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cheeriecherry · 4 years

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Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [5/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 5/9

Warnings: brief descriptions of violence (not graphic), fluff, kissing, boyfriends x2

You’re surprised when his lips touch your own, even though you’d been expecting it. He’s softer than you imagined, warmer, and more pliant. He melts into as the kiss deepens, cupping your jaw so gently you can’t help but feel the tenderness he has for you.

You stay like that for a few moments, close enough to share breath and feel each other’s heartbeats.

When you part, you’re out of breath. His eyes are half lidded, and your shirts are slightly rumpled, but you remain entangled with each other, his forehead coming to rest against your own.

“Can I tell you something, sweetheart?” He asks, soft and quiet.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, smiling. “You can tell me anything.”

He pecks your cheek a couple times, lips trailing down over your jaw. “Shouta’s in love with you, too.”

You’re less startled with the statement than you thought you’d be. Looking back on all your interactions with the man, you’re not sure how you didn’t see it sooner. He showed care for you much in the same way he did with Hizashi, always going out of his way to try and make sure you were okay.

“He didn’t even try to hide it, did he?” you wonder. “I was just that oblivious?”

Hizashi laughs, joyful and melodious. “Don’t worry about it too much. He kept it under wraps in highschool, so it really only looked like natural friendship progression.”

“He’s liked me since high school?”

“Yeah,” he grins, “he had so much trouble talking to you he was so shy. I told him I’d help him get to know you better, since you were my best friend.”

Your heart swells as you think back to your teen years; Hizashi insisting you get to know Shouta, talking him up and telling you what a cool person he was. And you, pushing through the awkward conversations with him because you wanted to make Hizashi happy (only to later find out that he’d been right, and Shouta was a cool person. And a good friend).

“‘Course, I was hella jealous when you started spending more time together. I thought ‘did I seriously just set the love of my life up with another guy’. Because seriously, what kind of teenaged boy does that?”

You listen fondly as her rambles, a habit he’s had since you were kids. Whenever he was excited about something -or just excited in general- he was an endless chatterbox. He could go on for hours if you let him, talking about everything and nothing. Most of the people he knew had expressed some amount of annoyance over it, you knew, but you? You loved it.

“Then finally in our third year, Sho and I had a sleepover and got into my parents’ sake. I...accidentally told him I had a crush on you, too.” He droops ever so slightly, looking sad. “I think he gave up on you after that. Thought I had a better chance than he did.”

You tug gently on Hizashi’s hand, pulling him down to sit on the couch with you. “Honestly,” you admit, “at the time, he would’ve been right. I didn’t realize I loved him the way I did until the three of us rented that shitty apartment together.”

“Oh god, the one above that old dive bar?”

“Yup. I got hassled by some drunk guy on the way up one night, after a shitty patrol, no less. Shouta overheard, and basically jumped out the window to beat the shit out of the dude.” You snicker, “I had to pull him off the guy. Then he ran me a bath when we got in, and made actual noodles for supper, instead of the instant ones we lived off of. Just to make me feel better.”

Both of you are overcome with fondness, thinking about all the little ways Shouta had taken care of you over the years. Hizashi reclines against the arm of the couch, and you scoot closer to lay across his chest, where he drapes an arm over you.

“It...hit us really hard when you left,” he says, turning melancholy, “but it pushed us closer together. It was scary at first, realizing how deep our feelings for each other actually ran, but I haven’t regretted it a single day we’ve been together. Even when we fight, or argue, or just bug the crap out of each other.”

Guilt niggles in your heart, and you push yourself a little harder against him. “A part of me wishes I’d never left,” you mumble, “the sad part, the lost part, the scared part. But I’m also glad something so good came out of it. Is that weird?”

He pets your hair idly, curling the stands around his fingers and stroking against your scalp. “I don’t think so,” his tone is honest and light, “I think it’s important to find the silver lining.”

You consider his words carefully, as you fall into a comfortable silence. With all these feelings aired out, did it mean you had a chance with them? After so many years, and so much grief, was it possible? Did you even deserve it?

Shut up, you tell yourself, I don’t care what I think I deserve. I care about what I want. Who I want.

“‘Zashi, when Shouta gets home tonight…”

“I want to tell him everything. I want...us. The three of us.” There’s worry in his voice, the slightest of tremors, but for once you think you’re less concerned than he is.

“It’ll work out,” you tell him. “If he feels the way you say he does, then it’ll work out.”

Neither of you say anything after that, drifting slowly in and out of sleep, while some strange netflix series plays in the background.

