the 501st on the front. 

It was going well until the blast of a tank landed among them–far too close–and opened the seemingly solid ground up to reveal a massive chasm, plunging herself along with a few troopers down into the depths of the planet.  

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Fluke

Oh, Fluke was dead. Just as dead as Finch, falling with a chest full of shrapnel. Just as dead as the 501st trooper when the stalagmite pierced through armor, flesh, bone, then flesh and armor again. Just as dead as his General–falling maybe twenty feet below him–would be soon. 

So much for naming myself out of spite, he thought. More like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He closed his eyes, thinking about how General Bakki was probably the prettiest person he could’ve expected to die near, accepting his fate. 

But then the frigid cave air whipping around him stopped. That was odd; where was the pain of hitting the ground? Instead of the cold embrace of death, he felt sort of… pleasantly warm. Like he was wrapped in a soft yet protective blanket. 

He opened his eyes. He was still falling but at a much more controlled rate. Beneath him, General Bakki knelt on the pebbled floor of the newly revealed ravine, her arms uplifted toward him, almost as though she would be able to catch him.

Oh. He realized, rather slowly, that she did catch him and was delivering him safely to the ground. Jetii dral.

Fluke stumbled slightly as she released her hold on him, quickly moving to her as she fell forward, catching herself on her hands. 

“General,” he worried, taking a knee beside her. Instinctively, he reached out to her, to hold her, but he held back. Get it together.

“Are-are you alright?” she panted, her whole body trembling slightly. 

“I’m fine, General, thanks to y–”

“Finch? A-and–” 

His heart plummeted into his boots as she lifted her gaze to him. He shook his head gently.

General Bakki let out a breath and what sounded like a strangled sob. 

“–ki, do you– –peat; Captain Fl– –eral Bakki– –copy?”

Fluke tapped at his comm, trying to clear the signal via percussive maintenance. 

“Wilde, we hear you, but it’s coming in spotty,” he grumbled.

“Are you– –Gen– –jured?”

The general shook her head minutely. 

“We’re okay,” he said. “Finch and the other vod didn’t make it.”

“We think– –all back soon. Stay– –come and get–as soon as we c– –Skywalker’s– –crazy idea.”

Fluke put the pieces together. “Copy, Wilde.”

The general had lowered onto the ground, sitting on her feet. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“General, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Hm?” her eyes seemed to refocus. “Oh, um, yes, I’m quite alright, Captain.”

Fluke scowled a little, but took his helmet off, setting it to the side and trying for a smile despite the way his heart hammered against his ribs. “General, you don’t always have to use my rank. You- you can call me ‘Fluke’… if you’d like.”

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Kresta

If she’d like? Damn it, she was trying to be professional. 

“Thank you… Fluke,” she smiled. “I’d much prefer the use of names over titles and ranks, but I wasn’t quite sure if it would be considered appropriate; I don’t want to upset or offend anyone.”

The Cap– Fluke scoffed. “Pretty sure Cody would implode if Kenobi only called him ‘commander’ all the time.”

As Fluke’s expression flashed a bit of panic, Kresta’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. She held her breath to keep from laughing. 

“I… probably shouldn’t have said that.”

She couldn’t help her sharp bark of a laugh. It clearly startled her captain, which simply made her laugh more. 

His shock faded into a light chuckle. “You’re… close with General Kenobi, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “We’ve known each other all our lives. He… he’s like a brother to me.”

“Would you be willing to help me win a bet?” he asked with a smirk after a moment.

This was dangerous. “Depends,” she said, forcing down the flirty tone that threatened to creep in. Just breathe. “What’s on the line?”

“Fifty credits. Stat–the 212th’s CMO–claims that Kenobi couldn’t have feelings for Cody.”

Kresta considered this for a moment. “Is the bet that he couldn’t or doesn’t?”

“Doesn’t,” Fluke confirmed, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. “He said that Jedi don’t form attachments–”

“What? Of course we do,” she scoffed. “The Jedi order is my family.”

“Well, we don’t think Kenobi sees Cody as… family,” he mused. “Has he said anything about… anything to you?”

