Areyoufuckingcrazy - The Walking Apocalypse

Star Wars Republic Commando Concept Art: Commandos in action

Made for amazing friend and supporter @meneliltare as a tiny gift for a monthly Buymeacoffee donation❤️ Thank you so much for your help and for being a source of support, inspiration, and smiles for me! For bringing Barduil light and stability in my life🫂 This picture was inspired by our "zoo" conversation, hope you don't mind))

@melodicwriter I'm borrowing your meme to start a tag post, hope that's okay! 😁

So, my writer friends...

What's a line/scene you've written that you're REALLY proud of?

(Doesn't have to be Shakespeare, just one that makes you feel like everything you've written to get to that point in the story is worth it 😄)

No pressure tags: @lifblogs @niobiumao3 @kybercrystals94 @archivewriter1ont @gonky-kong @indigofyrebird @fanfoolishness @ireadwithmyears @royallykt @apocalyp-tech-a and anyone else who wants to share!!!

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For me, the first one that comes to mind is a specific exchange between (Star Wars) Bad Batch's Hunter and Crosshair. Picturing this scene - and hitting on the last few sentences shared here (in bold) - is what convinced me to turn some of my post-season 3 finale Hunter headcanons into a full fanfic. (I'm including some of the initial dialogue from the scene for further context.)

“I wasn’t there for him.”

Crosshair spoke quietly, and Hunter almost flinched at the words – he could guess where this was going. “Crosshair, don’t…”

“I’m the sniper. I’m supposed to watch your backs. I wasn’t there to watch his.”

“His death was not your fault,” Hunter insisted.

“I… I know that now,” Crosshair said, briefly dropping his gaze before looking up again at the memorial, though now not seeming to really see it. “Even if I had been there to help you all find Hemlock, Tech might have died anyway. Still, I failed all of you. I’m trying to make up for it. Omega says Tech wanted us to live and be happy, so… I’m trying. I’m trying to live up to what he sacrificed himself for. But that doesn’t change the fact that I failed him, I wasn’t there for him, and now he’s gone, I can’t make it up to him, and I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

Crosshair was relating his own personal thoughts and feelings; yet it was as if he had reached into Hunter’s brain and pulled out all the darkest thoughts lurking there, giving them substance in words. But those thoughts shouldn’t belong to Crosshair, those words shouldn’t be coming from Crosshair’s mouth; that guilt was Hunter’s to own, and Hunter’s alone.

“Crosshair, I am – was – the sergeant. I’m supposed to lead. Protecting you all is my responsibility.”

“And you have,” the other replied, now looking Hunter square in the face. “You still do. You’re not watching just our backs, either – you’re… you’re everywhere all at once, all the time, protecting us. We’re going to make our own decisions, Hunter, and you couldn’t stop Tech from making his; but you were there for him all the time. You were there with him. And that matters.”

this is the peak of my artistic career

“The Lesser of Two Wars” Pt.3

Commander Fox x Reader X Commander Thorn

The walk back from the senator’s apartment was quiet.

Fox didn’t speak, and Thorn didn’t expect him to. Not at first.

But the silence felt different now—less like calm, more like something that wanted to crack open.

They turned a corner, stepping into the shadow of the senate tower, boots echoing in near-perfect unison.

“She’s sharp,” Thorn said finally.

Fox’s gaze remained forward. “She’s reckless.”

“Reckless, or brave?”

“Doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t provoke like that.”

Thorn huffed. “What, her teasing you?”

Fox stopped walking. Just for a moment.

“She pushes boundaries.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

A pause. Long enough for a speeder to pass by overhead.

Fox turned his head just slightly, just enough to meet Thorn’s eyes.

“I’m not here to indulge senators.”

“No,” Thorn said, quieter now. “You’re here to protect them.”

They walked again.

This time, Thorn’s voice was more level. More careful.

“She’s not like the others.”

Fox said nothing.

“She sees things,” Thorn continued. “Knows when someone’s watching her. Picks up on shifts, silences. She noticed how you walked closer today.”

“I did my job.”

“You changed how you did your job.”

Fox stopped again. Thorn didn’t.

The air between them was a taut wire now, humming beneath the words neither of them would say.

“She’s a risk,” Fox said.

Thorn finally turned. “Or a reason.”

“A reason for what?”

But Thorn didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

They both knew.

Neither man would speak it. Not here. Not now.

But between the edges of their words—beneath the armor, the protocol, the rank—was something alive.

And she was the flame drawing both of them in.

The corridors of the Coruscant Guard base felt colder than usual as Fox and Thorn walked back toward their quarters. The sounds of their footsteps—staccato and measured—echoed around them, a rhythmic reminder of their role, their duty.

And yet, something felt different tonight. Thorn could sense it in the air between them. Fox hadn’t said a word since their conversation on the walk back, and Thorn wasn’t about to press him.

They were just about to turn down the hall leading to their rooms when a trio of figures stepped into view.

Hound, Stone, and Thire.

The trio stood in the shadows of the hallway, their faces hidden beneath their helmets but the casual stance of their posture unmistakable. They were lounging in a way that only soldiers who’d seen too much could manage—relaxed, but always alert.

Hound was the first to speak, his voice muffled but clear through his helmet’s com. “Marshal Commander, Commander Thorn.” He nodded, acknowledging them both. “We were just finishing a sweep of the upper levels.”

Stone smirked, tilting his helmet toward Fox. “So, how’s the senator doing? Keeping you busy?”

Fox narrowed his eyes slightly, but kept his expression neutral. “What’s your point, Stone?”

Stone chuckled under his breath, the amusement evident even through the tone of his voice. “Just saying, it’d be nice if we had the honor of watching over someone a little more… attractive than Orn Free Taa. You know, someone who’s actually worth our time.”

Thorn’s body stiffened, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Fox’s stance didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t give an inch.

But the subtle tension in his jaw was enough to send a ripple of warning through Thorn’s gut. He could feel the charge in the air. He could see Fox’s mind working behind his helmet, weighing his next move.

Thorn opened his mouth to respond, but Fox was faster.

“Get back to your positions,” Fox’s voice was cold, commanding, and unequivocal. “All of you. Now.”

Hound’s helmet tilted slightly, as though he was considering Fox’s words. There was no malice in the moment, but the tone was unmistakable—Fox wasn’t just commanding his subordinates, he was asserting something more.

“Yes, sir,” Hound replied, stepping back and motioning for the others to follow.

Thire, however, raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to bite our heads off, Fox. We were just messing with you.”

