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Prompt 10 with either Fives or a clone of your choice from @the-bad-batch-baroness list of prompts? 👉👈

The Long Way Home [Fives x Reader]

Prompt ten: "Did you feel that?" "Feel what?" "It's starting to rain."

List of all prompts found here [X]. Prompt will be highlighted in blue.

Warnings and Information: Wanting a taste of domesticity the moment he gets shore leave, Fives wants to spend the day with you doing general couple-ly things. A little shopping at the early winter markets of Coruscant, and utilizing every excuse to shower you in all the compliments he can to make up for lost time. When the weather has other ideas regarding your shared plans for the day, Fives is determined to make the best of a less than ideal situation.

This is a general fluff + relationship fic at its core; friendly for all ages this go-round. Reader written with fem!reader in mind, not described save for minor notes about clothing and briefly implied (but not specified) height difference. Fives being a sweetheart. Sprinkling of Mando’a as a treat. As an additional treat, Order 66? Don't know her; Palpatine died and the Republic won the war. 🩷 2nd person POV.

Word-count: 5,912

There's a knock at the front door of your residence, one you've been eagerly expecting most of the morning. You're quick to reach the door, keying him in so he can step inside where it's warm. He's late; which he had warned you about well in advance. And the first thing he offers before his usual hellos is an apology.

A well-practiced one at that, from the warm cadence of his voice, brimming with just the right amount of shame.

“I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, mesh'la, I-”

You tug him close with the collar of his civilian wear (a thick, handmade sweater given to him by Hardcase who had recently taken up knitting since breaking one of his legs - so you're certain to handle it delicately) in a very practiced motion. As expected, it shuts him up just long enough to get a word in while he puts himself nose to nose with you. Practically close enough to taste the words on the others’ lips. “Hey. It's okay Fives. I understand the captain probably needed your help with something, or, you volunteered yourself to help. Again.” Your partner with his well-groomed goatee has a penchant for stepping up and lending a hand to a brother in need, brave and dependable to the end.

Full lips dart apart, the tender flesh brushing over your own lips being this close is nigh impossible to avoid. “Are you teasing or expecting an answer?” Fives asks, hinting to his building confusion below a toothy grin. “Makin’ it hard to tell what you want when I can’t see all of your pretty face.”

That's fair of him to say, you should suppose. “Mostly teasing,” you promise him, at last permitting yourselves to kiss one another as part of the process - brief, chaste, sweet. “You know I wouldn't press you for details if it was classified ARC business.” You never have. Never will until you know the mission has been completed at least; because while you often burn with questions (as is only natural and expected in what was once a friendship, now a partnership) pertaining to his duties and practiced protocols within the GAR, you take the mantra “loose lips sink starships” very close to heart.

Should you ever say something that could jeopardize the safety of the one you love, you’d never forgive yourself.

“No, not ARC business,” Fives offers at last, “I, uh… I told you I was gonna be running late because some of my brothers asked for my help with something kinda last minute.” The palm of his left hand strokes the back of his neck in a self-soothing fashion, a tell of either embarrassment or shame. “I couldn’t bring myself to say no…”

“Young brothers?”

Fives only answers with a nod and an appeasing smile, knowing where this is going.

“Star-struck little brothers wanting to ask what’s it like being an ARC trooper, and how they can train to be just like you?” you muse, exaggerating your train of thought with a couple of taps against your chin with the finger of your non-dominant hand, the other arm wrapped across your body.

It does not slip your notice how his tanned face begins to look a little flushed when you playfully bat your eyes at him for good measure, knowing what that kind of praise does to him combined with the light teasing.

“More or less…”

You giggle, not at him or at his expense, but more the mental image than anything. You can picture Fives, being as eager as he was to come see you now that he had shore leave, getting roped into regaling doe-eyed Clones with lengthy recountings of his service since becoming an ARC. All he wanted to do was peruse the early winter markets with you, the entire idea his from the start; and there he was, at least an hour of his precious free time used up already. All because he was too much of a selfless and wholeheartedly good person for his own good, on occasion.

“I’m sure they appreciated you and Echo doing that.” Fives doesn’t have to mention his surviving squadmate, Echo, to know that the other half of the nicknamed Domino Twins had sacrificed his own time to answer a few (or a hundred, more rather) burning questions. “I’m sure the captain did, too.”

The humble grin is confirmation enough for you. You can continue to tease him later, however - you’re both wasting daylight the longer the two of you choose to linger in your comfortable Coruscanti apartment rather than getting the rest of your things ready. Light coats or other appropriate outerwear still needs to be gathered, the credits you’ve been setting aside for this occasion needs to come out of hiding, and he still needs to collect the rest of his civilian-wear he planned on wearing. There’s only so much space within trooper accommodations for everything he’s accumulated since the start of your relationship. Thick-knit hats, fleece-lined gloves, a scarf in 501st blue, things of that nature.

And boots. It’d probably be wise to grab a pair of all-weather boots rather than tromp the markets in your slipper-socks, no matter how tempting the smooth streets would prove.

Fives is ready far sooner than you, owing to how little he needed to add or change into to be more weather-ready, but he waits patiently. No teasing remarks for how long it takes you to disentangle a simple scarf from all the others, or the childlike nature of repeating the phrase that helped you remember how to tie your shoes even to this day, or any of the other silly little habits you comfortably show in front of him. There’s only a warm, endeared smile to be seen. He’s just happy to be here, to be in your presence after so long, and see all these little puzzle pieces into why he loves you as though for the first time, every time.

“What are you staring at?” you ask with a bemused laugh bubbling up from your throat. Time to time, you struggle to figure your partner out, wondering what can be chalked up to his training and what can be passed off as quirks unique to him. You’ve gotten better with time and practice, being able to discern these instances. “What’s on that beautiful mind of yours, Fives?”