“Obi-Wan? Are you there?” Kresta called. The comm signal came through spottier than she had hoped for, but soon the staticky, blue outline of her friend was smiling wearily at her. “I can hear you, dear,” his voice was missing some of its usual warmth. He sounded tired and frustrated, but it was good to hear him at all. “I’m sorry I don't have much time–” “No, no, it’s alright,” she said quickly. She’d been nervous about the content of the call since he’d sent the message nearly a week ago. “How is the siege going?” “Rather well, all things considered, though I’m rather envious of the troopers’ undersuits–water-tight as they are,” he said, wrapping his robe tighter around his body. He looked soaked, his hair flopped somewhat over his face. “You know, if you’d kept growing your hair out you could braid it back,” she said, resisting a laugh. “And I’m sure you could request one of their undersuits.” “Kresta–” “I’m certain your Commander Cody would loan you one until you could requisition one,” she continued, ignoring him. “Though the clones seem a bit stockier than you, Bean-pole.” “Cod– Commander Cody is very… kind, but–” “I could take it in for you the next time you’re at the temple–” “Kresta,” he repeated, his tone with a slight edge to it. “You know why I need to talk to you, don’t you?” Kresta’s heart dropped into her stomach. Just breathe. “Master Che said there was… a new unit. And that the council wanted to send… me.” “Yes, to the 763rd.”

“General?” Fluke’s voice drifted into her mind, softly pulling her back to the present.

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Fluke

“I– My apologies, Fluke. My mind seems to wander of its own accord sometimes,” Kresta hummed, absently twisting a stray lock of fiery hair around her finger.  

He resisted the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged awkwardly. “Is there anything you want to talk about? I mean, seems like we’ll be down here a while.” 

“Suppose the Force needed us to spend some quality time,” she muttered under her breath, but he heard it.

He felt his cheeks warm. He liked the idea of spending time with his general outside of combat and missions, as forbidden as that thought seemed. Whenever they met with other Jedi and Clone officers, he often noticed a kind of closeness between them. He’d always been observant–a little too observant for his own good sometimes–and he’d seen the way the Jedi had quickly pulled their troopers into their strange little families.

He’d noticed how Rex seemed to be like the missing middle brother to Skywalker and Tano. He’d seen the way Commander Bly looked at General Secura–like he’d crawl over broken glass into a Sarlacc pit before he ever harmed her. He’d watched the easy way Cody and Kenobi seemed to just fit together, rarely seeing one without the other. 

Fluke wanted that for himself and General Bakki. But she was so reserved. He could tell that she was close with Kenobi and with Skywalker and Tano as an extension of that.

“I wasn’t very… explicit before, but I would greatly prefer it if you’d use my name as well. I’m not– I never wanted to be a general,” she said, the word falling from her mouth like a curse.

Fluke nodded. “I believe around the other Jedi and the men, it might be considered improper, but when we’re working directly with one another…alone?”

A weight seemed to lift from the Gen– from Kresta’s shoulders, though it seemed like merely a fraction of the burden she carried.

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To be continued…

⪡ Previous Day Next Day ⪢

Thanks for reading! - River

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“I don’t understand how you do that,” she groaned as she accepted the mug from his hands, quickly shutting down her datapad.

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow,” he grinned. “Especially since you’ve decided to spend all your time in that lab at the Temple–”

“I do not spend all my time–”

“All your time that you’re not here with your face buried in your datapad,” he corrected himself. “And you won’t keep up with your training.”

“My training is mostly medical,” she said.

“Oh, and all the combat training?” he teased, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her neck as he hugged her from behind. “Ni kar’taylir ner sarad liser cuyir burk’yc… tuu kaysh copaanire.” [I know my flower can be dangerous… when she wants.]

She chuckled softly, tilting her head to allow him more access. “If you say so, darling,” she smiled, sighing as he pressed soft, lingering kisses against the scars on her neck.

“I do say so,” he murmured against her neck. “Dangerous, smart–”

“Fluke,” she protested.

He traveled up her neck to that sensitive spot behind her ear. “Beautiful, kind, funny–”

“Okay, okay! I get it,” she laughed as she tried to pull away from him, the low rumble of his voice tickling her skin. 

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Fluke

“What are you working so hard on anyway?” he asked, releasing her. He hadn’t told her any other time he asked, so he didn’t expect it now.

He watched as she straightened herself up, smoothing down her dress and tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ears. He could see her wrestling with how much she could tell him.

“Well, I was able to find a… rather unique clone to aid in my research.”

