Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It must have rained in the night, Charlie thinks, because there’s no other accounting for how much trouble his leg is giving him this morning. Usually he’d have spent some time futzing with it before leaving for the day, but today he had a time-sensitive project and all he’d been able to do was loosen the main bolt in the knee joint a bit so it would actually bend.

As it is, he’s leaning more heavily on his crutch than usual. It’s not enough to be growing so fast his prosthetic leg won’t fit at all anymore in a few months, apparently, it’s got to fight him the whole way there.

Charlie groans, frustrated. He doesn’t have time for this.

There’s a parade today, right through the center of town. Charlie doesn’t even remember exactly what the purpose of the thing is – Empire Day isn’t for another few weeks yet – only that it should be such a strictly regimented affair that it’ll be easier than pie to sabotage. One well-placed distraction – hell, one well-placed rock – could send a whole battalion of stormtroopers tumbling to the ground like dominoes. Charlie is pretty sure that stormtroopers’ vision must be pretty limited with their helmets on, for how easy they are to mess with.

He picks up a piece of fruit at random at the market, tossing a credit chip to the vendor, and climbs to the spot he had picked out for today. He’d picked the spot on a day when his leg was giving him less trouble – rooftop ladders are rough when you’re dealing with a knee that won’t bend on command and lugging a crutch along – but he makes it up in a reasonable time.

Charlie checks the time.

He’s got a minute or two, thank the stars, so he flops heavily onto a crate and tries to adjust his knee best he can. It’s not cooperating, of course, because he has the worst luck in the fucking galaxy, but he tries. He considers, briefly, disconnecting and reconnecting it, before deciding that the hassle of aligning the wiring probably isn’t something he has time for. He opts instead for adjusting the leg of his pants so it sits more smoothly where the cut-off end tucks into the top of his leg.

(His leg being built from a salvaged protocol droid leg, Charlie has found through the years that he needs as much cushioning as possible around the roughly-cut opening. He’s done the best he can with it, but at the end of the day he’s a fifteen-year-old kid with limited resources, and sometimes the best solution is just switching to wearing a lot of one-legged pants.)

He checks the time again.

Showtime.

It’s all a bit of a blur, really, as these kinds of days usually are. Charlie tosses his snack lightly over the side of the building, dropping neatly into the middle of the parade. One trooper trips, stumbling into the one next to him, which starts a chain reaction that is well on its way to taking out the whole group.

Charlie does not see this, though, because almost as soon as he acts, there are shouts and pointing in his rough direction and he knows he needs to scoot or risk getting detained by the damned Imperials for “being a disruptive presence” and “ruining important events” again.

He makes it about a block – down the fire escape, around the back of the next-door building and partway down an alley – and then he hears a shout behind him and takes a running leap over a crate, only to fall flat on his face when instead of catching himself on his other foot, it falls off mid jump at the over-loosened knee joint.

He’s about to scramble to his feet – shit, foot – when somebody holds a hand out to him.

“Need a quick getaway, kid?” The hand is attached to a man that Charlie would place probably in his thirties – he’d say younger, only he’s got eyes that look about a thousand years old – who’s perched on a speeder bike with one foot on the ground.

Charlie doesn’t have time to give it much thought. It’s this random stranger who seems to want to help him or the Imperials, and he’s gonna take his fucking chances.

He takes the guy’s hand. “Yes.”

He’s helped up onto the bike, and his rescuer is about to rev the engine and take off when Charlie yelps.

“My leg!”

“What?”

“Hang on for a sec,” says Charlie. He reaches out, willing his little magic trick – always so inconsistent – to work on command for fucking once. His calf zips into his hand and he tucks it under the same arm as his crutch, holding both close to his body and clinging to his rescuer with his free hand. “Alright, go!”

The stranger doesn’t need telling twice.

He doesn’t stop until they’re a ways out of the city, and when he does it’s in the seeming middle of nowhere.

“Why’d you help me?” Charlie asks, as the two of them climb off of the bike.

The guy shrugs. “Seems like we’re on the same side. I saw what you did, saw them go after you. Figured, if I can help, I oughtta.” He grins, a little lopsided. “I’m Jack, by the way. Jack Kelly.”

“Crutchie,” Charlie says a little self-consciously. “Thanks.”

“Nice to meet’cha, kid,” says Jack. He nods at Charlie’s calf, still carried in his free hand as he leans on his crutch rather than reattaching it. “That a droid leg?”

“What’s left of one,” Charlie says. He lets a bit of pride seep into his voice as he speaks. His prosthetic is his one pride and joy. “I rebuilt it myself after I grew outta my last one.”

“You been on your own a while?”

Charlie hums noncommittally.

Jack doesn’t press. “You plucked it right outta the air – that some kinda homing trick or –“

“It’s not tech,” Charlie says. “It’s like – like a magic trick or something. I can’t always do it.”

Jack hums, like he’s thinking.

He holds one hand out toward the bike, a few feet away, and a small object floats lazily out of a pouch on the side and into his hand.

“A magic trick,” Jack says, “like that?”

“How –“

“I could teach you, if you want,” offers Jack. “In a bit, though. Let’s get you some tools to fix your leg up, first, huh?”

“And are you expecting me to believe that you’ve got a full toolkit on your speeder bike somewhere?” Charlie says skeptically. As much as he’s excited to meet somebody who seems to have a similar talent to his own, that is stretching it.

Jack laughs. “Not on the bike.”

He clicks a button on the small remote he’d summoned, and a ship uncloaks a few feet away. Charlie whistles, impressed. Cloaking devices are hard to come by, especially ones as nice as this one must be to hide the ship so completely.

The ship is strange; all perfectly flat, curving sides, so shiny it almost looks glossy. A far cry from the bumpy, uneven ship panels Charlie’s seen all his life.

“I’ve never seen a ship so –“ Charlie trails off, waving in a vague circle.

“Smooth?” Jack offers. Charlie nods, perplexed. “Yeah, it’s a Naboo thing, I think. They don’t like stuff stickin’ off the sides’a their ships or something. Ask our pilot, he’s real picky about it.”

“Weird,” says Charlie.

Jack presses another button and the main hatch opens. He walks up the ramp, waving for Charlie to follow.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“You’re late,” another dark-haired man says as he drops down from an access hatch in the ceiling. He pauses as his eye catches on Charlie. “Oh, who’s this?”

Jack glances behind him, then back to the newcomer. “Kid beat me to my mission today. Caused more chaos with one piece’a fruit than I’ve ever seen, but he needed a spot to lay low for a bit. Figured he’d fit right in with your house’a strays.”

“My house of strays?” the other man says lightly, crossing his arms. “You keep bringing me children!”

“Racer is almost as old as I am,” Jack protests. Charlie doesn’t know who Racer is, but he can tell from the other guy’s expression that this argument doesn’t help his case.

“Children,” the man repeats. A beat up astromech, which has been swiveling its visual sensor back and forth between them, echoes children, too, which makes Charlie snicker. Jack aims a kick at the droid, which beeps an impressive string of curses at him. The other man rolls his eyes long sufferingly. “I’m Davey. What’s your name, kid?”

“The fellas call me Crutchie,” Charlie says, a little more confidently this time. He leans into his crutch a bit more for emphasis.

“Well, I ain’t one of the fellas. What’s your mama call you?”

“Nothing,” Charlie says flatly. “She’s dead.”

Charlie isn’t entirely sure what is passing between Jack and his companion, but it’s clear that it’s some kind of understanding, and that Jack’s friend seems to be melting somewhat from his initial annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” Davey says softly.

Charlie shrugs. “It ain’t your fault. It was ages ago. But she –“ His gut is telling him he can trust these guys. “She called me Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” Davey says firmly. He glares briefly at Jack, although it comes through a little bit softer than Charlie figures it was probably intended. “It seems like you might be staying with us a while.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t need anyplace to stay,” Charlie protests almost immediately.

Davey’s gaze drops pointedly to the calf he’s still holding in his free hand. “You need a place to repair your leg, don’t you? Why not take advantage of an offer of a fully stocked toolkit and a safe place to work?”

Charlie thinks about it for a moment. He doesn’t like having to rely on other people – from his experience, the only person he can trust is himself.

Still…

Well, Davey is right. It’s hard to refute the practicality of staying in as well disguised a location as this ship, and it’s clear that these people are no friends to the Empire. He’s probably moderately safe here. And if they’re willing to offer him tools and supplies, he can’t afford not to take them up on it.

“Fine,” says Charlie. “But I’m leaving as soon as I’m done.”

Jack and Davey look at each other. Just like before, Charlie can tell that they’re communicating something just through the look, though the message is a mystery to him.

“Of course,” says Jack, looking back at Charlie. He kicks their droid again. “Hey, Les, go get Race.”

The droid – Les? What the absolute fuck? – curses creatively again as it rolls away.

