#uponrightful

Story of Scars

Wolffe never pushed to find out what had happened to Pup in the time they were apart. He wasn't ignorant enough to believe that she hadn't gone through enough horrors to shift her personality, and her behaviors after they were reunited and settled only confirmed his expectations. It was all in the little things she did throughout the day, just mulling about the house that caught his attention and gave him insights that others wouldn't notice.

One of the most significant was how she never liked letting the hair on the scarred side of her head get long enough for the bare spots to show significantly. It meant she'd spend a couple minutes every week or so shaving down the hairs until they were almost at a peach-fuzz appearance in the refresher. Not only was it a habit that Pup never broke, she'd often close the door to keep Wolffe from entering during the process. Again, he never pushed the issue. Scars weren't only the visible kind -he had plenty of his own- and he loved her too damn much to intrude, but he also worried that it was some wound that she had to keep reopening and irritating every time she shaved the side of her head or looked in the mirror.

It was almost a full year after they settled into their home that Wolffe was eventually forced into helping her work through an issue he'd never live to forget or spent a day not thinking about.

Pup often did the hunting for the pair of them. On the off-handed chance Wolffe had tried to do so, he'd often failed miserably. Not having the patience or the practice to be any good at it So, Pup would always give him a timeframe for her to return, and give the reassurance that if she wasn't back by then, to send out Wolf and have him track her down. For almost an entire year this place had worked without a hitch and Wolffe had never needed to go looking for his wife or send out their canine to sniff her out. Until Pup got herself caught trying to come home after heading out a little further from the house than she normally did.

She'd taken a long route on the hunt for the smaller game that wouldn't be such a struggle to find or carry back home. It took her through a large rocky outcropping that often played roost to some birds she'd been particularly interested in bringing home. The shale-like cliffs weren't the least bit easy to move across, but Pup didn't believe any of her regular paths through this section of the mountainside would be of risk. It was a rookie mistake, and it ended up with her sliding down a razor-sharp, shale-covered cliffside and landing at the bottom in a heap of cuts, bruises, and an entire body that felt so sore she didn't want to think about moving.

Wolffe didn't wait the full three hours before calling in Wolf's help to go out and look for her. He knew birds were fast prey, and she should've been home long before noon considering just how many flocks had been passing over their house throughout the morning. And when they found her -quite quickly- Wolffe was instantly enraged. Not at Pup, but at the fact she'd been injured seriously enough that she couldn't get home on her own. His heart ached and that reminder of just how easily either one of them could die was quickly brought to the forefront of his mind as he got her up on Wolf's back to take her back home.

Inside, Pup didn't have the slightest hesitation about letting Wolffe clean. her up in the bathtub or dress the more serious wounds she'd earned in her fall. Even when he started assessing a nasty bruise forming on her shoulder, she didn't do anything more than answer his questions about her pain and what kind of movements she could manage without feeling some type of discomfort. Together they assumed she'd dislocated her shoulder on the fall and it had slipped back into place on its own. Luckily, it wouldn't be too serious that they needed to call for someone to take a look at it or do any type of treatment they couldn't manage at home. But it made her dominant arm nearly useless. And after a week and a half in bed -per Wolffe's stern orders- her buzzed hair had gotten long enough that she started getting irritated and mad that she couldn't move her arm well enough to get the task done.

It was later that night Wolffe found her out of bed and standing the refresher looking at herself in the mirror with tears streaming down her cheeks and a set of clippers lamely held in her hand. At first, he wanted to instantly grab the clippers away and carry her back to bed before she pushed herself too hard and reinjured herself. Only he saw that there was something else other than physical pain in her eyes and that she was fighting hard with herself.

Immediately, he approached slowly and lowered himself down to his knees just outside of the doorframe, and softly whispered to get her attention away from her own reflection.

"Puppy," His whisper trembled a bit, feeling helpless as to how to help her. "Tell me what you're thinking. I can't help you fight if you won't let me." He added, reaching a hand out to brush his fingers over her leg reassuringly. She looked at him with wide, bloodshot eyes and a look of pure sadness filling them. It nearly broke his heart seeing her like this.

"I hate looking like this," She moaned brokenly, wiping at her eyes and dropping the clippers to the floor with a loud metallic thud. "But I can't make it go away. I can't fix it!" Wolffe instinctually reached out to catch her as she fell down into him, holding him around his neck tightly and soaking the shoulder of his shirt with her tears. He held her back just as tightly, moving her legs to wrap around his waist and holding one hand in her hair and the other on her back.

"Oh, baby..." He sighed, kissing the top of her head and rocking her a little as he tries to figure out what to say to her. "Can you tell me?" His voice drops lower, almost rumbling in a comforting and safe way as his hand rubs up and down her back.

"It-It was... Corrie Guard-" Her voice breaks with deep erratic breaths and sniffs of a wet and runny nose. "When they-they cl-cleared out houses," Her fingers started digging into his back, trying to hold him tighter.

"I was so scared, and I-I didn't know wh-what they wanted from me! I didn't move fast enough, and one-one of them sh-shot his blaster right at the side of m-my h-head." She stumbled and stuttered through the horrific experience, and Wolffe had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and keep himself from failing to control his emotions.

Everything from rage to sorrow and guilt flooded his mind at once. Another reminder of just how mindless he himself had been at that time, and the nightmare thought of what he might've done should they found each other before Rex saved him. That trooper didn't have their own mind anymore, but the. baser part of him wanted revenge for such a transgression that had gone years without punishment. Yet there was nothing he could do now... Other than trying to hold his little wife and attempt to make her feel safe with her own mind and appearance.

"You're so brave pretty girl," he whispered close to her ear. "You... you're safe now. No one... will ever lay a hand on you again," Wolffe felt his emotions getting the best of him again, choking him up so even the simplest of sentences couldn't be uttered easily. "I love you more than life itself."

"I love you too," She sniffed wetly against his chest. "I'm, sorry I got out of bed..." Her eyes met his. Big and innocent with tears beginning to dry on her face. "I just..."

Wolffe smiled sadly, eyes flashing over to the overgrown hair on the side of her head. "I understand my little Pup." He kissed her forehead tenderly, lingering there for a long time just to take in her presence in his arms.

"Would you help me?"

It was a shock to his system. One that made his heart stutter and his chest burn with love and protective instincts for her.

"Yes."

Quickly, Wolffe had her swept up in his arms and sitting on the counter with her bare legs dangling off the edge as he was given the very first opportunity to really get a good look at the burn scars on the side of her head and the very clear imprint of where the blaster charge had been expertly skimmed just over her ear. Wolffe felt himself growl deep in his chest. The trooper hadn't missed by accident. It was a brutal and permanent threat she'd been living with ever since. Right in her face, always close to her mind both literally and metaphorically. He'd wanted her to hurt. Feel fear of him.

As he slowly began working the clippers over her head, following her quiet direction and praise, he thought about just how she'd b been able to live with it. Unable to comprehend just what that must feel like for her... And suddenly, he realized he knew exactly how it felt. His cybernetic giving him the pleasure of looking upon his pretty wife, was a very comparable life-long symbol of loss in the most severe way. And yet, Pup had long ago given him such a different view of the grey eye he possessed that it often slipped his mind that he still had it.

She changed him, and now... he needed to do the same.

"It's beautiful to me..." his voice trembled with emotion and tears began to flood his eyes as his fingers gently brushed the remaining cut hair off her shoulders and ear. "You aren't a mistake for carrying this scar, Pup. It's your claim to life. Your own body shows just how strong of a miracle you are." To keep himself from crying he had to suck in a deep breath. "You show everyone around you just how determined you were to live, no matter the amount of pain and fear you felt..." Wolffe leaned in, kissing her slow and soft. Feeling her lean into him gently, letting her defenses down.

"And if your living, despite that beautiful scar isn't the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me... then nothing in this world matters."

*****

Echo scanned his attention to General Kenobi who didn’t look the least bit offended. With over twelve meetings held over the last five days, decorum had been practically thrown out into the Jedi Temple hallways. No one wasted their breath addressing anyone by title at this point. There wasn’t enough time for it. And save for Tech who subconsciously insisted on calling Rex “Cap” no one took time to even address the informality. That being said, it was the first time tensions had risen to the point of Hunter stepping out of line. Even if it wasn’t by more than a little bit. 

“Corporal, I understand your hesitance,” Kenobi said calmly. “If I am to be honest with you, I haven’t had a single moment of question as to what your collective worries are surrounding this assignment.”

Echo hated being reminded of the fact. His removal from direct contact with Jedi’s came as a bittersweet realization, but when in the presence of one, he’d long forgotten just how perceptive they could be should the need or desire arise. And with six clones overpowering two Generals in a war room, there was no mistaking why Kenobi left himself open to their thoughts and feelings. 

“However, you are correct that the Republic has many resources available at our disposal for such a situation as this,” His answer was just as diplomatic as always. “Our collective problem resides in know who and when someone can be trusted to carry out the plan we have formulated.” 

The seemingly endless question no one could find the answer to and the basis of all their problems. Everyone had tried for weeks at this point to avoid getting too close to the Separatists and their business dealings. Kenobi had reached out to trusted companions across the galaxy, Skywalker had done the same. And from what Cody and Rex had relayed over comms and after meetings, they too had turned to friends acquaintances, and even the Corrie Guard to try and get some type of helpful information. All they could learn was what everyone else already knew. Which wasn’t a whole lot. 

“I understand that. But I don’t think sending one person into an entire mansion of Separatists is a safe way to go about this,” Echo responded. “At least let one or two of us go in with her.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing at the sound of himself damn-near begging. But for all it was worth, everyone in the room save for Kenobi thought the plan was voluntary manslaughter.

“Echo… she’s the only one who can speak to them in a believable way.” The General protested. 

“It is not of good conscious to send any of you into what could be a very dangerous situation. But I must defend my reasoning.”  Kenobi took a few steps away from the table and settled himself down into one of the many chairs settled around the room. 

“If I was to send anyone and their knowledge of the weapons being sold fall short, it would be an immediate threat to not just our operation but to the entire stability of the war!” He said with a frustrated sigh. “I have no objections to your accompaniment to Naboo. It’s all for the better that there are more eyes on the gala to see any suspicious activity or recognizable faces. But I do not want to underestimate the lengths to which our enemies will go to ensure that their stolen goods are sold to their allies and not a stranger whom has lucked into an invitation and the immense amount of money necessary to even think about attending the auction.” He explained.

“Maybe she isn’t ready for that kind of work yet, Obi-Wan.” Anakin, who had been mostly silent for the meeting finally spoke up in a weak attempt to help out Hunter. 

Kenobi looked to him with a somewhat disbelieving expression.

“Capability has nothing to do with enthusiasm.” Echo found himself gritting out the words before he could even stop himself. Everyone in the room snapped their attention to him and suddenly all that tension in the air had been magnetized to him. The thick weight of expectation to explain himself rode heavily on his shoulders and chest making it hard to breathe let alone form his frustration into some semblance of understandable words. Surprisingly it didn’t take long to figure it out.  

“We’re been going over this plan for days. Memorizing entrances and exits, speaking to contacts about how this gala is going to proceed and where we’re supposed to blend in best on surrounding rooftops to avoid being seen. Everything is nearly perfect except for one small detail  no one wants to talk about.” He breathed heavily, trying to control himself. 

“No one asked Duchess if she was even willing to put herself on the line for this.”

That weight got just a little heavier. 

“Her available mission details with Phantom Squad are… impeccable. And I’ve seen her work in the field up-close, but it’s dangerous to send her into Separatist hands less than a week after seeing them nearly torture her- one of the squad to death.” Echo could feel a stinging sensation in the back of his throat.

Kenobi’s eyes softened in that moment, looking about the room to all of the men standing there. Waiting for his word. Helpless to do anything but follow orders despite all the informality they’d been lucky enough to experience. All of the Batch present knew that their time was running out, and with both Crosshair and Duchess still so far away from what they all deemed normal, it was cutting into their patience. And more so, the protective nature they felt for both of them. This wasn’t an issue of who was the right man for the job anymore. Everyone was clear on the fact that Duchess could handle it the best, with the least amount of effort. It was her mentality that they feared for. And General Kenobi hadn’t bothered himself with experiencing first-hand what her condition was not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. 

“I have sent her the mission request myself. Has she not been aware that this mission as it stands presently rests on her decision?” Kenobi asked with an eyebrow raised.

Finally Hunter found his words with a certain nervousness about them, “Not at present. She was advised by the infirmary to rest and we have not been keen on letting her worry about this until we’re certain she’s up to the task. Not just okay with accepting the responsibility.”

Kenobi gave a short of chuckle, seeming to understand just what they had been trying to get across all this time. “I have to say, that sounds very familiar. For duty to oneself can go ignored when the need of others seems more significant.”

Anakin looked to him with a accusatory expression. “You wouldn’t be talking about me would you?”

“Oh, of course not. You’ve never been the type to put yourself in unnecessary danger to save someone else… Only to end up needing saved yourself now, have you?” His somewhat sarcastic humor wasn’t the most well-timed, but it seemed that the longer they all stood there, a certain recognition had come about and now the question of Duchess’ involvement wasn’t so important anymore. 

Kenobi took another glance around the room and took in a deep steadying breath through his nose. “I see that there are some decisions that need to be made. Alongside a few smaller details that need to be arranged should there be a change in planning. Either way, I must inform you that Anakin and Captain Rex’s presence today was not for posterity alone.”

“That’s right. Since Obi-Wan can’t oversee this mission through, Rex, the 501st and I will be taking lead of operations on the day of the mission.” Anakin added, trying to be as welcoming as he could.

“Given we are so… cautious, I am most regrettable about the whole situation. It seems there have been threats against a number of diplomats planning a rather long campaign of sorts. Hoping to find more allies in these challenging times. However the threats to their lives are strong enough that myself, the Marshal Commander, and a large portion of the 212th will be at their disposal for the duration of their movements.” Kenobi explained.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Anakin reassured, “I’m completely briefed, and as of today I know good and well what is at stake for all parties involved here. Besides, Naboo will be a very easy to navigate. If it’s helpful we can even leave a couple days early. I have a few connections on-world that could make the trip a lot less… hot and heavy. If you know what I mean.”