“Nothing more than perhaps the most beautiful person in all the galaxy, cyare.” Fives replies in earnest, dazzling you with one of those smiles that had charmed you since the very beginning. “And how I get to spend most of my first day of shore leave with that person, all to myself.”

Torn between scoffing and brushing him off with oh surely you can’t mean the most beautiful person thing and trying to shield your flushing face from view, so certain your cheeks must be scarlet red with all the flattery, you busy yourself with ensuring your door is locked and secure against unwelcome visitors. There’s been a minor rash of break-ins lately, and you know that a simple door lock won’t do anything to deter the truly determined - only the honest - it always seems to get a bit worse just before large deployments get shore leave… funny how that goes.

At least you get a little help when it can be spared by those serving with the Corrie Guard, given your proximity to the senate buildings here. There was no small amount of surprise the day Commander Fox himself turned up at your doorstep to follow-up with a reported break-in for the unit above your own. He could claim he was there just to ask if you happened to notice anything, and nothing more than that, but you knew better. Working in loose relation to the complex goings-on with the Galactic Senate and the red-clad commander turning up only two hours after mentioning the incident to Fives was too big a coincidence to ignore. (You can only wonder what strings in the line of communication your smarty-pants of a boyfriend had to pull in order to get in touch with Commander Fox, directly.)

A smarty-pants that you had all kinds of preconceived plans to spend the rest of the day with, all to yourself.

The ambling walk to the marketplace offers the pair of you plenty of time to catch up since you last spoke on the comms just over two weeks ago; it was a Zhellday if you're not mistaken.

You don't really bring up your work if you can help it; the problems seem so trivial when you compare them to the frustrations of stamping out those stubborn pockets of Separatist resistance Fives and all his brothers have been dealing with since winning the war just a year ago. A malfunctioning caf-machine spraying your last clean work uniform seems like nothing compared to a desperate firefight against the horrifying, mechanical amalgamations the standard CIS battle droids have become as less and less functional droids become available.

You have to ask Fives to be sure you heard him right after he says it. “Hold on: it had eight arms?”

“Some Separatist-sympathizer - one who's, admittedly, crafty but incredibly elusive - has been a real pain in our shebs for a while now. ‘Case was so badly spooked by the crazy-looking clanker that he fell over backwards on a crate full of smuggled produce.” Fives explains, struggling not to laugh when explaining of all possible ways Hardcase recently broke his leg, it was falling over backwards on a box of illegal fruit and veg.

“He’s okay, right?” you prod, “What'd Kix have to say about the break?”

It's touching to Fives when you show your concern for his brothers, knowing you have genuine interest in their well-being. You always have. When you heard that the production of the cloning facilities were coming to an end on Kamino thanks to Chancellor Organa’s new bill, your immediate thought had been for the young cadets who had not yet finished training.

What's going to happen to those little brothers, Fives? All the Clones still developing in the tubes and the nurseries and-

Mesh'la, with any luck, they'll become the envy of the entire GAR. They'll never have to taste war like we have if we squash out the remaining Separatists sooner than later.

Fives gives the cuff to one of the sweater sleeves an experimental tug with a beaming smile. “Kix said the worst of it will be the bed rest for Hardcase. At least he's found a way to keep his hands busy between the physical therapy he has to do, thanks to Dogma.”

“Aww. That was kind of him.” you croon. He mirrors the relieved smile, sharing in your relief that his brother's injury was not as bad as you feared. He begins fishing through one of his pockets for something, saying he has a picture to show you.

“Hardcase made Dogma the ugliest possible blanket using yarn we had scrounged up for him as a way of saying thanks. Thing's got all sorts of colors from baby pink, to brick red, even a smidge of neon yellow somewhere in there.”

Without question, the immaculate bunk within the frame can be none other than Dogma's. Laid out in a uniform manner is a tidily-knit but disorganized rainbow of yarn in every shade of blue and a handful of other colors. (Sure enough, you can pick out the baby pink, the brick red, and the neon yellow Fives previously mentioned.) Honestly, you think it looks ugly only because there's no reason or order to any of the colors. A crisp, sky blue next to the imagined dryness of such a dusty shade of red is a bit jarring, visually.

‘Case was likely working with the colors of yarn as he received them, if his brothers were coming up with loose odds and ends as Fives claims they did.

You voice the question that crosses your mind the more you look at the image in your boyfriend's hand, “Does Dogma actually use the blanket, or is it just for show until it's time to sleep?”

“Wondered that myself.” Fives admits to you with a cheeky wink between thumbing over to the next picture, a still of Dogma tucked under both the GAR-issued blanket and Hardcase’s, “It was so worth pretending to be asleep for forty-five minutes just to get Dogma to go to bed.” Dogma's always been the last to fall asleep within shared accommodations, so for the ARC trooper you're arm-in-arm with to have pulled the oldest trick in the book in order to get to the bottom of a low-stakes mystery, you can only imagine how disciplined you'd have to be to lay so still and silent for that long.

“Why not just ask him in the morning?” you laugh, realizing how simple it would be to do just that rather than go through such efforts to trick someone into going to bed. Fives shrugs noncommittally in response before tucking his personal device away again, now that you're both within earshot of the outdoor winter market.

It's bustling with activity, even for Coruscant. The pressing crowds and all-encompassing noise will make it difficult to carry on catching up in a meaningful manner for much longer.

“Dogma's not much of a talker in the mornings, sweetheart.” Fives says with a chuckle. “Though to be fair, not a lot of us are either.”

Strange… they've always seemed so… talkative and alert whenever you've had early morning communications with Fives. Those bleary-eyed video calls spent simply staring at the other, not too sure what to talk about in particular. The stolen minutes between breakfast in the mess hall and the barracks. (The lunch breaks where you've snuck off somewhere secret and pretended you're sharing the same ration, they've been talkative for certain!) Have you just done a poor job of noticing until now? Or are they better at masking how awake they truly are than you expect? But okay, fair enough.

