Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I said enough , Bacta!” Leenik slams his hands down on the table (avoiding smashing the rooster salt shaker only by the swift intervention of Lyn yanking it out of the way) and stands up, glaring at his crewmate.

Bacta holds up both palms entreatingly, leaning back away from the seething Rodian. “Look, Leenik, I just think that if you talk to us about what’s going on, then we can help you--”

“Yeah, well,” Leenik cuts in, shoving away from the table and clicking his fingers for Tony to follow him. The vornskyr, already on alert from the shouting, heaves himself to his feet from his spot under the table and pads over to his master. “ I think that some people on this ship don’t understand the concept of privacy and not sticking their big fat noses into other people’s business, so Tony and I are gonna take a little walk and maybe find some friends who do !”

“Leenik…” Lyn begins, sounding exhausted, but Leenik turns his back on them both and storms out of the kitchen, Tony trotting faithfully at his heels. A few moments later, they can hear the door to the ship open and close behind him.

Tryst pokes his head into the kitchen, sunglasses pushed up into his hair despite the twilight outside. “I heard big fat noses, is something up with Leenik?” he asks, raising both eyebrows.

“Not now, Tryst,” Lyn warns, and he shrugs and saunters in to plop down in Leenik’s abandoned seat, pulling out a magazine with spaceships emblazoned across the cover from the folds of his evening kimono.

“Why won’t he just talk to us?” Bacta asks, dropping his head back to stare up at the ceiling in despair. “We’re his friends, right? What’s so bad that he won’t just let us help him?”

Tryst looks up from the magazine. “Oh, are we talking about Leenik’s emotional problems?”

“Tryst!” Lyn says, throwing her hands up.

“Leenik’s not like you or me, Bacta, he doesn’t thrive on sharing every juicy bit of his illicit personal history. If you keep prodding him, he’ll just trust you less and be even less likely to share. You gotta let him come to you.” Tryst shrugs and exaggerates tilting his head to the side. “Or he’ll just bottle it up more and more and continue to lash out in pain and confusion and become increasingly self-destructive until it all comes to a head and he hurts himself somehow, in which case it’ll all be out in the open anyways. Y’know, it'll probably be one of those two.”

Bacta stares at him for a beat. “Wait, I do not ‘thrive on--’”

“Actually, Bacta, I think he’s right,” Lyn cuts in.

Bacta rounds on her. “You agree with him?”

“Well, at least with that second part.” She shrugs helplessly. “Obviously asking him directly isn’t working. He feels attacked, and probably feels like you don’t trust him to take care of himself. We need to give him some space to work things out on his own. We’re his friends, if he feels he needs help, he’ll come to us. But pushing him like this is just going to drive him away.”

“Yeah, like you drove him off the ship,” Tryst puts in.

Bacta sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. He feels tired ; lesai or not, worrying about Leenik is exhausting. “Speaking of which,” he says, looking up. “We should go get him.”

“ Should we though?”

“Yes, Tryst,” he snaps. “We only just got to this planet. We don’t know what’s out there.”

“Uh, I thought Professor Nerd over here said nothing was out there.” Tryst raises an eyebrow and gestures towards Lyn with his head.

Lyn rolls her eyes but otherwise doesn’t comment on the nickname. “I said there are no native lifeforms on this planet,” she says. “That doesn’t mean there aren’t any non-native lifeforms out there. Bounty hunters, smugglers, even the Empire could have hidey-holes around here. We need to be careful.”

“Exactly!” Bacta half stood out of the booth, gesturing towards the hallway. “And Leenik’s out there all alone. We have to go find him before he gets lost or hurt.”

“Listen, Bacta,” Tryst says, leaning forward over his magazine, “if you go charging out there right now and tell him to get back on the ship, he’s just gonna run off even further and then he’ll definitely get lost. Just let the big baby have his private crying time. He’ll be back.”

Bacta makes an unconvinced noise in the back of his throat, but Lyn lays a hand on his arm.

“Tryst is right,” she says. “Under all the… Tryst. Leenik is armed, and he took Tony with him. He knows not to stay away too long or wander off too far. Let him have his space.”

“Yeah, he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” Tryst leans back in the booth and flicks his sunglasses over his eyes, looking back down at his magazine. “Now if you’re done pining over the bug person, I’m gonna go back to my stories.”

Bacta frowns, distracted. “Wait, are you… actually reading that magazine?”

Tryst scoffs, turning a page. “Of course not. I just look at the pictures and make up stories in my head. It’s called imagination, Bacta? Maybe get some.”

Bacta shakes his head and stands up. “Whatever. If you need me, I’m just… gonna go to the gunnery and keep a lookout for Leenik.”

Tryst waves a hand in acknowledgment and dismissal without looking up. Lyn gives him a sympathetic look. “He’ll be fine, Bacta. Really.”

He sighs. “I sure hope you’re right.”

--

The planet they landed on is primarily thick forests, with trees so thick you could fit a speeder inside them and so tall they create effectively a constant twilight on the surface. The crew had been looking for somewhere where nobody could possibly bother them for some time to decompress and gather themselves and plan their next move, and Lyn had suggested it when they pulled up the star charts to look for nearby systems.

It is very, very quiet.

Leenik kicks a rock along as he stalks away from the Mynock, shoulders hunched up and one hand tangled in the fur of Tony's scruff. Tony walks close beside him, brushing up against Leenik’s legs and occasionally whining or growling at his obvious distress.

Finally, when the Mynock’s headlights are just out of sight, Leenik collapses down to sit at the base of a tree, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. Tony whines and lays down beside him, licking his face.

“I know, Tony,” Leenik sighs, petting carefully around his spines. “I know they don’t mean anything by it, but I wish Bacta would just keep his stupid clone butt out of my business.”

Tony huffs.

“It’s just, it just doesn’t have anything to do with them, you know?” he continues. “It’s my problem, and I’ll deal with it. They don’t have to get involved. They’re just nosy.”

Tony whines and licks him again, and Leenik chuckles.

“Well of course you can be involved, Tony,” he says, dropping a kiss on his snout. “This is a family matter, and you’re my son.”

Tony pants at him happily for a moment, then abruptly snaps his jaws shut and swivels his head to look out deeper into the forest, ears pricked high and his hackles slowly raising. Leenik stiffens, looking around and slowly reaching one hand towards his vibrosword.

“What is it, boy?” he whispers, shifting to get his feet under him.

Tony growls, getting up and slinking forwards, barbed tail held at the ready above him.

“Hello?” Leenik calls out, rising to a stand. “Is someone out there?”

Tony suddenly snarls and leaps at something behind a tree. He’s abruptly cut off with a pained yelp and Leenik immediately starts to draw his sword and goes to run towards him.

“Tony--aaghk!”

He’s stopped by a sudden arm around his throat that nearly pulls his feet off the ground and pins his sword (and the arm still holding on to it) between his back and a broad chest. Leenik barely has time to struggle before something hard jams itself against the side of his neck and the world goes dark.

--

Bacta descends from the gunnery bay into the cockpit, where Lyn is deeply engrossed in studying the star charts. In the darkness of the newly-fallen night, she's illuminated only by the faint blue glow of the hologram. Though the sun set long ago, she apparently didn’t think to turn on the light. When she doesn’t look up at the sound of him climbing down the ladder, he reaches over to prod at her shoulder.

Lyn jumps nearly a foot in the air and whirls around, but relaxes immediately upon seeing Bacta. “Oh,” she says, slightly breathless. “You scared me. I was just working on figuring where we ought to--”

“Yeah, yeah, Lyn, that’s great, but,” Bacta cuts her off with an urgent wave of his hand. “It’s been hours and there’s still no sign of Leenik.”

Lyn frowns, turning to look out the main window at the forest, which is now nearly pitch-black outside the beams of the ship's headlights. She blinks, startled, then looks down at her comm. “Oh, I, uh, I really lost track of time there--Leenik’s still gone?”

Bacta nods gravely. “I’m gonna go out and find him. Even if he’s just sitting around sulking, he shouldn’t be out there all night.”

"Have you tried comming him?" she asks, already getting up.

Bacta nods. "Not long after he first left. He either turned it off or left it here. We're gonna have to go after him ourselves."

Lyn lets out a big breath and nods, pressing the button on the ship’s computer to turn off the projector (too late, Bacta thinks he should’ve paid attention to which one it was, but he has other things on his mind). “I’ll come with you, just let me get my blaster.”

Bacta nods and waves her off, leaving the cockpit and walking into the main hall of the ship.

“Tryst!” he bellows, the sound echoing off the metal walls.

“Yo.” Tryst sticks his head out from the kitchen, still wearing his sunglasses. He, at least, turned the light on in the kitchen.

“Lyn and I are going out to find Leenik.”

“He still hasn’t come back yet? Wow, you must’ve pissed him off worse than I thought.”

Bacta gives him a withering glare that, naturally, doesn’t seem to bother Tryst at all.

“No, he hasn’t come back yet. As I said , Lyn and I are gonna go get him. Watch Tamlin until we get back.”

“Oh, sure, because you two were watching him oh-so-carefully until just now,” Tryst snorts, pulling his sunglasses down his nose so Bacta can see him rolling his eyes.

“Tryst, now is not the time--”

Tryst waves his hand dismissively and cuts him off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll watch the kid. Go find Leenik. And when you do find him, tell him next time he should just go sulk in his bunk like a reasonable adult.”

“You can tell him yourself when we find him. You ready?” Bacta asks as Lyn walks up to join him, her blaster in its holster on her hip.

“Yes, I’m good to go,” she says, pulling a flashlight out of her bag. She glances at the man still leaning around the doorway. “Tryst, Tamlin is coloring in his bunk. Make sure he feeds the lizards.”

“Sure, whatever, Mom ,” Tryst says, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose and retreating from the doorway.

Lyn rolls her eyes, then looks at Bacta and raises her eyebrows expectantly. He nods and she turns and leads the way off the ship, flicking on her flashlight to illuminate the dark woods.

“I think I saw him go that way when he left,” Bacta says, gesturing towards the bit of the forest lit up by the Mynock’s headlights.

Lyn nods and starts walking in that direction. “Hopefully he hasn’t gone too far. Maybe he fell asleep.” She sounds hopeful, but Bacta is dubious.

“Maybe,” he says nevertheless, then hollers, “LEENIK!”

There's no response and he frowns. Lyn pats his shoulder. “It’s a big forest, Bacta, and he could've gone anywhere. Maybe we should split up.”

Bacta furrows his brows, unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong. Leenik has been known to fall asleep at inconvenient times (leading to many a burned meal or oversteeped teapot), but he usually pops right up at the sound of his name. Besides, Tony was with him, and Tony wouldn’t doze off so easily in an unfamiliar environment.

And Leenik, even as upset as he was, wouldn't wander out where they couldn't find him, would he?

He shakes his head. They're still not that far. He probably didn't want to hear them from the ship. He must be just out of earshot.

Still, he looks at Lyn warily. “No, let’s… let’s stick together. Just in case, you know?”

She gives him a knowing look back. “Sure, Bacta. Come on, let’s just keep going.”

They wander further into the woods, until the only light is from Lyn’s flashlight, intermittently calling Leenik’s name and waiting for a response.

Bacta is starting to contemplate just what they’ll do if they don’t find him when he thinks he hears something snap back behind them. He immediately elbows Lyn.

“LEENI--ow! What, Bacta?” she asks, rubbing her side and scowling at him. He holds up a finger to his lips and she immediately goes on alert, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Did you hear that?” he asks in a hushed voice.

They stand in silence for a moment, listening intently, but there’s only silence.

“Leenik?” Bacta calls out, cautiously. “Is that you?”

There’s nothing, not even the sound of wind.

“What did you hear, Bacta?” Lyn asks finally, still in a hushed voice.

Bacta shakes his head. “I thought I heard someone walking, or something… I’m gonna check it out, just… wait here a moment.”

Lyn nods, dropping one hand on the handle of her blaster. Bacta turns his back to her, pulling his rifle into reach and slowly approaching the area he thought he heard the sound from.

He leaps around the side of the tree, aiming his rifle, and stops short at the sight of nothing but blank ground and more forest.

He slowly stands up, lowering the rifle, and chuckles nervously to himself. “Good job, Bacta,” he mutters to himself. “You sure scared that pebble. Did they teach you that in clone training?”

He shakes his head, scowling. “Now I’m starting to sound like them. When we find Leenik, we’re taking a vacation.”

Bacta slings his carbine back over his shoulder and turns around, calling out as he goes, “It was nothing, Lyn! Just--”

He’s cut off by a fist the size of his head slamming into his face. He reels backwards, seeing stars, but as his vision clears all he sees is a blaster in his face, and then nothing.

As soon as Bacta’s shout ends abruptly, Lyn draws her blaster and starts towards the tree, calling out Bacta’s name.

She comes around the corner to find a Besalisk standing over Bacta’s unconscious form, a blaster drawn and pointed right at her.

She stops short and raises her blaster.

“Who are you?” she demands, squaring her stance to prepare for a fight.

The Besalisk just grins, then glances just over her shoulder and nods.

Lyn whirls around only to feel a glancing blow against the back of her head. She stumbles, and from the Besalisk there’s a pew and an impact at her back and she slumps to the ground.

--

Tryst hears the ship door open and smirks to himself without bothering to look up.

“Took you long enough,” he calls out over the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway. From the sound of it, Bacta is either very tired or sulking and dropping his feet heavily on the metal. “Did you find him? Did you tell him that thing I said about him?”

When there’s no response, he rolls his eyes and smirks to himself. “Don’t be like that, Bacta,” he says. “Just because you didn’t--”

He stops abruptly at the feel of a blaster barrel pressed to the back of his neck.

“Oh.”

--

The Besalisk walks out of the kitchen, leaving Tryst slumped over the table. A moment later, a human woman emerges from the bunk area, a wriggling Tamlin held aloft in a headlock. He seems to be alternating between trying to chomp down on her armored forearm and shouting obscenities that would make Bacta faint.

“I got the kid,” the woman says drily.

The Besalisk snorts. “Well, what are you waiting for? Shoot him already.”

The woman frowns as she draws her blaster and points it at Tamlin’s head. “Can you shoot kids with these things?”

He shrugs. “What do I care? Just do it, I’ll call it in.”

As Tamlin squeals, “Just try it! I’ll show you, no one can take down Pepper Tu--” the woman shrugs and fires the blaster, sending a blue stun ring straight into the young Zabrak. He squeaks once and goes limps.

The Besalisk grunts and dials the comm attached to one large wrist, already heading back for the ship’s ramp to collect the other crew members.

“Famine? It’s Four. We’ve got the Mynock crew. Their dog, too.”

He pauses to listen, then turns to the woman and matches her dry smile with a grin of his own, as he slams a hand on the button to open the door.

“Yeah. We’ll have them there in time for the next round.”

Chapter Text

Tryst wakes and immediately throws up.

Now, this is far from the first time this has happened to him, but there’s something specific about it that makes him think that maybe he didn’t just pass out from too much wine last night.

As he stares at the rough gray floor between his hands, his aching brain slowly pulls up an answer.

“Breadsticks,” he croaks out.

“What?” comes Bacta’s voice from several feet to his right, and wait a second.

Tryst sleeps in the cockpit, with Bacta safely locked away in his gunnery bay where he won’t disrupt his beauty sleep. There is simply no reason he would be that close to him in the morning.

Besides…

“Breadsticks,” he says again, clearer this time. “I’m throwing up breadsticks.”

He was stunned.

And not in any sort of good way, either; last night (was it last night?) comes rushing back to him all at once. Leenik storming out, Bacta and Lyn going after him, and a blaster against the back of his neck.

Tryst pushes himself back onto his haunches and finallys gets a look at his surroundings. He’s in a small room--more of a cell, really--made entirely of boring, ugly gray duracrete. Duh, that should have been his first clue. Nothing on the Mynock is this ugly; they made sure of it long ago. There’s a tiny fresher in the corner that he kinda wishes he’d been able to get to before throwing up, and a door in front of him, made of what looks to be some kind of metal, with no visible handle and a small grate near the top.

He looks to the side, where he heard Bacta, and sees only a wall.

“Bacta?” he calls out slowly.

“Yeah, Tryst, I’m here,” comes the reply, and Tryst can’t help but sag a little with relief while no one can see him. He’d never admit it, of course, but it’s at least a little comforting to not be alone in a situation like this.

“I think we done goofed, pal,” he says, laughing a little. “What the hell happened?”

Bacta chuckles slightly in reply, then says, “Lyn and I were ambushed while we were out looking for Leenik.”

Tryst can practically see Bacta coming to the realization of what he just said through the wall.

“Lyn!” he exclaims, and yup, there it is. “Lyn, is she here?”

“How should I know?” Tryst says, putting a hand on the wall to start to heave himself to his feet. “I woke up literally thirty seconds ago.”

He tunes Bacta out for the length of time it takes to get himself to his feet and take the few wobbly steps to the door; luckily, the effects of the stun seem to be wearing off quickly, and he doesn’t think he’ll be wobbly as a newborn colt much long.

Putting his hands up against the door and peering through the grate at the top, he sees a narrow hall and on the other side, a number of doors that appear identical to his.

“Hey, Bacta?” he says, interrupting Bacta mid-sentence. “I can’t see shit. There’s just doors.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Did you try yelling for her?”

There’s a pause, then, “Um.”

Tryst heaves a sigh, mutters, “Useless,” under his breath, then puts his face up to the grate again and yells out, “Lyn! Lyntel!”

A moment later, Bacta’s voice joins his.

He’s looking so intently at the cells across from him, hoping to see a flash of orange through the grates, that he jumps when from his left comes, in Lyn’s familiar accent, “Tryst? Is that you?”

“Lyn! Yeah, it’s me. Bacta’s here, too.”

“Is Bacta okay?”

“Tryst! Is that Lyn? What is she saying? I can’t really hear her from here.”

“Yes, yes, and she’s asking if you’re okay. Lyn, you really need to speak up because Bacta can’t hear you and I absolutely refuse to play prison telephone the entire time we are in here.”

Tryst takes a step back from the door, surveying his cell as Lyn and Bacta yell at each other for a bit. There isn’t even an air vent, and while Tryst has to respect their flagrant disregard for safety regulations, it doesn’t exactly bode well for any daring escape attempts.

He’s still contemplating this when he realizes Lyn and Bacta have both been repeating his name for several seconds.

“Huh, what?” he says, coming back to the door.

“Tryst, if you’re here, where’s Tamlin?” Bacta demands.

Tryst stops short. “I…”

He hadn’t… Tamlin was in his bunk coloring all night. Tryst hadn’t seen him, but maybe he’d managed to hide? The kid was small, he knew the ship like the back of his tiny little hand, it’s possible he managed to avoid whoever it was that attacked him. He could still be fine. Alone, and scared, but okay--

“He’s over here.”

Tryst does a double-take at the new voice, and can practically hear the same in Bacta’s voice as they both exclaim at the same time, “Leenik?”

A pause, then, “Yeah, it’s me.”

Leenik sounds… rather un-Leenik-like, his voice blunt and listless.

“Leenik, what are you doing here?” Tryst asks, at the same time Lyn says, “Tamlin is over there?” and Bacta asks, “Are you okay, buddy?”

There’s a silence, then across the hall from Tryst, Leenik’s familiar bug face appears in the grate on the door.

“Guys. One at a time,” he says, looking at Tryst first.

“Leenik, what happened?” he asks.

Leenik shrugs. “Tony and I were attacked in the woods. He’s here too, by the way, thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, yeah, Leenik, Tamlin is here too?” Lyn cuts in. When Tryst angles his view to the side, he can just see a flash of orange where Lyn has grabbed hold of the bars on her grate.

Leenik nods. “Yeah, he’s next to me. I think he went back to sleep, though. He didn’t have a good time waking up.”

Bacta asks, “How long have you been awake? Are you okay?”

Leenik shrugs. “A couple hours. I’m fine. Been better, I guess. The breadsticks wore off a while ago.”

“Wait, you’ve been up for hours, and you didn’t try to wake us up?” Tryst says, narrowing his eyes.

“What was I supposed to do, Tryst?” Leenik snaps. “I didn’t even know you guys were here until Bacta started making weird noises like twenty minutes ago.”

“Well why didn’t you talk to me?” Bacta asks, baffled.

“I didn’t want to talk to you,” Leenik says primly.

Tryst tunes out Bacta’s offended sputtering and Lyn’s attempts to pacify them. He’s squinting at Leenik’s face, trying to catch his eye. Leenik is being incredibly unhelpful on this front, looking everywhere but directly at them.

Finally, he interrupts Bacta’s rambling with, “Leenik, are you--”

He’s cut off by a loud clang , and then another, and then suddenly their cell doors all swing open.

Tryst steps out automatically, as do the others. They turn to see, standing in the doorway at the far end of the narrow hallway, a tall Togruta woman, with white skin and pale, sickly green lekku, wearing dark red armor and holding a metal staff with wicked-looking prongs at the end. She’s flanked on either side by another Togruta and a human woman.

Tryst barely has time to feel conflicted about the fact that there are three incredibly dangerous-looking women glaring at him while he’s standing in prison before a loud snarling fills the air and Tony leaps out of the cell to the left of Leenik, bristling all over and with his tail held high.

The Togruta levels her staff at Tony and the two beside her draw blasters.

“Call off your dog, or he dies,” she says, in a cool, even voice.

There’s a tense silence in which nobody moves, and the prongs at the end of the Togruta’s staff suddenly light up and crackle with electricity.

“Tony,” Leenik says in a tight voice. “Tony, come here.”

Tony snarls louder.

The human woman raises her blaster and points it at him.

“Tony!” Leenik snaps, louder, his voice tinged with barely-hidden fear. Tony’s ear flicks. “Anthony Michael Vornskr, come here.”

Slowly, reluctantly, and without taking his eyes off the three standing in front of the doorway, Tony slinks back to stand beside Leenik. Tryst can see his shoulders sag ever so slightly with relief, though he’s clearly trying to hide it in front of the hostile women.

“Good boy,” Leenik whispers, the facade cracking just for a moment as he twines his fingers through Tony’s fur.

The Togruta slowly lifts her staff and the electricity disappears. Her eyes--or, actually, on closer inspection it’s more like eye; one eye is completely clouded over--rove over the crew, either completely inscrutable or just terribly unimpressed.

“Follow me,” she says finally, in that same even voice. “Try anything, and you die.”

“Jeez, take me out to dinner first,” Tryst mutters under his breath. Truth be told, her dispassionate gaze (and freaky eye thing, seriously, it’s kind of gross) is starting to unnerve him a little.

He thinks he hears Leenik give a breathless, surprised little huff of laughter, and takes it as a victory.

She looks right at him, and her eyes narrow slightly.

He gulps. Hopefully not audibly.

Without another word, she turns and walks back out the door. The other Togruta, a violet color with dark red lekku and dark green clothes clearly meant for combat, and the human woman, tall and tan with dark hair tied tightly at the nape of her neck and wearing a jacket and pants common to bounty hunters, step to the side and look at the crew expectantly.

“Wait,” Bacta says. “What about our son?”

The two guards exchange a glance and the human asks, “What, the Zabrak kid? He’s staying here. Don’t mess up, and you’ll see him again.”

“What does that mean?” Bacta presses.

“Two,” the Togruta says shortly.

The human waves a hand at her and mutters, “Yeah, One, I got it,” then looks straight at Bacta. “Look, trust me, you don’t wanna bring the kid with you. Now get moving or I’ll shoot you, all right?”

“But--” Bacta begins, but Tryst clamps a hand on his shoulder and shoves him forward, muttering as he does, “Come on, Bacta, we can worry about Tamlin later.”

Reluctantly, Bacta keeps moving and after a moment Tryst drops his hand. Lyn and Leenik fall in behind them, Tony staying pressed up against Leenik’s legs and growling at the two guards as they fall in on either side of the group.

Just outside the door, the other armored Togruta is waiting.

The crew barely gets a glimpse at a much larger room, one wall made of what looks like a mirror and another a screen showing a Mon Calamari talking, and full of people of various species all staring at them, before they’re being ushered through another door and down a long hallway.

The hallway is fairly barren all the way down, broken up by a single branch that appears to lead down an equally uninteresting hallway.

Drawn far more to their fascinating guards than the boring architecture, Tryst sidles up to the human woman, who looks at him sideways and raises one eyebrow.

“Sooo…” he says. “One, Two… are those your names? You guys go by numbers?”

The woman ignores him for a moment to look over at the purple Togruta, who shrugs. She looks back at Tryst and says, “Yup. I'm Two. She's One.” She nods at the purple Togruta.

“Who's she?” Tryst asks, nodding towards the white Togruta, who is firmly ignoring them. “Three? Four and a half? I know numbers.”

Two laughs and gives him a predatory grin. “Her? She's Death.”

Tryst almost stops short and is nearly run over by Leenik, who shoves him forward.

“Death? Is that her name?” he asks, befuddled.

“That's enough questions,” One cuts in, and Two shrugs and goes back to ignoring him.

Tryst tries to exchange a ‘Can you believe these guys’ look with Leenik, but he’s still avoiding eye contact, and Bacta is in front of him. He settles for trying it with Lyn, who is too wound up, drawn taut like a piano string, to be good for any good-old-fashioned disbelieving eyebrow-raises.

There's another minute of (awkward, at least to Tryst) silence before Death stops in front of another door. She steps up next to it and a bright green light scans her good eye. A moment later, the door opens and Two puts a hand on Tryst’s shoulder and shoves him through.

--

Tryst is momentarily blinded by the sudden bright light blasting from above. As he shades his eyes and blinks, he realizes that what appeared to be sunlight is actually a projection on a giant screen overhead, showing the image of a blue sky and noonday sun.

The door opened into a huge room, easily big enough for a couple ships. The ground underfoot is covered in something that seems to be sand, though when he kicks it a few times discovers steel underneath. In front of them are what appear to be several low buildings, and surrounding them on all sides, similar to the one overhead, are more massive screens--these ones projecting the image of a desert all around. A featureless metal wall, somewhat out of place in the scene, runs through the center of the room at just above head height, blocking off the view of the other side.

A narrow slit in the floor opens up and a rack raises up, carrying some familiar items. Leenik immediately pushes past him and seizes his sword and shock gloves off the rack, pulling his gloves on. Tryst takes his blasters, looking them over and finding no obvious flaws or sabotage. Bacta and Lyn step forward and take their weapons as well, a little more hesitantly, and the rack descends back into the floor.

Suddenly, hidden sound systems blare to life and the room is filled with a disembodied voice.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, the event you’ve been waiting for!

The wall in the middle of the room sinks down into the floor, revealing on the opposite side five figures: two Nautolans, a Twi-lek, a Zabrak, and a bizarrely white Wookie.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bacta asks, whirling around to face the guards as they stand outside in the hallway. “What’s happening?”

Two smirks and twiddles her fingers at him as Death presses a button on the wall and the door slams shut.

New blood versus young blood! Crew against crew! The Mynock versus the Kestrel!

“Bacta…” Lyn says, eyeing the other five as they slowly advance across the room.

Tryst looks around, from the screens to the strangers to the door behind them, and nervously palms his blasters. “Uh, guys, I think we have to--”

Fight!

Chapter Text

Leenik leaps forwards the moment he hears the word.

It’s pretty obvious what’s going on here--kill or be killed. He’s used to it.

One of the Nautolans, dark blue and wearing what appears to be a flightsuit, immediately starts scaling the nearest building. The other disappears behind a different building. The Wookie takes up what looks to be a defensive position at the base of the building.

Behind him, he thinks he hears Bacta exclaim, “They’re kids!” but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

The copper-skinned Zabrak and teal Twi’lek both hold swords, and the Zabrak darts forwards towards him, scrambling slightly in the sand. Leenik meets their eyes and they give him a little smirk, then dart at the nearest building. They dash towards it, and seem to be attempting some sort of wall run--just as the Nautolan on top of the building cries out, “Aoti, don’t!” they slip and fall flat on their back in the sand, losing their grip on the sword.

Tony pounces on them and Leenik leaves him to it. The Zabrak is tiny; Tony can easily handle them.

Instead he charges right for the Twi’lek, intercepting her as she runs at Lyn.

He manages to body-check her up against a building to get some cover from the blaster fire coming from the Nautolan on the roof across the way. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her trying to dodge fire from Bacta’s rifle (set to stun, because of course Bacta would) in between each shot at them.

Up close, the Twi’lek’s eyes are narrowed in concentration, and her shoulders heave with each breath. The freckles on her teal skin stand out in the simulated sunlight. It’s obvious that she’s young, too; not as young as the Zabrak, but probably several years younger than Leenik.

She’s strong, too; her sword (and it’s not even a vibroblade, it’s some ugly ancient thing) locks with Leenik’s and she’s able to keep him off her, her eyes darting around, looking for an opening.

A blaster bolt hits just beside his head, and Leenik flinches just long enough for the Twi’lek to shove him off and throw a punch at his face. It connects with surprising strength and he reels back, throwing up his cybernetic arm just in time to catch the blow she swings down at his head.

She hesitates, eyes wide, clearly not expecting him to use a limb to catch her sword, and he takes advantage of it by throwing his arm out to the side, bringing her sword with it, and lunging forward with his vibroblade.

The Twi’lek’s eyes shoot wide open and she chokes on a gasp, staring at Leenik like she can’t quite believe what just happened.

He yanks the sword out and immediately ducks around the back of the building to get cover from the blaster fire.

Except.

There is a sudden stop in attacks coming from the opposite side.

Leenik abruptly becomes aware that the voice is still going, and in fact probably has been speaking this entire.

Wow, would you look at that! Newcomer Leenik Geelo of the Mynock has killed fan-favorite Courtney Eva of the Kestrel! I guess nobody told him it wasn’t necessary, huh, folks? Or maybe he’s just that cold-blooded! He is a Rodian, after all!

What?

Leenik hears a panting at his ear and turns to find Tony at his side, licking his chops.

And, oh, what’s this? Not just one but two mid-battle deaths? What a crazy round, folks! You don’t get this kind of excitement every day! The Mynock’s vornskr--that’s right, a vornskr, who my sources tell me they’ve nicknamed Tony, isn’t that just adorable, folks--has killed the Kestrel’s Aoti Hec’cau, as well! This really is one for the books, ladies and gents!

Leenik looks across to the building beside him, where Tryst and Bacta are taking cover; he’s lost track of Lyn. They look at him wide-eyed, but before he can figure out what they’re expressions mean and before they can say anything, a loud wail echoes over the battlefield. Leenik turns to see the Wookie, standing in the middle of the arena with both arms raised over their head.

“You--crazy assholes!” a voice comes from behind him, and Leenik whips around to see the other Nautolan, a dark blue-green with patches of almost white-blue covering her face, pointing a blaster at him. “You killed Courtney! And Aoti! I was the only one allowed to kill Aoti!”

“It’s not a fight to the death, you idiots!” the Nautolan on the roof screams across the arena. “You didn’t have to kill them!”

“I--” Leenik stammers.

“Leenik, move!” Tryst bellows from behind him, and Leenik instinctively leaps to the side just as the Wookie barrels through the space he was just in.

And just like that, the fight starts up again.

The Nautolan on the roof squeezes one more shot off at Bacta and Tryst and starts to climb down, and Tryst runs over to where Leenik and Tony face off against the furious Wookie and other Nautolan.

Leenik ducks under the Wookie’s first wild swing and comes up with his shock glove, shoving it against the big creature’s chest and turning it on. The Wookie howls but doesn’t retreat, and Leenik quickly brings up his sword to block another blow. Tony circles around and starts nipping at their heels, snarling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tryst aim his blaster at the Nautolan. She reaches out with her free hand and, before he can shoot, the blaster goes flying out of his hand towards her. Without missing a beat, Tryst draws his second blaster and fires, hitting her square in the chest.

The Wookie turns and swipes at Tony, who leaps out of the way and swipes at them with his barbed tail. Leenik presses forward and throws a punch with his cybernetic arm, hitting the Wookie’s back and sending them flying forward into the sand.

The Nautolan reels back from Tryst’s hit and ducks around the corner of the building, popping out to fire off twin shots from hers and Tryst’s blasters before disappearing again. Tryst presses up against the wall and waits for her to appear, muttering under his breath too low for Leenik to hear.

The Wookie pushes themselves up and immediately gets an arm up to block Tony’s lunge, their forearm taking the blow from his fangs instead of their throat.

Leenik walks up to the Wookie while they’re distracted by Tony, and aims a kick directly into their face. They roll to the side, pulling Tony with them so he’s in between them and Leenik. Leenik yelps and aborts his kick before he can hit Tony, instead hopping to the side and bodily tackling the Wookie, wrapping his normal arm around their neck and landing blow after blow with his cybernetic until they stop thrashing and slump down. He barely pauses to check that they’re still breathing before jumping up and turning his attention back towards Tryst.

He looks over to see Lyn creeping up on the Nautolan’s building from the other side. As she pops out of hiding once more, blasters pointed at Tryst, Lyn leaps forwards and takes a swing at her with her brass knuckles. She jolts forward, gasping, and Tryst shoots her with his blaster set to stun. She collapses into the sand.

And look at that, folks--two more of the Kestrel crew are down, this time with no killing! I guess they can learn, ha!

Leenik, Lyn, and Tryst turn to find their last remaining opponent and see her stopped short in front of the building she was shooting from, Bacta standing across the street, their blasters trained on each other.

As the rest of the Mynock crew walks up, the Nautolan shifts her stance and aims one of her blasters at the second group. She’s clearly breathing hard and her lekku are twitching.

“Don’t--don’t kill them,” she says, looking rapidly between them.

Bacta frowns. “What?” he asks.

“My friends,” she says. “Please don’t kill them.”

“Of course we won’t kill them,” Bacta says, not lowering his blaster but relaxing his stance slightly. “We didn’t know.”

“Okay,” the Nautolan says, jumping as Tryst takes a step forward and moving one blaster to point at him. “Okay. That’s good. At least they’ll have a chance.”

“What do you mean?” Tryst demands. “What’s going on here?”

The Nautolan laughs, high and strained. “Shoot me and find out.”

“Why don’t you just--”

“Okay.” Leenik grabs Bacta’s rifle and aims at the Nautolan. She whips her blasters around and fires two shots at him, but they go wild as Leenik hits her in the torso and she drops to the dirt.

Bacta immediately rounds on him, yanking his rifle out of his hands. “Leenik! What was that?!”

Leenik shrugs. “She asked me to.”

“That is not--”

The sound from the speakers swells suddenly, and one of the screens high on the wall flickers and changes from a desert sky to a Mon Calamari sitting at a desk in front of a red screen.

“And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen!” he announces. “The end of the inaugural battle of the Mynock crew, and what a battle it was!”

The other screens below flicker as well, and change to show headshots of the two Nautolans and the Wookie, with a horizontal line beside each of their pictures.

“And now for everyone’s favorite part of the process! You know the fallen: Frea Kurjit, your favorite mystery case. Qiell Natar, the intrepid sharpshooter. And Yeti, the scholar-turned-brawler of Kashyyyk! Of course we’re missing a few names, but I’m sure these three are enough to satisfy your appetites!”

The Mon Calamari chuckles, and the crew exchange looks. Tryst mouths who is this guy? and Leenik shrugs.

“It’s time to send in your votes, ladies and gentlemen.” The Mon Calamari leans forward over his desk and grins at the camera. “Will these three valiant fighters live... or die?”

“Wait, what?” Bacta exclaims, his voice rising into a strangled squeak.

“What’s happening?” Lyn asks no one, staring helplessly at the screens as below the horizontal bars beside each picture, the words Live and Die appear and bars begin to rise from either one.

They’re interrupted by Tony snarling, and Leenik jumps and immediately looks to see what has him riled up.

“Um, guys,” he says, as Death walks back into the arena, flanked not only by One and Two but two other armed guards: a Besalisk man and a Skakoan.

“What’s going on?” Tryst demands, stepping up in front of the group, his hand tightening on the handle of his blaster.

Death ignores his question and just says, “Drop your weapons.”

“Not until you tell us what all that means!” he insists.

Death turns on her staff. “I said drop them.”

“And I said--”

Without a word, One raises her blaster and fires, hitting Tryst’s hand and making him drop his blaster.

“Ow!”

“Now the rest of you, drop your weapons.” Death narrows her eyes, sweeping her gaze over the rest of them as Tryst scowls but makes no move to pick up his fallen blaster.

Slowly, Bacta and Lyn lower their weapons to the ground. Leenik locks eyes with Death for a long moment, then huffs and drops his sword. When she continues to stare at him, he reluctantly peels off his shock gloves and drops them as well, then crosses his arms and stares back at her petulantly.

“Follow them out,” Death says, stepping aside and gesturing with her staff back towards the door.

“But what about--” Bacta begins, looking back over his shoulder towards the Nautolan’s--Qiell’s--unconscious body.

“The results will be displayed in the common room,” Death says. “Now go before I lose my patience.”

“Some patience,” Tryst mutters, but raises his hands in surrender when Death glares at him. “Alright, I’m going, I’m going. Come on, guys.”

Reluctantly, the rest of the crew follow Tryst. One leads the way out of the arena, the other three falling in a loose formation surrounding them. Leenik notices that Bacta can’t seem to help but keep looking over his shoulder as he goes, but Leenik keeps his eyes straight ahead, one hand on Tony’s scruff.

Oh-ho-ho, would you look at that, ladies and gentlemen!

The door closes behind them, and the rest of the Mon Calamari’s words are cut off.

Chapter Text

Bacta sets a fast pace back down the hallway and Lyn keeps up with him, a grim set to her jaw as she ignores the smirk on the Besalisk’s face, like he knows exactly what’s on their mind and it amuses him. Beside her, Bacta stares straight ahead as a muscle in his jaw twitches. She can practically hear his mind whirring. She wonders if he realizes the Besalisk is the same one that attacked them. She’s worried about him; he’s taking what went on in that arena hard already. She prays to whatever will listen that what they see in the common room Death mentioned won’t hurt him more.

Tryst and Leenik are also walking quickly and in silence, although Tryst seems more confused than anything and Leenik is, as ever, hard to read. She’s not too worried about Tryst; god knows he can adapt to any situation. She is worried about Leenik, for a whole multitude of reasons, several of them related to the detached look on his face when he drove his sword through the young Twi’lek. She’s been worried about Leenik for a while.

And Lyn is very worried about Tamlin, and what the events of the last several minutes might mean for him.

It was some kind of cage match, obviously, with quite the production values. Underground fighting rings aren’t terribly uncommon across the galaxy, but in Lyn’s experience, the best of them are voluntary, people choosing to fight for money or glory or both. In the darker corners of the galaxy, though--and sometimes even right in the heart of the Empire--there are rings where the rich and powerful pit their slaves against each other. But she doesn’t think she’s ever heard of one that kidnapped people to fight.

And those were kids, back there. She could see from across the arena that the lot of them (with the exception of the Wookie, maybe, but it’s hard to tell with Wookies) were young, probably too young to be on a ship’s crew let alone fighting for some sick bastard’s entertainment.

Before she knows it, they’ve reached the door leading back into the main room. One stops just in front of it and goes up to a scanner identical to the one beside the door to the arena. Just like with Death, a green light shoots out and runs over her eye, and the door opens.

A giant hand plants itself between Lyn’s shoulder blades and shoves before she can step forward herself, propelling her into the room. Around her, the rest of the crew are pushed in as well, and with a clang the door slides shut behind them.

The room is fairly large, easily bigger than any on board the Mynock. The walls are white, with two exceptions: one covered in what seems to be a giant mirror, and another a screen showing the same display from the arena, with the images of the three remaining crew members of the Kestrel and bars beside each representing what Lyn can only assume are votes from someone on whether they should live or die.

Seven people of different species face the screen. As the door clangs shut, they all turn and stare at the Mynock crew. Lyn stops short and Leenik and Tryst pause on either side of her, but Bacta ignores them and makes a bee-line for the screen, pushing past a Mirialan woman who scowls at him and jumps aside as if he’s burned her.

Lyn has just enough time to note that the bars all seem awfully close before the screen abruptly switches back to the view of the Mon Calamari.

“Well, folks,” he says, with an unnervingly wide grin. “It looks like there wasn’t enough blood during the round to satisfy your cravings after all! So I turn you over to the capable hands of our own lovely leading lady, your favorite player in this game of ours, Death!”

The screen cuts back to a view of the center of the arena, where the two Nautolans and the Wookie are all laid out in the street. Death stands at their heads, her staff in hand.

“Wait, what is she doing?” Bacta asks in a strangled voice, turning to the Zabrak standing beside him. They ignore him completely, watching the screen with an even expression. Bacta grabs their arm and they shake him off, glaring at him and moving away several steps.

“Time to say good-bye, folks!” the Mon Calamari’s voice says as on the screen, Death moves over to the first in the line, a Nautolan, and raises her staff.

“No, wait!” Bacta yells, and Lyn closes her eyes tightly and turns away, grabbing Tryst’s sleeve and holding until he knuckles turn pale.

The room is deathly silent for several long seconds, before the Mon Calamari starts up again. When Lyn glances back at the screen, it’s back to him at his desk, grinning his shark’s grin at the camera.

“That’s all for today, folks, and what a day it was! The next match will be posted in the usual place at the usual time. As always, I'm your host, Famine, and stay hungry, ladies and gentlemen.”

It cuts to a red screen bearing the image of a wheel with the profile of a horse’s head, then goes blank.

“... Did he say his name was Famine?” Tryst asks after a pause, his voice full of forced humor. “Death? Famine? What the hell kind of clowns are running this joint?”

“Tryst,” Lyn says tightly, but is barely paying him any attention. She focuses instead on Bacta, and on cataloguing the other inhabitants of the room.

Aside from the Mirialan, who as soon as the screen shut off took the Trandoshan woman standing beside her by the arm and strode over to sit on the ground at the far corner of the room, milling around the room and staring at the three of them are the Zabrak, their arms crossed and looking at Bacta distastefully, a tall Bothan woman who retreats to lean on one wall and watch them out of the corner of her eye, a Sullustan man who offers them a wan smile with a far-off look in his eyes and goes to sit in the corner opposite the Mirialan, an Ithorian man who barely spares them a glance before going to stand by the Sullustan, and a Twi’lek man with pink skin and electric blue tattoos covering most of his body staring at them with unabashed curiosity and a friendly grin.

“No, really, though, Famine? More like Salmon, am I right?” Tryst asks loudly.

Leenik pauses, then hesitantly suggests, “Fishmin?”

Tryst snorts and strides past Lyn to sling an arm over Leenik’s shoulders. The Rodian stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “That was terrible, Leenik, but you’ve got the right idea.”

Lyn spares them a glance, satisfied that Tryst seems to be handling the situation well and trying to help Leenik, then turns and joins Bacta at the screen.

“Bacta,” she says softly. He turns and stares at her.

“They’re dead,” he says.

“Bacta,” she begins again, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t our fault. We can’t focus on that right now, we need to think about--”

“Howdy, newbies,” a voice cuts in, and Lyn turns, wide-eyed, to see the Twi’lek approaching them.

“Um,” she says.

“Hello?” Bacta says, his voice peaking uncertainly.

The Twi’lek offers a hand and after a moment Lyn takes it. While his grin seems somewhat out of place in the otherwise rather somber atmosphere of the room--and after what they all just witnessed moments ago--it doesn’t seem at all ungenuine.

“Lukaxeruul,” he says when Lyn drops his hand, gesturing to himself. “But please, call me Lux.”

“Lyntel’luroon,” Lyn says, caught off guard and a little wary. “Lyn.”

After a beat, Bacta chimes in with his own name, his voice still strained.

Lux inclines his head towards the screen. “Oh, we all got the rundown on you lot, believe me. The crew of the Mynock, you killed a bunch of people, stole some stuff, or so the Empire says, eh? We’ve all been there, believe me. It’s nice to meet you,” he says, then pauses and chuckles dryly. “Well, not really, but you know what I mean.”

Lyn exchanges a look with Bacta, her eyebrows raised. Bacta’s mouth twists, and she shrugs.

He turns back to face the Twi’lek. “Lux,” he says urgently. “Where are we? What is this place? Why did they just kill those kids?”

Lux raises his eyebrows and glances at the dark screen. “You mean the Kestrel kids?” He shakes his head and tuts. “A real shame, that. They were good kids--y’know, more or less. It’s an end of an era, I suppose--they used to be the audience darlings, but now that there’s a new crew in town, I guess they decided it was time to throw out the old toys.”

“What do you mean?” Bacta asks darkly, taking a step towards him. Lux holds up his hands and gestures to him to hold off.

“Calm down, calm down,” he says, taking a step back. “I’m getting to that.”

Lux clears his throat, then throws his arms out to the sides and does a great imitation of Famine as he says, “Welcome to the Armageddon Arena, staving off the apocalypse one criminal at a time! Watch as enemies of the Empire battle it out for the entertainment of the rich and famous!” He drops his arms and smiles sardonically. “Long story short, a bunch of people like you and me got on the wrong side of the Empire doing something or other, and they posted a bounty on our heads, right? Well, a bunch of bounty hunters, like Mr. Fishy here,” he nods to the screen again, “or our lovely friend Death herself, they got together and decided they could do better than just turning us sad sacks into the Empire and being done with it. Oh, no.”

Lux laughs, but it’s a little bitter. “They rounded us up, shut us up in here, and make us fight each other. They make money off bets, the elite get their bloodsport knowing everyone here deserves it,” his voice twists oddly on the word deserves, like he finds the concept hilarious, “the Empire gets its most wanted off the space-ways, and they get to turn us in for our bounties when we die. Everybody wins! Except us, of course.”

Lyn exchanges another long look with Bacta, who mouths Empire at her. She nods. If the Empire is involved with these bounty hunters, things could get complicated very fast.

“What did they do to get here?” Bacta asks.

Lux blinks at him. “Who?”

“The kids, the ones we fought!” he says impatiently. “What did they do to get a bounty?”

Lux shrugs. “I dunno, I never asked them. Sek’nos would probably know.”

Lyn glances at Bacta, then asks, “Sek’nos?”

Lux nods towards the Bothan, who is making no attempt to hide the fact that she’s watching and listening to their conversation. “Dhal Sek’nos. She knows everything about everyone in this place. She was like a spy or something, I think it makes her feel better about herself. If you want her to tell you something, though, you gotta be prepared to tell her something in return. She’s got this whole give-and-take thing going on.”

