for his_majestys_navy : a star wars story

[hotspurs]

He shouldn't be here. That's becoming clearer and clearer with every passing hour.

All Horatio is, at the moment, is another mouth to feed. The sheer accident of his vague association with the man they actually needed was far from a reason for them to be keeping him here. Soon enough, he's certain, the whim that had struck Pellew to keep him around would be lost, and his extraction would be a messy thing--or, perhaps, a painfully clean one.

It didn't matter where they left him, after all. There wasn't anything left to go back to.

If he were any use at all, it would be different. If he could be trusted with a ship, then his desperation would be easy to channel. If he could be trusted with a weapon, then his life could be thrown into usefulness. But every soft hint of a suggestion gets quickly shot down by Pellew with the same tired sigh and stern instruction.

He needs to find some measure of control.

It isn't enough that he's learned to keep his face in a mask of stillness. It isn't enough that his voice rarely breaks and his tone rarely shifts. It's the something inside him--the hurt and the fear and the voiceless rage he can't be rid of--that needs lashing down. It's that, Pellew has to point out far too often, that keeps rocking the debris around him when he loses even the tiniest bit of his focus. It's the grey that threatens to pull any usefulness in him crashing down into simply being a liability.

The frustration of being made to stay when everyone else moves is, unfortunately, a source of liability all its own. Standing on the sidelines as a scouting contingent of the little fleet prepares to move again puts a certain crackle into the air just around him--nothing solid, nothing overly forceful, but distinctly there.

This is exactly what he's meant to be fighting against. This is what needs to clamp down and stifle so that the universe flows through him in a balance rather than sticking muddily to the darkness in his chest. It helps when movement beside him pulls focus from the ships he's been gazing mournfully toward. The man he steps back to make space for, after all, is likely even more frustrated than Horatio himself that the young man is still here.

"Commodore."

Comments

[hotspurs]

"If you like."

Taking power from the weapon system would be easy enough. Having the suggestion come from James is something of a relief, of course; trusting his own ability to outmaneuver is one thing, but forcing someone else to is a far more difficult thing.

The tools are briefly abandoned to whistle at the droid. The little astromech struggles slightly on the uneven marshy ground, but settles with a pleased little series of beeps as Horatio nudges a panel open. Giving the programming physical nudges always helped after a rough landing.

Besides, it was something to do with his hands and attention while wondering how to answer the rather abrupt question about himself. 'Home,' at this point, feels entirely wrong to say. No one was left, after all. No one was waiting for him. The places which had felt so familiar in his youth had felt strange and unknown in the hollowness of knowing there was no one left.

"...where I grew up." That's better than 'home.' That feels a little closer to the truth. "On a T-16. More efficient than hunting on foot."

[his_majestys_navy]

James is not Force-sensitive, the possibility has never come up, but anyone can see that home is not a wholesome or pleasant topic of conversation, and he has no desire then to continue if it is to cause distress and upset, or even simply cause Horatio any pain. They have a painful present, losing fighters as they do with every battle against the Empire. They don't need to drag up hurts carefully buried.

"You fly very well. Pellew said you did, but sometimes it isn't until you see such a thing for yourself that you believe it."

He doesn't think Horatio will take the compliment, despite the truth of the matter. He seems, likely many of the pilots James has come to know, rather shy of his own ability. But if he truly has, as Pellew claims, the abilities of a Jedi, perhaps that is to be expected. Pellew himself seems to have no ego per se, simply a knowledge of what he can do. There is nothing boastful or retiring.

[hotspurs]

The compliment does seem to squirm through his shoulders with the bucking discomfort young people often have when their self-worth has yet to build up properly. There hadn't been much time, of course, to bolster and fuss when he was growing up; there was simply always work to be done, and now there was a war to be fought.

The comment about Pellew, however, has his attention flitting over to the commodore again. His hands keep moving with easy familiarity for the moment, continuing to encourage the little droid's wiring into a better configuration, but his hopeful eyes study the older man's face to be certain of the truth.

"Hm."