“Don’t mind him,” Jack says, nodding after the astromech. “He’s pissy because he doesn’t like getting left behind when we go out to screw with the Empire.”

“Your droid seems very… spirited,” Charlie says politely.

“My droid was not nearly this much of a snarky asshole before certain other residents of this freighter moved in,” Davey replies. His tone makes it seem like this is a common complaint, but a lighthearted one. “I didn’t know droid binary curse words existed before I met our mechanic, Race, who made it his business to teach Les as many as he knew.”

“And you call him Les?” Charlie can’t help blurting.

Jack laughs. “His designation is L35-J9. We were calling him L35, but he’s got the most personality of any droid I’ve ever met, so we figured he oughtta have a people name. So L35 became Les.”

“Cute,” says Charlie.

“He says we like I had any say in it,” Davey says lightly.

“Aw, you know you love it,” Jack replies, grinning.

Charlie looks from one to the other of them – they’re gazing so fondly into each other’s eyes that if half of their words weren’t still explicitly directed at him, he’d think they’ve forgotten he’s here.

“I hear Jacky brought home another mouth to feed!” a bright voice calls. Its owner rounds the corner into the hold with Les, a tall blond with a spring in his step. “Bright suns, kiddo!”

Charlie wrinkles his nose. “Don’t call me that ever again.”

“Heard,” says the man who Charlie is guessing must be Race. “Bright suns anyway.”

“Lothal only has one sun,” Charlie points out.

“Look, kid,” Race says. “I can count. Bright sun singular just sits under my skin like bugs, okay, it’s fuckin’ wrong.”

“You could say hello.”

“Stars, Charlie, you really know how to make friends, don’cha?” Jack says, cutting in between the two of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, before looking at Race. “Racer, this is Charlie. He’s staying with us ‘till he can fix his leg up good, since it fell to pieces while he was on the run from the Imperials.”

“Bright. Suns.”

Charlie sticks his tongue out.

“Charlie, this is Race, he’s our mechanic and he’s a tech whiz,” Jack continues, his tone long-suffering. Charlie can’t help but wonder if Race is always like this. “Might be able to lend you a hand with your project.”

“Jack and I have some work to do,” Davey says, continuing over Jack’s surprised we do? “We’ll be up in the cockpit if you need anything while you’re working. Les, stay and supervise.”

Les uses one of his graspers to give Davey a lazy salute.

“I don’t need help,” says Charlie.

“Deal,” says Davey.

“I don’t need supervision!” Race protests.

“Deal,” says Jack.

They turn and leave, speaking in low voices as the door slides shut behind them.

Race stares at Charlie.

Charlie stares at Race.

[Is that a droid strut?] Les beeps, nudging Charlie’s leg. [Did you steal it?]

Charlie flops onto a crate, holding the limb out for the droid to inspect and dropping his crutch behind him. “It belonged to a protocol droid that was crushed in a building collapse. I was lucky its legs were still intact.”

[What happened to your own?] Les asks. [I was under the impression organic limbs were not replaceable.]

“I lost mine as a kid,” Charlie tells the droid. He’s aware of Race watching intently, but he ignores him.

“You’re still a kid,” Race mutters.

“I used to have a professional prosthetic,” continues Charlie. He glances up at Race. “The port this thing hooks into is legit. But I grew out of that leg a while ago. Been improvising ever since. This is the best leg I’ve built.”

“It’s impressive,” Race says, dropping to a knee next to him. It sounds a little reluctant. “What’s the issue?”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Aside from the calf disconnecting?”

Race waves him off. His tone now is all business. “That’s a symptom, not the problem. How long’s it been givin’ you trouble?”

“Knee joint’s needed replacing for weeks,” Charlie admits. “Wiring’s been screwy for longer.”

“I can build you a new joint,” offers Race. “But wiring for complex prosthetics isn’t in my skillset.”

“I can rewire it,” Charlie says, shaking his head. “If you’ve got the supplies, anyway. I would’ve done it ages ago but I used up everything I had the last time it needed patching.”

Race nods. “Wires, tools. Anything. You’ve been using it offline?”

“I can still walk on it if it’s disconnected.” Charlie shrugs. “Just a little less graceful. Really relies on the knee joint being able to swing freely with the steps, which means sometimes this.”

He waves vaguely with the leg in his hand.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” says Race.

Charlie disconnects the upper part of his prosthetic from the port on his leg that translates nerve impulses into the wiring. “Whole thing could probably use reconstructing, not that I’ve ever had time.”

“You’ve got time now,” Race says, a little softer. “Look – you’re probably used to fending for yourself, yeah? But as long as you’re here you’ve got people watching your back. Take advantage of that as long as you want.”

Charlie hasn’t had anybody try to look out for him in a long time.

He really wishes these weirdos would stop trying.

Still, it’s almost nice. None of these people have known him even a day yet, and they’ve let him into their weird secret hideaway, offered him help and a place to stay.

“We’ll see.”

That seems to be enough answer for Race. He digs a huge toolkit out of a hidden cabinet, and the two of them set to work.

Charlie decides, without saying anything about it to Race, that he will take the chance to fully rebuild the leg. After all, it’s as good a time as any to see if he can coax an extra inch or two of height out of it with an added plate somewhere, and he can finally work out some of the dents.

Race notices, though, or at least Charlie assumes that that’s what his satisfied little nod is about when Charlie starts disconnecting the thigh panels.

Somewhere around two hours into this project – at least, Charlie thinks it’s a rough two hours, although he doesn’t have a chronometer on him and he doesn’t give enough of a shit to ask Les – the ramp for the cargo hold opens again.

“Mom! Dad! I’ve got some news, but you’re not gonna like it!” a new voice calls from outside.

Its owner, a redhead with peeling sunburns on his cheeks and bare shoulders, appears a moment later. He’s got what looks like a stormtrooper helmet under one arm, but it’s near unrecognizable for the intricate painting covering every millimeter of white.

Les rolls over, whirring excitedly.

The newcomer pats the top of Les’s dome, smiling fondly. “Later, Les.” He looks up at Race, starts to say something else, then realizes Charlie is there. His smile fades. “Who are you?”

“Another stray,” Race says, rolling his eyes. “You know how Jack and Davey are.”

“My name’s Charlie,” Charlie says, not bothering to stand to greet him.

“Albert,” replies the redhead. He taps a panel by the ramp, closing it, then turns his attention back to Race. “There’s some new ISB agent joining the base in Lothal City. Seems like a big deal.”

“Could be a coincidence,” Race tries.

“Or they could know we’re here,” Albert says seriously.

“Is that Albert I heard?” Davey says, poking his head around the door.

“Yeah, Davey, I’m home,” says Albert. He walks over to Davey, and the pilot puts a gentle hand on his shoulder in greeting. “I’ve got news.”

“Later,” Davey says softly. “You’ve met our guest?”

Albert glances back at Charlie again. “Yeah. He gonna be around long?”

Davey sighs almost imperceptibly. “Please be open, Al.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Albert replies.

“Albert.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” Albert throws over his shoulder.

“You too,” Charlie says, amused.

Davey looks across Albert at Charlie and Race. “Jack has dinner ready in the galley. You two at a stopping point?”

“I am.” Race looks to Charlie for confirmation. He nods, reaching back for his crutch.

He hasn’t let himself trust anyone this readily in a long time, Charlie thinks as he makes his way through the ship, his prosthetic left behind at their workstation in the hold.

He’s got a good feeling about these people.

Here’s hoping his instincts are right.

Chapter Text

Charlie hasn’t had anything remotely resembling a “family dinner” in going on six years.

This – three unrelated adults, two unrelated teenagers, and a droid crammed around a small table in a small freighter’s crew common space – should not break that streak. And yet, Charlie finds, it feels like it may.

“Albert, how was your test flight?” Davey asks, picking at his salad.

Albert shrugs. “Same old. I passed, but you’d think I’d have to do less of them since I’m not in the pilot track.”

“It’s a useful skill,” says Jack with a shrug.

“He’s better off learning to fly from our Daves than the Empire,” Race cuts in, rolling his eyes.

“That’s what I’m saying, I’m not even in a flight track!” says Albert.

“Are you studying at the Imperial Academy?” Charlie asks, baffled. He could’ve sworn this little group was – well, if not actively rebellious, certainly no friends to the Empire.

“I’m undercover,” Albert snaps. He points toward Davey with a sporkful of food. “Somebody thought it’d be a good way to keep eyes and ears on the Empire, but mostly it’s shaken out to doing endless flight simulations –“

“Even though you’re not on the flight track,” Jack and Race finish with him, both rolling their eyes.

“Jack,” Davey chides.

“What, you ain’t gonna tell Racer off?”

“You are an adult.”

“I’m thirty!” Race jumps in, offended.