Sek’nos gives them a slow grin. Lyn narrows her eyes, then turns back to Lux, keeping her in her peripherals.

“What did you do to get in here?”

Lyn looks up to see Leenik and Tryst approaching. Leenik, the one who asked, fixes Lux with an unblinking stare.

Lux laughs out loud. “I was very dumb, and was framed for a crime I definitely committed.”

Lyn raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what?”

Lux’s laugh peters out into a low chuckle. “Sorry, allow me to explain. I host--well, hosted, I suppose--a radio show.” He gets a far-off light in his eye and a lopsided grin on his face. “Skeletons in the Starships, shining some light on the secrets of the galaxy’s elite with your host, Lux!” He sweeps a short bow. Lyn blinks at him.

Leenik gasps. “Wait--Skeletons in the Starships? I’ve heard you!”

Lux’s eyes light up and he beams at Leenik. “Really?”

Leenik nods. “Yeah, you’re the guy that ruined a Senator’s career!”

Lux’s grin becomes something rather more preening and he sweeps a hand over his lekku in fake modesty. “That I did, yes. In my defense, he deserved it.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not understanding what’s going on here,” Bacta cuts in. “How does a radio host become wanted by the Empire?”

“Secrets, Bacta,” Tryst says, before Lux can open his mouth. “He said he exposes secrets. I can’t imagine the Empire likes that very much.”

Lux shrugs. “Eh. They ignored me, mostly. But then I patched into the comms system of a Star Destroyer--”

“You did what?” Lyn asks in a strangled voice.

Lux winks at her. “Oh, you heard me. It was incredible, really, it’s a shame nobody outside this place will ever know. I heard a certain Imperial officer on a closed channel telling his friend all about some tastes of his that aren’t exactly… hm, shall we say, wholesome. Or legal, for that matter.”

“Let me get this straight,” Bacta says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You hacked into a Star Destroyer’s comm system--and overheard an Imperial officer talking about--his sexual deviancy?”

Lux gives him an impish grin. “It’s my job. You’d be surprised how often it happened.”

“Let me guess,” Leenik says dryly. “You got caught.”

Lux shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “Maybe. The officer may have noticed an extra participant in his closed call, traced it back to my ship, and got all the information he wanted on me. After that it was pretty easy to accuse me of treason and slap a bounty on me.” He looks thoughtful. “And I probably have committed treason over the years. I never really bothered to look up the specifics.”

“Look, I think we’re getting a bit off track, here,” Lyn finally says, shaking her head. “As interesting as that all is--who is running this operation?”

“Like I said,” Lux says, straightening up and sticking his hands in his pockets. “A bunch of bounty hunters. We’re pretty sure Famine is the big boss man--he’s the face of it, anyways. He hosts all the matches.” He looks up and to the side and starts listing off on his fingers. “Death, big scary Togruta with the sparky-stick, real bitch, you’ve met her. Plague, who’s like this weird doctor lady, but she’s not here right now. Off on some errand or other, who cares, she’s creepy as hell. Human.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the mirror-wall. “Then there’s War. Nobody’s actually seen War, whoever it is, but the guards mention him sometimes. He watches us through that. He’s the one who decides who fights and when.”

Bacta’s expression becomes thunderous. “So he’s the one who sent those children into the arena?”

Lux raises his eyebrows. “Who, the Kestrel kids? I mean, he decided that they should be the ones to fight you, but I don’t think he decides who they snatch in the first place.” He looks at Leenik. “By the way, man, that was pretty brutal.”

Leenik bristles, but before he can say anything Tryst slaps a hand down on his shoulder and snaps, “Look, man, we didn’t know.”

Lux holds his hands up innocently. “Hey, I wasn’t accusing you of anything. ‘S not the first time someone’s died in the arena before the audience could get to ‘em. Pretty messed up they didn’t tell you not to in the first place, in my humble opinion.”

“Yeah, well, this whole situation is messed up,” Leenik mutters, shrugging off Tryst’s hand.

Lyn steps forward, getting Lux’s attention again. “Lux, we have a child with us,” she says urgently. “Will they put him in the arena?”

She feels Bacta stiffen next to her, but doesn’t keep her eyes off of Lux’s as they widen in surprise.

“A kid?” he asks. “Like… how much a kid? A kid-kid or like--”

“He’s five years old,” Bacta cuts in.

Lux blinks. “... Does the kid have a bounty on him?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Lyn snaps, clicking her fingers. He focuses back on her. “Lux, answer me, will they put him in that arena?”

Lux purses his lips and cocks his head as he considers it. “I doubt it,” he says, finally. “The thing about this whole operation going on here is, y’see, we’re no-good rotten criminals who deserve what they get, right? It’s kinda hard to look a five-year-old kid and feel good about watching him getting slaughtered. I doubt they’ll throw him in there.” He shrugs. “‘Course, who knows what War’ll dream up. They might hand him over to the Empire straightaway, they might shove him in there as something for you to protect in a fight against someone who won’t give a shit about hitting a kid--” his eyes slide sideways towards the Zabrak, and the Mirialan and Trandoshan. “--or they might throw him to the wolves on his own. It’s hard to say.”

“Tony would never hurt Tamlin,” Leenik mutters savagely, running his hand over Tony’s head.

Lux stares at the vornskyr, who growls at him. He hops back, raising his hands in surrender. “Uh, I meant that figuratively.”

Lyn ignores him, turning back to Bacta. Bacta nods grimly, her own fear reflected in his eyes. They have to get Tamlin out of here, before something terrible happens.

--

Deputy Director Quinzel Bannforr of the Ministry of Industry strides through the halls of the Imperial complex quickly, adjusting the stiff collar of his uniform as he goes. He pauses outside the tiny conference room and glances nervously back and forth, making sure the corridor is deserted, before ducking inside.

Inside, looking out the window over the rather bleak view of the gray complex, stands a human woman in purple robes, her pale blonde hair falling loose and straight down to her midback.

Quinzel clears his throat to announce his presence, standing ramrod-straight just inside the door.

The woman turns, and Quinzel gulps. Her face is drawn and pale, her piercing dark eyes standing out from rings of sickly green paint. She raises her eyebrows delicately, which does nothing to assuage the feeling that she might kill him here and now without batting an eye.

“Deputy Director?” she asks in a lilting voice.

Quinzel shakes himself mentally and nods once. He is an Imperial officer, and not afraid of one little bounty hunter. He is above that. “You’re… Plague?” he asks, pausing on the name. Bounty hunters… what strange aliases they have.

The woman smiles in a way that he’s sure she means to be benevolent and inclines her head. “Indeed. You have a contract for me, Deputy Director?”

Quinzel coughs and nods, abruptly reminded of why he’s here. “Yes,” he says, a little gruffly. “I hear your organization is… good at getting results.”

Plague spreads her hands and looks down demurely. “We rarely miss our mark, it’s true.”

Quinzel nods, reaching into his jacket to pull out a datapad. He turns it on and opens his desired image, turning it around so she can see. Plague raises an eyebrow and holds out her hand, taking it at his nod. She starts flipping through the information there, making inquisitive sounds.

“This is the man?” she asks, coming back to the headshot.

Quinzel nods again, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them from trembling.

“And what has he done to earn the Empire’s ire?” Plague asks lightly, looking up from the datapad.

He draws himself up and meets her eyes. “He is responsible for the deaths of countless citizens of the Empire, and he needs to be taken away,” he says, confidently repeating the words he’s been rehearsing in his head for days.

Plague “hmms” politely, then pulls a datapad from her robes. “May I?”

Quinzel hurriedly gestures for her to go on. “Yes, of course.”

Plague quickly transfer the data over to her pad and flips through to ensure that everything is still there, offering the original back to Quinzel. He takes and grips it tightly, suddenly at a loss for what to do.

If she notices his unease, she says nothing of it, turning off her datapad and tucking it back into her robes. “He will be dealt with as swiftly as resources allow, I assure you.” She gives him an amused smile. “You can see how he performs on our cast for yourself, if you’d like. I would be happy to provide the frequency and key.”

Quinzel shakes his head quickly. “No. I don’t care what happens to him after you grab him, just… get rid of him.”

Plague inclines her head again. “Of course.”

“I’m counting on you,” Quinzel presses, clenching his hands around the datapad. “He’s not an easy mark. Don’t underestimate him.”

Plague gives him a look that has him resisting the ridiculous urge to apologize. “I would ask you not underestimate us, Deputy Director,” she says, still impeccably polite but with an edge to her words. She gives him a long look, then shakes out her hair and smiles at him. “Now… good day, sir. I will contact you again when we are ready to collect the bounty.”

She gives him a look and he jumps, realizing he’s still standing in front of the door. He quickly steps to the side.

“Good day, Plague,” he says, turning to watch her as she sweeps out of the room, her head held high. He cleared the patrols for this time; no one will see her go, he’s sure of it.

Letting out a long breath, Quinzel walks over to the table in the center of the room and drops the datapad on it, slumping forward and resting his weight on his hands.

Slowly, a smile spreads across his face as he looks down at the man staring up at him from the datapad. Staring is, perhaps, the wrong word; the man’s face is, after all, concealed by a blank, black faceplate.

Quinzel chuckles to himself, quietly, then erases all the files on the datapad from its memory and tucks it back in his jacket. He leaves the room with a satisfied smile on his face, whistling quietly to himself as he strides in the opposite direction down the corridor.

Chapter Text

The first night is difficult.

Bacta nearly comes to blows with the guards when they, all seven of them--including Death, and it’s only Tryst and Lyn’s hands clamped down on his arms that keep him from hurling himself bodily at her. How dare she stand there with that--that dispassionate look on her face, like it doesn’t even matter to her that she murdered three people in cold blood just hours ago--

It doesn’t get better from there.

Most of the prisoners go quietly as two doors open, on the two blank walls, leading into identical hallways lined with cells. Lux even shoots Death finger guns and ignores her one-eyed glare as he shuffles through the door.

Bacta does not like him very much.

He’s not entirely cognizant of actually walking back into the hallway they were herded out of what seems like years ago; he thinks if it weren’t for Tryst and Lyn at his shoulders he would have stayed standing stock-still in the center of the room until the guards came at him.

The thought is tempting.

He is, however, distracted from it when he comes face to face with the closed door to Tamlin’s cell, across from his open one.

He forcibly pulls away from Tryst and Lyn and rounds on the entrance to the cell block. One followed them in, as well as some creature that’s closer to a bird than a man. He jabs a finger at Tamlin's door.

“I want to see him,” he demands, glaring at the guards.

“No sharing cells,” One says, sounding almost bored.

Bacta clenches his fists. Tryst grabs his arm again and leans close.

“Bacta,” he says in a low, cautionary voice.

Bacta shakes him off. “I don’t care,” he spits out. “Let me see him.”

One narrows her eyes, and her hands flex around her blaster rifle. “You can see him tomorrow. Get in your cell.”

“Before you said I could see him later, now you say tomorrow--let me see my son!”

He lunges towards her and One raises her rifle, but he’s stopped when Tryst jumps in front of him, arms spread, facing the guards.

“There’s no need for that,” he says hastily, making pacifying motions towards them. “Just--let him see him for a minute, okay, just so we know he’s okay--”

Bacta grinds his teeth but doesn’t make a move to push past Tryst. Lyn grips his arm and gives him an understanding look, and he takes a deep breath and counts to five so he doesn’t shake her off, too.

One gives them a long look, then shrugs. “Fine. One minute. Five, open the kid’s door.”

The bird-man glances at her, then shuffles out of the hallway. A moment later, the door to Tamlin’s cell opens outwards with a clang.

Bacta immediately breaks free of Lyn’s grip and darts into the cell.

Inside, curled up in the corner and blinking in the sudden influx of light from the hallway, is Tamlin.

“Uncle Bacta…?” he asks in a small voice, raising one small hand to shield his eyes.

“Tama,” Bacta breathes, and swoops in to gather him up in his arms. Tamlin uncurls himself enough to throw his arms around Bacta’s neck with a small sound. Bacta holds him tightly, unconsciously shielding him from the open door with his body.

“Uncle Bacta, where are we?” Tamlin asks, turning his head to speak quietly into Bacta’s ear. “Are we on a mission?”

Bacta takes a deep breath and squeezes Tamlin. “Yeah, buddy,” he says weakly. “We’re on a mission. And we might be here a while, okay? I need you to be quiet and stay here, and if a stranger comes in with a weapon, do whatever they say.”

He draws back and Tamlin gives him an odd look. “Are you sure? ‘Cause that sounds kinda--”

“I’m sure, Tamlin,” Bacta says shortly, ducking down to look him in the eyes. “I need you to promise me, buddy. Don’t start any fights while we’re here.”

Tamlin looks at him with wide eyes, then slowly nods. “Okay,” he says finally. “I promise.”

Bacta lets out another long breath and ruffles his hand over Tamlin’s hairless head. “That’s good, buddy,” he says. “That’s real good.”

He hears someone clear their throat behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see One standing in the doorway, Tryst, Lyn, and Leenik clustered as close as they dare around her. She gives him a hard look.

“Minute’s up,” she says shortly.

Bacta takes a deep breath and looks back at Tamlin. “Okay, Tama,” he says softly. “I gotta go now. But don’t worry, Uncle Leenik is gonna be right next door, okay?” He pulls Tamlin to his chest despite his slight muffled protest, laying one hand over the back of his head, then releases him altogether and gets up, holding his hands up as he turns around.

“I’m coming out,” he says evenly, meeting One’s eyes with a hard look.

She meets his gaze and takes a step back, giving him space to leave the cell. He looks over his shoulder as he goes and gives Tamlin what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

Tryst ducks behind his back to shoot Tamlin a wink. “Don’t worry, kid,” he says in that cocky tony of his. “We’ve got this.”

Lyn lifts up on her tip-toes to give Tamlin a little wave that he returns with wide eyes, then One swings around with her blaster and they all skitter back from the door.

“All right, Five,” she calls out without taking her eyes off them. “Shut it down again.”

There’s a pause, and Tamlin’s door swings shut again, the sound reverberating down the hallway. Bacta feels it down to his bones, and has to physically restrain himself from launching himself at the door.

“If you’ve had your fill of messing around,” One says with a dangerous edge to her voice, gesturing with her gun. Tryst immediately puts his hands up and gives Bacta a warning look as he retreats to his cell. Lyn puts her hand on Bacta's arm and steers him, still staring at where Tamlin disappeared behind thick metal, back to his own. She puts her hands on his shoulders and gives him a long look he’s too distracted to parse before leaving him.

Leenik remains in the hallway, his hand on Tony’s neck.

One glares at him, clearly losing her patience. “Not you too,” she says warningly.

“I think Tony should be allowed to stay with me,” Leenik says, lifting his chin. “He’s my son.”

One points her rifle directly at Tony’s face, her eyes not leaving Leenik’s.

“Or,” she says, “You can put your dog in his own room before I shoot him right here.”

Bacta almost makes a move to leave his cell and go to Leenik as he stares her down, but Five has returned to the hallway and raises his own blaster, giving him a warning look.

Finally, just as One gives a little huff and turns her gaze from Leenik to Tony, Leenik steps in between them and crouches down beside the vornskr, framing his face in his hands. Tony’s attention immediately shifts to him and he whines and licks Leenik’s face as the Rodian murmurs to him too quietly to hear.

After a few moments of this, Leenik straightens up again and shoos Tony towards his cell. Tony puts his ears back and whines again, but Leenik points more forcefully and he reluctantly slinks away into it.

Leenik turns, not even looking at One, and marches into his own cell with his chin high and his fists clenched.

One rotates slowly on the spot, looking over the lot of them in turn, then makes a gesture to Five and turns to go.

A moment later, all five doors swing shut together, cutting them off from each other once more.

--

Zero whistles cheerfully as he strolls up to the Imperial complex, shopping bags full of weapons and clothes to dare Blue and/or Synox to wear dangling from his wrists. It’s a bit of a walk from the nearest shopping center back to the complex, but it’s a nice day--verging on twilight, now--and he honestly needed some peace and quiet on his day off. God knows it’s in short supply around Blue.

He pulls up short by the gate, looking around for the stormtroopers that should by rights be standing guard, and, more importantly at the moment, letting him in so he can start convincing Blue that a purple and orange kilt is so in right now, he should see everyone downtown, he's just got to try it on.

What? He’s gotta get his kicks somewhere.

Inconveniently for his (genius) plans, however, the stormtroopers are nowhere to be found. He waits patiently--and then impatiently--for a few minutes (all right, maybe more like a minute, but he’s not about to wait around all night now, is he?) for them to appear, and when they don’t he lets out an exaggerated sigh for no one’s benefit but his own and drops his bags (carefully, a bag of loose grenades is nothing to throw around all willy-nilly) on the ground to go find them.

“I swear to god, if these assholes are around the corner smoking deathsticks, they are so fired,” he mutters to himself.

Appeasing himself with the mental image of Synox’s scandalized face when he tells him about the troopers’ dereliction of duty, Zero picks a direction and wanders along the wall to find someone, at least, to let him in.

It isn't long before it becomes apparent that there is nobody along the whole length of the wall (Synox is gonna freak the hell out, seriously). In a fit of petulance, Zero projects a set of angry eyebrows onto his faceplate, just so anybody he comes across will know his displeasure.

He stops short as he turns around and sees a figure standing by his discarded bags, looking up at the gates with their hands slung casually in their pockets. He’s only paused for a moment before he takes off at a rapid pace back towards the gate, already mustering some real scathing sarcastic retorts for whoever was supposed to be at the gate.

The figure turns their head towards him as he gets closer and he slows as he sees it’s a Chiss woman, who gives him a lazy smile and nod as he approaches, stopping a few yards away.

“Hiya,” she says, and Zero doesn’t respond, dropping the display from his faceplate and staring at her.

There is no reason why a Chiss woman in bounty hunting gear should be standing outside the Imperial complex.

He can count on one hand the number of non-humans he sees in there with any regularity, including himself--and not many other Imperial officials have a personal bounty hunter on their payroll; at least, not the way Blue does.

“Hello,” he finally says, slowly, taking stock of his resources as his cybernetics get to work analyzing both her and the environment.

He was just going shopping today, so he’s light on weapons: his vibrosword, of course, a handful of knives (vibro- and even some non, just to shake things up) hidden in various places in his armor, a blaster or two, and his vacation arm, which only has four offensive settings.

“You’re Agent Zero, right?” the Chiss asks, and then several things happen very quickly.

One, he goes into high alert, automatically reaching for his sword.

Two, his cybernetics inform him that there are four lifeforms in close proximity that he somehow can’t see despite the open environment.

Three, the Chiss draws a small device out of her pocket, her thumb depressing a button in the center.

Four, he suddenly can’t move. His arm locks up, his vision starts fritzing out (and completely cuts out in his missing eye), and he suddenly can’t feel a good portion of his body and can’t seem to send signals to his limbs to move, do something, get her--

The Chiss’s smile grows wide as she takes several steps towards Zero, looking him up and down with a thoroughly self-satisfied look on her face. She winks at him and waves the device in front of his face.

“Neat little gadget I helped our employer come up with,” she says in a conspiratorial tone. “Cyborgs never seem to expect it.”

Zero would say something scathing if he wasn’t currently having considerable difficulty doing so much as breathing.

The Chiss takes a step back and slides the device back into her pocket, then looks around. “You can come on out now,” she calls out casually. “Better restrain him so I can turn it off before he dies or something.”

From out of thin air, four people shimmer into existence: a Togruta, a human, a Besalisk, and a Rishii.

The human immediately jogs over and starts picking over Zero’s armor, neatly pulling all of his weapons out of their hiding places. The Besalisk takes hold of his arms and forcibly maneuvers them into place behind him and cuffs them, hand-to-elbow in shackles that encase his entire forearms.

“Too bad Six had to miss this,” the human remarks as she pats down Zero’s legs and removes another three knives. “He would’ve gotten a kick outta this guy. He used to run with a Gank, didn’t he?”

The Besalisk snorts as he clamps another set of shackles around Zero’s ankles.

“It took ‘em long enough to get the cloaking devices to work around that damn thing, you think they were gonna bother figuring out how to make his suit work, too?”

The human laughs, then stands up and brushes her hands together, looking at the pile of weapons at her feet. “You have a point.”

“Are you done?” the Togruta cuts in, looking over her shoulder where she stands guard with a blaster rifle. “The troopers won’t be gone much longer.”

“Oh, for sure,” the human says. She grins at Zero and raps her knuckles on his faceplate. Zero barely has the wherewithal to notice let alone be angry, too concerned with his rapidly dwindling air supply. “You are one paranoid guy, huh? But I’m confident I found all your hidey holes. You good, Four?”

The Besalisk grunts and slaps something against the side of Zero’s helmet, then plants two hands on his shoulders and the other two on his waist. “Yup. Let ‘im go, Three.”

“You got it.” The Chiss woman draws her hands out of her pockets again, this time with no device, and Zero gasps as his lungs abruptly start expanding again. His vision slowly clears as he shakes his head a few times, and immediately tries his luck against the bonds.

“Good luck with that,” the Besalisk rumbles behind him, clearly amused.

Zero projects a middle finger onto his faceplate.

The human laughs out loud.

“All right, that’s enough,” the Togruta says, lowering her rifle and pulling up her other arm that bears a comm link. “Three, call Six and tell him to bring in the ship. It’s time to go.” She starts walking off, dialing someone else on her comm.

The Chiss gives her retreating back a sardonic salute and draws a comm out of her pocket, wandering off after the Togruta as she starts speaking into it.

“Hey, Six? Yeah, we’re good. Easiest mark in ages, that little gizmo you and Three cooked up worked wonders. Yes, it’s safe for you now, just get over here with the ship--”

The Besalisk’s hands abruptly tighten around Zero’s waist and shoulders and lift him with little difficulty, tossing him over his shoulder and clamping one arm tightly around his middle to keep him from squirming off.

He gives the human a nod and they walk off after their compatriots.

Zero lifts his head to stare at the Imperial complex and desperately tries to use the limited mobility he has in his cybernetic fingers to access his holo channel with Blue.

To his shock, he finds only static, and his increasingly frantic attempts to resolve the issue come up empty. With a dawning horror, he realizes the weight on one side of his helmet must be some kind of jammer, and he can’t access any communication channel at all.

As the Besalisk draws to a halt and waves and the shadow of a ship descends on them, Zero is reduced to desperately and futilely waving his fingers and crying out with his mind alone.

Blue! Someone! Anyone!

Help!

Chapter Text

They don’t see most of the guards for the next several days.

It’s quiet, mostly; the cell doors open all at once in the morning (with the exception of Tamlin’s, which remains firmly closed), they all filter out into the common room, and the cell blocks are closed off behind them. When Leenik had asked, curious, what happens if someone refuses to leave the block, Lux had shrugged. “You’re stuck all day without food. They don’t care if you do it once or twice--I think we’ve all done it once or twice just for privacy’s sake. But if you start starving yourself out they intervene--probably for the same reason they don’t let us kill each other in here.” He gives a dry smile. “Can’t be letting us decide when and how we die, eh? Bad for the brand. That’s the audience’s job.”

Leenik had “hmmm”ed softly and turned away, but it’s something to keep in mind. As far as he could tell, there aren’t actually any cameras in the cell blocks.

A stack of boxed rations is always waiting in the center of the room, labeled by name and containing appropriate food for each species--Leenik, for one, is not happy to see more traditional (and… wriggly) Rodian food in his box and finds himself longing for the powdered eggs and ham from the Mynock.

Lux gestures for them to eat with him, dropping down to sit cross-legged beside the Sullustan and Ithorian, who introduce themselves as Nebban Kyars and Nawl Lelam, respectively.

Leenik stays quiet, sulking over his food and fussing over Tony, who curls up at his side and gives a low growl whenever someone comes too close.

The rest of the crew, however, immediately strike up conversation with the two, pressing them for information about the arena.

Fights only happen every week or so, as it turns out, and the composition varies. Five on five battles, like the one the Mynock crew fought in, are rare; usually they’re one on one, or two on two, though sometimes there are more than two teams.

“It’s all about resource management,” Lux says, gesturing with a piece of bread that Lyn had told them aside is made of a type of fungus found on Ryloth. “If you send ten people into the arena, that’s five chances to lose a fighter--and that’s only if nothing goes wrong. Believe me, Famine does his best to manipulate who the audience will vote for, but they’re a fickle lot. It’s just not sustainable.”

“How often do they kidnap new people?” Tryst asks. “There aren’t exactly a ton of you.”

“Depends,” Nawl grunts, putting his empty box aside.

Leenik laughs into his food as Tryst slowly forces himself to turn and look at the Ithorian, and visibly sag in relief that he’s done eating. He may have become somewhat used to Leenik over the years due to proximity alone, but Tryst never did learn to stand other species’s odder eating habits.

“Depends on what?” He asks.

Nawl shrugs. “On how often people die. They usually only bring newbies in to replace the dead.”

“But why run it like that?” Tryst asks. “Seems like it’d be more profitable to just get a ton of people. More variety, more opportunities for bigger fights, a better spectacle.”

Lux laughs and claps his hands together. “Ah, a fellow showman! I knew I liked you, Tryst.”

Nawl rolls his eyes, which is something to see on an Ithorian. “Sure, but where are you gonna keep all those people? What are you gonna feed ‘em? How many bounty hunters are you gonna need to hire to keep everyone in their place while the rest are out finding you more inmates to replace the ones that are dying in all of your big fights?” He shrugs. “It’d take a lot more resources than I think these people have. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were working up to what you’re talking about, but right now there aren’t more than fifteen of us at a time.”

“You seem to know a lot about logistics,” Lyn remarks, placing her elbows on her knees and leaning forwards.

He shrugs. “I used to run an Imperial factory, before I blew the damn thing up.”

Lyn blinks and leans back again, shrugging as she says, “Fair enough.”

Lux laughs again and claps Nawl on the back. “Nawl’s a bit of a showman himself, deep down!” he exclaims. Nawl grunts and shrugs him off, shifting a few inches over.

Leenik ignores them and focuses on the Sullustan. Nebban sits withdrawn in on himself, making few moves other than to look up startled at Lux’s sudden loud noises.

“What about you?” Leenik asks bluntly. Nebban glances up and Leenik nods. “Yeah, you. What’s your deal?”

“Leenik,” Bacta murmurs, but Leenik ignores him, keeping his eyes trained on the Sullustan.

Nebban squeaks and glances at Lux and Nawl, then looks back at Leenik. “I’m, uh, I was part of a rebel cell,” he says slowly. “Just a little one, but we caused enough trouble in our sector that the Empire got frustrated and put a big enough bounty on our heads that we got hunted down. We got captured on a supply run.”

“We?” Leenik and Tryst say at the same time. Without taking his eyes off Nebban, Tryst leans over slightly and bumps their shoulders together. Despite himself (and somewhat to his surprise) Leenik feels a soft pang of affection.

Nebban lowers his eyes. “Durian and I. My partner.”

A brief silence falls as they all take in the rather intrusive absence of said Durian.

“What happened to him?” Leenik asks.

“Leenik!” Bacta squawks.

“What?” Leenik asks, shrugging. “I’m just curious.”

Lux clears his throat and they all turn to look at him. “This whole affair is meant for the Imperial elite,” he says, rather uncharacteristically seriously. “Now, they might enjoy seeing us normal criminals--you know, your everyday spies and murderers--get what’s coming to us, but rebels?” He shrugs. “They threw him in the arena unarmed and turned the deadliest fighters they had on him.” He looks down at Nebban. “The vote was… well, let’s just say uneven.”

Nebban shrugs, still looking down. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.” He raises his hand and gives them a half-hearted smile.

Leenik cocks his head and considers him. Beside him, Tryst shifts in place and leans forward slightly.

“Nebban, how long have you been here?” Tryst asks.

“About two weeks,” he says, his eyes darting across the five of them. “Durian was the round before you guys. I haven’t been in the arena.”

Tryst raises his eyebrows and exchanges a look with Leenik, then with Bacta.

“Who’s been here the longest?” Leenik asks, shifting his attention from Nebban to address Lux and Nawl.

Lux taps his chin, considering. “Well, it’s either Sek’nos or Buvoe, for sure, but I’m not sure which of them got here first.”

“Sek’nos is the bat-lady, right?” Tryst asks, looking over his shoulder at where she is sitting beside the Zabrak in silence, picking at her own food.

“Tryst,” Lyn says with familiar exasperation.

“If by bat-lady you mean Bothan, then yeah,” Lux says. “Jiran Buvoe is the Zabrak, and they are one scary mother.” He shakes his head. “Most of us who’ve made it through a couple rounds are around because we have something that makes us appeal to the audience, y’know, something that makes them want to keep us around--like my charm, or Nawl’s explosions, or the dynamic duo’s, well, duo-ness. But as far as I know, Jiran Buvoe has just never lost a fight.”

Leenik blinks and looks back at the pair, eyeing up the Zabrak. It’s hard to tell when they’re sitting, but they hold themselves with the sort of poise even when relaxed that reminds Leenik of some of the more deadly bounty hunters he’s known over the years. They glance sideways and catch him looking and turn their head to fully meet his eyes. Leenik doesn’t turn away and slowly a smile spreads over Jiran’s face. They tilt their head to the side almost curiously, then give a slow nod and go back to their meal.

Leenik turns back to the group feeling oddly discomfited. He wraps an arm around Tony’s neck and the vornskr lets out a soft woof and pulls himself half into Leenik’s lap.

Lux gives Tony a wary look, then looks up at Leenik. “That’s uh, that’s quite the creature you have there,” he says. “How in the world did you obtain him?”

Leenik sniffs. “First of all, he is my son, and I did not ‘obtain’ him,” he says, letting go of Tony momentarily to give air quotes.

“We found him after we were forced to land on a planet, and Leenik… tamed him? Sorta?” Tryst says.

“Yeah, I… I still am not quite sure how you managed that,” Bacta says. “One minute you’re piggy-backing him around the battlefield and locking him in the ‘fresher, the next thing I know he’s following you around and drinking our milk.”

“To be fair, there was a considerable amount of time in there where you were in a toxin-induced coma,” Tryst points out.

Leenik just shrugs and scratches at Tony’s favorite spots on his neck and behind his ears. “We had a special bond. A mother always knows how best to get through to her son.”

Lux just stares, but Leenik has stopped paying attention to the conversation entirely.

The rest of the day passes similarly.

The empty meal boxes get piled up in front of the exit. Mid-afternoon, a panel opens from the wall and a droid rolls out, grabs the stack of empty boxes with short mechanical graspers, and pushes them back in. The panel slides shut behind it, and not long after the process repeats, with the droid instead pushing a stack of boxes out into the room and quickly retreating. Once the panel shuts again, Lux saunters over and starts handing out meals.

It quickly becomes apparent that Lux is the only one every person in the room will speak to, simply by virtue of his sheer persistence. Though he looks petrified every moment he spends in the presence of Dhal Sek’nos and Jiran Buvoe, he stands there long enough to exchange a few quiet words and hand over their boxes before darting away.

Even the Mirialan, who hasn’t spoken a word all day, grunts out a thanks as she grabs the two boxes he holds out for her.

Over a dinner conversation similar to their breakfast one, the Mynock crew learn that the Mirialan’s name is Kell Noqao, and the Trandoshan is her partner Taska. They spend practically every moment mere inches apart, and though Leenik never hears them speak a word to each other, their hands are constantly moving in strange but clearly purposeful patterns, and they seem constantly enraptured by the other.

When Lux catches Tryst giving them an appraising look, he chuckles and slaps him on the back.

“I wouldn’t try anything, pal,” he says. “Those two don’t play for yours or my team. They’re on their own team altogether.”

Tryst huffs and looks at Leenik and gives him a lopsided grin. “Just my luck, huh?” he says. “Surrounded by more dangerous women than I could ever hope for, and not a one of them likes me.”

“Women never like you,” Leenik says, proud of himself for not sounding too spiteful.

Tryst puts his hand over his hand and draws an exaggerated breath. “Leenik. You wound me. Of course women like me. Have you met me? I’m Tryst Valentine.”

Leenik laughs despite himself, a short exasperated huff. “Yeah, I think that’s why.”

Tryst glares at him, then slings an arm around his neck in something between a hug and a headlock. “Yeah, keep talking, bug man.”

Even as Leenik struggles out of his hold, he feels something warm inside and turns his head away in embarrassment as Tryst grins at him.

--

Death is the only one to appear that night, and for several afterwards. Each time, the rest of the prisoners file quietly into their hall while the Mynock crew heads for theirs, exchanging furtive glances with raised eyebrows the whole way.

When Bacta hesitates again before entering his cell, One slams the end of her staff on the ground. He turns and looks at her, startled.

“I will make you a deal,” she says sharply, glaring at him like he is a personal thorn in her side. “One minute every night, on the condition that I never hear so much as a word of complaint when it’s over.”

Bacta looks at her for a long moment, eyes wide, then quickly nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sure. Not a word.” He hesitates, then glances at Lyn. “Can we--can we all go in?”

One considers it for a long moment, her gaze passing from Bacta to Lyn to Tryst to Leenik and back to Bacta. “You can switch off each night,” she says finally, with such a definitiveness to her voice that Bacta only nods reluctantly.

Leenik doesn’t bother putting his name in as an option for that night; he kneels down to say goodnight to Tony, resting their foreheads together and whispering reassurances that he’ll see him the next morning before shooing him off into his cell and entering his own.

It becomes routine. Leenik starts spending most of his time either with Tryst--who spends most of his time with Lux--or with Nawl, who knows how to be quiet and isn’t scared of Tony.

He lets Lyn and Bacta try figure out how to get them out of here. He works on figuring out how to keep them all alive until that happens.

Nawl has been in the arena for a few months; not as long as some of the others, but long enough to outlive many of the others and to see each of the current fighters in action.

Bacta sits with them one time as Nawl obliges them by laying out the common tactics of everyone in the room--except himself, of course, he adds with a wry smile, and Leenik can only shrug and accept that.

“There are two types of people who make it out of the arena alive,” he says in his slow, deliberate way, “killers and survivors.”

Bacta chuckles and shakes his head with a slight smile. “Luckily for us,” he says, “our entire crew is made up of survivors.”

Leenik looks down at Tony’s head in his lap and distracts himself by playing with his ears. He doesn’t know what Bacta’s thinking, but Leenik is very much aware that he is and has always been a killer. He’s never survived anything in his life; he’s dealt with every problem he’s had--most of them caused by killing in the first place--by running away from them and killing them if they ever caught up with him.

He glances up to see Bacta looking at him with that odd look on his face that means he desperately wants to say something or reach out to him but is restraining himself. He hasn’t approached Leenik about the conversation that got cut short by their capture since, but every so often he catches him looking at him with a mix of concern, helplessness, and frustration. It’s clear he wants to say something, and Leenik has been avoiding being alone with him just in case he tries.

Abruptly, he gets up, Tony grumbling as he’s pushed out of his resting place. “I’ll leave this to the military guy,” he says, turning away.

“Leenik--” Bacta says, but Leenik ignores him and walks away, leaving him to finish the discussion with Nawl on his own.

He joins Tryst, Lyn, and Lux (and Nebban, a little off to the side and so quiet you barely notice him) where they’re seated in a loose circle against the mirror wall, having some inane conversation.

“I just don’t get why you’d make up the name of an animal like that!” Tryst says, throwing up his hands. “It’s just nonsense!”

Lyn takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Again, as I said, I didn’t make it up. It’s a thing, Trystan.”

“What’s a thing?” Leenik asks, sitting down next to Tryst and shouldering Lux out of the way. The pink Twi’lek shimmies over amiably enough to make room for him and then Tony as the vornskr plops down beside him, but raises an eyebrow that Leenik staunchly ignores.

“Tryst seems to have an issue with the emblem of the arena,” he says, sounding amused.

“What about it?” Leenik asks, looking at Tryst.

“It has a horse on it,” Lyn says.

“What’s a horse?” he and Tryst ask at the same time--Tryst sounds incredibly frustrated, like this isn’t the first time he’s asked this question.

“It’s a mythological creature,” Lyn says with forced patience, focusing solely on Leenik--probably for her own benefit.

“Oh, like a wolf,” Leenik says.

Tryst gestures spastically, making a wordless sound of frustration.

“What?” Leenik asks, stifling laughter.

“Why would you just make up an animal?” Tryst exclaims. “Aren’t there enough already?”

“Oh, but the imagination never ceases, Tryst,” Lux says, grinning. “And someone decided the horse was a neat idea.”

“Besides, it’s part of a bigger legend,” Lyn says. “That’s why it’s on the symbol, anyways.”

The three of them turn and stare at her.

She blinks. “What, have you never heard of the four horsemen?”

“Horsemen?” Tryst demands. “Now you’re just doing it to make me angry.”

Lyn shakes her head, “No, really. I suppose it’s not too surprising none of you have heard it, it’s a bit obscure.”

She leans back on her hands. “It comes from a sect in a far corner of the Outer Rim, or maybe further. I don’t even know the name of it, to be honest, it’s so old.”

“Wait, you don’t know something?” Tryst asks, raising his eyebrows.

Leenik swats his arm. “Shh, just let her say.”

“Thank you, Leenik,” Lyn says, and he shrugs. “Well, the legend basically says that four horsemen will usher in the apocalypse. Their names are Death, War, Famine, and Pestilence. Sound familiar?” she asks, looking around the circle. “Though I suppose Plague is a bit snappier than Pestilence.”

They exchange glances.

“So what you’re telling me…” Tryst says, “Is that aside from having ridiculous names, they people who captured us and are forcing us to fight against our will are also huge nerds.”

“Sounds about right,” Leenik says, and Tryst makes another disgruntled sound.

“I can’t believe this,” he fumes. “We couldn’t even be captured by cool bounty hunters. I swear to the Ringist God, Sneak and Tubaik would be better than this.”

“And those guys are the worst,” Leenik adds.

“True.”

“It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Lyn asks.

“What, that I’d prefer Sneak and Tubaik? At least they were attracted to me,” Tryst says.

Lyn gives him a look, one of her Tryst-is-being-Tryst looks. “What? No. I meant about the arena--their whole thing is that they’re staving off the apocalypse by capturing high-profile criminals and forcing them to take each other out, right? So why name themselves after the figures in a legend about bringing the apocalypse?”

Tryst gives her a long look, then shoots to his feet and starts to storm off.

“Tryst! Where are you going?” Leenik calls after him.

Tryst throws his hands up. “They’re not even good nerds! I can’t believe this! I need to go stare at a wall and rethink every single one of my life decisions that brought me to the point where I ended up captured by nerdy bounty hunters who don’t even know the legend they based their whole goddamn operation on.”

Leenik watches him go with a grin, digging his fingers into Tony’s itchy spots. He thinks even with the specter of death hanging over them, things aren’t all bad.

--

The days pass much the same. As they approach the end of the week, Leenik can’t help but notice the other inhabitants of the arena getting restless. From the way the others are on edge (including Tony, who growls at everyone and walks stiff-legged and with his tail held at the ready even when Leenik scratches behind his ears), he can see that they notice it too.

The reason becomes apparent when they leave the cell block one day to find the screen on.

It’s just the blank screen that flashed at the end of the broadcast last time, red with the symbol of the wheel and the horse. No one even points out the horse to Tryst; they’re all too busy worrying about what this means.

Finally, Tryst strides over to Lux as the Twi’lek makes for his breakfast box, grabbing his arm and directing his attention towards the screen.

“Hey, Lux,” he says, before he can complain or ask what’s up, “What’s with the screen? What’s going on?”

Lux looks at the screen, then at Tryst and the rest of the crew.

“You didn’t guess?” he asks. Before Tryst can ask what he means, he continues.

“Famine’s announcing the next match today.”

--

Blue wakes up and makes it to the caf machine before the sleep-bleariness has even cleared from his eyes. He can work the machine with his eyes closed and upside down, so by the time he’s fully aware of his surroundings he already has his first cup made.

Drinking it at what are probably unsafe speeds, Blue stops by his bedside table to grab his hologlasses and put them on on his way to his wardrobe, downing the rest of his coffee and dropping his cup with the other days-old empties on the small table beside his very large, very ornate wardrobe.

As he flings the doors open and starts going through the clothes, he pulls up his schedule on his hologlasses to plan his outfit for the day.

Out of habit, he also pulls up his holochannel chat with Zero.

And frowns.

And enlarges the window.

Zero’s last message was a picture (of exquisite quality, naturally; Blue designed and installed his helmet cam personally) of a shopping bag , with the comment got u a present. c u 2 nite. ;) lol

Blue remembers getting that message, making a note to requisition Zero a book on proper grammar, and promptly forgetting all about it as he engrossed himself in his work and didn’t look up until long into the morning.

He double-checks the timestamp and--yes, that seems right. He runs a few checks to make sure he hasn’t missed something, but it seems that that really was the last message Zero sent him.

It’s not an odd message in and of itself (infuriating spelling aside), but he has absolutely no recollection of actually seeing Zero last night. And come to think of it, while he’d gotten used to working until sunrise while the bounty hunter was away on his time off, he really would have expected him to at least make the effort to send him to bed when he got back to the complex.

A double check of the calendar confirms that, yes, Zero was due back last night, as he said.

On autopilot, Blue pulls on an outfit as he starts to pull up security records to see who came into the complex yesterday. He sets an algorithm to check for Zero’s name and finishes button his vest, grabbing another cup of caf and leaving his quarters as he waits for it to finish.

He’s due to a meeting to review the latest batch of Clone Commander episodes in half an hour but they’ll wait for him and Blue can’t help the feeling that something is wrong.

Zero is many things, and often doesn’t present a very professional face, but he has never in all the years Blue’s known him been late returning to duty. And he rarely shuts up in the holochannel chat unless he’s sleeping or killing someone. It’s far more common for Blue to wake up to a stream of memes and terrible jokes and commentary on Blue’s work than to radio silence.

He grabs an orderly passing through the hallway by the arm, ignoring their startled yelp and pulling them around to face him.

“Oh! Minister Blue, sir,” they say, clearing their throat. “What can I do for you?”

“Has Agent Zero been around today?” Blue demands, peering intently at the orderly while he checks on his security logs. Still nothing.

The orderly blinks, then shakes their head. “I haven’t seen him, sir.”

“Hmm.” Blue squints at them, then releases their arm and strides off without a word, leaving them to scurry off to their duties.

He gets a ping on his glasses, but it’s only a reminder of the Clone Commander meeting and he dismisses it impatiently.

He makes a beeline for Zero’s quarters, just off his own. He nearly runs directly into the door when it unexpectedly doesn’t open for him and has to reel back to avoid smashing his nose.

Frowning, Blue takes a step back and furrows his brows as the door still doesn’t open.

Zero never locks his room when he’s around; he’s long since learned that just letting Blue walk in and out at will is much easier than getting up ten times an hour to let him in. He only locks it when he’s away to dissuade any overly-curious cadets from investigating when they know he’s not around.

Impatiently, Blue slices into the door control and unlocks it himself.

It opens to reveal Zero’s room; sparsely furnished, entirely impersonal, and completely empty.

As Blue stands there staring, trying to find some clue to explain what’s going on, he gets another ping on his display.

The algorithm finished sorting through the security logs. There’s no sign of Zero since he left the complex a week ago.

Increasingly frustrated and confused, he dismisses another reminder about the Clone Commander meeting and pulls up the security footage for all of the gates and rewinds them to the timestamp of Zero’s last message, then sets them to fast forward and watches for any sign that Zero’s return may have simply slipped through the cracks somehow. It would be a sign of sloppiness on the part of the troopers on guard, but that sloppiness is rapidly beginning to look like the best case scenario. Poor discipline can be rectified. Some things… cannot.

There’s an error on one of the cameras; it cuts out suddenly not long after Blue received Zero’s message. He enlarges that screen, setting a crude algorithm on the others to flag any motion while he focuses his attention on the black screen and scrolls back to just before it went out.

Nothing obvious in the field of view. He makes a note of the timestamp but scrolls forward until the camera suddenly turns on again.

There is one change to the scene that is immediately obvious: a handful of white bags resting on the ground. Blue zooms in on them, then opens the holo-chat again compares the logo on the bag in the picture Zero sent last night.

He stares at the two images side by side as his stomach churns.

In the holo-chat, he types on impulse, Where are you?

A moment later, he gets an error. Message not received.

Blue turns on his heel and marches out of the room, sending a message cancelling the Clone Commander meeting.

He’s going to get to the bottom of what exactly is going on here, and then someone is going to find out what happens when you cross Minister Blue.

Chapter Text

The screen remains red for a good while.

Everyone goes about their normal routines, taking their box from Lux and dispersing into their usual groups to eat, but there's an undeniable tension hanging over everyone in the room. Even Lux, who is otherwise doing an excellent job of pretending everything is fine, keeps one eye on the screen, and his sentences keep trailing off as no one responds.

Nebban isn't eating, tucked tightly into his corner and so quiet you'd forget he's there. Kell and Taska’s hands are still. The only ones who appear unaffected are Dhal and Jiran, who never talk anyways.

Tryst puts up with it for about ten minutes (which he thinks is excellent restraint and should really be appreciated) before he decides it has to stop and goes about doing something about it with characteristic tact and grace.

“Well this is awkward,” he announces loudly.

“Tryst--” Bacta begins, but Tryst bulls forward.

“Are we really get let those idiots affect us like this?” he asks. “I mean, really? Like, you guys realize this is obviously a move to mess with us, right?”

“Yeah, well, it’s working,” Leenik mutters.

“Leenik, come on,” Tryst says.

“Tryst,” Bacta says again, sternly. “Someone could die--”

“Yeah, and they’re gonna go to their deaths moping! Come on, that’s not any way to do it.”

“And what do you propose then, Tryst?” Lyn asks, at least partially sarcastic. Most of what Lyn says to him is at least partially sarcastic.

“Look,” he says, dropping his hands heavily on his knees. “I just think that these guys obviously want us to feel bad about the whole death arena thing they have going on here, and the only way to win their game is not to play.”

“Now, Tryst, while I agree that we shouldn’t let the broadcast get to us,” Lux pipes up, “and I, for one, fully support going to our inevitable doom with a smile, if you do want to survive the arena, you have to play their game at least a little bit.”

“Yeah, like with cool gimmicks and stuff, sure,” Tryst says, waving a hand dismissively. “Look, I can win an audience over, believe me. I once played a concert with the Kaiburr Crystals.”

