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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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Humans are Space Orcs, “Behind the Door.”

Stay for the ending of this one guys :) Very exciting :)

Here they were with bags over their heads again. This happened a lot, to the point where Sunny found that neither of them seemed to care much. They had been traveling since the early hours of the morning having met their targets outside the airfield. Of course, the two Tesraki had insisted that the fake couple wear something over their heads, so they would not know where they were going. The commander had been fine with that considering he had a tracking implant welded to his ribs courtesy of the good doctor:, a tracking beacon that would send off an emergency alert if he was knocked out or in significant distress.

It certainly wouldn't have gone off that morning as, yawning the two of them stumbled up the ramp and onto some sort of transport. They weren’t tied up or anything, but made to sit in a set of relatively comfortable seats. The commander ended up falling asleep against Sunny’s shoulder as the roaring of the engines added a slight ambiance and gentle rocking motion to the shuttle. Of course Sunny let him rest there, humans needed their sleep, and she would alert him if anything changed.

Absently, she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb where she held it resting on her lap. It was going to be interesting when this was all over. For the past few days they had been in perpetual constant contact, awake, sleeping, eating, planning. It was to the point at which it was almost normal.

Off to her side the commander pressed closer in his sleep head resting even more heavily on her shoulder. She put an arm around him to keep him from falling over and waking up. The bag on her head smelled a little funny, but she supposed that was the least of their worries. It had not crossed her mind that they might have been found out and were being taken to execution. It’s not like the two of them were very good at undercover work. They hadn’t bothered to change their names for instance, not that it would have entirely mattered.

There were so many humans named Adam and so many Drev named Sunny that changing their names would be almost pointless as well. Either way someone was about to get arrested, either for attempted kidnapping and murder, or for genetic tampering.

The ride too longer than Sunny would have liked, and she couldn’t tell which way they were going, or even if they had gone out of atmosphere.

At her side the commander stirred, maybe an hour or two into their trip lifting his head up though he couldn’t see anything due to the bag, “Any idea where we are?” He murmured.

“No clue.” Sunny whispered back.

“Still on noctropolis I see.” He muttered

“How can you tell.”

“The rumbling feeling. It’s the engines fighting against the atmosphere. It would have been a lot smoother if we were in space, plus this is how noctopolis always feels when we fly. Seems Like we are heading north too.”

“How can you possibly tell that.”

“From where we were there is a specific wind pattern that takes us north, and it generally feels like this.”

“For all I know you could be just making that up.”

“I might be, but you would never know the difference.” He rested his head back down on her shoulder listening to the rumble of the shuttle engine and feeling the vibrations under his feet, “Automatic pilot.”

“Don’t tell me, you can feel a disturbance in the force.” He snorted, “No, but a ride this smooth is characteristic of an automatic pilot.”

“Than why use pilots?” She was mostly goading him

“Because Automatic pilots are for smooth civilian transport and not for cool badass aerial stunts.”

“Mmm, sure.” The two of them rocked forward a little as the shuttle decelerated and then began it’s descent. Voices came to them from the back of the craft, and two sets of footsteps approached.

“We are almost to our destination. Prepare yourselves it is a little cold.”

The two of them nodded, and after a moment the shuttle landed with a sharp bump against the ground, and they were helped to their feet. Sunny kept tight hold of the commander’s hand, not trusting them to not get separated.the commander seemed to be just fine with that and together they were walked to the end of the shuttle.

There was a slight whirring as the doors opened up, and both of them were hit in the face with a blast of cold air. The commander inhaled sharply and Sunny grunted with discomfort as a powerful blast of wind. She put a hand over the holes at her neck trying to keep them from cracking and drying up in the harsh air.

The wind whistled and the cold grew more piercing. The commander began to cough as sharp needles of cold bit into his throat. For a moment, sunny was convinced that the two of them were going to be kicked out of the shuttle into the freezing cold blast of wind where they would eventually freeze and die while the Tesraki flew away laughing at their stupidity for being so obvious.

However, that thought was dashed as the shuttle doors opened, and they stepped out and downwards boots thudding over the metal ramp. Voices and engines roared around them as even harsher wind whipped past their faces.

Something rumbled over the metal ground just to their side, and Sunny thought she felt a few wisps of snow brush against her skin. She was so…. Very...very cold.

Inside her heartbeat sped up desperate to pump warm blood through her body.

At her arm, the commander was already shivering Uncontrollably.

She pulled the human closer partially to warm him up and partially because she hoped that he might be warmer than her, “You ok?’ she whispered.

“You’re asking me if I’m ok… not to, bring light to a situation sunny, but your naked, at least I have a jacket, which I would totally offer to you if you were smaller or I were taller.”

That made her laugh, but luckily for them they ad stepped inside some building by that point and the wind was cut off.

They could still hear voices, the thudding of feet on metal and the running of machines all around them. There was a sharp metallic hiss, and they were led inside with a sigh o relief as warm air washed over them.

The bags were drawn from their heads, and they found themselves in a nice little waiting room with a reception desk at one end and chairs with magazine lying around on low-lying coffee tables, “You two take a seat, we will be right back.”

They did as told surprised to find themselves sitting across from another couple, this one also Human/Drev, except in their arms they held a very small bundle. Commander Vir craned his neck to see, and noticing the two of them, the human female holding the bundle rotated it so he could see, smiling.

The tiny face was of a human baby, or so it seemed, though it’s hair was shockingly pearl white.

Both of their eyes widened.

“IS that….” He trialed off

The human nodded smiling, “Our baby, yes! We just came in for a one-week checkup to make sure the DNA splicing went well.

The commander stood up, “You mind if I…. Get a closer look?”

“No not at all.” The Drev responded motioning the two of them over.

They came and sat down close by looking down at the sleeping baby. One of its arms had been brought up to the chin, and there they could see how the skin glittered sort of white in the light above.

“Wow…. pretty. What’s their name?”

“We named him Daklan.”

The commander and Sunny exchanged looks of surprise, “Amazing … that’s the translation isn’t it.”

She smiled, “You speak Drev?”

He cleared his throat, and took Sunny’s hand, “Of course I do.”