“On Lothal you’re twenty-eight,” corrects Davey.

“On Batuu – you know, my home planet -“

“Well we’re not on Batuu –“

“Are we going to ignore the fact that the Galactic Standard age of majority for humans is eighteen, or –“

“I don’t know, Racetrack, when’s the last time you remembered to do your goddamn laundry on your own –“

“It all just gets dirty again anyway!”

“This is why I don’t consider you an adult.”

“Are they, ah, always like this?” Charlie says in a low voice, leaning over toward Albert.

Albert shrugs. “You get used to it.”

“They love each other, really,” Jack says, completely full voiced while Race and Davey continue to argue next to him. “They’re just dramatic.”

“What are you people?” Charlie can’t help asking.

Jack snorts. “Rebels, I guess. We fight back against the Empire wherever we can – mostly it’s local stuff, we’re based on Lothal. Every once in a while Davey gets a call from a pal with another group and we get involved in bigger stuff, but – yeah. You seem to be in the same boat, from what I saw today.”

Charlie hums noncommittally. “My parents tried that shit, you know. Rebelling. Got themselves carted off to some Imperial prison for their troubles. They’re probably dead.”

Davey and Race fall silent.

“The only Lothali rebels I was aware of before us were Ariel and Adam Morris,” Davey says slowly. Charlie nods; he’s a little bit surprised that Davey knows their names, but not so much that they existed. Their broadcast went out beyond just this system. “Their disappearance was what brought me – and Jack – to Lothal in the first place.”

“I didn’t realize they had a kid,” Jack says, more to Davey than to Charlie. Davey shakes his head.

“We would’ve looked for you,” says Davey.

Charlie scoffs. “I didn’t want to be looked for. F’my parents’ allies could find me, then so could their enemies. I’d rather take my chances.”

“Still,” Davey insists, “that was years ago. Have you been on your own all that time?”

Charlie shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “I do alright.”

Jack and Davey exchange another look.

“You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need, you know,” says Jack. “Whether that’s just long enough to fix your leg or longer.”

“You don’t owe me nothin’ just ‘cause you knew my parents.” Charlie shoves a bite of his dinner into his mouth. It’s annoyingly good, for having been cooked in a dinky ship galley.

Maybe Charlie’s standards are low.

(Maybe he has been alone for too long.)

“I live on my own and I’m happy that way,” continues Charlie. “I’m fine.”

“Quit pestering him,” Albert says. His tone is light, but there’s something inflexible about it. Like he’s teasing the same way Davey and Race had been, but if they press it he won’t give in. Charlie is reluctantly grateful for the backup. “Not everybody wants to be adopted, Mom.”

“I’m just –“ Davey starts, but once his attention is on Albert, he pauses. “Al, you’ve barely touched your dinner.”

“I’m eating,” Albert says. He makes a show of picking up a big sporkful of salad and putting it in his mouth.

“You’re pushing your food around your plate with your spork,” chides Davey. He drops his voice a little, his tone softening. “You never seem to want to eat when you get home for the weekend. If it’s that bad there, we can pull you out –“

“It’s not,” Albert says. He shakes his head firmly, then eats another bite of his dinner before continuing. “I’m just tired. Not much of an appetite.”

Davey frowns, but doesn’t push him.

“You said you had news,” Jack says, nudging Davey.

“Right, yeah,” says Albert. “The officers were all worked up about this ISB agent who’s going to be stationed here. They were on us more than usual to, you know, be not a hot mess. Well then the parade got all fucked up, and they were on us even more –“

“Why would the ISB want to station an agent on Lothal long term?” Jack interrupts. They’re all thinking it.

“It’s probably nothing,” Race says lightly. The tone is more forced than Charlie has heard from him yet. “Maybe something about that TIE project Albert’s been hearing about.”

[Or the Imperials have noticed the abnormally high volume of rebellious activity in this sector and want someone on hand to investigate.] Les chimes in helpfully.

“Right,” says Race, frowning at him. “Or that.”

[There is no point in being unrealistic about it, Race.]

“I’ll unplug your charging port,” Race says. The threat, to Charlie, seems largely empty.

“Have you heard anything more specific about this agent?” David asks, staring a bit hopelessly into his dinner like it might give him answers that Albert didn’t have. “Name, length of assignment? Anything?”

“I don’t know how long he’ll be here,” Albert says. He shrugs. “I get the impression it’ll be a while. Name – I think I heard somebody call him Connolly? No, wait – Conlon.”

Race’s spork clatters against his plate. His hand is still halfway to his face, like he didn’t notice that it had fallen.

“Agent Conlon, you said?” he says, almost inaudibly quiet.

“Yeah, I think so,” says Albert. “You know him?”

“No.” Race stands abruptly, picking up his plate. “I’m not really hungry anymore. Think I’m’unna call it a night. Thanks for cookin’, Jacky.”

“Yeah, no prob,” Jack says, looking bewildered by Race’s sudden change in attitude.

“Char – good’ta meet’cha. We can talk more ‘bout’cha leg tomorrow if you want,” says Race, a little absentmindedly. “Uh, spires keep ya.”

And then he’s gone.

[That was really fucking weird.] chirps Les.

“You can say that again,” Albert agrees.

[That was really fucking –]

“It’s a figure of speech, Les,” Davey says tiredly.

[I know.]

“You’re a pest.”

[I know.]

“You wanna go after and talk to him?” Jack says quietly to Davey.

Davey shakes his head. “No. I don’t know what he’s processing, but I can tell he needs time to do it. I’ll catch him tomorrow.”

Charlie suddenly feels very much like he’s intruding.

“I should go finish up on my leg,” he says.

“That motherfucker!” Albert says. It’s the first really emphatic thing Charlie has heard come out of his mouth.

“Al –“ Davey says, but Albert cuts him off.

“If Chuck here is stayin’ the night, you’re gonna make me share with him, aren’t you? So Race can fucking process or whatever?”

“I would’ve suggested it anyway,” Jack says, shrugging. “You two are pretty close in age, and –“

“That’s not fair, I should at least get to fight it out with Racer.”

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. “Albert.”

“Jack.”

“I can sleep on a mat or something in the hold,” Charlie says. “You don’t need to make space in crew quarters for me or anything – s’not like I’ll be here long.”

“You are not sleeping in the hold,” Davey replies firmly. “We can come up with a longer term solution in the morning, but just tonight, Al –“

Albert huffs, annoyed, and settles back in his seat with his arms crossed. “Fine.”

“I really don’t want to put anybody out,” Charlie insists.

“You’re not,” Jack and Davey say in near unison. Albert rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” says Charlie. “Right. Well, on that note, I’m gonna go back and work on my leg.”

“Les, why don’t you keep him company,” says Davey. It’s not a request.

[But David] Les whines, [I want to -]

“You can show him to Al’s room when he’s done,” Davey tells him.

Les lets out a nonspecific whistle of annoyance, but rolls out of the room. He pauses in the hallway, turning his optical sensor on Charlie.

[Are you coming, Nuisance?]

“Yeah,” says Charlie. “I’m coming.”

As he leaves, he can’t help but notice the way that Jack, Davey, and Albert all lean into each other, speaking in hushed voices. They look concerned.

Despite himself, Charlie finds that he is too.

Chapter Text

“You know, if you just work until you crash, Davey will have Jack carry you to my room.”

Charlie startles, turning to see Albert leaning in the doorway to the hold. It’s late, but Charlie’s been in the zone for a while and he’s got most of the rewiring done, though the shell of the leg is still in pieces.

“What?”

“If you’re trying to avoid sleeping in crew quarters, it’s not going to work,” Albert reiterates. “Davey will come and check on you, and if you’re still up working he’ll make you come to bed and if you’ve crashed and fallen asleep at the workbench he’ll have Jack carry you up. You might as well just call it a night.”

“I thought you didn’t want me in your room,” Charlie says cautiously.

“I don’t.” Albert shrugs. “But I do what Davey wants me to, and Davey wants me to let you share. At least for the night.”

“I don’t need another set of parents,” says Charlie. He turns back to his work.

“They grow on you,” Albert says. He flops down across from Charlie, where Race was sitting earlier. “Thing is, I’ve got parents. They’re shit. Jack and Davey – they ain’t tryin’ to parent me, for all I tease’em. They’re just good guys, tryin’ to do their best for other people. Sometimes that’s fuckin’ with the Empire, sometimes that’s takin’ in a teenager with no place else to go.” He shrugs again. “You should hang around. I wasn’t so sure ‘bout’em either, but – I’ve had plenty of chances to leave, and I never take’em. Stayin’ on the Ghost is the best choice I’ve ever made.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asks Charlie.

Albert taps his fingertips on the tabletop. “Because Jack and Dave have done a lot for me, and they’re both real worked up over this. Figured I oughtta do my part.”