Fox’s gaze locked onto Thire. It wasn’t threatening, but it was firm. Unyielding.

“I don’t care what you think about her. She’s not your concern,” Fox said, his voice clipped.

Thorn watched the exchange with growing awareness. He didn’t need to hear more to understand what was beneath the surface. Something was brewing between Fox and the senator. Something Fox didn’t want his men—his brothers—to poke at.

Stone shrugged, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, just making sure you weren’t too distracted, Fox.”

Fox didn’t say another word.

With a final, brief glance at Thorn, he turned on his heel and walked toward the quarters, Thorn following a step behind.

Once they were out of earshot, Thorn allowed himself to breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, raced to piece everything together.

Fox had always been professional, but that reaction—defensive, terse—hadn’t been just about the senator’s safety. There was something else there.

And Thorn wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for it—or jealous of it.

⸻

The air in the briefing chamber was stagnant with politics, but you barely noticed. You’d grown used to breathing it in.

Your eyes, however, had their own agenda.

Fox and Thorn stood across the room—one against the wall like he’d been carved from it, the other with his arms behind his back and a half-step forward, like he was ready to speak but never would unless asked. Both unreadable. Both unnervingly focused.

And both watching you.

Well—not watching. But you knew better than to believe that.

Senator Mon Mothma sat beside you, her voice soft as she leaned in. “You have their full attention, you know.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

She gave a faint, knowing smile. “Don’t play coy. Half the room’s worried about this assassin on the loose. The other half’s watching how the Coruscant Guard looks at you.”

You gave a half-laugh under your breath. “They’re soldiers. They look like that at everyone.”

“No,” Mon Mothma said gently. “They don’t.”

You glanced up again—Thorn now in quiet conversation with Riyo Chuchi, Fox standing near the entrance with his arms crossed.

Both still facing you.

You cleared your throat. When the briefing was dismissed, senators filtered out in twos and threes, murmuring lowly. You didn’t stand right away. You were thinking. Weighing a dangerous idea.

And then you stood—stepping toward Thorn before Fox.

Thorn looked at you with the faintest raise of his brow. Not surprised. Not expectant either. Just… ready.

“Commander,” you said with a smile. “Do you think we’re being overly paranoid, or is this new threat credible?”

Thorn paused for just a moment too long before answering. “It’s credible enough to keep me awake at night.”

Your lips curled. “That’s oddly poetic.”

“I can be full of surprises,” he said, offering a dry, almost-smile.

Behind you, you heard the soft shift of armor—Fox drawing closer, unprompted.

Interesting.

“Do you think I need a tighter guard detail?” you asked, turning your attention to Fox now, letting your gaze linger a little too long.

Fox looked down at you. His expression was unmoved, but you noticed—he stood closer than usual again.

“You’ll have what’s necessary,” he replied evenly.

“Not the answer I asked for,” you said softly.

“It’s the one that matters.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking between the two commanders. “Well, if either of you feels like getting some air later, I’m thinking of walking the gardens.”

A beat passed.

Neither took the bait. But something shifted in both of them.

Not a word. Not a twitch.

But the silence held more than anyone else could hear.

You smiled, just a little.

“Gentlemen.”

Then you turned and left—heels clicking, chin high, spine tall.

And behind you, two commanders stood side by side.

Saying nothing.

Feeling everything.

⸻

The gardens behind the Senate building were meant for tranquility—tall hedges, polished stone walkways, subtle lighting filtered through glassy foliage. It smelled of rainwater and something faintly floral, like a memory from somewhere else.

You weren’t sure you expected anyone to actually take your invitation.

You definitely didn’t expect both of them.

Thorn arrived first, boots quiet against the stone, his presence announced only by the change in the air—he always carried some heat with him, something sharp under control.

“You walk alone often?” he asked, keeping pace beside you without being asked to.

“I like fresh air after long hours of stale conversation,” you replied.

“I can understand that.”

You were about to say more when another sound joined your footsteps.

Fox.

He didn’t speak, just joined on your other side, walking as though he’d always been there.

You blinked, looking between them. “Well. Either I’m under heavy surveillance or someone took my suggestion seriously.”

Thorn offered a soft huff of breath. “I like gardens.”

Fox didn’t answer.

You let the silence stretch. Let them settle.

You stopped near a low wall that overlooked the glimmering speeder lanes far below, resting your hands on the cool stone. Neither man flanked you now—both standing a polite distance back, quiet sentinels in crimson armor.

It was ridiculous, how safe they made you feel. And how annoying that safety had a heartbeat.

“I suppose I should feel flattered,” you said lightly. “Two commanders taking time from their endless duties to walk among flowers with a senator who doesn’t even like politics.”

Fox’s voice was low. “I’m assigned to your protection.”

“I’m not.” Thorn looked at you. “I came because I wanted to.”

You glanced sideways at him, then at Fox—whose jaw had tensed the slightest bit.

Interesting.

You turned to face them fully now, hands behind your back like any good statesperson. But your words were not diplomatic.

“You know,” you mused, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think both of you were trying very hard not to look like you wanted to be here.”

Fox’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not about want. It’s about necessity.”

“You always so careful with your words, Commander?”

“I have to be.”

Thorn stepped a fraction closer. “Some of us know how to loosen the screws once in a while.”

You smiled. Not smug—just amused. Alive. Thrilled by what danced beneath their armored restraint.

“I’ll leave you both to your necessary screws and careful words,” you said, taking a few steps back toward the Senate tower. “But thank you—for indulging a restless senator tonight.”

And then you left them there. Both men. Still, silent, unmoving beneath the warm garden lights.

Unspoken things tightening around their throats.

And neither of them ready to say a word about it.

Not yet.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Sargent Hunter x Mandalorian Reader pt.1

---

The sound of blaster fire echoed through the narrow alleyways of the war-torn city. The Republic had been fighting for years, but the true cost of war weighed heavily on everyone—soldiers and civilians alike. Sergeant Hunter and his squad were on a mission: to extract a high-ranking separatist official, someone who held vital intelligence. But things had gone awry, as they often did.

"Alright, boys, spread out," Hunter said, his voice calm but commanding. "We're on a tight timeline."

The Bad Batch—Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair—moved with precision, their enhanced skills making them unmatched on the battlefield. As they advanced through the streets, a shadow flickered at the corner of his vision. A figure clad in Mandalorian armor stood silently against a crumbling wall, watching them.