“Are you two here for a consult.”

Sunny pulled him closer, “Yes we…Well we admit we were a little skeptical.” She looked down at the baby, “But now.”

A door opened on the other side of the room a door opened, and the two Tesraki stepped in, “Why don’t you two come on and follow us.” They paused waving goodbye to the other couple and then stepping into the room behind the Tesraki.

“Admiring one of our success stories I see.”

“Yes…. are there not success stories?”

There was a sigh, “Afraid not, in the early years of developing this technique we had some pitfalls. There were a lot of children who came out deformed or with strange medical conditions. It turns out that genetic testing is best done beforehand to see what sort of underlying conditions the parents have since they can manifest in very strange ways when paired with other species.”

They were walked into a nearby office and sat down.

“Hold out your arms.”

They did as instructed wincing as the needles pierced into their skin.

“We can harvest from any piece of genetic material we want and splice them together by pulling the DNA string from the nucleus. IT took a lot of hard work, but we have automated the process that checks the sequencing for abnormalities even as it runs probabilities on each genetic combination. Let us demonstrate.”

He passed the genetic codes into the machine and let them spin around for a while as the monitor worked.

About ten minutes later, they had results.

“Ah, see here.” he glanced at Sunny, “Your genes are almost perfect, until we get to the combination that contributes to height.”

She sighed, “Of course.”

“IF we were to pair that with human DNA we would probably et a creature that is no more than three to four feet tall, not dwarfism, just a very, very small human Drev hybrid. So what we would do in this case, is we would pull the height genes from the father instead.” They turned to Adam, “You are carrying a recessive allele on the TYR gene that can lead to certain types of albinism in humans.”

HE blinked in surprise, “I am?”

“Yes, now this is not normally an issue unless your partner has the same matching recessive trait. However, if you pair this particular gene with a Drev gene, you can get some pretty unfortunate consequences. This will make the Drev child completely blind where it only causes visual issues in humans, not to mention bu it will make the Drev child extremely susceptible to UV light based of how Drev coloring and carapace tends to interact. So what we dofrom here is we take the healthy genes from both parents and splice them together and then our software creates a realistic rendering of what the offspring would look like so you can more effectively choose, however that option does cost more.”

He turned to the monitor, “You have four options male/female and humanoid or Drev like.”

Four images flashed onto the screen, and sunny was surprised at the tiny human with golden hair and skin. She recognized that gold color, she also recognized the starry purple color on the little Drev girl.

Her parents colors.

“So, what do you think.”

“I…. wow…. This is a lot to take in.” Adam Squeezed Sunny’s hand, “I don’t know if this is too much to ask, but might we be able to see the process before we make our decision.”

“Of course, right this way.” The two of them stood leading the couple out and back into the hallway. The commander leaned close and Sunny dropped her head in to listen, “Well at least we know if we ever had children they would all look like anime protagonists.”

She snorted as they continued their way down the hall.

A door at the far end opened, and they were pulled into a small viewing room overlooking a massive factory sized floor.

They looked around with wide eyes.

It looked a lot like the prodigum factory with rows upon rows of test tubes set up to contain growing fetuses of all shapes and colors. Some of them were almost done while others were only in the early stages of development. A good portion of the factory was mostly dark except for red light, “Can we get a closer look?” The commander wondered

“Yes, I suppose we can go down onto the floor.”

The commander gave Sunny a look and she nodded. They walked along the floor staring at the tanks and the tiny creatures growing inside them.

“What’s behind that door?”

“Simply equipment, nothing important.”

He squeezed Sunny’s hand, and she stepped in front of him as they passed by another tank. She felt his hand drop from hers as he slipped behind a row of tables ducking into the darkness where only the red light glowed. She pretended to be mesmerized by the tubes even though they were absolutely disgusting.in her opinion.

Behind her, commander Vir ducked through the darkness pressing himself up against tables and machines trying to stay out of the glowing red lights. He made it across the room silently and paused by the closed door. Glancing over his shoulder to check and make sure no one was there, he backed through the door and into the next room with only the barest of noises. When The door shut he turned around,

What he saw made him freeze in place.

His mouth dropped open and his chest tightened with intense horrific anger.

The Adaptid’s bodies hung from hooks in the ceiling as their genetic tissue was harvested. Soft moaning came from cages all around him, and he turned in a wide circle pausing when his eyes over the cages.

His heart hammered in his chest, and he thought he was going to be sick. The anger intensified as his eyes fell on the last figure in the line of cages. His hands grew cold and his entire body began to tingle. His vision tunneled.

He raced across the room straight to the cage wrapping his hands around the bars, “Vicky!”

The hybrid-human adaptid turned her large dog-like head to face him. He found himself staring into soft gray eyes., “Vicky.” He whispered through a strangled throat.

The adaptid mewled piteously sniffing at him ears perking up when she recognized his scent. She pressed up against the bars, and he reached through running a hand along the soft skin of her neck. She mewed again, “Shhh, shh its alright, I’m here now, and I’m going to get you out, I promise.”

His hands were shaking against the bars as he concealed barely unbridled rage.

He understood now, understood how their process was working where the prodigum’s did not.

And with that realization came the desire to do nothing more than annihilate this entire facility and every mewling coward inside.

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geniusgub · 4 years

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north//chapter one

here she is!! after the long wait, here is the first chapter of north! I hope you all like it. let me know what you think. more chapters to come soon🖤

also i dont have a tag list for this but if anyone wanted to be tagged in this fic then let me know and I’ll create a tag list

genre: fluff

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: very basic troupe that I’m sure some people are tired of lol but other than that, none!

word count: 3k

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too.

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak.

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista.

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else.

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight.

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop.

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. “Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #matthew gubler #mgg #gublernation

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flowerfan2 · 7 years

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Winds of Change - Chapter 2

Stucky, 46k total, A03. Post CACW. This fic is fully written, and will post several times a week. (Find Chapter 1 here).

Bucky’s still got some healing to do after the doctors in Wakanda rouse him from sleep and make sure there are no more deadly triggers lurking in his brain. He decides it should happen where he can have some peace and quiet, as well as a little distance from Steve’s overwhelming presence. When he sees an ad for a “Winter Caretaker” he takes the job, but it turns out to be not so peaceful after all.

