Chapter Text
The Marauder settled onto a docking bay on Coruscant.
You checked your reflection one last time, making sure everything was in place.
“Well… this is as good as it’s going to get,” you muttered.
Stepping into the common area, you found Hunter standing by the ramp. His armor looked slightly shinier than usual, as if he’d put in extra effort to appear presentable.
“Ready?” you asked.
“Let’s get to it,” he replied.
The two of you walked in silence toward the Jedi Temple. Guards let you pass without question. At last you reached the Council chamber. You drew a steadying breath and glanced at Hunter; he gave you a small, reassuring smile.
You pushed open the great doors. The marble floor gleamed, and the faint hum of repulsorlifts vibrated beneath your boots. Around the circular room, council members appeared both in person and as shimmering blue holograms.
You bowed. “Masters.”
Hunter followed suit.
“What do you have for us, young Veyra?” Master Plo Koon asked.
You explained that a contact had provided a data disc containing intelligence on a new Separatist weapon. Slotting the disc into the projector, you showed the Council the holographic schematics. Hunter remained mostly silent, adding only concise tactical observations.
“With how far I’ve already taken this mission, I request that my squad and I continue the operation,” you said.
Master Windu’s eyes narrowed. “I am not convinced that’s wise. I’ve heard of your… questionable use of the Force on Cerea. To say I’m unimpressed is an understatement.”
Your heart sped up. “Masters, I—”
Master Ki-Adi-Mundi cut you off. “This could be a turning point in the war. A more experienced—and stable—Jedi should handle it.”
Stable? Excuse you?“Master Plo Koon will be appointed to this mission,” Master Yoda decreed.
The words hit like a stun blast. My intel. My mission.
“Masters, I would really appreciate—”
“The answer is no,” Master Windu said sharply.
Hunter stepped forward, brushing your arm. “We’ll take our leave, Masters.”
You didn’t even bow before turning on your heel and storming out, practically running through the temple halls.
“Vee, wait up!” Hunter called.
Tears threatened as you quickened your pace, cloak snapping behind you.
“Vee!” Hunter caught your elbow.
“They don’t trust me,” you snapped, struggling to keep the tears at bay.
“That doesn’t mean you throw yourself into a fight you can’t win,” he said gently.
His fingers brushed your forearm. For a moment, the two of you locked eyes. You exhaled sharply and pivoted away, continuing toward the Marauder.
You sat outside the ship, leg bouncing with pent-up fury. You’d made it clear to Hunter that you did not want to talk.
How could they take the mission and hand it to someone else? It was your intel.
You were so lost in thought you didn’t notice the figure leaning against the archway of the ship, rifle slung but idle.
“When I’m pissed, I spar,” Crosshair said dryly. “You look like you could use it.”
You glanced up at him. He wasn’t wrong. Punching that smirk of his might feel amazing.
You stood, shrugging off your robe. “No sabers. Hand to hand.”
Crosshair gave a half smile. “Didn’t plan on bringing a rifle to a fistfight.”
The two of you slipped into a quiet training room—rarely used these days, with Padawans learning their craft in real battles.
You squared your stance.
The first exchange came fast: a quick jab, his sidestep, fingers brushing your sleeve as he redirected your momentum.
You pivoted, driving a sharp kick toward his midsection.
He blocked with a forearm and countered with a low sweep.
You hopped over it, landing light, pulse rising.
Again—strike, block, feint.
Each movement sharpened your focus, burning away the Council’s sting.
His style was maddeningly controlled, every dodge a quiet taunt.
“You call that a fight?” he murmured.
“Try harder,” you shot back, lunging forward.
He caught your wrist mid-punch, twisted, and you spun with the motion, breaking free before he could lock the hold.
Your palms met in a sudden clash, both pushing, breath mingling.
For a heartbeat you were nose to nose, his grip warm around your forearm.
“Better?” he asked, low.
“Not yet,” you whispered.
Neither of you moved.
The air tightened, the room shrinking until there was only the thrum of your heartbeat and the flicker of his eyes.
Crosshair leaned in and caught your lips in a kiss. Right there, you forgot about everything. The war. The council. The code. Just his lips. His tongue began to lick at your lips begging for access which you eagerly gave him. Your tongues begin to dancing together and exploring each others mouths.
Crosshair then kicked your leg out from under you and pinned you to the ground, hands above your head. Your heart started racing. All you can think is that you want more. Your hips began to involuntarily grind against his. You could feel his length. Hard.
He moved your hands into just one of his hands and the other went to your throat, lightly cutting off oxygen. You let out a little whimper and you could hear him chuckle.
“Sounds like you want someone else to be in charge for a bit don't you general?” Crosshair whispered in your ear. You clenched around nothing. Your hips still grinding into his.
The hand that was around your neck made its way under your tunic. You heart rate spiked.
You loose your vision and suddenly you see your younger self again, surrounded by the red lighting. The younger you looks scared.
You snap back to reality. “No… I can’t” you breathe.
Crosshair immediately reclines back, removing himself from you. “Your call General.”
He stands up and offers you a hand to help you up which you shyly take.
You sat in the cockpit of the Marauder, mind replaying the day’s events. So many emotions twisted together: frustration, confusion, something else entirely.
Why had the Force shown you that vision of your younger self?
Was it warning you?
Trying to stop you from breaking the Code?
The comm station blinked with an incoming transmission. You tapped the control.
Anakin’s voice came through, background noise of blaster-fire and shouting.
“We’ve got a situation. Need the Bad Batch—and you, Vee. Coordinates en route.”
The transmission cut.
Hunter stepped into the cockpit, meeting your eyes.
“What are your orders, General?”
You drew a steady breath. “Get Tech to power up the ship. We’re meeting the 501st.”