His aunt and uncle had been wonderful. His sense of family had been generally uncomplicated. But there's no disguising the flickering clarity in his features that Pellew has felt like a father for some time now, and that even this glancing approval needs clinging to--despite knowing that the master would chide him for clinging to much of anything at all.

"Did you? Before...?"

The droid's panel is snapped shut again as Horatio waves vaguely at the half-sunken X-wing. The idea that the man might direct ships through the galaxy without having spent time piloting himself is utterly incomprehensible.

[his_majestys_navy]

James has been watching, as best he can, the careful work on the droid's innards. He has very little skill at such things, beyond what is necessary and needful. Still, while he cannot see exactly what Horatio's fingers to within the casing, clearly it does something beneficial, as the droid seems much happier for the attention.

But then the work seems to be done, and the case shuts with a strange finality and James shifts, to glance at the half-submerged craft. "I did." He replies, to the unfinished question. "My family believed that it was a needful skill."

He need not mention why, he need not discuss that as habitual soldiers, his line has served the military power in the galaxy, and that has been, for quite some years now, the Empire. James himself has served, as a young officer, unimportant, before he fled. How his family had served such an evil, he can't explain, nor understand, but he is trying to make up for it now.

"Although I fear I am terribly out of practice."

[hotspurs]

Horatio means to turn his attention back to laying out the tools. An old ship comes with an old kit, after all, and the long dark will be well-spent if rust can be cleans and edges can be sharpened.

But as the droid sets to its updated scanning and the fire crackles quietly between them, he finds his attention shifting back toward the older man. It's always strange, looking for the shadows of things in the faces of others. He can almost imagine slightly younger features framed by a flight helmet. He can certainly imagine the man as he is now, closing his eyes for a heartbeat to think back and put himself in his pilots' places.

It's reassuring, Horatio decides. Perhaps that sense of security is what lets him ask another personal question before his sense of guilt catches up with him. "Do you miss it?"

[his_majestys_navy]

There's a quick flicker of an expression, of perhaps it's just the flickering flame of the fire between them making it appear that the Commodore had almost smiled.

"Oh, very much so. But there are younger people with better reflexes. I'm more use back at base."

Which is not to say that he would not fly, if he had to. He has the feeling he will have to remember, before this war is over. It unsettles him a great deal, knowing he may have to, but he will do what is needful.

"Did you expect to be a pilot? Or did you hope for something else?"

[hotspurs]

"No."

The easy answer seems to startle Horatio faintly, brow furrowing as his attention drops back to his hands. Perhaps it was simple a matter of fairness (of balance, Pellew's voice practically rings in his mind). James hadn't needed to share any piece of himself either.

"It's..."

It's odd, realizing that it would be easier to talk about the Force than to piece through this scrap of family history. The thought is so absurd that Horatio pushes his breath out in a huff and forces himself to barrel through.

"...I wanted to be. It just always seemed... impossible. It wasn't what most people did."

[his_majestys_navy]

James listens, trying to learn something more about this strange young man with strange, extraordinary abilities. He knows Pellew of old, but the man has rarely displayed his talents, so much so that there are those who think the man is an old fraud. But fraud or not, James believes his judgement is sound.

But what of Horatio? James does not believe someone like this young man could be a fraud. He seems too shy, too uneasy just in himself.

"You mean, you wanted to be left alone?" He asks, trying to find the clarification. He isn't entirely sure what Horatio might mean otherwise, and after all, Pellew would rather be alone, out of the way, in a backwater planet where nothing ever happened.

[hotspurs]

"Maybe." That would be an easy place to leave the thought, under usual circumstances. "No."

They aren't out of the thick of it yet. They're going to need to trust one another in increasingly desperate situations. As uncomfortable as it is, as much as it catches in his chest and furrows his brow, Horatio can't completely bury himself in his own silence and expect their fight to safety to go well.

"I wanted to belong. And... I felt like I did, flying."

[his_majestys_navy]

James listens. He can tell that the conversation is not the easiest for the young man, and part of him knows he should change the topic of conversation. But he wants to know more about this strange young man that Pellew has taken under his wing.