----

You rouse from your slumber when something clatters in the other room. Your mind instantly jumps to ‘break in’ when you see Hizashi still asleep beneath you, but when you move to stand, you find that someone has draped a blanket over you both.

You glance at the wall, surprised to see the hands past midnight. Had you really been out that long? A solid ninety minutes without a single nightmare? You smile down at the blond after you extract yourself from his grasp, brushing his hair off his forehead to place a small kiss there.

Moments later, you find Shouta in the kitchen, dumping remnants of all the leftovers into one frankenstein-esque bowl. You remain in the doorway for a little bit, watching him float back and forth between the fridge and the counter.

He tenses when he catches your reflection in the door of the refrigerator, just for a brief second, easily missed to the untrained eye.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says, devoid of any malice.

You bite back a smile, giddiness rising in your chest.

“I love you,” you tell him.

He startles for real this time, and looks at you with wide eyes, wider than you’d ever seen, with a dusting of pink rises to his cheeks. It’s a good look on him, you decide, storing the image away for later.

“Something happened today, didn’t it,” it’s not phrased as a question. He composes himself after your words have set in, turning back to the atrocity that is his dinner.

“Hizashi kissed me earlier,” you admit, “and then we had a long talk. About feelings.”

“Gross.”

You hide a giggle. “You’re not mad?”

“Hardly,” he shrugs, and you don’t detect any dishonesty. “We’ve talked about it before. Our...feelings for you. I assume he spilled everything?”

“The whole cup of tea.”

“God, you’re picking up on his language habits.”

You laugh for real this time, unable to contain it any longer. Shouta deadpans at you, and shoves his food in the microwave while he waits for you to collect yourself.

Eventually you do, wiping the fainest tear from the corner of your eye. “I can’t believe people think you’re not funny. Your sense of humour is arguably better than mine.”

“Maybe you’re just wearing rose tinted goggles,” he suggests, leaning casually against the counter. “It’s a real thing, you know. When you like someone, you see them as better at something than they really are.”

You roll your eyes and meander over to him. Close like this, you can see that his cheeks are still flushed and his pupils are blown wide. He looks tired, as per usual, but you know he’s alert and that all his attention is on you.

You wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head on his shoulder. “So what do you think?” you ask.

“Of what?”

“Of us. You, me, and Hizashi?” You peer up at him while he thinks about it, a soft crease forming in between his brows.

“Truthfully,” he replies, “I didn’t think it was possible. ‘Zashi and I thought we were good and over you, but the moment you hugged us in the airport, I knew we weren’t. So we talked about it later, after you’d fallen asleep.”

“And?”

“And we decided that we didn’t want to add more stress to your life by asking you to choose between us. If you confessed to either of us, then we’d go from there, but…”

You squeeze him gently, prompting him to look down at you. “Did you never humour the possibility of the three of us together?”

The blush on his face darkens considerably, and he fights the urge to avert his gaze. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he mumbles, “The chances of you liking one of us were already pretty slim, but both of us? I was being logical.”

“You were being dumb.”

You reach up and pinch his cheek, tugging slightly until he grumbles and shakes you off. He catches your wrist as you move, and you can’t help the flutter in your chest at the feeling of his warm hand wrapped around you. A flutter that only increases when he brings your palm to his lips to lay a kiss on it.

You twist slightly, enough to lay your fingertips against his face, gently tracing the scar beneath his eye. “After everything we’ve been through together, how could I not love you both? Adore you both? The two of you, the thought of coming home... it’s what kept me going. Even if you didn’t want me, even if you hated me, just getting to see your faces again...it saved my life.”

He stares at you for a second, more tender than you’d ever seen him. He releases your hand in trade for your face, holding you in place while he stoops down and captures your mouth.

His lips are warmer than Hizashi’s, more plush, though slightly more chapped, and the way he kisses you is nothing short of intense. Years of longing and repressed feelings are poured into it, only emphasized by the way he holds you close.

You clutch at his shirt, pressing back against him with equal fervour. He’s hot and solid, his presence safe and comforting. He’s not much taller than you, but held like this you feel like a doll in his hands, tiny and precious.

You whine when his tongue teases at your bottom lip, asking you, begging you, to return. You part your lips slowly, mouths meshing again so your tongues can slide against each other. He groans then, a low rumble in his chest that you feel more than hear. It stirs a spark of warmth in between your legs, the beginnings of arousal making you tremble beneath him.

“Now, that is a nice sight to wake up to.”

You and Shouta freeze when Hizashi’s voice sounds from the doorway, utterly full of mischief. You suppress a whine when your kiss is broken, settling on a pout instead.