It was enough to calm Hunter down at least. Echo still wasn’t sure how he felt about it even if General Skywalker didn’t plan on barging in guns-blazing the day of. A few days on Naboo didn’t mean they wouldn’t be putting Duchess in a real pinch. But Kenobi -despite being cordial- had given his well-spoken ultimatum. It would be completely up to her. And she only had a day or two to decide given that Anakin had his wishes to leave in more than enough time. But with just enough time to give a formal goodbye to Kenobi and Cody giving a curt nod as he trailed hesitantly after him there wasn’t much room to think on the topic any longer. To Echo’s slight relief, Anakin dismissed himself as well, leaving Rex to speak to them alone without the pressure of either Jedi breaking down their necks or looking into their heads.

Rex settled his hands on his hips and stared down at the holomap for a moment.

“Well that was a shit show…”

Over to his right, Tech spoke up. “Although a ill-mannered statement, I must agree. Does General Kenobi sense something that we have not yet?”

Hunter stalked over to a chair of his own, sitting with his chest to the backrest and crossing his arms over the top. “No. He’s just nervous. But about the wrong thing.”

“What do you mean?” Wrecker chimed in.

“The General is more worried about the traitor and them being part of the Republic. No doubt keeping this low-brow isn’t easy, but no one is safe. And that’s what has him pushing this risky mission down Dutch’s throat. I don’t care for it.” Echo grumbled in answer.

“I don’t like it either,” Rex added in rather quickly. “You showed me her charts Echo. She’s lucky she can walk around well. I don’t think playing the part of a rich Separatist enjoying their spoils will be easy. Even if no one asks her to the dancefloor before the auction.” Echo simply nodded, already fully aware of the limited yet still demanding task of physically showing up to the event let alone blending in well.

“I am unsure as to Duchess’s motivation to complete the mission, but it is a fair assumption that -should she be willing- what the extent of her preparation would require?” Tech asked, reviewing what Echo could only guess were notes from the meeting.

“Well, aside from the technical information we all know she would need, I’m not exactly sure. I don’t know how often you boys get invited to upper-class galas, but I haven’t.” Rex admitted rather humorously. “That pre-mission checklist is one I sure would like to see though.”

“Your point being?” Hunter asked, raising his head away from resting on his arms to get a better look at the Captain. 

Echo decided to spare his Sergeant, “When was the last time you thought about wearing high heels for an assignment, Hunter?”

***

Duchess had never seen a release examination before, but Crosshair’s what almost unbelievably difficult. Breathing tests, brain function performance compared to his baselines, cognition tests, reflexivity, and last but not least, an all-out stress-test. She likened the first half of it to the testing that many cadets had to pass before becoming fighter pilots. Small volts of current passing through muscles, and the nuanced information being recorded and deciphered through the machines hooked up to Crosshair. Over two hours of electrostimulation and he still didn’t seem the least bit exhausted. Duchess was at a loss for words. But the testing didn’t stop there. His last request for the test?

Exhaust himself. 

Dutch nearly passed out hearing that. Given everything she’d come to know about the sniper, not only would Crosshair outlast most regs out of sheer physicality, but he would purposefully use every last ounce of mental and physical strength to remind everyone judging his performance that he was better. Elite. Overengineered. Built for punishment and hungry to prove it. Kix had been genuinely kind enough to offer him the choice of water or land. And to her utter shock, her sniper chose land. Foregoing the ease on his joints and the less varying ways to further punish his body in the days following his bacta treatment. In typical, frustrating, fashion Crosshair chose to run. 

Being an “officer” meant Dutch didn’t have to participate in her own trials. Someone else might’ve felt relieved. Duchess did not. It made the painful reality of Crosshair’s situation all the more painful. A life forced into wartime servitude and could be taken away just as easily. A fucking joke. A fucking tragedy a best. Worth doing something irrational a worst. Either thought process did nothing to placate her frayed nerves as she waited in an adjacent room for her sniper to reemerge. Hopefully with Kix close behind carrying good news for his results. 

She had declined to be present in the room whole the test commenced. Despite Kix being more than willing to allow her in and Crosshair being silently unsettled with the idea of her being out of his sight. Duchess couldn’t deal with the visual though. Everyone had already been through enough and the more she stressed herself, the longer it would take to heal. The Batch wanted to meet with her anyways, and leaving abruptly in the middle of Cross’ test. Wouldn’t be conducive to very acceptable results. Though things would’ve been different had she been able to speak to him. 

Muscles in her thighs and the arches of her feet started aching when she heard boot falls echoing from down the stark, white, hallway. Four pairs, all distinct, and a metal clang that assured her of who was approaching. When she saw the first flash of black and red paint, a sudden feeling of weakness overwhelmed her. Heavily enough that she rested her back against the wall and slid down until she sat comfortably on the floor. Maybe it was purely physical and the remaining symptoms of her sleepless, foodless, week that made her feel so tired so suddenly. Duchess felt a sneaking suspicion that have 99’s around just allowed her the opportunity to put her anxiety and fear aside for a little while. Over and over, hey proved nothing bad could happen to her when they were around… Keeping in mind she allowed them. True to that suspicion upon their first look at her, their leisurely pace quickened seeing her sitting on the floor. 

“What did Kix saying about your blood sugar?” Hunter asked with a more fatherly tone than friendly. Chastising in a gentle, yet stern kind of way.

“I’m not feeling lightheaded, my hands aren’t shaking and I don’t feel the least bit dizzy either,” she explained calmly. Watching their apprehension drain into a somewhat level temperament after sensing that she was telling the truth. 

“How long has he been in there?” Wrecker asked rather nervously, looking at the door like he could see through it if he stared hard enough. 

Duchess knew the feeling well. 

“One hour and…” she trailed looking down at her chrono. “Eighteen minutes.”

Everyone shared glances and right away Tech, Wrecker, and Echo excused themselves into the observation room Kix monitored Crosshair in. She understood totally why they were so anxious to see their brother. Since landing on Coruscant everyone -except her and Cross- were involved in the long, strenuous, painstaking, tension-filled meetings. It left no time for visits and even less space for mental anguish and worry over treatment plans or what Kix was doing to heal Crosshair. Whether Duchess liked it or not, the Batch were expected to be soldiers first and brothers second. It broke her heat and stoked a damn-near lethal fire rekindling itself in her chest. 

Left behind in the hallway with Hunter, they had some time to catch up on… well, everything.

“I don’t need to tell you because I’m sure you know… But his is going to take quite a while.” Hunter stated rather abysmally.

Dutch nodded. “He really can’t stand being perceived as anything less than…” She struggled to find the right word.

The Sergeant found it for her.

“Flawless,” He smiled sadly, “He refuses to be anything short of perfection.”

“Utterly ridiculous,” Dutch grumbled back, wondering how she could even begin to tackle the task of breaking her sniper from that awful train of thought.

“It’s always been that way for him. For us, performance was top priority, but Crosshair took it much more personally.” He said, beginning to ease himself down to the floor alongside of her. 

“Crosshair always stuck out as a cadet. Tall like Wrecker, but not nearly as physically intimidating on first glance. So he took a lot of punishment for being different. More than any of us really. Especially because Cross would take heat for something we did. And to make things worse, he couldn’t prove himself even if he wanted to.”

“Because you were trained separately from the regs?”

“Yes and no,” He replied cautiously. “We didn’t train with regs often, but when we did it normally didn’t change their opinion of us. With our enhancements, skill came… easier.  That didn’t mean it was effortless,” He paused to catch his breath. “Crosshair wanted to be seen as an equal more than anyone. But being a biologically crafted sniper meant that even the most difficult shot wouldn’t be impressive,”

“They just expected it from him,”

“Yes. So when he got any chance to prove his worth, he would do it. Any he never grew out of it.”  

Hunter looked down both ends of the hallway with a surveilling gaze. One Dutch caught onto right away. There was business he wanted to discuss. Even the Batch was excluded and she knew exactly why. They had already discussed the mission once in each other’s confidence, and Hunter had been just as hesitant to make it remotely public. All things considered, it was the smartest plan of action. 

“What did the General say today?” She asked hoping to kickstart the conversation. 

“One minor change, one major one. We’re supposed to lift off for Naboo in three rotations,”

“That’s hardly worth making a big deal about,” Sometimes she couldn’t help but think Hunter’s worries were worse than her own.

“Also, Skywalker and the 501st are heading the mission now,” He added, looking to her with a scrutinizing expression. 

Duchess knew she should’ve felt a certain sense of apprehension about such a large change she close to mission time. But knowing that it would be Rex coming along soothed what little nerves she held. As far as her own information went, everyone aside from Hunter thought she still was unaware of the plan. Hunter and herself decided that for everyone’s benefit and safety, he would brief her as information came to him, but they would wait until the last minute to declare that she would be taking on the mission and what responsibilities came along with it. 

Hunter didn’t want any information being old enough that it could fall into the lap of someone who did not have the best intentions. After all there was a traitor present, and even though Kenobi and Skywalker were doing everything right, it didn’t make them immune. For Duchess, she didn’t want Crosshair to find out yet. And Hunter was the only person who could keep that kind of information to himself as long as she needed him to. She hated keeping anything from him, but the last thing he needed to worry about was her going undercover. Every single memory she had of his feeling about her going headlong into a mission were all marked with an overwhelming sense of worry and protectiveness well-masked as anger and sarcasm. If he was going to get off Coruscant in the next two rotations, he couldn’t know what the mission was, or how deeply she was involved. Really… no one could know until absolutely necessary. It would ensure her cover was as believable as possible.

“What about the rest of the Batch? Are they still fairly convinced I don’t know anything?”

Hunter chuckled, “Yeah, I’m fairly certain. Echo practically threw a fit over Kenobi volunteering you. Tech assumes you’ll accept, but he doesn’t have enough facts to put the pieces together. Rex is good at keeping a secret, so you have nothing to worry about there,” He nudged his shoulder into her, trying to get her attention. “They’re all worried about you…”

“And I am too,” she sighed, “You need to try and calm Echo down before he does anything hasty. I’d hate to have to break the news to him just so he doesn’t go AWOL trying to save me from something I’ve already decided to do,” 

Duchess tried not to let that idea get the best of her. 

“But from what you’ve told me, everything should be fairly cut and dry.” She tried to calm the Sergeant down. “Blend in, listen for anything having to do with the Republic and what they’re doing to fight us, go to the weapons auction and-”

Hunter cut her off, “Don’t bid until we give you confirmation.”

“Right. No bids until I get the go-ahead, and then play it casual for a few hours until I get welcomed to the back to pick up my weapons. From there, a crew will be there to pose as my goons…” She couldn’t help but change topic for a second. 

“Finally, I get my own goon squad. It’s about kriffing time,” 

Hunter’s skyward turned eyes and smirk reassured her it wasn’t just personally amusing. 

“But that squad will bring a cargo ship to a loading bay holding the crates, and we bring them back safe and sound,”  She finished, expecting Hunter to give a satisfied nod. Only when he didn’t, she frowned. “Did I forget something?”

“No you didn’t,”

“You’re afraid getting the weapons back is all we’re going to accomplish, aren’t you?”

Hunter sighed, “It’s not that I don’t trust your ability to listen well enough. I’m just not sure we’re going to hear sensitive Separatists movements at a kriffing gala. Doesn’t that sound just a little reckless to you?”

“From my experience, people talk about things they don’t know about more than things they actually do. I would venture to say that a lot of these people know where these weapons are coming from, and who’s supplying them. They might not know a specific name, but I highly doubt there isn’t a well-placed rumor floating around,” Duchess nudged into his shoulder lightly, “Let’s just hope I look convincing enough in a budget-bought gown.”

Duchess couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of herself in some stupid dress. Make-up, hair done, and some dress she’d have never bought otherwise. Part of her was excited for the opportunity to dress up. It had been so long she couldn’t even remember wearing something other than fatigues or a dress uniform. Even to that extent, medal pinning ceremonies weren’t something that Phantom Squad attended in the first place due to their status in the army. Therefore dress uniforms typically stayed in the closet at the apartment she lived in before leaving for Kamino. Since then, they’d been in that chest on Kamino, awaiting her return for when shore leave dictated a visit back to the water-covered planet.

 In the past rotation or so, she’d dreamt up a few ideas of what she might like wearing. For all intensive purposes, anything within her price range was not going to appear very extravagant. So, her musings were kept to a minimum and only brought out of the recesses of her mind when she needed something insignificant to keep her busy. A few shops she was familiar with had clothes that might suffice, but with what money she had left over -a maybe a paycheck she’d been unable to collect- there could maybe be enough to fake real money and power. 

Hunter seemed to notice her deep thought.

“If I didn’t know better, I would say you looked excited for the idea of dolling yourself up for this,” A little well-humored smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and crinkled the skin around his eye. 

“I am a little, but I’m not going to get my hopes up,”

“Why is that? What’s a little fun for yourself? After all, I’d say you deserve a moment for yourself after all the kriffing trouble we’ve had,”

“The Galactic Bank of Duchess is running low. Has been since I took out that deposit I gave to you in case we needed a cushion on mission. I guess I didn’t think we’d wipe out that much of it so quickly…” She explained, not sad about where the credits had gone, but a little let down that the money needed spent in the first place. 

“Don’t worry about it, Dutch. We’ll get something together in time,” He reassured lightly, “But I do have a question I’m sure you don’t want to answer yet,”

“What’s that Sargent?”

“When are you going to tell him?”

Duchess felt her chest burn with guilt in that moment. It’s was the one part of the mission she had no plan for, and no real way of easing into it gently. Crosshair wasn’t going to like it one bit, but there wasn’t any way for him to stop her once Hunter submitted the documents she had already signed three rotations prior. Her sniper fighting the order wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but worrying him too much would be just as detrimental. That was the reason she asked Hunter to keep the details of the mission between the two of them in the first place. Crosshair needed rest. Not to fret over the nuance of her playing dress-up and acting the part of a bad guy for an evening. It was hardly the first time she’d done so. And something told her it wouldn’t be the last. 

“What happens now?” she questioned.

“I talked to Rex for a moment after the meeting. Said something about getting you ready for the mission. What kind of preparation that was, I don’t know really. But I’m supposed to leave out in the next few hours and meet with him again,” Hunter informed her evenly. 

“How are you going to get around disappearing from everyone?” Her curiosity got the best of her.

Hunter laughed, “Easy. Fake a headache,” He tapped his temples for a moment. “I hardly ever fake it, so they won’t question me if I say I have one,”

Duchess nodded, “What should I do? While we wait for… whatever Rex has planned?” 

“Do what you do best. Take care of the man who doesn’t want anyone taking care of him,” Hunter gave her a pat on the shoulder. 

“Even when he needs it.”

***

What is she doing?

She needs to eat again. 