Or, how Bucky realized that while he still needs to heal, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for him and Steve to do it together.

Chapter 2

The commercial plane flight is tedious, but in a familiar way that Bucky doesn’t want to examine too closely (packed in tight, strangers all around, no escape route), and the long bus ride isn’t much better (although at least he could jump out if push came to shove).

Bucky’s not sure how he feels about the ferry. The one he’s on is large but mostly empty, and he finds a seat near a window and watches the boat pull away from the dock. A plaque informs him that the ship was built as a World War II landing craft and participated in the D-Day invasion at Normandy in 1944, receiving one battle star for service. He hadn’t realized ships received stars. He goes up on deck (it’s cold, but it doesn’t bother him much) and walks up to the bow, looking over the side at the waves. He gives the railing a pat. Thanks for your service, he thinks to himself, shaking his head.

In just over an hour the ferry arrives at the island. Nora had said he wouldn’t be able to miss her, and she’s right – there’s hardly anyone waiting for the ferry, and there’s only one willowy white-haired lady standing next to an old green station wagon with a “Welcome to the Vineyard” sign in her hands.

It doesn’t take long to leave Vineyard Haven, the town where the ferry docked, and soon they are driving down nondescript roads. It could be anywhere – until they turn down a side road and the ocean comes into view.

The sprawling gray house is high on a cliff, surrounded by more open land than Bucky expected. And it’s huge.

“Damn,” Bucky mutters, and Nora looks at him with concern.

“It is too big? The housecleaner will come every week, you don’t have to clean it yourself. And there’s a snowblower… we don’t get much snow anyway, usually, although every time I say that we get a blizzard, so I really shouldn’t be saying anything.”

Bucky interrupts her ramble with his most charming smile. “No, it’s fine, I was just admiring it.”

Nora shows him around the place, and gives him a notebook full of information that he’s pretty sure he won’t need (if he can’t figure out how to fix a leaky toilet with whatever he can find on the internet, he has no business taking this job).

There’s a whole chart of instructions about her plants, which are mostly in a sort of glassed-in porch towards the back of the house. He trails after her as she goes looking for the cats, finally finding one of them on top of a tall bookshelf in the library (of course a house like this has a library, he’s surprised it doesn’t have a bowling alley and a built-in swimming pool in the basement).

“This is Mittens,” Nora says. He looks closely at the cat, Nora having coaxed it off the bookshelf and into her arms. It’s all black, not a spot of white fur anywhere. “I know she doesn’t have any mittens.” Nora shrugs and pets a black paw. “But it’s her name.”

They can’t find the other two, but Nora doesn’t seem bothered by this. “Sometimes I don’t see them for days. But the food keeps disappearing, so I know they’re still around.” She explains how she doesn’t have an alarm system, or any home security at all, since she knows the cats would set it off, and she likes them to be able to go in and out through the cat door at will.

Bucky thinks that someone with a house that clearly is worth millions might want to invest in a more subtle security system than one which would get set off by a cat, but what the hell, it’s not his house. And if she had better security, he’d be out of a job – because it becomes clear that his main purpose is mostly to populate the empty space, not perform any heavy lifting.

Suddenly Nora’s phone pings, and she’s off. Apparently they have Uber here. Although Bucky insists he could have driven her to the ferry, Nora just shakes her head. “Email or text me if you have any questions – enjoy yourself!”

Bucky locks the front door behind her, and then lets out a long breath. Finally, it’s quiet.

He goes into the large living room, passing by the soft white couches, and slides open the glass door to the balcony which looks out over the water. Still quiet, just the sound of the wind and, from further away, waves crashing against the shore. He thinks he’s going to like it here.

That night Bucky makes a fire in the fireplace, settles down on one of the couches, and reads through the materials Nora left. By his calculations, it will take about an hour every day, maybe two, to fulfill his maintenance duties. Longer if it snows, and a quick internet search tells him that while the island is warmer than the mainland, it does in fact get plenty of snow. He goes onto Amazon and orders a pair of winter boots – proper tools for the job, and so on.

A movement catches his eye and he almost jumps off the couch, before he realizes it’s the cat from the library, Mittens. She is sidling up to him as if she’s as jumpy as he is, which is probably the truth. He settles in, his laptop on his lap, and reads through some articles about what’s open on the island in the wintertime. Eventually the cat leaps up on the couch, makes herself comfortable at his side, and starts to purr.

Bucky closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. He’s definitely going to like it here.

**********

October turns into November, and Bucky establishes a routine. In the mornings he works out (there’s a pretty well-equipped exercise room), waters the plants, and deals with the cats’ food and litter. After lunch, he walks around the property, making sure nothing is amiss (nothing ever is), and then settles in the living room or the library, reading, surfing the web, or watching television.

Some days he adds an outing to his afternoons, going for a long walk or run, or riding the moped around the island to explore. Bucky likes the moped better than the station wagon; although only incrementally less unhip, he enjoys the feel of the wind in his hair, chilly though it is. The smell of the salt air and the crunch of the leaves are much more apparent, too. He grins to himself when he realizes he’s taking the moped out not because he hasn’t sufficiently mapped out each little town, but because it’s just fun.

He can have fun, now, apparently. It’s a good thing.

Except for weekly trips to the grocery store, he hasn’t had much interaction with other people. It’s become clear that plenty of people are still here, despite the fact that it’s off-season – he sees them on the road, and in the little towns, going in and out of shops with their hats pulled tight over their ears. Most of the restaurants are closed, but there are still some open to cater to the year-round residents.

There’s a bar in Oak Bluffs that Bucky has ridden past a number of times, right off the main road. The dumb stuff they write on their sidewalk sign make him groan. Today it says “Thursday night special – same prices, just special (and free wings).” He wonders if their regular marketing guy takes the winter off.

Stupid sign or not, it gets him thinking, and the following Thursday he dresses a little more carefully (clean black fleece under his leather jacket, clean t-shirt, the jeans without the hole in the knee) and heads into Oak Bluffs in the evening. He walks up and down the street a few times, goes around the back of the bar to check the exit, observes the patrons coming and going from a bench a little ways down the road, and then makes up his mind. Tonight, he’s having wings for dinner.