Now that you were here at the market, you’d be more than a little preoccupied to be thinking about it much longer, with Fives tucking his fingers between yours to prevent both of you from getting separated from the other. It’s rather busy; it must be the morning rush before everyone has to reluctantly shuffle off to work. And you should probably expect to have more than a few elbows - or entirely unaware people - knock into you and Fives while you’re here.

What catches Fives’ eye first is a female Besalisk vendor with armfuls of rain repellers for sale (one for five credits, or two for ten) with a business partner checking news sources for reports on the weather nearby.

“Ah… knew there was something I forgot to check before getting to your apartment.” He says, quickly casting his eyes skyward. Certainly enough, there are rain clouds gradually building overhead. Strange. While it is technically early winter, this time of year typically has a weird, transitional period regarding the weather. Not quite past the sometimes cold and drizzly days of autumn, but still too early to dust off your proper snow coats from where they've been hiding in the back of your closet.

“Let’s get one to be safe.” you suggest with a reassuring squeeze of your hand in his. If you buy one of the repellers and end up never using the thing, then you were over-prepared with little consequence. Having one more thing to carry wouldn’t be that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, surely. “Hi,” you address the vendor cheerfully, “a repeller for five credits, right?”

“That’s right! Pick whichever one you’d like, dears.” she tells you with a kind wink, thrusting the set of arms bearing all of the rain repellers a little further for your inspection.

Fives wastes little time in selecting a repeller with a sleek and subtle design, something he thinks you’d like, perhaps. He’s incredibly thoughtful in that and many other ways. It’s one of the many parts of him that you ache for in his absence, the fondness for his charisma and slight cheek only deepening when he’s away, aiding in the peacekeeping efforts now that the galaxy is largely free of the Separatists. (How strange that things fell apart so suddenly for them, following shortly after the rather untimely and unexplained death of Sheev Palpatine (that, surely, can’t be related, right?) just last year.) You know he’s not giving up the fight just because they say the Seppies have surrendered, not when there’s still work to be done to make the galaxy safer for everyone.

Fives isn’t still fighting the good fight just for his brothers, but for you too. Every last far-flung outpost they capture, each bubble of resistance they burst, it’s always the same message that finds its way to you, no matter the time and no matter the distance.

For the Republic. For my brothers. For my Kar’ta. Talk to you soon, sweet.

Both of you thank the vendor, and set off on your way, imagining what curiosities and delights could be found by the two of you together on this cold Coruscanti morning here in the intergalactic market. With a cultural hotbed like this - a diverse focal point in the heart of the galaxy with a population of roughly two trillion that is Coruscant - there’s no telling what you and Fives will see, from the familiar to the fascinating.

In a dramatic, sweeping gesture Fives invites you to lead the way into the heart of the market with a dizzying grin, promising to follow wherever you roam.

“After you, angel.”

You’ll only be there for an hour before the increasingly-inclement weather decides to become a little more concerning. Those cotton-soft clouds, planted in the lofty airspace high over even the tallest sentient lifeforms’ head(s), are beginning to appear denser and darker than they were when you set off this morning. Weather reports you peek at while Fives discusses something with a Tatoonine-born vendor suggests you might have another hour before proper rainfall.

“You say the yarn’s a bantha-blend, right?” Fives clarifies, gingerly juggling a few twisted hanks of it in his hands to get a feel for the softness. “Would it work for projects meant for… say, kids?” The vendor’s eyes flick to you, just for a second, and you can imagine what she’s thinking. Your partner catches that too, so Fives clarifies further. “Someone I know had twins last year. Tryin’ to, uh, contribute to a special present for the little ones. Brother of mine got some good yarn from Naboo to represent the mother. I was asked to find something to represent their father while I was here, if I could.”

As could be expected, the yarn-seller is now tittering excitedly about how sweet it is that he and this unspecified brother (who’s definitely either Jesse or Kix) are looking to put together something for this ‘someone they know’ who had twins. Sweet little twins who you’ve happened to see crawling around the floors of the senate building out of the corner of your eye, as a matter of fact. But you’ve been aware of the “open secret” nature of the Skywalker-Amidala twins for some time now, and know you’re supposed to treat it like it’s more of a classified matter than it is in reality.

Yeah, how strange that Senator Amidala and General Skywalker spend a lot of time together. Or that little Luke and Leia show up in the Jedi Temple on occasion, just as a last minute “favor” to the Senator - of course!

“Yes, the yarn should be appropriate for the little ones!” the vendor promises, exchanging the appropriate credits as change from what Fives hands her as payment before gingerly bagging the hanks of bantha-yarn for him. “You’ll find a card with the best care instructions with your purchase inside the bag. Thank you for your business, folks.”

When you've stepped beyond the earshot of the yarn-seller, now again arm-in-arm with Fives as you meander the little sector that seems to be dedicated to all things Tatooine, you feel it's safe to tease.

“You're getting better at lying, Fives.”

“Mesh'la-” Fives warns you.

“Okay, okay… Stretching the truth, if that's what you insist on calling it, mister ARC trooper.” you add.

Fives doubles down on the insistent, close to disapproving tone. “Mesh'la… I've told you several times now, you know why we treat it like a secret.”

“I know, Fives, I was only teasing.” you promise, offering an apologetic expression.

You understand the faux secrecy is largely in relation to the response of some members of the Jedi Council when the inevitable truth about Senator Amidala and not just one child, but two, came to light. There's been a great deal of speculation from the 501st Legion of Anakin Skywalker’s expulsion from the Order; speculation that has them worried. Selfless to the end, the Clones are just as concerned for the fate of their General as they are about their own.