His brow raised. “Your research that you refuse to tell me about? Or any vod for that matter.”

“Yes,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Hopefully, it won’t need to be classified much longer. I believe we’ve hit a breakthrough.”

He couldn't help the way his heart leaped as the excitement shone through in her voice. “Because of this vod?”

“This clone’s DNA is the closest we can get to an unaltered sample,” she nodded.

Fluke’s head spun. The kaminii had destroyed all of their data on the clones–the bastards–so she couldn’t have access to Prime’s DNA. “You found Alpha?”

“No, he remains under the radar as far as I’m aware,” she hummed. “Her name’s Omega.”

“Nala Se’s assistant?” he murmured. “But she’s not–”

He cut himself off as she smiled at him. 

Realization swept over him, as well as that soft, warm feeling he got whenever he saw cadets nowadays. “We’ve got a little sister?”

Kresta nodded, grinning at him. 

“Sister will be thrilled she’s not the only one,” he chuckled. 

She laughed, then wrapped him up in a tight hug.

“Omega might be the key to slowing your accelerated aging,” she whispered. “We found the altered gene; that’s the breakthrough.”

The galaxy froze around him. He felt like his body was moving through honey as he pulled back to find nothing but sincerity and hope in her eyes. 

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Kresta

“Is- is that what you’ve been working on?” Fluke whispered. His voice sounded so small. “That’s what all this secret research has been?”

She suddenly felt somewhat self-conscious under his intense gaze.

“Yes,” she said simply.

His breath came out in a soft pant, his mouth slightly opening and closing as he processed what she’d just told him.

All at once, he nearly collapsed against her, hugging her tighter than he ever had before. A quiet sob escaped him. 

Something uncomfortable roiled in her gut. She hadn’t meant to upset him. Only five years had passed since the end of the war, but that was ten for the clones. The eldest of them were in their thirties physiologically.  Assuming that no fights, accidents, or diseases took them before their time, they’d follow the typical average age for humans and live into their eighties or nineties. 

Kresta shuddered to think that was only about twenty-five to thirty years, whereas she’d likely live another eighty from her current forty-two. Part of her cursed her Stewjoni biology like she had many times over her adult life, but anyone part realized with dread that she would likely have to live another fifty years after Fluke had marched on, as would Obi-Wan without Cody and Aayla without Bly. 

She might be able to ease that pain from their shoulders. Maybe that was selfish. She knew Obi-Wan and Aayla carried it with them the same way she did. She wondered if there were others like them. Jedi who fell in love with their troopers. It wouldn’t surprise her. 

But now, standing here in the kitchen of his little apartment on Centax-2, she wondered if that’s what the Vode wanted. She’d been so caught up in trying to see if she could do it to think about if it was something she should. So many of the Vode had been poked and prodded constantly by the Kaminoans’ endless tests that maybe they wouldn’t want her to go in and manipulate their genetics even further. Horror dawned over her. She wouldn’t hurt them. She’d found what she was looking for; her curiosity was satisfied, and her questions were answered. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her chest feeling hollow. “I shouldn’t have–”

“What?” Fluke gasped, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were damp, and his brow was scrunched together. “Sorry? Sarad, what–”

“I shouldn’t have assumed that it was something you would want,” she said, solidifying her thoughts in an almost scolding tone. “You’ve all endured so much. I should have just talked to the Vode. I should have gotten my research approved by the Tolase or–”

Before she could continue any more of her guilt-ridden rant, his hands cupped either side of her face, roughly pulling her to him in a searing kiss. She was so startled she nearly forgot to close her eyes. 

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Fluke

He pulled back, cracking a smile at her confused face. “You’re not upset?” she whispered.

“Sarad,” he laughed. “What you’re doing, all your research? You’re giving us a gift; you’re giving us the possibility of living a normal life. How could anyone be upset about that?”

Her lips finally started to pull into a gentle smile. “I still shouldn’t have told you yet,” she murmured, her brow scrunching slightly. “It’s- it’s too much to promise, Fluke. I don’t know that I’ll be able to–”

“Kresta,” he said. “Ner mirdala jetii, I have every confidence in you and your abilities.”

“But–”

“But, even if it doesn’t happen, I will love you for as many days as we have,” he told her, pulling her against him and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

His hands started to shake despite the sense of calm that washed over him. 