“We were talking,” Shouta says.

Hizashi raises a thin brow, trying his best to keep the corners of his mouth from quirking up. “‘Talking’ huh? Is that what the kids call it nowadays? Because back in our day, it was just called ‘making out’.”

He cheers quietly when Shouta’s face -somehow- becomes even redder, and you avert your gaze to hide a smile. Hizashi at least seems to be in a better mood than before, his earlier stress over your impending doom less visible; shoulders more lax, eyes less frantic. He was still drowsy, you knew, but maybe now he’d be able to discuss it rationally.

Until he says, “You’re taking this surprisingly well, Sho.” and your stomach drops. “Not gonna lie, I’m still pretty messed up about it. No one likes knowing their girlfriend got visited by the elusive Oracle, but if you’re this calm about it then you’ve obviously got a...plan…?”

He trails off, glancing back and forth between the two of you. The guilt and panic in your expression, the desperate anger budding in Shouta’s.

“You didn’t tell him?”

You throw your hands up in surrender, taking a step away from the two of them. “I was getting to it!” you promise, “I was starting with the ‘I love you’s and was gonna end with the ‘untimely demise’ bit.”

“You’re not going to die-”

“Don’t bother, Sho,” Hizashi cuts him off, “we’ve already had this conversation.”

His tone is bitter and sad, biting like venom into your heart, the same way Shouta’s furious expression does. This was why you’d started off with the good stuff; everything bad would have ruined it from the start.

“You’re not seriously going to just walk into your death, are you?” He’s exasperated, and rightly so, but the crack in his voice screams ‘please tell me no’.

You sigh. “I’ll tell you what I told Hizashi. If I don’t face this now, when I have the upper hand, I’m going to be running for the rest of my life.”

“From what?”

“Akuma.”

Shouta freezes. Where the name had meant nothing to Hizashi, it’s struck a chord with him, and you notice it.

“You know the name, don’t you?”

He nods, expression carefully blank.

“Then you understand why I have to do this now, while I have the chance?”

Another nod.

Hizashi looks like he wants to explode, but Shouta gets to him before he can say anything. “I’ve seen the aftermath of Akuma, ‘zashi. People hunted down decades after they thought they’d escaped, their families destroyed. Akuma is unrelenting, persistent, and unpredictable.”

You take a few steps closer to the blond. “And I’ve got a clue about where she’s going to be, and when. Do you get it now?”

Hizashi’s shoulders fall and his posture relaxes, as your plan clicks in his head. “You’re gonna ambush her. God, I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, reaching out to link your fingers together, “it’s hard to think when you’re scared.”

He sighs deeply and yoinks you closer, capturing you in a hug. “We’ll have to work fast, then. Two weeks isn’t a lot of time to plan something as big as this.”

A moment later you feel Shouta’s hand against your back. “We’ll manage. Right now, though, we’re all exhausted. No good to anyone.”

He’s right, you realize. You can already feel the heaviness in your limbs, and the fogginess of sleep beginning to return. The two of them aren’t faring any better, either.

Shouta gives you both a kiss, lingering a little longer than would be considered chaste, and wanders out of the kitchen. You smile as he goes, and once he’s out of sight you turn your attention back to HIzashi.

He catches your face in his hands, holding you fast and firm to nudge his head against yours. “Promise me you won’t ever stop fighting?”

You lean into his touch, gazing up at him happily. “I promise,” you tell him, and it’s one you intend on keeping.

Ten minutes later, the three of you are crammed onto a king sized mattress, limbs entangled, hair in faces, snores in ears. Despite all that, it’s comforting and reminiscent of the way you used to be; carefree and content and so, so in love.

You fall asleep easily.

----

You awake alone the next afternoon, rumpled and groggy, with a mouth that feels like it’s full of cat litter. You crinkle your nose at the sour taste and roll out of bed, stretching on the way to the bathroom. Despite the previous nights’ cramped sleeping arrangements, you feel surprisingly rested. Moreso than you have in months.

Even when you couldn’t remember your nightmares, they still left you waking to a sense of fear and panic. Today, though? Nothing. No extra anxiety, no overwhelming exhaustion, no desire to lay on the couch and do nothing. You felt...good.

In the bathroom, you find a note taped to the mirror. You open it while you brush your teeth, smiling when you recognize Shouta’s handwriting.

‘Y/N,

If you’re able to, try and find Oracle. Get as much information as you can from them. If they’re worried about getting involved with pros, tell them not to. We’re not going to bother them, since they’re not technically doing anything illegal.

