Work Text:
Burnin Konn was not a pretty or peaceful planet, it was not free of the Empire, and it was not home to an abundance of places to hide, Bo-Katan wasn’t sure why she’d smashed these coordinates into her navigation system, but she’d landed and stumbled off into the carbon dusted plains, winding her way into harsh lit craigs and moved right to the nearest bar to drown herself.
Losing track of the time wasn’t hard; losing the looming memory and the still persistent ache in her bones was impossible. Even through the numbness of alcohol burning in her veins, she could still feel the bruises and the gross stickiness of blood, seeped into the fabric of her flight suit and plastering it to her skin.
No one bothered her as she sat at the bar, too involved in their own troubles and the aches of the Empire; just like her. Patrons came and went, yet Bo-Katan remained, frozen in her stool even as the Republic broadcast was forced to life in the room. The walls started to close in as the destruction of Mandalore was recounted with nonchalance, as the holo projected the demise of her people, home, and everything she’d ever fought for.
Her glass smashed into the top of the bar with a clatter, Imperial credits were tossed onto the counter, and bodies were shoved past on her way from the muggy interior. The alley wasn’t as bright as the entrances of the craigs the people had built their lives in, the smell of sulfur and wastewater hung thick in the damp air, and the sounds of drilling equipment from far below
Her hearing was fuzzy- had been since her comms erupted with the sounds of bombs breaching Mandalore’s atmosphere and crashed into the cities of people, a dull, persistent ringing echoing through her skull and into her very soul since losing communication with all planet-side forces.
A clatter at the end of the alley yanked her attention from the pattern of stone, pulling her westar and firing a blind shot into a metal can. A tooka scurried from the shot, hissing and yowling as it scurried past Bo-Katan and to the open world of winding tunnels outside.
Swallowing the rapid beating of her heart in her throat and forcing the shaking in her hands to still just enough to stow her blaster, Bo-Katan’s shoulders drooped, the toe of her boot catching in a murky puddle as she approached the damage.
“Bo-Katan,” A voice from behind had her wishing she hadn’t stowed her blaster, finger itching towards her holster as her head turned. A thick cloak covered the broad shoulders of the Togruta, though Bo-Katan wasn’t able to focus much on their appearance as a planet-rumbling explosion occurred from one of the mines below, sprinkling debris from the cavernous ceilings of the little craig.
She wasn’t on Burnin Konn anymore, instead she found herself trapped on the surface of Mandalore, trying to escape the explosions as bodies succumbed to the flames around her, passing bloodline after bloodline, clan sigil and sigil, knowing that because of her , the clan would never be sung again, that it was her fault .
“Bo-Katan,” There were hands grabbing onto her arms, she could feel the dull pain of her wrist sprain like it was in another body, far away from Mandalore and the ruination of her people. “Bo, can you hear me?” The voice was distorted, echoing and faint, like Ursa’s voice when she called out for Bo-Katan upon realizing what the two members of Clan Kryze had left to do; failing in every aspect of the mission she’d set out on.
Her back hit the wall, armor scratching against the stone as she slid down it, her chest rattled with each breath, as if her lungs could not contain the fire and ash of destruction any longer, as if her body had finally grown weary of all the war . She could feel a gross, thick wetness as her ass landed in the puddle, but like the pain in her injuries, they were felt through another body in another time. She had to keep moving, if she could just save one Mandalorian, this would be worth it-
Strong fingers pressed into her jaw, a calloused thumb stroked around the tender skin of a bruise on her cheek. “Alright, come on, let’s get you up,”
There was no fight to be had when the other woman moved her, Ahsoka had grown tenfold since the last time Bo-Katan had seen her, packing on more muscle than even most Mandalorians that Bo-Katan knew or… had known.
“Where’s your helmet?” The Togruta tried once more as she settled the Mandalorian’s arm across her shoulders, her arm wrapping tight around Bo’s waist as the redhead’s weight leaned entirely into her.