Hunter's instincts kicked in immediately. He had seen many soldiers and mercenaries, but there was something about this one—a presence, a coldness that didn't quite fit the norm of the typical bounty hunter. She wasn't in full view, but even from a distance, he could tell she was skilled. Her helmet was shaped with the distinct Mandalorian T-visor, and her armor bore the unmistakable dents and scratches of someone who had seen too many battles.

He motioned to Echo, signaling him to take point. "Cover me."

The rest of the squad adjusted their positions, but Hunter moved toward the alley, cautious but intrigued. The Mandalorian's eyes never left him. She didn't reach for a weapon, but she was clearly ready for one if needed. He approached slowly, his blaster at his side.

"Are you lost, soldier?" her voice was low and guarded, but there was an undeniable strength to it.

"Just looking for someone," Hunter replied, studying her carefully. "You?"

"Same," she said with a slight tilt of her head. There was an unreadable expression beneath her helmet, but Hunter could hear the slight hint of amusement in her voice. "But I don't think you're the one I'm after."

Hunter furrowed his brow. "Then you're not a threat?"

She chuckled, and it was a sound that made his instincts flare. "Not to you, no. I'm just trying to survive, same as everyone else."

He took a cautious step closer. "I don't know many who would wear Mandalorian armor and not fight for a cause."

The Mandalorian paused, her posture shifting slightly as she adjusted her stance. "My cause is my own, Sergeant," she said. "I'm no different from you, except I work alone."

Hunter tilted his head, studying her. "You don't seem like someone who works alone."

The Mandalorian's hand subtly rested on the hilt of her blaster, but she didn't draw it. "What do you know about me, Sergeant Hunter?"

Hunter's gaze narrowed slightly. She knew his name. It was strange—he hadn't told her, and yet her tone had a knowing edge. It piqued his curiosity even further.

"I know you're a mercenary of some kind," Hunter said, testing the waters.

"Close enough," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "But I'm no mere merc. I'm a bounty hunter. And I have my own code to follow."

Hunter nodded slowly. He'd encountered bounty hunters before, but there was something about her—her confidence, her skills—that set her apart from the usual hired guns.

The two stood in silence for a moment, the distant sounds of war barely breaking the stillness between them.

Hunter wasn't sure why he felt so drawn to this woman, this Mandalorian. Maybe it was the way her presence seemed to hold steady in the chaos. Maybe it was the way she didn't back down, didn't flinch under the weight of the situation. But something in him—the soldier, the leader, the man—couldn't help but want to know more.

"Why are you here?" he asked quietly, his tone more personal than he intended.

Her voice softened slightly as she answered, "Same reason as you, Sergeant. I'm looking for someone... or something. And maybe, just maybe, we're both after the same thing."

Hunter's interest peaked. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say," she began, "I've been hunting a certain individual who's not exactly on the Republic's side. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to bring him down."

Hunter's gaze hardened as he considered her words. "I get that. But the Republic's not going to take kindly to a bounty hunter crossing their path. Especially a Mandalorian."

The Mandalorian gave him a wry smile. "I've never been one to follow the rules."

Hunter couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, I've noticed."

They stood there, exchanging glances, understanding the complexity of the situation. For a moment, there was a quiet understanding between them—two warriors, both driven by duty, yet standing on opposite sides of the battlefield.

"So," Hunter said, "what happens now?"

The Mandalorian's gaze flickered toward the distant sounds of blaster fire and explosions. "Now? We finish the mission. But don't get too attached, Sergeant. My code is my own."

"I don't plan on getting attached," Hunter said, though he couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, an unspoken connection between two soldiers caught in a war that neither fully understood.

They exchanged one last look before turning back to their separate paths. The mission was still at hand, and neither of them had time to deal with distractions—at least, not yet. But as Hunter moved back to join his squad, he couldn't shake the thought of the mysterious Mandalorian bounty hunter, wondering just how much she was hiding beneath that cold exterior.

And maybe, just maybe, their paths would cross again. The war had a way of bringing people together, even when they didn't want to be.

“is this character good or bad” “is this ship unproblematic or not” “is this arc deserving of redemption or not” girl…

“The Lesser of Two Wars” pt.4

Commander Fox x Reader X Commander Thorn

Thorn didn’t storm. That wasn’t his style. He walked with purpose, armor humming low with motion, cape swaying behind him like a whisper of discipline.

But Hound noticed.

He was lounging against a supply crate near the barracks entrance, tossing a ration bar to Grizzer, who promptly ignored it in favor of chewing on a ruined training boot.

“Evening, Commander,” Hound said, biting back a grin. “You walk like someone just voted to cut rations for clones with sense.”

Thorn didn’t answer. He brushed past, stopped, and then turned around so sharply Hound blinked.

“Why the hell does she smile like that?” Thorn muttered.

Hound blinked again. “…Pardon?”

“Senator,” Thorn said curtly. “The senator. She smiles like she doesn’t care that we’re built for war. Like we’re not walking weapons. Like she’s not afraid of what we are.”

Grizzer let out a soft woof.

Hound tilted his head. “So… what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Thorn said, pacing now, his helmet under one arm, “is that I find myself caring about her smile. Noticing it. Waiting for it. The nerve of her—walking between two commanders like it’s nothing. Like we’re not trained to see everything as a threat. Like she’s not a threat.”

“To what? Your assignment?” Hound asked, amused. “Or your emotional stability?”

Thorn glared. Grizzer whined, wandered over, and bumped his head into Thorn’s shin. He reached down and idly scratched behind the mastiff’s ears.

“She got under your skin,” Hound said, chewing on the stem of a stim-pop. “Happens to the best of us. She’s clever. Looks good in those robes. Has a backbone of beskar. What’s not to notice?”

“I don’t want to notice.”

“Ah, but you do.”

Thorn didn’t reply.

He sat down heavily on the bench beside Hound, setting his helmet down beside him.

“I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. About her.”

“She flirt with you?”

Thorn hesitated. “Not… obviously.”

“But enough to make Fox irritated.”

Thorn raised a brow. “You noticed that too.”

“Please. Fox’s expression didn’t change, but the man started walking closer to her like she was carrying his damn tracking chip.” Hound chuckled. “Bet he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

They sat in silence for a minute.

Grizzer dropped the training boot in front of Thorn and wagged his tail.

Thorn stared at the mangled leather. “That’s about how my brain feels.”

Hound laughed. “Commander, you need sleep.”

“I need a reassignment.”

“You need to admit she’s under your skin and figure out how not to let it compromise your professionalism.”