You change the subject as you pass a stall brimming with food-based goods from the Outer Rim planet, a warm, spicy odor cutting through the ambient smell of chilled steel and duracrete surfaces. Looks to be samples of an alteration to bantha steak soup. Something being offered to the market-goers to warm them up as the temperatures fall day by day, or hour by hour.

“Remind me: ever tried any food from Tatooine?”

“Some of it's decent.” Fives admits with a chuckle. “Or, it will at least beat having rations for every meal. But nothing beats your cooking, cyare.”

Your cooking, among many things, is what Fives has been looking forward to most about today, about shore leave. A chance to come home, a chance to catch one another up on the things they’ve missed (things too important or lengthy to say over comms), and a chance for splitting a hearty meal practically invented for sharing with the ones who mean the most to us. Same thing with coming to the market. Fives didn’t want to do a little shopping just to see what was new on Coruscant; he wanted to spend a little time with you away from home first, maybe find something special to buy to mark the occasion.

To be home after so long is a very special thing indeed.

“Hope you’re in the mood for soup tonight.” It’s a little simple, you tell him, but no less comforting or flavorful. “Didn’t know how tired you’d be, when you came home this time.”

“You spoil me.” Fives murmurs lovingly, craning his neck for the moment to plant a sweet, gentle kiss in the crown of your hair and against your temple. His full lips are warm, and where you’ve been kissed seems to glow with that warmth compared to the surrounding chill. “What’d I do to deserve you, kar’ta?”

There’s that word again. Pronounced KARH-ta, as he’s taught you.

It's Mando’a, meaning heart.

“Well, you kept the galaxy safe,” you answer with a sweet smile, “I think that’s a pretty deserving reason, don’t you?”

The warm, heartened smile is all you have to see to know he feels the same way. He helped keep the galaxy safe, yes; of course he should deserve to live a good life with everything said and done. With every bill and law passed towards the betterment of life for Clones after the war, it tastes like the sweetest victory, over and over again. If there was anyone more deserving of thanks, it was the mighty multitude of men who came from Kamino.

As you’re turning the corner of a larger booth within the sprawling outdoor market, Fives mentions that somewhere down the lane he can hear a live performer playing covers of popular songs on what must be a hallikset.

“Must be another one of your little soldier tricks,” you tell him with an impressed shake of your head, “I can’t hear any of that. What’s a hell- hall-? Wait, what did you call it?” How did he pronounce that so easily?

You’re not surprised with many a Clones’ proclivity to be little cultural sponges that Fives seems to have the answer ready for you before you can pull something out of your pocket to search up the instrument he mentioned for yourself. “Halliksets are seven-stringed instruments popular on Naboo. Here, let’s get a little closer.” Fives offers, leading the way ahead to where he hears the music coming from. He wants you to be able to hear it better, to experience it for yourself. Appreciate it fully.

You momentarily pity the player’s poor fingers once you get closer, noting how red with cold they are. Like you, the hallikset’s owner is wrapped in layers between a thick jacket, a gray hood and a long scarf wrapped around their neck. But with the beautiful way they play, plucking and strumming each perfectly tuned string, you wonder if they don't notice, or care. Perhaps the lack of gloves to keep their hands safely warded against the cold is worth it to them for the amount of credits they're pulling in. There's several fistfuls at least, all piled up in the open instrument case.

“Wow… I don't think I've ever seen one before, but it's beautiful; it's a beautiful instrument.” you offer your observation to Fives after spending a few minutes to simply stand and listen to the performer. Buskers, you believe they're called, playing for voluntary donations in public settings.

The busker offers an appreciative grin, playing on smoothly without pausing the performance for even a moment as they bob their head in thanks for your compliment.

“Certainly is, mesh'la.” Fives agrees. He dips a hand into one of his pockets, and adds a couple of credits to the pile in the instrument case. As a way of thanks, the song that was currently being played is masterfully morphed into one of the more familiar military anthems of the Republic, just for a moment.

The performer, a young-looking Twi'lek, has of course recognized that Fives is a Clone, and is hoping to acknowledge what the Republic has done for Ryloth in some small way by playing something a soldier would recognize. Fives is equal parts flattered and amused, even if he himself may never have gone to Ryloth, that he's being thanked and acknowledged like this.

“Heh. You're welcome, kid.”

Putting his free arm around you as you decide to listen to the hallikset a little longer, you and Fives listen to the best recognized music forms of Ryloth start up from the instrument as further homage. You lay your head on your boyfriend's shoulder, leaning into his side a little deeper with a placid smile, drinking in this moment.

Close to an hour later, when more yarn for Hardcase, a few decorative knick knacks for your apartment, and some novelty sweets have ended up among your purchases, someone’s stomach rumbles in complaint shortly before the time you would typically consider having lunch. Luckily Echo has offered to help you locate something by sending you a file to a map of the market with all consumables stalls highlighted and labeled after checking in on how things are going for you and Fives.

While Fives quickly speaks with his brother and squadmate, you check the weather. Steadily, it’s only gotten colder, and in efforts to keep you warmer, Fives has sweetly given up his thick-knit hat for the time being until you come across another stall that offers cold-weather wear. There, he’ll find another hat for himself, suggesting you keep his. The fluffy curls of his clone-standard crew cut have been flattened a bit by the hat, amusingly. As a sweet gesture, you try to fix up his hair for him while listening to what Echo has to say.

Force willing, as it’s only becoming more and more likely that it'll rain, that will be after you grab a quick bite to eat.

(Pantoran food sounds good right about now.)

“Me? Oh, all was quiet on the homefront - busy playing a strategy game against Rex. Until we got ambushed by a couple of giggling womp rats.”

Fives grins like a nexu. “Brothers’ kids or the General’s?”

“Tup’s little boys,” Echo answers jovially between peals of bubbling laughter in the background, “things are getting a bit rowdy here, so you two better go. Enjoy your lunch and the rest of the market; I’ll tell everyone you both said hi.”

“Thanks Echo.”