It’s been two hours, and I know she hasn’t done it on her own. 

Where are my brothers?

Are they with her?

Echo will make sure she eats something.

Crosshair couldn’t be the least bit bothered by the electrodes sticking to his skin or the sweat dripping down the center of his back and down the sides of his face. Every inch of his body was naggingly sore, but it was nothing he refused to push through. Save for a severe ache deep in his right shoulder, everything else could be ignored. Well enough that after two hours of nonstop movement, Kix still hadn’t called off the test for worry of his health. Long enough that Crosshair was certain he could stop at any time he pleased and go back to doing what he really needed to. 

She’s been quiet all day. 

I don’t like it. 

Ever since they’d woken up together after his treatments had ended, Duchess hadn’t been acting right. Not overly different, but enough that he could tell something was different aside from her palpable nervousness. Crosshair didn’t pretend that he knew everything about her, but he did have a confidence that it wasn’t just lingering exhaustion, anxiety, or dehydration influencing her lack of desire to talk to him. She had barely said two sentences since morning for fuck’s sake. That knowledge alone kept him running at a steady pace. 

It gave him time to think; Time to think of the right thing to say.

I love you.

***

A headache didn’t even need to be faked for Hunter to get away easily.

Duchess was still waiting on Crosshair and the rest of the boys were getting a little bit of rest while they could, knowing that sometime soon Cross and Dutch would both need to sleep and someone else would need to watch over them. The perfect rotation for a family that knew exactly what to do when it needed done. But he needed to do his own work to make sure everything kept working out smoothly and Duchess was well prepped for this mission. Sure, it was a stressful time. He’d been in worse and handled it better. Been in easier ones and royally fucked up. It was a human response to feel this tense all the time. To miss sleep because he was thinking so much. Refuse a meal here and there to spend the time more efficiently. Overstimulate himself amongst the lights and sounds of meetings with the Generals to ensure that the mission was low-risk. 

He just didn’t expect it to be so fucking difficult. 

Hunter didn’t realize how hard it was becoming to keep forcing himself through the steps of a mission that shouldn’t have been so difficult. They weren’t failing. But they hadn’t completed it yet. As if someone was watching over them so closely and planning their decisions so meticulously that nothing they could do was nearly productive enough. Two steps forward and three steps back didn’t even begin to cover the feeling that boiled deep in his gut. There just wasn’t enough information slipping through the gaps for them to catch up quick enough. Hunter hated feeling useless. Especially knowing that his enhancements -brutally ingrained into him- were of completely of no use to anyone for any reason right now. No smell. No sound. Nothing. Useless. Save for the slight possibility that Rex had some Jedi Mind-Trick up his sleeve that could help them get their next foothold on an icy slope that dropped off into a deep ravine of failure.

“Sergeant, you look like you need some sleep and caf. In that order,” Rex greeted him, clapping a hand over his armored shoulder. 

“Caf first. Sleep later, Rex,”

They began walking through the gates to the base and towards the closest taxi service zone marked by paint on the sidewalk.

“Well… how are they doing?”

Hunter didn’t know where to begin, or explain what was more important. “Duchess is airing on stir-crazy waiting on something to happen. Some good news, a mission, literally anything to make her feel like she’s worth the air she’d breathing. Crosshair was in exhaustion testing when I left. Someone will send a comm when he finally decides he’s had enough time,” 

Rex gave him a disbelieving look, “Enough time to do what? Kill himself?” 

“If I know Crosshair well enough, I’d say so he can clear his head. I don’t know exactly what is going on between them, but it’s what I would consider serious. And from what I can tell it isn’t exactly… resolved,”

Rex gave a humph of a sound through his nose. “That sounds a bit messy. You’re not concerned about it?” He posed the question with a genuine curiosity that only two unit leaders without romantic relationship experience could ask each other. 

Both of them quickly got into the back of a speeder that pulled up upon seeing them waiting in a pick-up zone and Rex gave an address that Hunter was totally unfamiliar with. Hunter took the time of getting settled in the back of the vehicle to really think about that question as thoroughly as he could with the somewhat limited and unlimited experience he’d garnered about relationships, Crosshair, Duchess, being a brother, and everything else in between. It was after a few minutes of sitting there did the Sergeant come up with a response that he felt confident with.

“I wouldn’t say concerned in a negative way. I don’t think Crosshair is truly irrational. He can overact sometimes. But it’s never came to a point that I’ve felt his judgement was untrustworthy. And Duchess has one of the most level heads I’ve ever seen despite everything I know she’s been through, and everything else I don’t know about,”

Rex nodded, listened intently.

“But when those two are together, there can be these moments of miscommunication. And not a simple kind. Because both of them say exactly what they’re feeling, but it doesn’t always come out right. And that can cause tension,”

“You mean the verbiage? Or timing?” Rex interrupted politely, attempting to understand as best he could.

“Timing for sure,” he affirmed.

“What happens then?”

Hunter tried to formulate the right words, “It’s almost like they circle around an issue,” he said holding one hand out in front of him steady and circling a finger from the other hand around the former. “Just working at each other from opposite ends until they somehow, silently, decide that the issue needs addressed and that it takes both of them to either fix it, or make total sense of it,”

The Sergeant looked to Rex who had a very fond smile on his face, “Have you ever thought about marriage counselling?”

Hunter rolled his eyes and groaned, letting his head hit the headrest with a dull thud. “Honestly Rex, I thought you of all people would understand,”

“I do understand Hunter, but if you know how they work out there problems and it works for them,  I wouldn’t worry about it. It would be different if they never worked anything out and let it fester like an infected cut,” Rex sympathized. “I’ve had to solve a lot of problems with shinies… 501st men… kriff, even some of my ARC’s. But none of them had the idea to work through it together like that,”

“I just don’t know how to help either one of them when things get like that. And I don’t want either of them to get hurt,” Hunter tried to reason through his own feelings, wondering how a question Rex had asked sent him into a deep-dive on his own emotions. 

“So they have a cool-down? How many times have you needed one with your vode?” Rex asked with a chuckle, “Sure yours might come on a shorter time-frame due to mission duties, or other things… But when it comes to a relationship, I have a feeling that they have a much longer expiration on dealing with issues that come up. Imagine a relationship where you aren’t being controlled the entire time…”

Hunter couldn’t imagine a dynamic like that. But he did see the sense in what Rex was saying about Crosshair and Duchess. There was undoubtedly something going on that he wasn’t privy to. He had a strong feeling it had to do with… well. Feelings. An issue he wasn’t even going to think about when it came to Crosshair. There was hardly a reason for Crosshair to discuss feelings with him on a good day, especially not a bad one. And for the past week alone, there was a lot to unpack. Even for a clone who had more than their fair share of issues to deal with and not nearly enough time to sort all of it out healthily. By the time Hunter had put most of his worries and issues to rest however, the speeder had stopped and Rex was exiting out with one hand held on the door to leave it open for Hunter to follow after him. 

“Where are we exactly?” He asked, looking at the nose-bleed inducing sights of high-rise buildings all around him and the equally gut-churning sight of just as much building below him as well.

“Residential living for Senatorial staff, and other Republic officials that don’t live within the campus grounds,” Rex explained, looking down at his vambrace when a small alert pinged softly.

“We’re here to see a government official? This late at night?” Hunter asked a bit tensely, finding some of his decorum as they both were ushered through the entry doors to the high rise by a well-polished and heavily greased droid that didn’t have a single millimeter of rust or stay wire within sight.

“To be vague, yes. To be specific, they’re expecting us. So there’s not worry about disturbing anyone,”

The elevator they stepped into was controlled by yet another droid with just as much painstaking maintenance as the other one. Even in the reflection of the marbled walls and bright lights embedded in the celling trim, Hunter couldn’t spot a single blemish on the gold metal.

“I know we’re expected to keep a lot of our movements low-key, but this is making me nervous Rex. What’s going on here?” He asked, turning to face the Captain’s right side. The vibroblade sitting in the sheath on his forearm beginning to feel slightly heavy with a possibility of need to defend himself. Not against Rex, but what could possibly be waiting on the other side of the elevator door. 

“It’s a meeting with a Senator. I’m owed a debt, and this was my payoff for it. I knew Duchess was going to need some help when it came to getting everything in order for the mission, and there was only one person I could think of who could really ensure that Dutch looks the part,” He explained as best he could, decorously avoiding a name of this Senator.

“Dank Farrick Rex! Just tell me who-”

Before Hunter could get the rest of the demand out of his mouth, the doors opened and a warm yellow light spilled in from a large penthouse. Two people stood with open posture and a first-glance non-threatening appearance that instantly made Hunter’s bristle begin to lay down flat against his neck. It wasn’t until he saw one very familiar silhouette and one that vaguely reminded him of many times the batch and himself had sat watching Senatorial meetings on the holo. 

“General Skywalker. Senator Amidala. Thank you for seeing us so late,” Rex’s voice from behind him was cordial, but easy. 

Unusual for a situation that Hunter would’ve found very tense. Even now his neck felt tight, and his hands were clenched so tight that the leather between his clammy fingers were squeaking with pressure and friction. He had no idea what he was walking into. And the arm that the Senator had looped through Skywalker’s made Hunter feel like he was certainly behind on the curve in more ways than one. Even for a Sergeant who was expected to think on his feet at all times, he was really missing the back-up that his brother’s constantly provided. He needed Tech’s quick wit, Wrecker’s easy ability to make friendly conversation, and Echo’s immense talent of reading social cues and the formality of Coruscant and it’s more… refined populations. Everything Hunter felt he lacked, he was feeling it to the fullest extent at that moment. 

“So this is the Sergeant I’ve been hearing so much about,” The Senator said gracefully, taking a step away from Skywalker. Her manicured and soft hand reached out towards him, “It’s a true honor to meet you Sergeant Hunter. Your service is… invaluable to the Republic and people like myself who depend on you and your brothers,”

Hunter took her had out of pure instinct, hearing her kind words but not quite feeling the full effect of them right away. 

“I can assure you that I am nothing but supportive of your current situation. And I will be doing everything I can to help you in the next few days,” she added softly.

“Thank you ma’am,” He spoke back.

“Please. Call me Padmé. I consider myself nothing more than civilian, and you shouldn’t think of me as anything otherwise either,”

***

Duchess’ were the first pair of hands that touched Crosshair once his stress test was deemed complete. Four hours and some change was spent in that singular room. To what extent she truthfully didn’t know. She didn’t stick around to ask Kix questions -being far too concerned about getting Cross back to their barracks. But from what she heard murmured by Tech whom she’d passed by in the hallway, he’d ran steady through the entire time. Not a dead sprint by any means, but fast enough to leave his shirt utterly soaked and his skin damper than if he’d just stepped out of a shower. Her sniper felt hot to the touch -not feverish- but hot. His ribs heaved up and down under her hands, steady and deep. Most importantly one arm wound tightly around her waist and stayed there with a hand fisted into her shirt. Concreting himself to her. Instantly walking along without a word spoken to their closeness or a single mention of what anyone could say about the image before them should the pair come into sight. 

Duchess felt his protectiveness and exhaustion all at once. The weight of his body lying on her enough to remind her he was there in all aspects,  but not enough to make her feel a struggle to move with him. Yet his breaths were labored and droplets of sweat ran off him onto her shirt and on the top of her head. Her main thought was to get him some water. The quicker the better. She determinedly got them down the winding hallways. Doing whatever she could to avoid any prying eyes. Ignoring looks from emotionless buckets snapping in their direction and near-identical faces that shifted when pairing the two of them together. The barracks wasn’t far. By design she supposed. Thankful didn’t begin to cover her feelings as they got through the doors and Crosshair stopped for a moment. 

“Shower,” He said resolutely, leaning the both of them in the appropriate direction.

Duchess didn’t waver on the order. Only moving away from him once she was certain he could lean against the sink counter where she could turn on the water in the refresher and wait for it to get reasonably warm. Over the sound of water hitting the duracrete floor, wet fabric peeling away from skin could be heard behind her. She didn’t dare turn around, simply for Crosshair’s own privacy. Putting a hand in the stream, the back of her hand felt comfortably warm and Duchess did what she could to bide her time as respectfully as possible. Even when he was comfortable, she still didn’t know how to handle herself. Whether it was right to assume they were both on the same page and to take his behavior for the new normal, or begin to try and work up the nerve to admit her feelings again in the case that he truly hadn’t been able to hear her. 

It wasn’t until she heard boots thump to the floor that she knew her time was done. Planning to give him as much space as he could possibly want, she took a step back and kept her head low. A scent of salt, sweat, and Crosshair filled her senses as he brushed up against her back to slip into the open stall. A genuine sound of relief echoed softly against the walls when water first touched his skin. Pitter pattering against what Duchess pictured to be tattoos, fresh scars, and the utterly devastated muscles flexing below. Imagining his closed eyes and flexed arms reaching up to slick the heat off his head and rinse the palpable fatigue off as best he could. Duchess wished there was something she could do. A switch she could flip so that this awkwardness would evaporate. So she could be everything Cross needed without feeling hesitant.

“I’ll go grab you one of my towels,” She said softly, keeping her eyes on the toes of her boots as she spun around towards the door to the main barracks hall.

“No.” 

The quarrel ended before it began. Especially when a vice-like grip from his hand encircled her upper arm and the other caught a deft hold on the back beltloop of her pants. The unyielding pull to walk backwards into the stall was unavoidable and Duchess easily listened once again. Letting him guide her over the small lip that kept water from spilling onto the main floor. Patient. But nothing short of demanding. Water splattered down on her blacks and nearly had them soaked before her back hit Cross’ chest. Her boots already had a healthy level of standing water, and her best pair of socks squished uncomfortably. It would’ve been convenient for him to at least let her take her clothes off. But she assumed there was a good reason why he’d been so against the idea. 

“Let me,” He murmured quietly, giving a small tug at her shirt. 

“Get cold this way,” He reasoned unnecessarily, after Duchess raised her hands above her head; Going just far enough to brush her fingertips against his hair and the tips of his ears. 

The shirt peeled away and hit the floor with a instantly forgotten wet slap of a sound. Crosshair reached for the button and zipper to her pants carefully, and undid them with enough patience to let her bend over to untie her waterlogged boots and pull the entire half of her ensemble off completely. He didn’t touch her or even make a comment about her… admittedly suggestive posture. It was only after she had straightened up did his cold fingertips slid back over her skin. Choosing to only begin when he knew she was ready and prepared for him. Duchess knew it was out of pure respect that he didn’t grope of get too touchy when she was in a compromising position. He liked her when she was strong, and taking advantage of the weak moments like that didn’t strike Crosshair as the right way to act. Duchess loved him for it.

