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Chapter Text

The silence in the Crucible was palpable. It was empty, except for the droid inside and the saber pieces that stocked the hull. Huyang sat in the cockpit, staring into the depths of space.

The silence was thick after so many distress calls. Calls Huyang couldn’t respond to sat on holotapes at the console, and more was to come as Huyang purged the onboard holorecorder. Even if Huyang were to return the calls, he was sure that nobody would be on the other side to answer. At least, not anybody that would be reliably Jedi.

He stood from his seat as the holorecorder purged the last of the messages and printed them out as tapes. He didn’t dare activate a single one as he stacked them delicately on top of one another and carried the pile of them to the archival sector of the Crucible . It had only recently been built and it was already being put into action and over something so grim.

He took down a voice recorder from one of the shelves as he set the holotapes up in their own shelf. The Crucible archives were all made of voice recordings from himself. This would be no different.

He clicked on the recorder as he stood in the empty halls, fingers tapping against the metal shelves in an attempt to self soothe.

“Three cycles since the start of the Clone Wars. The Clone Wars have ended but I fear that a new era of violence has started in its place.

“The Order has been... The Jedi have been announced to be traitors to the Republic. I don’t know what we have done, but I know the consequences to be unjust. I’ve been getting distress calls. Several hundred of them. Most overrode each other with how many there were. I have yet to receive word from Grandmaster Yoda about what to do with myself. I…” Huyang trailed off, the tapping of his fingers gaining in speed slightly.

“I don’t know what to do.” Huyang laughed, his vocoder warping around the noise. “I don’t know. I want to respond to the distress calls I can. I want to help them. They are grown, most are knights or masters or padawans that know better now but they are my students.

“It’s torture. It’s cruel. It’s… The Order is their home. It’s my home. I fear what will happen if I dare to fly to Coruscant space in order to see what has happened to the younglings in the Temple. I fear what I will find.”

Huyang went silent. He could hear his plates shuddering slightly with his overwrought processor, his vents puffing out hot air. “I’m sorry. This is supposed to be an objective archive. I am inside the Crucible . I flew as far away from Coruscant space as possible. I’m in Wild Space currently. While I wish I could help, I hold too much information that I must protect first and foremost. As my programming dictates.”

Huyang went silent, staring into the empty shelves. “I’m awaiting a call that isn’t a distress beacon. Anything. I haven’t gotten one. I fear the worst. I fear that I am alone.”

Chapter Text

The Onyx Cinder was a silver plateau in the midst of the salt flat. The star in the center of the planet’s rotation lock set to the east of them while its 3 moons rose above, two more peaking over the white and red peaks of salt covered mountains.

Huyang stood under the Onyx Cinder , an old beaten up toolbox settled on the ground next to him and SM-33 staring up at the open panel under the ship with him.

SM-33 reached up to his helm, flicking on a flashlight under his empty eyesocket. Huyang winced, photoreceptors squinting and he glanced at his companion.

“… Thank you.” Huyang muttered, looking up at the panel and the sparking wires within. “Honestly. I’m surprised this thing is still in one piece, Thirtythree.”

“Eh. It was what me crew had on hand. Ain’t perfect but it works.”

“Uh huh. And that’s what had us breakdown on Crait?”

SM-33 turned his head to look down at Huyang, who lifted a hand to block the LED from blinding him. “Oh yeah, and you can do better?”

Huyang huffed, “I have a doctorate, Thirty-Three. Of course I can do better.”

“Well, go ahead, doctor .”

Huyang let out an amused noise and 33 let out the droid equivalent of a snort.

Huyang worked on the Onyx Cinder late into Crait’s night. The night cycle on Crait was long and cold. Every once in a while, Huyang had to rub his hands on his apron to conduct heat for his aged clicking joints. SM-33 stood by like an ever watching gargoyle, providing Huyang light and occasionally reaching up himself. As the night grew colder, SM-33 took over and Huyang was the one handing him tools.

SM-33 growled, “Go inside and get a coat or somethin’, yer joints sound awful.”

Huyang asked, “You don’t need my help?”

“I won’t be gettin’ help if ya freeze out here. Go get them Jedi robes or whatever ya wear.”

The professor turned, making his complaining joints work to clamber onto the ship and get some clothe to warm himself up.

He was just slipping on the robes he had taken up as his own over the Imperial War before the lights on the Onyx Cinder flickered on. Huyang looked up and turned when he heard the engine deep in the ship’s belly start up with a grateful purr.

Huyang stepped down from the ship, calling to SM-33, “Engine is on!”

SM-33 let out a triumphant whistle. “Atta girl,” he pat the maintenance panel closed, turning to Huyang as he approached. “Thanks. Fer workin’ on her.”

“Of course.”

The droids stood in amicable silence, staring up at the twinkling stars decorating Crait’s sky. “Ya ever been on Crait?” SM-33 asked, rough voice an almost whisper.

“Yes,” Huyang replied. “However, I never got to appreciate it. Anytime I came here, it was because I had to make an in person report to the Rebellion. I haven’t traveled here since the Imperial War ended.”

“Mm. An’ ya were pretendin’ to be a fleshy while you were here, too. Can’t imagine you’d be paying attention to a lot of things while doin’ that.”

Huyang only grunted.

SM-33 and Huyang went quiet, not saying a word until SM-33 opened a storage compartment in his torso.

“What are you doing?” Huyang asked.

“Hol’ on, getting something… There.” He took out an old durasheet box, aged and worn and flicked it open. Inside was a dwindling supply of deathsticks.

“You can smoke?” Huyang asked, watching a small deathstick shaped holder with a wire coming from the back extend out from under SM-33’s helm.

“Yea. Can you?”

Huyang shifted, looking up at the stars again. “Ehh… technically.”

“Maker’s sake, ‘Yang. You want a ‘stick or not?”

“… Yes. If you’d be so kind.”

SM-33 handed a deathstick to the older droid, Huyang taking it with his fingers and placing it in between his faux metallic lips.

“Didn’t take ya for the type,” SM-33 hummed, taking out a lighter from the same storage compartment.

“I picked it up over the Imperial rule. Smoking is a fairly good tool to use when pretending to be organic.”

“And ya kept at it?”

“Mm-hm. It’s one of my vices Lady Tano is unaware of. I don’t smoke on the T-6 , not anymore at least.”

“How ‘bout that Crucible of yours?”

“Stars, no. That’s incredibly against the Jedi code and therefore my programming.”

“That never stopped ya,” SM-33 chuckled, elbowing the skinnier droid in the side. He lit his deathstick, asking the professor, “Need a light?”

“No, thank you. I have my own.” Huyang lifted a hand, forearm unfolding to reveal the blowtorch built into it. He lit the stick with the very tip of the flame as it hissed to life and then folded his arm back up just as quickly. “But… I suppose you’re right. My programming never stated that I could copy organics, but then it never said anything against it either.”

“Never said you should smoke?”

Huyang’s photoreceptors squinted, letting out a higher pitched considering noise, “Wellll… It’s not necessarily stated on durasheet to be against the Jedi code.”

SM-33 only hummed in agreement, photoreceptors to the stars.

The droids stood together on the cold salt flat and stared up as if the greater galaxy were about to whisper its secrets to them.

“I started smoking because it made my processors quieter.” The old droid spoke after several long clicks of silence.

“Mm? That so?”

“Yes.” Huyang exhaled through his vents, smoke lifting from his facial plates and dancing in the night sky like lonely ghosts. “I found myself haunted by the faces of the past. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. What had happened. What my old students faced. The messages calling for help. The blasters. The screams. But I think the silence was the worst of all. I’ve seen many a jedi die in combat, but never so… viciously. So completely. I knew that empires were designed to fall, but the Order falling was as sudden as a solar flash. I was alone so suddenly. I don’t think I’ve ever truly recovered from it all. Deathsticks… the nicotine and smoke gave me reprieve, if only for a few moments.”

The two droids were silent, SM-33 turning to look at Huyang who still had his helm tilted back, gazing at the stars.

“If it's any consolation,” SM-33 offered carefully, smoke twisting around his helm in their own arcs. “I don’ think I’ve recovered from what I lost. I don’ think I’ll ever recover. Rennod was me Cap'n’. Fleshbag that he was, but he was a good fleshbag. He was me maker, me friend… Somethin’ a little more maybe. At least ye knew as soon as it happened that they were gone. I didn’t. Couldn’t even remember it until Captain Fern told me ta. Then it hit me like a railspeeder, everything I lost.”

“I’m sorry,” the professor sighed, “That sounds awful. My condolences.”

“Eh, yeah, well, ’m still functionin’ ain’t I? And so are you. That’s what matters. I bet if those meatbags saw us right now, they’d be damn happy we’re still here ta remember 'em.”

Huyang chuckled. “It feels like that’s the only reason I’m still here sometimes. To remember. I’m tired of remembering. I want to learn. I want to travel. I want to see the galaxy and beyond. I want to see it all.”

“What’s stoppin’ ya?”

Huyang sighed sadly. “The jedi are still here. So I will still be here. Until I’m needed no longer.”

Huyang took the deathstick out from his mouth, heaving out a cloud of smoke before dropping it to the salt and crushing the embers under his heel. SM-33 watched him as he pulled his robes closer, fingers tapping restlessly at his shoulder. Then he turned and called, “I’m going back on board. My gears are complaining. We can leave whenever you’d like.”

SM-33 watched the older droid retreat back up the walkway of the Onyx Cinder before turning back to look at the stars. He grumbled to himself, “Fancy ass cult.” He dropped his own deathstick to the ground and stamped it out with his good foot. He turned and headed back to the Onyx Cinder .

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, you want to take me where for my first time to a droid bar?”

“Ta Nar Shaddaa! C’mon, it’s nice, promise.”

The two droids currently stood in the 1974 ’s cockpit, Huyang blocking the larger pirate droid from even thinking about getting into the copilot seat.

“I can say with the utmost confidence that it’s not. Why don’t we go to Coruscant? Or somewhere that… isn’t in Hutt Space and rampant with crime?”

SM-33 let out an exasperated huff of noise from his vents, head rearing in a pantomimed eye roll, “I wouldn’t be takin’ ya there if I didn’t think we could handle ourselves.”

“ You might be able to handle yourself! I’m a Mark IV, I’m at a far higher risk of dismemberment than you are!”

“Aye, but you’ve survived for this long haven’t ya? You can handle it. You act like you don’t have the balls when you’ve been rallying against the Empire without an organic through the entirety of the war!”

“That’s. Well, that’s different.”

“Is it?”

Huyang folded his arms, fingers tapping restlessly on his forearm. Finally he grunted, exasperated, and spoke, “Fine. Okay. But we’re not taking the T-6 .”

SM-33 tilted his head, “It’s yer turn to drive.”

“I am not flying the T-6 into Hutt space. If something happens to it, I’d have to explain quite a bit to Lady Tano.”

“Fine, fine. But yer drivin’ for the next two trips.”

Huyang had never been so anxious on a trip with the pirate. He felt ill just thinking about where they were going. And for a bar! A bar that SM-33 swore by? Surely, it must have some merit if the larger droid liked going there.