“You jumped off the stage partway through,” Leenik points out, presumably just to be contrary.

Tryst gives him a pointed look. “Okay, there were extenuating circumstances and you know that. I know you know that.”

Leenik shrugs. “I’m just saying. I told you to keep playing.”

“Yeah, well--that’s not the point!” Tryst catches himself and shakes his head. “The point is, play to the audience, sure, but we don’t have to play for them.” He jerks a thumb at the mirror wall, where they all know War is watching. “We should let them know that we’re not about to sit around and--”

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen!”

Famine’s voice cuts Tryst off as the screen abruptly changes to the familiar view of him sitting at his desk, grinning at the camera.

Tryst abandons his point in favor of holding his breath with the rest of the room. Nebban squeaks and draws his head in like he’s trying to hide from the Mon Calamari’s gaze.

“I’m sure you all remember the exciting match we had for you last week, where our new contenders--the deadly criminals that make up the crew of the Mynock--took out those scrappy youngsters from the Kestrel. And we all know how that went.” Famine chuckles, and the screen suddenly changes to what Tryst quickly recognizes as clips from a recording of their fight.

He hears Bacta make a strangled sound in the back of his throat and feels Leenik stiffen beside him as the camera cuts to the Rodian forcing his vibrosword through the teal Twi’lek’s ribs. Tryst swallows but keeps his eyes on the screen as it cuts back to Famine, who is grinning impossibly wider.

“Truly, a fight that will go down as one of our greatest. But, folks, we have a surprise for you.” Famine leans forward over his desk and his smile takes on a conspiratorial tone as he says, “We have yet another new arrival for you this week. He'll be here just in time for our next match.”

There’s a quiet stir in the room, as everyone glances at their companions in surprise. From the way Nawl described it, they shouldn’t be expecting anyone new until someone else dies--the Mynock crew had already replaced the dead crew of the Kestrel (and there was a tacit understanding that they had probably been brought in for the explicit purpose of doing so, though nobody liked to voice the thought), and nobody else had been executed recently.

“You heard me right, ladies and gentlemen,” Famine says, leaning back in his chair with a smug look. “We got a special contract right from the top to get this particular degenerate off the space-ways, and we did just that, folks. Now, I won't hold you in suspense over who this mystery person is too long, but first why don’t I tell you who they’ll be going up against this week?”

He reaches under the desk and pulls out a stack of papers, straightening them on the table before putting them down in front of him. Tryst can practically hear the entire room take a breath and hold it. He’d deny it, but he does, too.

“Our new fighter happens to be a defector from the Empire--so we thought, who better to put them up against than a fellow traitor?” Something about Famine’s eyes sharpen, and Tryst gets the feeling he’s not looking at the audience anymore.

“You all know Nawl Lelam.”

The change in the room is… interesting. On the one hand, nearly everybody lets out their breath. On the other, there’s suddenly a terrible tension amongst their little circle. Tryst turns to look at Nawl as his picture flashes up on the screen. The Ithorian is stone-faced as always, completely unreadable as he ignores their looks (ranging from furtive glances to bald-faced stares) as he keeps staring steadfast at the screen.

Famine continues as the image cuts back to him. “If there’s anyone who’s joining us for the first time this week, or has missed out on our Mr. Lelam’s prior performances, allow me to fill you in.” He makes a show of looking down at the papers on his desk and his voice takes on the tone of someone reading aloud to a classroom. “Nawl Lelam used to be a productive, loyal citizen of the Empire--or so we thought. He managed an Imperial factory on his homeworld of Ithor--yes, folks, I know. But this insidious Ithorian abused the trust our great Empire put in him, and sabotaged the very same factory--in a way that will be familiar to those of you who have caught him in the arena before. Our Lelam has a style of combat that is rather… explosive.”

He shoots a wink at the camera. Tryst feels dirty all of a sudden, and not in a good way.

“Eurgh,” he mutters under his breath. “Anyone else feel a little violated right now?” he asks.

“Oh, you’re getting that only just now?” Bacta hisses sarcastically.

Tryst turns to shoot back a reply but Leenik elbows him.

“Guys, shut up,” he hisses.

Tryst glares at him but turns back around to face the screen again.

Famine is back to grinning unsettlingly. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, shall we see who Lelam will test his skills against next? What you’ve been waiting so patiently for--our new competitor.”

He shuffles his papers and lifts them as his eyes shift from the camera to the notes.

“Our newest fighter also worked for the Empire--as a bounty hunter in the employ of a high-ranking official, no less! He served impeccably for years, until all of a sudden, folks, he snapped and went on quite the murderous rampage. But don’t worry, ladies and gentlemen, you’re safe in your homes now that we’ve got him.” He looks up to give the camera what he probably thinks is a winning smile and another wink that really just makes Tryst feel gross again. “That said, he should make an excellent addition to our little program. I won’t spoil for you just what he’s got going on, but we do have this picture for you--as well as his rather fanciful alias.”

The camera cuts to what looks like a still from security camera footage, and Tryst freezes. He feels Leenik do the same beside him and immediately turns to look at him but Leenik is paying no attention to anything other than the zoomed-in image of a cyborg mid-stride, dressed in gray with his face covered by a black faceplate, gesturing casually with his head angled towards someone beside him, visible only as a blue-clad elbow.

“Our newest contestant goes by the name Agent Zero.”

--

“Blue.”

...

“Blue.”

...

“Blue.”

“What, Aava?” Blue snaps irritably, finally shoving away from the terminal and glaring at Aava where she’s leaning casually against the doorframe. She is, as always, utterly unfazed, and gives him a cool look.

“You haven’t moved from that computer for four days and you keep blowing off all your appointments. People are starting to wonder if you’ve finally cracked,” she says in that maddening tone of hers, like she couldn’t care less but still finds it just ever so slightly amusing.

Blue “hmphs” and turns back to the screen. “Why’d they send you?” he asks.

“Because you can’t fire me,” she says.

He swivels around to face her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re fired.”

Aava gives him an unimpressed look. He stares her down for a few long seconds before his attention is inexorably drawn back to the screen. It takes a moment for the symbols on it to stop swimming and he reaches for his cup of caf only to find that it’s empty. He stares at it dumbfounded for a moment before tossing it aside, where it clatters to a stop on the counter amongst the pile of others. Blue shakes his head and forces himself to focus on the screen. He’ll get more caf in a minute, he just needs to--

“Blue,” Aava says, straightening up and coming over to lean against the counter beside him, brushing aside dozens of empty caf cups to make space for herself. “You need to stop.”

“Go away, Aava.”

“No, Blue, I’m serious,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him to look at her. Blue wrenches himself out of her grasp and glares at her.

“No, I’m serious!” he snaps. “This is serious, Aava. Zero is gone, and I don’t know how it happened or who did it or who even could have done it or where he could possibly be now. He’s not on any security footage anywhere on this entire godforsaken planet. Nobody has seen him in over four days, and none of the stormtroopers who were supposed to be on duty when he disappeared say they saw a thing. I don’t care about Clone Commander or--or cutting ribbons or interviewing factory owners or whatever right now, okay? I need to find him.”

Aava looks at him with an expression that might have almost been sympathetic if she wasn’t an evil space witch. “I know, Blue.”

For a moment Blue finds himself rather uncharacteristically without a response, and after a moment he looks away and scrubs a hand over his face. He has a terrible headache from a combination of no sleep, staring at screens for hours on end, and consuming little but caf; he’s shaking, his leg muscles ache from the constant bouncing, he has more cricks in his neck than there are systems in the Empire, and he desperately wants another cup of caf. Possibly a dozen more.

“What do you want, Aava?” he asks finally, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the blear out of his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I told you,” she says. “People are starting to worry.”

Blue scoffs and gives her a look. “Right, and you care about that. What do you really want?”

Aava gives him a long, appraising look, then says, “I want to help you.”

Blue snorts. “Why? I don’t like you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t like me, either.”

“But I do like Zero,” she says. At Blue raised eyebrow, she presses on, “No, really, I mean it. He’s my friend, too. I want to find him.”

“I’m trying to find him,” Blue bursts out, frustrated, gesturing at the terminal.

“I know you are, but you staring at a computer screen until you shrivel up and die clearly isn’t getting us anywhere. We need a new approach.”

Blue squints at her suspiciously. “Can you find him with the Force?”

Aava’s mouth twists and she looks away, considering. “Maybe, but he’s not a sensitive to the Force himself so it’s much more difficult. It’d be easier if I have something to go off of; we need to find out who took him, and maybe a direction.”

“And how do you propose going about doing that?” Blue asks, raising his eyebrows. Loathe as he is to admit it, he hasn’t made much progress at all in four days of scouring every security camera and ship’s records on the planet, and he’s willing to try just about anything if it’ll just get him a lead, something he can follow up on.

Aava seems pleased that he’s not actively fighting her, and gestures with one hand. “Someone must have taken him--Zero wouldn’t just drop off the face of the planet like that, not without at least telling you first. And whoever it was is clearly very good at what they do, to be able to pull off something like this on the Empire’s doorstep--literally. The first step to figuring out who it could be is to think about why someone with the skills and-or resources to do this would go after Zero. If we figure that out, it should lead us to the culprit--or at least narrow down the search.”

Blue nods slowly, rubbing his eyes again. He really needs more caf; it’s becoming difficult to focus. Where are the droids and underlings when you really need them? “Well, what would make someone kidnap a bounty hunter?”

“What motivates most people to do hard and dangerous things?”

“Money, revenge, or ideals,” Blue answers immediately. “Zero hurts a lot of people for me. Maybe one of them came after him, or hired someone else to do it for them.”

“Hmm, it’s a good thought,” Aava says, cocking her head. “But that’s a lot of people. How many people have you set Zero on that have the money to do this sort of thing?”

Blue shakes his head. “I don't know. We go so many places... I’ll have to go through the mission logs. Nobody stands to mind, at least not right away.”

Aava pushes off from the counter. “All right. But first, you need to sleep.”

Blue scowls and waves a hand in her direction dismissively as he turns back to the screen. “I just need some more caf.”

“No, Blue, I’m serious.” Aava catches the back of his chair with one hand and yanks him away from the computer.

Blue glares at her. For a tiny woman, Aava is deceptively strong.

“There’s no point in looking when you’re so sleep-deprived,” she says, not letting go when he tries to tug the chair out of her grip. “You’ll just miss details that could be crucial. You’re not helping Zero by working when you’re not at full capacity.”

Blue scowls at her for several long seconds and when she doesn’t back down, gives a drawn-out sigh and gets up, stretching muscles cramped from sitting for so long. He’s a little wobbly on his feet and a rather lightheaded, and he seizes hold of the chair so he doesn’t fall over, pointedly not looking at Aava but feeling her eyes burn on the back of his head.

“Fine,” he says, bending to shut off the terminal. He glances at the pile of cups, figures someone else will come along to deal with it, and starts off towards the hallway, trying to make his hand on the wall seem casual and not load-bearing. Fortunately, his quarters aren’t far. There’s very little chance someone will see him on his way there and accost him about neglecting his duty. Out of curiosity, he checks the time and blinks when he sees it’s half past three in the morning.

Well. No wonder the area’s been all but silent. Maybe he could use the rest.

He can't help but wonder what Aava's doing up at this hour.

He pauses in the threshold and looks back at her, who crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. “I’ll start looking over the mission logs,” she says. “I’m not as fast as your computers, but I might still find something anyways.”

Blue nods vaguely, then says, “You know, Aava, for an evil space witch, you’re not too bad.”

It might be his imagination (it's probably his imagination), but he thinks her eyes might soften, just a bit. “Go to bed, Blue.”

He stifles a yawn and nods, stumbling out the door and heading for his quarters. The next thing he knows, he’s collapsed on his bed fully dressed, clutching a pillow.

Hang in there, Zero, wherever you are. We’re coming for you.

--

Leenik leaps to his feet before the broadcast has even ended and Tryst scrambles up after him, alarmed and a little concerned he might be about to hit somebody.

“Agent Zero?” Bacta squawks, climbing to his feet as well.

Leenik, fortunately, does not in fact take a swing at anybody and just starts pacing the room with Tony at his side, muttering indecipherably to himself with a thunderous expression on his face.

“What is Agent Zero doing here?” Lyn asks, baffled.

“You think Salmon was telling the truth?” Tryst asks. “You think he actually went and murdered a bunch of people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised!” Leenik bursts out, stopping short and waving his arms. “He’s crazy!”

“Hey, uh, I don’t mean to interrupt, but…” Lux says, looking between the four of them and gesturing at the once again dark screen. “You all know that guy?”

“Yeah, he--” Tryst begins, but Leenik cuts him off.

“He’s the one who did this!” Leenik says, waving his cybernetic arm in Lux’s face.

Lux leans away from him, startled, then hesitates and says, awkwardly, “Um, just to clarify, he gave you the cyborg arm, or--”

“He cut off the real one!” Leenik snaps, then goes back to pacing, waving his arms around. “He tried to kill Neemo and cut off my arm when I tried to stop him!”

Lux blinks. “Okay...," he says, drawing it out and clearly still confused. "And Neemo is... ?”

“A friend of ours,” Lyn says.

“A romance novelist,” Bacta says.

“Leenik’s boyfriend,” Tryst says, and ignores the other two’s looks. Even Leenik pauses in his pacing to shoot him a quick glare.

Lux looks between the two of them, then shrugs. “Well, okay then. So this guy’s someone to be scared of? Zero, I mean, not... 'Neemo',” he says, glancing at Nawl.

“Yes, did you miss the part where he cut off my arm?” Leenik demands, his voice edging higher and higher. He’s bordering dangerously on screech territory and Tryst decides he needs to shut it down.

“All right, all right, everybody calm down,” Tryst says firmly, motioning to Leenik to chill out for a second. Leenik glares at him and crosses his arms but shuts up, thank the Force. “Last we knew, Zero was still working for Minister Know-It-All, who somehow survived being thrown off a building.” He’s not at all still bitter about that. Really, he isn’t. And if he ever meets Blue again, he'll show him how not-bitter he is.

“And he was with Aava,” Bacta adds. “Zero, not Blue. On Phindar station, remember?”

“Right,” Tryst says, waving a hand. “But he was still very much in with the Empire. Doesn’t it seem a little fishy to you that all of a sudden he’s wanted enough for these guys to pick him up?”

“Tryst has a point,” Lyn says, frowning. “Even if Zero did kill innocent civilians, it’s likely the Empire would try to cover it up--Blue probably has the power and connections to do it.”

“It doesn’t matter why he’s here,” Leenik snaps. “All that matters if he’s going to kill all of us.”

“Okay, Leenik,” Bacta says. “Just--don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking!” Leenik yells, and he’s getting back up into screech territory again. This calls for more extreme measures.

Tryst strides over and drops his hands heavily on Leenik’s shoulders. “Leenik. Buddy. Look me in the eyes.”

Leenik averts his gaze. Tryst gives him a shake and he finally brings his eyes around to glare at him.

“We’re going to be okay,” Tryst says, deliberately. “Okay? We’re going to be fine. There’s no need to freak out.”

“I think I am perfectly justified--”

“Leenik!” Tryst snaps. Leenik shuts up and glares at him again. Tryst takes a deep breath and squeezes his shoulders. He’s always surprised by how scrawny they are; for someone who can swing a sword as well as Leenik does, he doesn’t seem like he has much muscle on him.

Focus, he tells himself, and he shakes his head and refocuses on Leenik. “If Zero is here, then we need to keep our wits about us. If we’re freaking out, that just makes it easier for him to take us out. Okay?”

Leenik scowls and Tryst shakes him again. “Leenik. Okay?”

Leenik’s scowl deepens but he shrugs and mutters, “Yeah. Okay,” and Tryst takes that as a win and releases him after another brief squeeze.

“Okay then.” He turns to face the others, his gaze sweeping over them quickly. Bacta and Lyn are clearly concerned with this turn of events but are holding it together. Nebban has practically disappeared into himself and is trembling, but honestly Tryst dismissed him as a lost case days ago anyways. Lux still looks a little confused but gives Tryst a lopsided grin when he meets his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Dhal, Jiran, Kell, and Taska all staring at them, but chooses to ignore them.

Nawl is watching them silently, his head turning as his gaze moves slowly from person to person silently as they argue amongst themselves.

“Nawl,” Tryst says. The Ithorian looks at him. Tryst has no idea what he might be feeling, and he’s not sure if it’s because Nawl is particularly inscrutable or if he just doesn’t know how to read Ithorians in general. Maybe both. Probably both.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he says, regardless, “it’s gonna be a tough fight. I don’t know what sort of fighting you can do, but Zero kills people for a living. You’re probably not gonna win this one.”

Nawl gives one look, then shrugs. “If I lose, I lose. It’s happened before. I've known for a while I'm not getting out of here alive.”

“Nawl’s lost fights before,” Lux chimes in hurriedly. “But no one else here fights like he does--the audience loves him. They probably won’t vote him off.”

Nawl ignores him and looks past Tryst at Leenik. “I’ll blow his head off if I can,” he says.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tryst sees Leenik smile.

“For the record,” he says in the ensuing quiet. “I just want it to be known that I made the same fish pun twice and no one said anything about it, and I think you all should be a little ashamed of yourselves.”

Chapter Text

The trip through hyperspace is long enough for Zero to vividly plan dozens of increasingly complex ways to murder every single one of the bounty hunters on the small ship, and to fail to implement every single one of them.

They leave him slumped in a corner, still thoroughly shackled and not able to move much at all. They even attached pillows to the wall behind him after he tried to slam his helmet against the wall in an attempt to break the jammer preventing him from calling Blue, which while rather comfortable is incredibly frustrating (not to mention kind of humiliating).

The bounty hunters--six of them, and Zero is not pleased that they apparently ripped off his name. He’s cool and unique, okay? He doesn’t need six other assholes making him look like an idiot--ignore him for the most part. They give him water and some sort of nutrient shake (which is utterly disgusting and he’d refuse it if he didn’t want to be fully prepared to kill them all the moment he’s out of these kriffing shackles), but otherwise leave him alone in his corner to plot and occasionally try and fail to access some form of communication with Blue.

It’s hard to tell time on the ship, but it’s probably a few days later that the ship abruptly drops out of hyperspace. The Chiss woman, Three, calls from the cockpit, “Touch down in ten, guys! Be ready!”

The other bounty hunters emerge from various rooms on the ship, putting on armor and grabbing weapons as the ship descends down through the atmosphere.

They touch down and the Besalisk, Four, grabs Zero by the back of his collar and hauls him to his feet, leering at him and asking, “You ready, ‘borg boy?”

It is the weakest attempt at an insult Zero has ever heard (and he’s had plenty of people hurling insults his way in his time), and he doesn’t even dignify it with a lewd projection on his faceplate.

Not that he’s tempted, but somebody on this ship needs to have some dignity.

Four pouts for a moment at not getting a rise out him, then shrugs and puts a hand firmly on his shoulder, shoving him towards the lowering ramp off the ship.

“Hey, remember to brief him this time!” Three calls after them. “We don’t want a repeat of last round, do we?”

“Oh, shove off, Three,” Two says, jogging up to take up a place on Zero’s other side. “We were in a rush.”

“Just move, Death is waiting for us,” One says, coming up behind them. “Five and Six are going to help move the weapons so they’re there in time, let's go.”

They’ve been talking about this ‘Death’ the entire trip, and Zero can’t help but be a little curious even as he’s horrified by the codename. It’s the type of thing complete novices pick because they think it’ll make them sound cool. Bounty Hunter is a better name, and that guy’s a complete hack.

He doesn’t have to wait long; Four gives him a shove and he walks down the ramp, his helmet automatically adjusting to the sudden brightness of the sun. They came down on a landing pad adjacent to a large, plain-looking building, rising into a large dome in the middle. A door stands open just ahead of them, a white Togruta in red armor standing in the threshold.

“This is him?” she asks, looking Zero over with an appraising eye.

Eye being the key word. Only one appears to function--the other is completely clouded over. If he had to guess, he’d probably say it’s due to whatever injury left the ragged scar over it, as well. If he had to.

“Yes,” One says from behind him. “Are they ready for him?”

The Togruta, who Zero can only assume is the much-awaited Death, nods without taking her eye off him.

“You’re just in time,” she says. “Come on.”

She turns and walks away into the building.

Four gives him another shove and they start walking after her.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Four says. “We’re gonna take you to a door. You’re gonna go through it into a big ol’ room, and you’re gonna fight whoever’s in there with you. But you are not gonna kill him, you got me? Or else we’ll let Three whip out her favorite toy again and just hold it while your lungs stop working.”

Zero doesn’t respond, or let on that his heart did a little flip at the mention of the gadget that shut down his cybernetics. He just keeps walking, staring straight ahead.

Four pauses, but seems to accept that Zero isn’t going to say anything and moves on. “After, assuming you’re still awake, you’re going to put your weapons down and follow us back to a little room where you will also not kill the people you find there. You don’t need to fight ‘em unless you really want to, though.”

Interesting--so they must have kidnapped other people and are holding them somewhere. Potential allies, maybe, or obstacles to his escape.

“It’s real simple, ‘borg boy. Do you understand?”

When Zero doesn’t respond, Four grabs him by the back of the head and forces him to face him.

“I said, do you understand?”

Zero stares at him for a long time, then flashes a thumbs up on the screen, followed immediately by a middle finger.

Four snorts and shoves his head away. “Good enough.”

They come to an abrupt halt as they reach a door, Death waiting beside it. She glances at Zero, then looks at One.

“What about the restraints?” she asks.

“We haven’t seen him in action yet, but the briefing said he would be difficult to control. I was planning on leaving them on until he’s in the arena,” One says.

“Hmm,” Death says, turning her cool gaze back to Zero. She tilts her head, then presses a button on the staff in her hand and electrifies the prongs on the end. “I think we can handle him for the amount of time it takes to get him inside. One, open the door. Four, remove his bonds. And Agent Zero,” she says, moving the staff so the tip hovers just under his chin. “I wouldn’t move, if I were you.”

Zero says nothing, offering her a blank faceplate as One steps away and goes to stand by something beside the door and Four plops two hands on his shoulders and with the others begins fiddling with the shackles on his arms.

He honestly doesn’t know how most people do it, with a face just… out there for all to see. What greater power can you have over someone than absolute control over what they see of your emotions?

The shackles come loose around his arms and he immediately whips them around in front of him, his organic shoulder screaming from being stuck in a strained position for days. Death shifts her grip on her staff warningly, but Zero doesn’t move as Four shifts his grip from Zero’s shoulders to his waist and stoops to remove the bonds around his ankles.

As they fall free, the door in front of them clangs open and Death gives a small smile and steps to the side, moving her staff with her so it’s held dangerously close to the side of his head. He can hear the humming of the electricity.

Zero considers his options.

Option one, he could attack. His limbs are free and he could probably break free from Four’s grip--the question is whether he could do so fast enough to get out of the way and grab Death’s staff before she jabs it somewhere it’ll hurt.

He doesn’t know how fast she is, but something about the way her eyes track every tiny involuntary movement he makes suggests to him that it’s very.

He rolls his shoulders and considers Four’s grip. The Besalisk is a big guy--he’s fought bigger, for sure, but he’s at a disadvantage considering the guy’s already got a hold of him.

Not to mention One turning around to face them from her position beside the door, her blaster rifle held at the ready.

As sorely tempted as he is (and he is so tempted), an attack right now is unlikely to turn out well for him.

Option two, he goes through that door and fights whoever they’ve sent up against him. He is utterly confident in his ability to beat whatever poor shmuck they choose, and really it’d be pretty cathartic. Then he can either attack when fully armed, or… (and he suppresses a shudder at the thought of Three’s tiny machine) he can wait for a more opportune moment.

Well. Never let it be said Zero’s not willing to delay gratification.

He gives Death a long look, then turns his head to look at Four.

“You gonna let me go there, pal?” he asks, his voice a little rough from disuse.

Four looks a little surprised to hear him speak, then chuckles maliciously and raises all four hands, palms up. “Of course. Go right on ahead, 'borg boy.”

Zero keeps his head turned just long enough for Four to know his disapproval then slowly turns it back around to face forward.

He strides forward into the room with his shoulders relaxed and his chin high, and the doors slam shut behind him.

--

The day after the announcement, the screen is red again when they filter out of the cell blocks in the morning.

Bacta immediately takes note of the crew’s reactions; Lyn presses her lips together into a thin line, but turns away from it, looking instead at the breakfast boxes. Tryst looks back at him with his eyebrows raised and a significant look on his face as he tilts his head towards Leenik. Bacta nods and shifts to look at the Rodian.

Leenik is looking right back at him, his arms crossed.

“I’m fine, Bacta,” he says, clearly annoyed. “I’m not gonna freak out. You don’t have to watch me.”

Bacta shoots Tryst a sour look, who shrugs and abandons him to follow Lyn, the traitor. He looks back at Leenik and raises his palms in a pacifying gesture.

“I know, Leenik,” he says. “I wasn’t... watching you, I just--I was checking to see how you were, is all. I’m worried about you, Leenik.”

“Well, I’m fine, so you don’t have to worry anymore,” Leenik says airily, brushing past him.

“Leenik--” Bacta says, reaching out to grab his arm, but Leenik shakes him off and shoots him a glare over his shoulder as he walks after Tryst, Tony following close at his heels.

Bacta sighs. He’s starting to feel a little like he’s drowning, like every day his friend slips farther away from him and he just keeps missing his chances to get him back. He wants so desperately to help him, to get back the starry-eyed and silly Leenik that left sometime when he wasn’t looking on Phindar and never quite returned.

Leenik’s always had a cavalier approach to killing, but the dead-eyed look he saw on his face in the arena that first day when he killed that girl haunts Bacta. Tryst and Leenik both regularly mock him for not wanting to kill people when it’s not necessary, but in all the years he’s known them, and all the fights they’ve been through together, he’s never seen that look on his face before.

Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true--there was an echo of that same look on his face when Leenik came back from talking to Chartreuse back on Phindar station. He’d disregarded it at the time, since Leenik had been acting rather off for a while at that point, and they’d had more pressing matters at hand... but he wonders now if maybe he shouldn’t have.

Regardless. Zero’s arrival at the arena has only amplified Bacta’s concerns. Of all of them, Leenik has the most bad blood with the other bounty hunter--as much as he likes punching everything in sight (and ruining all of their glasses) with his cybernetic, he has very clearly not forgiven him for taking his arm. Bacta honestly can’t blame him.

That doesn't mean he's not concerned, however. Who knows what’ll happen when Zero gets to the common room--it’s probably too much to hope that Nawl will kill him in the arena, and even if the Ithorian does somehow defeat Zero, he doubts the audience would vote against him, not after seeing him in action. He can hate Zero all he likes, he still has to admit that he's a good fighter and would probably be very appealing to the type of audience that would tune in to the Armageddon Arena every week. Bacta is very worried that Leenik might try to take his revenge on the spot, and that could only end in disaster.

Well. There’s nothing he can do about it now, especially when Leenik still won’t talk to him. Bacta reluctantly trudges after them, taking his box from Lux with a grunt of acknowledgment and sitting down beside Lyn.

It only takes a moment, now that he’s actually paying attention to his surroundings, for him to realize that Nawl is nowhere to be seen.

His stomach sinks as any doubt that the screen is on in preparation for the next fight and not some other broadcast vanishes.

“When do the fights usually start?” he asks, addressing Lux as he puts down his box. He suddenly doesn’t have much of an appetite.

Lux considers the question. “Depends,” he says. “If it’s a big one--y’know, lots of people, or a highly anticipated match-up, that kind of thing--they usually start it later, to give Famine more time to hype it up and give more people the chance to tune in and place bets. That bit they usually don't show us. I guess they don’t care if we see the shmoozing.” He shrugs. “It’s hard to tell time in this place anyways, but it’ll probably be a couple hours, at the very least.”

“Great,” Tryst says sarcastically. “So all morning’s gonna be a bummer, huh?”

“Maybe we should use the time productively,” Lyn says, putting her box down as well. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do when Zero gets here.”

“Why?” Leenik asks, already defensive. So that’s great.

“No, Lyn is right,” Bacta says. “We need to decide how we’re gonna play this. We can’t attack him, no matter what he’s done to us in the past. We already might be going into a fight at any time--we can’t afford to get into an extra one.”

He forces himself not to look at Leenik when he says it, but he probably takes it as aimed at him anyways judging by the look Bacta gets.

“Fighting is technically allowed,” Lux pipes up. He holds up his palms in appeasement when Bacta gives him a hard look; Lux isn’t too bad a sort, his good humor in the face of others’ deaths notwithstanding, but he doesn’t much appreciate him stepping into their business. “If things go too far the guards will step in, but they don’t care if we rough each other up a bit. We’ve all just sort of… decided it’s not worth it, like Bacta said. We don’t rile each other up enough usually… Kell would take a swipe at Aoti sometimes when they pushed their luck too far, but uh… well, for obvious reasons that doesn’t happen anymore.”

“Still,” Lyn says, and Bacta pushes down the pang of guilt he feels at the name of the dead Zabrak to focus on her. “We shouldn’t fight him. Even without his weapons, Zero is dangerous, and he could do some real damage, especially while we’re all unarmed, too. It’s just not worth the risk.”

“Sure, but I mean, what if he attacks us first?” Tryst asks. “It’s not like he won’t recognize us. You think he won’t attack us on sight?”

“I would,” Leenik mutters, but it’s mostly to himself so Bacta ignores it.

“It’s a possibility, but I don’t know why he would,” Bacta says. “It’s not like he can arrest us while we’re all in here together, and Lux said the guards won't let him kill us. You think he’d attack for no reason?”

“I mean, we kicked his ass, is that not reason enough?” Tryst asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I wouldn’t say we exactly ‘kicked his ass’,” Lyn says. “We escaped with our lives, yes, but I don’t remember any decisive victories.”

“All victories are decisive victories,” Tryst says dismissively.

Lyn frowns at him, as if trying to figure out if he’s being serious. “That’s… not--”

“Look,” Bacta says. “Whether we technically beat him or not, I don’t think we’ve ever done any significant damage that he might want revenge for.”

“Oh, like, say, I don’t know, cutting off his hand?” Leenik asks bitterly.

Bacta sighs and turns to him. “Buddy, I know you want to get back at him for that, and I understand, I do, but now is not the time or place.”

Leenik doesn’t respond, and won’t meet Bacta’s eyes.

“Leenik,” he presses, because he really doesn’t want to see Leenik get hurt over this, especially not outside the arena.

“Fine,” Leenik snaps. “I won’t attack him. First.”

Bacta sighs and looks over at Lyn, who shrugs. “I think that’s the best we’ll get,” she says.

She’s probably right, as usual, so he nods and reluctantly leaves it at that.

Tryst nudges Leenik. “Well, hey, maybe it won’t come to that at all. Maybe Nawl’ll actually blow his head off in there today.”

Leenik snorts and shakes his head, but his voice is a lighter lighter as he says, “Yeah, maybe.”

It hurts, a little, that Tryst seems to have the power to cheer him up when Bacta only ever seems to make him mad, but he chooses not to dwell on it.

Still, god, he misses his friend.

--

The arena is almost entirely bare, a flat industrial gray and surrounded by screens projecting the image of steel paneled walls. Scattered throughout are floating platforms at various heights, some stationary and some moving around at different speeds. A solid wall rises up in the center of the room, and he can’t see anyone else yet.

Zero considers it as he approaches the weapon rack rising out of the ground and holding all of his gear. Tucking it all into its designated places is second nature, and it’s only a minute before he’s taking his vibrosword and giving it a few practice swings. The familiar weight feels good in his hands after the past few days. He can’t help but grin behind his faceplate.

This might actually be kind of fun, he thinks, as the room is suddenly filled with the booming voice of some announcer.

--

As soon as the broadcast changes from Famine introducing the fight to the view of the arena, a stir kicks off in the common room.

It looks nothing like the mock desert town of the Mynock crew’s battle. There are no structures, or environmental dressing, only gray steel and floating platforms.

“I don’t get it, is the arena different every time?” Bacta asks, casting about for someone to answer and finally settling on Lux.

Lux nods, but he looks… confused. “Oh, for sure, can’t have things getting stale, after all--but it’s always been some kind of scene, a jungle, a desert--there was an ocean one time, they stuck the Nautolans from the Kestrel underwater and had them go at it. Y'know, something you might actually find somewhere out there. I’ve never seen the arena look like… this.” He gestures helplessly at the screen.

“Neither have I,” a soft rumble says just to the side. Bacta jumps and turns to see Jiran watching the screen with a contemplative expression, drumming their fingers against their arm.

The Trandoshan in the corner signs something to her partner, and Kell speaks up. “Taska’s right,” she says. “They’re stacking the deck against Lelam.”

“What does that mean?” Tryst asks.

“Nawl’s really good at bringing down structures, or, when he has to, brawling,” Lux explains. “But tiny moving platforms? He’s not prepared for something like this. And if this Zero character is as good as you say...” He shrugs.

“It would appear our captors have found a new favorite,” comes a soft, drawling voice from the side of the room. Bacta turns and sees Dhal standing with her hands clasped in front of her, watching the screen with keen eyes.

“And if that’s true....” Lux begins reluctantly.

“We all better watch our asses,” Kell finishes, crossing her arms and turning back to Taska.

Bacta exchanges worried looks with the rest of the crew as on screen, the wall comes down, and Zero and Nawl come into view.

--

On the other side of the wall is an Ithorian. Zero’s not really sure what he was expecting, but this probably isn’t it. The Ithorian doesn’t seem to have a sword or blaster on him, which he finds remarkably odd for a fighting ring (which is indubitably where he is now), but he does have a bandolier slung across his chest with a number of small metallic discs hanging from it, a pouch on his belt at his hip, and a small device in one hand.

“Hi there,” Zero says, giving him a small, mocking salute.

The Ithorian narrows his eyes and gives him a long look like he’s trying to figure out what exactly he’s looking at, then with surprising speed grabs a disc and flings it at him.

Zero’s cybernetics have already analyzed the trajectory of the throw and he dives out of the way, grabbing hold of the edge of one of the platforms as the disc explodes behind him. He uses the force of the explosion to propel him forward and lets go of the platform to go flying and land on another as it passes by underneath him.

He crouches down, turning his vibrosword on, and tilts his head.

“Well. All right, then.”

--

Bacta jumps a little at the sound of the explosion and turns to Lux. “Okay, I know everybody was being very coy and not at all subtle about the explosives thing, but are they really the only weapons he has?”

Lux shrugs. “Nawl wasn’t exactly leading a lifestyle with a high proportion of gunbattles before this. He was an industrial worker. I guess they figured, he knew enough about explosives to blow up a factory, they might as well give him some to do some damage with in the arena. Besides, it fits with the whole mad bomber persona they like to give him on the broadcasts.” Lux gives him a lopsided grin. “And explosions make for a great show, don’t you think?”

“Nawl also has a set of brass knuckles,” Nebban pipes up. Bacta jumps again; the Sullustan has been so quiet he’d practically forgotten he was there. Nebban is standing in his corner, his arms wrapped protectively around his torso. He offers Bacta a small smile. “He doesn’t have to use them that often, but he has them.”

Bacta gives him a slow nod and looks askance at Lux, who shrugs and gives him a sheepish grin.

“What? I didn’t think they were worth mentioning. They’re pretty boring.”

--

The Ithorian’s eyes follow Zero’s platform as it moves, another disc in his hand. He himself makes no move for any of the platforms.

Zero takes advantage of his inaction to make a leap for a different platform, flinging a throwing knife mid-trajectory. The Ithorian slings another disc as soon as he moves, and the knife collides with it mid-air. Zero’s helmet alerts him to a tiny movement in his opponent’s thumb where his other hand is closed around some device, and the disc explodes.

A remote detonator? Interesting.

Zero straightens up, standing on a high, stationary platform and looking down at the Ithorian, fairly confident he can’t throw anything to reach him this high. He adjust his cybernetic arm to its second offensive setting and a mini rocket cannon pops out just below his elbow.

“Two can play at this game,” he mutters to himself, and fires.

The Ithorian dives out of the way just in time as the rocket impacts the ground where he was standing moments before. As it explodes, the blast wave sends him flying several feet further off, where Zero’s view of him is blocked by another platform.

He casts around for a better vantage point and spots another moving platform coming towards him. With a private grin, he makes the jump for it.

Just before he reaches it, he sees a glimpse of silver out of the corner of his eye and suddenly there’s an explosion and the platform drops out from under him.

There’s no other platform within reach and with the crows of the announcer ringing in his ears, he drops a dozen feet, hitting the ground hard and rolling with it. As he puts his hand down to stop himself, he sees another flash of silver just in front of his face and there’s another explosion.

His helmet display fritzes out for a second as he’s thrown backwards and jams his cybernetic arm into the ground, bending the steel of the floor as he grabs hold to arrest his movement. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear the ringing in his ears and shoves himself to his feet, quickly bringing his sword around to knock another disc out of the air. It explodes harmlessly several yards away.

The Ithorian is standing barely twenty yards from him, watching him with a faint smile.

He takes a moment to shut off the pain receptors in his arm and shoulder. Fortunately, the explosives don’t actually seem to be designed to be deadly.

Right. They’re not supposed to kill each other.

Oh, well.

--

“Nawl’s doing better than I thought,” Bacta comments, rubbing his stinging palms on his pants. He’s been anxiously clenching his fists so tightly that there are little pinpricks of blood from his fingernails.

“The fight’s not over yet,” Leenik mutters darkly.

--

Zero tosses his sword from hand to hand, eyeing up the Ithorian. His opponent squares his own stance and pulls another disc from his bandolier.

“This has been fun and all,” Zero says, sinking down into a ready stance. “But I think it’s time to mop things up.”

“Sure,” the Ithorian rumbles, a faint smirk still on his lips.

Zero perks up a little. So he can talk! He almost kinda likes this guy, actually.

Of course, he’s still going to wipe the floor with him.

He charges at the Ithorian, dodging around the disc that comes flying at him. He plants a foot hard and swings around in a kick that hits the Ithorian’s closed fist hard.

The detonator goes flying, landing several feet away and skittering across the floor.

Without missing a beat, the Ithorian pulls a stun grenade from his hip pouch and drops it at Zero’s feet, then turns and goes running for his detonator.

Zero leaps away before the grenade can go off, grabbing the edge of another platform and swinging himself up on it.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he says to himself, switching the offensive mode on his arm and sending a blaster bolt shooting after him.

The bolt hits the detonator just as the Ithorian reaches it, and he leaps away as the detonator breaks into two smoking pieces.

The Ithorian whips around and stares up at Zero, dipping his hands into the pockets of his pants and coming out with brass knuckles across his fingers. He grabs another grenade from his pouch.

Zero projects a winky face on his helmet, then raises his arm again.

--

“This is… not good for Nawl,” Lyn murmurs.

“What a great show, though,” Lux whispers back.

Bacta shoots him a dirty look.

--

The Ithorian hurls another grenade up at him, but Zero shoots it out of the air, the shockwave making his opponent stumble back a step. He follows it up quickly with another blast, this time hitting him in the chest.

He can practically see him resisting doubling over through sheer force of will, throwing two more grenades in quick succession.

Zero blasts one again, leaping up to another platform as the other lands beside him. It goes off harmlessly behind him as the platform carries him closer to the Ithorian.

As it passes overhead, Zero drops down straight at him. The Ithorian takes a step back and hurls another grenade at him that Zero bats out of the air with his vibrosword. He lands practically on top of him, slamming his cybernetic arm into his shoulder.

A low, pained cry tears its way out of his opponent’s throat as he stumbles back, his other hand clutching the shoulder.

Zero steps into his space sweeps his legs out from under him, taking him down to his knees. The Ithorian tries to throw a desperate punch with his good arm but Zero catches it with his cybernetic arm and holds it, looking down at him and projecting a smile on his faceplate. The Ithorian gives him a long, inscrutable look.

“That was fun, pal,” he says. “But it ends now.”

He holds his vibrosword up and the Ithorian’s eyes shift from Zero to the blade.

Zero changes the projection to another wink, tosses his sword in the air and catches it in a reversed grip. He slams the hilt down between the Ithorian’s eyes and he slumps backwards. Zero keeps hold of his arm and lowers him down slowly.

--

“Oh, no,” Bacta breathes.

Behind him, he hears the unmistakable sound of Leenik punching the wall with his cybernetic.

--

Zero sheathes his vibrosword and steps back, finally tuning in to what the announcer is saying.

Incredible folks, just incredible! And our new contender Agent Zero takes his first match against the mad bomber Nawl Lelam in an exciting round of combat! You know what to do now, ladies and gentlemen. Will Mr. Lelam return to fight another day?

The screens around the arena flicker and change to an image of the Ithorian on the ground, bars slowly rising over the words Live and Die beside his name.

Zero blanks out his faceplate again and surveys the image impassively, turning his head to look down at the Ithorian--Nawl.

“Damn,” he mutters. At least he knows why they didn’t want him to kill his opponent now, but that's... pretty cold.

The door to the arena clangs open and Death walks in with her staff already activated, flanked by all six of the other bounty hunters. She gives him a significant look and angles her stagg towards him warningly.

Zero holds his hands up, his gaze flickering from person to person. Now he could maybe take them all at once, but--

Three catches his eye and raises an eyebrow, smirking. She shrugs one shoulder, and he follows it down her arm to see her hand slung casually in her pocket.

He unbuckles his sword’s sheath and lets it fall to the ground.

Death smiles.

--

“Anything yet?”

Blue looks up from the screen and immediately focuses on the steaming cup in Aava’s hand, immediately reaching out for it. She rolls her eyes but hands it to him, and he throws it back, sighing in pleasure as the caf hits his system.

“That stuff’s bad for you, you know,” Aava says mildly, crossing her arms and cocking one hip as she looks down at him.

“Don’t care,” Blue says, turning back to the screen.

“So, have you found anything yet?” she asks again, when he doesn't continue.

Blue frowns, pausing a moment in his typing.

“Not… quite.”

“What do you mean?” Aava asks. She steps closer, dropping a hand on the back of his chair and leaning forward to look over his shoulder. His skin prickles at her close proximity but he doesn’t move away; creepy as she is, she’s working with him on this. Besides, everyone knows not to show fear around Aava. Everyone smart, anyways.

“The thing is, when things get to point where Zero and I have to intervene with someone rich or powerful--usually, they don’t stay rich or powerful afterwards. Or out of prison, for that matter, if they keep their lives at all. I haven’t found anyone we've dealt with within the last year that would be able to pull this off today. I'm starting to look at older missions, but haven't found much there, either.”

Aava hums in acknowledgment. “What about family?

Blue presses his lips together in a thin line. “We usually do an excellent job of either disgracing them, or ruining their whole family’s reputation if they stand by the offender. It’s possible some distant relative took great offense, but it’s unlikely. I am very good at my job.”

“What about someone from Zero’s past? I’m sure there are plenty of people in the galaxy who’d hate a bounty hunter like him. Is there anyone like that who might have been gathering resources and only just been able to get their revenge?”

Blue sighs and leans back in his chair. “Maybe, but it would take some serious grudge to motivate them. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“No old enemies, rivals?” Aava asks, tilting her head.

Blue shrugs. “I don’t know. There are some things he doesn’t tell even me.”

Aava raises her eyebrows, looking skeptical, and Blue stares at her.

“What? What’s that look for?”

She says nothing for a long moment, raising her eyebrows even higher, then chuckles to herself and shakes her head. “Nothing. Don't worry about it.” She straightens up. “Well, I have some good news, at least.”

Blue bolts upright and immediately swivels his chair around to face her properly. “What? What is it?”

Aava smiles, looking rather satisfied with herself under that persistent layer of cool detachment. “I got Sy to do us a favor--he’s interviewing all the stormtroopers who were supposed to be on duty when Zero disappeared. The transcripts of all his sessions should be in your inbox by tomorrow.”

Blue frowns. “But I already interviewed all those soldiers. Why have Synox do it again? Just seems inefficient to me.”

Aava shakes her head. “I’ll admit, Blue, you’re good with people--but you’re not a soldier. Synox is. They might be more likely to tell him something than you--especially if a superior told them not to be at their posts. Besides, the troopers all adore Sy. They idolize him. If there’s anything to get out of these people, he’ll get it.”

Blue sighs and scrubs his face with his hands. “I hope you’re right. Synox isn’t exactly what I'd call a master manipulator.”

Aava shrugs. “He does know how to run an interrogation. For now, try looking through some of Zero’s old bounties from before he worked for you. Maybe one of them has family that’s come after him. We’ll see what Synox found out tomorrow.”

Blue nods, already swiveling back to the screen to start looking for old bounty records from years ago.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Aava says finally, turning to go.

Blue doesn’t pause in his work as he calls out, “Thanks for the caf!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her raise one hand in acknowledgment.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on tweaking his algorithm to run through the bounty records popping up on his screen--hundreds of them. Apparently Zero had quite the prolific career as a solo bounty hunter.

Well, that is why Blue hired him.

He shakes his head and sets to work.

--

“God, I can’t watch this,” Bacta says, feeling ill as both bars steadily rise, Nawl’s visage staring out at them from the screen.

“He put up a good fight,” Lux says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “They wouldn’t vote him off after a show like that.”

Bacta shakes his hand off and turns away from the screen.

Lyn walks over and puts a hand on his arm. “I don’t mean to sound callous, Bacta, but we can’t think about Nawl right now. Zero will be here any minute.”

Bacta nods, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. He's starting to get a headache from all the stress. “You’re right. Tryst.” He looks up and catches the other man’s eye, beckoning him over.

Tryst ambles over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, Bacta?” he asks.

Bacta motions for him to lean in close. “Tryst,” he says, his voice barely audible. “Keep an eye on Leenik, okay? Don’t let him attack Zero. I know he said he wouldn’t, but--well, look at him.”

They turn as one to look at Leenik, who is standing by the dent his hand put in the wall, his shoulders heaving.

Tryst gives him an appraising look, then turns and shoots Bacta a wink and a finger gun. “Yeah, I gotcha.”

He straightens up. “Hey, Leenik--”

He's interrupted as the door clangs open.

Chapter Text

Zero ambles into the common room like he’s taking a casual stroll around the block, his hands slung in his pockets and his head turning slightly as he takes in the whole room. The door slams shut on his heels and he draws to a halt, his gaze making one final sweep of the room before coming to rest on the Mynock crew.

“Well,” he says in an infuriating deadpan drawl. “Fancy seeing you here.”