“We’ll talk later, Echo.” you promise. “Also, I’m keeping your brother all to myself tonight.” Echo’s laugh promises that’s fine by him. He trusts you’ll take good care of Fives, like he takes good care of you in turn. He’ll pass along the information that everyone will see Fives again the following morning. The Clone with the Aurebesh ‘5’ permanently inked on his right temple can only offer an eager smile.

A homemade meal and the promise of staying the night when it wasn’t previously discussed? What better way to end a day than that? Fives walks with a spirited spring in his step, just short of tugging you along after him at first before you match his pace and revel in that excitement together.

Excitement that quickly turns to surprise with the first of the rain starting to fall over the market. There’s a particularly heavy raindrop that lands with an audible spatter on Fives’ left shoulder. He chuckles, the sound somewhere between an amused ‘of course…’ and a nervous ‘uh-oh’. He’s patting down his deep pockets for wherever he’s stashed the rain repeller purchased earlier, since it could very well start raining steadily by the time you reach one of the food stalls that peddles any Pantoran cuisine.

“Did you feel that?” he asks, eyes flicking skyward between some of the many imposing, glinting skyscrapers that make up the surface of the ecumenopolis. It’s a small relief that you’re not quite out in the open, like you would be if the market had taken place in a location like Monument Plaza, at the least. If the rain got intense, fast, Fives could easily squeeze the pair of you into a dry alcove somewhere in the absence of the repeller now in his hands.

“Hm? Feel what?” you wonder just before you feel another droplet glance off your own coat. “Oh.”

So much for getting lunch…

“It’s starting to rain.” the two of you say at once. And while it’s not quite sleet, it certainly feels close to it every time the stray droplet finds a patch of exposed skin. The idle prattle of buyers and sellers shifts in tone; a few surprised shouts here and there while vendors urgently cover their wares, and a few shoppers brushing past panickedly exclaim that they’re faced with taking the long way home because of street-closures tied to the event-space.

Thankfully that won’t be the case for you and Fives with the direction you came from your apartment, so long as the dispersing crowds allow.

Opening the repeller, Fivers now pulls you closer, trying to fit it over both of you best he can. “Here, mesh’la. Wouldn’t want you to get cold and wet… That wouldn’t be a very pleasant combination, now would it?”

“No,” you agree with a little wag of your head, “buuuut, heading back to my apartment and calling in an order for delivery sure does.”

Fives brings up an excellent suggestion while you busy yourself with making sure all your purchases are safely in your arms before the pair of you about-face and make for home. “With a movie to watch, too, right?” Oh Maker, there are so many films you could choose from to watch; there’s always something new that you learn your beloved hasn’t seen, being so wrapped up in the pan-galactic war and its aftermath. Even films you don’t particularly care for become tolerable when you’re snuggled on some comfortable two-seater together, your head planted against his chest as he runs his hands through your hair in idle fashion.

You’re wholeheartedly in support, already impatient to burrow into that large, fluffy blanket with him.

Cupping his face in one hand, you kiss his cheek best you can as you walk, copying his deliberate stride. “That sounds like a great idea, Fives.” It’s kind of a shame that the weather put a bit of a damper on how long you had in mind about spending at the market, you add with a soft sigh.

He smiles, encouraging you not to let it get you down. “Not gonna let a little rain ruin my first day of shore leave, so long as I get to spend it with you, ner kar’ta.” Fives promises, being his sweet, joking self by downplaying the amount of rain. It’s gotten past ‘just a little rain’ at this point in time, with puddles forming atop the duracrete surfaces, some with multi-color veneers to them where the oils previously soaked into the street float to the top.

As the freezing rain builds in strength, it patters and trickles off the rain repeller in thick rivulets while Fives holds it over each of your heads - it’s kind of a tight fit underneath, but neither mind. Making sure both of you and your purchases remain relatively dry means it’s a slow, steady march back home. It’s probably taking you twice as long to get back home than it was to get there. You could be taking some long, convoluted path, and you wouldn’t mind a bit with the way Fives has one of his arms so lovingly, kindly wrapped around the small of your back, both to hold you close, and to make sure you hear him when he talks.

“I’ve got a few stories to tell from this last deployment, besides ‘Case breaking his leg.” he starts, a note of mirth in his tone. “But there was one thing I kept thinking about, more than anything.” Fives adds, the slow cadence suggesting this is important.

Before you permit your mind to race with the possibilities, the many guesses you have, you bob your head, encouraging him to go on.

“I’m listening.”

He wastes no time, sure of his words, but maybe not how to say them. “I wanted to ask if maybe now’s a good time to… Y’know. We might start thinking about a couple of things, now that the war’s over, and things are getting safer…?” You could practically swoon, knowing what he’s trying to tell you. What he’s thought about while he’s been deployed with those who’ve chosen to remain in service to the GAR for just a little longer, aiming to finish the job they’d been made for.

For the Republic. For his brothers.

For you, his heart.

How would you feel about spending the rest of our lives together, cyare?

“Sounds like a good conversation to have over dinner.” is all you’ll suggest for the time being, bringing his face close once more for another caste kiss with the door of your apartment in sight.

If you’d known he’d had this on his mind just a little sooner, or there was no premature rainfall to dampen your plans, maybe you would have suggested taking the long way home after all, just for the fun of it.

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house-of-galathynius · 2 years

Text

The Long Road Home

Chapter Three

Chapter Two - Chapter Four

Word Count: 4k

Arobynn returned two days later.

He wasted no time in seeking Aelin out and making sure she knew who owned her. When he had finished she was left bruised and bleeding on the bed. Her clothes had been ripped off in such a hurry that there were now tears in the seams and she looked like a mess when she traipsed back to her room only a few minutes later. At least that was a positive element of it all— Arobynn only ever seemed to keep her for a few minutes before he was moaning out his release and then sending her away.