I’ll be in contact with some people this afternoon, who’ll be able to help us with Akuma. Hizashi’s going to call in a few favours. We’ll take her down. She won’t get away this time.

Take care of yourself, okay? If you need anything, call me.

-S’

You smile at the note, particularly at Hizashi’s doodle of a cockatiel and a cat (which he’d probably added when Shouta wasn’t looking). If they were going to do their parts in hatching a plan, then you were going to do the same.

You finish brushing your teeth and wander out to the living room, where your phone and laptop are still laying on the coffee table. You check your phone for messages, finding none, and turn your attention to the computer.

Oracle was just a kid. A kid in a beat up hoodie, and a pair of shoes ungluing at the soles. They could technically be from anywhere in the city, but you had a feeling they might be from one of the more downtrodden neighborhoods.

You open a map of the area in an internet browser, singling in on both spots you’d met with the vigilante. As you’d suspected, they were in close vicinity to each other, and within the bounds of the only run down area for forty blocks.

You’d previously met them during school hours, but who knew if they’d be in class today? You best bet would be to check the area out, ask around to see if anyone knew anything, and see what you could find.

----

You feel utterly defeated, sitting on a bench in the dark like you are. A dull streetlight flickers above you, casting strange shadows on the ground. You stare at them, frustrated.

You’d been wandering around the streets for hours, first seeing if you could find Oracle out and about, and when that didn’t work, you’d settled on going door to door. It had been a fruitless effort, in the end. Most people either didn’t know who the kid was, or they hadn’t seen them in a while.

You knew for a fact that some of them had been lying, which was annoying albeit understandable. You were glad that kid had some many people looking out for them, even if it hindered your ability to get information.

Sitting alone like this, you half expect Oracle to materialize beside you, but after a few moments of waiting and no dice, your thoughts begin to drift. First to Shouta and Hizashi, and how their days went, then to the disappointment that was your afternoon. Eventually, you end up on Akuma.

For someone you’d only met a handful of times, she was playing a much bigger role in your life than you expected. While you had been working as her personal assassin, most of her order had trickled down to you through your ‘handler’. He’d been your partner on the mission, a companion to save your ass if you fucked up.

The more you think about it, the more you realize you never actually knew that much about the guy. Despite your close quarters undercover, you’d never had time to be friendly. The underground was littered with eyes and ears, always listening. Becoming too close would have been a liability, so you’d pretended, acted distant and borderline cold towards him, played the part perfectly.

Akuma sniffed him out about eight months before the end of your mission. One too many kill orders ignored, too much information leaked in too short a time period. She caught him in the act one afternoon, and had him trapped in her tar before he could react.

She’d dragged him to the center of the warehouse, calling everyone around. “See this?” she’d said, nudging your partner with her shoe, “this is a mole! Sneaky little hero scum who thinks he can upturn my whole organization.”

You’d watched helplessly as he stared blankly at the floor, eyes shaded black with tar. At that time, you’d only seen Akuma kill once or twice, not fully understanding her quirk or the strength it took to fight it.

You stood there in your little group, unblinking, as Akuma questioned your partner again and again, asking for names and information. He gave away everything; his own identity, the people he worked for, what his mission was, everything. Except you. Never once did he utter your name, suggest the existence of a partner, or give away where you were.

Even when Akuma directly questioned him, he denied it.

He had eventually managed to free one of his arms from the tar, taking a swipe at Akuma using his quirk. He barely grazed the side of her head, and half a second later there was a bullet lodged in his.

And you just stood there, watching. Watching as he hurt, watching as he died. Watching as a wife lost her husband, and two children lost their father.

“Y’know, I think this is the first time I’ve managed to sneak up on you.”

You startle when a voice sounds too close to your ear, jumping away and nearly falling off the bench. Beside you, Oracle snickers, leaning back casually.

“You’re tricky to find, you know,” you grumble, willing your heartbeat to slow down from the scare.

“That’s good,” they say, “Don’t need heroes sniffing around for me.”

“Why not just get a license?”

“And be at the beck and call of a corrupt organization?” they scoff, though their tone isn’t malicious. “No thanks.”

You shrug, and slouch against the back of the bench. They weren’t wrong, you supposed. When it came to morals and humane treatment, the Commission wasn’t much better than a bunch of villains.

“Why are you looking for me, Y/N?” they ask, and you sigh.

“I need more information, about the vision you had.”

“A real disaster, that one. No one believed me when I told them to be on the lookout for Akuma.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Most pros would think she’s too noteworthy to be smuggled into the country. In their eyes, it’s an impossible scenario.” Or too stupid to realize that people can do whatever they want, if they have the right connections and the right amount of money.