(Bucky knows that going out for dinner in a touristy bar probably does not require the level of surveillance he is conducting, but he’s not going to get down on himself for it, either. He’s not hurting anyone, and it sure as shit will make him feel better.)

He squares his shoulders and walks inside. It’s warm, smells like good food, and music is playing just loud enough to glide over the noise of the diners.

“Welcome to Skipper’s,” a bored looking teenager says, flipping her hair aside to reveal a thoroughly pierced ear. “Table or bar?”

“Bar’s fine,” Bucky says, his voice cracking a little from disuse. Get a grip, he thinks to himself, as the girl motions vaguely towards the bar.

But things smooth out from there. The bartender, who introduces himself as Henry, doesn’t push him to engage in conversation, just gets him his beer, a hamburger, and a side of wings calmly and efficiently. The restaurant is barely half-full, but everyone seems to be having a good time, and Bucky relaxes and orders a second beer. It doesn’t do much for him, super-soldier metabolism and all, but the ritual is comforting, and frankly beer tastes a lot better now than it did back in the 40’s.

He makes some comment about the beer to Henry (not, obviously, about beer seventy years ago), who nods and hands him a menu. “We’ve got twelve on tap, and forty or so in the cooler. I can make a suggestion, if you want. A lot of people like Whale’s Tale, from Cisco Brewers in Nantucket.”

Bucky tries one, and Henry’s right – it’s good.

That night Bucky gives the cats an extra treat (he feeds Mittens on his lap; the other two are nowhere in sight, so he puts a few treats in their food dish) so they can share in the pleasant feeling that has settled over him. He successfully engaged in a social situation like a totally normal person without freaking the hell out. And more than that, he did something just because he wanted to. It’s not as if he hasn’t been engaging in the necessary activities to cope with life in general over the past few months, and even before that, in Bucharest – but things are different now. It’s his new life, as non-criminal, not-on-the-run Bucky Barnes, and he can fill it with bars and hot wings and beer, if he wants to. He can do more than just what he needs to do to survive.

**********

Mittens interrupts his sleep one morning with a nudge to his chin and a questioning “mmrrrt?” Bucky blinks one eye open, disoriented for a moment as he always is when he wakes up. Then he realizes that he went to sleep without closing his bedroom door, a breach in his personal security protocol that gives him the shivers.

He and the cats have had an ongoing battle about this over the past week. At first they hadn’t seemed interested in coming into Bucky’s room, content to do their hidey-cat thing on their own every night. But then Mittens and the orange striped one (named Miss Kitty Fantastico, for some curious reason, but Bucky just calls her Miss Kitty) started sneaking in when he wasn’t looking, and resisted being tossed out when he was ready to turn in.

Now one or the other of them (or both? How he is supposed to tell?) have taken to meowing outside his closed door, and scratching on it, until he opens it and yells at them, which is frankly irritating. He honestly can’t remember if he gave in last night and left the door open on purpose, or if Mittens managed to open it herself (seems unlikely, but she’s a very persistent cat when she sets her mind to it).

In any case, it’s not even six a.m., and Mittens is happily purring up a storm and kneading her paws over his stomach. Bucky reaches down and pets her ears, and she pushes back into his hand, her fur soft against his fingers. It’s not the worst way to wake up.

Bucky has been back to Skipper’s three times since the Thursday he got hot wings, and he hasn’t been disappointed yet. He is beginning to suspect that they are getting the slogans for their bar signs on the internet, as they keep changing (“Soup of the Day: Whiskey” is one of his favorites, although he also appreciates “Come in and try the worst rum & coke that guy on Yelp ever had in his life.”)

Tonight the sign reads “Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder” and Bucky shakes his head. It’s barely funny. But it’s not going to stop him from going inside.

He sits down at the end of the bar, where he can easily see most of the room, and nods to Henry. They have a system going – Henry suggests a new beer each night, and Bucky drinks it. Works for everyone. This time he orders a hamburger with pineapple (it sounds like it wouldn’t taste good, but it does), and spicy fries.

He’s barely placed his order when he notices a man seated towards the back of the restaurant looking decidedly out of place in a baseball cap and sunglasses. It only takes a slight shift of the man’s shoulders for Bucky to recognize him, and he’s out of his seat before he even fully realizes what he’s doing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky hisses, metal hand slamming harder than he intended on the table.

Steve looks up at him, eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, and then grabs Bucky by the arm and tugs him down into the chair next to him. “Bucky?”

“Is that a test?” Bucky spits out. “What happened to respecting my wishes?”

But Steve is shaking his head, cursing under his breath, and Bucky is very confused. “No, fuck, no, I did, I swear I did, mean I do, this isn’t-”

“Isn’t what, Steve?”

“Lower your voice, please,” Steve pleads, taking off the sunglasses and glaring at him. “I’m supposed to be under cover!”

“What? Steve, what are you talking about?”

“I’m not here for you – I’m working a case. Don’t keep saying my name.”

The adrenaline is seeping out of him, and Bucky pulls in a long breath.

“You’re not watching me.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Well, I am now. But no. I didn’t even know you were here.”

Bucky rests his forehead on the table, unable to meet Steve’s gaze. “Fuck.”

“It’s all right.” He hears Steve taking a few deep breaths. “I’d have been mad, too.”

The waitress comes over with a soda for Steve (of course he doesn’t even order a beer) and mildly asks if Bucky wants his food brought over from the bar.

Bucky looks up at Steve’s hopeful face, imagines sitting here shooting the shit with Steve while he munches on a hamburger and fries, and suddenly it’s too much. “No. No, I’ve got to go.”

He avoids looking at Steve while he pulls cash out of his wallet. He can well imagine the disappointed look on his face.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve whispers as Bucky stands up. “I didn’t mean-”

But Bucky doesn’t hear the rest of the apology – he’s already gone.

#stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #marvel #captain america #my fic

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wilwywaylan · 6 years

Text

Departures and arrivals

Fandom : Star Wars VII : The Force awakens / Star Wars VIII : The last jedi

Modern!AU, Poe & Ben (and Amidala is here), 1921 words

Totally based on my favourite trope, “Ben looks up to his grandmother and wants to follow in her steps”

Also on AO3 !

Poe stepped down the plane, happy to feel a solid ground beneath his feet. He liked flying - scratch that, he loved flying, more than anything else in the world - but there was a moment when you were happy to just walk on a tarmac, and not try to balance a who-knew-how-many-tons machine way, way above the ground.

Behind him, his dog jumped on the floor. He stopped just long enough for Poe to pat him on the head, then ran forwards. Poe didn't bother calling him back. He knew that BB-8 wouldn't run more than a few meters ahead of him. And the dog was like him ; after having been stuck in a cockpit for hours, he was very eager to stretch his legs. Poe followed him, taking his leasure time, enjoying the sun on his back. A gentle breeze started blowing, ruffling his hair just the right way. Behind him, someone wolf-whistled. Poe waved at him, and followed his dog inside the building, smiling all the way.

He stepped inside, enjoying the cool air after the warmth of the sun. The hall was mostly empty, just a few groups here and there, waiting for flying lessons, goods to retrieve, or a few short-distance flights. Good, he wouldn't have to hide in the office in the back, waiting for the place to be less crowded. Not that he didn't like people, he usually liked them very much and the more he was around, the merrier. But a man needed his alone time after work, especially after flying for five hours with no music.

After swinging by the office to confirm he had landed safely and grab something to drink, he went back outside, to take care of his plane and park it away. He was crossing the tarmac again, BB-8 bouncing on his heels, when he spotted a small group coming down another plane on another lane. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The small airport was used by quite a number of private planes, and it wasn't unusual to see vastly different people walk around, from sharp-dressed businessmen holding briefcases like they held the secret of the universe (or plans for very important weapons), to people already (or still) in vacation mood, wearing gaudy shirts, pareos and flower necklaces. Poe loved watching them, trying to imagine where they came from or were going, what was on their minds at this instant.

But people like these ones... he'd never, ever seen anyone remotely like them. Three of them were quite unremarkable, with dark clothes, elegant but rather simple. His eyes quickly slid over them to land on the other two. Leading the group was a small, older woman, dressed in a beautiful, complicated red dress. The heavy fabric was swishing around her and pooling at her feet, the large sleeves falling past her wrists, almost to her knees. The gold it was embroidered with was shining under the sun, sending little glints like a fistful of stars. She was wearing a dark cloak, closed around her throat by a large broach. Her hair was pinned in a complicated bun, by a dozen metallic hairpins fanning around her hair, like a halo. From them, a delicate circlet hung, going around her head to join at a crescent moon resting on her forehead. Her face was painted white, and ornated with several symetric marks in blood red.

She turned to say something to the one standing behind her. From what he could see, Poe thought that they might be related. The man had the same dark hair, but his was shorter, falling on his shoulders. Several golden chains were circling his head in the same way of the woman's hairpiece, and he was wearing the same crescent. His clothes resseambled hers too, falling to his feet. His opened at the belt, on a pair of pants and knee-high leather boots. The fabric was black instead of red, but similarly adorned with gold thread. Strangely, while the outfit was closed at the neck with a high collar, his shoulders were bare. He was wearing the same make-up as the woman, stricking red on white.

Poe watched them cross the tarmac. There was something about them, something that rang a very faraway bell. But he'd be darned if he could find what. Had he already seen them somewhere else ? Did he know them ? No. He would remember it, if he counted such elegant persons among his aquaintances. Then again...

Until they walked past him, and he could see the man's profile in greater detail. He knew that face, the long nose, the high cheekbones, and the dark brown eyes with their weird, intense stare. But last time he had seen him, the man was... well, not a man yet. Smaller than him, with short-ish hair reaching his ears. Too quickly grown-up, and scrawny too. Nothing to do with the tall, muscular man in beautiful garb. Before he could stop himself, Poe waved and yelled :

- Hey, Ben ! Hello !

The man didn't just stop walking, he *froze* in place. Foot hovering a few inches above the ground, arms bent at an awkward angle. Very slowly, he put his foot down, and turned to face him. He stared - glared - at him for a few seconds, then opened his mouth, probably to tell him to go fuck himself. But the lady besides him, who Poe now recognized as Ben's grandmother, was faster than him. She smiled at him, and held out her hand.

- Poe Dameron, it's been a while.

Poe took the offered hand, and bent down to kiss it. Dialing the charm up couldn't hurt him, right ? Especially with at least four people watching him like a bunch of black-dressed hawks.

- Mrs Amidala, he stated, it's always a pleasure.

She was a little smaller than in his memory, or was it he who had grown up ? Probably. Still, she had the same impressive presence that he remembered, and he felt oddly self-conscious under her gaze.

- And how are you ? she asked when he finally let go of her hand.

- Fine. I just got off my plane, and I was going to take care of it, when I saw you and decided to say hello.

Amidala wisely didn't adress that he called Ben across the tarmac and not her, and instead followed his gesture towards the small plane.

- Oh, you've become a pilot ?

Poe tried not to beam too much. He was very tempted to glance at Ben to see if he was admiring him too, or at least looking at him, but that would probably have blown in his face. He kept focused on Amidala, who was graciously admiring his craft.

- My, she said, you can be proud of yourself. I'm sure you're a fantastic pilot.

- The best, of course, ma'am, he answered with an exagereted drawl and a small bow. Would you like to witness by yourself ?

- I would love to, really. But sadly, we need to go.

- Well, he mock-sighed, I can take a raincheck on that one.

Amidala smiled politely. She walked back to her grandson, then turned back, as if forgetting something.

- Say, dear, why don't you come for a cup of tea, one of these days ? This way, you could tell us about piloting, and about this little guy here too.

BB-8 looked very pleased with the attention. Poe did his best to ignore his heart suddenly jumping.

- I would love to. Here, let me give you my number...

