Chapter Text
Before coming to this planet, Lydia had never really realized how much she truly hated sand.
It was everywhere. In her clothes, in her hair, under her fingernails, in her sheets at the seedy hotel they were staying at, in Threepio's joints, in Chewie's fur, everywhere. Lydia didn't know how Scott had done nineteen years surrounded by this grit and grain, but she'd been here barely two standard months and it was already on her nerves.
Lydia was supposed to be sleeping— tomorrow was the big day— but she laid awake on her stiff mattress, coarse sand caught in between her toes, her nerves a tightly wound bundle in her stomach. She hadn't heard from Danny in days, since he'd commed to tell her the droids were in place, but she supposed no news was good news, and they were to go forward with the plan. She'd relayed the information back to Scott, who had left Dagobah this morning, and everyone had been radio silent since.
The suns had set hours ago, but the heat still cloaked Lydia like a thick, heavy blanket, making it even more impossible to sleep. Allison dozed easily in the adjacent cot, her blankets tossed haphazardly on the floor, her snores light enough that Lydia barely heard them. But sleep wouldn’t come to Lydia: she tossed and turned in the uncomfortable bed, trying to drift off— like that wasn't already hard enough for her— knowing that she'd need the energy if they were going to pull this plan off.
Lydia turned over again, wondering how the rebels were faring without her. The past two months had been the longest (and first) military leave she'd ever taken since officially joining the Rebellion, and out here in the sandy wastelands of Tatooine, it was pretty difficult to get a transmission in to Morell, back with the fleet.
The past year had been a waiting game— waiting for Scott to come back from Dagobah, waiting for Danny and Chewbacca to get any clue as to Stiles's whereabouts, waiting for the Rebels to reconvene and lick their wounds and come up with a new plan of attack. It had driven Lydia crazy, all this waiting — with none of her friends around and nothing to distract her from the fact that none of her friends were around, she'd been more tense the past year than ever before while in military command. Though Allison had been a light in the dark— after Scott had left, the other girl had explained to Lydia about her family and her past, and how she wanted to help set things right. While Lydia had a feeling that Scott had put her up to checking in on Lydia, she wasn’t complaining— the two had become good friends in the past year. Having someone to talk to had certainly helped the wait for information on Stiles.
Finally, finally , about three months ago, Danny and Chewbacca had managed to track down Stiles. Jackson mainly lived on Tatooine, though no one but his inner circle really knew where— ironically, Stiles was the only one of them that knew where Jackson's palace was. When Danny had worked with Stiles, he and Chewie had never gone back to Jackson's palace with Stiles after a run— they'd have to stay and guard the ship, while Stiles went to collect their payment. They'd scoured the entirety of Tatooine, until finally they'd found the hideaway in the middle of the Dune Sea, only accessible by a winding road through a dangerous canyon that was definitely a full day's walk. The thought of the walk ahead of her tomorrow should have made Lydia sleep, but still, she tossed restlessly.
The moment Chewie and Danny discovered the place, they'd sent transmissions to Scott and Lydia, and a plan had been developed. Now well set up and underway, Lydia prayed to any god in the galaxy listening that they were able to pull this off.
It had been a year, and she couldn't do it anymore. She needed Stiles back by her side.
***
Scott jumped out of his X-Wing, grimacing at the squelching noise his feet made as the marshy ground squished beneath him. As much as he enjoyed learning from Talia, he wasn't going to miss this jungle much.
Lydia had just sent him the message— Danny had reported to her that the droids were in place, and the plan was in motion. He had probably three standard days until Lydia and Allison went in— they had considered a plan to get Stiles out by themselves, but they had finally decided that Scott and his werewolf powers were an asset they shouldn't ignore.
He tramped through the swampy terrain from his ship back to Talia's small hut in the jungle. He could see her sitting by the hearth as he entered, her robes wrapped around her, and Scott couldn't help but notice how much more tired she looked. Every day since he'd come back, she'd looked paler, more exhausted, more fragile; it scared Scott, how this powerful Jedi could suddenly look so... worn down and frail.
“Lydia just commed,” Scott told her. “The droids are in place.” He paused. “I have to leave in a few days, to help them,” he added, as an afterthought.
Talia didn't put up a fight— she just nodded. “Your training is complete,” she said quietly, and even though she looked worn down, her eyes still held all the power and wisdom they had the day Scott had met her.
“Am I officially a Jedi now?” he asked, grinning. Talia rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
“No,” she said. “Were you going to run off to save your friends without a weapon?”
“Well,” Scott said sheepishly, “I don't have a lightsaber anymore, but I do have a blaster.”
“Jedi don't use blasters,” she said bitterly. “The only thing I have left to teach you is how to construct your own weapon. You have to build your own lightsaber.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Scott asked skeptically. Call him crazy, but there weren't exactly lots of metal scraps or power cores or anything lying around, waiting to be turned into lightsabers.