It didn’t soothe Huyang’s anxieties though. This was new ground for him to cover. He’d never been to a bar before, much less a bar dedicated to droids. Those were rare and far between in the galaxy, and even so, he never felt the need or desire to visit one. Between the Imperial War and keeping himself online over the years without the Order, he’d never really had the memory space to consider it.

When SM-33 had heard of Huyang’s lack of “fun” though, he immediately suggested it.

Huyang had entered a sort of power saving mode once they entered hyperspace and roused when SM-33 spoke from the pilot’s seat. “We’re here.”

Huyang sat straight with a creak of his aging joints and looked out the transparasteel. Nar Shaddaa floated before them, the amber moon’s atmosphere filled with gray smog and the cities sat on its surface brimming with lights.

It looked just as intense as Huyang recalled it in his databanks.

SM-33 flew down through the smog coated atmosphere, no atmospheric patrol calling their comms to ask them for their business to speak of. The Onyx Cinder soared down towards an industrialized section of the city. Huyang blinked as lights and flickering billboards blinded his photoreceptors momentarily before refocusing. The buildings were tall and stretched up to the smoke in the skies, made up of metal and covered in a wide variety of lights. The ship lanes were crowded with traffic, and the Onyx Cinder expertly carved through the crowd, going down, down, down.

The further down they went, the darker the city got. Natural light trickling through the smoke in the atmosphere diminished rapidly and soon, the only lights were the neons of billboards and signs.

The professor asked anxiously, “It’s here?”

“Aye. There’s a hangar down here ta park and then you walk the rest o’ the way.”

Huyang let out a tiny anxious noise from his vocoder and SM-33 sighed. “If yer so anxious, why don’t ya take out them lightswords?”

“I have them in my storage compartment.”

“Then there’s nothin’ ta worry about!”

SM-33 maneuvered the ship down towards a hangar that has certainly seen better days, figures staring up at them as the Cinder lowered itself down carefully like an organic settling into a warm bath. Several pit droids and old astromechs scrambled out of the way as the modified mint ship shimmied into the space.

“Are you sure it’s safe to park here?” Huyang asked, standing from his copilot seat to help switch off the power to the engines as SM-33 started locking up the cockpit.

“Aye, it’ll be fine. Jus’ need ta triple lock the maintenance hatches and landing gear ‘n’ we’re set.”

Huyang grunted, letting out some hot air from his vents. The older droid was happy for SM-33’s caution, relaxing a little more.

“Also,” SM-33 spoke up. “You definitely cannot wear that apron.”

Huyang blinked, looking down at it and looking back up at SM-33, “What? What’s wrong with it?”

“No, and I mean no, droid is wearin’ something like that in this district. That thing is way too expensive looking. Jus’ th’ belt, if you can. Remember, most these droids down here are pirates or thugs or whatever, not toy makers.”

Huyang huffed, “A lot of rules to this outing.”

“Lookin’ out for ya. I’ll wait outside for you, go put yourself together.”

SM-33 stood outside of the Onyx Cinder , a deathstick hanging out of his modded mouthguard as he waited for the professor. He saw the occasional repair jockie take a peak at him and the ship curiously, but quickly rushed away when SM-33 gave a warning with a whirring huff of smoke from his vents.

He perked up when he heard Huyang’s footsteps on the landing ramp and turned to look up at the architect.

Huyang was only in a leather belt, to his credit. Not only that, but it looked like he rubbed himself down in an oily rag to tone down his blue and white paint job. Artificially placed grime was pressed into the gaps between plates and stained the white of his torso and legs where it would conceivably gain the most wear and tear. SM-33 didn’t think he’d ever seen Huyang without some form of covering over his pelvis.

SM-33 whistled, slipping the deathstick out of his mod. “Well, well, well, who’s this pretty old thing?”

Huyang groaned, “Oh, sod off.” But SM-33 could hear the flustered puff of air that came from Huyang’s vents.

SM-33 raised the landing platform with his keys and made sure to lock down everything he conceivably could on the Cinder . He even locked the landing legs to the hangar to ensure someone couldn’t fly off with it.

Huyang watched, arms folded and feeling more than a little nude without his apron. SM-33 came back, stuffing keys and the keycard for the hangar locks into a storage compartment on his person.

“Alright! Ready ta go. C’mon ‘Yang, let’s get ya buzzed!”

Huyang mumbled, “I’d rather not be too intoxicated, thank you.”

“Ah, whatever ya wanna do. This is supposed ta be about ya feelin’ yerself! No organics, no base programming, jus’ you and whatever yer processor desires!”

Huyang let out a considering noise, and started when he noticed the pirate already hobbling off into the metal jungle of the droid slums. He jogged a few steps to keep up and fell in step with him, arms folded behind his back and his fingers tapping anxiously at his wrists.

SM-33 walked with large loping strides through the crowded streets of the industrialized district, Huyang practically stepping on his heels with how close he was staying to him. Every once in a while, the professor would reach forward to grace his fingers over SM-33’s arm, and he would slow down a little to let Huyang look around before they would proceed. SM-33 glanced at the older droid, who currently had his head on a swivel. It made sense, Thirty-Three had to admit. He was the same way when he first came here with his old crew.

Soon, work stations, repair shops, and upgrade stations started fading away into blacklight shops. Here, there was a little more organics than none at all. Being a pleasure droid made decent credits, especially for organics with… interests to say the least. Huyang was quick to avert his gaze, staring directly at the floor and Thirty-Three and his peds. SM-33 didn’t mind though. He gave a polite nod to the occasional flirtatious wave from a few robotic escorts and made a mental note to come back around without the professor to indulge himself.

He told himself he would be starting the older droid light.

Huyang asked, “This is it?”

“Aye.”

SM-33 and Huyang stood before a bar that was crowded all over. The proximity of the metallic bodies in the streets and against the walls speaking in binary to each other made his frame warm, to the point his inner fans kicked up. SM-33 shouldered his way through the crowd and into the bar, making a path for them both.

Huyang scuttled after him, head ducked to avoid eye contact with anyone unsavory. He froze up when they made it inside. The bar was dark and lit with flashing neon lights and filled with steam and smoke. There was a mingling of binary, Common, and Huttese fighting for dominance in the air, loud and clambering for attention in his audio receptors. His olfactory sensors picked up the cloying smell of oil, alcohol, nicotine, cleaning fluids, and a variety of other artificial products that a droid could conceivably be affected by. It was crowded inside too, but a little less chaotic. Droids sat on benches with each other, leaned against the walls, settled at the bar itself. He whipped his head away when he saw a couple of droids with their power sources plugged in and their interfacer spikes entwined.

“‘Yang? You good?”

Huyang looked up to SM-33. He had a hand placed on his shoulder, his head tilted slightly to the side as he seemed to be watching his photoreceptors for… discomfort? Panic?

“Yes,” Huyang replied after a moment of small hesitation.

“We can head back if this ain’t doing it fer ya.”

“No, I’m okay. Come. You know this bar better than I do.”

The professor took the lead, his skinny frame allowing him to shimmy through the organized chaos of metal bodies without disrupting droids in deep conversation or drinking or whatever else one did while here. SM-33 made his own path behind him, needing to shoulder a few hulls of metal with clinks and clanks as he moved.

When Huyang made it to the comparable calmness of the bar counter, he was faced with an overwhelming amount of choices once again. The service droid behind the counter looked up, and hummed curiously. “Well, don’t we got a fancy one here,” the service droid observed, one pair of hands reaching behind it to set cleaned glasses aside, the other pair supplying support as the bartender leaned forward on its elbows. “Hm. I’ve never seen you around before. Who-”

Before the bartender could even say another word, SM-33 was next to Huyang, wrapping an arm around Huyang’s slim shoulders. Huyang let out a choked noise from his vocoder, and SM-33 cheerily greeted, “Fiftee-C! Been a while!”

The bartender straightened and let out a hearty laugh that had its vocoder whining with static. “Thirty-Three! I thought you got dismantled out in that big galaxy!” It reached across the bar with one of its hands, and SM-33 clapped his own palm against its in greeting. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you for… well, a long time!”

“Ah, y'know, pillagin’, ransackin'… Eh, no more Rennod though.”

“Figured as much. He’s a legend I hear floating around every once in a while. Never heard anything about you, so I thought you’d crawl back up like the spider-roach you are.”

50-C gestured at Huyang, “And I’m also guessing this one’s yours. Who’s this?”

Huyang cleared his throat, “I’m ah…”

SM-33 broke in, “Y4-N6. I call ‘im Yang. He’s not me crew, jus’ a friend.”

“A friend?” 50-C hummed, tilting his slim silver head. “Never took you for the type to like them skinny and chrome, Thirty-Three.”

“Ah, not like that! Anyway, this is his first time. Need somethin’ light to start us off.”

“Mm, sure, I’ve got something in mind. What fluids can you take, N6?”

Huyang blinked his photoreceptors, “Oh, uh. Nepenthé, caf, alcohols, oil-”

“So, anything.”

The professor stood stunned for a few moments before replying carefully, “I can’t ingest beer, but I can spirits.”

50-C nodded, silver torso spinning on its ball jointed spine to its selection of tonics behind the counter. “I can work with that! Oh, and here.” A silver arm spun around behind the bent torso and held out two small durasteel sleeves. Huyang tilted his head, taking one while SM-33 took the other rather eagerly. “Jolt packs, on the house.”

Huyang almost dropped the sleeve, “Jolt packs! Well, I- Thirty-Three!”

The pirate droid already had one of the thin circuit boards between his fingers, snaking a thin cord out from under his helm, “What? I told ya, we’re here ta feel ourselves! And I haven’t had a jolt pack in centuries.”

The pirate pulled out a barstool, sitting down heavily with a grunt and plugging in. There was a buzz that sounded from the connection that had Huyang wincing, but SM-33 seemed more than pleased. “Ahh, there it is,” SM-33’s gruff voice was vibrating with excess electricity. His entire frame relaxed against the counter, head tilting and photoreceptor flickering.

Huyang sighed, sitting down next to the taller droid. 50-C looked up from filling some glasses with nepenthé, asking, “Do you need an adapter?”

“No, thank you.”

50-C slid two glasses of nepenthé to the both of them, humming,

“There you are, nepenthé with a little bit of stimulant to spice it up. Holler if you need anything else.”

“Thank you.” Huyang quietly took the drink, looking down into the black liquid. He swirled it idly, jaw clicking against its pistons, before he lifted it to his faux mouth and took a sip.

SM-33 awakened while Huyang was nursing a half empty cocktail, the glass he had used for the nepenthé already handed off to 50-C. SM-33 straightened with a creak of his joints, groaning, “ Ah , that’s a lot better. What’d I miss?”

Huyang replied, “Not much. Your nepenthé is getting warm.”

SM-33 tilted his head, his pistons slightly overextending. “Oof. Aye, I forgot about that… Hey! Ya already ordered somethin’ else?”

Huyang’s photoreceptors side eyed him, as he replied, “You overcharged, I’m not waiting on you to continue with this… learning experience? I suppose it's a learning experience.”