Oracle hums, considering your words. “It’s only impossible if someone steps in and takes her down. But what happens when everyone figures ‘someone else will do it’?”

“It never gets done.”

“It never gets done. Inaction is the very reason Akuma was even able to get here.”

You’re both quiet for a few beats, before they speak again.

“While I saw you dying, I took a look around the area. There was a chicken restaurant, with a flyer in the window. That’s where I got the date from.” They fiddle a little with their hood, pushing some loose strands of dark hair back under it. “It’s adjacent to a radio studio. The restaurant is a hole in the wall kind of place, family owned I think, not a chain store.”

“What’s it called?”

“Dunno. I didn’t see the whole sign. There was a picture of a really fat chicken cartoon, though.” They stand up off the bench and stretch, a couple pops coming from their spine. “Now, if that’s all-”

“Does anyone ever survive?”

They pause. “Survive?”

You look up at them sadly, and for a moment you see a flash of compassion on their face. “You see people die. Have your warnings ever saved anyone?”

In a moment, their expression changes to something far more fatigued than you’d ever seen someone so young wear, and your stomach feels like it’s been pumped full of lead.

“I don’t see people die,” they say quietly, “I see the moments leading up to someone’s death. I give people a place, a time when I’m able to, but what they do with that information is up to them. Sometimes they don’t believe me, sometimes they think they can get around it.”

“What about the ones who listen?”

Oracle shrugs, stuffing their hands in their pockets. “Sometimes they end up somewhere by accident, if they’re not paying attention.”

“Please stop being cryptic.”

They roll their eyes. “You need to be cognizant of my warnings, and not take them lightly. You have to be aware and alert all the time. The people who ignore me, or think they’re above dying, or find themselves somewhere by accident. Do you know what they have in common?”

“No,” you hiss, “that’s why I’m asking.”

Bright honey brown eyes pierce into your own, reaching a depth in your soul you never thought possible, and Oracle’s next words shake you to the bone.

“Hopelessness. Guilt, anger, shame, exhaustion, anything that gnaws away at hope like a dog’s chewtoy. In order to survive, some part of you has to want to live.” They shuffle their feet a bit, taking a few steps away from you. “I don’t know what you’re planning to do, and I don’t really care. But if you’re gonna walk right into this shitshow, you have to want to come out.”

They turn on their heel and start walking away, disappearing into the darkness, leaving you sitting beneath the flickering street lamp.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #erasermic x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #Space Between #we're more than halfway done omg?#i didnt edit this chapter so um #excuse any mistakes #If anyone would be interested in beta reading future stories lemme know

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arielsojourner · 7 years

Text

Vader Strikes Back - Part the Fifth

Not beta read/really rough/not really proof read/plot holes and OUT of order. Also spoilers for the original first story in AO3 Back From the Future: Episode VI The Clone Wars. Check the tag #vader strikes back on my page for the other parts to this mess/fic outline. Again I value feedback and ideas if you have any.

The Medical Quarters were unusually full. It was driving Quick crazy. He could barely make his rounds in between all the visiting clone brothers and his patients moving around to cluster around Fives’ bed since he was still the most incapacitated. The holoscreen was blaring and he’d nearly lost track of whom he’d given meds to already and who still needed their daily dose twice. If things didn’t calm down and soon he was going to break his promise and throw every healthy clone out and tie down all his patients until they were healed!

Enough was enough. He was calling Captain Rex and putting a stop to all of this right now.

“So that’s what we’ve got,” Uni finished, muting the holonet. “The whole story came out of a leak from Senator Organa’s office but the real source appears to be the Jedi Council. Now most of the Holonews isn’t touching the stuff but the story is gaining traction and it won’t be long before it will be featured on even the biggest networks.”

“It’s total poodoo is what it is,” Slice grumped. “Luke died a hero and Vader isn’t interested in ruling anything! The Order is just--just prejudiced.”

“We know all that, but what are we going to do about it?” Echo asked.

“We could go public,” Hardcase suggested. “Tell the truth.” At the incredulous looks of his brothers, Hardcase rolled his eyes. “C’mon, stop thinking like you’re still on Kamino. We have rights like any other sentient. We can and should speak out just like any natural born person. We’ve got a story. We should tell it.”

“But who’s going to listen?” Mixer interrupted. “Luke and Vader and a few systems may treat us like we’re free but everyone else thinks we’re no better than fleshy droids. No one’s going to believe a clone. The Republic doesn’t care about us. The Separatists hate us. The League aren’t the problem and the Order, well, they’re the cause of all of this!”