You’ll know when it’s time, kih’vod, Cody had told him at the wedding. He’d been skeptical at first, but, as usual, Cody was right. It was time.

“Sarad,” he breathed.

“Darling,” she replied. He could hear that she was starting to let her anxiety about the gene go. 

He pulled away from her. “I do have… one question.”

She nodded. “Anything.”

Maker, she was so beautiful. Her eyes were bright and curious, their sea green wrapping around his soul as usual. The top layers of her hair were tied back from her face in a simple braid. He could see hints of silver at the roots of her long, auburn locks. He had told her it was just as beautiful despite her usual protests.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while and… I think it’s time you got a promotion, don’t you?”

She grinned. “What do you mean? I told you Jedi ranks function differently–”

“I meant from being my cyar’ika to my riduur,” he said. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee, taking her hands in his. Her soft gasp sent a thrill through him. “Kresta, I love you with everything I am and everything I ever could be. I want you in my life for the rest of it. You are my light, sarad. Will you marry me?”

He could see the tears welling up in her eyes as her face burst into a wide smile. “Yes!” she cried, practically tackling him backward, kissing him hard. 

They lay like that for some time, tangled up on the floor, smiling, laughing, kissing without any expectation for more, eventually relocating to the couch to cuddle close to one another.

“I… I never thought I could ever be this happy,” she whispered after a while. “You make me happy.”

“You make me happy,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Ner riduur.”

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To be continued…

⪡ Previous Day

Thanks for reading! - River

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The door slid open to reveal Fluke in his armor, the sea green the 763rd had chosen to paint their armor with shining in the soft light of her room.

“Hello, dear,” she hummed, walking towards him, but was stopped short as he leveled his DC-17 at her. “Fluke, what are you doing?”

“You are in violation of Order 66, and you will be executed for your crimes against the Republic,” he said. His voice sounded almost robotic with none of its usual charm or sarcasm. Something in the back of her mind screamed wrong, wrong, WRONG!

“Crimes?” she sputtered. “What are you–”

She could feel the moment he pulled the trigger, her hand reaching out to pull her lightsaber but not making it in time.

She fell to the ground, two holes burning through her chest.

He stood over her, the emotionless expression of his helmet staring down as she felt her body dying.

This time, she awoke, heaving air into her lungs like she was resurfacing from a nearly too-long stint underwater.

She found herself surrounded by a medic and a couple of guards, a machine beeping rapidly nearby. Someone must have found her in her quarters and brought her to the medbay. But Fluke has excellent aim, and he wasn’t too far away. How did she survive?

The medic, Rowdy, held his hands up. “It’s alright, General,” he said, his voice trying to be soothing. “You’re disoriented from the bacta, but you’re safe. You’re in the medbay on the Steadfast–”

“Where’s… where’s Fluke?” she demanded, starting to remove the IV from her arm. 

“I’m sure the Captain will be back shortly,” Rowdy said, tapping her hand away from the IV to remove it himself. “He’s barely left your side the past week.”

Kresta felt like her chest was hollow. “Waiting to finish the job?” she sneered under her breath.

Rowdy finally finished removing the needle from her arm. “Waiting to what?” 

“General,” Fluke said. He sounded normal again. How could he sound so casual, like he hadn’t just attempted to execute her? “Glad to see you… awake. What’s wrong?”

She’d jumped out of the bed, putting distance between herself and the captain, snatching a blaster off the side of one of the troopers standing guard nearby.

“You stay back,” she warned him, raising the blaster against him like he’d done to her. “You know what you did.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Fluke breathed, his hands raised. His face was pure concern that radiated around him in the Force. Why didn’t he feel wrong like he had before? Why didn’t he feel like he was lying to her? Why did it feel like his heart was shattering?

⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸

Fluke

“General,” Rowdy said, keeping his voice even. “Please put the blaster down.”

Wilde rushed into the room, his eyes widening at the sight before him. One of the guards must have commed him. He could see his twin’s hand twitching at his side. He silently begged him not to pull his blaster.

“He tried to kill me,” the General growled. “Take him to the brig.”

Fluke felt like his world was collapsing around him. He’d never hurt her. Never. She knew that, didn’t she?

“General, I don’t understand what’s happening here,” Wilde said, his voice carefully calm. “We can talk it all out, but can we please do it without weaponry.”