 “Right,” Charlie replies.

Albert taps the table again. “Come up to bed, woul’ja? I don’t wan’cha wakin’ me up when you finally burn yourself out.”

Charlie looks up at him. The redhead has a determined set to his expression, like he’s prepared to wait Charlie out if he has to but really doesn’t want to.

Charlie sighs. He’s already committed to spending the night here, he supposes, he might as well sleep somewhere comfortable. He reaches for his crutch, then pulls himself to his feet.

“Fine.”

Albert stands and silently leaves the room. Les had abandoned him two hours ago to recharge, and at that point Charlie had been pretty sure he’d be able to make it through the night without getting caught not going to bed. Charlie follows Albert down the hall and up a shallow stairwell.

“That’s Davey at the end of the hall, with Jack across,” Albert says, nodding toward the front of the ship. He waves at the doors on either side of them. “That one –“ he indicates the one on the right, with a painted silhouette of what looks like maybe a small outpost or town – “is Race’s. Mine is here.”

The door he leads Charlie through is painted too, a little more abstractly. At least, Charlie can’t identify what it’s meant to be if it isn’t supposed to be abstract.

“You can have the lower bunk,” Albert continues. “I moved my helmets.”

“Uh, thanks,” says Charlie. He notices, then, the careful row of helmets placed along the wall. It looks like mostly a mix of different trooper helmets, with the painted one he’d had under his arm when he arrived earlier on the very end. “You, uh –“

“I steal them,” Albert says, not looking at Charlie as he climbs up to the upper bunk. “Whenever we cross with somebody in a helmet I haven’t seen before. It’s a hobby.”

“Right,” says Charlie. He’s pretty sure he’s never felt as wrongfooted in his life as he feels talking to Albert. Everything the kid says throws him for a loop.

Charlie prides himself in being pretty good at reading people. It’s part of what’s gotten him by for the last six years. He’s got a good sense of Jack (kind hearted and brave, willing to stick his neck out for some kid he doesn’t know) and Davey (a bit of a mother hen, but Charlie’s willing to bet he’s sharp as a fucking tack under the bluster) and even Race (playful, silly, smart, more than a little bit broken).

But Albert?

“G’night.”

“Yeah, night.”

Albert, so far, is an absolute mystery to Charlie.

It would almost be compelling, if the row of helmets along the wall weren’t so fucking disconcerting.

--

Albert is gone already when Charlie wakes up in the morning. Charlie finds he doesn’t mind very much. He gets up slowly, reluctant to face having to reconstruct his stupid prosthetic today. When he does, he makes his way as quickly as possible out of Albert’s weird room full of helmets.

Unwilling to commit to starting his work, Charlie follows the sound of muffled arguing down the hall and into the cockpit, where he discovers Race and Davey both half-hidden underneath a panel while Les chirps unhelpful additions from where he’s connected to the computer system.

“That’s not going to work,” Race says.

“We haven’t got much of a –“ there’s a spark, and Davey curses under his breath.

“I told you.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Well you oughtta listen anyway.”

Charlie chuckles.

Race startles, knocking his head against the underside of the console. He scoots out, spots Charlie, then tugs on Davey’s sleeve. “Hey, Daves, look who’s still here.”

Davey wriggles out, too, and pushes a pair of goggles away from his eyes. “Hey, Charlie. Did you sleep well?”

Charlie shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good,” says Davey, “I’m glad. I think Jack was looking for some clothes you can wear, so you don’t have to stay in that if you don’t want to.”

Instinctively, Charlie looks down at the clothes he’s wearing. They’re a few days old, if he’s honest. It’s not wise to go back to his hideout every night, and he’s only got so many clothes and so many opportunities to wash them.

“That your way’a sayin’ I stink?” Charlie says, raising an eyebrow.

Davey chuckles. “It’s more like my way of making sure you know you’re welcome here.”

Charlie hums noncommittally. “Sure. You know where I might find Jack?”

Les whirls his optical sensor toward him. [Jack is outside. Albert is with him. Are your auditory sensors malfunctioning? They are not quiet.]

“That ain’t nice, Lessy,” Race says, aiming a light kick at Les’s nearest strut.

“Race, don’t kick my droid,” Davey says long-sufferingly.

“He’s right, anyway,” Charlie says. Now that Les has pointed it out, he can hear the distant sound of voices. “I just hadn’t noticed before.”

“You go talk to Jack,” says Davey, nodding. “And then you can get some work done on your leg, I’m sure you’d rather have it finished sooner than later. If and when you get hungry you’re welcome to anything in the galley – we usually fend for ourselves for lunch, but we eat dinner together.”

Charlie hums.

“And if you need anything –“

Race elbows him, rolling his eyes. “God, Daves, you’re such a mother flintwing. Let the kid explore, woul’ja?”

“Right,” says Davey. “Just know you’re welcome to come talk to any of us any time. It wouldn’t be a bother at all.”

“Sure,” says Charlie. “Uh, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Davey insists.

Charlie nods and leaves the cockpit, following the distant sound of Jack and Albert’s voices down the stairs and out of the ship. He finds them outside, having a lively conversation over laundry.

The liveliness – at least on Albert’s part – dies somewhat when they notice Charlie’s presence.

“Hey, uh, Davey sent me your way,” Charlie says, a little self-conscious.

“Oh, yeah!” Jack replies brightly. “Here, I found you some clothes that should fit.”

Jack reaches for a few items of clothing in a pile near his feet. He tosses them toward Charlie, even though he’s a little too far away for them to reach him.

Only he keeps his hand open and outstretched, slightly tilted, like he’s guiding them through the air. They come to a strange halt just in front of Charlie, who plucks them out of the air with his free hand.

“How did you –“

“I could teach you sometime,” Jack says, a little more seriously. “If you stick around.”

Charlie looks down at the bundle of clothes in his hand for a long moment, then looks back up at Jack.

“I may have to take you up on that.”

Chapter Text

“What do you know about the Jedi?” Jack asks later that night, after Charlie has spent some time carefully piecing his leg together. Race had sent him away about an hour ago, determined to follow through on his offer to build him a new knee. Charlie had, after a prolonged hesitation, decided it was about time he sought Jack out.

“A little? I guess?” says Charlie, shrugging. “My parents used to mention them sometimes.”

“Your parents,” Jack echoes. He shakes his head, a little sad. “Well, if they’re who you’ve heard from, it probably wasn’t the traitors to the Republic lies the Empire spouts.”

“No,” says Charlie. “More – my momma said a Jedi saved her life once, during the Clone War.” He scrunches his nose, tipping his head to the side as he studies Jack. “Why? You a Jedi?”

Jack nods slowly. “Yes and no.”

“Ah,” Charlie replies, “I see. Everything is clear now.”

“You’re one annoying kid, you know that?” Jack says, but there’s no heat to it at all. It’s the most playful anybody’s been with Charlie in a long time.

“People tell me all the time,” says Charlie. “Ain’t plannin’ to stop any time soon.”

Jack laughs. “’Course you ain’t. You sure you haven’t met Racer before, ‘cause you two have got a lot in common.”

“What, he a little shit on purpose, too?”

“Every damn day,” says Jack, shaking his head. “Anyway – to answer the question you didn’t actually ask, I am a Jedi in the sense that I was raised one, trained one. I was still training, actually, when – “ He pauses, and some old, deep sadness crosses his face. “The Jedi are gone, now. I can’t call myself that anymore, can’t even use the name I used to have, because the Empire hunted us down.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Charlie says, and he can’t even bring himself to tease. It comes out hushed and gentle.

“At the core of who the Jedi were – who we were – was the Force,” Jack replies. “There was a lot of, like, philosophy and shit that came with it, but Jedi are – were – just beings who have a deeper connection than most to the Force.”

“Jack,” says Charlie, still in that hushed tone, “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Jack chuckles. “Yeah, I s’pose you wouldn’t. The Force is – shit, I don’t know. It’s this living, breathing something that ties us all, the whole universe, together. The stronger your connection to it, the better the chance that you can sense things through it, that you can use it to manipulate your surroundings.” He holds his hand out flat, palm up. On it, there’s a small bolt, and as Charlie watches it lifts just off of his hand, turning over and then settling back onto Jack’s skin. “Your little magic trick? That’s you instinctively reaching out with the Force to bend reality a little.”

“Sure,” says Charlie. “How come I can’t always get it to work, huh?”

“Because, kid, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Jack answers. He rolls his eyes. “Duh. Thing is, it’s more than just movin’ shit around. Some stuff just comes easy to you, right? Like refitting a droid leg to replace an old prosthetic?”

Charlie shrugs. “Yeah, I s’pose.”

“That’s the Force, too,” says Jack, “nudging you in the right direction.”

“Instincts aren’t something you can teach,” Charlie points out.