“We'll find you the parts you need,” Talia said, waving her hand faintly. “But you still need something to power it. Most Jedi used very rare kyber crystals, which are mostly found in the hidden caves on Ilum, or on Jedha. Sith will forge synthetic crystals, which are more powerful, but also more dangerous.”
“So where am I supposed to get a kyber crystal?” Scott asked. “Jedha was destroyed years ago by the Empire. Do I have to go to Ilum?” That would definitely put a damper in their rescue mission. Ilum was on the complete other side of the galaxy.
“No,” Talia said, and she surprised Scott, reaching for her lightsaber. “I want you to have mine.”
“Yours?” Scott asked incredulously. “But— what about your lightsaber?”
“Scott, I'm old,” she cut in. “Too old for this. I don't need this anymore.” She gestured to the weapon in her hand, the last of its kind, just like them. “But you — you are the first of a new generation of Jedi, that, after this war, you can train to restore peace in the galaxy and the Force.” She twisted the hilt of her lightsaber, and it came apart in her hands, revealing a brilliant, tiny crystal in the center power core, shining brighter than the two suns on Tatooine. She plucked it out carefully and handed it to him. “It seems only right that you have this crystal. I am the last of the old generation, and now, with this, I pass the ways of the Jedi on to you. The entire Jedi Pack will be with you always, in this weapon.”
Scott wordlessly took the crystal from her.
“Thank you,” he murmured gratefully. He looked up from the brilliant gem in his palm to meet Talia's eyes. He hoped she understood how much this meant to him— that she, the greatest of all the Jedi, was trusting him to carry on their legacy. But there was something caught in his throat, a lump of bitterness and self doubt that had been growing and growing since his face-off with Vader on Bespin. Could he be trusted with the Jedi legacy, given who his mother was?
He'd asked Talia briefly about Vader, upon arrival here. She had tersely said it was true, and they hadn't spoken of it since. He was too scared to bring it up again.
“Scott,” Talia said, softly, but sternly. He looked into her eyes, and he could see the truth there— she knew who he was, and she wasn't afraid of him.
“Stop doubting yourself,” she insisted. “And go save your friends.”
Scott nodded his head. Regardless of who his parents were, there was no way Scott was letting down his friends, not now, not ever. He looked down at the crystal in his palm again.
“You better get working on that,” Talia said, smirking. “If your lightsaber's going to be ready in time for you to save your friends from whatever disastrous mess they get themselves into.”
Scott grinned. She was right, he had work to do.
***
Danny wasn't going to lie— the thing that nauseated him the most about Jackson's palace was the smell.
The palace was dark and musty, infused with the smell of rotting flesh in the prisons below and the stink of pungent creatures Jackson kept here as his entourage. Between the Gamorrean guards, the rank stench of the musty prisons below, the pet Kowakian monkey-lizard Jackson had, the bitter smell of spice always present in the air, and the actual Hutt himself, locked up in a palace with no outside light or fresh air or anything, on a planet where it was always at least a hundred degrees in the sun— Danny was slowly suffocating.
He'd been here about two months, posing undercover as a guard in Jackson's throne room, and just seeing what went on here made him wish he'd never worked for or done any favors for the Hutt. Jackson and his posse feasted on endless food and liquor, while bands entertained them with loud music and singing, Jawas fanning them with huge fans of exotic plumage. They would torture fugitives the bounty hunters dragged in for fun, beating them and starving them and locking them up in the prisons below. Almost all the workers here were slaves, forced to feed and serve Jackson and the others while heavy chains hung from their necks. The complete and utter disregard for basic rights and respects made Danny's blood boil. Sure, he'd been involved in illegal escapades before acquiring Cloud City, but this— this was a completely different level.
The worst part, though, was the slave girls.
There were maybe ten or fifteen of them, humans and Twi'leks and Tholothians and other beautiful humanoid sentients, forced into skimpy outfits that barely covered anything, each fitted with a metal collar and heavy chain, so that Jackson could pull them to his side whenever he desired. They'd be forced to dance for the crowd, or stripped naked and paraded around, or handed off to the bounty hunters or guards for the night as reward. Every night they'd be auctioned off to the male sentients in Jackson's posse, except for the Hutt's few favorite girls, who he'd drag off, quite literally, with him.
It made Danny sick .
Today was the day that the droids were supposed to be arriving, if everything was going to plan. He'd been secretly passing intel out to Lydia and Allison for the past two months, who had then relayed it to Scott, and based on Danny's inside information, they'd carefully formulated a plan. The girls were staying in Mos Espa right now, learning their parts and preparing for their role in the plan.
Danny couldn't wait for them to get here so that he could get out of here and burn this place to the ground.
It was hot today— too hot for the girls to dance, so they merely lounged around Jackson in their skimpy costumes, fanning themselves with their hands and holding their heavy chains away from their bare flesh. Jackson himself was subdued by the heat, as were most of the other bounty hunters and scum hiding out here— Rodians, Aqualish, a few Dugs and Grans too, all sitting still in the smothering heat.