Thorn exhaled slowly.

“Can’t let it show.”

“Good,” Hound nodded. “Now come inside before Grizzer starts thinking you’ve become a chew toy too.”

Thorn stood, gave the mastiff a final scratch behind the ears, and retrieved his helmet.

He didn’t say another word—but the weight in his steps had shifted. Just a little.

Not lighter. Not heavier.

Just more aware.

⸻

The city was unusually quiet that evening. The hum of speeders far below faded beneath the hush of twilight. The Coruscant skyline glowed, glass and durasteel kissed by soft reds and purples.

Fox didn’t linger in beautiful places.

He was there on duty, posted near the upper balcony where the senator had stepped out “just for a breath.” He hadn’t planned to engage, only observe, protect, return.

But she hadn’t gone back inside.

She leaned against the railing, alone, hair pinned up loosely, a datapad forgotten beside her, as if the very idea of responsibility repulsed her in that moment.

He waited a respectful distance. Still. Silent. Like always.

Then she spoke.

“You ever wonder if all this”—she gestured to the skyline—“is actually worth protecting?”

He said nothing. He was trained for silence. Expected to maintain it.

But her voice was quieter this time. “Sorry. I know that’s dark. I just—feel like I’m holding up a wall no one else wants to fix.”

Fox found himself responding before he thought better of it. “That’s the job.”

She turned slightly, surprised.

He added, “Holding up the wall.”

The senator gave him a faint, exhausted smile. “Do you ever feel like it’s crumbling under your feet anyway?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

He took a step closer instead.

A small thing. Measured. Not enough to draw attention.

But enough for her to notice.

Her gaze lowered to the space now between them. “Commander,” she said gently, teasingly, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were getting comfortable.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly.

She tilted her head. “Shame. It’s a lovely view.”

He said nothing, but his eyes didn’t move from her.

And then—

She turned away. Not dramatically. Just slowly, thoughtfully, brushing a finger along the rail’s edge.

“It’s funny,” she said, voice soft again. “I think I trust you more than I trust half the Senate.”

“You shouldn’t,” he replied, too quickly.

She looked over her shoulder. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer.

Because the truth was—

He didn’t know.

He looked away first.

You stared.

Fox was composed, always. The kind of man who spoke with fewer words than most used in a breath. You’d watched him through Senate hearings, committee debriefings, and those long silences standing at your side. He was built for control—stone-set and unshakable.

Which is why this moment felt like seeing a fault line in a mountain.

You stepped toward him.

Just slightly.

“I asked why not,” you repeated, your voice lower now. Not coy. Not teasing. Just… honest.

Fox’s helmet was clipped to his belt, his posture precise. But his jaw had locked. His brow was tight—not angry, not annoyed.

Guarded.

“You don’t know me,” he finally said, eyes fixed on the horizon like it might offer him cover.

“I know enough,” you replied, softer.

He didn’t move.

You tried again.

“You think I trust people easily?” A dry laugh left you. “I sit beside men who sell planets and call it compromise. I’ve had allies vote against my own bills while smiling at me from across the chamber. But you—when you walk into a room, everything sharpens.”

That got his attention. A flicker of his gaze, brief but direct.

You stepped closer.

“You don’t talk unless it’s important. You watch everything. And no one gets close, not really. But I see the way your men listen when you speak. I see how you stand between danger and everyone else without asking for anything in return.”

His expression didn’t shift. Not much.

But his hands curled faintly at his sides.

“I trust you, Commander,” you said. “And I don’t think that’s a mistake.”

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the edge of your robe.

Fox was quiet for a long time. And then—

“Don’t.”

One word. Clipped. Too sharp to be cold.

You blinked. “Don’t… what?”

He turned to face you fully now, and there was something there—in his eyes, usually so still. Not anger. Not fear.

A warning.

“Don’t mistake professionalism for something it isn’t.”

You looked up at him for a moment, unmoving. “I’m not.”

His jaw flexed. “Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

That hit a nerve. You stood straighter, chest tight.

“You don’t get to blame me for not hearing the things you’re too chicken to say,” you said quietly, your voice clipped but steady.

His breath caught—not visibly, not audibly. But you saw it. In the eyes. In the way his shoulders tightened, like something had landed.

But he didn’t respond.

You watched him another moment, then stepped back, retreating into the cool hallway of the Senate building without another word.

He stayed there.

In the quiet.

And stared after you like the words had hit him somewhere unarmored.

The marble under your boots echoed with each step, but you walked without a sound.

The exchange with Fox still thrummed in your chest. The way he’d looked at you. The way he hadn’t.

The way his silence had said too much.

You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to will the flush in your skin to cool. You hadn’t meant to push that far—but stars, you had been waiting for something. Anything. A sign that the wall wasn’t so impenetrable.

You didn’t expect the next voice you heard.

“My dear senator,” came the smooth, silk-wrapped timbre of Chancellor Palpatine.

You froze.

Not because of fear. But because his voice always had that effect.

You turned and offered the practiced smile you reserved for… certain company.

“Chancellor,” you said, clasping your hands politely in front of you. “I didn’t see you.”

He stepped into the corridor from the far end, draped in red and black, expression benevolent, but sharp beneath the surface.

“I was passing through after a long meeting with the Banking Clan representatives. Tense discussions, I’m afraid. I trust you’re well?”

“Well enough,” you replied smoothly. “Just getting some air.”

“Ah,” he said, folding his hands behind his back as he walked beside you. “We all need moments of reflection. Though I imagine yours are far and few between these days. The Senate rarely allows much rest.”

You gave a short laugh. “No. It certainly doesn’t.”

He glanced at you, unreadable.

“I hear the Guard’s been paying close attention to you lately. Commander Fox himself, no less. It’s good to see such… attentiveness. You must feel very safe.”

Your spine straightened slightly. “They’re dedicated men. I’m grateful for their protection.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, the warmth in his tone not quite reaching his eyes. “Still… I hope you remember where your true allies lie.”

You offered him the same tight smile. “Of course, Chancellor.”

He regarded you for a moment longer. “You’ve always been a passionate voice, Senator. Young. Decisive. I do hope you’ll continue to support the efforts of the Republic, especially as we move into… more delicate phases of wartime policy.”

You didn’t flinch. “I serve the people of my system. And I believe in the Republic.”

“But belief,” he said, gently, “is only part of the duty. Sometimes we must make difficult choices. Unpopular ones.”

You met his gaze and gave nothing back.