Kresta’s eyes left his face for the first time since he’d walked in, nervously glancing at Wilde.

“Please, General. Let’s talk.”

Her hands shook slightly as she lowered the blaster and passed it back to Blare. She apologized quietly to him and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist.

“Thank you for trusting me, General,” Wilde said. “Will you try to explain to us why you’re–”

“H-he came to my quarters,” she explained, her voice shaky and unsure. “When he pointed his blaster at me, I asked what he was doing, and he said the Jedi committed treason and… and shot me.”

Fluke felt like he’d been shot as she painfully forced the last few words out.

“Kresta, sarad,” Fluke nearly sobbed, everything in his body itching to step closer to her. He thought better of it; he wouldn’t risk frightening her. “I could never hurt you. Never.”

In his periphery, he could see Rowdy’s confused expression as he turned to Wilde, who just shook his head minutely. Small mercies.

“General, you’ve been in a bacta tank for a week,” Rowdy explained. “You were on a mission with Generals Kenobi and Skywalker and Commander Tano. There was an explosion. Do you remember?”

Kresta scowled at him. “Wh- no, I-I remember him…” she mumbled, though she sounded uncertain. “No, th-the… the Sith crypt. Oh, stars,” she gasped. “Obi-Wan–”

“Is alright,” Wilde stepped in. “The Generals and Commanders are alright. They’re just out of bacta today as well. Actually, they want to talk to you as soon as you’re well enough to–”

⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸

Kresta

She glanced down at herself. She could still feel the tacky residue of the bacta across her newly repaired skin beneath the scuffed-up undersuit she wore beneath her dress. She could feel her saber in a nearby drawer and called upon the force to bring it to her while she slipped into her boots that had kindly been left next to the bed. She could hear the protests and insistence that she stay, but she needed to get to Obi-Wan now. 

How could she forget that awful place? Was that horrible memory of betrayal just a nightmare? No. Not if Ahsoka, Anakin, and Obi-Wan needed to see her. A vision, then? That seemed more likely at this point, but why would her beloved captain ever execute her without even talking to her? She needed to sort this out. The memories of the mission were slowly trickling back in: brief flashes of fire, someone jumping in front of her, the darkness clouding her vision.

She could hear Fluke and Wilde bickering as they trailed after her through the ship to her quarters, but only Fluke followed her in.

She ignored him, stripping out of her clothes and stepping into the refresher. She didn’t like ignoring him, but there were pressing matters at hand that needed to be addressed. This could wait.

“Sarad, please,” he half-shouted over the thrum of the sonic shower as it blasted the residue from her skin. “Can we talk about what just happened?”

She unbraided her hair, realizing that someone else must have done it for her before they put her in the bacta tank, given how neat it still was. The strands of it were woven in on one another tightly. It was almost difficult to undo.

“Did you braid my hair?” she called.

He paused. “What?”

“I asked if you–”

“No, I heard you,” Fluke cut in. She turned the sonic off. “Kresta, you almost died in some ancient Sith osik, and when you finally wake up a week later, you point a blaster at me, saying that I tried to kill you, and you’re asking me if I braided your hair?”

She poked her head around the door frame, hiding the rest of her body behind it. She tried not to enjoy the way Fluke’s cheeks flushed as he averted his gaze, walking to the small trunk of her belongings. He dug around until he found a robe, bringing it over to her.

Fluke sighed. “Of course, I braided your hair. I figured you wouldn’t want it in your face, even if– even though you weren’t conscious in the tank.”

“Thank you,” she said, adding quickly, “For the braid and the robe.”

Fluke nodded. 

She wrapped the robe around herself and stepped into the room.

“And for putting up with my… everything,” she added, pressing a kiss to his cheek, which heated beneath the soft touch. 

She slid her boots back on and continued to the door, but he caught up with her, grabbing her wrist just before she could open it. 

“We’re not done talking about this,” he said, seriously. It wasn’t a question; it was an acknowledgment that he knew getting to the others was the priority but that this discussion was important. 

“I know what the vision showed me,” she nodded. “But despite how… real it felt, I know you would never hurt me on purpose.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly. He nodded with a quiet scoff. “Alright, go save the galaxy, ner jetii.”

⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸⫷⪡◈⪢⫸

To be continued…

⪡ Previous Day Next Day ⪢

Thanks for reading! - River

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