Bo-Katan did not respond, could not respond even if she wanted to as her fingers curled into the thick fabric of Ahsoka’s cloak. “Alright, we’ll figure it out later,”
Even with her mind’s split between realities, Bo-Katan still memorized the turns Ahsoka led her through. Right out of the alley, left into the lifts higher in the caves, right out of the lift, right into a less crowded housing section, and left to the third building on the seventh level carved into stone.
Etchings in the stone promised safety in the markings of Agent Fulcrum, worn away by the years but carved as a truth, somewhere safe ; possibly the only place the remains of the Galactic Empire could not hurt them. At least, that’s what she had to tell herself in order to allow Ahsoka to guide her past the threshold.
“Just a little further,” Ahsoka promised, though Bo-Katan’s legs refused to comply with her orders to move, knees locking as the muscles in her legs quivered, shaking with the weight pressing down on her until failure sent her careening towards the floor comprised of mostly ‘soft’, dusty rugs.
Ahsoka’s fingers hooked into her back plate, stopping the woman’s chest and face from smacking into the floor as her arms moved too sluggishly to be useful in catching herself.
Getting the Mandalorian back up was a struggle with the weight of all the armor, Ahsoka had to cheat with the force to haul her up. “Here,” Groaning in effort, Ahsoka managed to get Bo-Katan to the work out couch in the center of the small home. Two doors, no windows, small vents, only one way out.
Kneeling in front of Bo-Katan’s boneless form on the couch, Ahsoka reached for her face. The Mandalorian did not shy away as the younger woman’s larger hand moved to cup her face, leaning into the warmth offered as chartreuse eyes blinked open at last. “There you are,”
“Where’s Sabine?” Bo’s lips pulled into a wince as her voice slurred like the sloshed liquid in the emptiness of her stomach, threatening to come back up.
“She’s safe,” Was all Ahsoka could disclose, even if it burned the defeated Mandalorian up, she could still breathe a weighty sigh of relief; Clan Wren was not ended by her cowardice, it lived on in Sabine, now, like Clan Kryze now rested entirely on her own shoulders.
Ahsoka did not ask, and Bo-Katan didn’t offer as the dar-jetti pulled her armor away, the smell of sulfur and the electric smell of scorched armor and fabric released into the small safehouse as battle ruined clothes were removed.
“Will the New Republic do anything to help?” Bo-Katan asked at last as she sobered, goosebumps rose on pale skin as Ahsoka passed her a damp, mostly clean, rag to clean away blood while she prepared Bacta.
“Bo, Mandalore never…” Ahsoka exhaled, focusing hard on the patch of busted blood vessels under the older woman’s skin, purple and green blooming far and wide to cover her abdomen in an ugly bruise. “No, they probably won’t,” Bo-Katan scoffed at the answer, allowing the silence to sit between them once again, this time simmering as they handled the bare minimum of putting the Mandalorian survivor back together.
Wounds tended to and grime mostly cleaned, Bo-Katan reached for her flight suit. “You can’t seriously be going back out there.” Ahsoka argued, rising from the floor to place her hand on the woman’s arm.
“ Somebody has to see if there are other survivors,” Bo spat venomously, yanking her arm from the Togruta’s hand to shove her legs into her pants, securing them without giving Ahsoka another look.
“By getting yourself killed? That isn’t the Mandalorian way,”
“You think I’ll be a Mandalorian when this is over?” The laugh that bubbled past her lips was raw, bitter, furious, everything Bo-Katan was supposed to have grown from; everything she was the first time Ahsoka had met her, all those years ago.
“If the Republic won’t help,” Shoving her arms through her jacket, the woman started fighting her armor back on over her limbs. “Then I’ll do it myself.”
“Sabine will lose you too,” Ahsoka pointed out, nose twitching as she watched the mess of a Mandalorian finish forcing her armor back together in record speed. “You can’t do that to her,”
“Watch me,”
At least The Force was on Ahsoka’s side, as Bo-Katan pushed for the door, shoulder bumping harshly into her own without care, Ahsoka was able to slip the datacard with her plans on it into the woman’s holster, not even questioning where her second blaster had gone; Bo wouldn’t have answered even if she wanted to know.
“When you grow up, come find me,” She remarked sourly, after the door slid shut behind the redhead.