“Then I hope the right people are making them,” you replied.

His smile thinned. “As do I.”

You inclined your head. “If you’ll excuse me, Chancellor, I do have a report to finish.”

He stepped aside, allowing you to pass.

“Of course. Rest well, Senator. You’ll need your strength.”

You didn’t look back.

You didn’t need to.

The shadow of his presence stretched long after his footsteps faded.

⸻

Fox sat in the dark.

Helmet on the table. Armor half-unclasped. Fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose.

He hadn’t even made it to his bunk.

The locker room was silent, most of the Guard long since rotated out or posted elsewhere. The overheads were dimmed. Only the soft mechanical hum of the lockers and the occasional flicker of red light from an indicator broke the stillness.

But his mind wasn’t still.

He’d heard people raise their voices at him before. Angry senators, frustrated generals, clones pushed to the brink. That was easy. Anger rolled off him like rain off plastoid.

This was different.

She hadn’t said it to wound him.

She’d said it like she meant it.

Like she saw him.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do with that.

His hands flexed in his lap, slow and deliberate. He remembered how she looked tonight—standing under the red-gold skyline, eyes bright but tired, speaking softly like they were the only two people left in the galaxy.

It was wrong. Letting it get to him.

She was a senator. He was a soldier.

It wasn’t supposed to matter what her voice did to his chest.

What the scent of her did to his focus.

He wasn’t Thorn. He didn’t lean in. He didn’t get rattled by conversation, didn’t let his mouth run ahead of his orders.

But… she’d gotten under his skin. Somehow.

Fox exhaled slowly and reached for his gloves.

Then paused.

His thumb hovered over the comlink tucked beside his helmet.

He stared at it for a moment. Not to call her. He wouldn’t.

But just knowing she could.

That if she needed him, his name would be the first thing spoken through the channel.

He set his jaw, stood up, and locked his armor back into place.

Duty first.

Always.

But his mind stayed behind, somewhere on a balcony, in the dusk light… with her.

⸻

The door slid open with its usual soft chime. You stepped inside, heels clicking gently against polished stone, and leaned heavily against the wall the moment it shut behind you.

Exhausted didn’t quite cover it.

The encounter with the Chancellor still lingered like static. And Fox—

Stars above, Fox.

You kicked off your shoes, dropped your bag, and made your way into the kitchen. You poured yourself something strong and cold, letting the silence of your private apartment sink in.

And then—

The soft buzz of your datapad.

You blinked.

A message.

Not from the Guard.

Not from your aides.

But…

Commander Thorn: Heard there was a rough hearing. You alive in there, or should I break down the door?

You smiled.

And for a moment, the tension eased.

You didn’t reply to Thorn right away.

You stared at the message, lips curving despite the weight still pressing behind your ribs. A chuckle slipped out—quiet, private. The kind meant only for a screen, not a roomful of senators.

Your fingers hovered over the keys for a second before typing:

You: Alive. Barely. Tempted to fake my death and move to Naboo. You free to help bury the body?

The typing indicator blinked back almost immediately.

Thorn: Only if I get first choice on the alias. I vote “Duchess Trouble.”

You: That’s terrible. But I’m keeping it.

Thorn: Thought you might. Get some rest. You earned it today.

You stared at that last line.

You earned it today.

You weren’t sure why those words hit harder than anything in the hearing. Maybe it was because it came from someone who saw things most senators never would. Maybe because it was real.

You typed back:

You: You too, Commander.

And then you set the datapad down, changed out of your formal wear, and let exhaustion carry you to bed.

You weren’t asleep long.

The shrill tone of your emergency comms broke through your dreams like a blaster shot.

You jerked upright, blinking against the haze of sleep, reaching for the device without hesitation.

“H-hello?” your voice cracked, still hoarse from sleep.

A voice—clipped, familiar, urgent—responded.

Fox.

“Senator. There’s been another incident. We’re en route.”

You were already moving. “Where?”

“Senator Mothma’s estate. Explosive detonation near her security gate. No confirmed injuries, but it’s close enough to send a message.”

You froze for only a heartbeat.

“I’ll be ready in five.”

Fox didn’t waste time on reassurance. “We’ll be outside your building. Don’t go anywhere alone.”

The line cut.

You stood in the dark for a second, pulse racing, mind already shifting into survival mode.

Whatever peace you’d clawed out of tonight had just shattered.

⸻

It was a controlled knock—no panic, no urgency—but hard enough to rattle the stillness of the apartment. You flinched, fumbling with your robe as you darted from your bedroom barefoot, still half-dressed.

“Stars, already?” you muttered, cinching the robe at your waist.

The buzzer chimed again.

You hit the panel to open the door.

And there they were.

Fox. Thorn. Towering in crimson armor, backlit by the corridor lights and the glint of Coruscant’s neon skyline. Visors staring forward. Blasters holstered—but you could feel the tension radiating off them like heat from durasteel.

Neither said anything at first.

Then, in a voice low and composed, Fox spoke:

“Senator. We arrived earlier than anticipated.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you breathed, pushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. Your robe was thin—too thin, you realized, as the air from the hallway crept over your skin. You crossed your arms instinctively, but it didn’t hide much.

Fox’s helmet tilted slightly—eyes dragging across your form in a quiet, tactical sweep. Not leering. Just… a longer pause than necessary.

Next to him, Thorn cleared his throat.

You raised an eyebrow at both of them. “Enjoying the view, Commanders?”

They didn’t flinch. Of course they didn’t. Both statues of composure, helmets hiding any flicker of reaction.

Fox spoke again, brisk. “We’ll step inside and secure the apartment. You have five minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” you muttered with mock-formality, brushing past them with bare feet against the floor. As you turned, you caught it—Fox’s head slightly turning to follow your movement. A fraction too long.

And thank the stars for helmets, because if you saw his face, you’d never let him live it down.

They moved through your apartment in practiced rhythm, clearing rooms, scanning corners, locking down windows and possible points of breach. Thorn stayed closer to the door, back to the wall, but his shoulders were taut beneath the red of his armor.

You emerged a few minutes later, dressed properly now—hair pulled back, expression sharpened by the adrenaline still running its course.

Fox glanced your way first. His visor tilted again, more subtle this time.

“All clear,” he said, voice crisp. “You’re to be escorted to the Guard’s secure transport. We’ll be moving now.”

You met his visor with a crooked smile. “You didn’t even compliment my robe.”

Thorn, behind him, let out a breath. It might’ve been a laugh. Or a sigh of please, not now.