Jack laughs. “No, I s’pose they aren’t. And honestly, I’m not really qualified to teach you anything. But I’m willing to try.”

“What, why aren’t you qualified?”

“Like I said, I was still training myself when the Empire took over,” Jack says, shaking his head. “There’s a lot I still feel like I don’t know.”

Charlie studies him for a moment. Jack isn’t looking at him, really. He’s looking toward him, but his gaze is distant, like he’s looking through Charlie and into some long gone past. He takes a breath, and then his gaze sharpens. Focuses, visibly, on the here and now.

It still feels like he’s looking right through Charlie.

“Charlie, it’s been a really long time since I met anybody with a connection to the Force like yours,” Jack says. His voice is quiet, even quieter than before, and a little rough in the way a voice sounds after crying, even though he hasn’t been. “I don’t know if anyone else even survived. I’d like to teach you what I do know, if you’ll let me, so that the culture I grew up in can survive just a little bit longer.”

The weight of that hits Charlie like a speeder.

“Okay,” Charlie says softly. “When do we start?”

--

Jedi practice – Charlie refuses to consider it training, in the technical sense, mostly because Jack’s self-doubt refuses to let him have any confidence about what he’s having Charlie do – starts the following day.

It starts with more laundry.

Charlie can’t help feeling like he’s being taken advantage of, just a little bit, when Jack tells him the plan.

“In my experience, it’s easier to conceptualize doing something familiar when you’re learning a new skill,” Jack insists.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Charlie, “and the fact that you don’t have to hang the washing out –“

“Completely secondary,” says Jack, but he’s grinning. “Look, kid, I could do it this way, too. Ain’t like I’d be gettin’ my hands all pruny or anything.”

Charlie snorts. “Sure, sure.”

But he does it anyway.

Jack has Charlie focusing on one piece of clothing at a time, lifting it out of the washtub with his mind, wringing it out, and bringing it over to the line for Jack to clip up.

“How come you guys do your wash like this, anyway?” Charlie asks about an hour in. It’s very slow going, since Charlie’s control is shaky at best and Jack refuses to help him. “Be easier to do it in a machine, and a ship as big as the Ghost oughtta have one somewhere.”

“First of all, please do not underestimate how weird Davey is,” Jack says fondly. “He’s Naboo, right? And the Naboo have a whole thing about water. He doesn’t have a, like, normal water washer onboard, so he insists we do it this way when we’re onplanet. Second of all, why not?”

“I don’t know Naboo,” Charlie admits. “I mean, I learned the name in passing in school as a kid, but I don’t know much about it.”

Jack hums. “I’ve never been; we never found our way there before the Empire, and – well, after the Empire it wasn’t a great place to be. It’s the Emperor’s homeworld, did you know?”

“Guess I never really thought about the Emperor as somebody who had a homeworld,” says Charlie. He loses focus, and the pair of trousers he’s wringing falls back into the washtub with a splash.

“Most people don’t,” says Jack. “Even people who were alive before don’t really think about it.”

“You think Davey misses it?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away, instead looking up at the Ghost for a moment before turning back to Charlie. “Yeah, I think he does. But it’s complicated, ain’t so simple as just bein’ homesick.”

Charlie gives up on the trousers, flopping back on the crate he’s using as a chair. “I don’t understand.”

“You were born here, right?” Jack asks. “On Lothal?”

“In Lothal City,” Charlie confirms, shrugging.

“Ever been offworld?”

“Nah. Not yet, I guess. I’d like to someday, but Lothal is my home. I can’t imagine leaving and never coming back.”

“When I was your age, I’d’a said the same about Coruscant,” says Jack. He shakes his head. “But now – I can’t imagine ever going back. It’s hard to explain, you’re so –“

“What, young?” Charlie says, annoyed.

“Lucky,” Jack corrects softly. “That even after losing your parents and all, you still feel so grounded here.”

“Oh.”

“It gets complicated, when you leave because you have to, instead of because you want to,” says Jack. “When the only thing you have left of your home are a few of your old things, or a piece of the style or traditions, or even just the way you speak.”

“But you think he misses it?” Charlie asks again. He isn’t really sure why.

“As much as I miss Coruscant and the Jedi temple,” says Jack, nodding. “As much as Race misses Batuu. Too much to talk about, most of the time.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie replies, hushed.

“We hold onto what we’ve got,” says Jack. He nods at the washtub. “Try again?”

Charlie does, and this time he doesn’t drop them. Jack doesn’t say anything else until he gets the trousers clipped to the line.

“I know it has at least two moons,” he says eventually. “And a lot of water. I’ve heard it was beautiful, before.”

“We have three,” Davey’s voice says.

Jack and Charlie both turn, startled.

“What?” says Charlie.

Jack talks over him. “Davey, I –“

“Moons,” Davey clarifies. “We have three.” He smiles, a little bit wistful. “Jack, love, when are you two going to be done? Race wants to take the Phantom out for a bit to make sure the modifications haven’t affected Ghost’s cloak and scanner scrambler. If you’re almost done he can wait until after dinner, though.”

“We don’t have that much left in the tub,” says Jack. “Probably half an hour if Chuck here stops dropping every third thing –“

“If you were a better teacher –“

“Phantom run after dinner, got it,” says Davey, laughing.

Jack stands, moving toward him. “Hey, Davey, I didn’t mean to, like, talk ‘bout you or anything. I know Naboo is sore for you.”

“It’s my home,” Davey replies softly, shaking his head. “I don’t mind.  It’s like you with the Jedi – sometimes it’s nice to have a chance to acknowledge that it existed.”

“Still,” says Jack, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean for you to catch us talkin’ bout’cha.”

“You never do,” says Davey. “It’s fine, Jack. It wasn’t really about me anyway, was it?”

Jack splutters, looking confused, but Charlie understands what Davey’s getting at. Sure, Jack was taking a guess about Davey. Was telling Charlie what he knows about his (Lover? Husband? Weirdly close best friend? Charlie really can’t tell) partner’s homeworld. But it was at least as much about Jack and the Jedi as Davey and Naboo.

“Naboo has three moons,” Davey repeats, directed more toward Charlie though he and Jack are still only about a foot apart, “and more water than land. It was beautiful.”

“When did you last go home?” Charlie asks.

Davey glances at Jack, so quickly Charlie almost thinks he imagines it. “Naboo isn’t my home anymore. That’s been the Ghost for a long time. But I haven’t gone back since I left.”

“I’m sorry,” says Charlie. Even with his family gone – maybe because his family is gone – the idea of leaving Lothal permanently sits heavily in his chest, aching like a loss even though it hasn’t happened.

“I have a home,” Davey says. He squeezes Jack’s shoulder briefly. “I have a family, even if it’s not the same family I left behind. It’s not so bad as you might think.”

“F’you say so.”

“I do,” says Davey. He throws a playful punch at Jack’s shoulder. “The company’s not so bad here, once you get used to it. I’ll go let Racer know about the Phantom. See you two for dinner in about an hour.”

And he leaves, just as quick as he showed up.

Jack’s gaze tracks him as he goes.

Charlie takes this as an opportunity to smack Jack with a wet sock, which promptly breaks the weirdly serious mood. The whole thing very quickly devolves into a laundry fight, which has Charlie laughing so hard he can’t breathe in minutes.

Yeah, he can’t help thinking, maybe the company here ain’t so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Despite Albert’s insistence that he was going to fight Race for solitude, Charlie stays in his room.

“Until you finish your leg,” Albert had said gruffly. “Ain’t like I sleep here most nights anyway.”

“Thanks,” Charlie had replied. Even then, Albert had known Charlie’s leg was mostly done already anyway.

Only then Charlie had finished reconstructing his leg, and Albert had come back home for the following weekend, and Charlie had stayed.

Albert had come in late on Friday evening – later than the previous week, though not by a lot – his helmet under his arm. Charlie had learned, during the week, that the helmet was a concession to Davey, who hates the idea of him taking a speeder bike long distances without any protective gear. He’s not sure where Albert tucks them away during the week, but he’s sure that Albert isn’t parking anywhere near the Academy, since they’d probably take issue with his extremely vandalized stormtrooper helmet for riding.

“Leg’s done,” Charlie had said, gesturing pointlessly at his prosthetic. Of course his leg was done, this was the first time Albert had seen him standing on two feet ever.

“You can stay,” Albert had replied, and that had been that.

It’s not like Charlie really sees much of Albert, anyway. The other boy – who Charlie has since discovered is just shy of a full standard year older than him – isn’t around much, and when he is he tends to hole up with Davey or with Race or with Jack and not really talk to Charlie much at all.

“You don’t have to leave on my account, you know,” Charlie says one afternoon. It’s a weekend, it must be, because Albert is here. It’s the only day tracking Charlie really has right now – he’s stopped counting, mostly because he doesn’t want to think about his ever-looming birthday.