There’s a pause as all attention in the room turns to the Mynock crew and Zero.

“Zero,” Bacta says, finally. He edges closer, pulling the bounty hunter's attention off of the rest of the crew and onto him. At least, he hopes that's what he does--it's all but impossible to tell under the faceplate. “It’s nice to see you again off the battlefield.”

Zero cocks his head and when he speaks again he almost sounds amused. “Oh, is that where we are? I must have been thrown off by the death arena I was just in.”

“That’s where we are in this room, and I think we’d all like to keep it that way,” Bacta says with a warning edge to his tone.

Zero shrugs, looking around again. “Fine by me.” He pauses, looking at the display showing the red screen that signals the end of a broadcast. “Did he live, by the way?”

Bacta hesitates, “I--” he says, stopping himself and looking at Lyn for help, looking troubled. “I didn’t see.”

“Yes, he lived,” Lyn says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I hope when he returns you two can be… civil.”

It’s incredible the sheer range of expression Zero can convey just with the tilt of his head. Lyn gets the distinct feeling that he is not impressed by her request, or being patronized. “I have no problems with him.”

There’s another long silence, as Zero and the crew consider each other. Zero remains deceptively relaxed, but Lyn can see the slight tension in his legs and shoulders, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. She can see the same tension in her crew.

“Y’know, he doesn’t seem crazy to me,” Lux suddenly pipes up, his arms crossed and his weight back on one foot as he looks Zero up and down. “The way you talked about him, Leenik, I figured he’d start swinging the second he got here.”

“Lux--” Bacta says, whirling around to face him, and Lyn stifles a frustrated groan.

Zero chuckles. Lyn watches suspiciously as he slowly turns to look at Leenik, who goes from purposefully looking everywhere but at the other bounty hunter to glaring directly at his faceplate.

“What?” he asks belligerently.

Lyn sees Tryst surreptitiously take a step closer to him.

Zero slowly tilts his head to the other side as he looks at Leenik, considering him for a long moment.

“Nice arm.”

Leenik lunges at him.

--

Blue is three cups of caf, about a year’s worth of bounty records, very few suspects, and only a few hours past dawn into his current research session when the files from Synox start popping into his inbox.

He muffles a pleased sound with his current cup when he gets the first notification, followed at regular intervals by several more.

Synox sent them all individually. They’re going to have to work on that--later.

But not now. Blue drains his cup and tosses it aside, opening the first file. He skims it, trying to pick out anything different from what he remembers of his own interviews of the same troopers.

They hadn’t been very forthcoming with him, insisting that they’d been where they’d been ordered to be and seen no sign of Agent Zero and refusing to say anything more. They’re rather more communicative when it’s Synox asking the questions, and it would rather ruffle Blue’s feathers if he wasn’t just glad to have the information. (It maybe does a little anyways.)

He quickly flips through a handful more transcripts, to confirm that yes--they’re either telling the truth or all have their story very straight. Each trooper he checks claims that they received an order from their commander reassigning them to a different patrol route instead of gate-duty that day, and in fact seem… surprised that Synox didn’t know.

With an itching suspicion in the back of his head, Blue closes the Bluebird’s mission logs and pulls up more general Imperial records. He set his algorithm to search for any mention of Zero while he opens his inbox and scans the names of the files Synox sent.

They're listed by name and trooper number is ascending order by rank (good old Synox) and at the bottom he finds, thank god, an interview with the commander as well.

Blue opens it and scans over it quickly, letting out a pleased noise as he finds what he’s looking for.

Synox: Commander Brotingo, you say you did order your troops to leave the gate at the time mentioned?

Brontigo: Yes, sir, I… well, permission to speak freely, sir?

Synox: Granted, soldier.

Brontigo: Did they not tell you about the exercise?

Blue’s display pings with a notification informing him that his search is complete. Blue sets it to run only on records outside of mission and official reports and restricts the date to within the past few months, then goes back to reading.

Synox: Exercise, Commander Brontigo?

Brontigo: The prototype test.

Synox: What are you talking about? Explain, Commander.

Brontigo: I received an order that morning telling me to reassign the troopers. It said there was going to be a prototype weapon test in that area and it was confidential--no one was to be there without a security clearance that none of the troopers have. I would've thought you'd know, given, y'know...

Synox: Show me the order, Commander.

Blue closes out the file and his eyes light up as a final file shows up in his inbox.

“Synox, you beautiful, thorough bastard,” he mutters under his breath as he opens the copy of the order the clone trooper included with the files.

His display pings again notifying him of one incident of Zero’s name coming up in Imperial records in the past month. Blue turns his attention to the window that pops up and stares uncomprehendingly at it for a moment.

Zero’s official personnel photo stares up at him from above a list of crimes and a bold headline declaring Agent Zero Wanted Dead or Alive For Crimes Against the Empire.

That. That is... not what he expected. For one, he doesn't recall Zero killing anyone he didn't have express permission to, and he certainly never abandoned his post. And treason? Zero? Sure, he doesn't necessarily believe whole-heartedly in the ideals of the Empire, but he's always been happy in its employ. Blue always made sure of it. Zero had no reason to turn traitor. And he certainly wouldn't do it on his cherished vacation time.

It is, quite simply, obviously a fake.

While he's still marvelling at the sheer audacity--to counterfeit a bounty against Zero, of all people--Blue’s hands type in the commands necessary to trace whoever posted it without conscious direction.

As it runs, he opens the troop order again and skims through to find whoever sent it.

His display pings him with the result of the trace and a name pops up on his display at the same time his eyes fall on the very same name at the bottom of the order sent to Commander Brontigo.

Blue lets out a deep breath and leans back in his chair, dialing Aava on his comm. The moment it clicks over he says, “I found it. Well, I found someone. They probably didn't abduct Zero themselves--but they definitely set it up. We're going on a field trip."

Aava sounds interested as she responds, "Good work, Blue. Where are we going?"

Blue narrows his eyes at the screen, immediately beginning to pull up information from the Imperial records on the new name. "We need to pay a visit to the Deputy Director of the Ministry of Industry.”

There’s a pause, then Aava’s voice comes through the comm again. She sounds amused by this new turn of events, and almost pleased. “And who exactly is this new friend of ours?”

Blue frowns as he looks at all the information he could find at hand, a vaguely familiar face with red hair and a pinched expression popping up on his screen. “An old one, actually,” he says. “His name is Quinzel Bannforr.”

--

Leenik is fast, but fortunately Tryst is ready and he grabs his friend around the middle and hauls him back before the blow can connect.

Zero, for his part, is quick to slip into a defensive position, arms up and feet squared, but makes no move to retaliate as Tryst wrestles Leenik into submission.

“Leenik--c’mon, we said we weren’t gonna do this, pal, just--ow! That’s my nose, asshole! Calm the hell down, would you?! Leenik!”

Bacta and Lyn quickly put themselves between the two struggling men and Zero. Bacta instinctively reaches one hand out towards Zero as if he to stop him, the other one angled back towards his friends.

“Look, don’t--” Bacta begins, but Zero snorts and straightens up, shaking his head and crossing his arms casually.

“Don't worry,” he says, and he actually sounds amused. “I won't. I asked for it.”

Bacta exchanges a glance with Lyn then turns around and hurries over to Tryst and Leenik, who have mostly quieted down, aside from Tryst’s muttered curses as he gingerly fingers the bridge of his nose. Leenik stands in front of him facing away from Zero, arms crossed and shoulders hunched defensively as he glares at the floor.

Bacta puts a hand heavily on his shoulder. “Leenik--”

“Get off me,” Leenik mutters, wrenching out of his grip.

“Kriffing son of a nerf-herding…” Tryst mutters, wincing.

“Leenik, listen to me,” Bacta persists.

Leenik scowls.

“Don’t even know what a nerf is… stupid cyborg bug person with a stupid cyborg rocket hand--”

“Sorry about your nose,” Leenik mutters.

Bacta sighs and pushes past Leenik to take Tryst by the wrists and gently draw his hands away from his face. “Okay, just let me look at that--”

“Don’t, you’ll just make it worse, you're a terrible medic, oh my god don't touch me, I don’t trust you near my face, that’s my--ow!”

Tryst yelps as Bacta sets his nose despite his squawks of protests and wriggling, then glares at him. Bacta looks between his two sulking crewmates and sighs again.

“All right, can we just--calm down? Not start any more fights?”

“I’m calm,” Tryst huffs. “I'm totally calm. We're both calm. Right, Leenik?”

“Yup,” Leenik grumbles. “Totally.”

“Guys,” Bacta growls warningly.

Tryst rolls his eyes. “Look, I didn’t start the fight. I finished it, all right?”

“Neither did I!” Leenik insists, turning to glare at Tryst and jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “He started it!”

“He can also hear everything you’re saying,” Zero calls out in that same amused tone.

Leenik whirls around to glare at him, jabbing a finger in his direction. He makes to storm over towards him and Bacta reaches out and plants a hand on his chest, halting his movement with a warning look.

“All right, look, I don’t care who started it, no more, okay? Don’t let him get to you, buddy.” His expression softens and he gives Leenik a pleading look, who shrugs.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Bacta reluctantly lets him go and scrubs a hand over his face, deciding that’s probably the best he’s gonna get.

“Okay. Let’s just… let’s just all sit down over here, and Zero can sit down over there, and we can all just pretend this is a bad dream. Okay? Can we do that?”

“If this was a dream my nose wouldn’t hurt this much,” Tryst grouches. “Plus, none of you would be wearing this much clothing.”

“Ew.” Leenik's surly expression drops for a moment as his whole face scrunches up at the thought.

“Stop touching that, it’s fine,” Bacta says, swatting Tryst's hand away from his nose. Tryst scowls at him, wincing as it bothers the injury.

He shepherds them over to the wall and sinks to the ground with a sigh. Lyn comes to join them warily, and Zero looks over them all, then ambles away to sit against a wall on his own, fiddling with his cybernetic arm.

Lux flops down beside them. “So, that’s Agent Zero, huh?”

As one, the four of them turn to glare at him.

He puts his hands up defensively and leans backwards. “Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” he says. He mimes zipping his lips and they turn away from him again.

Bacta lets his head drop back against the wall with a groan.

That was a narrowly-avoided disaster, and he desperately hopes the coming days aren’t just full of the same.

Then he hopes he didn't just jinx them.

Chapter Text

Zero is assigned to their cell block (or at least, when Three saunters into the room, looks at him, and points, that's where he goes), which Lyn can see isn’t good for anybody’s nerves. Fortunately he seems content not to start anything, standing behind them with his arms crossed and his head cocked curiously as Three lets Tryst in to see Tamlin.

She watches Zero the whole time, warily, but he makes no move towards Tamlin and says nothing, just shrugs when Three announces playtime’s over and it’s time to break it up. She notices, as she goes, that Zero tries to look casual while giving the much smaller Chiss woman a wide berth on his way to his cell, and she catches the sharp smile Three gives him before she leaves, the doors to all their cells and then the block shutting behind her.

The next morning, he files out into the room with the rest of them, then surprises them all by sitting down beside Nawl. Lyn gives the Ithorian an inquisitive look but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting over to make room but otherwise ignoring Zero entirely.

Zero looks up wordlessly as Lux offers him his box, a question mark popping up on his faceplate.

“It’s food,” Lux says, then grins. “Only the finest for us sorry space scum.”

Zero huffs a small laugh and takes his, looking down at it, then snorts softly to himself. “It’s labeled,” he says. “Cute.”

“Oh sure, just like our mommas used to make, huh? They really care here at the Armageddon Arena. You don’t get that kind of personal touch at other death rings, that’s for sure.”

Zero chuckles again, a little louder, and opens his box as Lux moves on to passing out the others.

Lyn can’t help but crane her neck to try to see what’s inside; she hasn’t studied the Gank much and don’t know much at all about them, and the rest of the prisoners are all given food specific to their species--she’s terribly curious as to what kind of food their captors have provided for him.

Before she can get a good look, however, Lux steps into her view, offering her own box with raised eyebrows. She quickly looks away, embarrassed, snatching it from him and reluctantly sitting down beside Nebban, who mumbles a quiet greeting that she returns. She finds his timid nature rather frustrating in a supposed rebel, but can't help but pity him anyways; it's an unspoken truth in the room that he only survives until the horsemen run out of interesting match-ups and remember he exists.

Before she can even open her box, she feels a tap on her shoulder. Surprised, she looks up to see Bacta standing over her, looking guarded.

“Lyn,” he says in a low voice.

Lyn is instantly on alert. “Yes, Bacta?” she asks, scanning the room for what could be putting him on edge. It’s not long before she locates the most likely culprit: Dhal Ske’nos, the Bothan woman, standing politely a few feet away, hands clasped in front of her and looking directly at Lyn. Lyn narrows her eyes and hisses, “Bacta, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, then sighs at her pointed look. “She came to me, okay? She just wants to talk. I said I’d like you to be there.”

“What does she want from you?” Lyn asks.

Bacta shrugs. “I don’t know, but look, we could get some information out of her, stuff that can help us in the arena.”

“She must be trying to get information out of you, Bacta--you heard Lux, he said she always asks for something in return!” Lyn hisses, glancing over her shoulder at the other Twi’lek, who is happily chatting with Tryst.

“I know, I know, but Lyn, please? There are… things I want to know,” Bacta says, with a suddenly shifty expression.

Lyn narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Bacta..." He refuses to meet her eyes and she stands up, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Bacta, look at me. This is about those children, isn’t it?”

Bacta doesn’t reply, but he finally makes eye contact again with a guilty, pleading expression. Lyn sighs and reluctantly shrugs in defeat.

“Okay,” she says finally, inwardly lamenting her boys' ability to get her into trouble even while their lives are already in danger. “But we have to be careful, okay, Bacta?”

He just grins at her and leads her over to Dhal, who politely pretends she didn’t hear every word of their conversation. She offers Lyn her hand, and after a moment Lyn takes it.

“It’s a pleasure to properly meet you, at last,” she says in her soft, lilting voice. “If only it were under better circumstances.”

“You as well,” Lyn says, cautiously. She lets go of Dhal’s hand quickly, just shy of being rude. “Perhaps when we’re out of here we’ll meet again under better terms.”

Dhal laughs softly, and there’s a sharp gleam in her eye. “I appreciate your attitude, Lyntel. I quite hope you turn out to be right.” She takes a step back and sweeps a hand towards where her meal box sits on the floor. “Please, join me.”

Lyn and Bacta awkwardly sit down shoulder-to-shoulder, facing Dhal as she sinks elegantly to the floor.

“So,” Dhal begins.

“Why did you approach my friend?” Lyn asks immediately.

Dhal pauses, giving Lyn a long, appraising look, then leans towards them slightly. “I… believe that things are going to become very complicated soon,” she says, enunciating each word deliberately and in a lowered voice. “We may no longer have the same chances to speak soon, and I like to make a point of getting to know everyone who comes through here.” She gives them a wry smile and shifts back again. “Alas, I may not get the chance with Agent Zero; but perhaps you can help me on that front, as well.”

Lyn shares a look with Bacta, who frowns as they turn back to face Dhal.

“What do you mean, things are going to be complicated?” Bacta asks warily. “How do you know?”

Dhal tilts her head and her smile becomes something rather more enigmatic. “I’ll tell you if you tell me something about yourself.”

Lyn tenses and restrains herself from giving a Bacta a look to tell him See? as she feels him shift nervously beside her. “What do you want to know?” he asks.

Dhal slowly looks him over, and Bacta does an admirable job of holding steady with his soldier's posture under her piercing gaze. “How about those tattoos on your arm?” she asks, finally. "I'd love to know what they mean."

Lyn presses her lips together and looks at Bacta, but he doesn’t look back, clearly mulling it over.

“... Fine,” he says finally.

Dhal looks pleased, gesturing for him to go on.

Bacta clears his throat and shakes back his sleeves, revealing more of the black ink running up and down his skin.

“They’re the names and designation numbers of my brothers,” he says. “I… assume you know I’m a clone.” He gestures at his face and pauses long enough for Dhal to chuckle and nod, then continues, “I was a medic in the Republic army. When one of the other clones in my unit died, I had their name added so I wouldn’t forget them.”

Dhal tilts her head. “There are a lot of names.”

“It was a long war,” Bacta retorts evenly, his gaze hardening slightly. Dhal smiles and nods her acquiescence.

“Now it’s your turn,” Lyn says. “How do you know something’s going to happen?”

Dhal shifts slightly, clearing her throat. “You know Jiran, of course.”

Lyn raises her eyebrows, her eyes darting to the Zabrak reclining against the wall nearby. She looks back at Dhal. “What about him?”

“Them, actually," Dhal says and Lyn nods in acknowledgment. Dhal goes on, "Jiran, on occasion, gets… feelings, about things that are going to happen. Not very specific, usually, but they are, more often or not, correct.”

Lyn’s neck hurts from how quickly she whips around to look at Bacta, who meets her wide-eyed stare.

“You mean,” he says. “They have the--”

“Who am I to say?” Dhal says, smoothly interrupting him. “But we have been in this place a long time together, they and I, and I have come to trust them when they tell me something will happen. And they say there is something on the horizon.”

“Do they know what?” Lyn asks, finding it difficult to keep her eyes off Jiran now. Despite their proximity (it's incredibly difficult to avoid overhearing what anyone says with twelve people in the same room, though their low voices and the comparably loud chatter from the other circle gives them some small privacy), they don't acknowledge the three of them at all, staring idly into the middle distance.

Dhal shrugs wordlessly, and Lyn isn’t sure if that means she doesn’t know, or that she refuses to say.

Lyn mulls this over, trying to figure out what this could mean for them. It could really be anything--A chance to escape? An even worse situation? Her skin itches with the need to plan for the future using this new knowledge but it’s so infuriatingly vague that she doesn’t know where to start.

Dhal spreads her hands in front of her, the movement drawing Lyn’s attention back to the Bothan woman. “But I digress; Jiran’s warning may have pressed me to approach you, but it’s not why I wanted us to speak.”

“And why might that be?” Bacta asks.

Dhal smiles. “As I said, I like to know everyone in the arena. I like to have information; call it an old habit. And I’m willing to trade for it.”

“What do you have to trade?” Lyn asks suspiciously.

Dhal gestures to the room at large with a sweep of one hand. “I know quite a bit about just about everyone in here, as well as those who have... unfortunately departed. Why don’t we play a game?” She tilts her head and meets Bacta’s eyes, then Lyn’s. “Ask me a question; I’ll ask one in return. If we decide it’s an equal trade, we exchange answers. If not, we can barter--or neither of us learn anything.”

“Until?” Bacta asks.

Dhal shrugs. “Until we are both satisfied, or we refuse to answer any more--whichever comes first.”

Bacta looks at Lyn. Lyn’s mouth twists as she thinks about it. “Information could be helpful in the arena,” she says, a little reluctantly. “And we don’t have to answer anything we don’t like.”

Bacta hums, nodding, and turns back to Dhal. “All right.”

Dhal’s smile widens, and she looks at Bacta, tilting her head towards him and waiting patiently for his question.

Bacta glances sideways at Lyn, then leans in closer towards Dhal. “What did the crew of the Kestrel do to get put here?” he asks in a low voice.

Lyn sighs inwardly, but makes no outward show of it. It’s not information that’s likely to help them in their current situation, but she knows the dead crew has been haunting Bacta since their disastrous first fight.

She doesn’t like to think about it herself, either.

Dhal considers the question, humming to herself, then asks, “How did your little crew come together?”

Bacta glances at Lyn, who shrugs. It seems harmless enough to tell. It hardly matters if they incriminate themselves to another enemy of the Empire. Bacta looks past her towards where Tryst and Leenik are sitting, who at a glance appear to be in a heated argument about the contents of Tryst’s breakfast. Lyn looks back just as Bacta turns away to face Dhal again, but she catches the fond look in his eyes just before.

“We met in a cantina,” he says. Dhal raises her eyebrows, and he chuckles. “It's a cliche, I know, but we did. We all got arrested at the same time when some stormtroopers came in and started causing trouble, and we escaped their custody together and stole a ship to get out. We’ve been together ever since.” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I guess it was quite the bonding experience.”

Dhal smiles, then her gaze slowly slides over to Lyn. “And all of you met in that cantina?” she asks, deceptively lightly.

Lyn tenses, seeing Bacta look at her out of the corner of her eye. "Is that another question?" Lyn asks.

Dhal raises one eyebrow. "You're part of the crew, aren't you?" She pauses, then chuckles. "That one was rhetorical."

Lyn does not like to advertise her career. She especially--assuming they all get out of here--doesn't want someone like Dhal loose in the world knowing her name and occupation. But she also doesn't want to alienate Dhal before they get any useful strategic information, either.

Bacta says nothing. She respects that he’s putting this in her hands.

“We ran into each other a few weeks ago,” she says at last, smoothly. “We ran out of fuel over the same planet. I bargained my way onto their ship, and have stayed since then. We work well together.”

Dhal hums, apparently accepting her answer, though Lyn can see the sharp curiosity still in her eyes. She resettles herself, folds her hands, and starts speaking.

“The crew of the Kestrel were barely even a crew, and hardly criminals. A Moff asked them to do a favor for her, and they refused. The Moff, evidently, did not want word to get out of what she was asking for. She accused them of stealing confidential Imperial information and Death’s hunters snapped them up not long after the bounty was posted. Just a few more nameless victims of the Empire.” Dhal gives Bacta a sad smile.

Bacta takes the information quietly, stone-faced. Lyn shifts slightly to press her arm against his and feels him press back.

Dhal watches him closely. “Do you have another question, Bacta? I assure you, I do.”

Lyn can see Bacta inwardly shake himself, and he nods, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “Who are Kell and Taska?” he asks.

Lyn nods, glad for a more tactically relevant question. The Mirialian and her Trandoshan companion have spoken barely a word in the entire time the Mynock crew has been in the arena, and remain very much an enigma--and one that promises danger.

Dhal’s smile widens. “Who is the boy your block?”

Lyn bolts upright as if struck by lightning, and exchanges quick looks with Bacta.

“How do you know about that?” Bacta asks suspiciously, his hands flexing where they rest on his thighs like he wishes for his blaster rifle. Lyn can relate.

Dhal only smiles and says nothing, her large ears flickering outwards.

They cannot let her know about Tamlin--not anything important.

Bacta frowns, glancing back at the closed door to their cell block, appearing to weigh the decision in his mind, before saying, slowly and reluctantly, “He’s our friend’s son. We’ve been looking after him since she went missing. When they captured us, they brought him, too.”

Dhal gives him a long look, tilting her head. “And why would they bother to bring in a little boy?”

Bacta meets her gaze with a hard look of his own. “That sounds like another question.”

"Is it? If the reason is something inherent about him, I would argue that it is, in fact, part of the original."

"Tamlin is our son," Bacta says firmly. "That's what's important."

Dhal gives him a long, long look, then smiles and inclines her head, holding up her palms. “Very well.”

She straightens and turns her head, directing her gaze towards Kell and Taska in their corner, leaning as ever inwards towards each other, their hands moving rapidly. Dhal turns back. “They are partners, in every sense of the word, and formidable bounty hunters. They’ve worked together for years and been together for only slightly less. Taska cannot speak, but it has never seemed to bother them much to me.”

“What was Jiran before the arena?” Lyn asks before Bacta can speak up, her eye drawn to the maroon-skinned Zabrak once more.

“Why would the Empire place a bounty on a child?”

Lyn's gaze jolts back to Dhal and shakes her head firmly. “No.”

Dhal raises her eyebrows, her eyes glinting. “Oh?”

“It’s not an equivalent exchange. Ask something else.”

Dhal’s eyebrows raise even higher, and a slow, pleased smile spreads across her face. “All right,” she says, sounding delighted to have them fully playing her game. “What were you before the arena, Lyntel?”

They go like that for a good while.

Lyn and Bacta successfully circumvent all further questions about Tamlin. Lyn ends up giving away information about her schooling, and a vague suggestion of doing research on behalf of the Republic, but manages to avoid directly mentioning ExplorCorps or her espionage work. Bacta tells her the name of his clone squadron and Sian Jiesel, and cites irreconcilable ideological differences for not joining the Empire with most of his brethren. Reluctantly, loathe as he is to give up information on his friends’ behalf, Bacta admits that Tryst is a smuggler from Tatooine (carefully skirting around his childhood situation, though he thinks Dhal may have figured it out on her own), and that Leenik was part of a bounty hunting team that disbanded. They tell Dhal that Zero is a bounty hunter and works (worked?) closely with the Imperial Minister of Propaganda, but have to admit they don’t know much about him beyond that.

In return, they learn that Jiran was a renowned assassin hired to take out a high-ranking Imperial official, and promptly sold out by their employer. Dhal herself was a spy and information broker, caught selling Imperial information to a rebel cell (and, from her bitter tone while admitting it, not pleased about it). They learn the weapons favored by Jiran, Kell, Taska, and Lux, though Dhal gently but firmly refuses to give up her own. Bacta finally secures the mother’s name of the Nautolan pilot of the Kestrel before rising to his feet, Lyn following suit.

“Well, it was certainly interesting to speak with you, Ms. Sek'nos,” Bacta says, offering Dhal his hand. She accepts it gracefully, smiling and inclining her head to him.

“It was a pleasure,” she says, letting go of Bacta’s hand to clasp Lyn’s. “I hope you found it as enlightening as I did.”

Lyn gives her a tight smile, releasing her hand and turning to walk back to their circle, Bacta close on her heels. They sit down beside Tryst, still lost in thought.

As usual around Tryst, it doesn't last long. He elbows her and asks, “Hey, what was up with Miss Creepy? She try to put a curse on you or something?”

Lyn snorts, shaking her head and coming back to the present to roll her eyes at Tryst. “No, Trystan, she did not put a curse on us. She wanted to talk. We got some information on our opponents.”

Tryst shrugs. “She still seems like a witch to me.”

Lyn furrows her brow. “Tryst--”

“What the hell?”

Lux’s sudden exclamation cuts through the chatter of the general conversation in the room. All eyes shift to him, as he stands staring wide-eyed past all of them. He gestures speechlessly with one arm and almost as one the room turns around.

The screen, blank when they came in this morning, has turned on, displaying the red screen with the wheel and horse.

“What, what’s wrong?” Zero asks, a question mark appearing on his faceplate as he looks around at all the confused and alarmed faces around him. “What does that mean?”

“It means there’s a broadcast,” Bacta says, frowning. “But there was just a fight yesterday, why--”

“They’ve never done it like this, turning it on halfway through the day,” Lux cuts in. “It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t give the audience enough time to tune in or give us time to stew. Something’s going on, something's different.”

“Oh, good, they’re changing things up,” Tryst says sarcastically. “Don’t even have the decency to stick to a procedure. What sort of animals are running this operation?”

Lyn jumps as the screen abruptly changes to Famine at his desk, grinning at the camera.

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! My deepest apologies for the short notice today, but we’re just so very excited to share our news with you, and it couldn’t wait! If you or someone you know missed it live, this broadcast will play in a loop on the usual frequency for twelve standard hours, so please, tell your friends! No one will want to miss out on what comes next.”

“What the hell is he doing?” Lux asks behind them, still agitated. Lyn whips around and shushes him urgently. He puts up his hands in surrender but still looks upset.

“The last few rounds here at the Armageddon Arena have been particularly exciting, as we all know,” Famine continues. “We know that you all are hungry for more, and as always we are eager to provide--that’s why we are ecstatic to announce to you now a new, unprecedented marathon of matches. That’s right, for the next week and more, we will be presenting you with a new fight every other day. That’s more than three times the normal helping, folks, so I hope you have a big appetite!”

A stir breaks out in the common room as half the prisoners jump to their feet and almost everybody starts babbling at each other. They only quiet down when Kell loudly snaps, “Shut up, assholes, I’m trying to hear!” and give their attention back to the screen as Famine shuffles his notes.

“Now, of course you’re wondering what these matches will be. And we don’t want to spoil your appetite before you get to see them, so we won’t tell you the exact match-ups just yet, but I will tell you this.” He looks directly into the camera and grins his shark's grin. “My friends, I'm sure you all remember the fateful final battle of the crew of the Kestrel. This week, we will be putting their conquerors through their paces!"

Oh, no. Dread creeps over Lyn as he goes on, and Lyn gets the distinct feeling that Famine is talking directly to them.

"That’s right, folks, every match in this lovely marathon will involve at least one member of our new contenders, the crew of the Mynock!”

Lyn immediately turns to find Tryst, Leenik, and Bacta already staring at each other in shock.

“What?” Bacta asks, his voice strangled.

“What the hell?” Leenik adds.

“This is not good,” Lyn says.

“Yeah, no shit,” Tryst snaps at her.

“This marathon starts tomorrow,” Famine continues, and Bacta shushes them frantically to listen. Tryst continues to wave his arms emphatically as he holds his tongue. “With an exciting round of rivals… versus lovers.” Famine winks at the camera. “That’s right, folks. The Mynock’s own Leenik Geelo--” As one, the rest of the crew turn to look at Leenik, who presses his lips together in a thin line and rises stiffly to his feet. “--will team up with other new contender Agent Zero, with whom he has a long-running rivalry!”

An exclamation point flashes briefly across Zero’s faceplate, but he says nothing as the Mynock crew turns to stare at him, offering just a shrug as if to disavow any responsibility in this coming chaos.

“They will be joined, of course, by Tony Vornskr, Mr. Geelo’s loyal animal companion. Will they be able to overcome their enmity and work together well enough to take down everyone’s favorite dynamic duo, Kell Naqao and her dear partner Taska? Tune in tomorrow, folks, and find out! And remember, if someone you know missed this broadcast, tell them to tune in as well. No one will want to miss this! As always, I’m your host, Famine. Stay hungry, ladies and gentlemen.”

The screen abruptly cuts out and the room is plunged into chaos once more.

“What the hell?” Tryst asks again, loudly. “Why would he pick on us like that?”

Bacta rounds on Lux, asking urgently, “Have they ever done something like this before?”

Lux, for once, looks completely caught off guard, putting up his hands as if to fend him off. “I--I’ve never seen it, or heard of them doing anything like this, it--it doesn’t make sense, why risk the new exciting fighters? Why try to get rid of you, right after going to all the trouble to bring you here? And why the late broadcast? Why only announce this the day before, if it’s such a big event? I don’t--I don’t know what’s going on, Bacta, but something’s wrong.”

“What are we going to do?” Lyn asks, her mind racing as she tries to think of some way of this.

There’s a loud slam and they all jump and turn to see Leenik with his cybernetic embedded in the wall, not far off the other dent. As they watch, he slowly draws it back, turning to look up at the rest of them with a cold fury in his eyes.

“Easy,” he says, slamming his cybernetic fist into his other palm. “We fight, and if we have to kill everything they throw at us, we do that.”

As Tryst and Bacta explode at him, Lyn turns to see Jiran standing by the wall in their usual spot, head tilted towards Dhal as she murmurs to them, but their eyes on the Mynock crew. As she stares at them, they lock eyes with her and give a slow, measured nod.

She doesn't know what to do. She didn’t think the horizon would be this close.

Chapter Text

They come for Leenik and Zero early the next morning.

Leenik is awake the moment the door to the cell block opens, bolting upright on his thin pallet and already getting to his feet by the time his door opens.

It’s weird, sort of, stepping out of his cell and not seeing Tryst stepping out of the one across the hall.

Instead, he gets Zero stepping out down the hall, and the silhouette of Three standing in the entrance, flanked on either side by Two and Five.

There’s no question of which sight he prefers.

At least Tony is there, slinking out of his cell to press himself against Leenik's leg, already bristling and glaring at the guards.

“Morning, boys,” Three says with a lazy grin. “Ready to go?”

Neither of them say anything, and Leenik hates that he feels an odd kinship with Zero, standing with mirrored crossed arms and impassive expressions, staring their captors down.

Three pouts a little, then shrugs. “I’ll take that as a yes. Stick close to us and don’t go wandering off, now.”

She turns, gesturing for them to follow, and walks out of the cell block. Zero glances back over his shoulder at Leenik, then walks after her.

As Leenik makes to follow, he hears a hissed, “Hey, Leenik!”

He turns to see Tryst at the grate in his door, giving him a cheesy grin.

“Tryst?” he asks, stopping short. He has never once seen Tryst awake earlier than absolutely necessary unless they're in the middle of a firefight, and frankly the mere idea of him getting up early is rather off-putting.

He must have heard the doors open, or something.

“Good luck, buddy,” Tryst says, unruffled by Leenik’s incredulous tone. “Don’t die out there. We’re rooting for you.”

“Thanks,” Leenik says dumbly, blinking.

“Hey, Geelo! Move it!” Two’s head pops into the cell block, looking annoyed. “Let’s go!”

Leenik glances at Tryst, who shoots him a wink, then shakes himself and turns towards her. “Yeah,” he says, giving her a sour look. “I’m coming.”

When he looks back Tryst has disappeared from the grate, and Leenik reluctantly walks after Two with Tony at his heels. He scowls at her as he passes by to follow Zero and the other guards through the door out of the common room, but there’s a nugget of something warm lodged deep in his chest.

Three and Five take point leading them down the hall, but rather go straight all the way to the door to the arena, they turn at the junction, Five pausing to make sure Zero and Leenik make the turn as well. This hallway is remarkably similar to the other one, maybe somewhat longer, but as they walk down it they pass by a handful of doors similar to the ones leading into the common room, cell blocks, and arena, each with its own small green scanner at eye level. The guards ignore them completely, and eventually they reach another junction at the end of the hallway.

Five once again gestures them to follow Three as she turns. Leenik glances back over his shoulder at the other end of the hallway, and sees at least one more door down that way before the Rishii cuts off his view and ushers him forwards.

Three stops in front of a door identical to the arena door in the other hall. She pauses there and gestures for Five to open it, keeping her eyes firmly on Zero with the same smug grin. Two comes up into Leenik’s peripheral vision, holding her blaster warningly.

“You’ll be in there a few minutes before the weapons pop up and the match starts,” Two says. “Try not to kill each other before then.”

Zero snorts softly and Leenik chooses to ignore both of them, the metal in his cybernetic creaking as he clenches his fist.

The door clangs open and Three steps to the side, gesturing with one hand.

Zero skirts around her and goes inside. She raises an eyebrow at Leenik, who reaches out to touch Tony’s scruff before pulling his shoulders back and striding in after him.

The door closes behind them.

--

“So, when are you going to tell me why Bannforr would want to abduct Zero?” Aava asks as Blue walks out of the cockpit of the Bluebird.

Blue glances at her where she's sitting back in one of the seats around the Bluebird’s conference table with her legs crossed, a steaming cup in hand and one eyebrow primly raised. He ignores her for the amount of time it takes to make himself a cup of caf and down it, then make another one and go to join her across the table.

“It was years ago,” he says, restlessly rotating his cup in between his hands. “One of the first field assignments Zero and I went on. Quinzel Bannforr was supervising a system of mining operations, and we were sent in to investigate the effectiveness of a new line of propaganda I’d worked on.” Blue shakes his head, raking one hand through his hair subconsciously. “I don’t know what this guy was thinking, but when we got there we found out he wasn’t running it at all. And not just the propaganda--his mines weren’t running according to Imperial protocol. He’d made up all his own stuff.”

“Maybe he was trying to impress somebody,” Aava says lightly, sipping from her cup. “Prove himself.”

Blue snorts. “If he was, he got a rude awakening. Zero and I totally kicked him out. And he was not happy about it.”

Aava chuckles. “About losing his job to a scrawny teen and his pet bounty hunter? I can’t imagine why.”

Blue gives her a glare, but he can’t deny her point. “I’m honestly not sure what exactly happened to him--I thought he’d been fired completely, but I guess someone higher up in the ministry liked him, or owed him a favor, or something, because he must have kept a job somewhere.”

“And now he’s Deputy Director.”

Blue nods, blowing out a hard breath and taking a long sip of caf. “And now he’s Deputy Director.”

Aava sets her cup down, leaning forward to rest her crossed arms on the table. “So what’s the plan?”

Blue takes another sip of caf as he considers the question, finally placing the near-empty cup down and taking a deep breath. “We find out what he knows. Who took the bounty, and where they took Zero.”

“Do you think he’d know that? It can’t have been to any Imperial outpost. They would have registered that he was brought in and it would have shown up when you searched the security logs.”

Blue runs a hand through his hair again, shaking his head. “I don’t know. The bounty wasn’t listed as fulfilled, so whoever took Zero hasn’t turned him in yet. I don’t know why they’d wait this long, but maybe Bannforr’ll know. Even if he doesn’t, if we can get a name from him, that’s a place to start looking. Most bounty hunters have some sort of base of operations, and if they’re big enough to take on a mark like Zero, people will probably know about them. I can find them. I will find them.”

He sounds too much like he’s trying to convince himself, and Blue would hate it if Aava hadn’t already seen him at lower points just this past week. There’s really no salvaging his reputation with her by this point; not that she ever thought highly of him to begin with.

Aava just looks at him as he drains his cup and restlessly adjusts his cuffs, until finally he looks up and meets her eyes again.

She asks, “So how do we get him to talk?”

--

The arena is filled with trees, with thick canopies and hanging moss and vines and high roots. The grass is covered in some thick, green, spongy material that mimics the feeling of thick mud and undergrowth underfoot. Leenik would almost feel like he’s on Rodia again, except for the eerie silence and Zero standing a few feet away.

Zero walks over to one of the trees and knocks on it with his metal hand; a dull metallic clanging sound emanates from the impact.

“Huh,” he says lighty, “That’s interesting.”

“It’s not like they could just get real trees,” Leenik mutters, watching Tony as the vornskr investigates another tree. He whines curiously and raises one paw, raking his claws down its side.

The resulting screech is truly awful to behold, and Leenik automatically claps both hands over his ears. Zero does similarly, an exclamation point popping up on his display.

“Oh, god, that’s the worst sound I have ever heard in my entire life,” he exclaims. “Control your dog, would you?”

“He’s not my dog,” Leenik snaps, but nevertheless goes over and pulls an agitated Tony away from the tree. Tony turns to him and whines, giving him an utterly pitiful look.

“I know, Tony,” Leenik coos, kneeling down and scratching behind his ears. “These aren’t like our trees on the ship. They make a bad sound that hurt your poor widdle ears, don’t they?”

Tony licks his face.

“That’s adorable,” Zero deadpans behind him. Leenik shoots a glare at him over his shoulder where he stands with his arms crossed, projecting raised eyebrows on his display.

Zero sighs and drops both his arms and the projection. “Look, you don’t like me. I get it. I cut off your arm and hunted you down, that’s fair. But I don’t really wanna die here, so can we maybe work together here, just a little bit?”

Before Leenik can respond, a hole opens in the floor just beside Zero, making him jump to the side a few inches as the weapons rack emerges from the floor. Leenik rises to his feet and strides over, pulling on his gloves and grabbing his sword.

As the screens above them flicker to life and Famine’s voice booms out into the arena, Leenik meets his eyes--or at least where he imagines his eyes to be under the helmet--and tells him, “Just don’t get in my way.”

--

Blue is torn for most of the jump through hyperspace between enduring Aava’s impassive stare in the main room or the holographic Zero in the cockpit, too proud to obviously retreat to his cabin where he has no ready excuse waiting for him. Eventually he does say something about making sure the flight computers are working properly and takes another cup of caf into the cockpit with him to escape.

He's grateful for Aava's help, really he is, but she gives him the heebie-jeebies.

He takes a seat as far from the autopilot’s holograph as he can, ignoring the faint blue glow in his peripherals to the best of his ability. He does run a quick check on the flight computers, but of course they’re performing properly. He may not know how to fly the ship like Zero does, but he can program one to do it for him just fine.

It won’t help them in a firefight, but it’ll get them to Bannforr.

Fortunately, the jump is short and Aava walks into the cockpit as the computer brings them down to land in the Imperial courtyard. She pauses and looks between him and the holograph, and Blue pretends like he wasn’t just purposely avoiding looking at his own computer program.

“This is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says, her voice dripping with pity and disdain.

Blue shoots her a withering glare (that she shrugs off) as he gets up and goes over to the flight computer to shut the ship down. Zero pops out of view as the ship powers down and Blue pretends it doesn’t send a pang through his chest. It’s stupid; it’s just a hologram. A silly one, at that, made partially as a joke and partially as a display of… what? Friendship? Towards Zero when he was still newly hired, when Blue was desperately trying to impress and endear himself to his new partner.

He turns his back on the computer and gives Aava an expectant look. She steps aside and gestures for him to go first.

Blue straightens his collar and fixes his hair the best he can without a proper comb and spray, then walks down the Bluebird’s ramp, hands clasped behind his back and Aava following a few steps behind, one hand laid casually on the hilt of her saber.

The trooper guards at the entrance to the building holds up a hand as they approach and Blue pauses, giving him an impatient look.

“Sir, your name and business, plea--”

“I am Minister Blue, here to talk to Deputy Director Bannforr, and I frankly don’t have time to deal with you,” he snaps. “Where is his office?”

The trooper who spoke stops short, exchanging a look with his partner, who pulls out a datapad and starts typing quickly. The first trooper turns back to them.

“Er, sir, I wasn’t told to expect you--”

“That’s because we didn’t tell you,” Blue says. “And as it turns out, I don’t actually have to tell you! Stand aside.”

“Sir--”

“It’s him, Vyri,” his partner interrupts him, holding out the datapad that now displays Blue’s visage. “Just let him in.”

The trooper wavers, looking past Blue at Aava. “And who’s she?”

“She’s with me,” Blue says. “Now do as I say and stand aside.”

The trooper holds up his hands defensively, taking a step to the side. “All right, sir, all right. Just trying to follow protocols, I’m sure you understand--”

“Mmhmm, sure,” Blue says, brushing past him.

“The Deputy Director’s office is D055,” the second trooper calls after him, and Blue waves a hand in acknowledgment without turning back.

“Nice,” Aava says sardonically. “Smoothly done.”

“Whatever,” Blue mutters. “We’re almost there. Are you ready?”

Aava gives him a condescending look and he snorts, glancing up to find a label for the section of the complex, directing them towards where he knows D055 should be located. Fortunately, the Empire’s penchant for organization and standardization extends to their own bases of operations, and the layout is remarkably similar regardless of location.

A shiver goes up his spine as his eyes alight on the proper door number.

They’re closing in.

We’re coming, Zero.

--

The trees are so thick Leenik can barely see the wall, but he hears it coming down. He turns to look down at Tony.

“Okay, boy,” he says softly. Tony cocks his head and angles his ears towards him, on alert. “Help me find them. Stay close, and be careful.”

Tony pants and starts sniffing the air. Leenik drops a kiss on the top of his head.

“Okay. I love you. Let’s go.”

By the time he’s turned around, Zero is nowhere to be found, but Leenik doesn't care. Tony takes off at a lope into the trees, and Leenik follows.

Tony leads him in a wide arcing path through the trees, his long lean body low to the ground and his barbed tail held in a threatening arc above his back. Leenik keeps pace, his eyes darting around for signs of movement in the trees. With visibility so low, the utter silence is disconcerting--even Famine is being quiet for once.

Tony stops abruptly, going stiff-legged with his spines bristling and a low rumble emanating from his throat. Leenik stops just behind him, raising his vibrosword and looking around warily.

Over the sound of Tony’s growls, Leenik almost misses the faint whirring sound from off to the side and just barely leaps aside in time to avoid the large beam of light that goes shooting through where he just was, nailing a tree behind him and leaving a large scorch mark.

Behind him, he hears the faint pounding of feet on soft ground and whirls around just in time to see Tony leap forwards to meet Taska, charging towards them with a vibro-axe raised high. She brings it around just in time for Tony’s jaws to close around it instead of her throat and his front paws land heavily against her chest, his claws scrabbling at the thick material of her vest. Leenik races forwards to help him, slashing his sword at her hand.

Taska releases the hilt of her axe with that hand before Leenik can make contact, using the other to swing it out wide and smash Tony into the side of a tree. He yelps and drops his hold, landing heavily on all four paws and shaking himself, snarling at the Trandoshan.

Taska takes a step back and brings her axe around to block another of Leenik’s swings, shoving him back and swiping at him low to force him back another step. Leenik moves around to put her in between him and Tony, who leaps forward at her legs.

Taska jabs backwards forcefully with the hilt of her axe, hitting Tony in the face and sidestepping to put them in line together. She brings her axe up again and swings it once in a circle.

Leenik adjusts his grip on his sword and narrows his eyes, studying her defense, when he suddenly hears, “MOVE!” and another whirr.

Without thinking, he throws himself to the side, and see a dark blur leap out of the canopy and barrel into Tony, knocking him out of the way as another blast of energy cuts through where they were standing a moment ago.

--

Blue and Aava are waiting for Bannforr when he gets back to his office.

When they found it locked and got no response to knocking, it was no large feat for Blue to slice into the door controls and open it for them. After that it was just a matter of getting comfortable and waiting for him to return from whatever business he was attending to.

Bannforr sweeps into the room not much later, studying a datapad. He glances up at his desk and does a double take, stopping short at the sight of Blue sitting in his seat, feet propped up on the documents spread across the surface. As he gapes, Blue drops his feet down and leans forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him.

“Deputy Director!” he greets him, in a faux-friendly voice. “I'm so glad you're finally here. We have so much to talk about.”

--

Leenik scrambles to his feet, sword forgotten as he stares wide-eyed at Tony, who slowly heaves himself to his feet, groaning.

“Tony!” he cries out, rushing over to him.

Zero pushes himself up and immediately his arm shoots out and grabs the hilt of Taska’s axe, halting her swing as she attempts to bring it down on top of him.

“A little help?” Zero grounds out, raising his other hand to grab hold of the axe as he struggles to keep it up and away from him.

Leenik rushes to stand up, looking around for where his sword went. As he spots it, Kell emerges out from behind a tree and into his line of sight, holding a blaster cannon half her size with her eyes fixed on the four of them.

“Tony, help Zero,” Leenik snaps as he darts forward, scooping up his sword. Kell swings to the side, her cannon whirring as it charges up again. Behind him, he can hear Tony snarl as he leaps back into the fray.

With Kell in sight, it’s easier to zig-zag back and forth behind trees, keeping them between them enough to block her fire, which she lets out at much faster intervals now that he’s away from Taska. Leenik leaps sideways away from one of her shots and grabs a vine, using the momentum to swing up and grab hold of a branch, pulling himself up into the canopy.