The little blue Ortolan that directed the band had them playing something soft, more baroque recital-esque than the music they generally played while the girls danced. The heat had sapped everyone's energy— even the creepy-looking Baragwin, and the lizard-like Amani, who generally stalked around, showing off his bounty hunting prizes— three dried-up skulls on a sharp stick— were sullen and still in the corner of the room. A group of Weequay pirates sat at a table, mumbling together quietly. Kate Argent was here too, and Danny had never seen her without her signature Mandalorian armour on, but now she sat sullenly at a table, clothed in just dark pants and a tank top, her blasters in her lap and her chestplate on the floor next to her. Jackson sat silently on his dais, Jawas fanning him, and his favorite slave girl— an emerald-skinned Twi'lek— pulled up close against him.
Danny was anxious, waiting for the plan to be put into motion, so that they could rescue Stiles and get out of here. They should be here today, unless he'd lost count of the days— it felt like he'd been here a lifetime—
Danny surveyed the room of overheated, reeking creatures, desperate for something, anything, to happen to let him know his friends were alright. Something caught his eye, in the dark hallway leading from the throne room to the fortified front door. A gleam of something metallic, gold light bouncing off the dark walls— Danny's heart sped up, hoping upon hope that this was who he thought it was.
“We come bearing a message for Jackson the Hutt,” a metallic voice said, and Danny was positive the voice was C-3PO. If they were here, Lydia and Allison were still okay, and the plan was moving forward. “And—” R2-D2 beeped along, and Danny realized the protocol droid was translating his binary— “a gift.” Threepio paused, evidently confused at whatever Artoo had said. “Gift? What gift?”
Danny heard another voice respond in rough huttese, before Threepio cut in with, “I'm afraid our instructions are to give it to Jackson himself. I'm terribly sorry, he's ever so stubborn about these things.”
The rough voice responded again, before the voices ceased, but Danny could hear metallic limbs moving upon the sandy floor. With very disgruntled beeping, R2-D2 glided around the corner, C-3PO shuffling along behind him. Danny breathed a sigh of relief.
Jackson's second-in-command, some Twi'lek with pale, sallow skin and long lekku that he wrapped around his neck, led the droids into the throne room, right up to Jackson's dais. Two Gamorrean guards brought up the rear, saliva dripping from their tusked mouths and running down their jowls.
“Just deliver Master Scott's message so we can get out of here, Artoo,” Threepio lamemted. “Oh, I have a bad feeling about this.”
“What?” Jackson snarled in Huttese, as the music quieted and his slave girl darted away from him, Jackson's grip on her chain loosened. The Twi'lek moved closer to him, whispering something behind his sallow hand. Jackson grunted a response in Huttese, but Danny's grasp of the language was pretty basic, so he missed the phrase.
The Twi'lek said something else, while Artoo twittered nervously in front of the crime lord. “The message, Artoo, play the message!” Threepio snapped in hush tones.
Artoo beeped again, backing up before projecting a shining blue holo in front of him. Suddenly, Scott was standing in the middle of the room, though he looked different than the last time Danny had seen him at the rendezvous point— older, more powerful, clothed in a sleek, all-black ensemble instead of dusty farm clothes or fighter pilot suits.
“Hello, Jackson,” Scott said, a subtle smirk on his face, and Danny didn't miss the dangerous edge in his tone of voice. “I’m Scott Skywalker,” the holo continued, “Jedi Wolf, and Captain Solo’s friend.” Jackson's eyes narrowed, as whispers raced through the court, alarmed at the mention of the long lost Jedi. “I know you’re mad at Stiles,” Scott continued, and malicious pleasure shined in Jackson's serpent-like eyes, “and I don’t blame you. But I need him more than you do. I’m coming to Tatooine to meet you, so that we can make a deal for Stiles’s life.” Jackson grunted in anger at that, and the court hushed again. “I hope we can settle this without anything getting too messy,” Scott said pleasantly, but even in the holo, Danny could see the aggression in his eyes— he wasn't letting anything happen to his friends, not if he had anything to say about it. “But I’m warning you— I know you’re powerful, but I’m stronger. And I’m coming for my friends. I’m coming for everyone.”
“To show you I don’t want a fight, I have a gift for you— these two droids,” Scott said, his hands sweeping down to indicate Artoo and Threepio.
“What did he say?” Threepio cried in dismay. “Master Scott would never! Artoo, you're playing the wrong message!”
“I'll be seeing you soon,” Scott concluded. “Thank you.”
The holo faded away, and Jackson laughed, clearly amused by Scott's thinly veiled threats. He gestured to the Twi'lek, who herded Artoo and Threepio from the chamber, probably to be fitted for restraining bolts. The court jeered at the message as the orchestral music started again, Jackson's monkey-lizard howling shrilly and his Twi'lek slave girl chained and sitting prettily in front of his sluggish body on the dais.
Danny's eyes slid from the dimly lit crowds of low-lifes to the far wall, the best lit place in the whole castle. Hanging there, harsh lights shining down on it, was the slab of carbonite with Stiles inside, strung up like a painting in a museum.