This sparked off a chorus of voices yelling over one another.

“Hey, hey!” Fives yelled from where he lay flat in the middle of the arguing brothers. “Enough! Hardcase, sit down before Quick sedates you. The rest of you shut up for a second.” The men quieted around him. “Now, Mixer has a point-- no, quiet and listen. Just because you don’t like to hear it doesn’t mean it’s not true. We are more than just numbers and canon fodder but that doesn’t mean anyone else out in the galaxy knows any of that. If we want to fight these lies we need to get people to trust us first.”

“Oh, like that’s going to be so easy,” Mal said with a scowl. “None of us even know any civilians, let alone holonet reporters. It’s not like we have friends or family outside the GAR. What do we know about getting people to trust us? We’re lab grown clones. What do we even know about any of this? Nothing. Each of us is barely a handful of years old and we know nothing about anything except how to fight and how to kill!”

A pillow hit Mal smack in the face and the troopers began shouting again.

“I’ve got friends.”

“What?” Fives yelled over the din, trying to raise his head. “Shut up would you? What did you say? Uni, get off Echo! Who said that? CT-9779, what did you say?”

Over a dozen faces turned to the young clone on the edge of the group. He was engrossed in his data pad.

“CT-9779! Hey!” Hardcase said waving his arms. “What did you say?”

The unremarkable familiar face devoid of ink or anything other than the standard hair cut looked up. He flushed under the regard of his older brothers. “Er, nothing, nothing.”

“No, you said something about friends. What was it?” Fives prompted him.

CT-9779 shrugged. “I’ve got friends. Y’know, who aren’t brothers. Civvies.”

“Who you? Yeah right. How?” Mal scoffed.

“Shut up, Mal,” Slice said digging his elbow into his squad mate’s side.

“Who’re you friends with?” Hardcase asked. “Anyone I know?”

“Er, well, on the holonet,” he said pointing to his datapad. “I joined the groups that Hack Squad set up, y’know between squads and I messaged a couple of brothers I know in some other battalions and shared some of my credits from my stipend and helped them get datapads so we could stay in touch and then, well . . . I messaged Ventress and connected with her, and then just for a joke I messaged the Duchess Satine on this one holosite and they both messaged me back! So I joined a few other sites. They’re free and everything. And I started sharing and reblogging things. And the stuff I shared, and it wasn’t classified, I was careful, it was popular. There’s not a lot of news from the front y’know. People, natural born people, civvies, they wanted to know. And the Duchess has all these contacts on a bunch of systems and they connected with me on all these different holosites, asking questions and being . . . nice and-- and we’ve become . . . friends,” he finished awkwardly at the incredulous looks he was getting.

Uni moved closer reached for the datapad. “Lemme see.” Before CT-9779 could stop him he snatched it up and started scrolling through the open programs and pages. “What the hell?” he muttered.

The clones leaned forward trying to see the screen.

“Be careful!” CT-9779 said. “I was in the middle of posting something. Don’t delete it. I haven’t saved it yet.”

“What? What is it?” Echo asked.

Uni shook his head. “This can’t be right. This says you’ve got close to a million followers on this one site alone. And over here, you’ve got almost a three hundred thousand just following what holo pictures you take and most of these followers aren’t brothers at all. It’s gotta be fake.”

CT-9779 tried to take back his datapad but Uni moved out of his reach. “They’re not fake. They’re natural born people.”

“You’ve got a ton of people as an audience without even trying. And they-they like it. They like things you write about and post about, about clones, about General Skywalker and Luke, about Vader, about all of us.” Uni handed over the datapad to Slice who after a moment passed it to Mal and then around the rest of the circle of clones. “We can use this. You think no one will listen? These people will and if we really try, we can spread this everywhere. Who needs the holonews? If enough people talk about it we’ll make our own news.”

“You can’t seriously think this will work though?” Mal asked. “Just because a bunch of civvies talk about us and about the truth isn’t going to change anything.”

“Worked for Luke though,” Chatterbox reminded him with a shrug as he took the datapad and Force tossed it back to CT-9779.

“Yeah, yeah it did,” Fives said with a growing sense of excitement. “Luke said the war was over and everyone thought he was crazy. I don’t even think Vader believed it. Hells, we didn’t believe it at first either, but he kept saying it. He kept saying it to everyone, senators, other Jedi, planetary leaders, all of us and look around. The war is over! It’s over because he said it was over and he did everything he damn well could to show everyone else the truth. We just need to do the same thing.”

