Chapter Text
Grian did not visit for a week straight.
He was fighting with himself. The rebels would almost certainly not want to see him. He had- he had betrayed them, for goodness sake. He would be the last face they wanted to see.
Scar had ordered for them to be treated with care. Stormtroopers had come to fetch the fallen, unconscious bodies of Grian, Scar, and Pearl’s temporary comrades when Scar had composed himself enough to make the order. The rebels had been taken to unused bunkers. They were not the most comfortable rooms, but there were enough of them that they could all remain in close proximity, and could still see each other, and could still roam around, and could still be mostly comfortable. Scar had to station guards outside the door for protocol purposes, and had the locks on the doors leading into the section of bunkers reinforced.
Pearl had been unhappy with the news. She did, however, see how wrecked Grian and Scar were about it, too, and understood their reasoning. And did, in the end, support it- she had known, too, since the beginning, that there was no way they could really be friends, that they could really be members of the Rebellion. And she understood it was for their safety.
Grian sighed as he picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. He was sitting in Scar’s office, curled up on an armchair, hugging the puddle of red that was his poncho against him. Scar had gone to take care of something, something that did not require Grian’s assistance. He’d seemed sorry to be leaving, though he’d explained, profusely, that he had to anyway.
Glancing at the clock, Grian didn’t even process the time. He stood, making a decision, and strode out the door before he could change his mind.
The guards at the door had let him in without question. Grumbot had followed him somewhere along the way, rolling behind him as he entered.
He was met with the glares of eleven pairs of eyes and the annoyed, accusing whirs of two droids. Grumbot began to beep a response, and Grian raised a hand at him. The droid silenced without any hassle. In the same motion, Grian’s hand flew in the direction of the single camera, pulling it off the wall with the Force. Scar would let him off the hook for that one.
“Ah, Elytra,” Cleo drawled, leaning against the table she’d been standing at. “How nice of you to join us.”
“Did they finally arrest you for treason?” Jevin asked. Grian closed his eyes and prayed to the Force for patience, both for him and for them.
He turned to Cleo. “It’s just Grian,” he said, resigned. They snorted, but said nothing in response.
Already, Grian was regretting this. Of course they hated him. He didn’t blame them. There was nothing stopping him from turning around and walking out, back to a life privileged by his job and status within the Empire. Nothing was stopping him, other than his own want to see them, and his own fear of being cowardly.
Everything was stopping them. If one of them tried to leave, the guards would stop them. If one of them tried to leave now, with Grian there, he was obligated, by his job, to stop them. And he hated it.
A medical droid bustled past him, walking over and looking over each of the rebels. He nearly asked what it was for, but False beat him to it.
“Some of those stun blasts hit pretty hard, Grian,” She said, somehow still lightly teasing. Normal.
“I- sorry about that,” he replied awkwardly, anxiously drumming his fingers against his blaster.
“Sure you are,” Martyn said, rolling his eyes. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll tell us what was going through your head when you and the Inquisitor pulled that.”
Grian flinched and took a deep breath, sorting through his thoughts and possible responses. He chose his words carefully, closing his eyes again before he spoke. “There was too much danger,” Grian finally said. “You all were going to die. There was no- there was no way that could have ended well.”
“You said there was a chance,” Gem said softly.
“A slim, point-o-twenty-three-fucking. Fucking small out of multiple thousands chance!” Grian couldn’t stop himself from shouting, feeling bad when Gem recoiled. “I didn’t lie to you. What Sc- what the Inquisitor told you is true. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Not betting your lives. I figured you’d be smarter than that!” Grian felt his voice rising even further, yet he had no kindness left to dedicate to controlling it. “With your numbers, I- you’re soldiers , dammit! You should know you can’t- you couldn’t- I told you not thinking you’d actually try it, you all- you aren’t that stupid, you wouldn’t bet your lives on a chance, a hope-”
Impulse laughed, shaking his head with a wide smile. “Grian,” he said, “rebellions exist because of hope. They’re built on it. It’s their main fuel. We would never get anything done if we weren’t willing to die for a chance at hope.”
Grian’s words died in his throat. “But, still,” Impulse continued, smile growing rueful. “I would like to hear the rest of your reasoning.”
“I-” Grian cleared his throat, unsure of how to continue. “I told you that they’d notice if an entire Star Destroyer fell off the map. They would’ve found you, they would’ve killed you. We- we weren’t gonna let that happen.”
“There was no way you could’ve made it out of there alive. And- I- Scar- the Inqui- Scar is going to make sure you’re safe. He and Pearl are working on falsifying identification for you. I think her plan is to take you back to Coruscant with her when she’s done with her summit here. She’ll-” Grian made himself take a breath. “I believe she will still try and help the Rebellion however she can. She has a taste for it now, I think.” Gem and Impulse both wore soft smiles at this. “She might even just- just take you right back to the Rebellion. But we needed to do this. So that you didn’t die doing something stupid.”
“And live as Imperial prisoners?” Cub asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Once this whole counsel is done, Scar will request that his own ship be brought back for a prisoner transfer. I- I doubt they’ll let us get away with you all on mine again. We’ll take her back to Coruscant, and you with her. Once you’re off our ship, you basically have free reign again. Unless you get in other trouble. Then you might just be screwed.” Grian sighed and tried to smile.
“So you saved our lives just to throw us back into danger?” Cleo asked. They still did not seem at all pleased with the matter.
Grian sighed. “You all seem very dedicated to the Rebellion,” he said, closing his eyes again. “We’re not gonna take that away from you. But Scar and I couldn’t stand there and just let you die.”
“You wouldn’t have just been standing there,” Gem said softly. “Wouldn’t you have helped, been in the fight?”
“To a degree,” Grian said, barely hearing his own words. They felt so heavy to say. “There would have been a limit to what we could do. Scar and I are Force users, there’s- there are so many risks. And Scar knows Grand Inquisitor Shel- the Grand Inquisitor will be, um, decently alright with us keeping you alive. Just- just not participating in your schemes. She’s fully capable of killing us all.”
“So you did it because you’re selfish,” Cleo said slowly. “Disguising it as selfless?”
Grian blinked and sighed, willing himself to not feel the energy in the room around him. It was times like this where he hated his awareness of the Force, when eyes were boring into him with contempt and regret and the still raw, open wounds of betrayal. He made himself meet their eyes, hoping that they could see his dilemma, his hopeless defeat. “Can’t it be both?”
Grian did not want to hear their response. He didn’t have to, though. There was none. Stress was smiling, sharing a knowing look with Gem. She turned to Grian, switching the hand she held her drink in “So his name is Scar, huh?” She drummed her fingers against the table. Grian must’ve looked taken aback, as she chuckled lightly. “You corrected yourself once. It wouldn’t be this natural if it wasn’t his name.”
Grian didn’t know what to say. He shrugged, silently cursing himself for revealing one of Scar’s secrets, too, but trusting that Scar would be okay with it. That was how he was.
Grumbot beeped beside him, something about him being needed for something. Grian fought the urge to roll his eyes at the summoning as he glanced around at the people in the room- the glorified prison cell- around him, and ducked his head.
“May the Force be with you,” he whispered, as he turned on his heel and strode out.