He spent a long while tracing the dips and swell of her hips. Tender. Leisurely. With a trigger finger dragging just a bit heavier than the others. A bit sluggish, but Duchess knew better than to assume he was too tired to do more. He was going out of his way to be outstandingly gentle with her and she didn’t know what was happing -or why- this was what he wanted. 

Duchess stayed liked that with him for what felt like a peaceful eternity. Just feeling his complex presence again in its purest form. The dichotomy of soft hands yet knowing they could create utter destruction should it be necessary. His protective posture guarding her away from the open gap in the stall, reminding herself of just how virile his strength was when directed towards someone with ill-intent. His steady breaths slowing to what she remembered best and the utter devastation she knew when that inhale and exhale were labored and pained beyond what anyone should ever experience. Crosshair held vulnerability in an beskar fist. Like he was terrified to lost control of it. Fearful of how soft he could become and what risk that would allow to infiltrate his life. Yet there he stood. Holding her close in lukewarm water with a silent plea that she not leave. 

His eventual next move was to put soap in her hair. Massaging until thick lather threatened to fall down her forehead. But he gently guided her head back with one hand curled under her chin. Rinsing all the soap off and slicking the stray drops of water and bubbles away from her eyes. Tracing the other hand up and down her side. Squeezing softly when his fingertips dimpled soft flesh Duchess considered unworthy of attention. His thumb brushing over what she knew to be a thin and raised scar on her temple from where his armor had cut her so long ago. She had enough of a though to marvel at how one simple interaction had changed nearly her entire life. The fact that one mistake led her to a back to Coruscant where she stood skin to skin with a sniper that had got closer and deeper to her than anyone in the galaxy every truly had before. 

It was Crosshair's kind of affection. 

Not poetry or flowers. No chance of a slow dance or dinner date. Duchess couldn't care less. It was more attentive this way. No grand gestures to hide behind, or preplanned way of ensuring his affection was displayed perfectly for everyone to see. It was nothing more than the pair of them alone. In a hell of a situation at that. Yet somewhere in one man's unknowable mind, a shower for both of them was deemed of the upmost importance. He didn’t need words to show how he felt in that moment. 

Duchess could feel his steady hands and a warm breath on her neck. A near imperceptible sway in his body weight moving them both from side to side like tenderly shushing an infant’s cries and fussing. Crosshair wasn’t just soothing her, but he was easing himself out of the strain and tension that had been coursing through him for over a week. Finally having the chance to reassure himself that everything could go back to normal now, and he hadn’t the need to feel so defensive of every small detail he could cling to.

Everything will be okay ner’ramser. She thought calmly.

It was the first time she’d believed it herself in weeks. 

***

“What I need is time with her,” Padmé said with a certain tone of stress. 

Anakin -sitting at her side- nodded understandingly. “I get that. We just don’t have that much time to get Duchess adjusted to the ins and outs of fashion faux-pas without abandoning the necessary steps to prepping her,” He explained.

“I doubt the she is unable to adjust, Anakin. You’re assuming that she isn’t talented in the art of a well-planned con,” Padmé chided him, standing from her place next to him on the couch to begin pacing her own living room gracefully. Hunter wondered why she felt it necessary to wear a dress with a train on it in her own home in the middle of the night.

“We need to reach some sort of agreement tonight. All of us. Otherwise we’re wasting time we don’t have. And without some sort of plan, Duchess is going to go in totally blind whereas we could’ve found a way to help her more than the Republic is willing to go,” Anakin spoke up, raising out of his own chair. Finding a path towards the windows overlooking the city’s skyline where he leaned against the wall with a pensive stare towards the Jedi Temple.

One hour had turned to two, and two had become four. Between a Senator, a Captain, a Sergeant, and a General, there was no good reason to explain why they couldn’t have found the best solution to the missing gaps and concerns facing Duchess’ looming mission. There was a question of her handling in the specific social circle at hand and whether or not she was equipped to handle the possible question of her fabricated power within that circle. The age-old worry of risk menaced just as severely. And had it not been for the Senator suggesting that as long as her clothes could conceal a weapon of some sort, they would still be stuck on that particular topic. 

Rex had conveniently become their best delegate of strategy who only spoke up when there was a question of tension in the room. Working efferently as diffusing tension. Anakin was proficient at pointing out the weak points in suggestions, Padmé offered out-of-the-box suggestions that often held plausible success and Hunter remained steadfast as the gauge as to whether or not Duchess would be open to certain suggestions since she could not be there to speak for herself. For the majority of their time spent throwing around ideas and hoping one would gain traction, it seemed that the one major block was getting Duchess to the Senator for at least enough time to make sure that everything was smooth and believable to the eye. 

“I have no doubt in Obi-Wan’s belief that she is ready for this kind of mission. There are nuances to which I would like to discuss with her on the very topic you are worried about,” The Senator said sternly. “I do not tolerate any threat to democracy. However I will not question the talents of a smart woman who is openly willing to do what must be done to ensure freedom. She must be given every affordance, including one to faith,”

And with that, Hunter watched as she removed a small comm device from a pocket hidden in her dress;

“Please clear my schedule for the next three rotations, and prepare for a departure from Coruscant for Naboo. I will be making a personal trip and require a few things be either rescheduled or cancelled.” She stated firm and concisely, keeping a steady gaze on Skywalker the entire time. 

“Right away, Senator,” A woman with a strikingly similar voice to Padmé’s answered. 

“Now. How much time do I have -exactly- before that transport leaves?” she asked, directing it to everyone and anyone in the room.

“Two rotations,” Hunter replied. 

“Can she be brought to me without the rest of your unit being alerted that something unusual is happening?”

Hunter tried to answer as helpfully as possible, “I can get her to you, but I don’t know how long she can be away without suspicion being raised. That is, high enough suspicion that I can’t come up with a good enough excuse,”

Padmé thought it over for a moment, “I can manage that easily,”

“We’re still in session over how to best get her to blend in,” Anakin interjected, sounding upset that his uncertainty wasn’t being listened to.

It was at that moment Hunter saw a glimpse of mischief glint in the Senator’s eyes. And it seemed that he wasn’t the only person to notice it either. A flicker of something dangerously coy and sly. A look he imagined other Senators were terrified of when on the opposing side of it. Patient and cunning, yet explosive and dangerous all at the same time. For a split second it looked like Crosshair when he finally had a target in sight and knew exactly how his shot was going to line up. Like watching the target fall before he had even pulled the trigger. The Sergeant definitively saw a small piece of what made Anakin Skywalker and Padmé such a very unique yet impeccably matched pair. She could match his tenacity and drive.

“Captain Rex, there is a brilliant strategy I plan to employ,” She spoke, grabbing Rex’s attention after not being spoke to for a long moment.

“Pardon me, Senator. I’m unaware of it, but I would love to learn,” The blonde answered, nearly falling out of his chair he was sitting so far out on the edge of it.

“The best way to blend in, is to not blend in at all.”

Hunter looked all around the room to gauge the expressions before deciding on how he felt personally. It wasn’t what he would have considered the first move.  Or even the second. After all most people needed some form of conformation to reassure others that they belonged within a group. The same reason that an outfit change on undercover missions was so very important when preparing. Hells, it was the whole reason the Senator was getting involved. But now that she had made up her mind, there was a question as to how far Padmé thought such a ruse could be stretched before it finally broke. Kenobi’s idea of her being implanted as a shadowed cornerstone of Separatist workings definitely couldn’t be backed up, let alone afforded if it came down to how many credits could be liquidated and given to Duchess in the mere case of emergency.

“How do you expect her to do that?” Hunter asked, still not decided on the idea.

Padmé smiled, “I saw her file. Rex sent it to me early this morning before we set up the meeting. I believe that the best way to avoid her becoming targeted for being different is to make sure that everyone in the galaknows she’s different. At least… for the time being. Besides, I’ve heard of her best traits is – well – how should I put this… feminine distraction. That, paired with her knowledge of the stolen goods in question, it would be almost too easy for her to simply be an ‘interested third-party’.”

Anakin pushed himself away from the wall, with his own surprise at figuring out her plan. 

“You want her to waltz right in and charm everyone into thinking she’s just a Separatist sympathizer who’s got enough credits and knowledge to buy a whole armory worth of who knows what?”

“Of course. Neutral territories and governments do that all the time,” Padmé sighed. “Pose her as what she truly is in her work. A private military weapons contractor. Only, no ties to the Republic or the Separatists. They would be extremely welcoming to new credits, valued knowledge, and a beautiful woman who can appear very sympathizing towards their cause,” She explained. 

Hunter looked to Rex who had caught on the back end of a very deep thought. One he came out of with a sense of understanding and a looking of plausibility that Hunter -despite his hesitation- couldn’t really disagree with. Sure, it sounded… A bit underdeveloped as a cover.  But no one would suspect Duchess. Just like they had left behind evidence of chain codes because of the niche audience that would understand them, no one at the gala could believe that Duchess was one member of that small group who would comprehend what exactly all the data and possible information sitting out in the open could mean. 

She could walk right in and be nothing but a guest. Sure, she could still bid on the weapons and secure them just like Kenobi wanted, but there didn’t need to be such a large ruse behind it all. No ties to Separatist government, no Republic ties either. No messy backstory or a need to explain herself more than a casual ‘I’m looking into my war-time business options’. She could be like everyone else there. Personally invested. Not politically. Essentially, Hunter knew Duchess could pull it off. All she would need to reinforce the story would be to know about the weapons being sold. And he was certain that all she would need was one good look at any of the stolen shipments and know down to the detail what they were, and how to play them to her benefit. 

It seemed that everyone in the room was looking at him. In limbo for his leadership of Duchess and in-lieu opinion. Four hours of discussion and it came down to the simplest of solutions. Let Duchess go in just as she was. No data trail, no identifications to forge, just have her appear out of nowhere and win over their trust. The Sergeant had witnessed her do it time and time again without being part of a mission. With an ease that he couldn’t imagine was easily learned. It was just in her nature. Like the Gods had crafted the talent just like the Kaminoian’s had manipulated his genes. Even the most concrete-minded man Hunter knew had fallen victim to her charm. Moreso than anyone really. If Duchess could do what she did to Crosshair with genuine character; There was no telling just how much the Separatists would love to have her on their side.

He steadied himself and shifted his forearms to his thighs with a nod, “I’m confident that will work. She’ll be the first person I talk to when we get back on base,”

Everyone seemed pleased to say the least. 

Padmé rubbed her hands down over her gown with thoughtful hum, “Sergeant, would you please have Duchess brought to me as soon as you can? I’ll send you with my private comm information so I can get at least a few minutes notice,”

Instant confusion hit him, “I thought we were sending her in… Like she is?”

The Senator laughed happily, walking over to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hunter. You’re a brilliant man, I’m sure of it. But you must understand I’m not going to pass up such fun opportunity,” her grin brightened.

“Opportunity to do what?” he asked, looking up at the woman.

Not a hair out of place. Every inch of silk and satin material on her dress steamed and stitched perfectly. Padmé Amidala was truthfully the embodiment of perfection. Hunter just didn’t realize until then that it wasn’t only her personality that desired it, but her career that dictated just how often she could allow herself many of the freedoms she fought for in the Senate. Her image was one that needed to present itself as constant, trustworthy, professional. It wasn't until she spoke that Hunter realized that within her power, she had given up so much in the way of creativity and genius that he saw flowing abundantly in her.

“I’ve never had the opportunity to dress someone up like a villain.”

***

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Omen:

The Commander isn't one to be easily distracted by most... trivial things. He's practical in that sense, but a difficult nut to crack in another. With his walls built high and impossibly thick, it's nearly impossible to get a great impression from Omen right off the bat. But there is one thing that really gets his attention right away.

A hot-girl strut.

The kind that lets everyone know you're aware of just how good you know you look without ever saying a single word. Slow and deliberate steps with your hips swaying. High heels or combat boots, it doesn't matter to Omen. He'll see and hear it from a mile away. It's the perfect blow to a Commander who sees people shy away at his mere proximity to them. People are constantly afraid of him and it's been forever since someone acted like his presence wasn't utterly threatening.

For a while, Omen attributed it to the way he was conditioned to snap to attention when a superior walked into the room. Their heels clicking in warning and a hanging feeling of suspense in the room. seconds before their arrival. But years later, long separated from orders and reporting to a superior who actually had the guts to reprimand him, he still had the same base reaction. Only the lingering effects adjusted to one of intrigue instead of duty.

He loves a woman with a lingering power. Someone who knows exactly what they're doing making such a grand entrance like that. Effortlessly garnering respect and undeniable sex appeal. And don't think for a moment that size has any effect on Omen's opinion. Hip dips or a thigh gap, tall or short... The Commander couldn't complain either way. Hells, he's going to stare either way and feel the slightest bit of a buzz in the back of his head the entire time.

Wraith:

The Lieutenant has had his fair share of opportunities to enhance his taste in... carnal sights. He plays a lot of Sabacc to win extra credits for the squad, and without a table of opponents, it's hard to make a significant profit. Normally, he's got his head down in his hand of cards and focusing on the sweat beading on the other player's foreheads and their twitching fingers. Wraith is a fantastic bluff, but he's even better at faking his own tells consistently enough that even if he plays you one hundred times, you'll never catch him. It's one of his most valuable assets when on a mission where capture and interrogation are always a threat.

Even if you're not playing Sabacc against him, being able to determine if he's lying about something catches Wraith's attention -and his gaze- right away. He's going to be shocked at first that you picked up on it quickly. But you won't visually see that no matter how taken aback he is. Most people never can tell and leave a table broke; Wondering how he's able to play bad hands so well. If you're not only good enough to call him out but not let any of the other players at the table know about it. You've simultaneously earned Wraith's respect and now you're playing a game of two. No matter how many people have been dealt in. If you're handling your own against him, soon people will start folding out. Aware that something between the two of you is going on, and they're smart enough to bow out before they get caught in the mental crossfire.

Add in the idea of winning against him? Now you've really got Wraith's undivided attention. He won't ever let you out of his sight.

Now. If you're just having a conversation with him, and he decides to start playing some of his little games. The rules are far different. He'll definitely start by making some subtle attempts to see if you just made a really good guess, or actually knew. Wraith's not shy about it either. He's not above shamelessly flirting, and he'll make your ears burn with the things he says to catch you off guard and make you spill.