“It could work,” Slice said rubbing his chin. “But it would be better if we could talk about what we’re doing now, share that on these media sites.”

“What, healing and driving Quick crazy?” Hardcase joked.

Fives hit his clenched fist against his bed in frustration. “No, we need something big. Something important so people pay attention, something like--”

“Something like Vader’s plans to liberate Tatooine,” Rex said, stepping into the Medical Quarters, Quick on his heels.

The men came to attention as best as their various levels of health would allow.

Quick glanced around his domain and stomped over to start picking up previously thrown pillows and cups and bits and pieces the troopers had knocked over during their arguments, muttering under his breath.

“Captain,” Echo said, standing at attention. “We, er, we’re off duty and just visiting.”

Rex merely raised one brow at the ARC trooper who winced and shut his mouth. “Seems more like planning than visiting to me, trooper. And your plans not half bad to be honest. You just need a little more focus and a little less throwing of pillows.”

“Yes sir,” the men chorused.

“CT-9779,” Rex snapped.

“Y-yes sir,” the clone said, saluting sharply.

“You’re reassigned to Hack Squad effective immediately. Get started on a media campaign with them to get the word out to the other Battalions and to the civvies on both sides of the galaxy. The rest of you that are well enough, I’ve got Vader’s plans uploaded on the shipboard link and they need to be firmed up. I want suggestions and creative ideas. This isn’t your standard liberation plan against the Seppies. When we rendezvous with him in a half rotation, I want to be ready to brief him in full and get moving on the campaign as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir!”

“Very well,” Rex said with a nod and then his stern features softened slightly. “I think-- I think Commander Luke would’ve been very . . . pleased to see you all working together like this. Good work, all of you.”

The troopers all looked at each other and smiled as the Captain left.

“Well, you heard the Captain,” Hardcase said gleefully, using the Force to snag the remote and unmute the holoscreen. “We better get ready for the briefing.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Quick yelled snatching the remote from him. “You are not well enough yet to do anything, let alone go to the briefing! Back to bed, all of you and the rest of you get out!”

Krennic has surrounded himself with bodyguards but it makes no difference. They die screaming under Vader’s blade. He stops briefly at a computer terminal to infect it with the worm Hack Squad has prepared for him and continues the hunt. Vader is trying to treat this like any other mission. He tries to remind himself that this is no different than hunting down Rebels or the Death Star plans but the mere thought of that turns his stomach.

(Leia. He had tortured his own daughter).

But at least the hate is better than the grief. It may burn inside him but it is better than collapsing numb and powerless under the weight of sorrow. Let me burn, he thinks to himself savagely as he tears apart the droids barring his way, slashing through bulkheads following Krennic’s desperate trail. Let the rest of me just burn away.

Vader finally breaks into the last panic room and Krennic shoots at him frantically. It is all too easy to block the blaster bolts, tear the weapon from the man’s hand and strangle him. He watches as Krennic collapses, turns blue and then purple and then finally gagging drops dead to the floor.

Vader grips his lightsaber tighter and looks down at the body. He has long hated Krennic with his weaseling manipulative ways, his blatant desire for power and authority. He’s dreamed of killing him more than once. It is good that he is dead and his weapon plans destroyed.

But Vader can feel no satisfaction. He still hates and wishes that Krennic had somehow marshaled more of a challenge against him, provided more targets for him to vent his rage against. He casts his mind out. Perhaps there are still some bodyguards or droids left alive. Perhaps there is someone else he can kill or destroy.

But no. He has been thorough. There is no threat left alive.

Everyone is dead.

He turns and goes back to the computer terminal. Maybe there is a new trail to follow, a new name he will recognize and he can start the hunt again.

(The Emperor’s Hound, his attack dog, Sith monster, the Emperor’s pet killer running his quarry to ground . . .)

Vader draws himself up short. He’d hunted Luke this way, chasing down leads, slaughtering as he went and in the end it was a simple message not a threat that brought his son to his side.

Without thinking, Vader reaches out through the Force for his son.

--dark, warm, sad, pain, burning--

Vader wrenches himself away from the baby’s Force presence, cursing himself. He knows better. His Force presence filled with hate and anger overwhelms the baby. He will destroy both of the children if he is not careful, if he cannot control his weak ways. He needs to stop reaching out. There is no one to reach back.

Luke is dead.

He stares at the computer screen blankly. What is he going to do now? he wonders bleakly. Vader considers the still lit saber for a long moment.

His commlink beeps. He answers it.