“Wellll, what’d ya get?”

“… Don’t laugh,” Huyang started, turning in his stool to face him. “It’s a Takodana Quencher.”

SM-33 did laugh. It was a startled sort of noise, a loud guffaw that had 33’s vents huffing with the force of it.

“I said don’t laugh!”

“'Yang, that’s just a real fancy fruit drink! I’ll order us somethin’ stronger when I finish my nepenthé.”

Huyang bemoaned, “What will that do to my poor processor?”

“Ah, you’ll be fine! Ya ain’t made of transparasteel!”

“I have a large amount of archival information in my database that isn’t found anywhere else in the galaxy. That is most definitely something that fragile.”

“Then don’t take processor washers or virus clips! Simple as that.”

Huyang grunted, thumbing his arm for few moments. Finally he admitted, “There is a rather pleasant buzz happening in my central processing unit.”

SM-33 beamed. “See! That’s th’ spirit! Let’s get karked!”

“Not that inebriated. We still need to fly back to the hangar on Lothal.”

SM-33 chuckled, “Oh please, I can fly ta Lothal with me photoreceptors shot.”

SM-33 snaked out his waste pipe and slipped it into the glass of nepenthé. “Maybe I can talk ya inta tryin’ a jolt pack.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

SM-33 had learned several things about the older droid over their friendship. One: Huyang was definitely not as innocent as SM-33 thought he was. He had proved that over and over again the more he talked to the professor. Second: Huyang was capable of bantering with him, almost on par with Rennod if he shut off his visual receptors and thought very hard. Third: Huyang was tougher than he looked. And finally: Professor Huyang was the lightest weight he had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

SM-33 could throw it up to Huyang being a drink ahead of him, but that cocktail he had before he woke up from his system reboot was more fruit juice and pop than alcohol. Music had started playing in the bar by now, other than the thrum of aesthetic acoustic and the background of mingling languages. Huyang was listing to the left directly into SM-33’s side, one hand gesturing wildly as he spoke and the other occupied by an empty glass that was coming far too close to SM-33’s face as the professor gesticulated.

“And I mean, honestly!” the professor shouted, vocoder warbling. “It feels like those organics never listen to me anyway! Why do I even bother trying to give them a lick of advice if they’re just gonna, uhh, krik it all up! Shove that wisdom right up my aft I suppose!” Huyang set aside his glass with a clink of finality on the bar counter, groaning, “I swear to… to the Force! And all that is above, Lady Tano is just traveling with me to make me suffer. Or maybe I agreed because I’m a- a… masochist! I’m a masochist. I just love torturing myself and seeing how far I can get without getting completely demolished !”

Huyang’s photoreceptors stuttered, digital eyelids flickering at a disjointed timing and SM-33 broke in, “Aye, I hear ya. Organics, annoying little kriffers.”

“No!” Huyang roared, and that had SM-33 blinking in surprise. “That’s not what I… I mean! They’re so…! I love them! I love Lady Tano!”

SM-33 tilted his head, “… Thought she was like… a child ta ya?”

Huyang paused, processing before he shouted, mortified, “That’s not what I meant! She… She’s my student …! She’s my student, my last student! The last student I’ll ever-!” Huyang’s voice hiccuped. His photoreceptors flickered, narrowed, drooped, and then he dropped his helm into his palms. “S-She’s my last student! She’s the only student I have left! If something were to happen to her… I don’t know what I’d do! I have to keep her safe! But she never listens to me!”

SM-33 sat awkwardly next to Huyang as his voice broke like a dry twig underfoot, and pitiful simulated sobs leaked out of him as his vents huffed and puffed with his overwrought emotions.

He didn’t know what to do. SM-33 was a pirate. He wasn’t good at comfort. He was good at encouraging people to run from their problems, good at distraction, good at banter, good at pillaging, singing, carousing. But he wasn’t good at comfort. He looked up helplessly, looking around for something to guide him. Huyang was the one that was good at this, not him. 50-C had turned to look at the commotion and made eye contact with the pirate. SM-33 could see the bartender’s wince from where he sat.

A pathetic shuttering from Huyang’s vents was what called SM-33’s attention back to him. “Stars, 'Yang. C'mon, it’s alright… Ya can’t even leak, no need ta waste battery on this, heh. Eh…”

He wasn’t sure if Huyang heard him and that made it worse, or if the professor was stuck in his own processor, but his shaking grew minutely stronger.

This was not what SM-33 had in mind for their night out. He wanted to make the older droid loosen up, not make him cry.

SM-33 spoke, voice a little louder, “Huyang. Hey. I don't… ’M not… Ya need ta tell me what ya need. What do ya want me ta do? Do ya wanna go back to th’ Cinder ? Back ta Lothal? Is that what ya need?”

The professor shook his head, fingers tapping anxiously at his helm. “No, no, I don't… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make your trip so bad, I…”

“Ya didn’t make no trip bad, 'Yang. I wanted ta take ya here. 'Tis our trip, not mine. Tell me what ya need, 'nd we’ll do it.”

Huyang let out a simulated sniffle. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Do ya need a hug?” SM-33 did not know where that came from. Maybe it was from spending so much time around the kiddies, recognizing their need for physical affection while taking care of them as they flew around, looking for At Attin. Maybe it was from taking care of the rat stuck in his eye, or watching the kids reunite with their parents after everyone managed to come out of the pirate invasion mostly unscathed.

Wherever it came from, it turned out to be the right thing to say. Huyang’s vents huffed, his vocoder let out a tiny noise. Then the droid’s listing became more intentional, shifting to get closer to SM-33’s chassis. SM-33 carefully circled his arms around the leaner body next to him and Huyang buried his faceplate into his shoulder.

The positioning was awkward, SM-33’s embrace was unsure, and Huyang was more laying in SM-33’s arms than hugging back. It wasn’t perfect. But it was enough.

SM-33’s thumb rubbed circles into Huyang’s armor, smudging his intentional weathering job. “There, there, 'Yang. I’ve got ya.” He tightened his hug when he felt the architect’s plates shake. “I’ve got ya, 'Yang. Yer safe.”

SM-33 held Huyang for what felt like a millennium. He only loosened his hold when SM-33 couldn’t hear Huyang’s vents puffing against his hands.

He leaned back, holding Huyang’s shoulders to keep him upright, “You alright now, 'Yang?”

Huyang rubbed at his photoreceptors, obviously an unconscious mimicking tic, “Yes. I’m okay now. I’m sorry, I-”

“Stop sayin’ that, old man. No need for you ta be sorry. I think I got ya too pumped full of alcohol.”

Huyang chuckled. “I’m afraid I, uh, can’t hold my liquor.”

“Tis alright.”

SM-33 looked up, finally aware of the music in the bar. SM-33 stood, bringing Huyang with him. Huyang let out a startled, questioning noise, and of course he stumbled on his unsteady feet. “C'mon, no more mopin’! Ya ever danced before, 'Yang?”

Huyang stuttered, “I, uh, no. Read about-”

“Readin’ ain’t the same as doin’ it!” SM-33 practically dragged the stumbling architect into a more open space of the bar, where there were already droids gathering to dance or mill about. “C'mon, follow me lead!”

As expected, Huyang was not good at dancing, especially while inebriated. He moved like he had been manufactured with two left feet. Although, Huyang was of the opinion that SM-33 wasn’t either. All he knew were pirate jigs, and therefore all he did were those, even if it didn’t match the genre of the song. It made Huyang laugh far more than it probably would’ve if he was sober. Huyang attempted to at least match the genre to the movements, even if it made him look silly.

The goal of the trip was to feel himself, right? It was to be free, something that Huyang and SM-33 couldn’t be, at least not really or legally.

But they could pretend for tonight.

Huyang could pretend that he wasn’t a lightsaber architect left behind by time and SM-33 could pretend he wasn’t a pirate droid without a crew and an illusionary future.

Huyang watched SM-33 as he tried to match his steps, awkward and loping as he was between his bulky frame and his peg leg. If he was organic, he would grin. Instead his photoreceptors narrowed in a pantomimed smile. They were so close, Huyang could feel SM-33’s puffing vents and pneumatics on his armor and joints.

Perhaps it was the liquid courage sloshing around in the droid’s wastebucket and coursing through his circuits. Perhaps it was being caught up in a beautiful lie like this, that they could dance and be more than they were designed to be. Perhaps it was something more.

Whatever it was, Huyang took a step closer, directly into SM-33’s space, grabbed the pirate droid by the wires extending from the back of his head, leaned up on his ped’s toes and pressed his forehead against his and clacked his faux mouth against 33’s grill.

There was a shock of static electricity between their face plates, and it made Huyang jump, but he didn’t let go. In fact, he pressed closer. SM-33 let out a tiny startled grunt, but otherwise leaned with him. The grunt morphed into a growl that vibrated his grill and Huyang’s vents huffed in response. Huyang released him after a few moments, but it felt like they had been entwined for hours.

They stared at each other, SM-33’s single photoreceptor gazing at the older droid in shock. They stood like two statues in the middle of the dance floor, before SM-33 took Huyang’s hands.

And they continued to dance.

The walk back to the Cinder was uneventful. Huyang leaned more on SM-33 as they walked, giggly and talkative as ever. He gestured wide and broad as he told SM-33 stories of the galaxy that he thought he would like. 33 was more than eager to trade, telling Huyang about his tales of plunder and scavenging. The alcohol made both of the droid’s vocoders looser than usual. Huyang told 33 about his time as a Rebellion spy, stories that even Ahsoka didn’t know and 33 talked about Rennod and the old crew of the Onyx Cinder .

Unlocking the Onyx Cinder was difficult. Between the two of them, they barely had the dexterity to undo all the locks on the ship. Huyang collapsed from laughter when SM-33 tried to tug off the stuck hangar lock after undoing it with his keycard and fell down when it popped off with a thoonk.

By the time they clambered back onto the ship and Huyang had settled into the copilot seat, SM-33 announced, “Ready for takeoff! All settled, 'Yang?”

"Aye aye, Smee,” Huyang called back drowsily.

They flew out of Nar Shaddaa the same way they had come, and soon had entered hyperspace to get to Lothal. SM-33 stood, flicking on autopilot and ensuring the Cinder was on course before he turned back to Huyang who was staring at the colors flashing past in the viewport.

“Do ya need help with that oil smudging yer armor?”

“Hm?” Huyang flicked his gaze away, and looked up at SM-33. “I think it quite suits me, don’t you?”

SM-33 chuckled, “Aye, it do, but unfortunately, you like keepin’ up appearances fer yer Lady Tano.”

Huyang grunted, slowly standing from the copilot seat. He stumbled a step or two, but then regained his balance and dragged himself over while holding the wall. “I don’t think I need help… Where’s your sonic?”

“Here, I’ll show ya.”

Huyang did need a little help undoing the utility belt and reattaching it to his apron, but otherwise, he cleaned up rather nicely. SM-33 had to admit, it was impressive considering the droid was very much sloshed.

By the time he crawled back to the cockpit where 33 waited, he was back to his old chrome self with the apron strapped around his waist and hiding his pelvic plates. 33 had to admit, he would miss seeing them.