Wraith isn't afraid to play dirty. But... the possibility of either of you losing in that particular situation is rare.

Revenant:

Revenant is a jumpy guy. There's an element of shell shock that clouds his demeanor and overall disposition in everyday life. So suddenly popping up behind him or anything surprising is not only a no-go, but it could be slightly dangerous. Revenant isn't trigger-happy, but it's still best to air on the safe side around him. That being said, hearing someone with a soft voice instantly grabs his attention. Out of the Phantoms, Rev is the most observant. He sees and feels things much quicker than the others, and most of the time those senses aren't leading him to believe something good is about to happen. So if he hears a voice that's soft, quiet, maybe even a little timid... He's going to have quite the reaction to it.

Despite his aptitude for being the most friendly of the Phantoms -which isn't saying a whole lot- he's certainly not going to say anything to you. Or give you any idea that he's even noticed your presence. But he certainly has. He's relishing in the sound. Damn-near drowning in it really. Gentleness isn't something Revenant has much experience with. So he's without a doubt going to stay within earshot of you for as long as he can manage it without feeling like he's going to be confronted about being lurky... or just downright creepy.

If you were to confront Revenant about it, he would be a bit short with you. Never even thinking about mentioning that he just really took a liking to your voice. Add in the possible intimidation that comes along with seeing a man like Rev, and he's going to do everything he can to keep you from feeling uncomfortable. Or risking your silence. He couldn't get his head around you not speaking all because of him. After some serious acclimation however, Revenant isn't afraid to ask you to talk to him. Stating very openly that the sound relaxes him. Eases his nerves. Steadies that constant feeling of tension in the depth of his mind.

Ghost:

Being the deep-minded man he is, Ghost spends a lot of his time reading, mapping star systems, daydreaming about all the places he'd like to go to, and keeping a detailed list of all the places he's been and what he liked best and least about all of them. As a pilot, the different sectors are all something of an opportunity. He's constantly thinking about it. Even at the gentle dissuasion his brothers give. (They don't want him to get hurt when he never gets the opportunity to go everywhere and see everything he wants to.)

You're going to catch Ghost's eye if you like to write.

He's a really deep thinker, and he's a great talker as well. But getting words written down in a meaningful way that someone else can understand is a struggle for him. So seeing someone like you confidently writing, seemingly lost in your own world of imagination is infinitely interesting to Ghost. He knows staring will create a lot of attention whether it's meaningful or not. But you're not watching him. You're far too blissfully preoccupied. So that's all that matters to him. He can handle anything or anyone else that wants to make something of it.

Ghost likes to imagine what you're writing about. How you're able to create worlds just as detailed as the ones he's visited all over the galaxy, without ever having to see them with your own eyes. Make light of situations that are otherwise gruesome... Terrible. The things he's seen -and done- would make fiction look totally unbelievable. So having the opportunity to see you weaving a story right before his very eyes is entrancing.

If you're to the point that Ghost opens up enough to tell you a few of his fantastic daydreams and visions of planets to visit, it would be utterly shocking for Ghost to see you write them for him. Bring his thoughts to life. Flesh out the pieces he's been unable to express. Bring tangibility to the sensations and feelings that he can't quite unblur in his tangled web of thoughts. Ghost wouldn't know how to respond at first. But rest assured, he wouldn't ever lose sight of those written words. He'd keep them close or somewhere safe at all times. Treasuring them and always keeping his eyes peeled on you, wherever you are, hoping to always catch a glimpse of creativity and imagination working itself out right before him.

Specter:

Specter isn't the type of man to get struck by any romantic interest easily. You're not going to impress him with makeup, hair, clothes, or even a flirty attitude. He's the least likely to get flustered over anything, and it's more likely that one glance from him will have you sweating from nervousness. Unapproachable is the key word to understanding what it's like to be in the same room as Specter. He's stiff. Cold. And for a lack of a better word, threatening. Moreso than Omen by a long shot. His smoke grey armor and thin visor give him a particularly menacing look. One that someone like you would only approach if all your other options were even more unfriendly.

You're only going to get Specter's attention if you're running to him as a defense.

Maybe it's someone who won't leave you alone at a bar. They're not taking no for an answer, and they're not buying the lie that you told about having a boyfriend who was "going to show up at any minute". And you've seen other girls pull the stunt before, even a couple of your friends have randomly picked a stranger to pose as their significant other just long enough to ward off any unwanted attention. But you're not quite that certain a regular guy would do something like that for you. And even then, if something bad were to happen, none of them have any physical protection like the grey-painted trooper leaning his back against the wall across the room. Or a few blasters hanging from his hips for that matter....

Specter sees you coming from a mile away. Fearful and nervous eyes focused practically everywhere but on him. And a quick gait that adds to the frantic body language you're displaying. He's also well aware of the man trailing behind you. Specter's wondering just what your plan is, and if he's correct in the assumption brewing in his mind. He's stunned when you walk right up to him and put on a serene smile and give a casual greeting. The sight of his helmet tilting in question doesn't bode well for you, and you try to make the point a little more clear. Slipping an arm around his waist and giving a vague comment about "wondering why it took so long for him to show up".

At first, he won't play into it. Standing stiff and resolute against your advances. But if the man trailing after you decides that the sight of you curling yourself underneath him isn't threatening enough, he's not above scaring someone just for the fun of it. Especially when they're threatening an innocent woman. Even Specter won't cross that line. He'll immediately spin both of you around, putting himself between you and the man. Creating a shield for one, and a lack of personal space as well. You can't see his face, or really any part of him for that matter, but you're certain he's staring right at you. You're about to say something. Maybe thank you, or explain what's going on. But Specter beats you to it with a dangerous voice and a mocking tone.

"You think I'm safer than him?"

***

Some would start small, working inch by inch; Maybe ‘accidentally’ knocking into him in the mess hall, or cutting across the hallway right in his path. Others wanted the attention and caused a scene, happily smarting off at the mouth about how defects are called such for a reason. But no matter what means were used, it always ended up the same. Fists would fly, then the shouting would start, followed by at least two units dog-piling to get the two troopers separated before a med bay visit was required. And throughout all of it, the unbroken promise of punishment would then be imprinted on the minds of those who’d witnessed the fight… at least until someone forgot again.

The first time had been his fault… or at least that was how she’d seen it. Standing in the hall with her datapad in hand, there had been a message sent to her that needed an immediate response. There was a shipment of munitions being unloaded that she was overseeing the progress of. Leaning a shoulder against the wall -believe it or not- to keep out of everyone’s way. Typing away, there wasn’t any sound of boots behind her to announce that a trooper was walking. Nothing to warn her that she was about to break the most dangerous rule on Kamino without even trying.

The sharp edge of Crosshair’s stabilizer bar was at the perfect height to cut across her temple. Jutting out just enough as he walked past to make a thin nick, a tiny bead of crimson dripped towards her cheek. At first she’d not felt it, but when her exploratory fingers came back with tinges of red, she’d immediately grumbled out at the helmeted trooper who’d apparently not felt the contact. He had a long stride that got him a few feet away before she’d found the voice to say something back.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going…” It was an immediate regret. She’d not expected the swift way he turned to face her, deadly silent. “You cut me.”

“Watch your mouth.” His modulated voice was venomously dripping with a careless attitude.

She wanted to put up a fight and at least demand an apology. But it was all she could do to wipe the dribbling blood off her cheek and flick her fingers at the ground in front of his boots. A small splat of the droplets came within inches of falling on the toe of his boot. A silent retribution that made her feel a little better, even though she was standing there mute… and bleeding. The trooper looked down at the crimson splatters on the floor, then back up to her.

“Fuck you.” She growled, turning to walk away where she could get to the med bay so she wouldn’t risk staining her uniform.

The second time wasn’t quite as vicious, but it was obvious to the other men -who wore the same colors as him- that there had been some bad blood between them. She’d been following one of the guard-troopers to a unit of cadets who were being assigned their first blasters. Too focused on watching the trooper push the crate of DC-17’s she was entrusted with delivering. She’d turned a corner far too quickly as she tried to keep pace with the long-legged man when she ran into a black and red wall. Her face met hard plastoid, the force of it knocking her to the floor with a groan. She reached for her nose, thankful when she felt that it hadn’t been broken.

Unfortunately, as her escort-trooper helped her to her feet she made eye-contact with the same trooper who’d cut her a few months back. Well… he was wearing his helmet again, but it was obvious that he was staring at her with the same intensity from before. That same feeling of nervousness mixing with the desire to fight back against his uncaring attitude. She shook off the troopers hands when she found her feet, noticing that another four men stood behind him all with their helmets on as well. All of them looked a little more shocked, and one of them -with goggles- was quick to ask if she was okay.

“She’s made it a habit…” Her unfortunate acquaintance said dryly, looking to his brothers with a small shake of his head.

Her snarl of a scowl made quite the impression on the trooper when he turned to look at her again, visibly straitening his shoulders in response. It was a small satisfaction, but the way his hands fisted at his sides made it clear she was only pushing her luck further. Not to mention, the trooper accompanying her was literally trying to pull her out of the staring match that had developed between them. His quiet advice to ‘let it go’ wasn’t lost on her, but there was nothing keeping her from turning away. This trooper was begging for a challenge, and she was motivated to give it to him. Even if she was trembling from again standing up to him.

“I’ll have your helmet hanging in my office, trooper.” Her entire body shook with the urge to show just how patient she’d been the first time they’d met. He flinched in a microscopic way. She felt that she’d actually won this time, finally seeing him break from the stoic posture always holding him so stiffly. Even if it was small that movement was all she needed to please the trooper still tugging at her shoulders.

That second incident was almost six months ago, and after five or six more flights to Kamino she was more than happy to report that she’d not seen that prick of a trooper, or his unit, since.

On a happier note, she’d finally been assigned to Kamino full time. Leaving the countless trips back and forth from Coruscant a thing of the past. With little reason to stay in the capital city, she’d been almost excited to see her apartment emptied into the two rucksacks she’d been limited to bringing with her. The shuttle ride had been a bittersweet one, with a few of the troopers aboard so used to spending their trips back and forth hauling her and her shipments along. They’d been terribly sweet, even feeling strongly enough to give her a short hug before there were too many eyes watching the unloading. She’d been shown to her quarters by a guard-trooper, who’d also been helpful in pointing out the areas of interest that she was already familiar with, but too polite to interrupt.

Her quarters were small, curved walls like everywhere else on Kamino that made the room feel like she was inside a duracrete bubble. Expecting everything to be dormitory-style, she’d been surprised to see a personal refresher off to the right of the entry door, and even a small caf machine sitting on an otherwise blank desk against the back wall. Her bed was a little less than comfortable but she’d not expected much more from the strangely unsleeping Kaminoian’s. With only two bags of personal items to her name calling her transition a ‘new beginning’ wasn’t exactly far from the truth.

Like any day before, she’d been stuck inside her office mulling over the endless tabs of files and shipment orders being sent to her personal collection of five datapads. Alerts sounded at all hours of the day, limiting her sleep schedule to appointment times and whenever she’d pass out from exhaustion. Caf fueled her ability to get her work done and still keep up with the physical requirements that were expected of her. From what her records showed, there were at least five units that based their supply-stock out of Kamino, and that meant she was constantly inside the armory. She had her hands on every handgun and ion bomb brought through the doors; Checking for defects and any other shortcomings that would render the particular ordinance unusable by the soldiers who would use them.

“What’s on the docket today boys?” Her smile for the troopers was bright, but it was hiding the lack of sleep she’d been ignoring for the past few days. Even the question was unnecessary… she knew that it was a shipment of gunship artillery that was three days late from the factory. However making conversation with the men seemed to help everyone’s morale.

“Well Duchess, I’d say enough firepower to make the Seperatists cry.” One of the troopers laughed, joining alongside his brother to help lift one of the crates onto a speeder that would haul it to the armory.

A small smile tugged at her lips at the use of the moniker. It hadn’t been spoken a lot until word spread that she was the one in charge of getting their war-toys delivered on time. After that got around to all the troopers, they’d been quick to make sure she knew just how important her job was to them. Although she wasn’t much for being ‘royalty’ there was a lot to be said about how adamant they all were about giving her a name like themselves. An admission into their world, going far enough to give her a title far more suggestive to their appreciation than she believed deserving of.

“Let’s hope your right. I’m going to make sure they haven’t shorted us again like they did last time.” She jumped onto the back of the speeder, and squatting down to open the lid to the crate. Quick math and a few recollections on the shipment details later, she gave the nod of approval for the rest of them to be loaded in around her while she did her habitual checks.

“Duchess, you coming to the mess for dinner?” One of the more shy troopers asked once the speeder was full, leaving him leaning against it like he was too weak to ask without the support. She suppressed the urge to giggle at his nervous posture, sensing that there was probably a bet on the line. Considering that all his help had vanished somewhere amidst all the traffic inside the hangar.

“I’ll probably take it to go, trooper. But I’ll look for you while I’m there.” She gave a friendly wave, practically seeing the steam roll out from under his bucket. For men that were so unbelievably talented at what they did, it was hard to remember that when it came to any type of normal human interaction, they were all miserably lacking. At least… these on Kamino were. Others hadn’t been this shy.

Keeping her promise, when she’d seen that the mess hall was open for dinner Dutch made her way there with a lackluster motivation for finding the exact trooper that had been forward enough to ask what her plans were. She chuckled at the thought, wondering what exactly he’d looked like under that helmet. Finding a few of the nat-born mechanics standing at the back of the line she made a little conversation to help lessen the blow of the constant attention that developed when they came for dinner.

She didn’t blame them for being curious, because seeing nat-borns for the first time had to be a little shocking. Knowing that there are humans who don’t look the exact same as you was hard enough to believe when there was no opportunity to see for yourself. Add in the fact that half of them were more interested that she was female… it was more than enough to expect a few eyes to follow you around just about everywhere. Just when she’d thought that the trooper wasn’t going to show, a hesitant tap on her shoulder brought her attention to the helmetless soldier, trying his best to hide the embarrassment on his face. His ears were tinged pink, and his big brown eyes were as wide as the empty tray in his hands.

“H-hello ma’am.” He’d dropped her nickname in mixed company, his embarrassment of addressing her far more noticeable in his stutter and nervous feet.

“Hi trooper.” Her friendly smile only made his blush deepen. “I was beginning to think you’d clam up and not come find me.” She turned to receive the helping of whatever meal was on the single-item menu tonight.

“I was just… Been t-thinking about it- I guess.” He tried to straighten out his stutter with a little cough, looking over in the distance where a group of his brothers were watching them with rapt attention.