He turns around to face Kell, who lines up her cannon on his now-stationary figure. The end of it glows as it powers up, and Leenik tosses his vibrosword into the air, catches it in a reverse grip, and throws it directly at her.

The sword strikes the muzzle of the cannon just as it fires and the whole thing explodes in a mess of energy, throwing Kell backwards into a tree trunk and sending Leenik toppling out of the tree, desperately grabbing hold of vines to slow his fall.

He lands with a muted thud on the thankfully soft ground and clambers to his feet, grabbing his sword and shaking his head, Famine’s booming voice not at all helping with the ringing in his ears. He comes around the tree trunk to find Kell supporting herself against the tree she hit, her horrified gaze fixed not on Leenik but on the trio behind them.

--

“M-Minister Blue, what a surprise, I--”

Blue holds up a hand to stop him. “Please, save it.” He eyes Bannforr distastefully, looking him over from head to toe.

Deputy Director Quinzel Bannforr is older than Blue by quite a bit, but not so old that his bright red hair is yet shot with gray. He’s tall, not as lanky as Blue but still thin, with skin pale from a lack of sun and green eyes wide with panic. He’s wearing an impeccably standard Imperial uniform, every button buttoned, his cuffs neatly pinned and the high collar starched.

“Well,” Blue drawls. “You’ve certainly gotten more orthodox since we last met.”

Bannforr turns red, either with embarrassment or anger or some combination of the two; it’s hard to tell.

“Minister Blue, what brings you to my office?” he asks, with rigid politeness as his eyes dart around the room, searching either for an explanation or an escape route.

“It wasn’t to talk about your fashion choices, that’s for sure,” Blue says. He narrows his eyes and says dangerously, “Deputy Director Bannforr, you’ve taken something that belongs to me, and I would very much like to have it back.”

--

Leenik looks over and sees Zero standing behind Taska, his blade held to her throat, Tony’s jaws clamped around the hilt of her vibro-axe as she’s caught between trying to wrestle it out of his grip and not killing herself on Zero’s sword.

Kell shoves herself off the tree and stumbles towards them, fumbling about her waist and drawing a small blaster from a holster at the small of her back.

“No!” she yells, pointing it at Zero with a trembling hand. “Don’t kill her!”

“Don’t come any closer,” Zero warns, tightening his grip on Taska’s shoulders. Taska abruptly drops her axe and starts signing rapidly with both hands.

Kell stops short. “Please,” she says in a strained, desperate voice. “You don’t have to kill her.”

“I’m not going to kill her,” Zero says slowly. “Just stay right where you are.”

Leenik slowly walks towards them, sword raised cautiously.

“Don’t let him kill her either,” Kell says, raising her hands in surrender. “I saw what he did in his last fight. Please, just--give her a chance.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but nobody’s killing anybody,” Zero says firmly. “We won, it’s over.”

Kell shakes her head and lets out a strained, bitter laugh. “It’s not that easy,” she says, adjusting the grip on her blaster and moving it to aim at Taska. “We can’t be conscious or they won’t end the fight.”

“Hey, whoa, what are you--”

“Taska,” Kell says, shifting her gaze to meet Taska’s eyes. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Taska shifts and raises her hands to sign something slowly and deliberately.

Kell smiles, a gesture edged with sorrow and bitterness but genuine nonetheless. “Me too.”

She fires, and the blue stun bolt hits the Trandoshan woman square in the chest. She goes limp in Zero’s grip and he drops her, leaping back in surprise.

--

Bannforr takes a step back in surprise, one hand coming up to his chest. “I--I have no idea what you mean, Minister. Surely I haven’t--”

“All right, cut the act,” Blue says, standing up from the chair and leaning forward, resting his weight on his hands. “You put out a bounty on Agent Zero. I want to know who you gave it to, and where he is now.”

“Minister Blue, I assure you,” Bannforr says, backing up further towards the door. “I had nothing to do--”

Blue slams a fist down on the table. “I said cut it! I have the evidence, Deputy Director. I found the bounty and traced it back to you. I have orders telling troopers on guard at the time Zero was meant to return to patrol elsewhere--sent by you. Either I made a mistake or you’re lying to me, Deputy Director, and I assure you I never make mistakes.”

Bannforr glances over his shoulder and Blue draws himself to his full height, tapping the side of his hologlasses. “Oh, and those doors won’t open until I decide they should, so either you tell me what I want to know before my patience runs out or you’ll be spending all day locked in this room with me and my friend here.” Blue gestures to Aava, who steps out of the shadows in the corner of the room and ignites her lightsaber with a malevolent smile.

“I'm not a very patient man, Deputy Director. So I suggest you start talking.”

Bannforr blanches.

--

“What the hell was that?” Zero asks incredulously, raising his sword. “You shot her!”

Kell scowls, shifting her stance and aiming the blaster at Zero. Her whole expression hardens. “Do you know how long we've been here? Do you know how many people I've seen cut her down without caring whether it's fatal or not? If we're going down she deserves to go down at the hand of someone she trusts, who cares whether she lives or dies. And she deserves better than a sword to the head. Or the heart.”

Zero looks frustrated, gesturing in short, choppy movements with the hand not holding his sword. “I told you, I wasn’t gonna--”

Leenik places his shock glove between Kell’s shoulder blades and turns them on.

The Mirialan convulses, dropping her blaster and eventually falling to the ground, twitching slightly but not moving. Leenik looks down at her impassively for a moment, then all his attention is drawn to Tony, who is laying on the ground and gnawing on the hilt of Taska’s axe.

“Tony!” he cries, running over to the vornskr and dropping to his knees beside him. He runs his hands frantically over his sides. “Are you alright? Tell Momma where it hurts.”

Tony lets go of the axe and turns his head to lick Leenik’s face.

Zero lowers his sword, projecting a pair of angry slanted eyebrows on his faceplate. “Okay, is somebody gonna tell me what the hell she--”

He’s cut off by Famine announcing,

What a shocking end to this first round of the Mynock Marathon! Did you expect them to pull this one off, folks? And what do you think about Kell Naqao adding a little twist ending of her own? It’s time to show it with your votes--and time to decide the fate of these star-crossed bounty hunters.

“Hey!”

In unison, all three look up to see Three, Two, and Five once more, this time joined by Death. Two is calling to them, gesturing with her rifle.

“You know the drill. Weapons down, it’s time to go.”

Without a word, Leenik strips off his gloves and the sheath for his vibrosword, and coaxes Taska’s axe out of Tony’s grasp. He gets up and walks towards the guards, one hand still petting over the vornskr’s head.

It takes Zero a bit longer to strip himself of all his weapons. When he’s finally done, he pauses to look back at their two fallen opponents, crumpled to the ground a few yards apart.

He looks at them silently for just a moment, then at Two’s impatient call he turns and leaves them behind.

--

“Well?”

Bannforr looks between Blue, Aava, and Aava’s saber, then gulps and turns back to Blue.

“I posted the bounty,” he says in a defeated voice. “I thought getting rid of your enforcer would be a good way to knock you down a few pegs, after you almost ruined my career,” he adds in a bitter voice.

Blue scoffs. “Yes, I know. And I know this revenge scheme of yours seems terribly compelling to you, but I really don’t care why you did it.” He narrows his eyes. “All I want to know, is who took the contract, and where I can find Zero.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

Blue lets out a frustrated sigh and raises one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting impatient, Deputy Director.”

“I really don’t know!” Bannforr insists hastily. “I didn’t ask. I told her I didn’t care what happened to him, to just… get him out of the way.”

Blue lowers his hand and glares. “You're really not helping your case here, but let’s just move along to the next question: who is ‘her’?”

Bannforr hesitates, but Aava casually swishes her saber through the air and he blurts out, “Plague! She goes by Plague!" At Blue's raised eyebrow, he continues at a rapid pace. "She’s part of this--this organization of bounty hunters. They never turn in their bounties right away, but I don’t know what they do with them, she mentioned some kind of... broadcast? All I know is that they’re good, and sometimes the Empire hands off difficult contracts to them specifically. I thought that if the bounty didn’t come in right away, you wouldn’t find out about it, that maybe you’d think he’d just… run off, or something." He shrugs helplessly.

Blue cuts him off with a slash of his hand. “You clearly didn’t bother to do your research,” he says coldly. “But what you do or don’t know about me and Agent Zero isn’t the issue here. What else do you know about this Plague?”

Bannforr takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “Almost nothing, I swear. Her name kept cropping up in the bounty records and when I went to the records office to figure out how to contact her, I found a number that lead to an answering machine telling me to give the details for the meeting I wanted to set up. I did that and… she came. I don’t know where she came from, or where she went, or what she did with Agent Zero, I swear.”

Blue sighs, shaking his head, then motions to Aava, who shuts off her saber. “It’s a real shame, Deputy Director,” he says. “You seem to have recovered from your demotion quite well. It’s just too bad that you decided to throw it all away like this, with a terrible decision and just sloppy execution.”

He walks out from behind the desk and strides over to Bannforr, looking down his nose at him. “I've decided that I won’t have my friend kill you, but rest assured, Deputy Director, that this time when I ruin your life? There will be no coming back from it."

He leans down until their noses are almost touching, glaring dangerously into Bannforr's wide, scared eyes.

"And if you ever touch something that’s mine again? You won’t live to regret it."

He straightens up and gives Bannforr one last distasteful look, shaking his head and unlocking the doors.

"Come on, Aava.”

Blue brushes past Bannforr and out the doors, walking through the halls as fast as his long legs can carry him back to the Bluebird. Aava, with her much shorter stride, struggles to keep up and has to meet him back on board as he bends over the console, programming their flight home.

“Well?” she asks. “You got your information. What’s the plan now?”

Blue glances up and steps back as the holographic Zero appears and the Bluebird starts to rise up off the landing pad. “Now we find everything we can about this Plague character.” He turns away from her to look out the front window as they angle up towards the stars.

“Then we find Zero.”

Chapter Text

Leenik and Zero return to the common room to relieved faces and cheerful congratulations from Lux and Tryst.

“That was incredible, Leenik,” Lux enthuses. “That move with your sword? Incredible! Did you see that blast?”

“I’ll admit, it was pretty badass, pal,” Tryst says, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Leenik grins at him and stumbles only a little over his, “Thanks.”

“Is Tony alright?” Lyn asks, walking over to the vornskr and feeling along his sides while he attempts to squirm out of her grip and nose at her face to ask for scratches instead. “He took a few hits in there.”

“I think so. He’s tougher than he looks, right, Tony?” Leenik coos, but that reminds him. He pauses and looks around for Zero, who stands silently a few feet apart from the group, watching them.

“Hey,” he says.

A question mark pops up on Zero’s faceplate and he tilts his head.

“You saved Tony’s life back there,” Leenik says, glancing at the vornskr still trying to elicit ear scratches from Lyn.

Zero raises one hand to rub the back of his helmet, looking away awkwardly. “Yeah, well… nobody wants to see a dog got blasted by a laser cannon. That’s no fun for anyone.”

“He’s not just a dog, he’s my son,” Leenik says firmly. Zero stops and turns back to stare at him, his head tilted quizzically.

“That’s, uh… okay?” he offers. “Cute?”

Leenik sighs and rolls his eyes. “Thank you,” he says.

Zero drops his arm and shrugs. “No problem.”

Leenik bites his lip, then says quickly before he changes his mind, “We don’t have to be enemies. While we’re in here, I mean. You’re not… as bad as I thought you were.”

“Well, you did think I was pretty bad,” Zero says, as if stalling, but at Leenik’s look he shrugs. “You’re not so bad yourself, Geelo.” He tilts his head. “Hey, uh… what was she talking about, in the arena? What did you do?”

The faint smile drops from Leenik’s face and his expression shutters off. “I killed two of the people we fought. They didn’t tell us not to, so I just did it.” He shrugs, then adds with a defensive glare, “I didn’t know.”

Zero shrugs, putting his hands up. “Hey, I got it. Sometimes shit happens. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve killed someone I probably shouldn’t have. You do what you gotta do.”

Leenik looks away, his tense, defensive posture slowly deflating. “Nawl said only two kinds of people make it out of the arena alive,” he says. “Killers and survivors.”

Zero gives him a long look, unintelligible behind the helmet. “Like I said,” he says finally, in a measured voice. “You do what you gotta do.”

Leenik lets out a long breath, then shakes his head. “Anyways. Thanks for saving Tony.”

“Yeah.”

As Leenik turns to leave, Zero suddenly adds, “By the way, Leenik?”

Leenik pauses and looks over his shoulder, raising one questioning eyebrow.

“That line, between the killers and the survivors? It may not be as clear as you think.” Zero shrugs. “Just something to think about.” He shoots Leenik a two-fingered, sardonic salute, then turns and saunters away to sit in the empty corner usually occupied by Kell and Taska.

A heavy hand drops on Leenik’s shoulder and he jumps, turning to see Bacta standing beside him.

“Everything okay, buddy?” he asks.

Unable to bear the concerned look on the clone’s face, Leenik shrugs his hand off and turns away. “Yeah,” he says shortly, walking back towards their circle of friends. “I’m fine.”

--

Kell and Taska are fine. They’re back in the common room the next day, sitting in their corner with their heads close together, signing at each other.

Tryst is glad they’re okay in a vague sort of way where he doesn’t really care about them but also doesn’t really want them dead.

He is a little concerned that Leenik didn’t even ask about them.

He’s a little more concerned about the next day’s fight.

“Bat-lady?” he asks incredulously as the screen shuts off after the announcement. “I have to fight Bat-lady?!”

“Her name’s Dhal,” Bacta says mildly.

“I don’t give a shit what her name is, it’s not gonna matter when we fight to the death tomorrow!” Tryst snaps, waving his arms around wildly.

“It’s not to the death—Tryst, calm down,” Bacta says, grabbing his arm. “Just… keep a cool head.”

“Oh, sure, Bacta, creepiest lady in the whole arena’s gonna face me down in the death zone tomorrow, but I’ll definitely be real chill about it.”

“Okay, now, sarcasm isn’t gonna help in this situation—“

“Sarcasm helps in every situation!”

“Trystan,” Lyn snaps, getting his attention and cutting off the argument. “Stay calm. We don’t know how Dhal fights--”

“Right, because that’s what I wanna hear right now—“

Lyn silences him with a glare and keeps going. “But we know she was a spy before this. An information broker.”

“Yeah, and you would know all about those,” Tryst snarks, because he honestly can’t help himself.

Lyn glares at him and he shrugs.

“I’m just saying. It’s true.”

Lyn takes a deep breath in and out, closing her eyes, then shakes her head and continues. “What I mean to say is—she wasn’t a bounty hunter or an assassin or a smuggler or anything like that. I’m sure she knows how to fight, but she probably wasn’t getting into fights as often as we do.”

“Um, I think you’re forgetting that she’s been getting into fights on a regular basis for however long she’s been here, which is longer than any of them,” Tryst shoots back, gesturing at Lux, Nawl, and Nebban.

“I hate to say it, Lyn, but he has a point,” Bacta says reluctantly.

“How come you always say that when I’m right?” Tryst demands, but they both ignore him. Leenik pats his shoulder consolingly.

Lyn frowns and turns to the three veterans. “How many fights has Dhal been in?” she asks them, hands on her hips.

Lux glances at the others, then shrugs. “That I’ve seen? Two. Nawl once, and Courtney. I’ve only been here a few months, I’ve seen maybe ten fights? They try not to overexpose us, y’know, don’t want the audience to get tired of anyone too quickly.” He frowns, looking troubled. “I really don’t know what they think they’re doing with you guys.”

“We all wish we knew,” Bacta says. “What can you tell us about how she fought in the matches you did see?”

“She talks,” Lux says. “A lot. She’s good at… pinpointing weakness. I think that’s part of why she tries to find stuff out about all of us outside of battle, to use it against us.” He looks at Nawl, who remains stubbornly silent. Lux continues, slowly, as if unsure he should say what he is. “She said some stuff about Nawl’s home back in Ithoria, what the Empire might’ve done in retaliation for his attack, until he got… uh, sloppy.”

“Mad,” Nawl huffs. “I got mad, and I made mistakes. I’ve learned.”

“Sure, bud,” Lux says easily. “Courtney—the Twi’lek, you know, from the Kestrel—I guess Dhal found out that a bunch of her loved ones were still enslaved and kept going on about it until, uh,” Lux rubs his neck awkwardly. “Er, well, she broke down crying in the arena. It was pretty tough to watch, actually, but luckily for her the audience adored that girl. She wasn’t a great fighter, got knocked out probably more than half the time, but they never voted her off. Er,” he breaks off suddenly, looking at Leenik sideways.

“So,” Tryst says loudly, cutting off that potential conversation thread, yikes. “Bat-lady’s just gonna talk at me? She’s not gonna… cast any curses, or whatever?”

Lyn sighs. “No, Tryst, she’s not a witch.”

“She looks like a witch.”

“She looks like a perfectly normal Bothan. And, by the way, she can almost certainly hear everything you’re saying.”

“How, by being a witch?” Tryst asks, pitching his voice up louder on the last word and turning to look pointedly at Dhal, who, sure enough, is looking right at him. She raises one eyebrow and smiles at him, then goes back to speaking softly with Jiran. Tryst scowls.

“Look, Tryst’s racism aside—“ Bacta begins, before being immediately cut off by a spluttering Tryst.

“I’m not racist,” he protests.

“You kind of are,” Leenik mutters to him quietly, and gets a betrayed look in return. He just shrugs, and jumps out of the way of Tryst’s retaliatory grab.

Bacta continues speaking over them with the ease that comes with long practice. “And we’ll definitely put a credit in the baiting-a-race-war jar when we’re back on the Mynock, for sure, but moving past that--is there anything else he should know about going into the arena?”

Lux considers, looking at Nawl and Nebban.

Nawl raises a hand and wobbles it back and forth. “She’s good with a blaster. Not extraordinary. No special weapons.”

“So I just have to worry about her talking at me?” Tryst asks, turning away from glaring at Leenik. “Psh. I’d like to see somebody try to out-talk Tryst Valentine.”

“Well, I mean, you will,” Leenik puts in. “Tomorrow.”

Tryst winks at him and finds himself smiling at the way Leenik ducks his head. “Don’t worry about me, pal. I’ve got this one in the bag.”

--

The arena this time around is filled with what look like stone pillars, scattered throughout the room. Tryst knocks on one and finds it, rather unsurprisingly, to be made of metal. In fact, they seem remarkably similar to the trees from Leenik’s fight, without the leafy trappings and with smaller almost cylindrical stepping-stones of various heights attached to them.

Tryst grabs his blasters and clambers up one of the rocks to get a better look over the battlefield as the wall in the middle comes down. The rock pillars barely have enough room to stand on, but are still thick enough to make spotting movement between them difficult, and when a blaster shot fires just past Tryst’s ear he jumps, nearly falling off, and quickly retreats back to the ground.

“So,” he calls out as he presses himself up against one of the rocks, blaster held at the ready and listening intently for the sounds of movement. “What’s your gimmick? Got a fancy weapon? Secret superpowers? Tragic backstory?”

“Interesting options, Mr. Valentine,” a lilting voice calls from the other end of the arena. Tryst perks up, trying to pinpoint where it's coming from. “I wonder where you get the ideas from.”

“I have this loser friend who likes to read,” Tryst shoots back, slowly rotating around the pillar as he figures out where Dhal is (probably) hiding. “You start to notice some recurring themes after a while.”

A laugh drifts over to him and he adjusts his grip on his blaster.

“Fascinating. And do you fancy yourself a hero like in these books of yours, Mr. Valentine?”

Tryst scoffs to himself. Is this really what everyone was worried about? This is some kid-level manipulation.

“All right, well, first off, they’re not my books, okay? I don’t read. And secondly, lady, I don’t fancy myself anything but a fancy bottle of wine. I don’t have to—I’m Tryst Valentine.” And in one fluid motion he sweeps around the side of the pillar towards where the voice is coming from, already squeezing the trigger.

He finds himself face-to-face with a blaster bolt and only through some miracle of fate (and he’ll deny any supernatural influence later, of course) does he duck out of the way just in time to avoid a mouthful of laser.

“Ah, but who is Tryst Valentine?” Dhal calls out as if nothing happened, and Tryst realizes that in his haste to avoid her shot he managed to miss the sound of her movements—her voice is now coming from a different direction.

That, or she’s a ventriloquist. God, he hopes she’s not a ventriloquist. They’re almost as bad as actors.

“Ask any woman in the Outer Rim,” Tryst shoots back, eyeing the pillars around him to try to determine a safe path towards her. “Or I could give you my business card—the last batch burned up in a freak rabbit accident, but new ones should come in soon enough.” (If only that were true—damn you, Bacta, damn you and your business card veto.)

“And what will they tell me?” Dhal asks, sounding amused.

Tryst rolls his eyes and mutters “What will they tell me?” mockingly under his breath as he darts forward to take up position behind another pillar. If only getting up top wouldn't make him such an obvious target; it's hard to see anything from the ground.

“Will they tell me about the dashing smuggler captain straight from the pages of a storybook?” Her voice has moved again, a little closer and more to the right, and she is definitely mocking him now, that witch.

Tryst stifles his annoyance and shifts around the pillar, glancing around it to look for movement with his blaster held at the ready. “Sounds like you've heard of me,” he calls out.

“No, of course not,” Dhal says dismissively, and she doesn't have to be so rude about it, Tryst thinks, bristling. “But I know who you are, Mr. Valentine.”

“The man of your dreams?” Tryst offers, rolling his eyes. He's heard it all before, from angry women across the galaxy. He's a liar, a douchebag, an asshole, any number of slurs and more creative epithets. He keeps a journal of his favorites. An audio journal. He likes to listen to it before bed sometimes.

“Not even if I were inclined towards men,” Dhal says, still in that high, mocking voice. “You, Tryst Valentine, are nothing more than a scared little boy running away from home, too afraid you'll amount to nothing to allow yourself even a moment of self-reflection in case you discover you already have.”

Tryst stops short for just a moment, his fingers twitching on his blasters. “Is that all you got?” he asks after a short but damning silence, plowing through the way his voice cracks. “Lady, you need to go back to witch school if that's the best mind-reading you can do.”

Dhal’s laugh filters through the pillars directly behind him and Tryst whips around, aiming his blasters at all the empty spaces between them, but he can’t see any sign of her.

As she speaks again, her voice becomes lower, faster, almost accusatory. “Ah, my dear, but it's written all over you--you act like you're better than everyone around you because you're terrified they'll find out you're not worth the dirt on their shoes. You refuse to show weakness just in case one small crack is all it takes for all that armor you've built of your bravado to come tumbling down--eventually you'll destroy yourself in pursuit of a goal you already know is impossible and you know it. You welcome it.”

Tryst grinds his teeth and ignores the way his hands are shaking as he fires off a few wild blaster bolts in the direction of the voice, then dives out of the way as a single bolt returns fire, just missing his face as he throws himself behind the pillar.

He finds himself face down on one of the smaller stepping stones, and looks up towards the top, narrowing his eyes. All right. Kriff her, and kriff her dumb, obviously inaccurate ramblings, and kriff this fight. It’s time to end it.

“What's wrong, Trystan?” Dhal’s voice calls out as Tryst starts clambering up the pillar, keeping one eye out for her as she goes. “No snappy retort, no clever comeback? Did I strike a nerve?”

“Listen, lady,” Tryst grits out as he eyes the final leap up to the top of the pillar. The last stepping stone is a little more than a body’s length from the top; he'll have to jump and be quick to pull himself up. “You obviously have no idea what you're talking about, so you can just keep yammering on all day long, see if I care.”

“Interesting!” Dhal sounds almost delighted--it's the most emotion he's seen (well, heard) her express the entire time he's known her. What a bitch. “I wonder if your crewmates would agree. Do they know you're using them? Are they aware that the only thing you really care about is your own reputation, that you'll bring them to their deaths if it means you can go out in a blaze of glory and finally, for one, small moment, at the very end of your pitiful life, mean something?”

Tryst nearly slips off the edge of the pillar in his haste to haul himself up and spin around, searching for a flash of something that would signify Dhal’s location. “Well clearly you don't know us at all,” he yells. “Anyone who really knows this crew knows that we have never once gotten into a deadly situation for any reason other than our own stupidity.”

“Mmm, I suppose you did have to surround yourselves with idiots to find a family who would love you, didn't you?” Dhal asks. Tryst grits his teeth and shifts towards the voice, his eyes flickering rapidly across the arena. “Is their respect enough to make up for what your family never gave you? Does the way they look at you make you feel whole, Trystan? You know, Mr. Geelo--”

There. A flash of maroon, and Tryst squeezes the trigger almost before he's fully registered what he's seeing. Before he can determine whether or not he hit her, returning fire comes his way. Instinctively, Tryst ducks and rolls out of the way and has only a split second to realize his mistake before he’s tumbling off the edge of the pillar.

He shoots out his hand and just manages to grab the edge, dropping his blaster and grabbing with his other hand in a desperate attempt not to fall; a brief glance over his shoulder assures him that he probably won’t get back up from it. With growing dread, he watches as his fingers slowly slip towards him under the weight of his body, unable to find purchase on the smooth metal.

“Well,” he hears behind him. He turns his head to see Dhal, one hand holding her side and the other her blaster, stepping out from behind a nearby pillar. She gives him a long look as he grins at her and hopes she can't see the fear in his eyes.

“Wanna hang out?” he asks, flashing his teeth, and Dhal chuckles and raises her blaster.

“Good bye, Mr. Valentine.”

She fires. Tryst twists his body to avoid the shot but her real target becomes clear as the bolt strikes one of his hands.

It spasm and lets go of the pillar without permission, and before he can process it he loses his grip with his other hand.

Tryst falls.

--

Leenik is too numb to protest when Bacta pulls him away from the screen and grips his upper arms too tight as he stares at Leenik with a fear-wild look in his eyes and shakes him slightly, muttering, “Don't look, buddy, don't look, he's gonna be okay, he's never not been okay—“ and Leenik doesn't know (doesn't think Bacta knows) who the words are meant for more.

Over Bacta’s shoulder he watches Lyn, wide eyes focused past him on the screen and hands pressed to her mouth, and like that, surrounded by the other prisoners in a room silent but for the booming voice of Famine from the monitor, they wait.

--

“I found them,” Blue announces, prompting Aava to jolt upright where she was in the process of nodding off over a lukewarm cup of caf. She wandered in around midnight to prompt Blue to go to bed but reluctantly sat to wait when he assured he was nearly there; it’s been a few hours since and she was about ready to cut him off anyways when he finally had this final breakthrough. She rubs the drowsiness from her eyes as she gets up and walks over to stand behind Blue, laying one hand on the back of his chair and leaning forward to peer at his screen, which is a mess of files that are all but indistinguishable from each other.

He gestures to a set of four files on one side, each bearing a headshot of a different individual as well as official-looking forms. “I found their bounty hunter registration forms--Plague’s been through a number of name changes, all in the past handful of years. She barely brought in any bounties at all until she started going by Plague which made the trail a bit harder to follow, and there are a few gaps that she probably thinks she’s pretty smart for engineering but lucky for us, I’m much smarter. All it really took was a little bit of—“

“Blue,” Aava says before he can derail himself, but her voice lacks its usual edge. A combination of the late hour and the relief at actual progress keeps her from being as harsh as she might otherwise.

Blue waves a hand in acknowledgment. “Anyways, this is her original registration. Her alias then was Nightshade, but her real name is Cordela Tembjess. Human, Corellian, her family is pretty well off--her father is some sort of diplomat, or used to be--though I don’t think she’s been home to see them in ages. It looks like she took up bounty hunting almost as like a hobby and didn’t get serious until she changed her name and met the other.”

Aava squints as she studies the three other faces staring out at them from the screen. “Others?”

“Yep,” Blue says, popping the p. He’s in a better mood than she’s seen him since Zero went missing, eyes bright with something besides mania and almost trembling from something besides caffeine. “These are her associates—first off, Felbin Giasi, Mon Calamari, goes by Famine nowadays. Not for very long, though, and he used to host a game show in the Outer Rim.”

Aava raises her eyebrows. “And he became a bounty hunter?”

Blue shrugs one shoulder. “Well, technically. He’s registered as one, but as for how much actual bounty hunting he does… well, I’ll tell you in a minute.” He jabs a finger at the next file. “This is Onaasha Zadeen, Togruta, goes by Death. She’s been a bounty hunter a long time—the only one to actually make a career out of it, looks like, but she used the name Ghost for most of it. She only changed it recently, around the same time as all the others.”

“I hate bounty hunter names,” Aava sighs, mostly to herself. These certainly aren’t the worst she’s seen--BHIKKE is a unending throng of the most ridiculous aliases imaginable—but she has yet to meet someone with a name that didn’t at the very least induce an eyeroll.

(She offers a silent apology to Zero, but only because she actually likes him—‘Zero’ is far from the worst, but still… really?)

Blue ignores her. “This is the last one of the group—a Wookie named Wrrarka,” he definitely mangles the name, barely even attempting the Shyriwook, but Aava doesn’t mention it, “He goes by War. He wasn’t a bounty hunter either, he wasn’t anyone of note at all that I can find until he registered and started working with this group.”

Aava frowns. “If only one of them—two if Zadeen’s partner is still working with them—is even a professional, then how the hell did these people capture Zero? And why did a game show host, a diplomat’s daughter, and a nobody decide to form a bounty hunting team? What is going on here, Blue?”

Blue smiles thinly and turns his head to look at her. “I wanted to know, too, and that’s what took me so long to find out—it took a lot of digging, and some light blackmail, but I found it.”

Aava drums her fingers on his chair impatiently. “Found what?”

Without taking his eyes off hers, Blue presses a key and the screen is suddenly filled with a video without sound, showing a dark blue Nautolan exchanging blaster fire with a maroon Zabrak from across what looks like a rocky gorge.

“Aava, I present to you: the Armageddon Arena.”

Chapter Text

Almost dying isn’t so bad, all things considered. Sure, falling sucked, and knowing that he could die wasn’t fun, and hitting the ground hurt like a bitch, but Tryst doesn’t even remember the actual almost-dying bit.

The next thing he knows after the air being sucked from his lungs and his vision going black on impact is blinking open his eyes to the sight of a blonde woman in purple standing over him with a holopad.

His tongue feels heavy in his too-dry mouth and he can’t quite wrangle them well enough to speak, but regardless he doesn’t have time for so much as a wink before she taps her holopad and turns away in a swirl of dark robes, snapping out, “He’s awake, take him back.”

She’s quickly replaced by the familiar grinning Chiss face of Three, who perches on the edge of his bed. “That was a close one, hotshot,” she says cheerfully. “Lucky for us, we get to see you strut your stuff for a little longer.”

She winks at him, and Tryst manages to croak out something that, if intelligible, would surely have seduced her instantly.

Three pays him no mind and hops off the bed, grabbing the front of his shirt and hauling him upright with surprising strength. “Well, let’s get a move on, it’s back to the common room with you. Plague doesn’t like it you lot take up space in her infirmary longer than necessary. She’s efficient like that.”

Sure enough, a quick look around confirms that he is in an infirmary of some kind, with four hospital cots crammed together and boxes of supplies he vaguely recognizes from Bacta’s store on the Mynock piled against one wall.

While he’s not paying attention, Three deftly grabs one wrist and twists in behind his back, followed by the other, and closes a set of cuffs around them. Tryst makes a faint noise of alarm, then turns and waggles his eyebrows at Three. She snorts, then draws a blaster and nudges his back with it. “All right, hotshot, move it.”

Tryst allows himself to be led quietly enough, taking in the surrounding area as much as he can.

Just outside the infirmary is another, firmly closed, door, and past that is an unadorned hallway just like every other hallway in the complex.

It’s really just all very unoriginal.

Three nudges him past the door and down the hall a short way until they reach another hall and turn down it, passing a handful more doors and finally turning down a final hallway that Tryst recognizes as the one leading from the common room to the arena door.

She unclips the cuffs as she plants a hand in between his shoulder blades and shoves him into the empty room, calling out, “Later, hotshot!” as the door clangs shut behind him.

With nothing to do but wait for the others to filter in, Tryst chooses to relax against a wall with his arms up behind his head and his eyes closed. By the time the rest of the prisoners find him, he’s feeling entirely back to normal.

And really, when the cell blocks finally open and the others enter the room, the look of sheer relief on Lyn’s face, untempered by her usual frustration, as she spots him and runs over to fling her arms around his neck is worth at least one close call. He smiles to himself as he squeezes her back.

“Well if I'd known all it took to get you in my arms was almost being killed by a witch in a death arena, I'd have done this way sooner,” he says before things can get too serious, and as expected Lyn pulls back and smacks him on the shoulder.

“No, Trystan!” she exclaims, jabbing a finger in his face. “We were all very worried about you! I had to tell Tamlin you were on a secret side mission and that's why you weren't there to see him—please, never do this again!”

“No promises,” he tells her, and winks just to see her face scrunch up in that familiar annoyed-but-fond expression she wears so often—but the mention of Tamlin does give him a pang. He'll have to come up with a good story for his side mission when he talks to the kid tonight.

“Tryst.” He's pulled from his thoughts by Bacta’s voice, heavy with relief as he clamps a hand down on his shoulder. “I'm glad you're okay, mate.”

Tryst rolls his eyes. “C’mon, what's a little fight to the death to a guy like me? Don't tell me you guys were really worried about me.”

“I mean…” Bacta trails off, shrugging apologetically.

“I was worried,” Leenik pipes up quietly from where he stands hovering just behind Bacta’s shoulder. Tryst tries to meet his eyes but he ducks his head.

He's been doing that a lot, lately.

“We were all worried, Tryst,” Lyn says, and he turns away from Leenik to look over all three of them.

“What?” he demands. “You really thought I was gonna die? Me?”

“I mean, you could've,” Leenik says, unhelpful as ever.

“Nah,” Tryst says dismissively, waving a hand. “Not a chance.”

“There was a little chance,” Leenik mutters.

Tryst frowns and turns on him, planting his hands on his hips. “All right, Leenik—”

“Tryst, the point is,” Bacta interrupts, reaching out to grab his arm. “However small or large a chance it was, there was a chance you could've died yesterday, and we all would have missed you very much, even though you can be very mean and annoying, because you're still family and we love you.”

Tryst gives him an odd look, edging out of his grip. “Uh, thanks… ?”

“And if you ever want to talk, or… whatever, about anything, then we're here for you, and we value your trust and would never knowingly do anything to betray it,” Bacta continues, but the earnest relief in his eyes is joined by something akin to guilt, and his words suddenly sound a lot more… rehearsed.

Tryst narrows his eyes. “Bacta, what did you do?”

He looks alarmed and throws up his hands defensively. “Nothing, I—”

Tryst wags a finger at him. “Oh no, I know that face. That's the ‘I spilled caf on Leenik’s book’ face. You did something. What is it?”

Bacta hesitates, looking at Lyn for support, who shakes her head. “Just tell him, Bacta,” she says, sighing.

Bacta looks back at Tryst, then seems to deflate. “I was trying to help us,” he says, sounding tired. “Getting information about the other fighters, you know. I didn't think she'd… use anything I told her. I didn't know.”

Tryst has a sneaking suspicion he knows where this is going and he glares at Bacta, the back of his neck prickling with unease. “Bacta, did you tell her about me?”

Bacta hesitates for just a moment before he slumps and nods. “Yeah,” he says, a little bitterly. “Yeah, mate, I did.” His eyes go wide as Tryst takes an unconscious step towards him, and he throws up his hands again. “Look, I swear, I barely told her anything, and I never said any of the stuff she said in the arena. I told her you were from Tatooine, and you didn't grow up in the best circumstances, that's all. I don't even know if she really used any of what I told her or if she just got what she did from the way you act or what, but… I'm sorry, Tryst. I gave your opponent information about you without your permission, and it almost got you killed. It was wrong of me, and I apologize.”

Tryst takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes to avoid looking at Bacta's wide, earnest eyes filled with guilt and apology, and pinches the bridge of his nose as he processes.

“Did you tell her anything about my family?” he asks finally, a cold shiver running down his spine at the thought of Dhal going after one of his sisters—not that they couldn't all easily squash her, of course, but just the principle of the thing makes him uneasy.

“No, I promise,” Bacta says. “I never even mentioned them. No names, professions, not even their genders or how many there are.”

Tryst takes another deep breath and lets that worry, at least, go. He slowly opens his eyes and fixes Bacta with a hard look.

“Okay, so, first off, not cool, Bacta. You were trying to help, whatever, but maybe next time you should ask us whether we want your ‘help’.” He makes air quotes around the word “help” and feels some far-off satisfaction at Bacta’s slight flinch. “And second,” he says, a little louder and breaking eye contact to sweep his gaze around the room. “I didn't almost die because of what you told Dhal, because nothing she said affected me in any way, got it? She was pulling all that stuff out of nowhere, and none of it was true, and I didn't care. I just tripped, okay?”

The expressions on Lyn and Bacta's faces slowly morph to something dangerously close to pity, and Tryst won't stand for that so he shoves past Bacta and marches over to their normal wall, flopping down several yards away from Lux, Nawl, and Nebban, (who are all doing their very best to pretend they don't hear anything, or, in Lux’s case, that they aren't actively listening to every word) and glaring at the ground, wishing desperately for a bottle of wine.

After a few long moments, a shadow falls into his line of sight and he looks up to see Leenik standing in front of him, fiddling with the fingers of his cybernetic hand.

“What?” Tryst asks bluntly.

Leenik jumps a little, then blurts out, “I don't like the way you act around women and I don't like when you're mean to make yourself seem cooler and I don't think your bravado is as cool as you think it is.”

“Gee, thanks,” Tryst drawls.

Leenik plows ahead, dropping his eyes as he says, “But I just want you to know that I actually like you a lot, and you're the best friend I've ever had. Besides Tony,” he adds in a hasty undertone.

Tryst blinks once, then again, staring at Leenik, fascinated as a yellow blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Besides Tony, huh,” he says, in a tone that's softer than he meant it to be, and Leenik's eyes finally dart back towards him.

“Well, you know,” Leenik says, shrugging lamely.

A slow smile creeps across Tryst’s face.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

He scoots over a bit, and Leenik hesitates for a moment before quickly sitting down beside him, looking down at his knees.

“I know it's not, like, a lot, and it's not the same as being like a real hero, but you mean something to me,” he says, a little awkwardly. Tryst gets the feeling genuine emotion sits even more uncomfortably on Leenik's shoulders than his own, and he leans over to press their arms together. After a moment of hesitation, Leenik relaxes and leans against him as well.

“You actually mean kind of a lot, actually,” he murmurs, picking at the seams on his jumpsuit. “So, um, it would be nice if you… didn't die, I guess.”

Tryst smiles, wide and full of teeth but softer around the edges than his usual reckless grin. “Don't worry about me, pal. You can't get rid of me that easy.”

Leenik finally meets his eyes and smiles, and he's still blushing, a little bit, still awkward like he doesn't know what to do next, and a moment later he breaks eye contact and asks, “Do you really listen when I talk about my novels?”

Tryst lets out a sudden, surprised bark of laughter and hooks an arm around Leenik's neck, dragging him in towards his shoulder. “Buddy, I've never listened to a goddamn word.”

And if Leenik turns to muffle his laughter in Tryst’s jacket, and if he maybe lingers there afterwards, Tryst isn't telling anybody. And if he maybe leaves his arm around Leenik's neck for a while as they sit together, as alone as they can be in a crowded room, then he knows Leenik won't tell anybody, either.

—

Lyn rests her hand on Bacta's arm as he slumps against the wall with his head in his hands, helplessly patting him in an attempt to console him.

“Everything I do just makes it worse,” he moans, his voice muffled by his hands. “All I ever try to do is help them, and all I ever manage is to make them mad at me.”

“It's okay, Bacta,” Lyn says, unsure what to do aside from keep up her rhythmic patting on his shoulder and feeling a little guilty in her part in his latest conflict with the crew.

“They hate me,” Bacta says, dropping his hands and staring disconsolately at the ground between his feet.

“They don't hate you,” Lyn sighs. “They're just upset, and you and I both know they aren't exactly the best at handling their emotions.”

Bacta sighs and gives a wry nod. “Well, you're right about that. I just wish they'd stop pushing me away and let me help them.”

Lyn gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I know they don't always act like it, but Tryst and Leenik love you very much, Bacta. Sooner or later, they'll come around.”

Bacta shakes his head and turns to look over at Tryst and Leenik, sitting side-by-side with their heads close together, snickering at some inside joke. The look of longing in his face makes something twist painfully in Lyn’s chest, and she wonders if she should talk to Tryst about this. There's something… wrong, about seeing rifts between these three that go deeper than domestic spats.

“It took five years for Leenik to tell us about his brother,” Bacta says sadly. “I just hope it doesn't take another five for him to finally trust us enough to really talk about it.”

Lyn can only make a soft sound of accordance and Bacta shakes himself and turns to her.

“I'm sorry, Lyn, I keep going on about my problems—is there anything you want to get off your chest? I'm listening.”

Lyn lets out a surprised chuckle, then shakes her head, pressing her lips together into a thin line. “I'm worried about Tamlin,” she says, drumming her fingers on her ankle. “I'm worried about what they'll do with him, and the longer we stay here the more likely it is something bad will happen to him.”

Tamlin, for all their efforts each night, is not doing well; he's paler, almost smaller, and as excited as he is to see them he seems to be getting increasingly listless, burrowing into their arms and not saying much.

Lyn is worried that he's starting to doubt their story about an undercover mission, and a good part of her day is devoted to sitting and worrying about him.

Bacta nods gravely. “I agree; and especially with this marathon nonsense, we need to start thinking. Maybe tomorrow you and I—”

He's cut off by the screen blaring to life with a loud, “Hello, ladies and gentlemen!”

Lyn and Bacta share a look before settling in uneasily to watch the broadcast.

“What a match that was the other day, huh? Such tension! But I'm sure you're all hungry for more, so without further ado, allow me to introduce the next competitors!”

Famine shuffles his notes and Tryst pipes up with, “What are the odds there's way more ado, though?”

Bacta, after a split second of hesitation, says, “At least one hundred percent.”

“Shut up, Bacta, that's not how percents work,” Tryst shoots back, but there's no real venom in it and Lyn breathes a sigh of relief at the matching relief on Bacta's face.

“It is one hundred percent, though,” Lux says, glancing between the two of them as if he’s nervous that saying something will set them off.

“Everybody shut the hell up,” Zero says.

They shut the hell up.

“You'll remember, folks,” Famine starts up again, and Tryst’s “Here we go!” is quickly shushed. “The crew of the Mynock was not always as you see them—in fact, it was only recently that they went from three to four.”

“Five,” Leenik mutters.

“The newest member of the crew is a bit of an enigma: Miss—or should I say Doctor—Lyntel’luroon.”

Lyn lets out a long exhale, closing her eyes as she feels Bacta wrap a hand around her forearm and squeeze. When she opens them, the rest of the room are looking her way. She ignores them and focuses on Famine’s grin.

“And well, ladies and gentlemen, I was thinking—how better to test Dr. Luroon’s skills than against one of her own kind? And as you all well know, we just so happen to have another Twi’lek here with us in the arena! So tomorrow, Lyntel will face off against our very own Lukaxeruul, better known to all of you by his stage name, Lux!”

Lyn finally turns away from the screen to look at Lux, who gives her a wry, lopsided grin and a sardonic bow. She turns to look at Bacta, who raises his eyebrows.

“You’ve got this,” he says, but it’s half a question, and she smiles at him.

“We didn’t give Dhal information for nothing,” she points out. “I know exactly how to handle Lux.”

“Right,” Bacta says, his face a weird mixture of guilt at the reminder of their conversation with Dhal, and relief that something good came out of it. “I guess our conversation will have to wait.”

“Don’t worry, Bacta,” Lyn says, her fingers twitching as she gives him a dry smile. “I’ll be back for it.”

—

That night, as they file back into their cellblocks, Lux stops her with a light touch to her arm. When she turns to him, eyebrows raised curiously, he gives her a smile that’s more genuine than anything she’s seen on him so far.

“I hope you don’t die tomorrow, Lyn,” he says. Despite the undercurrent of good humor still running through his voice, there’s a sort of resigned sadness around his eyes.

Lyn looks at him for a long moment, then finally nods and says, “You too, Lux. I’m sorry this has to happen.”

The corners of his lips quirk up and he shrugs carelessly. “We all get what’s coming to us in the end. You can only keep ahead of it so long.”

He turns to go to his own door, and on impulse Lyn grabs his arm. He pauses and turns to look at her, surprised.

“Lux,” she says, letting go of his arm. “None of us deserve this. Fighting the Empire isn’t a bad thing—and even if it was, no one deserves to die like this.”

Lux shrugs, chuckling faintly, and says, “Fighting the Empire, huh? Never saw myself as much of a fighter.” He smiles at her and taps two fingers to his forehead in a small salute. “Good night, Lyn. I’ll see you under the lights tomorrow.”

He turns and disappears into the cell block, and Lyn lets him go.

As she finally walks into their own, she finds Tryst waiting for her by the entrance, eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?” he asks.

Lyn shakes herself internally and smiles at him. “Yeah,” she says, ignoring the uneasy feeling in her stomach. “Everything’s fine.”

She walks into her cell, ignoring the eyes of Zero boring into her back.

—

As Lyn follows Two and Three down the hallway towards the arena, she goes over the information Dhal gave them about Lux in her head, eyes fixed firmly ahead and fingers drumming against the side of her leg.

“Oh, he has a blaster, but he’s not very good with it,” Dhal had said, waving a hand dismissively “He gets through mostly by charming the audience, but he does also have something of a… unique weapon.” She smiles to herself.

The arena is filled with what looks like scaffolding, the frames of buildings rising up twenty or so feet off the ground. The screens surrounding them project images of a foggy, unfinished construction site and a cloudy, gray sky. Lyn ignores it as she waits for the weapon rack to rise up out of the ground.

“Well, what is it?” Bacta asked, impatient and antsy after a long conversation of haggling information.

“He calls it Shiner,” Dhal said, an amused twinkle in her eye.

Lyn slings her rifle over her shoulder and slowly pulls on her brass knuckles, taking a deep breath in through her nose and striding over towards the wall in the center of the arena.

Are you ready, folks?

Famine’s voice booms out through the arena and Lyn curls her fingers into fists.