He patted his pockets, despite knowing perfectly well that they were totally devoid of any writing implement. One of Amidala's followers took pity on him, and with a theatrical eyeroll, handed him a pen and a piece of paper. Poe quickly scribbled his number. He went to hand it back to Amidala, noticed that she didn't seem to have any pockets to put it in, and gave it back to her advisor. Amidala watched him with a gentle smile.

- I hope we'll see you soon, she said when he was finally done.

- With pleasure, of course.

She bent down to pat BB-8's head, bid Poe goodbye, and left, followed by her suite. Poe watched them go, admiring their elegance and poise. He was ready to resume his work, when Ben glanced at him over his shoulder. Just a fraction of a second ; when he realized that Poe was still looking at him, he hastily turned back and hurried after his grandmother. The distance between them could be misleading, but were his cheeks a bit pinker ?

There was a poke against his leg, and Poe looked at the dog pressing himself against him. He bent down to pat him, and announced :

- Right, buddy. Why don't we get that plane sorted so that we can go home ?

BB-8 dashed towards the plane, and Poe followed. He was happy to have seen Amidala, of course, she always had a soft spot for him, since the day he met her daughter, in fact. Spending some time chatting with her would surely be very enjoyable. Even more enjoyable with Ben around. Not that he would say it out loud, of course. But a small part of him hoped that he would be there when Poe would be invited. That would be nice too, to see him, chat with him, maybe ? They had be friends, a long time ago, before The Great Fight No One Talked About. Before Ben disappeared from his life - and everyone's, really.

Of course, Poe didn't let himself harbour any illusions. That strange, tall man with his closed-off expression didn't have much in common with the Ben he had known and befriended. He was a different person, with different ideas. And Poe's idea of him had been marred beyond all hopes of repair by what had happened. But the small glance Ben had thrown him before leaving seemed to have a strange effect on him. Nothing strong, like he was used to when a man was looking at him. He hadn't been struck to the bone, breath catching in his throat. He hadn't felt the earth stop spining under his feet.

But it had sparked... a longing. A want. Poe wanted to know him. Wanted to learn to know him again. Wanted to discover everything that had changed in him, and what was still the same. Not dig too deep, to the reasons that made him as he was now, and certainly not to the reasons that made him leave all those years before. But start something new. He knew he couldn't go back in time and find his friend again. But there had been something in Ben's eye, that made him think that maybe, he could make a new friend. Start at square one and go from there. He knew Ben could not want, and push him away. There were probably several reasons why he wouldn't want to talk to him again. But, Poe thought while walking behind BB-8, there was no harm in trying, right ? Right. After all, fortune smiled to those who were daring, and Poe was nothing but daring. Fortune would not let him down. Whistling a little tune, he shoved his hands in his pockets and skipped along, keeping an ear out for his phone while he finally set himself to work.

#star wars #the last jedi #poe dameron #kylo ren #queen amidala #tagging this is Hard #I like this trope a lot #will this be darkpilot ?#maybe #that pairing has potential #we'll see

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coronadelsol · 6 years

Text

lehon | v. @adtenebras | incomplete

Kylo burned through pilots almost faster than they could be supplied to him. While most were competent enough in the cockpit for his purposes, they tended to be more curious than their infantry counterparts, quicker to question orders, and invariably useless once removed from their flight controls for ground combat. For their insufficiency, they’d been either blithely dismembered or ejected into space, depending on his mood.

Sure, he could fly his own shuttle, but as the newly minted Master of the Knights of Ren he ought not have to do menial things himself when he had other tasks to accomplish. It didn’t befit his title. It didn’t befit his power.

When he arrived in the small hangar bay where his shuttle (and TIE fighter, though that wouldn’t be of much use to him for the immediate future) resided, troopers were in the process of trotting up the boarding ramp with the supplies he’d need for the weeks-long assignment Snoke had designed for him. Sealed, unmarked crates of machinery and food, mostly, though one particular piece of equipment was of much more substantial importance to the Knight. He scanned the hangar for what was to be his latest pilot. Give me no less than your best, he’d growled at Colonel Hux, or I’ll continue to burn through your air troops until I find what I’m looking for. Soon, he’d find out if the greasy weasel had delivered.

A glinting flash of red on black caught his attention immediately, the hallmark helmet of a special forces pilot. Already, Ren was pleased. Hux didn’t like to spare the more highly trained fodder for Ren’s purposes if they were merely going to be eviscerated anyway, which meant this one wasn’t expected to fail. He strode forward until he was half a meter from the pilot, mask tilted in curiosity as he felt how the Force wove around the man, testing his mettle before anything else. “Your designation?”

Colonel Hux had probably meant for it to be a short conversation. A quick yes sir, despite whatever apprehension a pilot might have felt. A snapped salute. Hux would then dismiss the pilot, before getting back to whatever it was he really did around here. It was one of the greatest cases of nepotism Poe would ever witness in his lifetime. So really, it’d been just a little satisfying to watch those distinct brows leap in surprised when the order was questioned.

And not just the order, but the command’s judgement.

The problem was they had all heard the stories. Despite regulations created to specifically discourage and dispel, there were just some things you couldn’t keep the pilots from doing. Gossip was probably the least of the Order’s worries, anyways. After all this time, Poe wasn’t interested in becoming another statistic.

He’d spent years carving his place in the navy. He’d become irreplaceable. So why take the risk? He didn’t exactly share the colonel’s confidence that this would be a successful match.

But had he actually been able to get out of this assignment? No. So he’d spent the morning preparing for the trip, from packing his ready bag to making sure his affairs for the week were in order. Someone else would have to take over training the promising young pilots accepted into the program, and you could bet he’d be checking in on those same pilots the moment he was back.

The First Order had made an art form out of conditioning soldiers, sure, but Poe still knew he could do better. Not only that, he’d proven it. His pilots were the best, and he wasn’t excited to place them in someone else’s hands for whatever amount of time he’d be chauffeuring Snoke’s favorite around the galaxy.

Lord Ren’s initial approach wasn’t totally unlike a fighter to its target, a demand immediately on his lips. Provided the guy had lips.

“SP-3477.” Colloquially, Poe. Hux provided hadn’t provided that information, it wasn’t really officially on file.