“Are those yours?” She nodded in the group’s direction, watching his little nod. “They put you up to this didn’t they?”

“Yes ma’am. Either I got the nerve to say hi, or they shave my head.” His little grimace was almost as cute as his embarrassment was. She just hoped that whatever this little conversation entailed, it meant that he could keep his hair for just a little while longer. “But I think their convinced by now…”

“What’s your name?” Her little smirk sparked his immediate desire to answer.

“CT-39-”

“No. Your real name, shiny.” She sighed with a false sense of exasperation. There was nothing worse than the way these men were forced to answer to a number. And she’d be damned before ever calling them by a row of random digits.

The trooper looked to her with an appreciate nod and smile, seemingly too gun-shy to come out at say it. He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, “I’m Toast…”

She couldn’t help but laugh a little. Of all the ones she’d heard, that was by far the most ambiguous. And the bigger question of how he got it loomed like a late-night bar story she’d love to hear sometime. Whether Toast liked the bread, or had the idea of burning clankers in mind there was little to deny that his name was one of her favorites so far.

“Well, Toast… I hope you can keep your hair.” She paused, looking down at her tray and seeing none other than a piece of toast sitting there. With a devious smirk, she placed it on top of his tray. “I’m sure this will help keep your vod off your back.”

***

From the moment his armor had made that little cut on her head, Crosshair couldn’t get out of the habit of looking out for her. Everywhere he went, around every corner, in every room, he was constantly waiting to run into her again. At first, it was pure rage that filled his motivation; Wanting to stomp out that tiny little flame of anger she thought was acceptable to show. It was the most standoffish anyone had ever been towards him, but there was a certain curiosity as to why she didn’t respond like everyone else.

Crosshair had been watching for her constantly when she’d ran into him that second time. He’d actually braced himself for her impact, seeing her face smack right into his chest. Admittedly, he’d not meant for her to fly backwards onto the ground, but he certainly wasn’t about to help her back up. No, that reg she’d been walking with was more than happy to get his hands on her before she could even register that she was sitting on the ground. To his excitement though, she’d practically ignored the reg when he advised her to leave the accident just that. An accident. That blaze of anger in her eyes licked high in hot flames, devouring the fuel supplied by his lack of a response. She had a filthy mouth, and that little threat of hanging his helmet like a trophy was definitely one he’d never heard before. But in his imagination, the idea of his visor silently watching over her while she work sounded more satisfying than letting her throw a punch at him.

Apparently that guard wasn’t the only reg who thought that touching her is a good idea…

Crosshair could see the look of fear on the troopers face long before he’d ever tried to get her attention. Contrary to what everyone believed, his eyesight wasn’t the only thing Cross was keen to. Unlike Hunter’s enhanced hearing, Crosshair couldn’t hear unfathomable frequencies, but he was attentive enough to hear the conversation just a few tables over. As always, regs had been built with a particular interest in making bets; This time, it all hinged on the one who was afraid of getting his head shaved. His only reassurance was speaking to “that armory lady” as they’d called her. At the time, he’d simply been bored with the idea. It wasn’t often that she came through the mess hall, and when she did, it wasn’t for more than the time it took to get through the line and get out. However, when he’d seen a flash of a green jumpsuit and black boots Crosshair almost snapped the fork he’d been holding in his hand. She was in the mess hall, and there was a good chance the trooper was going to take the bet.

She’d been stationed on Kamino for under six months as the Weaponry Director, from what he’d been able to gather from Tech. As for much else, she’d been careful enough not to give anything else away. He’d only seen her in fleeting a couple of times since she’d ran into him, and there was never an instance that she’d lingered for more than a few moments. Always in that baggy green flight suit with the cuffs of the pantlegs tucked into tightly laced and polished boots. She kept two DC-17’s on her person at all times, one in a holster on the belt sinched around her waist and the other strapped high on the opposite thigh. All things considered, it was highly professional, but that didn’t keep the regs from trying to make passes at her.

Crosshair watched the interaction down the most minute detail, seeing how gentle she’d been with the trooper and how quickly he’d fallen into a pathetic display of preening under her attention. She was all soft smiles and even softer laughter, completely opposing that venomous attitude she’d wielded against him in the halls. The reg looked like a love-sick puppy, and Crosshair couldn’t help but scoff. It was a pathetic display. If only that shiny knew just how bad her bark was, he might be afraid enough to not find out if she would bite.

“Crosshair, you listening?” Hunter’s voice finally snapped him out of his delusional fantasy of seeing her draw that blaster on her thigh and really give that reg a reason to stammer.

“What do you want?” He snapped, tearing his eyes away from the green-fatigued girl long enough to see Hunter’s appraising stare directed at the flimsy fork bending under the pressure of his fingers.

“I said we’ve got a job to do. I asked if you would be in the hangar at 0300 in the morning.” His repetition of the question had been slowed, as if Hunter thought he’d not understand.

“S’fine.”

In the time Hunter had taken away from his surveillance, the Weaponry Director had made it to the end of the chow-line, walking backwards with a smug look on her face. It was only the barest hint he’d seen in months of that hurricane of a personality. With a confident smirk, she took the slice of bread off her plate and sat it down on the reg’s, walking away with one last comment thrown over her turned shoulder in the troopers direction. Crosshair couldn’t help how quickly his own temper flared at the gesture. He felt like a red-hot durasteel target after a barrage of blaster fire had been thrown against it. The fork in his fingers snapped, breaking into two pieces with the jagged ends biting at the calloused skin on his palm under his fist.

“Karking hell, Cross! I didn’t think the food was that bad.” Echo grumbled from next to him, pushing his own uneaten plate away from him. Wiping off the little specks of food that had flicked onto his pauldron and chest plate.

Crosshair didn’t want to sit there anymore; Brewing hotly over how innocently she’d just given that reg something to gloat about for the rest of his life. Even worse, she’d found a seat with a few mechanics instead of leaving the mess, and Crosshair couldn’t stand to look at her any longer. He growled that he wasn’t hungry for what was on his plate, before quickly disposing of it and walking out the doors on the opposite side of the hall. He knew he’d be faced with questions about his abrupt departure later, seeing as his icy dismissal was still considered unusual behavior.

He would worry about that later. Instead, he directed himself to the bunkroom and retrieved his rifle for some target practice. Maybe he could get out of his own head enough by the time they sent Tech to find him, he’d be calm enough to give some excuse that didn’t have to do with the Weapons Director’s little flirt with a shiny. By then, he might be cool enough to let it go… but that was a long-shot even for a sniper. The two previous engagements, and all the other little glimpses he had stored of her hadn’t left his mind for a moment; It would have to be a sunny day on Kamino before he’d get her smirk out of his head.

The range only offered a little relief, but it was slowly chipping away at the swirl of questions floating around behind his tired eyes. Each shot burned a red glow through the target holos floating around the room, marking one step closer to forgetting about her for just one night. His jaw had been tightly wound in the mess, practically squeaking the enamel on his teeth. Here, he had to relax. If he didn’t the shots wouldn’t hit, and there was nothing he hated more than not making the shot count. Realistically, his body wouldn’t allow it. From his slack mouth, to the steady but comfortable tension in his back and shoulders, his constant training made shooting the one thing he could do without thinking about it. Measured inhales and exhales made the burn in his chest fade, and the slight register of his silenced rifle left the entire range quiet enough that he didn’t feel the need to be on edge.

Satisfied that he’d worked off enough of his unfounded frustrations he returned to the bunk room to be met with four pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly. A questioning silence made itself known by the pause of work, and late-night preparation for their deployment at a halt. Hunter set down his sharpening stone for his knives, Tech sat down the strange clump of wires and steel he’d been toying with for the past few days, Echo’s hand holding an impact to the bolt on his knee joint stopped, and Wrecker halted mid-motion as he was getting ready to lay down. All of them quickly read the expression on his face, and dropped their attention back to what they were doing to avoid any confrontation this late at night. Crosshair was quick to hide his lingering toil by cleaning his rifle as habit.

Step by step the routine was just as memorized as shooting was. Each product, every tool, all of it was ritualistically applied and used as the final measure to try and store his unfamiliar emotions about his latest personal recon on his only distraction. The Director was a diversion at best, and a death sentence if he couldn’t keep it under better control. That mean streak she’d displayed had given him a high that was more addictive than any thrill of adrenaline he’d ever felt on the frontline. And as badly as he didn’t want to admit it, Crosshair could not resist the unusual burn of covetousness he’d felt when that reg had the audacity to tap on her shoulder and merely ask for her attention.

He rested his rifle in its case, and did the same with himself on his bunk. Leaving him to stare at the low ceiling above him until he couldn’t fight the need for sleep. When the sounds of deployment prep gave way to four distinctive snores, Crosshair let unconsciousness come for him too. Dreaming recklessly about previous missions that bled into fears of losing his brothers at the hands of rusty droids and red-sabered Jedi’s. His deep-seated inability to fight his thoughts lasted for hours, morphing into a new kind of dread. One that had recently based itself in an uncontrollable want for something that he constantly cursed the regs for. Crosshair wanted that attention from her. Hard stares and an unfazed attitude left him with the inability to work through his jealously even in his dreams. Her fight was vicious, and he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, but those soft eyes and smiles she gave to that reg were a different kind of attention that he knew nothing of.

Crosshair hallucinated often about what it would it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that kindness. Hearing soft laughter; Instead of her sharp tongue, he thought about soft hands roaming under his blacks. Seeing that flame in her eyes smolder into an all-consuming warmth that showed a different kind of fierce desire; One that would leave him begging for more inside a heat he knew very little of. Simultaneously wishing that he could find some way to stop tempting himself with an affection that he wasn’t worthy of. She’d proved that he wasn’t intimidating in the same way regs thought him to be. That slip of a girl made it clear that no man -including himself- could use his power to make her back down. That passion in her fueled his regulation-prohibited fantasies. Encouraging him to grind against his bed, attempting to release the pressure of his yearnings.

Crosshair was insatiable for just a little bit more of her.

***

The armory smelled like durasteel and blaster oil. It was her favorite scent on Kamino, reminding her that all of the paperwork she did had a physical impact somewhere in the galaxy. It was a huge room, with sky-high metal shelves containing every weapon imaginable to a giddy soldier, or Director. She smiled brightly, taking a sip of her first caf of the day enjoying the strong brew as it went down smoothly. In her other hand she held a datapad and scanner, beginning the process of pulling the required ordinance that were going to be put aboard the shuttle she’d walked past out in the hangar earlier. It was the only time of day that she found a quiet place to be outside of her quarters. So early, that the troopers getting ready for their deployment wouldn’t be ready to pick up their supplies for another fifteen minutes or so, and the Kaminoian’s were adamant that the ordinance of this room were her sole responsibility. Therefore it was her safe-space of sorts… and she wasn’t ignorant to the idea that most would consider a room full of blasters and bombs to be the least benign space on Kamino.

This particular order was pretty… extensive.

Enough explosives to take down a small city, and a gracious order of blaster and rifle cartridges that made her question how accurate their unit’s collective ability to shoot actually was. There was enough here to neutralize three hundred clankers in just blaster munitions alone. Who was this unit and what kind of missions were they being sent on? She scanned the datapad, looking for a unit number or something that could give her some idea.

Clone Force 99… She thought amusedly, wondering if she’d made the right connection to the only other 99 she’d ever heard of. In the lazy mentality she felt contented to sanction on a Friday morning, she wondered if this unit knew 99 personally. Maybe they’d grown up around him closely enough that they’d found a father-like figure in him… It was a sweet imagination. Of what Duchess really knew about clones, it was their upbringing and the lack of fair treatment they were all given that bothered her most. The ignorance of care that the Republic showed to the ethical treatment of their soldiers was obvious; Leaving her uneasy when she had to admit that she worked and accepted checks from the GAR. Deep in her mind, she hoped that all of the troopers who had made an attempt to get close to her knew that she stood more with them than those who lived cushy lives on Coruscant.

“Who are you?” A loud voice boomed from down the row she was currently in. Heavy footsteps approached loudly, and with a starling presence that almost made her drop her precious cup of caf.

The man who called to her was of hulking size, and she immediately recognized him as one of the troopers who’d been accompanying him… There was a sign of confusion in his pinched brows, and his huge arms crossed over his barreled chest as he got closer. She went to speak, and his expression immediately faded into amusement and a hearty laugh followed suit, leaving her wide-eyed and a little whiplashed.

“M’ jokin’! You’re Duchess, right?” He gave her quite the smile, and that tinge of worry she’d felt staring up at the huge man drained out of her.

“Yeah, that’s me. Who are you big guy?” She sat down her datapad and scanner to offer her hand out to the trooper.

“I’m Wrecker.” He chuckled, pushing away her hand and easily lifting her up by the middle into for a brutal hug. She groaned out a sigh, trying to save her caf from getting spilled down his back as he laughed again. “You’re the one who gets me all my explosives. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Wrecker! Put the Director down!” Another -less joyous- call echoed in the room, drawing her attention away from the heavy pressure around her ribs to see a long-haired trooper staring at the two of them. His straight posture and stiffening shoulders reminded her of an old memory. They looked almost identical in the way they carried themselves.

“Sorry Hunter… It’s Duchess!” He tried to explain away his over-excitement while setting her back down gently on the floor.

“I know who she is, Wreck. You can’t just pick people up.” He scolded his giant, child-like brother. “Nice to meet you Director.” She flinched at the name, and immediately set out to correct him.

“Duchess is just fine. I’m not a fan of titles.” Her friendly nod was apparently enough to erase the lingering reminder of how she’d made ass of herself in front of them on their first meeting. Hunter reached out a hand, giving her a firm handshake.

“Well Duchess, can we help you get anything else?” His gaze jumped to the crate she’d pulled down from the racks. “We’re not keen on letting you do all the work.”

“I’ve got everything but this one at the front office waiting for you. If you’d be nice enough to take this one I’d be grateful.” Her toe tapped the side of the box.

She let out a chuckle when Wrecker’s one brown eye lit up. It was obvious that he was the one who really loved the more heavy-hitting ordinance she’d approved for their mission. As for Hunter, she really couldn’t tell what he was about, other than taking on a leadership role. But most obvious was their distinctive appearances. So far, she’d only seen the two of them without their helmets but she was certain that there was much more in store outside of the armory warehouse. A little pinch in her stomach reminded her that he would be out there.

“I hope you don’t mind me mentioning… But you’re quite, unique.” She smiled when Hunter turned to her, his golden eyes the only thing that bared any connection to Fett’s genes.