“You okay ta get back ta the ' 74 ?” SM-33 asked Huyang once they landed in the hangar where the T-6 was parked. Unfortunately, the T-6 was just in another hangar suite.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” Huyang unsteadily stood, and paused. “Thank you. For taking me to the bar tonight. I had fun.”

33 nodded, “'Course. 'Nd we can go again whenever ya want.”

Huyang hummed, photoreceptors lidding, “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

SM-33 was… off. It wasn’t something Huyang grew particularly worried about, as they jaunted about in Coruscant. At first, Huyang threw it up to SM-33 being in an uncomfortable environment. Licensed by an At Attin family or not, SM-33 didn’t particularly enjoy Coruscant. Huyang didn’t consider asking SM-33 about it until he was walking them back to the T-6 and SM-33 was loping a little further behind than usual.

They got on board, Huyang setting aside his bag of metals and wires he had gotten from the materials shops they visited and SM-33 all but dragging himself along to the cockpit. Huyang called after the pirate, “Thirty-Three! Are you alright?”

“What?” SM-33 turned before he got into the cockpit, standing at the doorway.

“Are you okay? You’ve been… well, I can’t describe it, but you feel different today. In a bad way.”

SM-33 grunted, head lolling so he could look anywhere but at Huyang. Finally he grunted, “Tried ta give myself me own maintenance. Didn’t work out too well, I suppose. I’ve been feelin’ slow all day.”

Huyang hummed. He pressed a button on the wall and the table in the adjoining living quarters lifted out of the ground with a hiss. “I can take a look at it, if you’d like,” Huyang suggested.

33 huffed, fingers clenching. “I don’ need yer help, ‘Yang, I can repair me own damn self.”

“And I didn’t say you couldn’t! But I’ve found it’s nice to let another do it sometimes. They might see something that you didn’t. And I have enough materials to spare.”

“You just wanna take a look inside me ta see how I tick.”

“That too,” he pat the table. “So. Will you let me take a look?”

The pirate stared. Huyang tilted his head. The pirate continued to stare. They were in a staring contest now.

Huyang didn’t particularly like the idea of that, so he straightened. “I’m going to get my toolbox. If you’d like me to work on you, wait for me on the table.”

If there was one thing he learned about SM-33, it was that he was a bit iffy about asking anyone for any form of help. SM-33 liked fending for himself; the idea of getting assistance didn’t seem to agree with whatever values he held in his processor. So Huyang decided to take this approach: turn around and let the pirate choose while his back was turned.

Huyang walked into his workshop, and took a little longer than he usually did to gather his tools and materials. He made sure to be a little louder than usual too so SM-33 knew what he was doing.

He came back to the living quarters with his toolbox and suppressed an amused huff when he saw SM-33 sat on the table, staring ahead with his maintenance hatch in his back open. Huyang approached, setting down his toolbox. He had to get up on the table behind the droid to reach the open hatch in his back.

He winced when he saw the jungle of wires inside. No wonder SM-33 felt off. The wire placements were haphazard, some of them longer than they should be, and there was barely any organization inside. He didn’t comment on it, and instead picked up his tools and started working.

He got into a rhythm as he worked. Wiring was a tedious, mind numbing process, but Huyang had always enjoyed it. It was like solving a particularly rewarding puzzle. Fixing SM-33’s wires was similar, but it felt more like brushing out an organic’s unruly, tangle filled hair. He started low, and worked his way up, deciding that was the best way to tackle the issue at hand.

He tilted his head when he heard SM-33 let out a gruff, gravely noise, but didn’t comment. It was only when he heard SM-33 do it again, did he bring it up. “Thirty Three? Are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

SM-33 let out a questioning grunt, “Mmgh-huh? No. Ya ain’t hurtin’ me.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m just making sure. Tell me if I am.”

“‘Course, ‘Yang.”

Huyang proceeded with his work, listening closely to SM-33.

He dealt with a particularly unruly wire; this one he had to snip and replace with a longer one. SM-33 grunted when Huyang clipped it away with his wire cutters and let out a long sigh when he soldered the new one in place. That’s when it clicked for Huyang and his vents let out a flustered huff of hot air.

Oh. Oh. Those noises were good then.

Huyang brushed his thumb over his finished wires experimentally and SM-33’s micro joints in his back twitched. The pirate let out a soft sigh, leaning into the contact.

Huyang asked, “Does it feel better?”

“Aye. Are ya done?”

“Nearly,” Huyang ducked his head back down to work on the last amount of wires. “It was a bit of a mess back here.”

Instead of being indignant like Huyang suspected he would be, SM-33 grunted in agreement, pliant after the work done so far. “Aye. Not me best work. Normally have a mirror ta work with but…”

“I assumed as much.” Huyang pondered for a moment before asking, “What happened to your mirror?”

“Ah. Got shattered in th’ crash the Cinder had during th’ pirate invasion on At Attin. Been meanin’ ta get a new one.”

“Did you get one while we were out today?”

SM-33 chuckled. “Aye. I shoplifted it when you weren’t lookin’.”

Huyang paused in his work. He blinked. Then he shouted, indignant, “Thirty Three!”

“What? Ain’t that big of a deal.”

“Where?! We need to pay for that!”

“I ain’t tellin’.”

“THIRTY THREE!!”

Huyang gave up trying to pry the information out of the pirate after a long while. He finished him as he argued, and maybe he slammed his maintenance hatch shut a little harder than was necessary.

That made SM-33 cackle.

Huyang rolled his photoreceptors, and shoved 33’s shoulder as he dropped off the table. “Get to the cockpit before I call the enforcers on you.”

“Ahh, ya wouldn’t.”

Huyang didn’t answer, only packed up his tools and headed back into his workshop. If his photoreceptors were squinted in a smile, SM-33 didn’t need to know.

Chapter Text

The day Master Nu sent her beacon to the Crucible was the day Huyang finally felt safe.

He had been standing by at the cockpit, waiting. Wild Space was relatively easy to navigate, and he only needed to hurriedly jump to another sector once, when an Empire patrol happened upon the dark looming shape of the Crucible . He had hoped the lack of power to the life support systems on board would dissuade the troopers from shooting at him, but he assumed they just liked shooting at old Jedi ships, whether they were obviously functioning or not.

So he sat and collected dust, until there it was: a message patched to him on a secure network. "Hello? This is Pilgrim, reporting to Crucible , over."

Huyang jumped, slamming down the answer button almost as soon as he got the message. Because he recognized that voice. He would recognize it from her years as a youngling, and then a padawan, and then a knight and master, just as he had recognized all the Jedi's voices.

"This is Crucible , reporting! Master Nu, is that you? O-Over!"

It took a few crackling moments for a reply, and for a moment, Huyang thought it had just been a dream until Jocasta Nu spoke again.

"Professor Huyang! Oh, thank the Force! I thought that the Crucible was just spacejunk! Are you alright? Over."

"I'm... I'm alright. Unharmed. Are you alright, Master Nu? Over."

"Yes, yes, quite alright, and much more alright to know you are still functioning! I-"

"Where is the Pilgrim ? Where are you? Sorry, for interrupting, over."

"Ah! A moment, over."

Huyang stood, staring out the viewport with wide photoreceptors, until finally, he saw the comparatively smaller golden Delta-7B fly into view. He could see Master Nu in the pilot seat.

He almost screamed for joy. Instead, he waved at her, holding his hand high so she could see it through the viewport.

Jocasta seemed overjoyed as well, and the Jedi indicated as much with a joyous wave in return.

"Is it just you in there, Professor? Over."

Huyang deflated slightly. "Unfortunately. Over."

Jocasta leaned forward at her pilot terminal, announcing through their commlink, "I'm sending you the coordinates to a planet Gar and I have found. Gar is holding down the fort at the cache currently, over."

Huyang brightened. Sir Gar survived as well? This was excellent news! "I will follow you. Thank you, Master Nu. I knew, statistically, some Jedi must've survived, over."

Master Nu didn't respond, but there was a sad air to her voice as she replied, "Yes, surely. I will see you at the cache, over."

"Yes! Thank you, Master Nu! Thank you! Over, out!"

The welcoming party Huyang received on Elphrona was the smallest in the galaxy, but he couldn’t have cared less. He was so relieved to see them, anyone truly for that matter. He wanted to take both the humans in a hug, but he knew them to be the more modest types, so he didn’t. But they gave rather warm pats and shoulder grabs that may as well have been hugs.

Master Nu had sat them all down for tea, and although Huyang couldn’t drink, he took the glass she offered him anyway. The Jedi librarian knew the old droid like an old friend, being that he gifted his knowledge to the Archives and frequently would venture there to learn more. So she knew he liked tea, even if he couldn’t drink. The heat against his palms was why he liked it. It left him comforted, he had told her once.

“Is the tea to your liking, Professor?”

“Oh yes, very much so. I so missed your chandrilan teas, Master Nu.”

The three sat in a companionable silence but the old droid sensed an undercurrent of… tenseness. He eyed his human companions as he held the cup close to his chemoreceptors to take in a deep breath of scented steam.

Finally, Sir Gar spoke, breaking the silence and tension, “Are you going to tell him about the greater purpose of this cache?”

Jocasta sighed. “I was hoping to relax a moment before getting to business. The professor hasn’t been around organics since the Great Purge.”

Huyang flinched slightly and spoke before his processors could get caught up in the ghosts that haunted them, “What work?”

Master Nu sighed, sipping her tea. “I was able to recover some amount of the Archives during the… attack on the Temple and escape with it. Important logs and documents that, if lost to the Empire and Sith, would prove detrimental to the Jedi. I’ve been filling our cache with information to hopefully gain enough to build a new Order, away from the eyes of the Empire.

“Knowing that you’re still functional, Professor, and that the Crucible has archives of its own, and materials-! Well, it’s very promising for our goals.

“I only ask one favor: that you assist in teaching the new Order we’ll create here.”

Huyang had brightened considerably as the old librarian spoke. By the time she finished, his back had straightened and his photoreceptors were bright with hope. He replied instantly, “Yes! Yes, of course, Master Nu! I’d be more than happy to assist you. After all, training younglings is exactly what I am built for. I am sure the Order would thrive under your and Sir Gar’s guidance.”

Master Nu added, “And your own guidance, Professor. Do not sell yourself short. You taught me everything I know of lightsabers and the history of the Galaxy.”

After that, and once Huyang was able to settle down inside of the stone walls of the cache, he started to work. Nu recorded lessons and Jedi teachings through a recorder. Huyang was curious why she recorded them but never asked, figuring the Jedi knew what she was doing. The days of word to mouth information had long passed; he had to remember that. He readied the Crucible for new students and handed over whatever archives were stored in the Crucible ’s young archival rooms.

It was a less than ideal situation of course. The stony ceilings leaked when it rained. It got cold in the night until they put in an electric heating unit Gar scrounged up from the Crucible ’s cargo bay, but then only one room was heated. More often than not, Huyang found himself needing to go outside to refuel battery cells through solar panels.

They lived thin here.

But Huyang felt hopeful, and wanted, and safe. Most importantly, safe.