It takes a great deal to admit to what Horatio just has, and James appreciates the honesty, despite how uneasy the young pilot is.

"I didn't feel like I belonged until I joined the Rebellion." He offers. His family name is no secret, neither is his past. It can't be, if he hopes to lead men and be part of this movement against evil, but he does not often talk of it. "The Empire is not a collection of individuals, no one is unique or special. One can not have their own dreams. It's as bleak as it sounds, if not more so."

[hotspurs]

It helps that the older man slips so easily in an equally difficult truth. It helps that, sitting here on a strange planet far from safety, they're finding solid enough ground to tread together.

"They're lucky to have you."

It's almost a 'we.' It can't quite be a 'we.' Perhaps, once the X-wing has been dragged free and returned to the Rebels, it will begin to feel like a 'we,' but it isn't quite yet.

"Is... it easier now? To-- have your own thoughts?"

[his_majestys_navy]

"It's quite the contrary, I'm lucky to have them."

James can't help the slight uplift to his features, the smile that appears. The situation is perilous, the risk to each and every individual who assists their fight against the Empire is dire. But they must fight, they must resist. They all know that the risk outweighs the reward should they succeed.

"I'll admit, it is almost natural now." James looks up at Horatio again, the faint smile still there. "And every day it becomes more so. But being able to think like one of their officers has helped our cause on more than one occasion."

[hotspurs]

Horatio doesn't mean to notice the twist of the other man's lips, but he does. In the dusky firelight, he catches the slight brightening of features and the peaceful contentment of a man with a calling.

In another life, it would be incredibly easy to let his heartbeat quicken.

Dropping his attention to his hands helps him breathe in the fact that he isn't going to let his heart go anywhere at all. There are far too many reasons that it has to stay exactly in place.

"What will they be thinking now?"

[his_majestys_navy]

James own head dips, at least for a moment at the question. He knows full well what their enemy will be doing, and he knows very well that he needs to rendezvous with the rest of the rebels as soon as he possibly can. But good sense tells him there's nothing that can be done tonight. Better rest, and set to work again in the morning.

"They'll have searched the wreckage of base by now for anything useful, an indication of where the others have gone, and where we intend to go next. Not finding that, they will systematically begin to search every habitable planet just beyond the hyperspace jump. Thankfully, that is simply a rendezvous."

The new base will be in place now, gearing up. Their absence will have been noted but Pellew will ensure no one does anything foolish, like going back to look for them. The Jedi knows to move forward with the next stages of their plan.

"Luckily, they will not think to search for any waifs and strays in the middle of a swamp."

[hotspurs]

There isn't much they can do now. The best they can manage tonight will be surviving with the beginning of scraps of a plan to get moving in the morning. They'll ruminate, and they'll rest, and they'll start fresh by dragging the craft free.

"We'll be all right, then."

It's a broader 'we,' this time. Pellew is someone Horatio can imagine himself as a 'we' with, after all--and Pellew is surely keeping things in hand while James is away.

"That's not nothing."

[his_majestys_navy]

"I'm sure we'll be safe from the Empire." James says, with a slight glance at their current surroundings, refraining from saying they might not be safe from anything else.

"Will you stay with us as long as your mentor?" There had been a Jedi school once he understood but that was years ago. Besides, Horatio seemed almost too old to learn such a craft.

In truth it is not a question asked because he is pondering the education of Jedi but more so wanting to keep his hands on a capable young pilot as long as he can.

[hotspurs]

Concern about what might be lurking beyond the edge of the fire light doesn't seem to ruffle Horatio. What gets his forehead wrinkling again is the question about Pellew.

It might have been an easier answer a day ago. It might have been easy to believe that, for all the turmoil of their time together, Pellew might not mind having something akin to a padawan trailing along in his wake for the foreseeable future. But now?

"...if he still wants me."

This might well be the last straw, after all. This had been a stretch of rashness, of impulsiveness, of pure emotional responses that stretched out as a damning accusation against Horatio's capacity to control himself. There's even the flicker of bitterness in his voice as he toys idly with the edge of his own sleeve.