“Captain Rex reporting, sir. We’ve just arrived in orbit. We have a company ready to join you on the surface if need be.”

Vader disengages his saber.

“There is no need Captain. The target is dead. I have destroyed the files. I will rendezvous with the ship shortly.”

“Understood sir. Oh, and sir?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“We have some information to brief you on when you arrive on board.”

“Very well. Vader out.”

Vader turns and begins the journey back to the Twilight. Perhaps the 501st will have a new mission. Perhaps Hack Squad has found another danger that needs to be destroyed. Perhaps . . .

Obi-Wan finds Anakin in the nursery. He is soothing the children. Luke is crying and Leia is whimpering in sympathy. It is good to hear Anakin’s voice again.

“Are they all right?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Luke’s just a little scared,” Anakin replies. “I think . . . I think Vader sometimes forgets. He reaches out and . . .” Anakin shrugs.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in shock. He hurries over to the crib, looking anxiously at the twins. “Do you mean, he actually . . . is he here?” Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to do if Vader has come to Naboo. Will he have to fight him? What if he comes for the children? What does he want?

Anakin shakes his head. “He’s light years away. He won’t come here.”

“Light years? But--”

“If size doesn’t matter to the Force, and time obviously doesn’t matter to the Force, then distance probably doesn’t matter either,” Anakin says sardonically as the babies quiet under his hands.

For Vader to be that strong . . . Obi-Wan internally shudders at the thought. He looks at his former Padawan and wonders what feats of the Force Anakin is capable of.

“How do you know he won’t come here? If he’s reaching out as you say . . .”

“He doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t mean to frighten Luke. He pulls away as soon as he realizes it’s . . .not who he’s really looking for.” Anakin says softly. “He’s not going to come to Naboo or anywhere Padme or the children are now or ever. He’s not going to come because I wouldn’t come.”

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan says after a long moment. It makes no sense to him. Seeing how devoted Anakin is and remembering even those few moments with Vader, how desperate he was to protect Padme as she was giving birth, he would expect Vader to come. He feels like he doesn’t understand Vader, never understood Anakin properly at all.

“When you hate yourself that much, when you are afraid that you will destroy who you desperately want to protect, you avoid the ones you love.”

Obi-Wan swallows hard. He knew Anakin’s emotions ran strong and he didn’t think he would ever forget the Forcestorm of hate, betrayal and self-loathing he felt from Vader. But he’d always believed that those who fell to the Dark were different, altered permanently from those who stood in the Light. Anakin couldn’t possibly know all this unless he knew what Vader was thinking and feeling intimately. “And you? Do you feel. . .” Obi-Wan trails off. He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to contemplate that the boy he raised has anything in common with the Sith Lord.

Anakin looks at him and smiles painfully. “Always. The fear’s always been there,” he admits and it’s like a blow that leaves Obi-Wan breathless. “The hate . . . that grew later. But one of us needs to be here for Padme, for Leia and Luke, for Ahsoka, and for you. So I’m staying here and he’ll . . . stay away. You won’t have to fight him, not unless you seek him out.”

“No. I cannot face him. I won’t.”

Anakin nods, gaze returning to the now sleeping infants. “Thank you,” he whispers. He takes a few shuddering breaths, hands gripping the edge of the crib tightly. “I know I’ve failed--”

“No, you didn’t fail. You didn’t Fall.”

He huffs a laugh. “Close enough.”

“Close only counts with Hardcase and pulse grenades,” Obi-Wan reminds him sternly. “You’re still here.”

Anakin closes his burning eyes tightly, too ashamed to even look at his old Master. “Obi-Wan, you have no idea,” he says, voice breaking. “I’m no Jedi. Not really. I could never learn how, no matter how hard I tried. You were right, Yoda was right. I’m dangerous.”

Obi-Wan takes hold of Anakin’s shoulder and turns him until they stand face to face. “Listen to me, Anakin. Please, just listen. There is good in you, so much good. If you have struggled with the Dark, if you have been unable to master letting go of your attachment, your fear, your anger, and your hate that doesn’t mean you’re not a Jedi or that you’re a failure. The truth is . . . I haven’t mastered those skills either. I don’t think I ever will. I’ve just gotten very very good at pretending,” he confesses gently as Anakin wipes at his eyes with one hand. “So, if that’s what makes someone dangerous, then you’re not alone. I just hope you don’t mind the company.”

“No,” Anakin says with a watery laugh. “I don’t mind.”

“We’ll figure this out, all of it, together. We’re safe and the war is over. We have time and I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”

#star wars #luke and vader save the galaxy #vader strikes back #clone wars

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