Albert shrugs. “I spend all week cooped up at the Academy. I don’t like being inside when I’m home if I can avoid it.”

“So you don’t just arbitrarily hate my company?” Charlie says, aiming for a joking tone and not quite sticking the landing.

“No,” Albert replies with a wry smile. “I don’t know you. At best I just arbitrarily dislike your company. Don’t get cocky.”

Charlie smiles.

Albert smiles back.

Still, that’s the limit of their conversation that weekend. They nod at each other  before bed with slightly friendlier smiles than the previous week, but that’s really it.

It’s the following weekend when Albert says –

“You’ve got more clothes than what you came in, right?”

“What?” Charlie says, surprised to have their silence – companionable, but silence – broken.

“You’re still mostly wearing hand-me-downs,” clarifies Albert, “but the clothes you showed up in weren’t all you had, yeah? Did you have other stuff too, just sitting somewhere since you’ve been away?”

“I, uh,” says Charlie, still somewhat stunned. This is the most words he’s heard out of Albert in one go since the week he arrived. “Yeah. I have a hideout.”

“You plannin’ on stickin’ around?”

Charlie hesitates. As much as he hates to admit it, he hasn’t had a place where he felt so much like he belongs in a long time.

“I think I am,” Charlie finally admits. “If you guys’ll have me.”

Albert actually grins at that. It makes him look younger, less oddly serious. “That’ll make Jack and Dave’s fuckin’ week. You ever gonna go back for your shit?”

“Figured sometime I’d make it back to Lothal City,” says Charlie, shrugging. “Dunno when.”

“How’s tonight?” Albert asks.

“What?”

“Tonight?” he repeats. “I wanted to go for a ride. On the speeder bike.”

“All the way to Lothal City?” says Charlie.

Albert shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”

“Don’t you have to go back in the morning?”

Albert shrugs again. “I want to go for a ride. You coming?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says slowly. “Why not?”

“Meet me out here at dusk,” says Albert. “I gotta make sure I’ve got a helmet for you to wear while we’re riding or Jack will skin me alive.”

Charlie laughs. “Alright, as long as you don’t think that’s too late?”

“Never,” says Albert. “I can sleep in class if I have to.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure your instructors love that.”

“I like to live dangerously.” Albert’s grin comes back – Charlie is somewhat surprised to learn that the older boy has dimples. He’s never seen him smile this much. “Eight tonight, yeah? If you’re late I’m leaving without you.”

Charlie nods, and he’s about to say something else when Jack calls him over for Jedi practice. A fittingly abrupt end to the first really companionable conversation he and Albert have had, Charlie supposes.

At eight – well, quarter-to – Charlie finds his way outside. He slips past the common area, where Race and Jack are having a spirited argument over what sounds like maybe different names they grew up with for some creature or other while Davey mediates. Albert is already there when he gets out there, his helmet under his arm.

“You’re early,” Albert says, in his usual blunt tone.

“So are you,” Charlie points out.

“I had to get the bike ready,” says Albert. He gestures vaguely at the bike, behind him. “Hey, here.”

He sets his helmet down, then grabs another one that had been sitting on the seat. Charlie had been expecting to just end up wearing one of Albert’s weird collection helmets, but the one he’s handed is –

Not.

It’s another standard stormtrooper helmet, like the one Albert wears, but it’s been splashed with color – a bright spray of orange, with smears of red and pink that almost resemble the skyline of Lothal City. Along the neckline at the back, Albert has carefully painted the words SPECTRE 6.

(Albert’s own painted helmet says SPECTRE 5 over the eye in the same scrawl.)

“Spectre six?” Charlie reads softly.

“Your call sign,” Albert replies with a sharp nod. “If you’re staying with us, it’s – yeah. I’m five.”

Charlie has heard them use the call signs a few times; every time Albert gets in touch from the Academy, a few times when Race or Davey have taken Davey’s shuttle, the Phantom, out. Les has SPECTRE 3 on a plate in the place where his droid designation should be. No one has yet suggested that he should have his own.

And yet here is Albert, quietly inviting Charlie into their group in his own way. Not even inviting so much as assuming (correctly) that Charlie wants to be with them. Wants to be a part of something bigger than himself, even if that bigger is just a handful of people doing their best.

“Thank you.”

Albert shrugs. “It’s practical.”

“Right,” says Charlie, rolling his eyes. “Still – thank you.”

“Get on the bike,” says Albert.

And that’s the end of the conversation.

They don’t talk, even when they arrive at Charlie’s hideout. Albert doesn’t comment on the state of it, or how few things Charlie is collecting and shoving into his bag. He just watches, silently, and waits for Charlie to declare himself content with what he’s done.

He takes one last glance around. He’s probably never going to come back here.

It’s hard to feel too down about it.

They don’t go straight back to the Ghost. Albert stops in a wide, empty field, and gets off of the bike. He doesn’t immediately say anything to Charlie – just waits for the younger boy to follow.

“This is my favorite spot on Lothal.”

The two of them end up laying out flat in the grass, staring up at the stars.

“You’ve been on your own a while, yeah?” Albert says. It’s the most words he’s said at once since they left the Ghost.

“My parents disappeared when I was nine,” Charlie replies. It’s easier to say now than the last time he talked about it with Jack or Race or Davey – he’s not sure if it’s because he doesn’t have to look at Albert or because he knows without being told that Albert knows what it’s like to be left adrift. “So, yeah.”

“Mine shipped me off to an Imperial Officers’ Academy when I was eleven,” says Albert. “They’re serious Empire loyalists, wanted the prestige of having a high-ranking officer for a son. I couldn’t stomach it.”

“Is that why Davey’s always so on you?”

“I s’pose. I was the best choice to keep eyes on the Imperial Base here, but I know he and Jack both hate that they had to put me back in a place like that. But it’s better, I – it’s better.”

“Do you miss your family?”

“No,” Albert says firmly. “Not a fucking bit. Do you?”

“Sometimes,” says Charlie. “I usually try not to think about it. Sometimes I –“ He breaks off.

Albert pushes up onto his elbow, frowning over at Charlie. “What?”

“It’s dumb,” says Charlie.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Albert replies, serious.

“Sometimes I resent them,” Charlie admits quietly. “For putting the rest of the galaxy ahead of their only kid. For leaving. But I know that’s a stupid thing to – I mean, they were just trying to help people. They were good parents, when I had them.”

“That’s not dumb,” Albert says, like he has any say in the matter. “There’s room in the universe for them to have been good people, even good parents, and still hurt you.”

He waits, looking at Charlie with an intense, hard-to-read expression, until Charlie finally says, “I s’pose.”

Albert settles back onto the ground, looking up at the stars again. “I only asked because I remember how hard it was to trust that Day and Jack and Racer really wanted me around. That the Ghost could be home. It felt almost too good to be true. You feel like that?”

Not in so many words, but yes. It’s a feeling Charlie’s been trying to nail down for weeks.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not alone anymore,” Albert says. “You don’t have to be, at least. We’ll look out for you.”

“Here’s me thinking you just put up with me because Davey said you had to,” Charlie tries to joke. It doesn’t quite land.

He’s still had so much trouble reading Albert, even after a few weeks of interactions. Charlie can admit, at least to himself, that he genuinely wasn’t sure why Albert was still putting up with him.

“I don’t do shit I don’t wanna do,” says Albert.

“Thank you for bringing me to get my things,” Charlie blurts.

Albert huffs a laugh. “I don’t do shit I don’t want to do.”

“Still.”

Albert doesn’t respond.

They lay there silently for a few more minutes, or maybe it’s hours, Charlie isn’t sure. By the time they get back to the Ghost, the earliest strains of daybreak are creeping over the horizon.

There’s a lone figure standing, backlit, in the doorway to the hold. Even from a distance, Charlie can recognize the familiar posture and build – it’s Davey.

“And where the fuck have you two been all night?

Chapter Text

“Look, Davey –“

“Charlie, go inside and get some sleep,” Davey interrupts, his icy gaze not wavering from Albert. “Albert –“

“Davey,” Albert repeats.

Charlie does not wait around to have that tone turned on him.

“Thanks, Al,” he says quietly, brushing past the older boy to head into the ship.

Albert’s hand catches his elbow, just briefly. Charlie glances back, just in time to catch Albert flashing a small, quick smile before it fades away and he looks back to Davey.

As Charlie leaves, he catches the beginning of what is sure to be a drawn out argument between Albert and Davey – or at least, as drawn out as Davey will be able to stand before forcing Albert to get some sleep before he has to leave.

“All of his stuff was still in the City, Davey,” Albert says, quiet but insistent.