“We’re all enhanced for certain desirable traits. As you can see, Wrecker is our demolition expert. I have enhanced senses: smell, hearing, the like.” His explanation sounded very rehearsed, and she had the urge to apologize for making him recite it.

She stayed quiet for the rest of the walk into the hangar where three other men stood outside of their ship on the slanted hatch. Each of them quite different in their own way, and it was obvious that they really were truly built for a specific purpose. But the one man that she’d already had met was the one who drew her constant attention. Behind her, she felt Hunter’s presence, and despite trying to keep her emotions in control she felt herself getting nervous. She even faltered, hesitant to accompany them any further.

“Would you like to meet everyone else?” Hunter asked a little mischievously, making it clear he remembered their first -literal- run-in with each other.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Hunter gave an amused chuckle, glancing right in the silver-haired man’s direction. She held her breath awaiting his long thought before another smile pulled at his lips. From this side, all she could focus on was his tattoo and how boldly it screamed his personality. Every clone who decided to get inked had a big purpose behind it. And although she didn’t frequently ask the reasoning, she thought Hunter might not mind answering. But she kept her tongue in cheek, until he turned back to her.

“Come on, they’ll be all be interested to see the armory’s queen.”

***

Tech had been a steady stream of information since the first moment he’d woken up, blabbing about everything from the flora and fauna of their target planet to the plans he was already prepping before they had any real idea of what they were going to be walking into. At first, Crosshair been happy to hear some quiet, but that was scrubbed away when he heard a laugh not belonging to anyone other than her. When he noticed that Echo and Tech were both looking away from him, he followed their gazes to see Hunter grinning down at her. Apparently he’d said something funny, because she was trying to hold back another laugh as they made their final approach.

“Boys, bow for the Duchess.” Hunter drawled sarcastically, throwing everyone a playful smile. Even going far enough to throw a patronizing wink in Cross’s direction at the last minute.

“I’m hardly royal, a handshake will do just fine.” She smiled at the pair next to him, actively trying to hide the glances that she took in his direction.

Gods, she’s so karking pretty. Crosshair tried to blame the thought on his lack of good sleep, and the constant slew of dreams he’d had of her over the night. But there was no good excuse for how badly he wanted to make her laugh like Hunter had.

Echo was the first to give an introduction, clasping her little hand in his and giving her a soft handshake. True of a reg had was quick to give her that smile all of them gave her when they got the chance. Tech was quick to follow suit, already trying to give her a history of her moniker to which she miraculously seemed to have all the time in the world to listen to. Cross watched her with another burn of jealously rising as she raised her eyebrows when Tech started in again; Nodding every so often or biting down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling at his goggled brother’s unavoidable spiel.

“However it’s all possible they’ve given you the name because they find you attractive.” Tech finished quite flippantly. A wash of awkward silence fell over everyone. As always Tech didn’t register his inappropriate insinuation, all focus going back to his datapad without even glancing back up. Even going far enough to give a little wave before disappearing into the hull.

Cross rolled his eyes, already feeling the desire to let Tech fend for himself on the mission grow exponentially. It was bad enough that he thought she was pretty, let alone Tech making such a blatant statement of it. Crosshair couldn’t believe the blush that painted over her cheeks when they looked to her for a reaction. Out of all the things he’d expected her to do after that, a brightly visible flush of embarrassment wasn’t one of them. She looked to Hunter and as always he just shrugged, leaving her to deal with the information however she pleased. A small pang in his chest thumped when Cross was finally given a new piece of information on her, about his fixation. Not her given name, but the one that she chose to go by now. There was a reason she’d chosen her clone-like name instead; But he was sure to find out why.

“We’ve met, but I don’t know your name.” She pinned him with a flaring look in her eyes. It was intense, but not in any way she’d shown before.

“Crosshair.” She bit her lip again, and nodding as she tried to look anywhere but at his eyes.

It was obvious that she’d had quite a bit more confidence staring into a visor than she could at his face. Self-consciously he scowled, thinking bitterly that it was because of his appearance that she’d been so quick to avert her gaze. It was obvious to him that she was more receptive to Echo and Hunter because they looked the most similar to regs. His jealousy built when the two drew her into a conversation -friendly at most- but it didn’t make it any better on his bruising ego.

“You went in the field?” Echo’s question brought his boots back to the planet, and he watched her nod shyly.

“Once. My shuttle got shot, and we took some nasty damage. We had to land, and it turned out the closest available place to us was a battle zone. Of course we didn’t have much of an option with an engine down.” She paused looking between all of them, making eye contact with him for just long enough to make him certain his presence was still felt. “After a few days of shooting, we got back in the air.”

Duchess said it like it was nothing. Crosshair couldn’t imagine her actually using those blasters hanging from her, standing alongside other soldiers and fighting to stay alive. There was a certain air of disbelief, but he was mostly infuriated that anyone had let her do so in the first place. It sounded like a nightmare made reality… He couldn’t help but try and discourage her from doing it again in the only way he knew how.

“What a hero…” He drawled. Much to his surprise, she ignored the comment. Continuing on until she checked the chrono on her wrist with a disappointed look.

“Sorry boys, I’ve got to go.” Her boots backed off the ramp hesitantly, trying to avoid Wrecker who’d finished his packing of the ship and was actively trying to haul her up into an arm in a hug.

He growled lowly to himself at the thought, holding himself back from getting involved to stay as neutral as possible with this many eyes around. He had a nasty feeling that Hunter was already more than aware; But there wouldn’t be anything more detrimental to his denial than making a scene over something as simple as a hug. He just hated that he wasn’t someone who could do that. To his satisfaction Hunter called the brute off with a sharp bark and glare, leaving Duchess free to walk away.

“Hey Crosshair!” She called out loudly from across the hangar, a huge grin on her face clearly visible from that far away. Then those bright glowing eyes locked on his, flashing a tinge of heat towards him. “Come back in one piece! No hero shit!” Her self-satisfied laugh fell like silk onto his ravenous ears, echoing sweetly long after she’d disappeared through the doorway to the armory access hallway.

Come back.

Oh sweet girl, if only you knew what you were asking of me…

Omen:

You woke up feeling unlike ever before. Raw throat, stomach in knots, cold chills, and a wicked fever. After spending half an hour retching over the toilet you could only guess you had caught some virus. One that was kicking your ass. And the last thing you suspected was an early morning knock on your door. A sharp and insistent rap that you trudged through your home to answer.

The last thing you expected to see being Omen.

Before you can even pull a train of thought together, he's walking through the door with an unusual greeting.

"You have a high fever."

His grim tone and hard eyes pointed at your visible condition only makes you feel worse.

"I took medicine just a bit ago, should be starting to work right about..." you try to say; feeling that acidic rise of bile in your throat again.

You barely make it to your kitchen sink in time. Gagging and heaving with a red face and embarrassment of getting sick like this in front of Omen. So the sound of the bathroom faucet running and his heavy boots thudding back through the house towards you feels out of place.

"Cold," he warns from behind you. A cooling sensation of a wet washcloth tingling on the back of your neck followed right after. It’s pure, unadulterated, bliss. An audible sigh escapes your lips.

“How did you know?" you manage to murmur, resting your forehead against the edge of the sink.

"Your chrono," he answered quietly. Running a soothing hand up and down your sweaty back. "Installed a few things."

Somehow that thought felt extremely reassuring. Enough that you felt safe in admitting you wanted help.

"I want to go lay down..."

Without another word his gently picking you up and carrying you to bed. Going to the absolute far ends of the galaxy to ensure you're comfortable amongst your blankets and pillows. Careful to not further unsettle you.

"If you can't keep anything down, you'll need this," he states. Pulling a packaged syringe from one of the pouches in his multiple utility belts.

"Where did you even...?" your mind races through the possibilities of where he could've possibly got nat-born antibiotics. Especially when you didn’t even know you were sick until this morning.

But without questioning him any more than you already have, you pull back the covers and expose your thigh. Watching Omen's scarred hands work quickly, making the sting far more bearable. Even rubbing over the injection site afterward to help spread the raised lump of fluid. Continuing down your legs, lingering at your calves before massaging down to the arches of your feet.

"What can I do for you?" he asks.

You know he has places to be. Things to worry about. Important things. But he's here. And it's so easy to forget duty at a time like this. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him last.

"Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"

He does.

Omen stays right by your side. Keeping your washcloth cold, brushing your hair off your face, and walking you to the refresher a couple more times before the medicine kicks in.

For a few hours after you fall asleep, he still lingers. Going into the kitchen to clean up your sink and any dirty dishes before peeking in to check on you. Omen will essentially clean, straighten, and tidy your entire home before making one last check on you.

With your chrono recording the break of your fever, a better oxygen reading and overall healthier numbers, he will release some of that worry for your wellbeing. The Commander will give you a kiss on the cheek and depart.

When you wake up -feeling immensely better- you'll be a bit disappointed to see he's gone. However, all of your laundry is clean and put away in their correct drawers or hung up properly. Your whole house is spotless, and there is a pot of soup sitting on the stove; Simplywaiting to be reheated. You'll send him a message, not risking a call in case his working. Shyly thanking him for helping you in such a way. Promising him a full return of the favor. His reply is days later;

Anything and Everything, for you. xx

Wraith:

At first, you were feeling fine. Just enjoying your evening sitting on Wraith's lap watching him play cards. Just a few hands in though, and you felt a pinch behind your eyes. It caught your attention for only a second but you mistakenly played it off. Maybe the dim lighting straining your eyes or something else off-hand. You were far too enveloped in the game at hand to sense the impending headache brewing.

Wraith didn't collect his winnings before the pain hit you like a freighter. Halting every thought in your mind and stiffening every muscle in your body. And everything around you was intensifying it. People talking, the table lights and even clicking chips felt like a red-hot poker was driving through your skull. Try as you might to keep it under wraps, Wraith is already planning a quick victory and even quicker departure so he can get you somewhere dark and quiet. You've had bad migraines before, and after the first couple of times of being out-of-depth, he knows exactly what to do.

You almost cry out in relief when Wraith lays his cards out in full display for everyone to see his victory. But no sooner does the dealing droid call it as such, chips, credits, and a few valuable personal possessions laying at the center of the table are being shoveled by Wraith's arm into a bag at the edge of the table. You can't even stand up from his lap before he's picked up his helmet and slid it over your head. Everything dims and muffles but it's still not enough. Wraith leans in a bit, and presses a button close to the temple of the helmet: holding it in as he whispers;

"Everything's okay. I'm going to get you out of here." His other hand squeezes your thigh, "Engage pre-set one."

Suddenly everything is pitch black, and a bubble-like feeling of pressure materializes around your neck and all sound vanishes. For a moment you stiffen further. Only able to feel Wraith maneuvering to pick you up and the occational squeeze of reassurance. It’s disconcerting for a moment. Not knowing where exactly you are or what’s going on in the room you’d just been sitting in. But then you really feel some relief in your skull. A little pressure releasing and that immense sting fading. it's enough to make you want to cry.

It takes what feels like minutes to get back to the ship. That familiar smell of lived-in armor, grease, and blaster oil neither helping or hurting your still-aching head.

Wraith on the other hand, has his work cut out for him, and he's more than prepared. First, sitting you down and giving a couple of squeezes before walking away to find painkillers and water. Maybe even one of your cold packs. After gathering his supplies he's gently reintroducing himself with a gentle touch to your shoulder. Reaching down to guide your hand towards the frosted cold pack. Giving you the slow warning that the helmet needed to come off.

Dutifully you nod, allowing him to remove it. Immediately he’s bringing a glass of water to your mouth with a determined look on his face.

"Drink." he whispers, handing the glass over and pouring out a few pills into his palm.

One by one, each of your remedies is administered. Leaving both of you to simply wait. But even all of that isn't releasing that immediate pressure at the back of your head. And Wraith has one last trick up his sleeve.

"Want me to do the thing?" he whispers, raising a silvered eyebrow at you.

You nodded shortly. "Please,"

Shuffling over on the bunk, you make room for him to sit behind you. Watching him strip out of his kit and crawl into the bed, putting his legs on either side of your hips. Gently using both hands to wrap around your neck. Pressing strong fingers into those cords of muscle balled up at the base of your skull. Taking his time, working out your stiffness diligently.

"Oh my..." you practically moan, leaning even further back into the Lieutenant; Earning a warm and satisfied smile.

Wraith stays at it for as long as you need him to. Alternating between your jaw, temples, and neck. Never once stopping to complain that the medicine isn't taking effect quickly enough or that his hands are beginning to cramp. Really, he won't say much at all. Trying to limit the sound that aggravates your headaches so much. You on the other hand, can't keep quiet. The relief is just too good. And you want Wraith to know exactly how much he’s helping and how thankful you are. The sound you make are better than any worded thank you anyways.

"I think that painkiller finally kicked in." You say breathily between squeezes on your shoulders.

"Yeah?" He answers, still keeping his voice down. "I think that one was... pretty severe." Nodding, you shuffle yourself around to sit straddling his thighs.

"I believe that little helmet trick of yours really worked,” Smiling at him, you can finally ask about all of that.

"How did you come up with that?"

Right away you see color flush his cheeks and the cocky soldier you know so well suddenly can't meet your gaze. In that second, you caught him in some moment of weakness. You could only hope he wouldn't clam up on you and actually explain. Thankfully your disarming smile seemed to be enough.

"A U.V. shield and a total airlock can block a lot of light and sound when fully engaged," He began explaining. "Those bother you the most, so I made a voice-control preset to engage both settings without me wearing my helmet."

You couldn't believe Wraith would go to all that trouble. Thanking him wouldn't begin to cover it. Leaning forward, you plant a kiss on the bridge of his nose.

"Thank you... I'm really sorry to have ended your night so early," You apologize. Just now remembering how hurriedly you'd left off.

Wraith just shook his head. “I couldn't give a fuck less about Sabacc or the credits. Seeing you not hurting will always be my top priority."

Revenant:

While you normally did a fair job of managing your monthly period symptoms there were occasions when birth control, cycle trackers, and pain relievers didn't truly solve the issue of your overall terrible feeling today. Your medicine wasn't helping the deep cramps. Bloating was making real pants sound revolting, and there weren't enough pillows and blankets to keep you comfy and warm. To make matters worse, you'd canceled your plans for the evening and your trusty heating pad died right when you needed it most.