But he should’ve known it wouldn’t last. He wanted to believe with every bit of his circuitry that it would. That the three of them would stay together, no matter if the New Order succeeded or not.

The day Master Nu left for Coruscant was the day Huyang no longer felt safe.

That day, Jocasta had sat the old droid down, at that same table they had tea for the first time in the cache.

Gar had gone out for a walk. Huyang understood that Sir Gar and Master Nu were displeased with each other, but he didn’t know why. He never asked.

Master Nu spoke once Huyang was settled with his cup, his fingers curled around the warm ceramic. “Professor, I must tell you of a mission I am going on, to assist in our goals.”

Huyang nodded, asking, “Are you getting new supplies? I’m afraid our poor heater is running on its last legs and we’re rather low on tape devices.”

“No. I’m going to Coruscant.”

Huyang blinked. He stared at her. He blinked again.

“Huyang,” Master Nu continued. “You know what the Archives on Coruscant hold. A map to-“

“If it hasn’t already been destroyed by the Empire,” Huyang interrupted, voice cold.

“I’m of sound knowledge that the Archives still stand. And that the Sith are trying to get at its secrets. It’s a race for knowledge that I intend to win.”

“If you go to Coruscant, you’ll die,” Huyang said. His fingers curled tighter around the cup. “The Empire will know you’re there. It’s a trap.”

“It’s better than the map falling into enemy hands.” They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound Huyang’s vents. “I intend to ensure that, no matter if I return or not.”

"What about the New Order? The cache?"

"If I succeed and I return, we'll continue where we left off."

"And if not?"

Master Nu went silent, staring down into her tea cup, refusing to meet the droid's eyes.

"Gar will protect the cache. And you."

"No. If you leave, I shall leave, too."

"You don't trust Gar?"

Now it was Huyang's turn to go silent, staring down into his cup. He swirled the drink idly, watching his reflection in the dark tea warp and ripple. "... I don't intend to collect dust in a vault."

Master Nu laughed sadly. "Did you go mad in the solitude of the Crucible , Professor?"

"No. But I fear I will if you keep me in this cache with no students, no learning, no..." Huyang inhaled carefully through his vents. The tea was bitter in his chemoreceptors, and the cave tunnels of the cache were dank. "I cannot let you lock me away. I am a Jedi relic, but I am programmed to grow and learn. I can seek out younglings to teach myself."

"This is where you will be safe and functional for future generations."

"And deteriorate to nothing more than a glorified terminal without proper maintenance."

Both the Jedi master and professor stood at an impasse in their debate. It took a long while of staring until Huyang spoke again, this time with a compromise in mind. "If you don't return, I will take the Crucible to a secure hangar elsewhere, but leave its current archives and a portion of its lightsaber cargo within your cache for Gar."

"No. Keep your lightsaber cargo. It will be no use to the future generations if those materials deteriorate beyond use."

"Very well."

Jocasta set down her tea cup, with it being mostly full. Huyang stared at her and she sighed, exhaustion palpable. "I'm sorry, professor. So very sorry."

As expected, when Huyang saw Master Nu and Beetoo off, she never returned.

He left Gar soon enough afterward. He had spent several days staring at the waterfall entrance of the cache, arms folded behind his back. Waiting. For what, he wasn't sure. He knew innately Master Nu wouldn't magically come back, but some part of him still hoped he supposed.

Gar shook him out of his reverie with a touch to his shoulder. He looked to the human as he hummed, "I took all the archives we… I will need off the Crucible , and I've gifted you a shuttle to use once you hide it. You're free to go when you'd like."

"Thank you, Sir Gar." Huyang asked softly, reaching out to touch the man's lower arm, "Will you be alright without me?"

Gar looked down at the mechanical hand holding his arm. He laid a hand on top of it, and bowed his head. "I must."

Huyang pat his arm, "May the Force be with you, Sir Gar."

"And you, Professor."

Chapter Text

Ahsoka remembered the last time she saw Professor Huyang. It was before she left the Order, while she was chaperoning for a padawan group over their trials on Illum and creating their sabers. He was old even then, but there was light in his photoreceptors when she looked at him. He often walked with his arms folded behind himself, confident despite the curve of his back. When he spoke, she heard his wisdom, but she also heard his optimism and humor. He didn't seem lost when he spoke. He didn't look like he was wilting under the pressure of the galaxy. He wasn't silent.

But this Huyang she found after the Imperial War was.

She saw a spark of his old self when she first made eye contact with the cloaked figure staring at her in the midst of a Rebellion celebration. The figure ran at her, covered in a ratty brown cloak that had certainly seen better days, patches covering where burned fabric or rips lay. The dark gloves and boots they wore were caked in mud and dust. The mask worn under the hood was large and imposing, a rebreather and goggles covering most of the characteristics.

She recognized the figure as Agent Locus. Maybe the name should've given it away. But she supposed Huyang didn't catch onto her agent name either until they finally ran into each other face to face. Or maybe it was how many people used Fulcrum as a sign off. He never answered when she asked. 

" Ahsoka?? " The stranger's voice was modulated, made worse by the rebreather.

"Yes?" Ahsoka had answered, confused.

And then the figure ripped down their hood and tore off their mask. It was like laying eyes on a ghost.

Huyang's face had been chipped, dented and dirtied, but she would recognize it anywhere. His spec was cracked, and one of his eyes was damaged, flickering like a dying light, but it was him. A droid from the Old Republic, from the Order, from the only home she had known.

She didn't remember what she said next, but she remembered gathering the droid up in an embrace. The professor returned it just as eagerly, his arms wrapping around her and gripping tight like she would disappear if he loosened his grip even a little. She could feel the squeak of his leather gloves as he gripped onto her so hard, she was sure she would bruise if Huyang wasn't gripping at her clothes.

She cried. She thought she’d lost nearly everything. The Order had collapsed, Obi Wan had died, Anakin had died long ago, and Ezra was gone. But here this old droid who had been there since the beginning of the Order, since her childhood, stood before her. Dirty and damaged but in one piece. And he recognized her. And he ran to her. And now they held each other like if they parted, they would both fall to dust.

She could hear Huyang's vents puffing this close to him. Whatever the robes and layers of clothes had been hiding was doing a poor job at it now. Huyang spoke first, his voice crackling with emotion and static, "I-I thought you died. I thought you had all died! Nobody called except for Master Nu, and I- I never thought- I looked everywhere, and I tried to- I tried to teach but I always- And I thought I was alone but-! You're alive! Oh, my wonderful student, you wonderful strong girl, you're alive !"

He released her to rip off his gloves and leaned back to hold her face in his hands. His metal palms were warm from the leather and lack of air circulation in his layers, and crushed her cheeks but she didn’t care. His thumb rubbed over her tears as he gasped, "Let me- Oh, Ahsoka, what happened to your- Where did this scar come from! And your poor lekku, they're so dry, and-"

Huyang's voice broke with a digital sob, and he grabbed her back into his embrace, rubbing his helm and faceplate into the side of her head. The static shock she received from the contact was familiar and felt like home, and it only made her want to cry harder. 

She took one of his hands, gasping softly at the sight of them, "Professor! Your hands! They're different!" She rolled up the sleeve of one of the dark clothes under his robes and saw wires poking out of damaged plating with grime and soot etched into the plates. "By the Force, your armor! What happened to you? Where have you been?"

Huyang's sobs shifted from relief to grief, and he collapsed against her, face falling into her shoulder. "Oh, Ahsoka! Oh, my dear Ahsoka!"

Huyang invited her onto the T-6 after that, and she never left his side. He claimed it made things easier for him. He was given a reward licensing by the Rebellion, but unfortunately, he was technically announced the owner of the T-6 1974 illegally, since he had been claiming to be organic this whole time.

So having the T-6 under Ahsoka's ownership made everything easier. And they both didn't want to leave the other. So she stayed.

And that's when she had started noticing the differences in the old droid, after the excitement at her presence wore off. She figured Huyang likely noticed the differences in her, and she wasn’t so naive as to think the professor hadn't changed with time, too. But his changes were... concerning to her, to say the least.

He would stand in the middle of a hallway in the Crucible for a little too long, whenever they needed to make the trek to the rented archival hangar it was placed in. And when she would ask how he was, he would shrug off her concern. 

Some days, he would stare at his laser cutter like it was haunted. When she would shake him out of his reverie and ask him what he was thinking, he wouldn’t answer. 

During their night cycle, some days, he would stalk the halls of the T-6 like a ghost, pacing from one end of the ship to the other and back again. When she would ask about it in the morning, he would shrink away from her questions like they burned him and she would stop asking there. She learned to stop asking questions and just ask him to recharge in her sleeping quarters with her. That normally solved the issue. 

Sometimes, she would notice him staring at her. She never asked, figuring that he was only watching her to make sure she was alright. But sometimes he would stare for far too long, like he was trying to convince himself she was real. 

Sometimes, he would stand in the doorway of her room and do nothing but stare until she would rouse him from whatever he was thinking about. Then he would proceed with his business like nothing had happened.

Sometimes he would go dead silent in the middle of a conversation, something the old Huyang would never have done. And then when she would call his attention back, he would blink, shake his head, and make an excuse.  

Instead of spending time in his workshop on the T-6 , he would sit in the middle of the living area and do nothing but stare at a wall or into a cup of tea. The old Huyang she knew before Order 66 would loathe sitting on the ground like that, doing nothing of import. 

Some parts of the ship occasionally smelled of nicotine and smoke. When she'd ask, Huyang would shrug but the next day the smell would be gone. At least she stopped smelling it as often.

But worst of all, he looked exhausted. He sounded exhausted. He would charge more often than usual, even when he didn't need it. 

His optimism was gone, replaced with dryness or pessimism. His playful humor was replaced with dark jokes that were more unnerving than fun. 

And sometimes she'd look at him, and his face would be unreadable. He'd almost seem like an empty husk. And that terrified her.

Finally, she intended to bring her concern to light, while she had the droid in the cockpit with her, where he sat at the copilot seat. "Huyang," she started.

"Yes?" Huyang asked, looking up and turning his attention to her.

"Are... you okay?"

Huyang tilted his head, photoreceptors squinting before he slowly asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you okay? You've been... I'm worried about you, Huyang."

The droid tensed. "Explain?"

"Well," she sighed, trying to think of a way to get around the walls the professor had built around himself, before she whispered. "I know we've been through a lot. Far too much for both of us. But, I want you to know that if you need... help, or someone to talk to, I'm here. Okay?"

Huyang blinked softly. He looked down at his hands and the copilot screen in front of him. Then he looked up at her, and he had that unreadable expression again. The one that made him look empty, so incredibly empty. "Okay. Thank you, Ahsoka," he replied.

Ahsoka's mouth went into a straight line. She wanted to push him. She wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him out of whatever state he was in. She wanted him to tell her. To talk to her. To be open, and willing, and most importantly, feel safe doing so. 

But Huyang was stubborn. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t talk about it. No matter how much she pressed, no matter how much she would beg him to open his doors inside of his carefully curated walls. But at least she had sent the line out for him. All the professor needed to do was decide whether to accept it or not, on his own time. So she relented, nodded, and whispered, "Of course, Huyang."