Although it never lasted long, she would fill her mind with thoughts of the nameless stranger and his kind smile and intoxicating voice— but sometimes it was not enough to save her from the torment of her husband. Even if she closed her eyes tightly and thought of his white-hair, beautiful green eyes and strong body, it wasn’t enough to rid of her the hatred and violence that was bestowed upon her by Arobynn. But after it was finished and she was alone once again, she would think of him again and let it consume her body and soul.

Phillipa, to Aelin’s surprise was waiting for her after Arobynn had finished. She had entered Aelin’s room beforehand and had a bath ready and clean clothes laid out, and a pot of tea steaming on the low table.

Aelin didn’t hesitate to get in the tub and she relaxed as Phillipa brushed her hair and sung a sweet lullaby.

“Why are you so kind to me?” Aelin asked quietly.

Phillipa paused her brushing. “Because I know what kind of man he is. And I cannot stand to see him break you.”

Aelin didn’t reply. She let Phillipa continue and then she spent the rest of the evening curled in her bed. But as she drifted to sleep, it wasn’t the usual nightmares of Arobynn that plagued her. Instead it was of the green-eyed man that she had crossed paths with only a couple of days ago. She dreamt of his strong hands and the gentle eyes. He held her close with such tenderness that when she awoke she could feel tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away hurriedly and tossed the covers off of her and went to the chair by the fire and opened her book— reading until light filled her room and she no longer felt the phantom hands of the stranger all over her.

“Aelin, darling. Phillipa informed me this morning that you are having your monthly bleeding.” Arobynn said the next morning as they ate breakfast, a slight anger to his tone.

She placed her fork on her plate and swallowed the mouthful of food. “Yes, master Arobynn. It arrived this morning.”

He slammed his fist down on the table and Aelin flinched at the sound. “We have been married for over a month now. Your father assured me that you would be the perfect woman to give me heirs. So where are they? Was he lying?”

Aelin shook her head. “No, master. I— I do not know why I am not with child yet.” Secretly, Aelin had been relieved when she had awoken to bloody sheets. It meant she had escaped her fate for a while longer.

“You will give me what I want. If you do not, then I do not have a use for you. Meaning I will have to find a wife who does.” He waved his fork at her and all Aelin could do was nod.

Despite her bleeding, it did not stop Arobynn seeking her out later than night. His breath reeked of alcohol and he could barely figure out what he was doing— his hands fumbling at his trousers and his movements lazy and messy. But Aelin did not say a word as he did his business and then drunkenly called her a whore before leaving her alone again.

It pained Aelin to admit it, but she had become accustomed to Arobynn’s movements— to his ways. She knew the sounds of his footsteps before she could see him. She found methods to cover the marks her left on her, and she no longer felt the soreness every time he would use her. But it didn’t mean that her head wasn’t filled with somber thoughts and wishes that she could escape.

The only thing she found solace in was that Phillipa was still allowed to take Aelin to the market each week. It was a reprieve from the stuffy house where Aelin could do nothing but tiptoe around Arobynn and the business partners and string of women he would bring home.

Today the market was quieter. The snow had set in a day ago and it covered the streets and gardens in a blanket of white— although the market road had turned into a horrible brown slush that seemed to get in your shoes and on all your clothes, making the walk miserable and damp. But Aelin tried her best to ignore it and enjoyed her momentary freedom once again.

Phillipa was haggling with an old woman over some bread and Aelin was standing a few steps behind, admiring the dainty jewellery that was in the stall next to them. There was a young girl— no older than twelve— sitting behind the wooden table, swinging her legs and humming a tune. The girls father standing just in front, shouting to people walking past about his beautiful rings. And Aelin had to admit, the rings were stunning and something that she would have begged her father to buy her, had she still been single. Arobynn had all but banned her from wearing anything that would draw the attention of other males, unless she was with him. But it didn’t stop her from admiring things from a distance.

“Beautiful aren’t they?” A voice said from behind her. Aelin twirled around and found herself smiling as she looked upon the white-haired, green eyed male.

“They collect old jewellery from criminals or the dead and melt it down to repurpose into something new. The little girl who is sitting there carves beautiful designs into wood as well. A very talented family.”

Aelin smiled. “Very talented indeed.”

The man held his hand out, “Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t think I ever introduced myself.”

Aelin shook his hand carefully and tried not to shudder at the smoothness of his skin, the way his warm hand felt against her cold one. “Aelin Galathy— Hamel. Aelin Hamel.” She cringed. It was the first time she had introduced herself with his surname.

“It is nice to put a name with your beautiful face. After all, we seem to see each other everywhere. But I admit I’ve been hesitant to introduce myself… until now. Embarrassingly enough, I have never had enough courage to approach you.” Rowan laughed and she thought it was one of the nicest sounds she had ever heard. It immediately put something inside of her at ease and she found herself giggling along with him.

“Are you here alone today?” He asked.

Aelin’s smile fell slightly and she shook her head. “I am here with my maid,” Aelin said, pointing to Phillipa who was loading bread into the basket.

“Perhaps I could walk you both home. I would hate to see either of you hurt yourselves on this icy road.” Rowan offered.

Aelin wanted nothing more than to agree. She wasn’t sure what it was— maybe it was the uniform, or the kindness in his eyes… but it made her feel safe. She wanted to feel his hand in her own again, she wanted to have him beside her walking through the streets. But Arobynn was merely minutes away and if he saw Aelin with another man, there would be absolute hell to pay. So Aelin shifted uncomfortably on her feet and shook her head.

“Thank you for your kind offer, sir. But I have to decline. My husband would not take kindly to seeing us together.”

Rowan seemed to nod in understanding. “Of course. Well, I hope to see you again soon.” He bowed lightly and bid her farewell and then marched away down the road.