Fox said nothing.

But his shoulders stiffened just slightly.

And as you stepped between them, one on each side, the heat of their presence pressed in like a second skin.

Danger waited out there.

But for now, this tension?

This was its own kind of war.

⸻

The hum of the engine filled the silence. City lights flared and blurred past the transparisteel windows as the transport cut through the lower atmosphere. Inside, the dim blue glow from the dash consoles painted all three of you in a cold, unflinching light.

Fox sat across from you, arms folded, helmet still on. Thorn was beside him, angled slightly your way—watching the shadows outside like they might reach in and pull the vehicle apart.

No one spoke at first.

It was you who finally broke the silence.

“This isn’t random, is it?”

Fox’s head turned. Slowly. “No.”

Thorn added, “Three incidents in four days. All different targets, different methods. But same message.”

You nodded, arms tucked around yourself. “The threat’s not just violence—it’s disruption. Fear. Shake up the ones trying to hold the peace together.”

Fox leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Senator Organa’s transport was sabotaged. Padmé Amidala intercepted a coded threat embedded in one of her Senate droid updates. And now Mothma’s estate.”

“All prominent senators,” Thorn said. “Known for opposing authoritarian measures, trade blockades, or Separatist sympathies. Whoever this is… they’re strategic.”

“And the Senate’s pretending it’s coincidence.” You exhaled a sharp breath. “Cowards.”

Fox didn’t respond, but you saw it in the turn of his helmet—like he’d heard a truth too sharp to name.

Thorn’s voice cut the quiet next. “You’re on the list too, Senator. Whether they’ve moved or not, you’ve been marked.”

You met his gaze, even through the visor. “That’s not exactly comforting, Commander.”

“You wanted honesty,” he replied quietly.

You blinked, caught off guard—not just by the words, but the tone. Low. Sincere. Laced with something warmer than protocol.

Fox shifted, barely. A turn of his body, a flicker of subtle tension.

“They’ll keep escalating,” he said. “We don’t know how far.”

The transport took a turn, and city lights streamed in again, outlining their armor in a way that made them seem more like war statues than men.

And yet, when you looked at them—Fox silent and braced for anything, Thorn watching you with just the slightest flicker of concern behind the visor—it wasn’t fear that struck you.

It was the creeping awareness that maybe the danger outside wasn’t the only storm building.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Crossfire” pt.4

Commander Cody x Reader x Captain Rex

They were finally getting somewhere with the mushrooms.

Three months of trial and error, of accidentally poisoning themselves and burning entire patches with poorly timed irrigation. But these mushrooms—these beautiful, lumpy, squat little bastards—were finally growing like they meant it.

Until the sky tore open with a screech.

The kid looked up from his sketching in the dirt. “Is that…?”

A fireball. A very fast, very large fireball.

It roared overhead, trailing smoke and sparking debris like a comet, then slammed into the far end of the field with a sound that shook the gods themselves. The shockwave knocked her flat on her back. A chunk of metal thudded into the side of the barn, and a burning piece of hull rolled to a stop near the compost heap.

The mushrooms were gone. Instantly vaporized.

The kid blinked. “Are we under attack?”

She sat up slowly, picked a rock out of her hair, and said the only thing that made sense in that moment:

“I am going to kill whoever just landed in my fucking mushrooms.”

She marched across the field in a rage, boots kicking up clouds of dust, coat flapping behind her like she was Death herself. The kid trailed a few meters back with the loth-cat perched on his shoulders like a greasy, purring scarf.

The escape pod was smoldering. Not just any escape pod—Republic grade.

She felt her stomach twist.

No. Nope. Not today. Not after three months of near-blissful obscurity and only mild mushroom poisoning.

The hatch hissed open with a sputter of hydraulic release.

And then he climbed out.

Tall, leather-clad, mouth already smirking with too much arrogance for one face—Skywalker.

She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Following behind him, covered in soot and looking like she also couldn’t believe this was happening, was Ahsoka.

Then Kenobi.

Then—oh, stars help her—Rex.

And finally Cody, stepping down from the pod with a limp and a muttered curse, brushing ash from his shoulder armor.

Her field. Her house. Her whole damned quiet life—gone in an instant.

“Someone explain to me,” she said loudly, gesturing wildly at the crater of destroyed mushrooms, “how five of the most high-profile beings in the galaxy managed to land ass-first in my farm.”

Skywalker grinned like this was a game. “Nice to see you too.”

Kenobi cleared his throat. “We had a malfunction. Emergency crash landing. Our transport was shot mid-atmosphere—we were the only ones who made it out.”

“Out of where?”

“Teth orbit.”

Of course.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let me guess. You tracked a separatist fleet here. Or were you following rumors? Or chasing shadows? Or—wait—did the Force just tell you to nose-dive into my crop field like a meteor from hell?”

Cody stepped forward, pulling off his bucket slowly. His hair was longer. The circles under his eyes were darker.

“You’re alive,” he said quietly.

She stopped.

All the sarcasm, the frustration, the fire—it dulled under his voice.

Rex took a slow step forward too, eyes locked on her. “Why the hell didn’t you answer your comms?”

The kid tugged at her sleeve and whispered, “Are you in trouble?”

She exhaled. Long and deep.

“Probably.”

⸻

The crash site had been repurposed into an impromptu camp, with scavenged supplies and makeshift shelters haphazardly lining the edge of the scorched mushroom fields. The fire from earlier had finally died down, though it left a thick charred stink that clung to everything—including her mood.

The kid had fallen asleep in the barn with the loth-cat curled up on his chest, blissfully unaware that the entire Republic just landed back in their lives.

She sat on a crate near the dying embers of a fire, nursing a bottle of something stronger than patience.

“Didn’t think we’d find you like this,” Rex said, taking a seat beside her, slow and deliberate. His armor was still half-dusted with ash, his brow furrowed with unreadable emotion.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t find me at all,” she said, voice quiet but honest. “No offense.”

“None taken. But it’s been months. You ghosted the whole galaxy. You think people wouldn’t start asking questions?”

“I didn’t want to be asked any.”

He glanced toward the barn. “Is that the kid?”

She nodded. “His name’s Kes. He likes sand. Which is—just disgusting. But he’s a good kid. Strong. Smart. Weird little Force meditations with wookiees seem to be helping his anxiety.”

Rex tilted his head. “You… meditated?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Mock me again, Captain, and I’ll bury you in what’s left of the tomato patch.”