Naturally, you did the only that that felt right. Meaning you found yourself holed up in your bedroom and watching re-runs of your favorite holo-show to try and distract yourself. Despite putting on your comfort-show to avoid any more surprises, you nearly leap out of bed when the door across the room opens slowly. Revealing a huge, armored, silhouette blending in with the shadows of your hallway.

"Rev -? Revenant, please tell me that's you." You nearly squeak out. There's a familiar rumbling chuckle that resonates from the figure.

"It's me, pretty baby.” His gravely voice sends a chill of dissipating adrenaline down your spine. Followed by a staggering cramp that instantly makes you curl into yourself. Groaning and clutching at your stomach.

You feel Revenant before you hear him. His hands carefully exploring your blanketed form. Feeling out just how you were curled up and sighing like he could sense exactly how miserable you felt. But his touch recoils just as quickly as it appeared. Sounds of his belts and armor falling onto the floor beside your bed follow. Dull thuds. Metallic clinking. Finally the hollow clatter of his helmet.

Without word or warning your blanket cave's temperature skyrockets with Revenant’s body heat pressed to your back. He's all touch right away. Curling an arm around your middle and purposefully applying pressure with the heel of his hand to your upper pubic bone. As well as bringing his knee up to put a thigh between yours. It's the epitome of Revenant's affection and care for you. Gentle but so very purposeful. You almost feel him trying to will away your discomfort.

"I had a feeling something was wrong." He murmurs against your ear, leaving a few gentle kisses.

You can't help but smile.

"You and your feelings will be a mystery to me..."

No matter his obvious sixth sense, he was fighting a winning battle against your pains. Making you feel totally safe and protected at the same time. It was perfect. Revenant could feel it too in the way you leaned further back into his chest.

"How long can you stay?" You ask, concerned about his unspecified missions, brothers, and time restrictions.

"Like this?" You hear a breath hiss through smiling lips and teeth. "Forever, pretty baby."

And although forever ends up getting cut short around six hours - just long enough for your cramps to subside and the two of you to get comfortable. His shrill, beeping, comm interrupts. However, you're certain Revenant has every intention of continuing infinity the second he gets back.

Ghost:

Nat-Borns get sick traveling from planet to planet all the time. Picking up viruses, bugs, and all manner of things. And as Ghost is well aware, you've contracted such an illness. By nothing short of awful luck, a local had offered you a bottle of perfume as gratitude for purchasing a few things from their booth.

It had an extremely strong but woody scent, and you were quick to spritz some on. Unbeknownst to you -and the local- one of the ingredients that gave the perfume such a long lasting scent was the sap from a planet-wide revered tree. One that the indeginious have thousands of uses for. It was even rumored to be spiritually healing.

But potentially toxic to humans.

It started with some minor dizziness. Over the course of a few hours of reassuring Ghost that you felt fine, you promptly passed out. Ghost - rightfully terrified about your heath and seeing red with rage- set out about ensuring he kept you safe with what emergency supplies were on hand aboard the ship. And with fraying patience, you awoke just long enough to recount your day. Enough for Ghost to realize the perfume had made you sick.

With help from Omen, he determined the best -really the only- treatment for you was a blend of specific local herbs and spices that could counteract against the skin-absorbed tree sap. Thankfully your exposure wasn't extreme. And not only did you regain consciousness for the duration of your treatment devised and solely carried out by Ghost; You also maintained it. Although you still felt extremely groggy. Every waking minute Ghost keeps a vigilant eye on you. Damn-near obsessing over the smallest things and worrying himself into an unmatched rage. Livid for not having kept closer tabs on you. Intent on killing the shopkeeper for "blatantly attempting to kill you".

"Ghost, they didn't know. Just like we didn't. It's not their fault," You try to soothe from your bunk. Not allowed to leave it per Ghosts staunch demands.

Stalking back and forth through the ship. The typically calm and daydreaming pilot appears more like a caged animal with blazing intensity in his silver eyes. Eyes that are suddenly locked on you with ferocity and incredulousness at such a statement. Ghost is across the room before you can blink. His hands trembling as they cup your face. Forcing you to stare deep into his eyes. To visualize his torn emotions and waning composure.

"Purposeful or not. They tried to take my moon away. Mine. It's unforgivable." He replies sternly.

Your heart lurches into your throat seeing him so... desperate. Ghost -like all his brothers - could do unimaginably cold and callous things when the situation arose. Yet this was the first time you had been affected. Mortally or not. And Ghost was on the verge of an unrecoverable furor. Still feeling the lingering effects of the tree sap, you did the only thing you could think of to try and get his mind off of it. Reaching up to cover his hands with your own, you spoke gently:

"I know I can't stop you if your mind is made up..." You paused, "But would you do me a favor first?"

Ghost frowned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"You don't have to ask. Name it."

"Lay down with me for a bit, and tell me what our house is going to look like?" You answer softly.

"That's a dirty trick." A smirk appears on his face. Ghost’s demeanor shifts as he catches on to your pleading expression and tired eyes. You smile back sweetly, knowing you've caught him.

"You know it always makes me feel better..." You nearly plead. Putting on your best puppy-eyes.

Ghost sighs, unable to truly resist your well-mannered pleading, skillful temptation, and all-around talent in controlling his flaring temper. But just like clockwork, the pilot began pulling at his belts and armor clips. Controlled in his movements while stacking the plates in the crate under his bunk. Taking his time, but not dragging his feet as he pulls himself into the bunk.

He quickly gets settled flat on his back, pulling you to lay on top of him. Resting one hand on the curve of your hip and the other arm bent behind his head as a prop.

"It has to have plenty of windows," He begins, already losing himself in the dreamscape. "That way we can watch the stars at night.”

"Tell me more," You reply, hardly satiated and starving for more.

The pilot's chest rises and falls in thought of what to detail next. No doubt sifting through all of his comforting imaginations in hopes of finding the best one for you. Hardly a moment passes before the perfect image appears in his mind.

"We'll have a room specifically for you to write in. One with a chair that I can sit and watch you from."

It's at this moment you smile softly. Nuzzling even closer to Ghost, as he fully absolves himself from doing anything else. Simply lost in the gentle way you redirected his attention away from the past-and instead with what could happened in the future. How he could live it with you.

Hours after you've fallen asleep. Ghost is mere seconds away from drifting away himself when he has a wondrously puzzling thought;

Was he taking care of you? Or were you doing the healing this time?

• • •

Specter:

Normally rumors, speculation, and nasty comments didn't put a damper on your mood. Especially during a night out. At first, everything was going perfectly. Your hair had survived the trip, your make-up hadn't smudged or faded, and your dress was downright sexy. Above all, Specter was supposed to meet you at the club for a date after being away for more rotations than you cared to think about.

You grabbed yourself a barstool and a drink to calm your nerves while you watched the neon chrono on the wall count down the minutes to Specter's arrival. One drink became two and two didn't dull the sting of him being over half an hour late. And you wanted to say he was never late, but there hadn't ever been an occasion before now that involved a specific time.

"He'll be here," you told yourself.

That was an hour ago.

And in that time one party, in particular, took an intoxicated interest in you sitting alone at the bar. A man, with no easily readable red flags, had made quick conversation upon first arriving at the bar. Friendly. Or so you assumed. And he stayed that way until a few rounds of shots later when he asked you to dance.

Despite your anguish of Specter standing you up, you gave a polite decline. Certainly, nothing to get upset by. You’d been nothing if not gracious. Only he was incensed by your dismissal. Immediately resorting screaming at you. Swinging his hands around in vague threat and calling out every single bit of your person he thought could cut deep and bleed you of confidence. Your body, your personality, your sexuality, your talents. Anything he could grasp at was thrown back in your face. Including Specter’s interest and involvement with you.

After a minute or so, security droids were alerted over the sounds of loud music and club chatter. They removed the man quickly, but it utterly destroyed you. Even when the bartender asked how you were, you could hardly utter a word to your own defense. The bartender even offered to pick up the charge to buy you a ride home. “Help take the sting out of it,” They’d claimed. Yet you declined, hoping to be as little of a bother to everyone for the rest of the night. Maybe even longer.

You walked home. Teetering on too-tall heels with sore feet. Pulling shyly at the hem of your dress that kept riding up with every stride. Side-eying every alleyway and passerby as you went. Praying that after the night you'd endured no one else would be cruel enough to make it worse by harassing you, or even wolf-whistling. Wavering on the edge of tears pouring down your face, you knew you were close to truly losing it.

Mere steps away from your front door, the tears finally fall. Not because someone stopped you, or that you'd been forced to walk home alone after waiting nearly four months to see Specter just for him to stand you up. It was the relief of being able to hide inside your home. Away from that man at the club, the reality of being -essentially- dumped, and being able to wallow in your growing self-hatred. You didn't want to see a single soul.

It was too bad you couldn't spend ten minutes inside before hearing your front door squeak open on rusty hinges.

You heard the door squeak shut, and nothing more until Specter's shadowed form passed by the tiny crack in the bathroom door. And to his credit, he didn't walk in. Unusual for him. But if he had even the slightest idea of just how awful you felt and how truthfully pissed you were at him, there was no question of whether or not he could enter. Knowing he was aware of how badly he fucked up didn't help your mood either. Specter was smart. And if he had cared about you enough, he would've explained that he couldn't make it on time. Sure, you would have been let down, but nowhere near as emotionally beat-up as you were standing there; Slowly building up the courage to tell him to leave.

"Before you make this worse, you should leave," you muttered, looking down at the removed make-up smeared on your towel.

No answer came, but he didn't move.

You flexed your jaw, willing yourself not to cry anymore. Doing everything not to replay the ugly things that man back at the club has said. What he screamed aloud about you, and how you looked. How Specter had no business being with someone like you. You knew it was bullshit. But it didn't make you feel any better. Crying felt like the only option.

"If you're seeing someone else, then just save me time by getting the fuck out of here," you added as coldly as possible. Turning your back to the door to turn on the shower and try to rinse off as much of your disgust and sadness as possible. "We both know you're not going to stay forever-"

You didn't get the sentence out before a harsh hand palmed your jaw and spun you around to face an emotionless smoke-grey helmet, just bearly titled to the side. Specter stood imposingly tall. Motionless. Truthfully like a phantom that had materialized in your bathroom without anything more than the heaving rise and fall of his chest marking a sign of life. Months away really did help you forget just how scary Specter could look sometimes.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" His voice rang out cold and wavering with impatience being held back by a fraying thread. You swallowed thickly, your saliva and nerves getting caught by his hand pressing against your throat.

"I said to leave," you grated out against the pressure on your neck. Trying your best to look into that stagnate visor with as much defiance as you could muster with the scent of him filling the air and the familiar sensation of his armored body pressed to nearly every single inch of your own.

"No," he snarled, leaning down even further. Caging you in and leaving just enough room between you for your breath to fog against his helmet. "You assumed I'm fucking someone else." He corrected. You couldn't help but roll your watery, bloodshot, eyes. Leave it to Specter to correct something you said, just because he doesn't like it.

"Fine, I did. What's it matter to you anyways?" You sniff, looking anywhere but at the man crowding out the image of anything else in the small bathroom.

Specter nearly growls as he moves the both of you roughly towards the sink behind him. Whirling you around to situate you in front of him. Forcing you to stare at yourself in the mirror. Nothing but a tear-stained mess in a too-tight dress, being held tight by a man who'd given zero explanation for his absence or irritation being directed towards you. His calmness didn't help either. That damned back and forth tilt of his helmet let you know he was studying your appearance. In-depth if you had to guess. Specter was always so severe in everything.

"Look at yourself," he prompted, softening his hold on your throat just enough for you to regain comfort. "Cried-out, hair’s a mess, and your pretty dress all out of place," He observed, "All of that, for what reason?"

You didn't have enough dignity to look at yourself, much less tell Specter that the -implanted- thought of him being with another woman had you in such a state.

"You want to know why it matters to me?" he questioned tensely, bringing his other hand up to cradle the side of your face. "Because someone made you this way... And it wasn't me,"

More tears rolled down your flushed cheeks at that. Of course, it wasn't all Specter. It wasn’t really him at all. You would've probably waited on him for another hour or two if it hadn't been for that guy at the bar. Immensely more patient without someone planting the thought of disloyalty in your mind. You just hated how little time it took for Specter to read your mind and figure out exactly what had happened to get you so upset.

You didn't even have to nod for him to know he was right.

"What did he say to you, pet?" His voice instantly softened, and that head tilt shifted even more.

You whimpered, not nearly strong enough to repeat it aloud, but overly self-punishing because you couldn't keep from hearing all those awful things in your head. That hand holding up the significant weight of your head gently fell away long enough for him to pull his helmet off of his head. Revealing a pitch black expression and a wave of violent anger beating against the thick wall of a calm facade.

"He said you wouldn't show... because you could find someone better than me," you sighed, staring into those steely eyes of his through the reflection. "How I was pathetic for thinking you would ever care enough to like someone who looks like me... Other things too."

Specter won't let you say another word.

He's heard -and more importantly- seen enough. He’s more than aware you've never been the type to let something like this get to you, and he knows deep down that it's his fault for being gone for so long with no word, as well. Distance always makes things complicated. Months without contact could easily be misconstrued into never returning when someone with enough influence could shift the perspective of your relationship. Especially when you were in as vulnerable position as you had been at that club earlier.

He won't stay for long after that.

You might receive a kiss or the ghost of a reassuring smile. But Specter will have re-masked himself and exited in record time. Not without saying he'll return before the hour is over. And you do the same thing you always do when he's away. Wonder just what he's doing. How it's taking a toll on him, or how gory the business of being a soldier of his caliber is. Deep down though, you know he's going out to find that man. Find that bastard who'd been so cruel and inappropriate. Teach him what a real man who has loyalty does when they disturb an otherwise peaceful condition that you both worked hard to maintain.

Specter is always lethal. There's no other way when it comes to you. It's wrong on many levels, and he knows that. So do you... But he'd never done anything without reason, and this was the first time you felt that he'd killed on your behalf. It wasn't the best feeling, but you felt safe in knowing that another woman wouldn’t ever face that man's unwarranted anger.

What you don't know is that Specter spends the whole night dealing with the mental repercussions of what he did laying next to you in bed. Holding you tight to him. Protecting you from all the evil he knows is out there. Trying to decide if what he did was for the best. Or if him being involved with you is just as bad. Laying peacefully in the same bed as a killer. Fucking a murderer. Sleeping beside a man who had rinsed the blood off of himself in your shower mere minutes ago. It's morality Specter isn't good with. But he does know that nothing feels better than being with you.

Specter will do anything to keep it that way.