In the meantime, he didn’t give away much. His answer had been polite, although he couldn’t help tipping his head towards the shuttle while he spoke. There was a curiosity nagging at him already. He’d piloted several craft like this one, the old imperial style that the Order liked to drag around for officers; but Poe could see that this one was different.

A simple answer for a simple question. It suited Ren just fine. The mask remained trained on SP-3477 for a moment longer and the air grew noticeably heavier around the pair, but it was gone the instant he brushed past and continued forwards. “We leave now.” The troopers, having completed their task, scuttled away like beetles before him as he ascended the ramp, though not so hurriedly as to appear unprofessional. SP-3477, for the moment, went ignored.

He’d upgraded the weapons and hull armor of his Upsilon-class shuttle specifically for this mission based on rumors about his destination; even someone who thrived on chaos as he could learn to prepare for the worst. Upon reaching the cockpit, he entered several nondescript coordinates into the nav computer, a path that would avoid the popular hyperspace lanes through the core worlds in favor of a meandering route hugging the outer rim that would take much longer, but offer superior anonymity if needed. Minimal manpower meant even Kylo Ren would have to be careful. The path terminated at a planet named Lehon.

Satisfied, he crossed his arms and waited for the pilot to catch up.

He had to admire how those troopers could hustle once they’d been dismissed, their boots clicking against the floor as they departed the hangar bay.

SP-3477 had been itching for a little adventure for a few months now, but he probably should have been careful what he wished for. Things had been quiet, and the First Order had a way of laying low when it wanted to. It often wanted to.

There was so many details to drink in now that he’d ducked aboard the ship. Little tweaks, screens in places he hadn’t seen them before, and those supplies crammed in every nook. It wasn’t really a vessel meant for a journey this long, but it’d have to do. Poe had already staked out a chair that might be comfortable enough for the long series of naps that’d replace his normal sleep cycle.

“Did upper management provide you with any of my background?” He stood somewhat respectfully in the back of the cockpit, waiting to be invited further within. From here, he could see that their route had already been dropped into the nav-computer- something he’d usually like to be consulted on, but he figured it was a little early to nitpick Lord Ren’s plans.

Though his arms were tightly crossed, Ren leaned against one of the chairs in the cockpit and let his head tilt to the side, still measuring the worth of this pilot. “Nothing,” he said with a dismissive shrug, pushing off of the chair and retrieving a datapad inset in the wall of the cockpit to comb through whatever information happened to be relevant at the time. He noted SP-3477’s distance, and let it continue. “I only care if you can complete the tasks I give you, nothing more. You’re not to change any of the coordinates I’ve programmed unless otherwise ordered, and you’re not to touch the cargo. Your cabin is port, mine is starboard.”

Having been given this shuttle to do with as he pleased, Ren had taken it upon himself to refit the craft as a vessel for personal use. Taking advantage of the deceptive roominess this class of shuttle possessed, he’d had two tiny, but functional, cabins installed, and the resulting corridor between them could even have been called a common room, with a half-moon booth and a large table with bits of errant machinery still scattered on it from whatever Ren had been tinkering with last.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d expected.

Alright, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. He’d expected to be dead by now, organs lodged under a crate in the hangar bay before Ren had even taken off. It wasn’t a stretch to wonder why he was even here when the man was such an adept pilot. Poe had witnessed first hand what he was capable of.

Colonel Hux hadn’t really bothered to explain when asked, either. He’d seemed content to remind SP-3477 that it was his duty to do as he was told, without question.

Cabins, though. That was cozier than expected, maybe he wouldn’t have to resort to the chair after all.

“Does she have a name?” All he had to do was complete the tasks given to him. Well, he hadn’t been tasked with shutting up just yet.

Ren ignored the question, largely because the answer was no. He’d named his fighter easily, but even though he’d owned this shuttle for a standard year and a half, it only had its standard factory designation to go by. The fact that he’d accidentally modeled it after a certain Corellian freighter lent to the problem, more than likely.

This new train of thought was enough to distract him from the fact that SP-3477 was already far chattier than the Knight would have liked.

He raised the ramp and didn’t even bother to conceal the curt sigh that hissed through his modulator. “Get us under way.”

“Yes, sir.” The fact that Ren had said nothing at all, well. It said plenty. He’d be traveling in style, but it was likely also in silence. As he dropped into the seat, he realized it was probably better this way; after all, he was lucky his mouth hadn’t gotten him killed yet.

“This is SP-3477, departure code has been submitted for evaluation. En route to,” A glance downwards, before he thought better of it. “A classified location. Acknowledge.”

At least the launch itself came to him as easily as breathing. A mild mannered ship, launching from the complete safety of a friendly hangar, into familiar space. They had sheltered in the harbor of this system, heavily populated with inhabitable celestial bodies and not much else.

At least the launch itself kept the pilot busy for awhile, and minimized the number of curious glances he’d sneak Ren’s way. Eventually, even that had run its course. His gloved finger tips wandered the panels, summoning and dismissing the ship’s status over and over.

“Are we planning on making any stops along the way, or is this a straight shot?

SP-3477’s discretion over the comm didn’t go unnoticed, even though Ren had retreated to the booth to busy himself with the motley collection of tech there - it wasn’t terribly far away from the cockpit. He hadn’t partitioned the interior of the shuttle exactly to his liking yet, another project in the growing pile of busy work he kept for himself. The cargo space led into the “commons” which led directly into the cockpit, with no style to speak of. All function.

The brief seconds between the destroyer’s artificial gravity tapering off and that of the shuttle’s kicking in was always an unpleasant sort of float in the pit of his stomach, but it was still the familiar, welcome experience of flight.

At some point, a soft click indicated that Ren had grown frustrated enough with the limited visibility his helmet afforded him to do away with it. He swiped his hand through his hair a couple of times out of habit immediately after, vexed by something entirely unrelated to the pilot’s constant questioning, though he was sure that would start to grate on him within the hour. “No stops. Time is... somewhat of the essence. It will take us five days to reach our destination as it is.”

Five days.

No wonder even Kylo Ren had needed a primary pilot. With the ship now comfortably navigating one of the quieter hyperspace channels, he figured it was alright to put a few meters between himself and the cockpit. And if it wasn’t, he’d probably hear about it from his new and temporary boss.