He gave a soft, short laugh. “You know… it suits you. You with dirt on your face, pretending like you’re not still dangerous.”

“Dangerous doesn’t go away, Rex. It just… changes form.”

A silence settled between them. Heavy. Familiar.

“Did you disappear because of him?” he asked quietly.

“I disappeared because it was the only way to keep him alive.”

He nodded slowly, accepting that answer—if only partially.

⸻

Later, it was Cody who found her.

She was checking the irrigation lines, pretending she still gave a damn about their soggy, half-dead crops. The torchlight danced across his armor as he stepped out from the shadows near the treeline.

“You could’ve told me,” he said.

She didn’t look up. “Would’ve been easier if I did, yeah. But I figured I’d said enough back then. Too much.”

He didn’t answer immediately. He walked over, crouched beside the irrigation tube, and tested the flow valve like he actually knew what he was doing.

“Place is a mess,” he muttered.

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant,” she said, cutting him off gently. “And it is. It’s a disaster. But it’s… mine. Ours, I guess. Until now.”

He stood up, jaw tight. “You’ve got half the Council questioning your loyalty, the Chancellor missing you, and Rex losing sleep wondering if you were dead.”

“And you?”

He met her gaze. “I never stopped wondering what you were really doing. But I never stopped hoping you were doing it for the right reason.”

The torchlight caught on his eyes just enough to soften them.

“Careful,” she murmured. “You almost sound like you trust me.”

“I do,” he said. “Even if I probably shouldn’t.”

⸻

Not far from them, the Jedi weren’t sleeping.

Kenobi, as calm as ever, approached her while she stood alone again, watching the barn like it might vanish if she blinked.

“You went into hiding,” he said, voice too measured. “With a child who wasn’t yours. A senator’s child. A Force-sensitive one, no less.”

“Observation or accusation?”

“Depends. You were seen fleeing with him. And now, months later, we find you living off stolen land with the boy, no contact, no explanation.”

She sighed, long and deep. “Because I was saving his life. That was my mission.”

“Whose mission?”

“I didn’t elaborate for a reason, Kenobi. Don’t make me lie.”

He frowned at that. “You’re not helping your case.”

“Maybe I’m not trying to.”

⸻

Meanwhile, not far off—

Anakin and Ahsoka had discovered the ‘greenhouse’—a.k.a., the half-collapsed shed filled with wilting vegetable attempts.

“Are these… carrots?” Ahsoka squinted at a brown, shriveled root.

“Were. Once,” Anakin said, picking up a moldy tomato. “What the hell happened to this one?”

Ahsoka grinned. “I think it tried to escape.”

Anakin smirked. “Honestly, I’d defect too if I was grown here.”

She appeared behind them, arms crossed. “You’re real confident for people who crash-landed into my food supply.”

Ahsoka looked up. “So… you’re not a farmer.”

“No. I’m a bounty hunter playing house because I didn’t want to murder a Force-sensitive child in cold blood, thanks for asking.”

Anakin gave a long, low whistle. “And they say I’ve got issues.”

She pointed at the ruined row of vines. “You owe me one acre of semi-functional mushrooms. And emotional damages.”

⸻

The sun broke through a split in the clouds like it had something to prove, washing the battered farm in soft gold and cruel clarity. Smoke from the crashed pod still lingered in the air, and the smell of singed crops was stubborn in the soil.

She stood at the edge of the fields with a half-dead vine in her hands, debating whether it was salvageable—or symbolic. Maybe both.

Behind her, Jedi and troopers moved about quietly, still camped on her land, still breathing the air she thought she’d carved out for herself and the kid.

Kes.

He was chasing the loth-cat in bare feet, giggling in a way that made her chest ache.

They’d found her. It was only a matter of time before someone from the Republic came to drag her back—if not for punishment, then worse. Interrogation. Reassignment. Or orders she wouldn’t be able to stomach.

The choice sat in her throat like a loaded blaster.

⸻

Kenobi stood near the comms unit, silent and unreadable, arms behind his back as he stared at the console without activating it.

“General,” she said, stepping beside him.

“[Y/N],” he replied, still looking forward. The formality of it made her want to scoff.

“You haven’t reported in.”

“No.”

“You’re going to.”

“Eventually.”

She looked at him carefully, but he didn’t turn to meet her eyes.

“You’re not sure what’ll happen to him if you do.”

“I know exactly what will happen,” Kenobi said. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to watch it.”

They stood in silence.

“I’m not a mother,” she said finally. “Maker knows I shouldn’t be left alone with anything more delicate than a hydrospanner. But I didn’t kill him. I didn’t turn him over. I’ve just… kept him alive. And safe.”

“I believe you,” Kenobi said. “But safety is a fleeting thing. Especially for people like us.”

⸻

She found Cody near the barn, checking over his gear with robotic precision. The morning light caught the lines of strain on his face.

“You should tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.

He didn’t stop moving. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“You should’ve told someone. Me. Rex. Anyone. We could’ve helped.”

“I didn’t know who to trust.”

He paused. That hurt more than he expected it to.

“So, what—now you run again?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Cody finally looked at her. His voice was lower now, rougher. “Decide soon. Because if they report in, it’s out of your hands.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded—tight, unreadable. But his eyes lingered. Longer than they should’ve.

“You’re not the same person I met on Naboo,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “She died a while back. Somewhere between a swamp and a bunker.”

“You ever think about letting someone in? Just once?”

“Not when I know they’ll be ordered to kill me the next week.”

A flicker of emotion crossed Cody’s face—then it was gone. He turned back to his gear. And she walked away before he could say something dangerous.

⸻

Rex found her in the stable later that night, Kes fast asleep under a blanket of hay and wool.

“You’re not sleeping either,” she said, not turning around.

“Hard to sleep when you’ve got questions nobody wants to answer.”

She finally looked at him, candlelight dancing on her face. “What do you want to ask, Captain?”

Rex took a step closer. “Did you ever plan on coming back?”

“No.”

His jaw flexed. “So you just disappeared.”

“I didn’t vanish for fun, Rex. I vanished because I knew if I stayed, the Chancellor would use him. Or worse, I would.”

Rex crossed his arms. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

She walked past him, grabbing her coat from the hook.

“Do you want an apology?” she asked. “Or do you want me to beg for forgiveness?”

“I want you to stop pretending like no one cared that you were gone.”

She froze at the door, hand on the frame.

“I did,” he said.

She turned, slowly. His eyes met hers, fierce and uncertain all at once.