Chapter Text

The Imperial War was over. Peace had fallen over the galaxy like a warm blanket, at least for the time being. The Rebellion celebrated, people reunited.

Huyang was ecstatic to be reunited with Ahsoka. He had felt light on his feet over the days after their reunion. Knowing that there was another person on the T-6 1974 left the professor giddy. He had been alone for so long, he didn't realize how much he missed organic - or any other sentient individual for that matter - company.

The T-6 's kitchenette and barracks smelled less like dust. The sheets of the beds were made not with the neatness of his own hands but Ahsoka's. There was a lingering warmth to the sheets that only organics could leave. The kitchenette smelled of food in the morning, noon and night. The tea was actually drank instead of dumped in a sink. He was even overjoyed over the use of the washroom. The first time he heard the sonic or the vacc tube turn on, he actually let out a tiny dizzy giggle.

The T-6 wasn't without life anymore. The T-6 wasn't lonely anymore. Huyang was no longer drowning in silence.

He was so excited about it, he didn't even realize that Ahsoka was watching him with concern the entire time.

"Huyang?" Ahsoka was sitting at the table in the living quarters and Huyang was sitting across from her, a tea cup held in his hands.

Huyang glanced up, photoreceptors bright and happy. Except for the one that was broken, flickering like a dying lightbulb. "Yes, Lady Tano?"

"I... Think we need to go to Coruscant. You're in desperate need of maintenance, Professor, and I'm unsure if either of us have the materials to fix it."

Huyang blinked, seeming to come back to himself a little. He looked down at himself. The dents and scratches that littered his armor. The discoloration of his paint job. The wires that poked up oddly at his abdomen and from his plating. The grease and gunk buildup between his joints.

"Oh." He tilted his head, lifting up a hand to open and close his fingers. "I suppose you're right, Lady Tano. I... Didn't think about it. It's been so long since I've gone in for maintenance."

Ahsoka smiled sadly. "And it slipped your mind that you weren't functioning at your best."

"Yes. Thank you for reminding me. We should go to Coruscant."

A part of his processor bristled at the thought. The last time he was on Coruscant, he was stuck in the slums of droid districts and lower income neighborhoods, and then chased down by KX droids that would've had him dismantled if he was caught.

But he was okay now. Not only had the Empire fallen, he had a New Republic license and an accompanying organic, even though Ahsoka and he both knew he was more than capable of fending for himself.

He was sure it would be fine. Certain. There was no need for him to be apprehensive.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done.

The entire time they were landing, Huyang was restless. It wasn't noticeable to the typical organic, but to Ahsoka, it was palpable. Huyang's fingers were tapping on the copilot terminal, in the rhythm that she noticed Huyang had developed over the Imperial War that was different from his taps during the Clone Wars. It was a quick and fast rhythm, and she could almost hear Huyang's processor counting each tap with how forceful they were. 1; 2; 3; 4; 4; 3; 2; 1 , Huyang's joints hissed, and repeated like a mantra.

When they got cleared to land in a nearby hangar to the droid maintenance building, and had stood to start walking to the tram to get there, she could hear the count in his feet as he marched after her.  1; 2; 3; 4; 1; 2; 3; 4; 1; 2; 3; 4...

When they approached the tram, the driver stopped them from getting on. "Droids in the droid car." Huyang had been so caught up in his shuddering anxiety, he didn't realize he was following Ahsoka so closely.

Ahsoka immediately spoke up, asking, "Can he ride with me?"

"Nope," the driver popped the 'p' in her mouth. It felt like being spit on. "Those are the rules. Droids in the back."

"I'll be alright, Lady Tano," Huyang spoke before the former Jedi could think to argue.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain. I'll see you when we get there."

Huyang stepped onto the car dedicated to droids, and stood against the wall, staring straight ahead as the tram lurched and started speeding down its rails. His tapping continued, the worn pads of his fingers tapping against the pad of his thumb.

There was an annoyed beep from a nearby astromech, but Huyang was too busy staring at the city rushing by through the transparisteel.

To Huyang's credit, he did meet back up with Ahsoka when they reached their stop. The former jedi only noticed that Huyang's tapping had grown more insistent, if that was even possible.

"Huyang," she said gently.

Huyang's tapping slowed and he looked to her as they walked.

"You'll be fine. The Order used to take you here for repairs, right?"

"Well... Yes. But the smith that used to take me isn’t here any longer. And it's been an awful long time."

They entered the towering building, and Ahsoka blinked at the noises surrounding them. Clangs of metal on metal, the hiss of soldering. It smelled strongly of coolant, joint lubricant, warm steel, and oil.

Ahsoka approached the front desk with Huyang trailing behind. "Hello, we're here for an urgent maintenance appointment we have scheduled."

The secretary looked up and his eyes nearly bugged out his skull. "Woah! That's- That's a real retro you have there! What uhh... What's your droid's serial?" He could barely drag his eyes away from Huyang standing behind Ahsoka to his terminal to find their appointment.

Huyang spoke up, replying, "My serial is 0018754J5."

The secretary stared at his terminal for a few long moments before asking, "A... Mark IV architect- Well, who am I kidding, there's zero Mark IVs running around anymore, of course it's you ! Your droid is so..." He looked at Ahsoka and then at Huyang and then at Ahsoka. "It's impressive ! Well, it looks worse for wear, but keeping one intact like this-"

"Well, I'll be in the waiting area then. If you have any questions or if the smith has any questions, you can ask Huyang ," Ahsoka interrupted with a calm smile. " He knows his schematics better than I do."

"Oh, uh... sure."

Ahsoka looked at Huyang and pat his shoulder. "I'll pay for whatever it costs, don't spare any expense, Professor."

"Thank you, Lady Tano. Much appreciated."

The secretary and Huyang watched her walk away, and then the secretary turned to Huyang, stammering, "Uh. Do... Do you know what you have scheduled?"

"Yes. I need an oil bath, pneumatics check up, joint lubrication, armor repair and replacement, photoreceptor replacement, fuel and battery change, any latest upgrades available for my brand of processors and sensors, retuning-"

"Okay, so basically everything."

Huyang nodded, "Yes."

"Uh... Alright then. I'll get you to an oil bath to get all that excess... Grime off."

Huyang hadn't had an oil bath in a long time. Not even before the Old Republic fell. The last oil bath he had was before the Clone Wars, and that was more of a spray down than anything. Here, he could actually relax. Once he was shown the tub he was assigned to, he navigated by himself. He took off his apron and hung it up on a wall meant for charging cables so people wouldn't trip on them before stepping in.

A relieved sigh escaped his vents as the warm oil engulfed his legs and caressed his hip joints. He slowly lowered himself further into the oil bath, a pleased groan rumbling out of his vocoder as his photoreceptors narrowed.

Once he was completely settled he dropped his arms into the tub the rest of the way and leaned back slowly until the oil sat below his chin and sloshed up against his neck plating. He shut his photoreceptors completely, leaning his head back until the back of his helm was resting against the rim of the tub. It was warm, pleasant. He could feel the gunk between his joints getting eaten away by the chemicals in the oil. Force, this is perfect , he thought. How could I have forgotten about this?

He must've gone into standby, because he didn't remember anything until an older voice spoke above him, "Huyang."

He cracked open his photoreceptors, looking up at the older man standing above him. He had bushy eyebrows, a beard and balding scalp pulled back in a tight pig's tail, all grey. His eyes were worn and old but kind. Oil and lubricant sunk into the creases of his wrinkles, creating dark etchings in his otherwise splotchy brown skin. "Are you Huyang?"

Huyang blinked groggily, "Mm... Yes."

The old man smiled, and chuckled, "I'm Altais Bastra. I'll be your droidsmith for today. I see you're enjoying your oil bath?"

The droid hummed. "Forgive me, it's been a very long time since I've had a decent bath."

"Oh, no, no need to apologize. I'm glad you're enjoying it." He looked up at the dark liquid and his brows creased, "You should probably get out now though. It seems you've dirtied up this oil rather nicely."

Huyang sat up and saw just how much had come off his armor and joints and into the oil. Chunks of orange rust and debris floated on the surface, along with a fair share of old lubricant that had crystallized and made the oil more iridescent than it was before. He winced, and rose from the bath, oil coming off his armor and dripping down his torso, pelvis and legs in heavy streaks and globs.

"Hm... You're a rather nice looking Mark IV, all things considered," the old droidsmith tilted his head with interest.

"Thank you," Huyang replied, clambering out of the bath. He was handed a towel which he used to dab off the rest of the oil dripping down his arms and thighs. "It was difficult. Staying functional over the Imperial War."

"I can imagine. Come. I can already see so much to fix."

Huyang collected his apron from the wall, but didn't put it back on. He knew the process from his years being maintained by the Order; they were just going to make him take it back off. He followed Altais through the large halls of the maintenance building. He could hear the sounds of loaderdroids being worked on in open doored rooms and the quieter noises of medical droids being given new servos.

He stepped into his own room with Altais, where he gestured at a hanger against the wall. "Hang up your tool belt there and anything that isn't connected to your hull. Then come over here." The older droidsmith pat a repair table and waited for Huyang to approach. He sat down, and looked to the smith as he picked up his datapad. "Says that you need... Well, every sort of maintenance under the sun. Is there anything that we can start with right away?"

"Yes. I would like to know of any updates for my processor model?"

"Hm... Yes, I'll look. We'll get you caught up, then we'll get into the weeds."

Updating his software was the easy part, relatively speaking. He was actually in desperate need of an update. He had to endure a whole system reboot to take it. When he awoke, he was laying on the table, and Altais was setting up his tools like he was preparing for surgery.

Altais glanced at the datapad, humming, "Says here you need privacy screens when we open up your chest and I've got a discretion form. Anything I should be worried about in there?"

Huyang tilted his head. "No. There's not a bomb, if that's what you're worried about."

Altais squinted at Huyang and sighed, turning to his work. "Well, we'll check up on the chest last. Let's get your arms and legs repaired and tuned up."

The repairs went about as smoothly as Huyang expected. Altais was a droidsmith worth his salt, he had to admit. When he opened up his hands, his bushy eyebrows raised.

"By the Force, I'm surprised these things are still working. Did you pull these out of a dump?"

"I did, actually. During the Imperial War. I replaced as many of the internals as I could."

"Mm. Well, if it was during the War, you did a damn good job at it. But without that factor, I'd say this is the dirtiest work I've seen by a droid."

Huyang chuckled, but there wasn't a smile in his voice, only grim remembrance.

Altais said nothing more as he worked. He didn't comment on the rough welding jobs he had to clean and sand down, nor the rust he had to scrape and rub away in between his joints, or the mud he scrubbed off on his legs and peds. He only silently bent his head and worked. He had the professor sit up to look at his pack, opening up the back and grumbling at the sight. "Can you unfold your secondaries?"

Huyang unfolded both arms. They squeaked and squealed as he extended them into a half bend.

"All the way, if you can."