There were more surprises to be found here than there had been on the exterior. It was more reminiscent of someone’s personal work space rather than a tidy military craft. A soldering tool lay on top of a small pile of wires and a computer board, a project that wasn’t anywhere near recognizable. Some swatches of dark fabric. A trunk with ornate hinges shoved half behind a week’s worth of food.

And an unfamiliar face.

He was surprised, but decided against commentary. He didn’t know what he’d expected to ever see beneath that mask, but it wasn’t anything like that.

Five days. He glanced into his cabin, surveyed it momentarily, and gently half rolled, half kicked his ready bag through the doorway.

Ren wasn’t that old. That was the first thing. Somehow he felt a little safer thinking about it out of sight. He was probably younger than the pilot, even. It’d take a few more looks to figure that out for sure. Those thoughts persisted even after Poe had pulled his helmet off and washed down his face and the back of his head. No matter what the Order promised, the damn helmets just wouldn’t breathe.

Where even was Lehon? With a towel around his neck, he wandered back out to find where the star charts projected against a bulkhead, flipping through them in what was increasingly beginning to feel like a vain pursuit.

“Rakata Prime,” he muttered abruptly, never taking his focus off of his work yet following the pilot’s every movement all the same. Movement, general vein of thought, the stronger emotions that flickered to the surface; every facet of SP-3477’s existence within this ship was being monitored, whether it was made obvious or not. Ren clarified his statement. “The charts will call it Rakata Prime. Quadrant H14. We’ll stray close to Wild Space to get there.” Never a sentence any pilot wanted to hear.

Finally, Ren opted to lift his eyes to get a more literal look at the man he’d be spending these next weeks with. A mop of curly dark hair and quick, deep-set eyes that hid little. He may have encountered SP-3477 in passing at some point, he realized, but couldn’t place the time. The drilling stare that followed SP-3477 didn’t waver. “I trust that won’t be a problem.”

“Not a problem, sir.” There was a little restrain behind the reply. If they planned on dropping out of this channel and just beyond the edge of civilized space, Poe couldn’t hang back and make chit chat with his delightful host.

“I’ll be in the hot seat if you need me.”

And so for the next forty eight hours, the cockpit became his home away from home. Ren seemed insistent on the fact he had enlisted Poe’s service for a reason, and that he was too busy to monitor the systems.

They barely spoke, and that might have been the most difficult aspect of this for him. Alright, maybe it was second to constantly having to stay glued to the screens watching for unfriendly contact, but it was a close second. Even among the ranks of the First Order, Poe’d managed to build comradery; sometimes, even dangerously close to friendship.

“We’re nearly there,” He called as he wandered back into the common area, although he lingered close enough to keep an ear out for any alerts.

Did Ren ready know that? He probably already knew that. Poe rubbed one hand against his face, already well aware of just how strained his eyes were from watching the scanners. “Have you been here before?”

Nothing happened at first. An eyebrow cocked in what seemed to be amusement while the curious particles still danced between Ren’s hands. “Actually, yes.”

He hadn’t moved a centimeter, but a phantom hand began to close around SP-3477’s throat, slowly yet inevitably. Ren took his time as he stored his project in a small wooden box and swung his boots off of the table to regard the strangling man. “I wanted to remark on how quickly you seem to have forgotten your place - if you knew it to begin with, pilot.” Thinly veiled rage hid behind a mask of boredom as Ren spoke, as much as he tried to keep his voice low and level. Just before SP-3477’s face had a chance to turn uglier shades of purple, he allowed the man breath.

“And to think we were getting along so well.”

People had always told him that he was lucky. There was no denying that he had unmatched skills as a pilot, sure, but there was something else to it. He’d been born under just the right star, and therefore had a _way_ of getting himself out of situations that no one should have survived.

Once the vertigo began to ebb, Poe realized he could definitely chalk this up as one of this situations.

His knees ached, and he now realized he’d ended up on them. His hands braced against the cold metal of the floor, struggling to hold himself upright as he took one greedy gulp of breath after the other. There’d been a time like this before, his canopy cracked and split in a foreign atmosphere, the planet trying to strangle him before he’d even set foot on it.

Still, he’d never felt a hand close around his throat like that. Even if it’d been in his head, it’d been a human hand. It’d been the most personal attempt at his life yet.

He had to fight off a smile, something that was relieved and tired all rolled into one. “Permission to prepare for arrival on Lehos, sir?” One of those hands struggled to find purchase on the back of that booth so that he might pull himself back up, trembling even then.

No panic. Not even a remotely worthy amount of fear emanated from the pilot, and oddly, Ren found himself almost impressed. Most of those on the receiving end of such treatment wet themselves at least a little. His previous anger returned to its customary simmer when it became apparent he’d made his point. "My Lord was nice, keep using that one,” Ren drawled. He stepped around SP-3477 to take a seat in the cockpit before the pilot could recover.

Rakata Prime glittered bright as any jewel. Its seas and archipelagos came into view as Ren eased the shuttle into atmosphere, briefly surveying a map he’d thrown up on the display before choosing to land on a fragmented slab of duracrete that had once been a proper landing pad. It remained serviceable enough, despite the havoc the elements had wrought. The palms surrounding the pad shuddered with the impact and sent golden birds tumbling into the sky.

Even from the cockpit, one could see the abuse the planet had suffered; the landscape had not been formed by natural means, but rather systematically destroyed over millennia by ancient civil wars and conflicts much more recent. The history of it Ren knew intimately, but it hadn’t prepared him for how the planet felt. The very air was steeped in the Force, something that gave Ren more dread than reassurance, thanks to previous experience with this sort of world. Snoke had failed to mention that he’d be contending with this.

After powering the shuttle’s systems down and ensuring security protocols were in place lest any surprise visitors think to take a joyride, Ren shoved himself out of the cockpit and towards the hold, hardly glancing towards the pilot to see how he was faring. “Prepared to disembark?”

#adtenebras #astra non obligant #archium #infectus #i'm not losing this thread to a dead phone too

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