And just like that, the moment stretched too long. Her heart beat too loud. And she left before she could make a mistake she wouldn’t recover from.

⸻

Back in the farmhouse, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The storm was coming. She could feel it.

She could run. Again. Before the Republic transport arrived. Take the kid. Disappear into the stars.

But something in her—something inconvenient and entirely unwelcome—whispered that maybe this time she didn’t want to run.

Because Rex was right.

People had cared.

And that might be exactly what would get them all killed.

⸻

The quiet didn’t last.

Republic gunships descended like thunder, cutting through the sky with precision and menace. The crops—already a failing attempt at survival—were flattened beneath the landing struts and wind gusts, scattering dry dirt and stalks in a final insult to their hard work.

She stood at the edge of the field, one hand resting on the blaster at her hip—not out of threat, but habit. The kid stood beside her, silent, clutching a small stuffed Tooka doll she’d stolen for him on Felucia.

Mace Windu stepped out first, Commander Ponds flanking him. His men spread quickly, securing the perimeter, scanning for hostiles, as if the decaying barn and wilted fields might house some final trap.

She stood her ground at the edge of the farm, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Commander,” Windu greeted, curt but not unkind.

“General,” she said, inclining her head.

His gaze drifted toward the child. Kes shrank under it, but didn’t hide.

“He’s the one,” Windu said.

She nodded.

He gave a sharp nod to Ponds, who gently approached the kid. The boy hesitated, looking up at her.

“You’re not coming?”

She crouched beside him, smoothing back his messy hair. “No, kid. You’re gonna be safe now. Better off than with me.”

He frowned, but nodded bravely. “Will I see you again?”

She smiled softly, then lied. “Of course.”

And just like that, he was gone—walking up the ramp of the LAAT, she watched as Ponds took his hand gently. swallowed by steel and war.

She watched until the doors shut.

⸻

She stood alone in the centre of the chamber, a bounty hunter dragged into the eye of the Republic’s storm. The Jedi Council surrounded her, their gazes varied: suspicion, curiosity, wariness.

No armor on her, no badge of rank. Just a worn jacket, dusty boots, and too many secrets stitched into the seams.

“State your name for the record,” Windu said, arms crossed.

She did. Short. Direct.

“How did you come to be in possession of a Force-sensitive child?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I took a job,” she replied. “Anonymous client. Kill the kid.”

That alone stirred tension across the room.

“But I didn’t. Didn’t feel right. So I took him and disappeared.”

“You did not attempt to turn him over to the Jedi?” Kit Fisto asked, skeptical.

“No. Didn’t trust you.”

Kit’s brows furrowed. “Yet you trust us now?”

She smiled. “No. But the boy deserves a chance. That’s all that matters.”

“Where did you hide him?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.

“Everywhere. Nowhere. Teth. Kashyyyk. Backwater farms and broken spaceports. We ran. That’s what I know how to do.”

“And why come forward now?” Aayla asked.

“I didn’t. You found me.” Her voice was flat, unapologetic.

Yoda leaned forward. “Friend of the Chancellor, you are.”

A beat.

“Used to be,” she answered. “Not anymore.”

That raised a few eyebrows.

“Then why protect him?” Mace asked, watching her closely. “Why not name the client who gave you the bounty?”

She shrugged. “Can’t name someone I never saw. Payment was clean, no trail. Maybe it was the Separatists. Maybe it wasn’t. Doesn’t matter. I made my choice.”

The room fell into heavy silence.

Finally, Obi-Wan spoke. “You did protect the child. You kept him safe. That much, we know.”

Kit Fisto still looked unconvinced. “But for how long? And for what purpose?”

She didn’t answer him. Just lifted her chin, held his gaze without flinching.

She stepped out of the chamber into cool marble silence. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Rex was waiting near one of the columns. He looked tense. When their eyes met, his jaw shifted.

“How long were you planning to lie to everyone?” he asked quietly.

She smirked. “As long as I needed to.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he said.

“I always have been.”

⸻

The Senate dome was quiet at this hour, the corridors cleared of aides and the usual buzzing politics. The stillness of the Chancellor’s office wasn’t peace—it was a predator’s calm.

She stood before him again, cloaked not in command but consequence. The Jedi Temple’s marble silence was one thing—this room was another entirely.

“Disappearing,” Palpatine said, voice low, measured, dangerous. “For months.”

“I was following your orders,” she replied. “You told me to go underground.”

“I told you to go dark,” he said, rising slowly from his chair. “Not vanish off the map. Not ignore my transmissions. Not take my asset and play farm girl.”

Her jaw clenched. “I wasn’t playing anything.”

He stepped closer, expression unreadable in the shadows. “You were hiding. From me. From the Republic. From destiny.”

She didn’t flinch, but her fingers curled slightly at her side.

“You disobeyed a direct instruction,” he continued. “You didn’t kill the child.”

Her silence was answer enough.

Palpatine studied her, lips pressing together before curling into something oddly amused. “Good. That was… a miscalculation on my part.”

She blinked.

“I see that now,” he said, voice smoothing out. “Killing the boy would’ve been a waste. An unfortunate loss of potential. With him returned to Republic custody…” He trailed off, then turned to look out the large viewport behind his desk. “I can fold him back into the design.”

“You used me.”

“You let yourself be used,” he replied without looking at her. “Because you’re afraid not to. That’s what you told Master Windu, wasn’t it?”

Her heart thudded once, hard. “You’ve got ears in the Council chamber?”

“I have ears everywhere, my dear.” He finally turned back to her. “I made you what you are. You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing,” she snapped, stepping forward.

A pause.

His smile widened. “You do. But that’s alright. You’ve always walked the line between useful and… unruly. It’s part of your charm.”

She didn’t speak.

“I don’t care that the Jedi don’t trust you. I don’t care that you lie to them. I encourage it. But do not ever disappear on me again.”

“I needed to keep the boy safe.”

“And now I will keep him safe.” A hint of menace returned to his tone. “Where he belongs. Under my eye.”

He walked past her, slow and quiet, before adding over his shoulder, “And stop trying to seduce every clone commander in the Grand Army. It complicates things.”

She smirked, just a little. “Then maybe stop surrounding me with handsome men in armor.”

He chuckled darkly. “You always were dangerous.”

She turned for the door, but his voice stopped her.

“You made the right choice. But remember who you made it for.”

She walked out without answering.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

i’m sorry i said my character was morally gray. i was trying to sound normal. he’s actually a feral prophet who speaks in riddles and collects teeth.