Huyang bowed his head in assent, and unfolded them further with even louder complaining squeaks. He was able to get one fully extended while the other twitched and stopped a third away from full extension. The claws on the arms unfolded, extending for Altais as he looked them over. "Mm. As I thought. One of your rotator cuffs in the right arm is shot, and the rest of them are deteriorating. Are they uncomfortable?"

"Yes," Huyang sighed, rubbing his thumb over his newly replaced and smooth plating on his arm.

"Figured. Don't worry, Huyang. We'll get these babies right as rain soon."

Altais had to take them apart to better get at the thin joints that needed replacing. Once he did, he rewired the pack itself with new wires that weren't fraying with age, and made sure to organize them by function too. Then, he cleaned everything he could and replaced the joints as best he could. Once the secondary arms were reattached and input back into Huyang's systems, he asked. "Stretch them out?"

Huyang did so. They moved smoothly now, with only the hint of a squeak. He spread the claws out, opened and closed them, and then folded them back in. "Perfect," Huyang sighed, more than willing to sing Altais's praises.

The droidsmith grinned and pat the droid's shoulder. "Don't congratulate me yet. We haven't opened your helm or your chest."

Huyang had to lay down to let Altais access his helm. He watched as the screws came away and felt the squeak of metal against metal as the smith shimmied the head cap off. Here, Altais made an expression that he hadn't seen yet. "Ah, geez."

"What is it?" Huyang asked, concerned.

"Stars. Just... a whole lot of debris in here. I was expecting it but this is a lot worse than I thought it would be."

Altais turned to pick up his brush vacc. "I'm gonna vacc you, then we'll douse these drives in cleaning fluid, alright? After that, I'll repair your eye and microlens. Then it's onto your chest for the vents, power system, battery change... All of that."

"Very good."

Huyang had never had his drives vacced before. He'd had them cleaned with a brush and rubbed with a cloth doused in cleaning fluid, but never vacced. It must've been bad then. He jerked slightly at the noise and sensation, but otherwise laid still, flinching only once when Altais came too close to the wires that led to his bad eye.

The rubbing of the cloth was pleasant though. Huyang let out a pleased hum, letting his photoreceptors shutter close. Altais chuckled above him. "Feels nice?"

"Yes. Very nice."

The eye replacement was a slightly different story. Altais had to lift Huyang's faceplate off to get at the delicate wires underneath. Huyang grumbled at the idea of it, but allowed the smith to remove it.

Altais asked as he was pushing the new eye in place and soldering the wires, "Do you want me to take a look at that jaw too?"

"Jaw?"

"Yeah. Your pistons are stuck. I can see them twitching."

"Oh, yes. They've been like that for centuries. I never bothered to ask to have them fixed."

"Well, do you want me to?"

Huyang was about to decline but paused. He recalled Lady Tano's words. Don't spare any expense, Professor.

"Yes, please."

When Huyang's faceplate and helm were replaced after he was given his new eye and lens, he felt like a new droid. It felt nice, to be able to see out his eye again.

He watched Altais shut the door and shutter the room with privacy screens before coming back around to the table Huyang laid on. "Alright, let's take a look."

It was a secret, what sat inside of the droid's torso. Not even Ahsoka knew, nor did most of the jedi he had taught. Yoda had been the last to know, and the odd droidsmith sworn to secrecy in the same way Altais had. It was why he never came in for maintenance over the War. Dismantlement was part of the issue, yes, but there was an underlying second reason why he had never even had his battery replaced.

Altais's eyes widened when he looked inside of Huyang's chest. He looked at Huyang. The object glowed, warm and soft inside of the droid.

A crystal.

A kyber crystal.

A large one at that, about the size of Altais's fist.

Huyang nodded. Altais looked back down, took a breath, and started working.

He worked around the crystal. He had no idea what to do with it, and it seemed the machinery hooked up to it was in good shape, surprisingly so. Maybe this was the item Huyang had spent the most resources taking care of, over the War. The rest of the machinery inside of Huyang's torso was relatively clean, all things considered, minus the occasional frayed wire that he would replace.

He cleaned everything inside with a rag soaked in cleaning fluid and made sure to dust the vents and change the filthy filters that had seen far better days.

The battery replacement was easy, all things considered. Huyang didn't even jerk. Once Altais shut Huyang's chest, they both stood in silence, Altais's hand on Huyang's left breast and Huyang staring up at him from the table.

"I..." Altais floundered before he tried again. "You're a really magnificent machine, Huyang."

Huyang hummed. His photoreceptors squinted in a smile. "Thank you."

Ahsoka looked up when she heard footsteps approaching her in the waiting room. She had been sitting on a chair, her eyes shut and meditating. When she opened them, she smiled when she saw the professor approaching her.

He looked amazing, compared to how he looked when he came in. His plating wasn't discolored and damaged anymore. His eye and microlens weren't broken anymore and he no longer creaked when he walked. He was colored a chrome white, with dusty blue and steel grey accents. He was gleaming, he smelled good, and most importantly, his confidence had returned.

He sauntered up to her, and folded his arms behind his back. "Lady Tano."

"Huyang," she stood up, and took his shoulders in her hands to look him over. "You look amazing. And is that jaw moving?"

"Thank you. The smith cleaned up rather nicely. And yes. It was always meant to move. I had it fixed."

She grinned, and shoved one of his shoulders lightly, "Ah yes, taking my words to heart, hm?"

"I think that if I refused to repair it, you would've found out and gotten upset at me."

Ahsoka chuckled, "I would've."

Huyang wondered idly if Ahsoka regretted telling him not to spare a single expense when she got the bill. But she only smiled, and signed off the credits with a bright nod.

Huyang was her family, one of the last connections to the happier parts of her childhood. It was a small price to pay for the old droid's comfort.

Chapter Text

Leather squeaked against metal, the hand's joints and pistons getting caught in the wrinkles of dry animal hide. Uncomfortable. The seams didn't follow the joints. The old droid opened his hands, wincing when the seams ripped. He sighed, picking at the destroyed gloves until they came away from the durasteel like peeling them off a new hide.

Huyang already knew adjustments had to happen to his legs. But his hands were a different matter. He stared at his fingers, round tips tapping out an anxious rhythm against his thumb.

1; 2; 3; 4; 4; 3; 2; 1…

He pondered the Rebellion waiting for him. Pondered its relative safety. The ability to complete his directive to protect and collect information. To teach. To create a new era of Jedi perhaps. A part of his processor wondered if he should present himself as he was. 

1; 2; 3; 4; 4; 3; 2; 1…

But then a louder, hurt, writhing part of his processor that had never recovered from Order 66 whispered about torture. About obedience cogs, mindwipes. Scrounging for parts, being left behind, being smelted when he would eventually deteriorate without proper care.

1; 2; 3; 4; 4; 3; 2; 1.

He straightened. He had work to do.

Finding suitable replacements for his legs was difficult. It took weeks of shuffling around in droid and ship graveyards, even longer to find suitable spare metals and wires. Finding hands was harder. 

The work was morbid. This was not the first time he had seen a dead droid, or worked on one, but it was going to be the first time he used one to replace his own parts.

He cut off the legs of a Mark VI architect droid, mixing and matching with the legs of a retired assassin droid with its head blown off. He wanted to keep his feet, so he used some of his own spares he had stashed in the T-6 . He used a welder and laser cutter contained in the smaller workshop, adding joints to the tips of his peds, to give them more bend. Making them work. Making them more organic.

He even placed the disjointed legs in boots to see if they would fit. They did, even if the leather gripped the durasteel tighter than he'd like. As long as it wasn't too tight in the joints, it would work. He could function with that. As long as the organics couldn’t see the metal. 

Putting together the hands was even more difficult. He finally settled on tearing off an old protocol droid's forearms and hands and mashing the internals together with a Mark VI's outer plates.

Most servos were far more delicate than his own. His lightest touch wasn't their lightest. He would have to make adjustments in sensitivity within his own matrixes. But the professor was determined, and he learned quickly through his years that if he was determined about something, he would get it done. 

Trying leather gloves with them was more difficult. He learned he needed gloves that were bigger than what an organic of his same hand size would need. Once he figured out his size, he figured he was ready.

His vents let out air in soft, overwhelmed puffs. He sat in his workshop, sitting in his chair and holding a pair of wire cutters with a painfully tight grip. He was starting with his legs. Although he had turned off his pain receptors to that area, the panic didn't leave his system.

"I have to do this," he whispered to himself, trying to calm his trembling hands as he raised the wire cutters. "I have to do this. If I want to complete my purpose, I have to do this."

Cutting through the wires in his knees didn't hurt in the physical sense. Warnings blared in his processors. He winced at the red in the corners of his vision. His vents wheezed, steam rising and his hands stuttered. He had never been online for a part replacement, at least not in the same way he was now, with most of his sensations kept on. He detached his legs at the knees, having to hammer out the screws and washers holding his joints together.

Shimmying on his new legs was a challenge. It didn't feel right as soon as he soldered and sealed the new wires. It still didn't feel right as he hammered the washers of his joints back into place and screwed the pistons together. When he swung a leg up experimentally, it didn't feel like his own. It felt like someone else's. Too smooth, too fast, too sensitive. 

He reached up to his extended leg and touched his new toes. Bad. It felt bad.

He pushed himself to stand despite it. He wobbled on his new feet, stumbling a moment before regaining shaky balance. He raised himself up on his new toe joints. They creaked with the weight of his hull and without proper lubricant. He settled back down onto the flats of his peds. Then he sat down back at his workdesk with a sigh.

He still had work to do.

His hands were different. When down to one hand left to do, he would lose dexterity, so he would have to use his secondary arms connected to his pack. He had been around long enough to know how to use the arms at their best. He worried more about his shaking. He wouldn't be able to deactivate his receptors for these part replacements. Knowing that his hands could still feel was important. 

In a normal setting, he could have someone else do it and do a test demo for his sensors attached to a terminal specifically designed with those calculations in mind. Unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury on the T-6, deep in space. He'd have to have his receptors on the entire time, to ensure he could still feel in the same way. 

Even if it felt wrong. 

Even if his hands didn't feel like his own anymore.

He gripped his soldering iron and solder in his secondary claws and the wire cutters in his primary hand. He would be starting with his right. He was better at handling tools on his right, so by that logic, if he lost dexterity by a certain percentage, it would be better than working on his left first, which was already the weaker of the pair.

Huyang gripped his wire cutters, stating to himself in a mantra, “I have to do this. I have to do this. I have to do this.”

Cutting the wire in his wrist was the most painful thing Huyang had ever experienced. It was like his receptors were lit with white hot fire. He wasn’t sure if he was screaming or not. The red around the edges of his vision and the warnings in his processor were suddenly overwhelming.

His hand stuttered, jittered, with the joints of his fingers squealing.

He didn’t know how he kept working. His wires came away, snapping and sparking.

Huyang could hear his own vocoder. He was screaming. His voice was more static than words. He tried to force his voice under control as he worked, eventually morphing it into a staticky, manic chant. “I HAVE TO DO THIS, I HAVE TO DO THIS,” he squealed over the pain erupting in his sensors.