It was another three weeks until Aelin saw him again. She was at the local tavern with Arobynn and some of his awful friends. Rowan was perched in the corner nursing an ale and watching her intently. She smiled at him once— when Arobynn had been too busy checking the breasts of the barmaid— and Rowan had returned it with his own charming grin.

Throughout the evening she had tried her hardest to keep her focus on the people at her table. But every so often her eyes couldn’t help but wander over to where he sat. The tavern was dark, but the flames of the fire bathed him in a golden light that made him glow. And Aelin didn’t think she had seen a more handsome man in her life.

“Is something more interesting than our conversation?” Arobynn said loudly.

Aelin snapped her attention back to her husband. “No, of course not. I just thought I had seen someone I knew.” She smiled carefully at him and rested her hand over Arobynn’s. “I was mistaken though.”

Arobynn seemed to relax a fraction and nodded. “I was suggesting to our friends that I host a dinner in honour of you.”

Aelin was momentarily stunned. A dinner in honour of her?

“I realised you have been in the city for almost four months now and I have yet to properly introduce you to society as my wife. And with such a beautiful woman by my side, I should be showing you off.” He grabbed her chin and placed a hard, sloppy kiss on her lips. He tasted like whisky and stew and Aelin tried not to gag. “What do you think, darling?”

Aelin nodded in a much too eager manner, hoping she was convincing. “That sounds wonderful.”

Arobynn clapped his hands together and smiled wide. “Wonderful! I shall instruct Phillipa to prepare it all.”

Aelin was distracted again when Rowan rose from his seat in the corner and started to move his way through the throngs of people and towards where she sat. For a moment she froze, fearing he was coming over to speak to them. But then he merely brushed past and then opened the door of the tavern and exited to the street beyond. It took Aelin a few seconds to compose herself and steady her racing heart. Time had slowed when he had passed her, the only thing on her mind was the handsomeness of his face and then strength in his stride. She was not unfamiliar with the feeling that was brewing inside of her. The feelings she had felt for Sam were not too dissimilar to what she was feeling now— but there was something inherently different about Rowan.

“Is he more interesting than me?” Arobynn whispered in her ear. His voice was low and icy, and Aelin shuddered.

“No.” She breathed out.

Arobynn’s hand found her thigh and he squeezed hard. “It’ll serve you well to be more careful when ogling men who are not your husband.” He dug his nails into her thigh and then laughed darkly, “perhaps you should also practice your lying.”

She swallowed and could only manage a nod before she focused her attention to their company and pretend like she wouldn’t be paying for her moment of weakness later.

Aelin had in fact paid for her moment of weakness. She had spent the next week hiding within the confines of the townhouse. As she had predicted, Arobynn had taught her a lesson about looking at other men. He had inflicted such brutality upon her that only now, seven days later, were the wounds on her body just starting to heal. Phillipa and the other servants had been walking on eggshells around her, sneaking her pitying glances when they would pass her by and giving her extra helpings of whatever food they were having for dinner. Phillipa even going so far as to have new dresses made for Aelin— as if they would soften the wounds, physical and mental.

Aelin had only just managed to leave her rooms for the first time in days, barely making it down the hallway when there was a knock on the front door. It was early on a Wednesday morning and preparations for the feast Arobynn was planning for the coming Saturday were underway. She expected the knock at the door was probably another delivery of something for the upcoming festivities. So she waited at the top of the stairs for one of the maids to answer. But then Aelin found herself tearing up when she heard the familiar sound of her mothers voice.

She didn’t hesitate as she raced down the stairs and didn’t care that there were other people loitering in the hallway; Aelin threw herself into the arms of her mother and let tears fall down her cheeks.

“Mama.” She whispered.

Her mother held her close, holding on to Aelin tightly and not letting go until someone cleared their throat behind them. The two women broke apart and Aelin looked to the front door once again and smiled, albeit, more subdued than before. Her father was standing in the archway his face schooled into neutrality as he studied Aelin for a moment.

“Hello, Aelin.” He said with a gentleness she had not heard in a very long time.

“Father,” she bowed her head slightly before continuing, “what are the two of you doing here?”

“Arobynn invited us to the feast he is holding in honour of you. It was perfect timing too, as I have business that I need to attend to in the city.” A maid helped him with his coat and Aelin then led them into the morning room where another maid was already waiting with a pot of tea and freshly baked biscuits.

“Arobynn has such a lovely house. You should count yourself lucky he has such wonderful taste.” Her mother cooed. Aelin could only nod at the words and sip her tea quietly as her mother updated Aelin on gossip from Hampshire. Aelin could barely hear the words that were coming out of her mother’s mouth though, merely sipping her tea and absentmindedly tapping her fingers, nodding every so often and humming her agreement every time her mother asked for it.

“What’s wrong with your cheek, darling?” Her mother asked suddenly.

Aelin’s fingers brushed the sensitive skin along her cheek bone. They had tried to cover it up with powder, but the yellowish tint was still visible. “Oh,” Aelin was stumped for a moment— completely unsure what to say. She cleared her throat and put on a big smile. “I slipped on the ice. It was rather embarrassing.”

Her mother looked like she wanted to push the matter further, but instead gave a sympathetic smile to her daughter and took another sip of tea.

“Have you made any new friends, Aelin?” Her father asked.

The truth was bleak. Aelin had not managed to make any friends except for her maids. She wasn’t even able to call Rowan a friend, not after only a few meetings and brief exchanges of pleasantries. It was inappropriate for her to be friends with him anyway and it was embarrassing to admit that Phillipa was the only person who treated her with kindness. But when Aelin looked at her parents expression, her mother’s hopeful gaze, she couldn’t tell them the truth.

“I’ve made quite a few new acquaintances. Although the people in London are considerably more busy than those in the country. So we don’t get to spend much time together, but I am certain they will be at the feast this weekend.”

Her father smiled and nodded. That was the end of that conversation.