“You went all the way to the City?” replies Davey in an equally low and equally firm tone. “Al, that’s such a long trip –“

“Through fucking nowhere,” Albert cuts in, “it’s not like we were gonna get into a crash –“

“You know how much I hate you driving that thing at night,” Davey says.

“It’s fine, we were fine, I’m always careful.”

“Except when you drive long distances at night on fucking Lothal which has the moonlight brightness of a deep cave.”

“You’re exaggerating –“

“Albert!”

Davey’s sharp tone is what puts an end to Charlie’s lingering by the door – he doesn’t want to get caught eavesdropping when Davey’s in that kind of mood.

Albert doesn’t make it back to his room – their room, Charlie supposes absently, given the way his presence has steadily crept through the room over the last few weeks – until Charlie has already changed into sleep pants and disconnected his prosthetic.

“Davey give you a lotta trouble?”

Albert shrugs, climbing up past Charlie to his bunk fully dressed. “He means well. Doesn’t want us gettin’ hurt.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten on the bike with you if I thought I was gonna get hurt,” Charlie says without really even thinking. “For what it’s worth, I trust you.”

Albert pauses. “That’s worth a lot, actually.”

They don’t wish each other good night.

--

When Charlie wakes up the next morning, Albert is already gone. Somewhat unusually, so is Race – he, Charlie learns from Jack, has been coerced by Davey into taking Albert into the City this morning and picking him up at the end of the week.

Jack has Charlie doing Jedi practice in the mornings now, to mixed success on both of their parts, and usually Charlie spends his afternoons working on little projects around the Ghost or its shuttle the Phantom with Davey or Race.

And since today Jedi practice ended with Jack getting dumped on his ass after the tower of boxes Charlie had been supporting with the Force collapsed, Charlie is on the hunt for Davey. It surprises him somewhat to realize that he hasn’t actually seen Davey at all yet today. Usually he’s just around a corner, up the stairs, or in the next room – just a shout away, and always ready to jump in and help if somebody needs it.

He finds him in his room, which Charlie supposes would make sense , if it didn’t feel so odd for Davey to still be in his room this late in the day.

The door slides open without protest when Charlie taps the opening panel, and he’s speaking even as the door opens.

“Hey, Dave, I don’t mean to be a bother if you’re tired or anything, but you’d said you wanted help with the planning for that Empire Day project.”

Davey, sitting on the edge of his bunk with a datapad in hand, looks up as Charlie comes in. “Hey, Char. Are you finished with Jack already?”

“Jack is currently feeling sorry for himself in the galley because his plan for the day was fuckin’ stupid and he got hurt,” Charlie answers.

“Judging from your lack of concern, it’s mostly a bruised ego,” says Davey. “I’m sorry, kid, I’m not really ready for anything involved.”

It’s then that Charlie fully takes in that Davey is still in what must be his sleep clothes – loose trousers in a sort of oil-slick grey, with a coordinating tunic. His feet are bare, his hair is a mess of fluffy, unkempt curls.

Charlie has never seen Davey look this… disheveled.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asks bluntly.

Davey chuckles. “Just tired. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Because Al and I took the bike out?” says Charlie, his brow furrowed.

“You remind me of someone,” Davey says, a little disconnected. His gaze is distant, not quite fixed on Charlie, but somewhere beyond the datapad in his hand. “You both do.”

“Someone dead?”

Davey’s focus snaps back into the present, and he offers Charlie a wry smile. “Someone missing.”

So probably dead, Charlie can’t help thinking, but without the courtesy of closure.

Like his parents.

“I try not to be too overbearing,” Davey says, “Albert tells me I am not always entirely successful on that front. But sometimes living with all of you – not just you and Albert, Race too – just triggers the part of me that used to be the oldest child, always responsible for what my sister and brother were up to.”

“Which of them was the speed demon?” Charlie asks, taking a small guess at what had Davey so worked up.

He smiles again. “Sarah, my sister. I was never certain she’d make it home from the palace in one piece – she was always staying late, even on the nights she came home, doing something or other. I think she just fancied the queen.”

Charlie sits down next to him. “What did she do in the palace?”

“She was a handmaiden to the queen,” says Davey. He taps the datapad, waking it up since the screen had gone dark, showing Charlie the image he’d been looking at when Charlie came in. In it, three dark haired children stand side-by-side with their arms around each other. The tallest of them is obviously Davey, although he has the stretched out, gangly look of a teenager. To his left is a long haired teenager, faintly visible freckles dotted across her nose, and to his right is a kid Charlie would place around ten, with the same bright, wide smile as Davey. Davey points to the one on the left. “That’s her, there. And our little brother on the other side.”

The three of them look happy, in the picture. Bright eyed and carefree in a way Charlie himself hasn’t been in years.

He suspects that it’s been far longer since Davey was.

“I’m sorry we scared you,” Charlie says softly.

“We live dangerous lives, Charlie,” says Davey, locking the datapad and looking at him seriously. “I can’t ask or expect that not to be true. But please don’t be stupid for stupid’s sake. Staying out all night, driving exhausted? Risking getting caught, or worse, risking bringing an Imperial tail back to the Ghost? You and Al are teenagers, and I know better than to expect perfect judgment from either of you –“

“Hey!” Charlie protests.

Davey puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please just spare my nerves, would you? I’ve lost enough family.”

“You consider me family?” says Charlie, stunned. All playful pretense is dropped in favor of pure shock.

Davey gives him a funny little smile for that, like he’s surprised Charlie even has to ask. As if he hadn’t just turned Charlie’s world upside down a little. “Of course I do. I know you’ve only been with us a little while, but I don’t let people just move in willy-nilly.”

“I kind of got the impression you did, given how you just shrugged and let me stay,” Charlie says.

“Jack and I are both very good judges of character,” Davey says, just a faint edge of defensiveness in his voice. “And if you hadn’t been a fit here, you wouldn’t have stayed. But you are, aren’t you? You’ve found a place with us?”

“I have,” Charlie admits softly.

“Good,” says Davey. He puts one arm around Charlie’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. “You are here because we want you here, Charlie Morris. You’re here because you’re family – Jack says he thinks we were all always meant to find each other, that the Force willed it. I don’t know if that’s what I think, but I do know that I wouldn’t give a single one of you up.”

“I wouldn’t give you guys up either.”

Davey lets go of Charlie, bumping their shoulders together playfully instead. “Alright, kid, you wanted to work on the Empire Day project. Let’s get Rebellious.”

Chapter Text

Empire Day, the anniversary of the rise of the Empire, is fast approaching. For Davey’s little rebel group, this means an excellent opportunity to loudly and publicly oppose the Empire.

For Charlie, it means he turns fifteen years old.

He isn’t actually planning on telling any of the others that – he’s been rounding up for months anyway, and if any of them have any concept of his age beyond that vague fifteenish he’d thrown out six weeks ago they haven’t let on. His birthday, ageing, none of it really matters. They’ve got intel – courtesy of Albert, who has been hearing about it constantly ever since that ISB agent arrived, since the Academy’s director wants to impress him – that the Empire is debuting some new prototype TIE fighter as part of the celebration.

They’re going to destroy it.

Charlie isn’t worried about the op. They’ve got Davey’s long experience of fucking with the Empire and Charlie’s lifelong residence in the City. They’ve got the rundown of the Imperial side of the day from Albert. They’ve got an exit plan.

He is, a little bit, worried about Race.

Race returned from dropping Albert off looking a little bit haunted, and when Charlie pressed him (gently) while they worked on a detonator together, he’d waved off his concerns with a vague excuse. But he’s been acting weird all week, shutting himself in his room more and even refusing to talk to Davey.

Charlie hasn’t known him long, but he knows something is capital-W-Wrong.

“I’m worried about Race,” he admits to Jack one morning while they sit in the tall grass trying to Connect With Nature.

Jack hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, you ain’t the only one. Les was goin’ on about it yesterday, and you know that droid doesn’t like to admit he gives a shit.”

“What’s wrong with him, do you think?” says Charlie. “Race, I mean, not Les. Les just has an overactive personality chip.”

“He let on yesterday that it’s something to do with home,” Jack says. He taps his fingertips against his knee. “Dunno what though – I don’t know shit about Batuu or why he left, so it’s hard to know exactly what’s got him all bothered. Could be an anniversary.”

“Could be that ISB agent,” Charlie guesses, looking up at the Ghost’s cockpit, where he can see movement that could be either Race or Davey. “Al said he was due to arrive over last weekend, didn’t he?”

“You could be onto something there,” says Jack. “I’ll run it by Davey later, see what he thinks. In the meantime, we just gotta trust that Racer knows he can come to us when he’s ready.”

“Does he?”

“Know?” Jack shrugs. “Yeah, kid. That’s what family’s for. Lookin’ out for you when you’re not up to it yourself.” He reaches over, squeezing Charlie’s shoulder. “You’ve got that now, too, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Charlie. “I know.” He sighs, flopping back onto the grass. “What am I supposed to be doing again?”