Let's get this party started, shall we? The enigmatic Lyntel’luroon versus the charismatic Lukaxeruul—Fight!

The wall comes down, and there’s Lux, rising up from one knee.

Beside him, hovering right around eye level, is his droid.

“SH-9R,” Dhal said. “Not an assassin droid, by any means. It's meant to be used for tech support, but Lux made a few adjustments, and it has some basic combat utilities.”

“Like?” Bacta pressed.

Dhal counted out two fingers. “A shock prod, with some limited ranged capabilities. If you were a droid it might be able to slice into you, but unless you’re hiding some very interesting secrets, that shouldn’t be an issue. If you're prepared, you should have no problems with it.”

“Does it have any weaknesses?” Lyn asked, leaning forward slightly.

Dhal shrugged. “It's small and has no armor plating. It's a miracle the thing has even survived this long.”

Shiner is a small sphere with a blue lens forming an “eye” in its center, darting about in place like an anxious hummingbird.

Lux looks surprised to see her so close already and stumbles a step backwards.

“Well!” he exclaims, covering it up with a grin. “Fancy meeting you here, Lyn! May I introduce my pal, Shi—Whoa!”

He’s cut off as Lyn jumps forward, already swinging. Shiner beeps in alarm and zips towards her, a small panel just under its eye opening and a small arm extending, crackling with electricity.

Lyn hastily pivots to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack and jabbing out with her other hand, connecting with Shiner’s side and sending the little droid rolling through the air away from her.

She rounds on Lux, who has retreated several hasty steps and drawn his blaster, laughing, “Getting right down to business, huh? Well, I can respect that. Though me, I prefer a little more build up when I—ack!”

He jumps to the side as Lyn gets close enough and throws a punch, bringing his blaster around to point at her as he skitters back a few more steps. Lyn follows after him and easily dodges a hastily-fired blast that goes wide, smacking the blaster out of his weak grip and grabbing hold of his vest.

“Sorry, Lux,” she says quietly, and his cheesy grin becomes a little drier, a little more resigned, for just a split second before he gives her a wink, his eyes darting to the side to look at something over her shoulder.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry so much about m—”

Lyn cuts him off by swinging him around, straight into the path of Shiner’s shock prod.

Lux’s whole body seizes up and Shiner lets out a slew of shrill, panicked beeps and whirrs as it hastily withdraws its prod and zips back a few feet. Lyn tightens her grip on his vest to keep him from collapsing to the ground, and when she sees his eyes starting to focus, Lyn sets her jaw, draws her arm back, and lands a punch with her brass knuckles square in his face.

Lux slumps, and she slowly lowers him to the ground.

Shiner shrieks and zips around to hover over his head, beeping shrilly as Famine announces the end of the match.

Lyn watches the distraught droid helplessly, wishing not for the first time that she’d learned to speak binary.

“I’m sorry,” she says when it turns its eye on her accusingly and lets out a slew of angry staccato beeps.

The door to the arena slides open and Death walks in, flanked by Two and Three. Three calls out, cheerfully, “Okay, buzzer-bee, you know the drill. Power down or meet the bug-zapper.” She pulls a small device out of her pocket and waves it.

Shiner trills in alarm and turns to look down at Lux, then at Lyn, then lets out a sad series of whirrs and whistles as it settles onto the ground beside Lux’s head and the light behind its eye slowly fades away.

“And you, Doc. Weapons down and get a move on.”

Lyn shakes herself and starts disarming, placing her weapons gently on the ground and pausing to look down at Lux one last time.

She thinks of his sad smile and brief salute, then thinks of Tamlin, withdrawn and quiet in the corner of his cell.

She turns away and walks towards the door.

—

“Well that was quick,” Tryst says, eyebrows raised. “Who knew Lux was such a pushover.”

“I mean, and I don’t if you’ve noticed,” Bacta says, “but Lyn is kind of a badass.”

Tryst makes a noise of acknowledgment. It would seem that a night’s sleep and the more pressing issue of the battle have rendered his fight with Bacta forgotten, at least for now. “Bet he’s gonna have one hell of a bruise tomorrow. What color do you think it’ll be, with the pink and all? Purple?”

“Magenta?” Leenik offers.

“Isn’t that a shade of purple?” Tryst asks.

Leenik frowns. “What? No. Magenta is its own color.”

Tryst rounds on him, turning his attention away from the screen to focus on frowning back at Leenik. “No it isn’t, it’s like… a reddish purple. It’s a type of purple.”

“Exactly! It’s reddish purple. Would you say that orange a type of yellow?”

“Yeah, it’s a reddish yellow.”

“What?!”

“Um, guys,” Bacta says, eyes wide as he watches the screen.

“I mean, all colors are really just shades of other colors.”

“Then why give them names?! Also, what about the primary colors? They aren’t shades of anything else.”

“Who cares about the primary colors? And names don’t mean anything. I can call you bug-colored, that doesn’t mean bug’s not a type of green.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, rude! Bug-colored?!”

“Guys!” Bacta snaps, grabbing Tryst and Leenik by the shoulders and forcibly turning them to face the screen.

An image of Lux’s face, head tilted at a jaunty angle and cocky grin pasted on, takes up about half the screen. The other half are the familiar bars labelled Live and Die—which are just about even as they approach the 50% mark.

Torturously slowly, the Live bar stops and the Die bar ticks up another centimeter.

All air leaves the room as the image stays frozen on the bars for another moment, then switches to a view of Lux laying in the center of the arena, Death standing over him.

“Wait,” Bacta says to no one.

Well, well, well! We haven’t seen a death in the arena since the untimely demise of two of the Kestrel crew—followed by their fellows, of course, ha! I suppose you’ve all had some time to work up an appetite since then, and as always, here to oblige you is the true star of our show, the inimitable Death herself!

“No, stop, hold on,” Bacta says, his hand tightening around Tryst’s arm. “He wasn’t—he didn’t—”

“I thought they liked him,” Tryst says, sounding confused. “He’s like, entertaining or whatever.”

“A survivor,” Leenik mutters. “He was a survivor.”

“I can’t watch this,” Bacta says, sounding ill. He turns his back to the screen as Death raises her staff.

“This isn’t right,” Tryst mutters under his breath, catching Leenik’s wrist and holds it tight.

Leenik, stone-faced and silent, watches until the screen cuts back to Famine, grinning his shark-grin at the camera.

Bacta ignores him to turn to Nawl, a helpless expression on his face. “You said,” he says slowly, “that he was a survivor. That he had it figured out.”

Nawl gives him a long, inscrutable look from his place on the floor, and says in a low voice heavy with resignation, “Sometimes you do everything right, and you still end up dead. There’s no sure way not to die at all. Only strategies for not dying quickly.”

“He was your friend, wasn’t he?” Leenik asks, softly.

Nawl’s eyes shift to him and after a moment, he nods once. “As much as anyone here could be.”

“I’m sorry,” Tryst offers, uncharacteristically sincere.

Nawl shrugs one shoulder. “I knew he might not make it out. So did he. Missing him won’t keep me alive. And it won’t bring him back, either. All there is to do is move on.”

“We’ll kill them,” Leenik says, a hard look in his eyes as he meets Nawl’s gaze. “We will.”

Nawl looks at him for a long moment, and the corner of his lips quirk up. “Well. I suppose there’s also that.”

As Leenik looks away from Nawl, he spots Zero standing just off to the side, watching him with his arms crossed and his head tilted at a considering angle. When Leenik gives him a challenging look, he just shrugs.

The door of the room suddenly clangs open and they all jump and look up as Lyn walks in. As the door closes behind her, she slowly looks around and takes in all of their faces, her own slowly draining of color.

“Did he…” she begins, then falters.

“Yeah,” Tryst says, subdued.

Lyn visibly braces herself, taking a deep breath. “Oh,” she says, a little faintly. “I… oh.”

“Are you okay?” Bacta asks, as she walks over to join them.

“Yeah,” she says, shaking her head as if dazed.

Bacta reaches out to touch her arm. “Are you sure? Lyn—”

“I’m fine, Bacta,” she snaps, yanking her arm out of his touch. Bacta recoils, looking hurt.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly, curling his hand back towards his body. “I’m sorry.”

Lyn shakes her head again, lifting one hand to rub her eyes. “It’s—I’m fine, just… we have a lot of work to do.”

When she lowers her hand Bacta is there meeting her eyes. He gives her a nod, and this time she sighs and lets herself lean on him a little when he lays a hand on her arm.

“All right,” he says, softly. “Let’s get to work.”

Leenik looks back at Zero and raises an eyebrow. Zero gives him a long, inscrutable look, then nods once.

A small, cold smile curls across Leenik’s face and he jumps a little when Tryst jostles his shoulder.

“Huh?” he says, blinking as he turns to see Tryst looking at him with wary, concerned eyes.

“You okay, pal?” he asks lowly.

Leenik shrugs, looking away. “You heard him,” he says. “Let’s get to work.”

—

“Any luck?”

Blue accepts the cup from Aava without turning, his eyes still fixed on his screen. One hand continues to type frantically as the other tosses back the steam caf. He lets out a satisfied sigh as he empties the cup and drops it next to him.

“Sort of,” he says.

Aava raises an eyebrow, brushing away a pile of empty caf cups to rest her hip against the table. “Sort of? What does that mean?”

“I’m almost there. They have a whole bunch of dummy signals, probably to keep people with a grudge from finding them, but I’ve managed to eliminate most of them. I’ve narrowed it down to a couple systems, and once I figure out which one is the real source, I can narrow it down to a planet.”

“How long will that take?” Aava asks, leaning in to look at the mess of code on the screen, though it means nothing to her. She makes a mental note to ask Zero to teach her some splicing when they pick him up.

When. It’s nice to think of it as a definite.

“A couple hours?” Blue offers.

Aava’s eyebrows fly upwards. “That’s it?” she asks, surprised. For how long it took them to get this far, she expected at least another day.

She quickly realizes her mistake when Blue actually looks away from the screen to give her a smug look. “Have I mentioned lately that I’m very good?”

Aava rolls her eyes and clamps a hand on the top of his head, forcibly turning him back to the screen. “Yeah, all right, kiddo. Stop bragging and find our boy.”

Blue swats at her half-heartedly as he refocuses on his work. Aava watches quietly for a moment, then asks, “Which systems are they?”

Without looking, Blue points at the wall behind him. Aava turns to follow his finger and sees a map of the galaxy, and as she steps closer she sees that a number of systems are circled, a few crossed out with angry faces written next to them.

She hasn’t tried this yet, unsure of the results if she were to simply cast about blindly for Zero in all of the galaxy. But she knows more, now; she knows who has him, and looking at where most of the possible systems Blue has pinpointed are, she knows an approximate location for where to find him. And if she can cut down on the time it takes to find him… well. Who knows how much a few hours could count for him right now.

Aava considers the ones still remaining, and she slowly closes her eyes and reaches out to the Force.

She thinks of Plague, the hollow-eyed woman from the photos, Cordella Tembjess, pictures her holding a holopad and looking at Zero’s helmet, thinks of the arrogance and frigidity of a diplomat’s daughter turned to playing with the lives of others.

She thinks of Death, Onaasha Zadeen, the scarred ghost with one cold eye, thinks of a knife held to Zero’s throat and the mesh of confidence and paranoia that comes from a life of battle.

She thinks of Famine, Felbin Giasi, from the video Blue showed her, the Mon Calamari with a shark’s grin and blood in his voice, hears his voice in her head and thinks of the hunger of a man who will do anything to be known.

She thinks of War, Wrrarka, who remains a mystery but must know the frustration that leads one to abandon one life for another.

She thinks of the Armageddon Arena, encircled by screens projecting the illusion of freedom, of ever-changing landscapes that can’t hide the unchanging echo of pain and death.

She thinks of Zero, thinks of late nights at BHIKKE drinking and dancing, holding tight to his waist as they speed dangerously down the highway, thinks of fighting by his side and laughing at his terrible impressions of both their opponents and the imperial officials who come to retrieve their bodies.

She thinks of the look on his face when he took his helmet off for her, and when she opens her eyes her finger has come to rest on the map, not far off from the center of a cluster of Blue’s circles.

“Blue,” she says.

He doesn’t respond, intent on his work.

“Blue,” she repeats, louder.

He makes an annoyed, wordless noise.

Aava reads off the name of the planet under her finger.

“What?”

“Look there.”

Blue glances over his shoulder, frowning. “That one’s not in any of the systems I tracked down.”

Aava turns and fixes him with a hard look, her finger still resting on the map. “Blue. Look there.”

Blue actually pauses in his typing, squinting suspiciously at her. “Is this some kind of… Force thing?”

She just looks at him, and he throws up his hands and goes back to his computer. Aava turns back to the map, looking at the tiny dot her finger landed on and holding her breath.

Blue’s typing slows to a stop, then suddenly picks up rapidly again. After a few minutes that seem more like an eternity, he says in a low, serious voice, “Aava.”

Aava abruptly drops her hand and strides back over to him, leaning over his shoulder. “Is it him?”

“I… maybe.” Blue scrubs a hand over his face as he continues. “This planet is supposed to be entirely uninhabited, no civilization, no colonies, not even any animal life, but the last probe sent that way found life signs. Normally there would be an investigation to check for rebels and the like but—there’s no record of anything. No one did anything with that information, so either there are a number of people who did not do their jobs correctly, or…”

“Someone’s covering something up,” Aava supplies, breathlessly. “You found him?”

Blue frowns. “Maybe. I can’t be sure just from this, I’d need to take a closer look at the scans themselves and… maybe hack into some communications I may not strictly have access to.”

“How long until you’re sure?”

Blue wobbles his head back and forth, already typing rapidly. “Give me an hour.”

Aava smiles, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get some troops ready to go.”

Blue’s lips quirk up at the surety in her voice, and he pauses, looking over his shoulder at her with a sudden expression of alarming sincerity. “Aava, if you’re right about this…” He glances past her at his map. “It would’ve taken me ages to find them.” He meets her eyes, his own shining with gratitude and some deeper emotion. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Aava gives him a small smile, and a part of her wonders, if Blue could use the Force, just how quickly he could’ve found Zero by virtue of his connection alone.

“I’ll be on the ship when you’re ready to go,” she says, instead of any of that.

Blue nods and turns back to his screen. Aava casts him one last look and leaves him to his work.

She has her own work to do.

—

The Mon Calamari taps his foot impatiently as he waits for the scanner to read his eye and allow him into the small office. When the door finally opens, he sweeps in in a hurry, causing the occupant of the room to look up, startled.

The Wookie hunched over the desk quickly recognizes him and settles down, rolling his eyes privately.

“War,” the Mon Calamari snaps. “Give me the next one.”

The Wookie gestures to a holopad on the edge of the desk, and flips the page on the one in his hand.

Famine snatches up the holopad and impatiently turns it on, rapidly flipping through its contents. “And you’re sure this one will work out? There’s no way they’ll win this one?”

War mutters something in Shyriiwook, pointing at the holopad again.

“Yes, I know,” Famine snaps. “But I need this, okay? We need this. Why am I the only one who understands the gravity of what’s going on?”

Wars says something again, looking up from his datapad and tilting his head slightly to one side.

Famine makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “You’re as bad as Death and Plague, both. You’re all awful at this. I’m the only one who really cares. This is delicate, War.”

War grumbles something.

Famine waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re sure this one will work? We’re oh for two, here, War.”

War gives him a level look, then looks back down and flips another page.

Famine hmphs. “What are you even annoyed at? You’re not even watching them. They’re asleep.”

War snaps something back, gesturing at the various datapads littering his desk.

Famine waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all working overtime on this one. The sooner you get me one that works, the sooner Plague can get everything straightened out and we can go back to business as usual.”

Without looking up, War jabs a finger at the datapad in Famine’s hands, then at the door.

Famine rolls his eyes and turns on his heel. “Yeah, I get it. See you later.”

As he leaves the room, he flips back to the first page of the datapad, considering the faces staring up at him.

“Well, Mr. Geelo, Mr. Clone,” he mutters to himself, a slow, smug grin spreading over his face as he taps a nail against the side of the pad. “Here’s to your demise.”

Chapter Text

There’s a weight in the air the next morning, the unacknowledged fact of Lux’s absence hanging over all of them when they all emerge to a silent room, unbroken by cheerful greetings or good-natured complaining about the thin pallets or drafty cells.

It comes to a head as they take their accustomed places and slowly at first, and then all at once, become painfully aware of the stack of food boxes laying by the door, untouched.

Nobody says anything for a long moment, exchanging glances or just staring at the boxes, until Zero rises to his feet, marches over, and picks up the stack.

“I don’t know any of your names,” he says nonchalantly after a beat. “So you’re gonna have to help me out here.”

He marches over to the biggest circle, turning immediately to Nawl.

“So you’re… like, Maul, right?”

Nawl huffs a short laugh. “Nawl,” he says, then inclines his head towards the Sullustan beside him. “Nebban.”

Zero starts shuffling the boxes, cursing under his breath as he almost drops them, and Nebban suddenly pops up, catching it as it starts to slide. Zero pauses and looks at him, and Nebban’s fingers tighten around the box.

“I, uh,” he stammers. “I can help. If you want. I know everybody’s names.”

Zero cocks his head, then shrugs. “Sure, whatever,” he says, like he honestly could not care less. “Fine by me.”

Nebban gives him a small smile, then glances down at the box in his hand. “This one is yours, Dr. Luroon.”

Lyn accepts it with a small smile and a, “Thank you, Nebban,” and takes an armful as Zero parses through the rest to find Nawl’s and hand it off to the Ithorian.

“Okay, and, uh…” he mutters to himself. “Geelo, I got that one… Valentine, oh, like Ren… is there any relation?”

“Um,” Tryst splutters.

“Nevermind. And you’re… Oliver Queen, right?” he turns to Bacta and almost sounds… playful? Friendly?

Bacta snorts and sticks his hand out. “Well, you’re not completely wrong, mate, but there’s one name in there that you and I both know could only be for a clone, and that’s not it.”

“I don’t know about that—most of the clones I know are a little more… creative.” With a smirk on his faceplate, Zero hands Bacta his box.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bacta demands, somewhere between awkwardly jovial and unsure if he should be offended, but Zero has already turned away and is walking towards Dahl and Jiran, Nebban at his heels and pointing out the names on the remaining boxes.

“He is a strange man,” Lyn says after a moment.

“I kinda like him, actually,” Leenik says. “I wish he hadn’t cut my arm off, so we could be friends.”

“Also so you’d still have your arm,” Tryst points out, mouth already full and gesturing with a handful of food.

Leenik waves a hand in acknowledgment. “Oh, for sure, for sure, but I actually kinda like the robot hand now.”

“Er, Leenik,” Lyn says cautiously, like she’s really hoping she’s wrong about something but is already preparing herself to be right, “You also realize that we can’t be friends with Zero because he’s working with the Empire and trying to imprison or kill us and take Tamlin away, right?”

“And-or,” Tryst corrects her. “Imprison and-or kill us.”

Leenik shrugs. “I don’t think that’s a good reason for not wanting to be friends with somebody.”

Bacta frowns. “That, uh—we should probably talk about that, buddy, because that’s a very good reason to not want to be friends with somebody.”

Leenik hmphs. “If you want to be totally superficial and judgmental, sure, wanting to imprison or kill us--"

"And-or."

"And-or kill us is a good reason not to be friends with somebody, but aren’t there more important things we need to talk about, first? Like, I don’t know, getting out of here before any of us die?”

“That does sound more important than Bacta’s prejudices,” Tryst says, nodding sagely and shoving more food in his mouth.

Bacta opens his mouth to argue, then catches himself and instead takes a slow, deep breath, before saying calmly, “Okay. You’re right. We can talk about who it is appropriate to form relationships with—which, I’m sure we all know, is a topic we all could use a refresher on—”

“I definitely have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tryst says when Bacta shoots him a pointed look. “Unless you’re referring to how inappropriate it is to have sex with someone’s sister. Is that what you’re referring to, Bacta?”

Bacta forges on, choosing to simply speak over Tryst rather than engage him. “But right now, we need to form a plan for how we’re gonna get out of here.”

“Thank you,” Leenik says, elbowing Tryst until he stops grumbling.

Bacta stifles a (very distinguished, he’s sure) shriek as Zero suddenly appears beside him, plopping down to sit amongst them.

“It’s a good thing literally everyone in this room can hear what you’re saying,” he says sardonically, tilting his head towards the large mirror-wall.

The crew exchange glances, and Zero shrugs. “Just saying.”

Bacta sighs. “We couldn’t all stay in the cell block today, we need to be prepared for whoever of us is going to be in the arena.” He makes a face. “Plus, we couldn’t agree on who wouldn’t be in the room to plan.”

“Bacta, you know that if you don’t let me help make the plan, that’s just a greater chance that I’ll totally ignore the plan and do my own thing,” Tryst says, in the beleaguered tone of someone who has had to explain a simple concept to the same person many times.

“And you know that if I wasn’t in the room, I definitely would not remember it, and just go along with Tryst when he breaks off and does his own thing,” Leenik adds.

Lyn sighs deeply as Bacta looks at Zero and gestures helplessly towards his crewmates.

Zero hums, nodding along. “Oh, sure, sure. I definitely see how you lot have evaded the Empire for years.”

Leenik shrugs. “Our system works for us.”

Zero gives him a short, sarcastic hum of acknowledgment, then leans forwards. “Look. I know you lot are more competent than you let on, and frankly I don’t think I have enough sanity left to sit through a full conversation with you all together, so I’m going to make you a deal—I’ll cover you guys so the sleemos behind the curtain don’t hear what you don’t want them to, and you let me in on whatever you come up with.”

Bacta looks at Lyn and Lyn presses her lips in a tight line, and before either of them can say anything Leenik sticks his hand out and says, “Deal.”

—

Zero’s idea of a distraction is, apparently, getting to his feet, striding into the center of the room, announcing loudly, “This place is such a drag,” and proceeding to blast music from speakers within his arm and helmet at ear-splitting volume. “Let’s party.”

Tony whines and buries his head in Leenik’s lap, pawing at his ears. The entire room stares at him for a long beat, and then Kell lets out a loud, high cackle and jumps to her feet, dragging a bewildered Taska (who, Bacta realizes, obviously can't hear the music) up after her. “Sure, robot man!” she crows. “Why the hell not!”

Nebban, nervous and little hesitant but with a more genuine smile on his face than any they’ve seen before, joins them a moment later and the four dance together in the center of the room, bizarre and chaotic and utterly impossible to ignore.

Bacta, Lyn, Leenik, and Tryst put their heads together, confident that even if War is watching them through the glass, there’s no way he can hear what they’re saying.

Unfortunately, they can barely hear each other—and they barely get beyond the standard we should get captured on purpose—no that is not a valid strategy and how would it even work—but it’s never not worked—no you know what veto exchange and on to real planning before Famine pops up on the screen.

The four dancers slowly come to a stop as they notice. Everyone looks at Zero, who cocks his head and folds his arms, considering the screen.

The music gets slightly louder.

It’s impossible to hear what Famine is saying over the noise, but Zero stubbornly refuses to turn it down or even acknowledge the sideways looks from the rest of the room.

And so they’re left there, sitting in silence underneath the deafening sound of some sort of electronic dance music, as Famine grins at the camera and shuffles his notes. It’s odd, to see him without hearing his words. Without the jovial tone or amicable words, he looks more sinister, baring all of his sharp teeth with every smile and staring into the camera with a glint in his eye that is clearly meant more for the watching captives than the audience.

Finally, his image shifts to the headshots of Leenik and Bacta, side by side. Bacta glances over, trying to catch his eye, and finds Leenik frowning intently at the screen, stroking Tony’s head absently and stubbornly not looking at him.

Now frowning himself, Bacta turns back, not wanting to miss who they’ll be meeting in the arena for lack of auditory cues.

The image cuts back to Famine for another few moments as he reshuffles his papers and says something with a wink and a smug smile, and then cuts again to two more images.

Nawl is one, and Bacta feels a pang in his chest at the thought of standing across the arena from him. He likes Nawl—likes his dry humor and appreciates his attempts to help the crew acclimate, in his own way. Especially now, when they’re all still reeling from the sudden loss of Lux, he doesn’t want to lose another friendly face.

The other picture is equally upsetting, for entirely different reasons.

Jiran Buvoe is just as indecipherable in their picture as they are in real life, staring impassively out from the screen. Bacta immediately turns to look at the real thing; Jiran is facing away from him, their head tilted slightly. As he watches, they lean in towards Dhal, and he sees her turn towards him and chuckle, nodding.

Jiran turns their head just enough to catch Bacta’s eye and he holds it, staring them down for what feels like an eternity but is probably just a few seconds before the corner of the Zabrak’s lips twitch upwards and they nod once before turning back to Dhal.

Bacta turns back to his own companions, feeling dazed.

Tryst and Lyn are looking at him with concern and he shakes himself inwardly, reminding himself that he needs to at the very least keep up the appearance of being in control—for the sake of his friends, if not the other prisoners.

“Well,” he says, leaning in and raising his voice to be heard above Zero’s music. “I won’t lie, it’s a bit of a bitch.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lyn says briskly, her voice full of forced confidence, and Bacta feels a swell of affection and gratitude for her.

“Of course,” he says, clapping a hand on Leenik’s shoulder. “We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

Bacta can’t help but notice how Leenik flinches when he touches him and stays tense under his hand, even as he doesn’t pull away, his eyes still cast downwards to where Tony is still hiding from the noise in his lap.

“Yeah,” he says, shortly. “We’ve been through worse.”

Bacta lets his hand fall before Leenik decides to shrug him off and finds his eyes drawn to Nawl, sitting alone a few feet away from them, staring off into the middle distance. He looks smaller, somehow, without Lux casually hanging off his side, one elbow propped on the Ithorian's shoulder as he regales them all with some tale or another, and without Nebban half-hidden behind him, poking his head around his arm to offer a small smile and a quiet joke.

He’s brought back to himself by a hand on his shoulder, and finds himself looking into Lyn’s concerned eyes. “You okay?” she asks, her eyes darting towards Nawl and back to him.

Bacta takes a deep breath and offers her a small smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Lyn gives him a long, searching look, then seems to accept it and nods, letting her hand drop. Bacta grabs her wrist before she can fully take it back, and she stops, looking at him with an unspoken question.

“I’m sorry,” he bursts out, and when she looks confused he continues, “I’m sorry that you had to fight Lux. Even if you weren’t responsible for his death—and I’m not saying you are, because you aren’t—I’m sorry that you had to be the one in the arena with him when it happened. And I’m sorry that he’s dead.” He takes a deep breath and squeezes her wrist gently. “But I’m glad that you’re alive.”

Lyn doesn’t respond at first and Bacta can practically see her starting to put walls up before she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.

Bacta releases her wrist and starts to withdraw, and her eyes open. She grabs his arm and leans in.

“Bacta,” she says, suddenly very serious. “Until we can get out of here, we have to do whatever it takes to stay alive. For Tamlin. Even if it means these people die, we have to stay alive.”

There’s something hard and desperate in her eyes, and Bacta finds himself nodding even as a cold dread settles in his stomach. “I know,” he says, low.

Lyn’s hand clamps down on his arm. “Promise me, Bacta,” she says. “Promise me that whatever happens in the arena tomorrow, you’ll do whatever it takes.”

Bacta tears his eyes away from Lyn to look again at Nawl, startled to see the Ithorian looking directly at him. Nawl holds his gaze impassively for a long second, until Bacta swallows around a lump in his throat and his gaze jumps back to Lyn. He nods, once.

“I promise,” he says, and feels her grip tighten briefly. “Whatever it takes.”

Something seems to go out of Lyn and she deflates, releasing his arm. “Okay,” she says, then again, mostly to herself, “Okay.”

Bacta turns away from her to look back at Leenik. He’s in the same position, one finger tracing around one of the spines on Tony’s neck over and over as he stares downwards with an indecipherable expression.

Bacta doesn’t think they have to have a similar conversation with him.

The thought only adds to the cold weight in his gut.

—

Zero keeps up the music for another hour or so, but their thoughts are scattered, and they make little progress on a plan for how to actually get out of here.

By the time Zero gives a laughing Kell a deep, sardonic bow and returns to the group with Nebban in tow, they’re tired and grumpy, more prone to taking mumbled digs at each other than actually discussing escape strategies.

Zero looks between them all and manages to roll his eyes with his entire head. “Why do I even bother?” he drawls.

“Sorry if we’re a little distracted,” Bacta mutters, snippy. “Some of us are fighting to the death tomorrow.”

Zero shrugs. “So win. Seems like a simple enough solution to me.”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Bacta snaps.

Zero just shrugs again, and Bacta gets the unpleasant sense that he’s being laughed at.

It does nothing to help the planning efforts.

By the time the droid appears with dinner, they’ve given up entirely. Zero and Nebban pass out the boxes again, pausing in the opposite corner to chat with Kell and Taska briefly. The Mynock crew eat in relative silence, all caught up in their own thoughts, and continue that way until the cell block doors clanging open startle them all to attention.

As they all get up and head for the cells, Leenik stops Nawl with a hand on his arm.

“Hey,” he says, in a low voice. Nawl tilts his head in acknowledgment and looks at him expectantly.

Leenik swallows, his eyes dropping to the floor. “So, I like you, and I feel like we have a sort of understanding going on, but just in case we don’t actually I wanted to say that it sucks that we have to fight each other, but I… can’t let you win.”

Nawl lets out a short, surprised chuckle and Leenik’s eyes dart up to look at him. Nawl gives him a small smile, which fades into a much more serious look. He lifts one heavy hand and lets it rest on Leenik’s shoulder.

“You and me,” he says, his voice grave but not devoid of warmth, “we understand. We do what we have to… and then we accept the consequences.”

Leenik looks into Nawl’s eyes, and has a sudden, bizarre urge to tell him, to say I did, I did what I had to, to say I am what I had to become and I’m still running from the consequences and Tell me how to live afterwards and Leenik wants to ask him what the Imperial factory looked like when it exploded, if his old life ending in flames had looked anything like the edge of a catwalk with nothing but darkness beneath.

Instead, he swallows hard, and nods. Nawl holds his gaze for a few moments more, then squeezes his shoulder and lets his hand drop. Without another word, he turns and walks into his cell block. Leenik turns and walks into his own.

He notices Bacta looking at him with concern, but keeping his distance, and hunches up his shoulders and ignores him in favor of entering his cell and curling up on the thin pallet.

As he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, he wonders if Nawl has a family.

—

The walk to the arena is silent; Two offered a snide “Morning, boys,” when she arrived with One and Four to collect them, but all she got in return was a baleful stare from Leenik and not the slightest recognition from a distracted Bacta, and she doesn’t bother with anything else on the long trek down the hallway.

Leenik is focused, his eyes fixed straight ahead and seemingly unaware of everyone around him. As he walks, he subtly rolls his fingers and stretches his arms, warming up his muscles for the coming battle.

Bacta is tense. His fingers drum against the edge of his armor as he mentally recites the list of weapons favored by Jiran that Dhal offered them. It’s a rather daunting list; it would seem there are few weapons the Zabrak assassin does not possess at the very least a basic proficiency with. He’d gathered, both from Dhal as well as conversations over the past several days with Nawl, Nebban, and Lux, that they rotate which ones are offered to them in the arena, as well as what extra equipment—so there’s no way of knowing what, exactly, they will be wielding.

Nawl, at least, is a known quantity. As much as Bacta respects and even likes the stoic Ithorian, he doubts he has any surprises in store. Explosives are, after all, rather straightforward.

And then the door to the arena is before them, and Four is landing a smack with one large palm between his shoulder blades to send him stumbling through into darkness.

—

It’s the darkness that’s most disconcerting; at first, Bacta thinks there’s been some malfunction, and they forgot to turn the lights on in the arena, but as he glances upwards he realizes his mistake.

There are lights, fluorescent lamps some twenty feet above their heads, illuminating what appears to be part of the roof of a building. The screens above their heads show stars—bearing no constellations he recognizes—and when he looks at the ones surrounding them, he sees similar stars—and can make out the silhouettes of further buildings surrounding them.

“Well,” he says, for lack of anything else to say. “This is gonna be a tough one, buddy.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Leenik says, and Bacta jumps at his sudden proximity. Just over his shoulder, Leenik’s eyes look like a reflection of the starry sky above. As Bacta’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he can make out his silhouette as he gazes up at the lights. He wishes he could make out his expression. “We should stay on the ground. It’s safer than on a rooftop when you can’t see anything.”

“You have a point, but if they go up top, we won’t be able to get at them well from below. All they have to do is stand in the middle of a roof and I won’t be able to shoot them—not to mention, you use a sword, Leenik,” Bacta points out, rubbing the back of his neck as he weighs their options.

Frankly, he doesn’t like any of them; stay on the ground, and they’re sitting ducks, especially if either Jiran or Nawl have some means to see in the dark. Go up top, and they’ll be more visible—not to mention the possibility of falling.

“Can Zabrak see in the dark?” he asks dubiously. “Can Tamlin see in the dark?”

In retrospect, it’s really something he ought to know about his own child.

Leenik just shrugs and offers an indecisive noise. “Maybe?”

“It would explain how he can steal cookies out of the cabinets at night so stealthily,” Bacta says thoughtfully.

Leenik hums in absent-minded agreement, then makes an irritated noise. “Okay, so,” he says, shaking his head abruptly as he gets back on topic. “We should assume they can see us.”

“If they can see us, we need to give ourselves the best chance to see them,”  Bacta says, then gives a resigned sigh. “Which means going up top.”

He can just barely make out Leenik’s scowl in the darkness.

“I know, I don’t like it either, buddy,” he says, reaching out to touch his shoulder reassuringly. “But we’ve got to get to them somehow.”

Leenik seems to deflate, just a little, but he remains tense under Bacta’s hand. “Yeah,” he says shortly, his voice resigned. “Fine, okay. We’ll climb the buildings.”

There’s a pause, then, somewhat awkwardly, Leenik adds, “Uh, so how do we—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of the wall retracting, and then suddenly there’s a quiet clang and metallic rattling sound and a spotlight blinks on above them, illuminating a ladder leading up to the rooftop.

“Whelp,” Bacta says, dropping his hand off of Leenik’s shoulder and slinging his carbine over his back to free up his hands. “I guess that answers that question.”

Without another word, Leenik sets off up the ladder, still clutching his sword in one hand. Bacta follows him up, scanning the now somewhat visible rooftops across the arena for signs of life.

As he makes it up over the edge of the building, he spots movement two buildings down; but before he can point it out to Leenik, a blaster bolt fires out of the darkness. Bacta hastily shoves a half-turned Leenik out of its way, leaving the bolt to scorch the concrete of the rooftop at their feet.

“C’mon, this way,” he grunts, drawing his blaster and making for the bridge leading off towards the direction of the movement. He doesn’t turn his head to look, but the sound of footsteps assures him that Leenik is close on his heels.

The bridge is wooden, and supported only by rope, and sways when he steps onto it. Bacta is forced to slow down or risk missing a step in the darkness and tumbling to the ground below. Grinding his teeth and tightening his grip on his rifle until his knuckles go white, he continues forward, scanning the rooftops ahead.

On the opposite side of the building, Jiran steps into the light illuminating the beginning of the next bridge. Deliberately, they hook a long-range blaster rifle onto a strap across their back, and draw a pair of short vibroswords from sheathes at their hips.

Bacta pauses and raises his rifle to fire, perfectly willing to take the opportunity if it’s being presented, but just as he squeezes the trigger Leenik roughly shoulders past him, sending his shot flying wide as the bounty hunter draws his own sword and charges forward.

Bacta lets out a yell of, “Leenik!” that’s at least as frustrated as it is concerned, and runs after him.

Leenik must have better-than-human night vision, or at the very least incredible agility (and/or luck), and he manages to get across without incident. He makes right for Jiran with his sword raised, who drops easily into a combat stance and blocks his swing almost faster than the eyes can follow.

Bacta, frustrated and unable to get a clear shot on them with Leenik engaged, drops his rifle with one hand to grab the railing of the bridge so he can get across faster, one eye watching the two combatants and the other still scanning the rooftops, a nagging voice in his head reminding him that Nawl is still out there somewhere.

A flurry of movement distracts him as Jiran blocks a strike from Leenik with one blade, and takes advantage of an opening in his defense to hook the other around his hilt and sweep his feet out from under him. Leenik’s vibrosword goes clattering to the ground several feet away, and Leenik drops flat on his back, wheezing as all the air is knocked out of his lungs.

Jiran immediately leaps back, onto the bridge, and Bacta barely has time to wonder why they aren’t pressing the attack when a small silver disc comes flying out of the darkness and lands at his feet.

A small red light blinks once, twice, and Bacta just manages to throw himself backwards and out of the way before the disc explodes with a force belied by its small size.

Bacta hits the foot-high ledge surrounding the rooftop and then suddenly the ledge isn’t there anymore and he scrabbles at thin air then closes his eyes, resigning himself to a long fall with a hard stop and only praying that Leenik can somehow miraculously defeat both Nawl and Jiran when his arm nearly yanks out of his shoulder and he slams bodily into the side of the building.

He opens his eyes and looks up to see Leenik leaning precariously over the cracked and crumbling edge of the rooftop, his eyes wide and panicky and his robotic hand locked tight around Bacta’s forearm. His vibrosword is nowhere to be seen.

Bacta’s first instinct is to cling to Leenik’s arm, but the rational side of him—the part of him that was born and raised for battle—is telling him that they still have two opponents on the rooftops, the ground they’re standing on is no longer structurally stable, and there is no way Leenik can pull him up and get to his weapon before Jiran or Nawl strike again. Bacta's own carbine is gone, thrown from his hands in the explosion and probably in the middle of the rubble at the base of the building.

“Leenik,” Bacta says in a low, urgent voice. “Leenik, you gotta let go.”

Leenik doesn’t respond—but his hand closes even more tightly around Bacta’s arm.

“Leenik, you have to get your sword and fight them, there’s no time,” he says. His voice is coming faster now, desperate to get the idea through Leenik’s head before it’s too late, glancing over his friend's shoulder to check for Zabrak assassins sneaking up behind him. Leenik’s eyes are wide and unfocused, and his breath is coming faster, nearly hyperventilating. He shows no signs of loosening his grip. He shakes his head insistently.

“No way, no, I am not letting you go.”

“Buddy, please,” Bacta says, his voice rising in panic.

“No!” Leenik snaps, his voice breathless with desperation, reaching forwards with his other hand to grab at Bacta’s arm. Bits of concrete crumbles out from below him and Bacta sucks in a fearful breath, but they don’t fall yet. “I won't let go! Not--not again!”

Bacta's heart breaks but he remembers his promise to Lyn, whatever it takes, and he hadn't thought Leenik would have a problem with battlefield sacrifices but he hadn't seen this coming. He's reduced to pleading, begging Leenik to just let go, they can't both go down right here.

“I’ll be okay, Leenik, you gotta—”

“I’m not gonna let you—”

“Just let me fall, Leenik!”

Something seems to break behind Leenik’s eyes but before Bacta can continue pleading, there’s another explosion several feet below him, and then another, and another, and then the whole building is falling out from under him.

Bacta’s arm is torn from Leenik’s grasp as he falls, and then there’s a hard stop and then nothing, for a long, long time.

—

Leenik doesn’t want to wake up, but years of living on the Mynock have trained him to get up at the first sound of the door opening: failure to do so usually results in Tryst doing unpleasant things to one’s person or belongings, including dumping cold water over his head.

It’s hard, though, he feels woozy and his eyelids are unconscionably heavy. He hears the babble of voices, inside the room, and he tries to concentrate on them, at least figure out what Tryst is saying so he can prepare himself for his plan even if he can’t manage to wake up enough to stop him.

“—Doing my job, Felbin, and I’d greatly appreciate it if you would do yours instead of slinging baseless accusations my way.” The first voice is high and cold, female, tight with annoyance and totally unfamiliar, which is alarming enough that Leenik jolts a little closer to consciousness.

“Cordela, I’m not accusing you of anything!” The second is male, placating, oily, and… it’s not any of his crewmates’ voices but he knows it anyway and it sends a shiver of cold hatred down his spine. “But I brought you on to deal with the Empire, and I need you to do that right now, just buy us a little more time. Sure, the last match didn’t go the way we wanted, but it’s only a matter of time before something gives—”

“It’s only a matter of time before Imperial ships land in our airfield demanding the boy,” the first voice—Cordela—shoots back. “I’ve kept them off our backs for weeks, because unlike you two I am good at what I do. But I can only do so much with what I’m given, and unless you give me something to bargain with, we’ll have inquisitors in our halls and I don’t know how much you know about the Empire, Felbin, but trust me, you do not want that any more than I do. Let me do my job and take care of this—they’re right here, it’s as simple as handing me a blaster or removing the bacta and letting them die on the table—”

“Cordela, you know I can’t just give you one of them. Think of the long term—we can’t alienate our audience like that!”

“The long term won’t matter if we’re dead because the Empire finds out we have a Force-sensitive child and didn’t tell them!”

“Cordela—”

“No, keep your fins off me, shut your gigantic mouth and listen to somebody else talk for once in your life. You asked me to join this operation, you trusted me to handle the Empire. And I am doing that. But I am your equal in this project, Felbin, and I am telling you that I need you and Wrrarka to meet me halfway, here. No more elaborate gauntlets, no more games, no more sweet-talk. I need at least one of them dead, and soon, so I can give the Empire something to stop them from breathing down my neck.”

There’s the jarring sound of a Wookie’s shrieks, oddly subdued, and a scoff.

“And how can you be sure that those match-ups will result in their deaths any more than the past ones have? If you won’t let me just kill them, then you have to guarantee that they will die in the arena, do you understand me?”

“All right, all right,” the oily voice, Felbin, cuts in. “How about this. We’ll stop the gauntlet. Give me a few days, and I’ll work up the crowd, get them excited. Then we send them all in, make them fight each other. Whatever happens, someone will be up to vote, and by this point the audience might vote them off just for the drama of it—I’ll swing it some way, play it up, I’ll make sure of it.”

“And if that still doesn’t work?” Cordela asks, a threatening edge to her voice.

“Then we execute one of them and sacrifice the rebel to appease the crowd,” Felbin responds, a similar edge to his. “Will that satisfy you?”

There’s a brief silence in which some form of assent must have been signalled, as when they speak again some of the tension has clearly ebbed out of their voices.

“I can get you three days,” Cordela says. “Do what it is you do. In the meantime, I’ll work on finding a buyer for their ship.”

“You still haven’t gotten rid of it?” The other sounds surprised.

“It’s an old Skipray, full of garbage, infested with lizards, and the ship AI is… uncooperative,” she responds drily. “But I’ll get it done, replace the AI if I must.”

“Well, I trust you to get it done. In the meantime, Wrrarka, pass along some of those bounties I picked to Onaasha, would you? I want bounty hunters out to get replacements. However this works out, we’re going to be down two or three fighters in a few days, and if I have to make people upset I want new and exciting things to distract them. Tell her to leave a couple to keep the peace around here, but I trust her to manage her people.”

The Wookie makes a grumbling noise of acknowledgment.

“Is that all, then, Felbin?” Cordela asks, suddenly much closer. “After all, I have patients to look after,” she says with a certain sardonic humor.

A chuckle. “Of course. I do trust you, Cordela. Just keep at it for a few more days. A few more days, and this’ll be over. You’ll find someone to take the boy off our hands, the audience will be satisfied, and the Empire will never set foot in this facility. We’ll all keep our heads, and our money. Everything will turn out just fine.”

There’s a soft snort just above Leenik and he stops struggling towards consciousness, abruptly deciding that he very much does not want to wake up and come face to face with that cold voice as the door gently wooshes open and closed again.

“I hope you’re having good dreams, my Rodian friend,” the voice says and Leenik lets himself drift further back to sleep. “You have some long days ahead of you.”

Chapter Text

Leenik dreams, a confused, chaotic spiral of darkness and starry eyes and his fingers slipping loose, guilt and grief and fear, fear, fear.

The details were already hazy but they slip away completely as he wakes to a clanging sound. For just a moment it’s years ago on their old ship, and he’s a scared kid running for his life, dozing off at the controls of a ship he barely knows how to fly and jolting awake at every mechanical sound he can suddenly hear in the absence of bickering until he teaches himself how to make them work quieter.

There’s a figure towering over him and his first, muddled thought is She’s found me, she’s going to kill me this time and before he can make a move to run there’s more movement off to his side and when he shifts to look he sees battered armor and tan skin and concerned eyes and thinks Bacta and then it all falls into place.

The dark rooftops; the rickety bridge; fighting with Jiran. The explosion.

The sharp edge of the crumbling duracrete digging into his stomach as he stares into darkness and holds tight, no, he can’t let go, he won’t—

With a gasp, Leenik comes back to himself and sits up straight, his fingers clenching in starchy fabric on either side of his thighs. The room settles into a stark, spartan infirmary, with a handful of cots, two of which are occupied by Leenik and a clearly concerned Bacta.

The figure in front of him resolves into One, watching him with an unimpressed expression and her metal staff held loosely with both hands in front of her. The source of the clanging sound becomes apparent as she raps it against the handle at the foot of his cot again.

“Get moving,” she says curtly, shifting the staff to one hand and stepping back to give them room to get off the beds. Leenik can feel Bacta’s gaze on him but pays him no mind as he complies, tossing the thin white sheet covering his lower half aside and sliding off the cot.

His legs support him, and he doesn’t realize until he’s already standing that he wasn’t entirely sure they would. Bacta lands heavily beside him.

One gives them a brief, disinterested one-over, then gestures with her staff towards the door. The Rishii guard with a rifle clutched in his claws waits just outside and as they walk past he falls in line, ushering them past another door just outside the infirmary and down the now-familiar stark hallways of the arena.

By the time they get to the door to the common room, Leenik has retreated entirely back into himself, focusing on the steady pattern of their footfalls, forcing himself to breathe evenly, anything to distract himself from the image of Bacta hanging over the edge that hovers just behind his eyes—the way stony resolve crept over his face as his grip started to go slack, the way that when Leenik thinks about it he can’t help but see his eyes as black and full of stars—

Bacta roughly shoulders his way between the Rishii and Leenik as the guard moves to jab him and keep him moving. Leenik jumps at the contact, but a warm, solid grip on his wrist settles him and he realizes the door is open and their escort is trying to tell them to go through.

Bacta releases his wrist to place a hand on his shoulder and guide him into the room. The door clangs shut behind them.