"I imagine he'll want to-- send me back."

[his_majestys_navy]

Horatio's reaction to what James thought had been a simple, friendly question reveals to him just how little he knows of these Jedi and their ways. He had thought that as Pellew would assist with the Rebellion, that Horatio would stay also. He had already proved himself to be capable, and he has now saved James' life.

"I can not imagine why he would not." He says, unaware of Horatio's internalised fears, his worries, and all the training Pellew has already overseen.

"The Rebellion needs you, whether you are a Jedi or not. You're a good pilot, a good man. That's what we need to face the Empire, Horatio. If Pellew will not have you, then I will."

[hotspurs]

Dozens of reasons jump to the tip of Horatio's tongue. Dozens of little flaws begin peppering his thoughts, magnified through the lens that every prick of self-hatred was another fault Pellew would find with him.

The sensation of his heart thudding against his ribs as James continue is another strike against him. It's just that, for the moment, Horatio can almost manage not to care.

Maybe it would be enough to learn to clamp down on the connection he had with the Force. Maybe it would be enough to find a way to keep his emotions from bleeding too far into his sensitivity, to create a bastion against the Dark even if he couldn't quite manage his way to the Light. And then maybe he could spend whatever was left of his life looking up at the man now seated across from him--a man who actually wanted him.

"Thank you, sir."

[his_majestys_navy]

"It's my duty and my pleasure to tell you the truth, Horatio."

James will offer a brief smile, and then turn his attention to the fire, poking it with a booted foot and then picking up a long gnarled stick in order to encourage a little more heat and a little more light out of the flames.

It was hot and sticky when they first arrived, but it is cooler now. Much cooler, and neither of them is really dressed for an evening in the wilderness. Horatio's flight suit might keep out the worst of the chill, but James' rebel uniform is hardly made of the warmed fabric. Still, perhaps some of the contents of their stricken X-wing will offer some sort of thermoblanket.

[hotspurs]

There's that flicker in his chest when James smiles at him. There's another little reason not to linger here any longer than they need to.

Horatio shifts to his feet for a moment, stretching the kinks from his spine after all that time hunched and tinkering over the droid. Besides, it will likely shake more wakefulness back into him despite the darkening skies.

"I'll take the first watch. Try and get some rest."

There would be plenty to do when the light returned, after all.

[his_majestys_navy]

James will do as Horatio instructs, opting not to remind him that James is, in fact, the senior man here. Rank means very little at this point, when there is simply the two of them, when they must rely on each other.

So he settles, as best he can, into sleep. It is brief, haunted sleep, but that is no different now to any other opportunity he has to rest. He has never been one for long, deep sleep, and after a couple of hours, he is awake again, shifting to try and get the stiffness from his muscles and his eyes adjusted to the low light.

"I think that is all the sleep I am likely to get."

[hotspurs]

It's enough time for Horatio to need to refuel the fire. It's enough time for instinct to creep him slightly closer to where the other man rests, worried after warmth.

It's not enough time for James to be thoroughly recovered after his encounter, Horatio suspects, frowning slightly as the older man begins to stir.

"We could-- try for something warmer, if that would help."

[his_majestys_navy]

Horatio is right. He isn't fully rested, and unfortunately, despite the fire earlier, the dead of night is cold and damp and that soaked very easily into a still body. Especially one a little older and less used to sleeping outside.

He shifts, a little slowly, a little stiffly, with an unhappy expression on his face. At himself, for being so silly as to think sleeping on the ground would be comfortable, for not insisting that he took first watch.

"What do you propose?"

[hotspurs]

"We've got the pilot chute."

The material would have to be unpacked--and would probably be useless if they did need to make a jump later. Then again, the entire X-wing was currently useless.

"If we both--"

Trapping one person's body heat would be helpful. Trapping two people's body heat would be far better. It isn't a terribly big piece of material to be working with, but being pressed together would help with the chill as well.

It still feels strangely awkward to suggest, with the older man's kindness still lingering against his ears.