Jack laughs. “Just reach out.”

Charlie stretches an arm above his head.

Jack throws a sock at him. Charlie bats it away with the Force.

“Not literally, smartass.”

“Instructions unclear.”

“I’ll show you unclear –“

--

They’re in Lothal City, and Race is antsy.

“Cool it, Spectre Four,” Davey’s voice says sternly over their comms. “I can see you fidgeting from here.”

Davey is on a rooftop, monitoring.

“I’m not fidgeting, Spectre One,” Race protests, while continuing to shift his weight from foot to foot. He’s standing next to Charlie in the crowd, waiting to watch the parade.

They’re done up to look like siblings to slide under the radar – both wearing civilian clothes, with Race’s wild curls tamed somewhat to better resemble Charlie’s looser waves and just enough makeup on Charlie so that at a glance their face shapes won’t look so different. It’s more for Charlie’s sake than Race’s; he’s a local and it’s hard to know how many people might recognize him and notice that he’s been gone for nearly two months only to suddenly return in new company.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that,” says Jack. Charlie makes eye contact with him across the road. He’s in a little corral of parents of students from the Academy; Charlie was surprised to learn yesterday that he was the parent on file for Albert, under a matching alias.

“You’re going to draw attention to yourself,” Davey chides. “You look like you’re hiding something.”

“Maybe I just look like I need to fucking pee,” grumbles Race.

“Do you?” asks Charlie.

Race pulls a face. “No. I just don’t want to be here.”

“Sucks to suck, Ani,” Charlie teases. It feels… strange, calling him that, but they are technically under cover. “Neither do I. Empire Day is Empire Day.”

Race wrinkles his nose in distaste at the nickname. “You suck.”

“Boys,” Davey says long-sufferingly.

“Thanks, Mom,” Charlie replies, leaning into Race with his shoulder.

“Shut up, would you, they’re starting,” says Jack.

They fall silent, waiting.

First is a small military parade, including students from the Academy. Charlie resists the oddly strong urge to wave to Albert as he goes by. Then the Governor, the Imperial Academy Director, and a very short man in an ISB uniform all stand up on a small stage. Several speeches are given. Race, his eyes fixed on the ISB agent, is practically vibrating with tension.

“You good?” Charlie asks softly, leaning over to Race.

“Hmm?” says Race. “Yeah. Fine. Why?”

“You just seem on edge.”

“There’s a lot could go wrong here. And –“

“What?”

“I know that guy,” Race admits, so low Charlie is almost sure he’s misheard.

“The agent?” Charlie asks, just as quietly.

Race nods, chewing on his lower lip. “Be careful, shortstuff.”

“Yeah, Racer,” says Charlie. “Of course.”

And then –

“And, in honor of our glorious Empire’s fifteenth anniversary, we are incredibly honored to debut the new prototype TIE fighter, designed and built right here on Lothal!” the Governor announces gleefully.

The new TIE is rolled out on a support structure, just as they’d heard it would be. It’s actually even closer to where Albert’s class is lined up than they were expecting.

“Attention all Spectres,” Davey says, “we are go, repeat, we are go.”

And then he sets off a big, brilliant fireworks display from the roof. It was designed by Albert with some artistic input from Jack, vibrant enough to show clearly even against the bright daytime sky. It’s a very, very good distraction.

Albert slips away from his group – Charlie has eyes on him, but everyone else seems to have fallen for their diversion – and over behind the support for the TIE. That’s Charlie’s cue to tug Race by the sleeve down the street, pointing up at the fireworks. To contribute to the distraction while Albert destroys the TIE’s supports and, by extension, the TIE when it comes crashing down.

And crash down it does. Charlie is careful not to turn to look at it before he actually hears the creaking and then crashing sounds.

He makes eye contact with Albert across the crowd.

Albert nods, almost imperceptibly.

Race grabs Charlie’s arm and the two of them start to weave purposefully through the crowd. They have two separate extraction plans for Albert, technically speaking. Depending on which of their two rendezvous points he can get to more easily, he will either meet up with Jack or with Charlie and Race, both of whom are carrying a change of clothes for him.

It ends up being Race and Charlie’s, only that’s when things start to go very wrong.

See, Albert was followed.

“Hey! You there!” a Stormtrooper calls, which Charlie takes as his cue to grab Albert and Race and run like the fucking dickens.

He doesn’t have a specific destination in mind – or, at least, he doesn’t realize he has a specific destination in mind until he arrives.

“Where are we?” Race says, breathing heavily.

“Somewhere safe,” says Charlie. He lets them in. Doesn’t look around, because he doesn’t want to remember where he is.

“Char –“ Albert says softly, and Charlie knows he’s over by the wall that still has pictures up, slightly askew.

“Spectres One and Two from Spectre Six,” Charlie says, activating his comm.

“Go ahead,” says Jack.

“Spectre Five had a tail,” Charlie continues, still ignoring Race and Albert’s concerned gaze. “We had to make an alternate plan. Transmitting new coordinates now.”

He does so, tapping a quick text-only message for Davey.

“Ten-four,” Davey replies. “Stay put, we’ll be to you in five.”

“See you then, Spectre One,” says Charlie.

He taps his comm off.

And then, because he can’t really avoid it any longer, he makes eye contact with Race. Not Albert, because he can’t stand the idea of looking Albert in the eye when Albert is looking at him like that.

“Charlie,” Race says softly, “where are we?”

Charlie sighs, looking around. “Home.”

He’s not sure how or why the Morris home has sat untouched for so long. This isn’t where he’s been living as his hideout, and maybe that’s a factor. Nobody seems to have noticed that it’s been abandoned all this time – or maybe they have, and the Empire left it sitting empty as a warning.

Cross us and you’ll get what they got.

“Yours?” Albert presses.

“It used to be,” says Charlie. “It isn’t anymore. Not since my parents –“

“Right.” Race is pacing back and forth, looking around. “And how long ago was that?”

“Almost six years.”

“I’m sorry.”

Charlie shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m sorry I brought you guys here, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That we needed somewhere to go,” says Race. “And, hopefully, that you can trust us.”

“That I know,” Charlie says. “I just – I don’t like coming back here.”

Race makes a small noise at the back of his throat, sort of indistinct. “Yeah, I gotcha. I haven’t been back to Batuu in years.”

“Charlie,” Albert says. “How old are you again?”

Charlie ducks his head, not meeting Albert’s eye. “Fifteen. Today.”

“Today?” Albert and Race reply in unison. Albert continues, “And you didn’t fucking tell us?”

“No?” says Charlie. “Why would I? We had important shit to do.”

“Because we care about you and you haven’t had a birthday with other people since you were –“ Albert breaks off, silently counting on his fingers – “nine?”

“Birthdays aren’t that big a deal, Al,” Charlie replies, rolling his eyes.

“They can be,” says Albert. “When you let people care about you. Which you said you were.”

“I am!”

“Then you could’ve mentioned –“

“It didn’t exactly feel relevant!”

“Boys!” Jack’s voice cuts in. Charlie whips around, surprised to see him, Davey, and Les in the doorway.

“We leave you alone for ten minutes, and we come back to childish squabbling,” Davey says, amused.

Albert points at Charlie. “Today’s his birthday.”

“It is?” Jack asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” says Charlie. “Can we go home?”

Jack’s expression softens. “Yeah, kid. And then we can celebrate’cha, how ‘bout?”

Charlie wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to celebrate, it’s Empire Day.”

“Not any more,” says Davey. “We trashed Empire Day, remember? Now it’s Charlie Morris Day, and that’s much more worth celebrating.”

Even as a little kid, Charlie had rarely celebrated his birthday on the day – there was always too much else going on. He’s the same age as the Empire, and even in his family there’s no contest for what took precedence.

“Oh,” says Charlie.

Jack throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. “C’mon, let’s show you how the Ghost does birthdays.”

They leave the old Morris home, and Charlie doesn’t look back. It’s not home anymore, really, and it hasn’t been in a long time.

He hadn’t really expected to ever have a real home again. He certainly hadn’t expected the Ghost or its crew or how quickly and readily they’d brought him into their little family.

Charlie walks back to their pickup point – where the Phantom is tucked away with its cloak on – with Jack’s arm around his shoulders while Race and Albert and Davey walk and talk and tease and laugh alongside them.

He closes his eyes, content. He is safe here, and happy, in a way he hadn’t realized before that he wasn’t.

Even with his eyes closed, he can feel the four of them around him in the Force. He still hasn’t mastered reaching out any wider than that or connecting the way that Jack has been trying to teach him, but this little family feels almost like an extension of himself.

Charlie hasn’t had that in a long time.

(Maybe ever.)

He opens his eyes, smiling.

It’s nice to have a home again.