The three of them sat in silence as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the delicious pastries that had been brought up for them. Aelin had to admit that being married and moving away had certainly shifted the dynamic between them. She was no longer treated like a child, but rather as a mature, adult woman. This interaction with her parents was evidence of this shift, it being far from what life had been like when she had been younger and still living at home. But she supposed that not everything could stay the same and things would have to change at some point.

Her mother and father left not long after the tea had finished and the biscuits eaten. And with their departure Aelin decided that she needed to get out of the house. Phillipa was too busy preparing for the party and couldn’t join her to the market. So even though it might have been unseemly, Aelin decided to venture out by herself anyway.

The market was too busy to enjoy just browsing, but Aelin wasn’t ready to go back home. So she roamed alone for a while, sticking to the main streets and only smiling to children or other women. She knew that Arobynn had many friends in the city and she was sure that if she even looked the wrong way at someone there was a chance it could get back to him. So she kept her head down as much as she could, and only breathed a sigh of relief when she arrived at her favourite park.

The weather was still bitterly cold and there were only handfuls of people who had ventured into the cold. But it made her happy to be able to wander by herself. She enjoyed looking at the ducks that were lazily swimming in the unfrozen parts of the pond— laughing to herself as she watched the others attempt to walk on the ice. A few brave children had ventured onto the thicker parts of the frozen water as well and were laughing and shouting as they chased each other around.

Aelin eventually stopped at a bench and sat down, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck and her coat tighter around her chest. She watched her breath come out in front of her and rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. She was probably crazy to have come out in this, but it had been such a long time since she had been able to enjoy the view of something other than her bedroom, she had just not been able to resist.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” A low male voice said, startling her.

She looked up and was surprised to see Rowan standing there, smiling down at her. She jumped from her seat and put some distance between them.

“I was actually just leaving.” She said apologetically. She noticed he was not in his uniform, instead wearing simple black pants and a thick wool coat. She thought he looked just as distinguished wearing that as he did wearing anything else.

He brought her out of her thoughts as he started to speak again. “May I walk you home then?”

Aelin’s eyes widened and she could only begin to imagine what would happen if anyone saw her walking with him. If he had been in uniform it may have been easier to explain away… but even then, Arobynn knew what Rowan looked like. And she had no doubt in her mind that there were people here who would report back to Arobynn.

Though she wanted nothing more than to spend some time with him, to have new company for a while. She had to decline.

“I’m afraid my husband—“

Rowan cut her off. “You have mentioned your husband many times now… if he is so worried about you, then why does he not join you?”

Aelin glanced around. They were still alone for the moment. “He is a very busy man. He doesn’t always have the time to accompany me.” She explained— the lies slipping easily through her mouth.

Rowan didn’t seem to be convinced and gave her a look that suggested his suspicions.

Aelin was lost for words, she had no excuses ready for him and she couldn’t admit that Arobynn would punish her for being near him. She was left with no good reason to tell him to leave her be— not without sounding harsh.

“Let me walk you home.” He said again.

Aelin hesitated. This could end in disaster if someone caught them… but there was something so comforting about Rowan. The way he put her at ease, his kind eyes and gentle manner. The absolute opposite of Arobynn.

So she found herself nodding.

Rowan smiled wide and gestured for her to lead the way. They strolled in silence for a minute or two; Aelin always a slight step ahead of him as they wound their way through the park and then onto the bustling street beyond.

“How long have you been married?”

Aelin glanced at him, swallowing once. “A few months,” Rowan’s face remained neutral but she added quickly, “we’re very happy.”

He let out a hollow laugh. “That’s why you’ve been hidden away for a week and have returned with bruises over your face?”

She instinctively put her hand to her face, brushing her fingers over the faint bruise that she had thought wasn’t too noticeable. “I slipped on ice.”

“I’ve heard that one before.” He scoffed.

Aelin’s cheeks heated.

Rowan blew out a breath and slowed his pace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so rude.”

She nodded. “No need to apologise.”

They carried on a few steps in silence, then Rowan breaking it again. “I saw the way he watched you in the tavern. The way he treated you— like you were nothing more than a piece of property, a piece of meat.”

“I—“ She began, then closed her mouth, words not finding her.

“Everyone in the city knows Arobynn. They know that his previous wives all disappeared under mysterious circumstances, but no one dare confront him— not even the police.” Rowan looked at her, his eyes sad. “When I saw you for the first time, he was dragging you into the house and all I could think was that it was another life he would be taking.”

Aelin shivered, but not from the cold.

“Does he…?”

She wanted nothing more than to spill everything to Rowan. She could feel that he was genuinely concerned for her, but there was a part of her that was telling her it was none of Rowan’s business.

“I can help you.” He said gently.

Aelin halted in the middle of the pavement. There was nobody else around and so she faced Rowan fully. “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that the deaths of his previous wives were unfortunate and all horrible accidents. It would serve you well to remember what is appropriate to talk about with someone you have only just become acquainted with.” She pushed her shoulders back and stood straighter, “I thank you for your offer of help, but even if there was something more sinister going on in the confines of my home, nothing could be done about it because this is the way the world works. I am merely a wife, someone to bear children and support my husband in whatever capacity I can. I am his property, he may do what he likes with me. You should know this.”

“You are no ones property, Aelin.”

“The laws of this land would say otherwise.”

Rowan didn’t reply.

The two of them resumed their walking in silence until they reached the corner of her street and she stopped. Rowan slowed down behind her, keeping his distance. Aelin studied him for a moment, and couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking. He seemed deep in thought whilst he looked at her and then suddenly he was out of it and smiling like everything was fine.

“I’ll see you on Saturday, Aelin.” He bowed his head and stalked off into the ice-covered streets of London. Aelin watching as his strong figure disappeared into the throngs of people. She remained on the corner for a minute longer until she felt the cold seeping into her and had no choice but to go back inside.

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