In an instant, there’s a flurry of movement and Bacta drops his hand entirely as he stumbles back, his arms suddenly full of tiger-striped Twi’lek.

“Hey, Lyn,” he says warmly, a faint surprised chuckle in his voice. “Good to see you, too.”

Lyn is jabbering away at him, her accent thick with agitation, but Leenik’s attention is taken up entirely by Tryst, coming at him with a grin on his face. Before he can react, Tryst is grabbing his arm and hauling him in.

Tryst, for all his charms, never managed to figure out how to show genuine affection without great awkwardness. He hugs too tight, he seems to suddenly sprout extra elbows, and he pins Leenik’s arms to his body so that he can barely move and couldn’t reciprocate if he wanted to.

Leenik feels a little less like he’s just going to float away. Tryst has a way of forcing him to be present.

“Hi,” he squeaks out.

“You almost died, Leenik,” Tryst says, as gravely as Tryst can say anything, as if it were something he needed to inform him of.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Leenik says awkwardly. He’s really not sure how to respond to that. He wishes he could move his arms.

“Don’t do it again, idiot,” Tryst shoots back.

The best Leenik can do in response is lightly bump his forehead against the side of Tryst’s head. If the way the hug momentarily becomes somehow even tighter is any indication, he thinks Tryst gets it.

Tryst lets go and is immediately dragged into a hug by Bacta, who starts murmuring to him too low to hear. Lyn instead approaches Leenik, a hesitant smile on her face.

Something about her expression has Leenik opening his arms in an offer before he knows what he’s doing, and she quickly steps in to wrap her arms around his neck and give him a brief, firm squeeze.

She draws away, but keeps her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You saved both of your lives, Leenik,” she says, squeezing gently.

“What?” Leenik blinks. His recollection of the battle is still a little hazy, mixed in with chaotic half-remembered dreams, but he’s fairly certain he at no point did any such thing.

Lyn clears her throat. “When the building collapsed, we thought, well—”

“We thought you were goners,” Tryst puts in bluntly, pulling away from Bacta to join the conversation.

“Tryst,” Lyn begins, exasperated, but evidently thinks better of it and just turns back to Leenik. “To put it bluntly… yes, that.”

“I wasn’t exactly keen on our chances, myself,” Bacta says dryly.

Leenik shoots him a dirty look and Bacta shrugs apologetically. “What’s your point?” he asks, eager to get off the subject of their probable demise.

“Well, you survived,” Lyn says, gesturing to him. “It was close, Leenik, really terribly close, but they voted to save you. We didn’t know what to think at first—”

“Lux probably would’ve had it figured out before they even voted, that freak, but, well, y’know,” Tryst adds, and Lyn gives him a pained glare before quickly getting back to the subject at hand.

“Yes, well, we were talking about it, trying to figure out how it happened, and Nawl came back. When he heard what happened, he was convinced it was because of you, Leenik,” she says, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

Leenik stares at her blankly. “I don’t get it,” he says finally. “What did I do?” Internally, he adds besides letting him fall, but refrains from saying it out loud. The rational part of him knows the crew wouldn’t receive that kind of statement well, and the part of him still stuck in his nightmares shies away from the words.

“You sold them a story.”

The voice makes them all jump and whirl around to find Nawl standing a few feet away, arms crossed and looking directly at Leenik. He offers a small, wry smile. “You spend enough time in here listening to Lux’s ramblings, and you pick up a few things. You learn to start looking at it like a show.” He shrugs. “And you’re not the first to get yourselves off the hook with some well-placed drama. The Kestrel kids were good at it. They used to pull that sort of stuff all the time. They had whole storylines going, once upon a time.” He huffs a short, almost fond laugh. “They were nothing if not dramatic little shits, that lot.”

Tryst, Lyn, and Bacta exchange significant looks, the gears almost audibly turning in their heads, but Leenik is suddenly completely focused on Nawl, whose expression is the softest he’s seen it since he met the Ithorian over a week ago. The conversation they’d had the night before the fight is running through his head, stuck on those last words.

We accept the consequences.

He opens his mouth to say something but he’s interrupting by the clanging of the cell block doors opening.

The rest of the crew exchange glances before heading towards it, Bacta patting Leenik on the shoulder as he passes. Nawl gives him a nod and turns to follow Nebban into the other block, and on a whim Leenik lunges forward and grabs his arm.

“Wait,” he says quickly. “Just—just a second.”

Wordlessly, Nawl stops and turns to face him. Leenik fidgets under his gaze, already regretting initiating this conversation but bowling forwards anyways.

“You were wrong,” he gets out in a rush. “About me. I don’t accept consequences, I never have. I just run from them. I’m not like you, I’m not a survivor. I’m just—I don’t know what I am, but I’m not that.”

He looks away, his shoulders curling inward defensively on instinct.

“Leenik,” Nawl says, and his voice is startlingly gentle. Leenik glances back up at him. “You’re right.”

He winces, and Nawl puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re right,” he repeats. “You’re not like me. And you shouldn’t be.”

“You’re a survivor,” Leenik says, stubbornly.

Nawl snorts. “Sure, maybe,” he says. “And a bitter asshole with nothing left to survive for but pure spite and stubbornness, besides. But that’s not you, Leenik. And I hope it never is.”

He takes a deep breath and seems to gather himself, his hand slipping off Leenik’s shoulder. “I had this friend, y’know,” he says, a sad smile creeping over his face. “He said to me once that we were going to die, and die pointlessly, but at least we wouldn’t die alone. And then he laughed.” Nawl shakes his head, huffing a short laugh of his own, full of wry fondness. “He was a very scared man, but I think he was happier than I was.”

Nawl nods towards the entrance to Leenik’s cell block, where the rest of the Mynock crew are still milling around, heads close together as they mutter to each other. “Whether it’s in here or out there, you’re not going to die alone, Leenik. That’s something. And you have something my friend didn’t.”

“Yeah?” Leenik asks, raising one eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Good friends,” Nawl says, with a snort. “Friends who can help you. And you haven’t given up yet. So don’t.”

Leenik says nothing, chewing the inside of his cheek as he watches the door to the cellblock over Nawl’s shoulder.

“We gotta head in before they bust in here waving their pointy sticks like it scares us,” Nawl says, “but if you want my advice, Leenik? For real?” He nods towards the cellblock. “Talk to your friends. Let them help you.” He grins, a sharp glint entering his eye. “And then burn this place to the ground on your way out.”

Leenik can only blink at him, dumbly, nodding slowly. Nawl pats him on the shoulder and turns again to go.

“Nawl,” Leenik calls after him, belatedly. He continues quickly as Nawl turns to look at him, “Your friend. He died, right?”

Nawl nods, a wry smile on his face. “Yeah,” he says. “He finally went up against someone with something to live for.” With one final lingering glance at the Mynock crew’s cellblock, Nawl turns fully and walks into his own, patting a waiting Nebban on the shoulder.

Leenik turns to follow his gaze and sees Lyn standing in the entrance, clearly waiting for him. As he approaches, she says, “He’s been waiting for you since you left. We haven’t been able to move him.”

Leenik gives her a confused look, but as he steps over the threshold it becomes obvious what she’s talking about.

He only realizes how cold he felt when he’s flooded with warmth at the sight of Tony, curled up in a tight ball in front of Leenik’s cell door. As he enters the block, the vornskr’s head pops up, his nose twitching, and immediately his head swivels and his eyes lock on Leenik.

There’s a flurry of limbs and spines and suddenly Leenik is on the ground with a warm weight on top of him, Tony whining loudly and piteously as he licks over every inch of Leenik he can reach. Leenik laughs, really laughs, wrapping his arms around his son and burying his face in the sparse fur at his ruff.

“I know, Tony,” he coos, and feels more like himself than he has in days. “Momma missed you, too.”

As he tries not to trip over what feels like six hundred pounds of over-excited, anxious vornskr trying to get into his cell, Leenik glances up and accidentally locks eyes with Bacta, who tentatively offers him a smile.

With Tony pressed up against his leg, whining for attention and licking his hand, and Nawl’s sad smile still in his mind’s eye, Leenik tentatively returns it.

—

Bacta paces just inside his door, waiting for it to open. He’s had the entire night to stew over it, trying to keep his mind off his dwindling emergency lesai supply among his other million problems, and he’s come to a decision—he must talk to Leenik today. The end of the fight has left him shaken, and every time he closes his eyes he sees his friend’s blank, petrified expression. He keeps rubbing his forearm where he can almost still feel his frantic grip.

They need to talk about it.

As his commanding officer (and here, deep in hostile territory and surrounded by danger on all sides, he can’t help but fall into that role), he needs to know what happened so he can predict and hopefully avoid it in the future. And as his friend, he needs to know if Leenik is okay.

More and more lately, he’s wondered if Leenik has really ever been okay, if the silly, cheerful Leenik he knew these last five years had been a lie, if maybe something broke in him the day he saw his brother die and he never truly recovered—

It hurts to think that way about someone he loves, but on dark nights when he’s alone with nothing but his thoughts and worries and the memory of Leenik’s guilty eyes and cold voice, he can’t help it.

So he’s going to talk to him today. And something, last night, whether it was whatever Nawl said to him, or just seeing Tony again after such a stressful few days, had put Leenik in an oddly good mood. With any luck, it would extend to this morning, and he would actually consent to stay behind and talk.

Bacta is seriously considering tackling him to the ground until the doors shut and forcing him to talk if he doesn’t.

The cell doors all swing open and Bacta strides out immediately into the hallway. Leenik stumbles out of his cell across the way, struggling to keep his feet with Tony winding anxiously around his legs. He looks up and meets Bacta’s eyes, and a moment later offers a tentative smile.

Bacta returns it immediately, wide and gratified, and stops himself from reaching out to grab his arm.

“Morning, Leenik,” he says, stopping short in the middle of the hallway. Leenik stops as well, giving him an odd look but not quite meeting his eyes.

Zero casts them a look as he passes by, and they both ignore him. Lyn gives Bacta a fleeting touch on his arm as she does as well, and Tryst thumps him on the back. Bacta can’t help but feel bolstered by their implied support of his mission.

“Hey, Bacta,” he says. “Uh, you gonna move so we can get out before the doors close?”

Bacta clears his throat and shifts his weight awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious. “I, uh, actually,” he says, trying to hold Leenik’s eye and failing. “I was hoping we could… talk.”

Leenik leans back on his heels, one hand curling in the fur at Tony’s ruff. “Uh… talk?” he says, high and nervous.

Bacta puts up his hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Yeah, just talk. I think there’s some stuff we should really talk about, and probably we should do it in here, where it’s private.”

Leenik wavers, biting his lip. “Well, I mean… what about planning our escape? Are we all gonna stay in here and—talk?” His eyes cut sideways and Bacta follows his gaze to Lyn, hovering in the doorway to the main room and clearly trying not to look too obvious about her concern.

Bacta gives her a reassuring nod. Her eyes dart between him and Leenik a few times, then she slowly nods and slips out the door as well, pushing Tryst along in front of her. Bacta turns back to Leenik with an entreating smile. “Tryst and Lyn can handle the planning for one day. I just… really think we should talk, Leenik. Please?”

Leenik looks at him, glances at the door, down at Tony, then finally sighs, sets his shoulders like he’s bracing for an attack, and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

Beaming, and already feeling halfway to victory, Bacta lets out an eager, “That’s great, buddy! C’mon, we can talk in my cell,” and leads Leenik (and Tony) back into his cell just as the doors all clang shut, locking them inside until the time comes for everyone else to return.

Bacta sits down on the thin pallet in one corner and waits for Leenik to awkwardly settle himself in the opposite corner, Tony immediately curling himself along his side and resting his head in his lap. Leenik automatically starts stroking him with one hand, and seems to minutely relax.

Bacta takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts, trying to decide how best to say what needs to be said. Without conscious thought, his hand drifts to where he imagines he can still feel the grip of Leenik’s robotic hand around his forearm and he rubs the spot.

Just as he finally opens his mouth to begin, Leenik blurts out, “I’m sorry I let you fall.”

Bacta blinks up at him, taken aback, to see Leenik staring at him with a space-deer-in-the-headlights expression, his eyes darting away as soon as they meet Bacta’s. Leenik rubs Tony’s head a little harder.

Bacta quickly recovers and shakes his head frantically. “What? No, buddy, that’s not—I’m not—That wasn’t your fault. I’m not mad about that, Force no.”

Leenik side-eyes him, a little suspicious and a little hopeful and it makes Bacta’s chest ache. “... You’re not?” he asks. “I mean, you could have died.”

Bacta coughs to cover a shiver at the unpleasant reminder. “Well, I mean, sure, but so could you, Leenik. And as soon as I went over the side of that building, I was done. I was out of the fight. Besides, I’m twice your size—of course I don’t blame you, buddy!”

Leenik slowly turns his head to face Bacta full-on, giving him an appraising look. “So, if you’re not mad about that…” He trails off, raising one expectant eyebrow.

Bacta takes a deep breath and leans forward, faintly wishing Leenik hadn’t chosen to sit so far away. “Buddy… Leenik,” he says, his voice even and serious. “You should have dropped me.”

Leenik physically recoils back into the corner, his hand clenching in Tony’s fur until the vornskr whines and he abruptly releases him. “What?”

Bacta maintains eye contact with him, keeping his voice calm and level as he continues. “The roof was unstable. Jiran was still up there with you, not to mention Nawl on the other roof. There was little to no chance you’d actually get me back up, and refusing to let me go and keep fighting put us both at risk. You should have just let me fall.”

Leenik glares at him, his hands shifting restlessly, clearly caught off guard and on edge. “Are you—no! You’re crazy! You wanted me to just let you die? I thought we were friends!”

“I know—Buddy, I know,” Bacta says quickly, making pacifying gestures with both hands. Leenik looks like he would very much like to jump up and flee the room, if only he wasn’t locked inside and weighed down by Tony. “Leenik, I get it.”

“Clearly you don’t!” Leenik shoots back, his voice high and strangled, his hands shooting up to gesture helplessly by his head.

“I do,” Bacta says, silently praying that Leenik doesn’t just get up and hit him after what he’s about to say. “This is about your brother.”

Leenik, fortunately, does not hit Bacta with his rocket hand. Instead, he freezes completely. Slowly, almost mechanically, he lowers his hands and fixes Bacta with a glare. “No.”

“Yes, Leenik,” Bacta says, almost apologetically but still firm. “I know that fight reminded you of your brother dying.”

Leenik turns his head away sharply. “Shut up.”

“You don’t want what happened that night to happen again,” Bacta continues doggedly. “You let your brother fall—”

“That’s enough!”

Leenik shoots to his feet, displacing Tony and glaring at Bacta. He’s trembling very slightly, all over, his fists clenched at his side. He meets Bacta’s eyes with a harsh glare for just a moment then looks away, refusing to make eye contact again. Tony, his hackles rising at the tension in the room, offers Bacta a half-hearted growl and presses against Leenik’s legs.

But Bacta has already made the mistake of letting it go before, and it brought them here. He’s not about to do it again.

Slowly, he rises to his feet.

“Leenik,” he says slowly. Leenik’s jaw flexes but he doesn’t look at Bacta. “Leenik,” he says again, more emphatically. “You tried to save your brother, and you couldn’t, and you’ve carried that with you ever since. I know, Leenik.”

He pauses, and swallows around a growing lump in his throat. “You don’t think—you don’t think I know what it’s like to lose a brother?”

Leenik’s eyes cut sideways towards him and Bacta shoves up his sleeves, proffering his bare forearms, the dark lines of ink covering most of the skin. “You know what these tattoos are, right?” he asks. Leenik gives a short, reluctant nod, his eyes darting downwards and sweeping across the names of Bacta’s brothers. “I was their medic, Leenik,” he says, his voice tight and rising in pitch as he fights to keep it even. “Whatever—whatever you think about my medical abilities, it was my job to keep them alive. I was responsible for their lives, and I failed them. They were my brothers, and they trusted me to take care of them, and I couldn’t save them.”

Bacta pauses to take a deep breath, swallowing hard again and taking a few steps towards him. “So please, Leenik, trust me that I know what I’m saying when I tell you that your brother’s death was not your fault.”

Leenik’s arms close around his middle and he meets Bacta’s eyes, briefly, before looking away again. “I know that,” he mutters, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself.

“It wasn’t,” Bacta says again, letting one arm slowly fall to rest by his side and reaching out with the other to lightly touch Leenik’s shoulder. The muscle jumps under his hand but he doesn’t shy away. Heartened, Bacta squeezes lightly. “I promise, Leenik, whatever you’ve been telling yourself all these years, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill your brother.”

Leenik reacts like he’s been hit in the gut, curling in on himself as his eyes shoot up to lock with Bacta’s, wide and surprised and almost fragile, vulnerable in a way Bacta has never seen him. Bacta extends his arm to reach around Leenik’s shoulders, and when he tightens his grip there’s a moment of resistance and then Leenik goes, leaning, almost slumping against Bacta’s side. Bacta squeezes him, letting out a long breath, and slowly slides down the wall until they’re both sitting, still pressed together.

Finally, he speaks up again. “Leenik,” he says softly. “I don’t blame you for trying to hang on. But sometimes you’ve just… you’ve gotta let go.”

Leenik makes a harsh, scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “Yeah? How’s that going for you?”

Bacta raises his empty hand and rubs his chest, right over where Sian’s image lies, embedded in his skin. He thinks about the voicemail on Phindar, and his heart clenches all over again. “It’s hard,” he admits. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Leenik sit up a little straighter, as if he’s surprised to hear Bacta admit it. Bacta huffs a short, dry laugh. “I’m not always very good at it. It’s hard to stop running when… when that’s all you’ve been doing for a long time.”

When the last thing the love of your life said to you was to run, Bacta thinks, but doesn’t say. He doubts Leenik would relate quite so much to that part.

Leenik goes quiet, but Bacta can see him nodding out of the corner of his eye, a wry twist to his mouth.

After a long moment, he asks, very softly, “How do you do it?”

“Stop running?” Bacta asks, and gets a soft affirmative noise in response. He blows a long breath out his nose and squeezes the arm around Leenik’s shoulders. “Some things are just… worth stopping for.”

Leenik doesn’t respond out loud, but ever so slowly he lays his head on Bacta’s shoulder and something in Bacta’s chest loosens.

“I can’t lose any more brothers,” Leenik says quietly, like a confession.

Bacta tilts his head back and stares at the gray duracrete ceiling, feeling the ink of his tattoos burning against his skin. “I know how you feel,” he says, the corner of his lips quirking upwards and wry humor creeping into his voice. “I’ve lost quite enough brothers in my lifetime.”

His face slowly melts back into a frown and he looks down at Leenik. “But Leenik,” he says, reluctant, but needing Leenik to get this, to understand, “One day, you’re going to. We can’t know when, or how, but we’re all gonna die some time or other, and in this line of work, buddy, odds are on sooner rather than later. And we can fight our hardest—and you know we will—but there’s gonna come a time when you can’t save us. And you’re gonna have to let go.”

He can feel Leenik growing tenser under his arm as he talks, but he doesn’t pull away, and Bacta thinks that’s what really, finally convinces him that they’re going to be okay.

“I don’t know if I can,” Leenik finally admits, like the words are being torn out of him. “And I’m—I’m scared of what that’s turning me into.”

Bacta holds him tighter and rests his head on top of Leenik’s. “We’ll figure it out, buddy,” he says, and it’s a promise. “That’s what family’s for.”

Tony whines and licks Leenik’s face, and just like that, the spell is broken. Leenik snort-giggles and grabs Tony, affectionately roughing up his ears. Bacta jostles him a little bit and retracts his arm, giving Tony a pat on the head.

“Now,” he says, clapping his hands together and discretely swiping moisture out of his eyes. “Let’s figure out a plan to get out of here.”

“I may have an idea,” Leenik says, dodging Tony’s attempts to eat him alive with doggy kisses. He grins slyly at Bacta, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “It involves getting captured on purpose.”

Bacta bursts out laughing, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “Perfect,” he says. “Let’s hear it.”

—

Bacta goes in to see Tamlin that night, as Leenik makes his way back to his own cell with Tony. He scoops the boy up in his arms and holds him tight, rocking him gently.

“Hey, Tamlin,” he says softly, and Tamlin offers him a small smile. It hurts to see him wasting away in here, and Bacta’s determination for their plan to succeed redoubles. They need to get him out of here.

“You ready to go home, buddy?” he asks.

Tamlin looks around quickly and leans in, asking conspiratorially, “Is your mission almost done, Uncle Bacta?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Bacta says, squeezing him lightly. “We’re almost done. We’ll be out of here before you know it, and all of this will just be a bad dream.”

He wonders if they’ll ever tell Tamlin the truth about their “mission,” then quickly dismisses the thought. They can worry about all of that when they’re home free, back on the Mynock.

Lyn knocks on the door to let him know time is almost up, and Bacta ducks to press a kiss against the top of Tamlin’s head, between his horns. “I’ll see you again real soon, Tamlin, I promise.” Reluctantly, he lowers the boy back down to the floor.

Tamlin, ever the trooper, just nods and rubs his eyes with one hand. “Good night, Uncle Bacta,” he says.

“Good night, Tama,” Bacta says, straightening back up and giving Tamlin one last lingering smile before the door clangs open once more and he walks back into the hallway, pausing to meet Lyn.

“How’d it go?” he asks her, inclining his head towards the door to the main room.

Lyn scowls, the muscle in her jaw twitching. “Not good,” she admits. “Bacta, they’re sending us all into the arena.”

Bacta blinks, his mind racing. “What—all of us? Like—everyone?” He runs the plan he and Leenik concocted over in his head, trying to figure out how they can adjust it to work in a scenario where they have more than a half dozen other combatants to contend with.

“No,” Lyn cuts off his train of thought, shaking her head. She crosses her arms defensively, something furious and scared in her eyes. “Not everyone. All of us. The day after tomorrow, we’re going to be fighting each other.”

Chapter Text

Even with Lyn’s warning hanging over their heads, the next day feels more peaceful than any has in a long while. When Bacta sits down to open his breakfast, ravenous after not eating the day before, Leenik sits down next to him close enough for their knees to knock together, and responds to his cheerful greeting with a grunt that’s more I’m too tired and hungry to respond than Don’t talk to me . Tryst plops himself down on Bacta’s other side, one arm propped up on his shoulder, and Tony growls happily to himself as he tears apart his own breakfast.

It feels... normal. It’s like a weight has lifted off his shoulders, and Bacta actually enjoys his bland military rations (which have to be some sort of sick joke, considering Tryst has perfectly normal food that he won’t share), letting Tryst gossip about what they missed yesterday and Leenik complain about his weird food and even smiling at Nebban and Zero as they finish passing out breakfast and sit down nearby.

Then he looks up to see Lyn, standing leaned against the wall and half-heartedly picking at her own breakfast, looking lost in thought. She notices him watching and offers him a quick smile, and Bacta feels an abrupt pang of guilt.

“I’ll be right back,” he mutters, interrupting Leenik shaking some sort of glowing vegetable in front of his face, and pushes up off the ground, walking over to Lyn.

“Good morning, Bacta,” she greets him with a nod, offering a piece of what appears to be bread, which Bacta is fairly certain he’s seen Tryst stealing out of Lux’s box. He waves it off and meets her eyes with an earnest gaze, wringing his hands.

“Hey, Lyn,” he says, slowly, carefully choosing his words, “You know that… even though you only joined the crew recently, and we don’t know you as well and all, you’re still a--a valued member of the team, and we still—”

Lyn cuts him off with a startled laugh. Her expression quickly softens at his somewhat affronted face. “Bacta, you don’t have to--I’m not jealous of your friendship with Tryst and Leenik. You all have been together a long time, I wouldn’t expect to be as close with any of you.” She looks over Bacta’s shoulder and smiles. He turns to see Leenik on top of Tryst, apparently trying to force the glowing vegetable into his mouth. Bacta chuckles and smiles as well as he turns back to Lyn.

“You three have something special,” she says warmly. “I’m glad you’re all getting along again.”

“Me too,” Bacta agrees heartily. “And you know, Lyn, I’m--that is, we’re all really glad you joined the crew.”

“Me too,” Lyn says, and reaches out to squeeze his bicep.

“If something happens tomorrow,” Bacta says, and the mood immediately sombers. “I just want you to know that… it’s been an honor serving with you, Lyn.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Lyn assures him. “You said you and Leenik have a plan?”

Bacta darts a glance at the mirror-wall hiding War from view. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re pretty sure it’ll work, just… you and Tryst are gonna have to trust us, and follow our lead, okay?”

Lyn laughs. “I decided to do that the day I elected to climb on board a spaceship with three crazy men, a child, and a space wolf. I don’t suppose there’s any reason to stop now.”

Bacta grins and claps a hand on her shoulder and thinks that maybe they really will get out of this okay.

—

When Tryst finally stops laughing enough to push Leenik off of him, Leenik rolls off onto his back, dropping the glowing vegetable in his own mouth (he is pretty hungry, after all) and making a face at Tryst to see him make a face back.

Letting his hands fall to rest on his chest, Leenik turns his head to look up at the blank white ceiling. “So, I talked to Bacta yesterday,” he says, trying for casual and not quite reaching it.

“I’m so sorry,” Tryst drawls back, and Leenik smiles despite himself.

“Yeah, well,” he continues before he can chicken out. “There’s, uh… I feel like there’s something I should tell you. Maybe a couple somethings.”

He takes a deep breath, willing the anxious pit in his stomach to go away while he gathers his thoughts, but before he can say anything there’s a warm hand on his arm. Surprised, he turns his head to see Tryst giving him a conspiratorial smile.

“Tell me on the Mynock,” he says.

Leenik is momentarily disappointed, then finds himself abruptly aware of his surroundings and flushes, embarrassed. “Right,” he stammers, looking away. “Of course.”

“You and Bacta have a plan, right?” Tryst asks, taking his hand back.

“Yeah,” Leenik says, flexing his robotic hand on reflex. He meets Tryst’s eyes again and finds he can’t look away. “You trust me, right?”

“Leenik, you’re an emotionally unstable murderer who regularly makes our lives more difficult by refusing to remember your code names,” Tryst says bluntly. After a heart-stopping beat, he breaks into a roguish grin, something more like genuine affection sparkling in his eyes. “I trust you with my life.”

Warmth blooms in Leenik’s chest and he grins back. “Good,” he says, laughing a little hysterically. “Because you’re gonna have to follow my lead.”

The sound of the door clanging open interrupted them, and Leenik rolled to his feet as Two strolls into the room, flanked by Three and Five.

“Morning, everybody,” Two says with a mean grin. “It’s show time.”

Tryst snorts quietly behind him and claps a hand on Leenik’s shoulder. “We’d better get a move on, then. I’d hate to keep my adoring public waiting.”

Two winks at him. “Sure thing, hot shot. You and the clone are gonna follow me and my friend Five here, nice and easy. Bug-man and the doctor are gonna go with Three. You all know how this works. Let’s go.”

Tryst’s hand tightens on Leenik’s shoulder, then lets him go entirely as he saunters over towards the door. “All right, well, easy on the name-calling, okay? That’s really more of a me thing, y’know? Don’t want you stealing my brand.”

Two snorts and steps aside, gesturing with her blaster at him and Bacta. “Whatever, hotshot. Get moving.”

As he moves towards the door, Leenik bumps shoulders with Zero and pretends to stumble, grabbing the cyborg’s shoulder and pulling him to face him. Inches from the blank faceplate, Leenik narrows his eyes and mutters, “Be ready.”

Straightening up, he shoves him away before Zero can respond, muttering a much louder, “Geez, watch it,” as he joins Lyn in front of Three.

The Chiss woman looks them up and down, then makes way and gestures with one hand. “After you,” she says pleasantly.

Leenik steps out into the hallway, his shoulder brushing Lyn’s, and the door clangs shut behind them.

—

The arena is entirely bare. From what they can see behind the wall, the floor is a flat gray metal and the screens above them are a similar hue. Leenik takes his sword and swings it around a few times, taking deep breaths to keep his hands from shaking.

“Did Bacta tell you the plan?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the wall in front of them.

“No,” Lyn says, coming up beside him with her rifle in hand. “He just said to trust him, and I do, of course, but what exactly are we getting into here, Leenik?"

“You're probably not gonna like it,” Leenik admits, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening. “But just follow my lead and don’t go in guns blazing.”

“Okay,” Lyn says reluctantly, slinging her rifle over her back. She sounds on edge, and Leenik looks over to give her a smile.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, making an attempt at cheer; he can’t deny there’s a slight thrill of excitement in his stomach at the prospect of finally doing something proactive to get themselves out of here. “We’re experts at this.”

“Wait—” Lyn starts, squinting suspiciously, but she’s cut off by the rumbling sound of the wall sinking into the ground and Famine’s voice booming through the arena.

—

The moment the arena doors closed behind them, Bacta rounds on Tryst.

“All right, Tryst, here’s the deal--Leenik and I have a plan to get us through here, but buddy, it’s gonna be us on the line.”

Tryst considers that for a moment as the weapons rack rises up out of the floor and he plucks his blasters from it. On the one hand, helplessness was not a position he relished, and the thought of willingly going to sleep and not knowing whether he’d wake up or not left a sinking feeling in his stomach he’d never admit to, but on the other hand—

“Well, that does sound like the brave and heroic thing to do,” he says breezily, and Bacta grins at him.

“We’ll be okay,” he says, clapping Tryst on the shoulder. “Just think of it like getting captured on purpose.”

Tryst let out a bark of a laugh, a sudden warmth suffusing his chest. “Sounds like a Leenik plan,” he says. “I’m surprised he’s not the one going under.”

“Yeah, well,” Bacta says gruffly, grabbing his carbine just before the weapons rack descends. “He can get the next time.”

Tryst grins and flexes his fingers, eyeing the wall with a sudden impatience. “Sure. Let’s go keep the streak alive.”

He steps forward as the wall sinks down into the floor and Famine begins his announcement to the watching imperials.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the final trial of the crew of the Mynock!

—

There’s nothing between them when the walls come down. Apparently Famine was in no mood for running and hiding, because the entire arena is just as gray and bare as the starting area. The screens hiding the cameras shine a pure bright white, a complete dome of spotlight shining down on them.

Tryst saunters into the center of the arena, twirling his blasters carelessly, devil-may-care smirk plastered on his face. “Well, well, well,” he says, his voice echoing off the blank walls. “Fancy meeting you guys here.”

Lyn chokes on a small, shocked laugh. “ Trystan ,” she admonishes him, her voice brimming with fond exasperation and disbelief. It’s just like him, to treat this like any other time their lives are in danger--that is, flippantly. “This is serious.”

“Serious?” Tryst lays one hand, still holding a blaster, flat against his chest. “Why, Lyn, you should know I’m always serious. This is my serious face.” He makes an exaggerated pout, and Lyn laughs again.

“He’s right, Lyn,” Bacta chimes in, patting Tryst’s shoulder. “That is his serious face.”

“But fine, you wanna get serious?” Tryst drops the face and with a shrug of his shoulders, his bravado as well. He holsters his blasters and holds his arms out to either side. “Hit me.”

Lyn takes an unconscious step backwards. “This is no time to indulge in your punching fetish, Trystan—”

“Shoot me, then,” Tryst cuts in, distressingly serious, gesturing with his outstretched hands. The corners of his lips twitch upwards, and he adds more lightly, “C’mon. I’m just saying, it’ll hurt less than Leenik’s sword. You want me to get stabbed? I thought we were friends, here, Lyn.”

Lyn feels ill, shooting desperate looks at Leenik even as she takes her rifle in hand. This must be the plan, it must be, but still she desperately wants him to step in and reveal the course of action in which no one gets hurt. “Tryst, I—”

“Yeah, I know.” Tryst smiles at her, heartbreakingly genuine, and lets his arms fall. “But we all know the facts here. Two of us are getting left behind in here. And it’s too late, I've already decided it's gonna be me. You think I'm gonna let Leenik take all the glory for the heroic sacrifice? No way. Bacta's lucky he gets to share just from being on my team.”

“It’s okay, Lyn,” Bacta says, a reassuring smile on his face. “It’s really okay. You and Leenik can go. We’ll stay.”

It’s Bacta’s plan, Lyn reassures herself. Even if she can see all too easily how this can all fall apart, she said she’d trust him and she intends to. Keeping her hands steady with the ease of long practice, she lifts her sniper rifle and points it at Tryst. She meets his eyes and he gives her a wink.

Lyn takes a deep breath and—

“No.”

A robotic hand grabs hold of her blaster’s barrel and pulls it aside as Leenik steps in between her and Tryst. “No, you can’t.”

“Leenik, buddy—” Bacta begins, reaching out to him, but stops short as quick as a flash Leenik brings up his sword and points it directly at him. Bacta raises his hands in surrender but his eyes stay soft.

The tip of Leenik’s sword is shaking. Lyn doesn’t think it’s the blade’s vibrations.

“Actually, hold on, Leenik’s right.” Tryst’s voice breaks them out of their momentary stand-off. He steps back and turns in a slow circle, arms outstretched and hand tilted back to face the screens, his eyes nearly closed against the bright light. “What was I thinking, just going right to the shooting? After all, this isn’t about us! This is about what the people want! What satisfaction do they get from Lyn shooting me thirty seconds into the fight? That’s just not good show business, and trust me, I know show business--I played in a rock band once. There’s no point in me dying before they know anything about me! The people deserve to know. I’d give them my business card, but the last of my stock burned up in a terrible rabbit incident.”

He turns on his heel to face the three of them again with a resounding clap of his hands. “So! I move that we give a little introduction before we throw ourselves at their mercy. Do I hear a second?”

Bacta clears his throat. “Actually, Tryst, since this isn’t technically a team meeting—”

“Not a team meeting? Then you mean I can do whatever I want? Perfect. Motion passed.” Tryst casually pushes Leenik’s sword aside and slings his arm around Bacta’s shoulders. He grins up at the screens. “So, esteemed ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, may I present to you CT-1776, who we like to call Bacta. Well, he likes to be called Bacta. I mostly call him 'that clone guy'. Bacta hasn’t slept in five years and he might be going crazy from illegal drugs, which you’d think would be the sign of an interesting person, but no. Bacta here’s a gigantic stick in the mud, not to mention embarrassingly soft. He's not down with murder despite yammering on and on about how he’s ‘a clone specifically designed to kill.’” He makes exaggerated air quotes, and despite the situation Lyn almost wants to laugh at the look on Bacta’s face, torn between bewilderment and a familiar frustration.

“He’s also the worst doctor you’ll ever meet,” Tryst continues, as if imparting a closely guarded secret. “Seriously, never trust him to fix you. Terrible at most things, really. I’m embarrassed to associate with him most days. Don’t even really like the guy, to be honest with you. But I guess that’s family for you.”

He steps away from Bacta, letting his arm slide off his shoulders without a second look even as Bacta watches him with a heartbreaking expression.

“What are you doing, Tryst?” Lyn asks helplessly.

Tryst grins at her. “What? These are just basic facts, Lyn,” he says. “Stuff everyone should know about us. Like my punching fetish. Or my clothes-stealing fetish. Or my—”

“We get it,” Leenik cuts in in a strangled voice.

Tryst’s attention slides to Leenik and something about him changes, his focus sharpening and becoming more intent even as he keeps his voice light.

“And other stuff. Like I have sisters who are all way more competent than me. I have an extensive collection of kimonos. I know how to play the theremin—”

“Actually, that wasn’t a theremin, that was my bass. You don’t know what a theremin is,” Bacta interrupts in a quiet grumble.

“Shut up,” Tryst says without missing a beat or taking his eyes off Leenik. “They should know that I am not straight, despite what my so-called friends apparently think, that I’m a Ringist, I’m the best pilot and best shot on the crew and possibly the entire galaxy, and I have never been in love with anyone the way I’m in love with you, Leenik Geelo.”

There’s a pause where it seems all three of them suck in a surprised breath while Tryst just keeps grinning, then Leenik coughs out a squeaky, “ Huh ?” and Tryst takes a smooth step forward until they’re barely a foot apart.

“Y’know,” he says, shrugging one shoulder, that ineffable smirk still plastered across his face. “Just basic, fundamental stuff like that.”

Lyn looks at Bacta, who has a small, pleased smile on his face. He looks over and meets her eyes and winks, and in that time Leenik seems to find his voice.

“T-Tryst, I… I don’t—” he stammers, and Tryst effectively silences him by gently taking hold of the wrist of his sword hand. Leenik’s fingers go boneless and his vibrosword clatters to the ground, but no one acknowledges it.

“Leenik,” Tryst says, his voice shifting, becoming something low and intimate. “You have made my life harder since the day I met you. You’re stubborn, and infuriating, and someday you really will get us all killed, and I never want to wake up in a world where you’re not right there by my side, ruining my life. I haven't told you before but I love you, Leenik. You ought to know.”

Tryst smiles and steps back, releasing Leenik’s hand. It hands in the air a moment, twitching, then falls limply to his side. “Don’t say anything,” Tryst says, which is rather unnecessary, Lyn thinks, seeing as Leenik seems to have lost the ability to do anything besides stare and open and close his mouth like a particularly surprised fish. “However you feel, whatever it is, don’t tell me. Don’t tell anyone. Not until we see each other again.”

He grins a roguish grin and raises his blaster, pressing the muzzle against his own chest. “Until then? No closure. Not for me, and not for anyone.”

With a wink, he pulls the trigger.

Tryst’s eyes roll back into his head and his legs buckle beneath him.

Bacta’s on him in a heartbeat, catching him before he hits the ground and feeling for a pulse. Lyn grabs his blaster and checks the setting.

“Stun,” she breathes in relief. Of course it’s on stun. Tryst wouldn’t be that foolhardy, she chides herself, but this whole situation is getting to her.

Still, it’s a relief when Bacta professes Tryst okay and gently lowers him to the ground. The unspoken for now hangs heavy over all of them.

Bacta looks up at them.

“Lyn,” he says seriously. “Leenik.”

“I know,” Lyn replies, her grip tightening on Tryst’s blaster. Bacta smiles reassuringly at her, rising to his feet. She levels the blaster at him.

“Lyn,” he says again, heartfelt and genuine with a warmth that’s pure Bacta , “You are, sincerely, one of the most amazing people I have ever had the opportunity to meet, and of all the people in the entire galaxy to commandeer our ship--I’m glad it was you. It is a genuine honor to lay down my life for you.”

Lyn’s breath catches in her throat but her voice is passingly steady when she says, “Don't give up on us now, Bacta. There are still people that need you. You come back to us.”

Bacta only smiles at her and looks at Leenik.

“Don’t,” Leenik grits out. “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t. I can’t, okay? I can’t. I won’t.”

Bacta reaches out to him. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s gonna be okay.”

Lyn shoots him.

Leenik is there before he hits the ground, catching him with a grunt and lowering him to the ground beside Tryst. He stays there, on his knees, hands shaking in his lap, as Famine’s voice fills the arena once again.

Well, wasn’t that just… touching , ladies and gentlemen? But was this sobfest enough to sate your appetites? It’s time to vote now on the fates of these fallen friends--and on the future of this game we all hold so dear.

Chapter Text

Lyn places her hand on Leenik’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. Under the cover of Famine’s voice, she hears the arena doors clanging open and she ducks down to whisper urgently in his ear.

“Leenik, what now?” she asks. She assumes the plan extended past Tryst and Bacta risking themselves, but with Leenik the only one still conscious with any idea what the plan is , she needs him operational.

One antenna flicks, but it’s all the acknowledgement she gets.

“Leenik,” she says again, a little louder, as Three, Five, and Two step into the arena.

“C’mon, you two,” Two calls out, gesturing with her blaster. “Time to go.”

 “Leenik, we can’t worry about them now, we have to get moving,” Lyn says, and as if coming out of a deep sleep Leenik finally stirs and looks up, blinking slowly.

 “Let’s go, guys, don’t make me shoot you,” Two warns, and Leenik shakes himself and gets to his feet.

 At Lyn’s look, he shakes his head and peels off his shock gloves, dropping them carelessly on the ground. Lyn stares at him in shock for half a moment, then takes a deep breath and follows suit, laying down her rifle and brass knuckles. She can only pray that this is in fact part of the plan, and not Leenik actually giving up. All she can do is put her faith in Leenik and follow his lead. She walks at his shoulder back over to the guards, resisting the urge to keep looking over her shoulder at Tryst and Bacta’s fallen bodies.

“ Finally ,” Two says with overblown exasperation. “I get it, your friends are dead, but we’ve got a schedule to keep, okay?”

Lyn immediately looks at Leenik, but he doesn’t react beyond a tensing of his shoulders, and Two evidently gets bored by their lack of engagement and just shrugs, gesturing for them to go past her. “After you.”

Three and Five fall into step on either side of them and Two follows close behind, drumming her fingers on the barrel of her blaster.

Lyn eyes Five sideways, sizing him up to prepare for a fight she can only assume is inevitable. Of the bounty hunters she’s seen in the arena, he’s the least physically imposing, and she’s fairly certain she could beat him easily in a straight fight.

Three is similarly slight, but Lyn can’t help but remember the way Zero skirted around her in the cellblock, and she has an air of smug confidence that would befit someone twice her size. Lyn doesn’t know what it is, but she must have something going on that she's not seeing.

Two is bigger and physically stronger than both of them, and mean in a way that Lyn can only imagine would translate to cruel tactics.

Aside from Death herself, One is clearly the most dangerous of the lot--the way the others obey her shows that, regardless of anything else. As a Besalisk, Four is easily stronger than any of them, knows it, and enjoys showing it off--if the way he likes to shove them around is any indication. The Skakoan is more or less a complete mystery. Then again, Lyn thinks, she hasn’t seen One, Four, or the Skakoan (Six, if their naming convention holds true) in days.

Before she can contemplate what this means (if it means anything), they reach the door to the common room. Three takes a half step to the side to active the retinal scanner to open it, and Leenik gives Lyn a sideways look. Before she can attempt any further non-verbal communication with him to figure out what sort of signal he means to be giving, the door opens.

Lyn follows Leenik inside, and just as the clang signaling the door is about to close sounds, Leenik pivots on one foot, seizes Three by the arm, and yanks her hard forward. Reacting on instinct, Lyn reaches out and grabs Five by the bandolier across his chest, pulling him in as well just before the door finishes closing, cutting off Two’s shouts of alarms.

—

Bacta wakes up woozy, but he wakes up, and that alone is enough for him to breathe a huge sigh of relief.

When Leenik had told him that the doctor was the one responsible for the ships, getting to the infirmary via the arena had seemed like a very logical idea. Now, on the other side of this particular brush with death (and not just his, but Tryst’s as well ), he wonders if maybe he should have argued a little more stringently against getting captured on purpose.

Well, maybe next time. After all, it is working out so far.

Before opening his eyes, Bacta listens intently to the environment. When he hears nothing but soft breathing beside him, he cracks one eye open. Satisfied that there’s no one in the room but him and Tryst, he pushes himself up to sitting.

Tryst is still lying on a cot beside him, but he’s twitching, and Bacta suspects he doesn’t have long before he wakes up as well. He slides off his own bed, taking a moment to get steady on his feet, then takes stock of his surroundings.

The infirmary is a small, white, windowless room. The cots are pressed up against one wall, with three others shoved into a corner out of the way. One wall is taken up by boxes marked as medical supplies, and adjacent to it another is taken up by a long counter. Bacta walks over and rifles through a few drawers under the counter, looking for anything that can be used as a weapon, but finds little besides bacta packs, bandages, and various pieces of rather delicate medical equipment.

He hears a groan from behind him, and in a flash is at Tryst’s side, supporting him with a hand on his back as Tryst comes to consciousness and sits up.

“Easy, buddy,” he says gently, rubbing Tryst’s shoulders. “How d’you feel?”

“Ugh,” Tryst says eloquently, and Bacta hums in agreement.

“Yeah, blasters’ll do that to you.”

“Don’t act like I’ve never been shot before, Bacta,” Tryst says, and Bacta decides that if he’s awake enough to snark, he’s awake enough to escape.

“All right, Tryst, here’s the plan,” he says, and the door slides open.

Plague walks in, reading a datapad, and idly glances up at them. Seeing them awake, she sighs, sets the datapad down on the counter, and presses a button on the wall beside the door.

“Make this easy on yourselves and just return to bed,” she says drolly. She watches them with a distant, distasteful eye.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Bacta begins, stepping away from Tryst’s bed as Tryst slides off to stand beside him.

“We never make anything easy on ourselves,” Tryst finishes, flashing her a grin.

Plague gives them a slow, unimpressed once-over, then reaches into her robes and withdraws a blaster.

“Very well, then.”

—

When Geelo said be ready , Zero had hoped that finally, finally some progress was being made on the whole jailbreak endeavor. Not that he couldn’t have broken out already on his own by now, of course, but it didn’t hurt to have allies in the attempt. Plus, he had to admit, he was curious to see what the Mynock crew would come up with. Little though they may seem, they’d managed to evade Zero twice with their lives, and Aava more than that--a not unimpressive feat. So whatever plan they’d ultimately come up with--well, he was intrigued.

He had not expected it to include love confessions followed by shooting each other, but he supposed that was really on him. These guys were lunatics; he should have seen that coming.

Still, Geelo had said be ready, so he was ready. He ignored the tense mutterings of the other prisoners throughout the fight, and Nebban’s frantic attempts to keep Tony the vornskr calm. The moment the fight ended and the screen had cut to the pictures of Valentine and Oliver ( Bacta, right ), Zero had gotten to his feet and stretched, cracking his neck as he prepared for whatever other crazy nonsense was headed his way. He took up a faux-casual position lounging against the wall beside the door, listening intently for any signs of approach.

And, because he’s a goddamn professional , the moment Geelo and Luroon pull the bounty hunters through the door, he leaps into action.

Luroon is closest, so he closes with the Rishii guard in her grip, reaching out blindingly quickly to grab his wrist and twist it cruelly, forcing him to let go of his blaster rifle. Luroon takes advantage of the moment of distraction to sweep his feet out from under him, and Zero flashes her a grin on his display and has just a moment to revel in the satisfaction of a clean takedown when he feels a terrifyingly familiar paralysis take hold.

He fights back panic as his cybernetics shut down, focusing on forcing his lungs to draw breath. Through his one functioning eye, he sees that damnable Chiss woman wrenching her arm out of the grip of Geelo’s suddenly useless cybernetic hand and drawing her blaster, the other holding that karking device, thumb pressed securely to the button.

“What the--hey!” Geelo cries, offended. Tony snarls at his side, waving his venomous tail threateningly. “What did you do to my arm?”

“I put it in time-out, along with several of your buddy’s vital organs,” Three says, keeping her blaster trained on Geelo as she backs up to the door, using her other hand to push a button on her comm without letting go of her device.

Alarms suddenly erupt from the ceiling, loud even to Zero’s currently dulled hearing. He draws another labored, wheezing breath.

“Now everybody’s just gonna chill out until my friends get here, and maybe we’ll be nice and won’t shoot you all for this.”

Even with his vision reduced by half and getting spotty, Zero notices Luroon tense up in preparation to make a move. As he gasps for air, he sincerely wishes her the best in not getting shot.

Luroon moves, a sudden bull rush at Three. The Chiss reacts fast, her aim darting from Geelo to Luroon as she fires. The blaster bolt lands a hit on Luroon’s shoulder, but the momentary opening is enough time for Geelo to get inside her range and bring his cybernetic arm down hard on the wrist holding the blaster. Even without functionality, it’s still made of metal and a passable blunt instrument--the force of the blow is enough to loosen her grip enough to drop the blaster, and the room jolts into movement.

A large green blur slams into Three, and a moment later Taska has her pinned against the wall, one arm across her throat, the other seizing the wrist of the arm holding the device.

Five makes to regain his feet and is intercepted by Lelam’s foot coming down hard on his chest, slamming him back against the ground. Luroon returns to help subdue him, and Nebban jumps into action to put him out with a kick to the head. Kell, with a dangerous grin on her face, scoops up his blaster.

Taska slams Three’s hand across the wall until her grip finally comes loose and the device tumbles free to the ground. With a gasp, Zero is freed and he stumbles forward and drops to one knee--one hand coming down as if to support himself directly on top of the device, which he swiftly tucks into a pocket as he staggers back to his feet.

No one seems to have noticed the theft; Geelo is flexing the fingers of his cybernetic arm and cooing at his dog, and everyone else is occupied with restraining the two guards.

“We need to hurry,” Luroon says as she and Lelam haul Five up between them, fiddling with his comm until the alarm shuts off. “Two was outside and she probably was on the way to get help even before the alarms went off.”

Taska carelessly tosses an unconscious Three to the side and signs something to Kell, who nods and hefts her stolen blaster rifle. “Yeah, what she said--time to go, then.”

“Not so fast, Ms. Naqao,” Dhal Sek’nos says, stepping lightly over them with Buvoe at her shoulder. “There is still one more prisoner to free.”

Luroon shoots her a wary look as she and Lelam manhandle the limp Five over towards the door to their cellblock. Right, of course--the boy.

“Right, well,” Zero says, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “While they take care of that--what’s our next move, here?”

—

The Bluebird judders as it drops out of hyperspace, and Blue jolts awake. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, but after a moment it all abruptly comes back to him. The ship. The not-so-uninhabited planet. Zero . They’re finally here.

He barely feels rested after only a few hours of uneasy sleep, but after over 24 hours straight of staying awake on caf alone, Aava had told him in no uncertain terms that he was making her sick just looking at him, and if he didn’t get some rest she was going to kill him before they got to Zero. And then she’d locked him in his bunk, like the evil witch she is.

Blue staggers over to the door and bangs on it. “Aava!” he yells, kicking it and then wincing at the pain in his toe. “Aava, open the door!”

The door to his quarters slide open abruptly and Aava quickly steps to the side as Blue falls forwards, catching himself on his hands and knees and looking up at her.

She crosses her arms and gives him her most unimpressed expression. She has her saber on her hip.

“Get up, Blue,” she says shortly. “We’re here.”

—

Plague’s first shot is at Bacta, which gives Tryst time to close with her as he dives out of the way into the counter. Her reaction time is almost preternaturally fast as she whips around in time to block his punch aimed at her face.

With the hand not holding the blaster, she seizes Tryst’s wrist and heaves upwards, unbalancing him as she hooks one foot around his ankle and yanks .

Tryst falls hard backwards and Plague swings the blaster around to point at him.

Bacta pushes himself off the counter in a lunge and crashes into her outstretched arm as she pulls the trigger, sending the red bolt shooting into the ground beside Tryst’s head.

Bacta pins Plague up against the door and desperately tries to wrestle the blaster out of her hand. She has several inches of height on him, but he has the upper hand on muscle. He finally succeeds in forcing her hand down into reach and releases her other arm to grab for the blaster.

Quick as a whip, Plague brings her free hand down in a sharp blow against Bacta’s temple, and as his grip weakens, dazed, she raises one leg and kicks hard at the inside of his knee.

Bacta stumbles and grabs at the counter for support, and Tryst uses the new space between them as an opening to charge forward and drive his shoulder into Plague’s stomach. All the air leaves her lungs in a rush. As it does, her grip on the blaster weakens and it falls to the floor with a clatter.

Bacta, spotting his chance, dives for the blaster and barks out, “Tryst! Move!” as he brings it around in a flash.

Tryst drops to the ground and Bacta unloads a flurry of blaster bolts into Plague, until her eyes roll back into her head and she drops to the ground on top of him.

Tryst shoves her body off of him distastefully and accepts Bacta’s hand to pull himself off the ground. He claps his hand on Bacta’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Bacta. All it took was being trapped in a death arena for you to learn the proper application of lethal force. You’re really growing as a person.”

Bacta huffs and brushes his hand off. “Now I know you’re just making fun of me, so I’m not gonna get into this with you right now. C’mon. We have to find the Mynock.”

“Me making fun of you has never stopped you before,” Tryst points out as he gestures for Bacta to take point with the blaster.

Bacta makes a shushing gesture in lieu of a response as he opens the door and leads the way out into the hallway, glancing around to make sure it’s deserted before gesturing for Tryst to follow.

There’s only one other door as far as they can see down the hallway before the arena itself, and after a rather awkward moment in which they realize they’ll have to use the dead Plague’s eyes to unlock it, get it open to find a fairly small, orderly office with large windows looking out over a landing pad--a landing pad containing several small ships, including the Mynock.

Bacta’s shoulders slump with relief at the sight of it. It feels like a weight has dropped off his shoulders and the end is finally in sight; ever since Leenik told him that the ship was here and the Horsemen were trying to sell it, he’d been afraid of getting this far only to find that their way off the planet was gone. Seeing the Mynock is like finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

Tryst claps his hand on Bacta’s shoulder again and this time Bacta just grins at him. Tryst grins back and motions with his head towards the door set discreetly into the corner of the office, clearly leading out onto the landing pad.

“I unlocked it, so we should have an easy way out if we prop the inside door open,” he says.

“Great,” Bacta says. “We’ll have to be quick. We don’t want anyone to notice and un-prop it.”

He turns to find something within the room to use but is stopped by Tryst’s grip suddenly tightening on his shoulder.

“Uh, speaking of being quick—”

Bacta turns to catch a glimpse of the familiar shapes of gray Imperial troop shuttles flying over the complex. His heart squeezes in his chest.

“Right. Time to go.”

Tryst, for once, doesn’t argue.

—

Tamlin is already waiting at the entrance to his cell when the door opens. Lyn immediately scoops him up into her arms and holds him close, hoping he can’t feel how hard her heart is beating. If he does (and she’s not kidding herself; he does), Tamlin says nothing, just flings his arms around her neck and clings just as tightly.

“Is the mission over, Uncle Lyn?” he whispers in her ear cone, in the same tone he uses when conspiring with Tryst or Tony to sneak extra dessert out of the kitchen.

Lyn closes her eyes and squeezes him, awash with affection for this wonderful, brave little boy. “Yes, Tamlin,” she whispers back. “It’s time to go home now.”

Tamlin leans back in her hold and beams at her. Tony barks from his position at Leenik’s side by the door controls, and Tamlin abruptly starts squirming to get down. Lyn reluctantly releases him and Tamlin leaps for the vornskr, who meets him halfway and proceeds to lick nearly every inch of him.

Lyn walks over to them and crouches down beside Tamlin, laying a hand on his back. “We’re going to have to be very careful getting back to the ship, okay, Tamlin?” she says. “Stay close to Tony and let the adults handle any fighting.”

“Are we fighting our way out?” Tamlin asks, looking nothing but thrilled at the prospect.

“Maybe,” says Lyn.

“Probably,” says Leenik.

“Uncle Leenik!” Tamlin exclaims, apparently noticing his presence for the first time.

“Hey, kid,” Leenik says, giving him a small, awkward wave and a smile.

Tamlin cranes his neck to try to look past him, boosting himself up on his toes and using Tony’s snout to balance. “Where are Uncle Tryst and Uncle Bacta?”

Leenik’s face immediately shutters closed and Lyn’s heart squeezes.

“They’re finding the way to the ship,” she says. She doesn’t add hopefully , but she feels it, pinging around in her chest. Hopefully they’re finding the ship. Hopefully they’ll make it back. Hopefully they made it out of the arena at all.

Leenik says it for her. “Maybe.”

Lyn glares daggers at him and Tamlin exclaims, “What do you mean maybe ?”

“I mean—”

“Nothing, Tamlin,” Lyn cuts in, straightening up. “Bacta and Tryst are finding the ship, and then they’ll come meet us and we’ll all leave together.”

Leenik opens his mouth to reply and she glares him into silence, sending a pointed look at Tamlin. Leenik relents and just shrugs. “Yeah, Tamlin,” he says finally, his voice stilted. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

Tamlin still seems troubled, but they’ve wasted enough time already. The reminder that their missing crewmates are still ( hopefully ) out there spurs Lyn back into action, and she strides purposefully back out in the common room.

Taska has Five slung over one shoulder and shoots Lyn a toothy grin and a thumbs up.

“Well, that was touching and all,” Zero drawls, drumming his fingers on his crossed arms. “But I’d say it’s time we got a move on. This place is really starting to cramp my style.”

“You’re speaking my language, robot man,” Kell says with a grin and signs rapidly at Taska, who nods and hefts Five into a better grip as she turns to help Kell with the door.

Nebban waggles his fingers at Tamlin and Tamlin gamely waves back. Nawl snorts and claps Nebban on the shoulder, then moves to stand by Zero. Leenik comes up to stand by his other shoulder.

The door clangs open.

—

Leenik stops breathing.

Barreling down the corridor towards them, alive and well, are Bacta and Tryst. The tightness in his chest squeezes then slowly releases as they skid to a stop by the doorway, out of breath. Bacta has his serious mission face on, but Tryst is grinning as he leans casually against the wall.

“You’re alive,” Leenik finally manages, a little out of breath himself.

“Duh,” Tryst says, his eyes sparkling. “When has pulling a Leenik ever not worked out for us?”

Leenik wants to reach out and touch him, feel his warmth and breathing and reassure himself that he’s really here, in front of him, alive , so he crosses his arms tightly across his chest and just offers a wan smile.

“Uncle Bacta! Uncle Tryst !” a shrill voice cuts in as Tamlin uses Tony to clear a way through the sea of legs and throw himself at his uncles.

“Tama,” Bacta says, and he sounds like he might cry as he reaches out to pull Tamlin into a hug.

“Hey, buddy,” Tryst says warmly, rubbing his knuckles affectionately against the top of Tamlin’s skull and flicking lightly at one of his horns. “You ready to make some brave and heroic decisions?”

“Totally!” Tamlin exclaims as Bacta lifts him up and props him on his hip. “How many bad guys are there?”

A shadow passes over Bacta’s face. “About that…” He turns his attention back to the assembled prisoners. “There’s a bit of a complication. The Empire’s just arrived. We saw the ships fly over the compound.”

Leenik feels Zero abruptly stiffen beside him, though he gives no other outward response.

“Yeah, how about we take this party out to the ship, huh?” Tryst says, pushing off the wall and starting to walk backwards.

“Actually,” Zero says, drawing out the syllables. “On second thought, my style could use a little more cramping. I think I’ll party here for a while.” He nods down the hallway. “But you lot had better get a move on.”

Leenik follows the gesture and sees Two stepping out into the corridor down by the arena, Death in tow.

Bacta looks over his shoulder and pulls in a sharp intake of breath, reluctantly plopping Tamlin down astride Tony’s shoulders. “He’s right, we need to go.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Kell cuts in, tapping Taska’s arm and nodding towards the hallway. “Let’s stop karking around and get a move on.” She takes off down the hall, Taska following. Dhal and Jiran slip after them like twin shadows without saying a word. After a beat, Bacta takes off after her, Tony keeping pace with Tamlin clinging to his scruff. Nawl, Nebban, and Lyn follow close behind.

Leenik hesitates and glances sideways at Zero. “You sure?” he asks lowly.

Zero turns his head to look at him, cocking it slightly to the side. His body relaxes into a fighting stance and he jerks his head towards the retreating prisoners, flicking two fingers in a short salute. “See you around, Geelo.”

A smile creeps over Leenik’s face. “Yeah, see you.”

He starts forward, bumping shoulders with Tryst as they take off running together.

—

Blue is here.

The thought makes a grin spread across Zero’s face behind the faceplate, even as Two splits off to chase the rest of the prisoners and Death draws her staff and slows to an even, steady approach. Zero backs up more fully into the room to give himself more room to maneuver.

“Afternoon,” Zero drawls. He projects his lazy smirk on his faceplate to let her know just how little he cares about the fight they’re about to have. It doesn’t matter. Blue found him.

Blue is here.

Death activates her staff.

—

They’re halfway down the hall leading back towards Plague’s office when they hear the marching.

Bacta does a rapid mental calculation of the remaining distance to the office and the average speed of stormtroopers on a mission, and abruptly ushers the fleeing group towards a door just in front of them.

“Hurry, get it open,” he hisses, gesturing for them to be quiet. “Before the Empire sees us.”

Kell and Taska, to their credit, don’t question the order and promptly get to unlocking the door with Five’s unconscious eyes.

Dhal and Jiran withdraw a step, sharing some unspoken conversation before Dhal speaks up. “It has been an absolute pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, but this is where we take our leave.  Perhaps one day we’ll meet again.”

Bacta’s protest is cut off by the door sliding open, and Tryst puts a hand on his shoulder and shoves him inside.

“Best of luck,” Jiran adds, sounding amused. They turn to Dhal and gesture invitingly down the corridor, and the two take off sprinting.

The rest of them crowd each other into the dark room and the door slides closed just as a flash of blue rounds the corner.

There’s a bit of awkward shuffling (and quiet Tryst-muttering about crazy witches), before Nebban finds the lightswitch by the door and turns it on, illuminating a storeroom full of wall-to-ceiling weapons racks.

Kell makes an inarticulate (but hushed) noise of glee as she darts over to her blaster cannon, heedlessly flinging Five's rifle aside and cooing softly as she runs her hands over the barrel. Taska unceremoniously dumps Five on the floor to follow her and smiles to herself as she plucks her vibro-axe off the wall.

Bacta makes short work of finding his own carbine and shares a pleased grin with Lyn as she takes her own rifle off a rack.

There are a number of smaller blaster pistols that Tryst pores over before taking his two and offering one to Nebban. The small Sullustan looks a little more confident with the blaster in his hand, and he deftly buckles on a holster.

Leenik shoulders in beside Taska to grab his vibrosword off the wall, and the Trandoshan gives him a slightly hesitant friendly pat on the shoulder. As Tony ambles over to join Leenik, Tamlin still atop him, she offers the boy a small wave and receives a bright smile back.

Bacta looks over as Lyn takes in a sharp breath to see her watching Nawl, who stands up from a corner of the room with the round metal form of SH-9R in his hands. He’s almost shockingly gentle with the droid, turning it over slowly to check for damage. Evidently satisfied, he tucks Shiner under his arm and walks over to Lyn, dropping a set of brass knuckles into her palm with a nod and a grim smile.

Everyone freezes as the sound of marching gets louder, eyes glued to the thin strip of light at the base of the door where they can see the shadows of the stormtroopers’ boots. After a tense moment, the sound recedes and silence falls over the storeroom.

Bacta takes a deep breath and approaches the door, flexing his grip on his blaster. Nawl steps up to the door control and waits, looking to him for direction. Bacta gestures for everyone else to join him at the door and presses his ear to it, listening intently for signs of remaining troopers. When after a long few moments the silence remains, he nods to Nawl and the Ithorian opens the door.

Bacta creeps out into the hallway, all his senses high on battlefield alert. He jerks his chin over his shoulder to signal to everyone to follow and takes off at a run down the hallway, several pairs of hurried footsteps (and the sound of Tony's claws clicking against the floor) behind him signaling that the group is following.

With Plague’s office in sight, still cracked open, Bacta allows himself a moment to believe they’re really about to pull this off with no one noticing.

“Hey! You there, stop!”

Whoops.

Mentally berating himself for jinxing them, Bacta whirls around to see a stormtrooper, just stepping out of another door down the corridor.

“Go, go!” he shouts, pushing himself even faster as blaster bolts ping off the wall around him. Reaching the door, he flings it open and holds it with his body while the rest rush through, firing his own blaster at the trooper.

His shots hit their mark, but more stormtroopers are already appearing, and Bacta kicks out the desk toy he and Tryst used to block the door and retreats back inside, letting it clang shut behind him to buy them some time.

He pushes his way out through the exterior door to find the whole group clustered just outside the door, and the landing pad in chaos.

One small ship is already in the process of taking off, and a squadron of stormtroopers are attempting (so far unsuccessfully) to bring it down. Standing in the middle of the landing pad, blaster rifle clutched in hand, bruised and bloody and furious , is Two.

They have no cover, and more stormtroopers sure to get through the door any minute. Bacta looks sideways at his crew and notices how they all shift to form a barrier around Tamlin.

“Go,” Kell says suddenly.

Bacta jerks his head around to look at her. “What?”

“I mean go ,” she says, hefting her blaster cannon. “Taska and I’ll hold ‘em off while you lot get to your ship, then we’ll take another when the landing pad’s clear.”

“Kell, that is absurdly dangerous, why would you—”

“Look, we’re not in the business of being in the debt of a bunch of second-rate criminals, you got me? You got us out of the building, we get you off the planet. We’re square. Besides,” she adds with a shark-like grin that Taska echoes, bringing her vibro-axe to bear. “This is our chance to get square with her and the Empire.”

Bacta does not like leaving soldiers behind--even when said soldiers are temporary allies at best. Everything in him hates this plan, and he’s itching to override her and insist they all get out together.

He glances down at Tamlin, then up and meets Lyn’s eyes, full of the same grim determination.

“Okay,” he says. He lets go of his blaster with one hand to clap her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Who needs luck when you’ve got this baby?” Kell asks with a laugh, and the whine of her cannon warming up is as good a sign as any for them to get moving.

“Get to the Mynock,” Bacta orders the remaining group--his crew, Nawl, and Nebban. “Hurry.”

Leenik takes point, skirting around the edge of the landing pad. Tony and Tamlin are a half-step behind him, Tryst racing alongside the vornskr and keeping himself in between Tamlin and the fighting. Nawl quickly picks up on it and joins him, Nebban falling into step on Tony’s other side while Bacta and Lyn take up the back, firing on the run into the squad of stormtroopers.

The troopers, as the ship in the air finally gets clear and zips out of range and away from the compound, turn their attention to the rest of the fugitives. Kell keeps them occupied, cutting down swathes of troopers with broad sweeps of fire from her blaster cannon while cackling and shouting curses and threats, while Taska closes with Two. Taska is a sight to see, nimbly dodging close-quarters bolts from her blaster rifle and keeping her thoroughly occupied with her own attacks.

A few stray bolts come flying towards them, but either pass harmlessly overhead or are easily avoided. The bounty hunter pair do an excellent job of keeping themselves solidly the center of attention. They reach the Mynock in one piece, and the doors open to welcome them home.

Tryst practically hurdles over Leenik in his haste to get to the cockpit, and Bacta immediately pushes past Nawl and Nebban to follow him while Leenik herds Tony and Tamlin to the kitchen and Lyn covers their backs until they’re all on board.

Bacta maneuvers around Tryst as he quickly brings the ship to life with the ease of long practice and hauls himself up into the gunnery bay, doing his own checks to make sure everything is working and responding properly. Lyn darts in and drops into the co-pilot’s seat and between the two of them, she and Tryst get the ship in the air just as the compound door flies open and more troopers flood out onto the landing pad.

“Tryst,” Bacta calls down into the cockpit, and Tryst cuts him off with a grunt.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Bacta,” he shoots back, and deftly swings the Mynock around to get him a clear shot.

Bacta takes careful aim with his turret and with a few volleys mows down the troopers before they can reach Kell.

Even from this height, he can see her look up at them and flip them all the double bird as Taska finally cuts down Two and they take off for a small ship at the edge of the landing pad.

Bacta can’t help but laugh as Tryst points the Mynock at the sky and punches it.

He’s never been so happy to see the stars in his life.

—

Death is very, very good.

The moment the door closes she’s on him, blows coming almost faster than Zero can keep up with. Her staff is effective at keeping him out beyond his reach, and keeping himself (especially his vital electronic components) from touching the electrified end of it doesn’t leave him much room to mount an offensive.

It’s really a shame she hooked up with the arena, Zero thinks, because he has quite a bit of professional respect for her, and now she has to die.

He does have a few advantages: for one, while they disarmed him of his external weaponry, he still has a veritable armory built into his cybernetics that he has access to. His arm cannon isn’t terribly accurate when he’s dodging and weaving while firing, but even near misses grant him time and space.

And for another, he doesn’t actually have to win.

He sure would like to, for the sake of his pride if nothing else, but Death is the one on the clock here--because Blue is here . Blue found him. Blue came for him.

He’s got a grin behind his faceplate and it’s only mostly because of the adrenalin.

Death catches him in the side with a solid blow with the back end of her staff, and Zero goes tumbling. He turns it smoothly into a backwards somersault and comes up firing. She dodges nimbly out of the way and the blaster bolt pings off the mirror wall.

“Hey, how ‘bout you just give up?” he asks as he does his best to make a retreat look casual, backing into the center of the room. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I could do this all day. But surely you’ve got something better to do.”

Death advances on him, brandishing her staff. “Surrender or die,” she says, cold and even.

The mirror wall explodes outwards, sending pieces of thick glass flying everywhere. A squad of stormtroopers march out through the opening from the dark room behind.

Death whirls around to face the new threat, and in the time it takes a half dozen red blaster bolts pierce her armor. She falls like her strings have been cut.

Zero takes a moment to shake his head. “You could’ve at least bantered with me,” he mutters offhand, then looks up at the troopers and grins, placing one hand on his hip. “Took you long enough,” he says jovially.

The lead trooper removes his helmet to reveal a familiar face.

“Apologies, Agent Zero,” Synox says with his usual on-duty serious tone. “I assure you, we arrived as quickly as we could.”

“Sy!” Zero crows, delighted. “It’s good to see you, buddy.”

Synox’s face doesn’t crack, but he does give Zero a salute--which is as good as a tearful embrace under the circumstances. Zero is touched. “You as well, Agent Zero.”

“Leave me alone, I told you I don’t care about a little glass , I’m not a-- Zero !”

Zero’s head snaps around at the familiar voice and a wave of warmth rushes over him at the sight of Blue brushing off the entreating hands of stormtroopers to stride through the mess of shattered glass into the room. He steps right over Death’s body and into Zero’s personal space like it’s his right, immediately poking and prodding at all of his cybernetics.

“Are you okay? Did they break anything? We’ll fix it, obviously, we’ll upgrade everything, clearly what you’re working with now isn’t cutting it seeing as you got yourself kidnapped and damn near gave me a heart attack when you didn’t show up—”

“Blue,” Zero says warmly, cutting through his rambling. “I’m fine.”

Blue takes a deep breath and seems to come back to himself, giving himself a slight shake. His hands flutter uselessly and end up smoothing down the fabric of Zero’s suit. “Right. Obviously. I know you’re fine, you’re right here. I can see that.”

Zero takes hold of Blue’s wrist and brings his hand up to the blocker attached to the side of his helmet. “They put this thing on me--it blocks any transmissions so I couldn't call you.” He pulls out Three’s device from his pocket. “And they used this a couple times--completely shuts down my cybernetics.”

Blue inhales a sharp breath and seizes the device, turning it over in his hands. “Well, don’t worry, Zero, I’ll make sure when we get you those upgrades something like this won’t work. This won’t ever happen again, you can trust me on that.”

He's all puffed up like a ruffled bird and it fills Zero with warm, familiar affection. He smiles and squeezes his wrist. “I know, Blue.”

“Right, well,” Blue says, turning red. He takes his hands back and straightens his vest. “Let’s get back to the ship so I can see about getting that thing off your helmet.”

Zero hesitates, glancing down at Death. “You don’t want my help clearing out this place? You know there are more of them,” he says, nodding at her.

Blue waves a hand. “We know, and Synox and his men are more than capable of handling it, right Synox?”

“That’s right, sir, my men are tracking down and arresting the rest of the ringleaders as well as the escaped prisoners as we speak,” Synox says dutifully, steadily avoiding Blue’s threatening glare to address Zero. “Your help is welcome, Agent Zero, but not necessary.”

“There, see? Not necessary. C’mon, Zero, let’s go back to the Bluebird,” Blue says, just this side of wheedling.

Zero huffs and claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “Sure, Blue,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

The Mynock is, once again, overcrowded.

Leenik disappears into the bunk room as soon as the ship enters hyperspace, giving hasty excuses about checking on his novels. Tamlin latches onto Tryst with incredible strength for a five year old, and he acquiesces to taking him to check on the lizards, hefting him up onto his shoulders as he goes.

Bacta, Lyn, Nawl, and Nebban settle into the kitchen, a weary silence falling over the room as the adrenalin from the escape fades.

Bacta gets up to rifle through the cupboards and gets a pot of caf going. Lyn joins him at the counter to retrieve mugs, the two sharing little tired, relieved smiles whenever they cross paths.

After a few moments, Nawl grunts in triumph and they turn around to see Shiner’s eye glow to life as the droid activates and hovers up over the table. It beeps in shrill alarm for a few moments, turning wildly about to take in its surroundings, before Nawl takes hold of it on either side of its eye and gently forces it back to look at him.

“Shiner,” he says, slow and calmly. Shiner beeps. “We got out. Lux said—”

Before he can even finish, Shiner trills, bobbing in place. Machinery in its eye whirs and contracts and a moment later projects a small, maybe foot-tall hologram of Lux onto the kitchen table.

Bacta, Lyn, and Nebban all blink at it, dumbfounded. Nawl just smiles.

The hologram speaks.

“So, if you're hearing this message,” Lux says, a self-mocking smirk on his lips, “then you, whoever you are, escaped without me. Or I suppose I could be there too, but if that's the case then please stop listening. There's no need to let me embarrass myself like this.” He chuckles. “Alternatively, if you happen to be one of the purveyors of this fine establishment interrogating my poor droid for recordings, you can kindly get your nose out of my business.” He claps his hands. “But for now, let's just assume I'm dead, and you've gotten away with Shiner.”

There's a faint beep in the recording and Lux’s smile changes, becoming something much softer for a moment. “Of course they'll get you out, buddy. Nawl promised he would.”

Nawl lets out a long, quiet exhale. Nebban, beside him in the booth, hesitantly pats his shoulder.

The hologram Lux takes a deep breath and rubs his palms on his thighs, putting on his sparkling grin again. “But I digress--So, I'm dead. A real shame, that. But if you know me, you know I'm not one to give up the spotlight--even to the grim reaper himself! So I'm going to record these messages for Shiner to play for you--whoever you are--now that you've escaped. I also ask…” he falters for a moment, glancing nervously upwards for a moment. “I don’t have much time before the match starts. Please deliver Shiner to my parents--he has the coordinates. Obviously I don't have the power to force you, but I hope the time we've spent together while I was alive was enough for me to charm you into helping your old pal Lux out.” Lux winks, and a low rumbling sounds. “Looks like that's all the time we have, folks. Until the next time, I'm your host, Lux.” He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, and the holo-recording cuts out just as he draws his blaster, head turning towards his unseen opponent.

Silence falls over the kitchen again, only interrupted by Shiner’s eye dilating again and the droid giving an inquisitive beep.

“Shiner,” Bacta breaks in. “Do you have messages for all of us?”

Shiner spins around to take in the four occupants of the room and beeps inquisitively again.

“I'm Bacta,” Bacta says, laying a palm on his chest. “That's Nebban. You know Lyn and Nawl, yes?”

Shiner trills, bobbing up and down. It continues with a long series of beeps and whistles, trailing off when Bacta raises a hand.

“No, those... aren't necessary,” he says solemnly. “Just us four for now, thank you, Shiner.”

Lyn leans into Bacta’s space and whispers, “What did he say?”

“He was reciting the names of everyone Lux left messages for. They include--well, the kids from the first fight.”

Lyn’s mouth stretches into a small ‘o’ and she nods grimly, withdrawing. Shiner beeps again.

The four of them exchange looks, each waiting for someone else to volunteer to listen first. Shiner beeps once more, more insistently, and the exasperated tone brings a slight smile to Bacta’s face that he can’t quite help.

“All right, Shiner, what did Lux have to say to me?” he asks. Lyn surreptitiously squeezes his elbows in silent thanks and he offers her an understanding smile. Bacta neither spoke all that much to Lux nor saw him in any particularly vulnerable moments; whatever message he left for him, it’s unlikely to be too awkward or painful to listen to in a group.

Shiner whistles and after a moment another holo projection of Lux appears on the table, on one knee with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Well, my friends, there is an unfortunately high probability I am about to die,” he says. He flashes a self-deprecating grin, but it’s hollow and fades quickly. “So I need to get through a lot in not much time. So first, Bacta: you’ll have to pass on my goodbyes to Tryst and Leenik for me, I’m afraid I don’t have the time to record messages for everyone. Just make up something wordy and dramatic, you know me.” He tries for another grin, but quickly launches back into speaking. “But here’s the point: I know you don’t care for me very much, Bacta, but I also know that you care a whole lot about the Kestrel kids. I don’t know how much Dhal told you, but I got to know them pretty well, too. I can tell you that most of them had no family to speak of and no home to go back to, so don’t bother trying to hunt down those leads. The one exception is Qiell--Shiner has coordinates to her mother’s home on Glee Anselm, as well as a comm with a message from Qiell for her family. If you could get it to her for me, I’d appreciate it. And remember: wordy and dramatic. But tasteful, y’know?”

Lux winks, and the holo flickers and disappears.

Bacta, standing in stunned silence, suddenly shakes himself free and strides over to the table, reaching out to Shiner and then stopping himself, his hand awkwardly hovering in the air. “Shiner, could you—” he pauses and glances at Nawl and Nebban. “Could I borrow him for a bit? I--I’d really like to get those coordinates stored on the ship.”

Nebban raises both hands in acquiescence, bobbing his head, and Nawl waves him on. “Go ahead,” he says. “I’d like to hear mine alone, anyways.”

“Thanks,” Bacta says quickly, turning back to Shiner, who is tilting back and forth as it eyes him curiously. “Shiner, could you come with me to the cockpit so we can save those coordinates Lux gave you for Glee Anselm?”

Shiner whistles affirmatively, and Bacta leads the way to the cockpit, Shiner hovering above his shoulder and Lyn falling into step beside him.

It doesn’t take long to store the coordinates under a recipe for Nautolan food, and the comm link in the drawer Tryst keeps his collection of fuzzy dice in. That settled, he looks up to see Shiner exploring the cockpit and Lyn watching him with an unreadable expression, chewing on her bottom lip.

“If you want to listen to it,” Bacta says, startling her out of her reverie, “I can go check on Tryst and Tamlin.”

“I...” Lyn says on a long exhale, “Yes, thank you, Bacta.”

“‘Course, Lyn,” he says, clasping her shoulder and squeezing gently. “I’ll meet you back in the kitchen. We still need to debrief.”

Lyn chuckles. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to forget the debrief.”

“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Bacta proclaims, letting his hand fall. “See you in a bit.”

“Make sure they water the trees, too,” Lyn calls after him as he walks out, waving a hand in acknowledgement.

As the door shuts behind him, he hears the muffled sound of Lyn murmuring and Shiner beeping in response. He keeps walking, headed for the cargo hold.

—

“Zero, just--hold still, would you? I need to see—”

“You need to stop yanking on my helmet, man, you’re gonna pull my head off, who’d’ve thought you could pull so hard with those noodle arms of yours—”

“These noodle arms are the ones taking this jammer off your helmet, so I’d appreciate it if you would hold still and let me work —”

“Having trouble, boys?”

Zero’s head shoots up at the familiar drawl, pulling the jammer out of Blue’s grasp as Aava sashays into the kitchen, grinning as big as he’s ever seen. An answering grin spreads across his face and he projects it onto his helmet to let her know just how happy he is to see her.

“Aava!”

“Hey, Zer--oh!”

Zero crosses the distance between them in two large steps and sweeps Aava up into a hug, lifting her clear off the ground and twirling her around once before plopping her back down on her feet. Aava laughs once, shocked and delighted, and smacks his arm.

“Careful, Zero!” she admonishes him, “Most people who'd try that would lose an arm. You’re lucky I missed you.”

“Aw, c’mon, Aava, you wouldn’t hurt me,” Zero teases her in response, offering her a winky face.

Aava snorts, settling back into her more characteristic vaguely bored expression. Zero likes to think he knows her well enough by now to see that she’s still happy to see him.

“I just came to say hi,” she says, waving a hand. “I’m staying here to help clean up, but I wanted to see you before Blue whisks you away.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” Zero asks, “Because I’ll help you. I’ll put a sword through some guys, you know I will.”

“Zero, Synox and I are perfectly capable of handling a few bounty hunters on our own. Besides, it’ll put Blue in a snit if we steal you away now, and as funny as that always is, I think I’ll be nice just this once.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Zero says morosely, and Aava chuckles.

She reaches up and takes his helmet in her hands and draws him down. Zero bends obediently and allows her to press a kiss to the faceplate over his forehead. “Welcome home,” she says, softly. Zero reaches up and squeezes her wrist, and she releases him.

“Well, I have things to do and I’m sure two do as well. I’ll see you back at the compound,” Aava says.

“You betcha. Good luck, Aava.”

“Mm. And Zero?” Aava adds, stepping away back towards the door. “You’d better be there this time. I mean it.”

“Wouldn’t dream otherwise,” Zero responds with a small salute.

Aava smiles, a small, genuine thing, then turns and leaves the kitchen, the door closing to leave Zero and Blue alone once more.

Zero turns his head slightly in acknowledgment as Blue comes up beside him from where he'd stood silent against the counter for the whole exchange.

“I couldn’t have found you without her,” he says, soft and grudging like he's angry about it.

Zero reaches out and lightly cups his elbow. “The important thing is that you did.”

Blue smiles, crooked and awkward like the rest of him and almost unbearably dear, and finds Zero’s eyes behind the faceplate with the ease of long practice. “Yeah. We did.”

Zero smiles and squeezes once before dropping his arm. “Now will you get this thing off of me, now?”

“Oh, sure thing, if you’d hold still for two seconds , Zero. I know you can, I’ve seen you do it before—”

“Don’t start this with me, Blue—”

—

Leenik methodically draws a brush through the wig in his lap, carefully teasing out all the knots and debris as he lets himself readjust to the soothing rhythms of the ship. The recycled air tastes odd, as it always does after more than a week off the ship, and the distant hums and groans of the engine in hyperspace are familiar, the soundtrack to years’ worth of nights’ sleeps.

Tony had sat with him a while, head in his lap and whining for attention, but he left a little while ago, presumably to find Tamlin. It’s just Leenik in the bunk room now, sorting through his things like he hasn’t seen them in ages. It always feels longer than it’s really been when he’s off the ship, but it feels like lifetimes since they landed on that wooded planet to plot out their next move. Maybe only BHIKKE felt longer.

The sound of a throat clearing makes him look up to see Tryst leaning against the threshold, arms crossed and trademark sure smirk on his face.

“Whatcha doin’? Sadly brushing your hair?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t doing it sadly ,” Leenik shoots back, bristling. It’s pathetically easy for Tryst to get a rise out of him at most times, but just right now the arena is still too recent, the shock and fear still so raw that he’s not sure he can handle his usual barbs. He’s torn between wanting Tryst to leave him alone to process things and, now that he’s here, to keep him here forever to soothe the little bit of his brain telling him that if Tryst walks out that door he might never come back.

“Well, agree to disagree,” Tryst says easily, ambling into the room proper. “So what’s up, Leenik?”

Leenik shrugs, looking down at his wig in his lap. “Nothing. Just happy to be back, I guess.”

“Well I sure hope so, because we’re way too far now to go back to that planet.”

Leenik looks up to glare at him, but Tryst just grins back at him, entirely too pleased with his own lame joke.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Tryst asks, turning to pick at Leenik’s bookshelf. He picks up a book, opens it, flips through it, and puts it back upside down. He looks back at Leenik, one eyebrow raised. “Leenik? You remember, you said you wanted to talk to me about something, and I told you to tell me on the Mynock? Well, guess where we are.” He looks around in mock surprise, like he's only just noticed that they're back on the ship.

Leenik shakes his head quickly, frowning. Talk. He remembers wanting to talk to Tryst, but what he was going to say is overshadowed by what he wants to ask now, he can hardly remember what it was about. Something about his talk with Bacta?

He jumps as Tryst snaps right in front of his face, having moved right up beside him without him noticing. “Leenik? Mynock to Leenik, you there?”

“Yeah, get your hand out of my face,” Leenik grouses, reaching up to push it away. He thanks his immense bounty hunter discipline for not grabbing hold of it instead. Then he remembers the topic at hand, what he wanted to say falling back into place, and sobers immediately. “I, uh… I just… I talked to Bacta, right, when we were in the arena.”

“I know, I was there,” Tryst says, nodding sagely. Leenik shoots him a dirty look and he just grins. He stays right where he is, thoroughly comfortable in Leenik’s space.

“Well, we talked about… stuff. Like, uh… emotion… stuff.”

Tryst’s eyebrows shoot up almost into his hairline. “Whoa, whoa, is this going where I think it’s going?”

Leenik scowls at him. “Ew, no! Just--shut up and let me say it, okay?”

Tryst raises his hands in surrender, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Yeah, okay, so say it.”

Leenik takes a deep breath. “Do you remember, when we left Phindar, and you followed me to my room to talk about… running away?”

“Sure,” Tryst says, his knee knocking against Leenik’s. “You thought about it since then?”

“Yeah,” Leenik says, running his fingers through the hair of the wig anxiously. “I, uh… I decided to stop running.”

“Yeah?” Tryst asks, his voice softer now, and close. If he looked up, Leenik’s sure his face would be close enough to touch.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I just… found something worth stopping for.” He looks up.

Tryst is right there, his face uncharacteristically serious but his eyes soft with affection. He draws even closer and Leenik panics, anxiety and anticipation all wrapped up together and all he can think to do is blurt out, “That was some good acting you did back in the arena.”

Tryst’s lips quirk up into a smile. He says, “I hate actors,” and kisses him.

—

Blue finally, after much grumbling and complaining, manages to get the jammer off of Zero’s helmet. A moment later, his holo-glasses ping with several new notifications. Zero sucks his teeth as Blue’s face twitches in surprise then crumbles, all of a sudden remembering all the messages he sent immediately after his capture, calling for help.

Ever the professional, he thinks on his feet and and Blue’s visor dings once more with the arrival of a lothcat meme from Zero’s emergency folder.

Blue’s startled laugh is jagged in the still air of the kitchen and Zero sighs. He’d expected this, to be honest, once the adrenalin wore off and they were alone.

“Zero, I’m sorry—”

“Blue, c'mon, don’t do this—”

“But I should’ve noticed when one of the cameras went down, I should’ve--destroyed Bannforr for good before he got the chance to do something like this, I—”

“Blue.” Zero drops heavy hands on Blue’s shoulders to shut him up. His jaw snaps shut and he looks at Zero with wide, watery eyes, and he looks so young , showing his true age like he so rarely does. “Blue,” he says again, “It wasn’t your fault. And it doesn’t matter now. You found me, remember? I’m right here.”

All the air leaves Blue in a rush, and Zero sees it happening before it does. Before he can even get out, “Oh, no, don’t—” Blue has thrown himself full-body into an embrace, wrapping all seven miles of his arms around Zero’s shoulders so tightly you couldn’t pry him off with a crowbar.

Despite his words, Zero holds him back just as tightly, one arm across his back and the other his across shoulders, his hand creeping up into Blue’s mop of hair. He can feel Blue trembling slightly in his arms, from adrenalin comedown or caffeine or shock or sleep deprivation or something else or all of the above. He hopes Aava was taking care of Blue while he was gone. He hopes somebody was, because Force knows Blue won't do it himself.

Zero lets out a soft sigh and murmurs, “I missed you too, Blue,” as he squeezes Blue tighter and lets himself revel in the feeling of being safe and home at last.

—

When Tryst pulls away, it takes several seconds for Leenik’s brain to process what just happened and reboot. By the time he manages it, Tryst is looking at him with a mix of humor and concern.

“You alright there, pal?” he asks, grasping Leenik’s upper arm.

“I’m in love with you,” Leenik blurts out.

Tryst laughs, a grin stealing over his face. “Good, otherwise that would’ve been really awkward.”

“Are you also--I mean, do you--the love, me?” he stammers. It’s possible his brain isn’t completely back online yet.

Tryst grins wider. His eyes scrunch up in the corners and he looks like he’s just barely holding back laughter. He’s the worst. Leenik wants to kiss him again, very badly. “Yeah, Leenik,” he says. “I also the love you.”

“Good,” Leenik says, his voice strangled.

Tryst snorts and offers his hand. When Leenik takes it, he pulls him to his feet. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, Bacta’s calling a meeting in the kitchen. We better get over there.”

“Right,” he says, his brain still sort of stuttering. Today was a lot. He needs time to process. He looks down at where his and Tryst’s hands are still joined. Belatedly, he realizes he’s squeezing Tryst’s kind of hard and quickly lets go.

“Leenik?” Tryst asks, eyebrow raised. “Something wrong?”

Leenik makes the mistake of looking back up at him and all of a sudden he’s throwing his arms around Tryst and burying his face in his shoulder, taking deep breaths to stave off tears. After a moment, Tryst’s arms come up around him and squeeze him reassuringly, patting his back somewhat awkwardly. Tryst has never been good at hugs; he seems to sprout extra elbows to stick in uncomfortable places and he never knows where to put his hands. But for the first time since he left the cell with Bacta, Leenik feels grounded, settled in his own skin.

“I’m really glad you didn’t die,” he murmurs into Tryst’s shoulder.

Tryst chuckles warmly, jostling him a little. “Yeah, that would’ve put a damper on things, huh?”

Leenik turns to glare at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’m serious.”

Tryst grins. “So am I.”

Leenik rolls his eyes and finally releases him, but Tryst doesn’t let him go far, keeping one arm wrapped around his shoulders. “And hey, that not dying thing?” he says lightly, squeezing his arm, “Let’s try to keep that up.”

“I will if you will,” Leenik says, knocking his shoulder against Tryst’s and feeling warmth unfurl in his chest when Tryst bumps him back.

“Deal. Now c’mon, or Bacta will hit us with the clipboard.”

—

The kitchen is seriously cramped with all of them present. Leenik managed to wriggle his way into the corner of one of the booths up against the wall, and Tryst sits beside him with an arm around his shoulders, lounging as best he can with Nawl crammed in next to him. Nebban took the other corner, Lyn sitting beside him with Tamlin held firmly in her lap, and Bacta on the end, the clipboard held in front of him. Tony is curled up under the table with his chin propped up on Leenik’s knee, and Shiner hovers over Nawl’s shoulder.

“So, first things first,” Bacta begins, “I know we’ve all had a long day, and we’re eager to debrief so we can all go rest, but before we get too far into things, I wanted to ask our guests about their plans for what comes next.”

Tryst grumbles about breaking etiquette, but it’s mostly a token effort and he quiets down with an elbow to the ribs from Leenik and a stern look from Lyn and Bacta.

Nawl speaks up, glancing at Nebban. “First I’ve got to deliver Shiner to Lux’s folks. I told him I would, and I mean to. After that… well, I cut my ties with Ithor already. Going back would only put the people I left behind in danger.” He shrugs. “I figured I’d tag along with Nebban. Maybe I can help out with his people. Maybe pay the Empire back a little.”

“We need to go back to my home and find my team,” Nebban pipes up. “I need to tell them about Durian, and hope the Empire hasn’t gotten to them while I’ve been gone. We have an emergency site that I can contact my team from… I'll give you the coordinates, and you can drop us off there.” With every minute they pass away from the arena, Nebban seems more confident. Bacta can almost see the rebel fighter he was before the arena.

He nods. “All right, then,” he says. “First to find Lux’s parents, and then to find your rebels. Sounds like we have a couple more days of travel together, and then it’s goodbye.”

“Thank you,” Nebban says, leaning forward to meet Bacta’s eyes around Lyn. “For everything--I don’t know what I would’ve done--what any of us would’ve done--if you hadn’t showed up.”

“Died, probably,” Nawl says drily. Tryst snorts.

Nebban smiles weakly. “Yeah, probably that,” he says. “So… thank you, all of you.”

“It was nothing,” Bacta says, warming with pride and satisfaction under Nebban’s earnest gaze.

“I mean, it wasn’t nothing,” Tryst cuts in. “We almost died several times.”

“Also, we didn’t exactly do it for you,” Leenik adds. “We would’ve broken out anyway, to save ourselves. You guys were sort of just incidental. Uh, no offense.”

“Ooh, also a good point,” Tryst says, nodding sagely. “It definitely wasn’t about you. No offense.”

Nawl snorts, and Nebban looks unsure about how to feel, just smiling nervously.

Bacta rolls his eyes, but despite his surface irritation he’s overwhelmed with relief to have his family safe and together and making his life difficult again.

“Thank you, Trystan, Leenik,” Lyn cuts in for him, giving the two of them longsuffering glares and receiving matching shrugs. “Bacta, you were saying?” She turns to him and he gives her a smile even as he clears his throat and picks up the clipboard.

“Right, then. So, for our guests, the first part of mission debrief…”

Bacta lets the words flow easily, comforting in their familiarity as the engines hum around them, bearing them onwards to the next adventure.

And from now on, they'll agree to never go into strange woods with less than three people at a time.