Soon, the last of his wires were snipped away. Huyang was trembling, vents wheezing with hot air. He sat, trying to still his intact hand before picking up his small hammer to take apart his wrist joint.

Huyang was barely capable of thought by the time he was done with both his hands.

He stood on his unsteady feet, stumbling as he walked to his charging port. He reached with his hands for the cord, froze up, then used his secondary claws.

He plugged in, and let out a staticky whimper. He collapsed against the wall, shivering as he leaned against it and held his new hands close to his chest. He whispered, voice weak and almost swallowed up by the silence in the T-6 , “I had to do it. I had to do it. I had to do it…”

Chapter Text

Huyang sat with Ahsoka in the cockpit, hyperspace passing by with its usual flurry of colors. He was busy with his own maintenance, taking apart one of the joints of his fingers to clean and lubricate it.

Ahsoka spoke after sitting in this peaceful silence for a few long moments. “Huyang?”

“Yes, Lady Tano.”

“I’ve been wondering something about you.”

Huyang paused and looked up from his work. “What about? I can answer your questions if you have any. As long as it’s something I can actually tell you.”

Ahsoka smiled, “I think you’ll be able to answer.”

“Very well. What is it?”

“You have a creator,” she started. “What were they like?”

Huyang blinked, “Ah… that’s… a difficult question to answer.”

Ahsoka frowned, “Oh?”

“You see, Lady Tano, I don’t remember much from my early years. Full memory wipes were never utilized for myself, but information becomes... fuzzy and indecipherable within my archive memories at a point from age. These drives are old and dusty after all. But…”

“But?”

“I remember some things. I can try to tell you, if you’d like. But I warn you, it won’t be as clear as the rest of my tales.”

Ahsoka's smile returned and she leaned back, getting comfortable in her pilot seat. “That’s alright, Huyang. Go on.”

“Very well.”

Light. That’s what Huyang remembered. Light, warm. Warmth against his hands, cupping them.

“Good job.” A woman’s voice whispered in the light. She was soft, patient, kind. Her hands graced his quivering finger tips, “Easy there, my dear. You’ll break it.”

Break. Breaking was the opposite of his programming.

“Good. Now, this blade refractor goes…?”

Huyang looked down into the white fuzz where his hands would be. A lightsaber, in one piece, sat in his palms.

“Excellent, Huyang! Excellent! Now, ignite it for me?”

Huyang stared at the saber, tilting it in his hands. The hilt was straight and streamlined, the leather grip warm and soft under his sensors.

He turned it right side up, and ignited it. The blade came from the hilt with a vmm , and Huyang tilted his head at the blue light. It was hot, searing. It sung. Sung the most curious song.

He reached out his fingers but the woman’s voice interrupted him as her hand grabbed his wrist.

Warm. Her hand was red. Her fingers had callouses, rough. Her nails were black and blunt.

“Don’t,” she spoke in warning. “Don’t touch the blade, ever . Unfortunately, you’re not made of beskar.”

“Beskar?” he asked stiltedly.

“Yes. It’s a metal used to withstand high levels of heat and plasma. We have a slight amount in the hilts.”

“Not beskar. I’m durasteel.”

A twinkling laugh came from the fuzzy light in front of him. “Yes! Yes. You’re durasteel. Very good, Huyang.”

The blue light disappeared with a shink . He saw her smile, through the light and the white that smudged his vision.

“Now, let’s try again. There’s still much for you to learn.”

“She sounded kind,” Ahsoka broke in.

Huyang blinked, breaking from the memory fuzzy with age. “She was. I aimed to be just as kind to younglings as she was to me.”

“Mm. It sounds like she affected you a lot.”

“She did.”

Ahsoka reached out and touched Huyang’s shoulder. The droid lifted his head from hyperspace to look at the former Jedi.

“Thank you, Huyang, for telling me about her.”

“Well. You asked about her.”

Ahsoka only smiled, pat his shoulder and looked forward as the T-6 rattled along.

Chapter Text

The tap of boots against wet metal echoed through the dark streets of Denon. Rain came down hard around a figure in a dark, ratty cloak as he ran. He could hear the tap of metal against metal, two KX units on his tail. He scrambled for purchase as he made a sharp turn, grabbing at the floor as he stumbled and slipped, clawing himself into an alley as he regained his footing and kept running. 

The KX droids proceeded behind him, still running after him in long loping strides. The figure sprinted along the alley, puffing and panting until he ran into a dead end. He flexed his fingers, looking around for an escape route. He looked behind him and bristled at the KX units closing in. 

He lunged for a wall, trying to claw his gloved fingers into the grooves to clamber up but then he was yanked off the wall by his hood. 

The figure cried out, falling hard against the floor with a clang as he was swung off his feet. The KX unit grabbed him by the neck, slamming him against the same wall he was trying to climb up. The masked person yelped, kicking and scratching at the hand that had closed around his neck. The KX droid announced in its droning voice as its partner stalked nearby, “Rebel spy. You are arrested for causing civil unrest, the delivery and owning of contraband, trespas-” 

He kicked the KX hard in the head with his heel. There was a loud clang and the KX unit reeled back, losing its grip on the man. 

He dropped down gracefully, landing with a thunk and crawling between the KX unit’s legs as it was distracted by the muddy footprint obscuring its sight. 

The other KX roared, “Stop! That is assault on security personnel!” It reached out with its long arm, grabbing at the figure’s hood once again. He let out a frustrated choke, and fell backward with another sharp clang and soon the KX unit and the cloaked man were struggling. 

He threw frantic punches at the security unit, hitting it in the dome with a deafening dong and trying to claw at its midsection to get at the soft wires underneath. The KX unit’s fist clanged against the cloaked figure’s head, and the back of the head reeled back and slammed against the floor. The goggles covering the eyes cracked, pistons within the thing’s neck squealing. 

The KX unit paused, before it growled and ripped the mask off the figure’s head while it was stunned. 

A Mark IV architect droid stared up at it, one eye squinted and dazed, the other glitching and flickering from the punching. 

“Impersonating an organic and you are an illegal model. You will be dismantled.” 

Huyang blinked, horror sparking in his chest. He drew back a leg and kicked at the droid’s midsection, hard. The KX droid stumbled but its partner was rushing over to help already. 

Huyang bristled, scrambling to try and claw out of the alley. Rain poured around him, making his grip slippery through the gloves that were far too large for his hands. “Help! Help!” he screamed into the rain filled night, only to be grabbed up by one of the KX units. 

He kicked, struggled, and continued screaming. “Help! Help, please!” His secondary claws unfolded from his back, managing a good hit against the KX droid holding him before the other grappled onto one of the arms and ripped it off. Huyang shrieked, fingers spasming and photoreceptors glowing bright like two stars. 

He was slammed against one of the walls of the alley, one of the KX droid’s holding down his arms and using its shoulder to pin his claw while the other held him by the throat. 

Huyang howled, “Help! Help me ple-” He was silenced with the KX droid pressing one of its hands over his mouth. 

It chuckled lowly, growling, “These slow outdated models with their inelegant bodies… Silenced by a simple hand to the mouth.” 

Huyang whimpered, feeling the droid crushing his outer jaw. “It is time for your dismantlement.” 

Huyang’s eyes flickered into narrow slits before he managed to twist his claw out from under the other security droid, folding it in and then out with a swinging beam of yellow light at the KX droid. The blade slashed through the droid’s neck, not before there was a crunch of metal and a gurgled scream. 

He landed rather ungracefully, his arms still held tight by the other KX droid, now trying to reach for his abdomen to finish the job. He swung the lightsaber down on its shoulder as its fingers closed around a menagerie of wires. The metal and droid screeched as the arm fell away, not without ripping out some cords. Huyang swiftly swapped his lightsaber to his now free hand and slashed out, cutting the droid’s head off. 

The old droid panted, vents puffing and wheezing as he stood in the alleyway, surrounded by the remains of two twitching security droids and his own plating. Alarms and warnings still blared in his processors. He sheathed his saber and reached up to touch his face. He tensed as his fingers graced over damaged sensors and plating. His cheeks were all but caved in, leaving metal spikes that were turned towards his inner mechanisms and vocoder painfully. He reached down toward his stomach, touching at the sparking wires. He whimpered and tried to move. One of his legs was heavy, refusing to move from the locked bend it had fallen into. When he tried to lift the arm on the malfunctioning side of his body, it shot enough pain through his sensors to have him falling to his good knee with a yelp. 

His vents wheezed, smoke floating and dancing around him where he was bent over on the floor, only supported by one knee and elbow. Rain trickled down the desperate bend of his back, soaking his sparking internals. He tried to shout, cry out for help but the only sound that filtered from his broken jaw was gurgled static. He huffed, frustrated and in pain, head falling to hang between his shoulders. He puffed out a noise, grabbing the floor with his good hand and curling his fingers against the street. He slowly rose, staggering a few steps. 

He reached out to one of the bodies, grabbing one of the unit’s lower legs. He pulled with a grunt and ripped it off its socket, not without falling backward with another flash of pain from damaged sensors. He huffed, using it to prop himself as he got back up. He used it like a glorified cane, shuffling around the alley to gather up his missing parts. 

He collected as much of his plating as he could off the floor, tucking away his saber against his back with his remaining secondary claw. He picked up his removed claw, where it still sparked with residual electricity. 

He grabbed up the old mask last, tucking it under his arm. He staggered to the entrance of the alley. Huyang looked around, leaning on the wall for balance. 

Nobody. He supposed the KX units didn’t call reinforcements. And it didn’t seem anyone had heard his cries. 

He huffed, shifting and then started running as best he could with a malfunctioning left side. 

He whimpered as he fixed himself on the T-6 . The wires were easy enough with one hand. The secondary claw was difficult, and when he extended it after he was done, it jittered a slight amount from full stretch. Now he had started work on his damaged cheeks. 

He winced, grunting in discomfort as he shoved the repaired cheek plating in place with a clack. He looked at himself in his mirror and sighed. 

There were two large dents, obvious that something had crushed his face at some point. He grumbled to himself, “That will require a droidsmith. Ah, at least my vocoder isn’t damaged. That would be a disaster to replace.”

He picked up the mask, shoving some new goggles inside. “I have plenty of replacements for this… Mm, good idea, Huyang, very good idea to get these many replacements. Yes, thank you,” he mumbled to himself, as he tried the mask on to make sure he could still see through it. “Right as rain.” 

He jumped when there was a call on his comm. He turned to it and winced when he saw a Rebellion call had been patched into his secure network. He kept the mask on and threw on his robes before answering. “ Agent Locus? Are you alright over there?” General Dodonna spoke. “I heard you ran into some trouble. ”

“I did,” Huyang replied, keeping his voice even. “It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.” Nevermind that I almost got dismantled. They don’t need to know that Locus almost died.

“ Were you able to gather the information we requested, the schedules for the stormtrooper guards on Bissillirus? ” 

“Yes. As much as I could manage.” He patched his information through, making a show of typing as he plugged in the scomp connected to his index finger instead and sent the data over. 

“ Thank you, Locus. Honestly, your splicing expertise is fantastic. I’d think you were a droid, hah! ” 

Huyang laughed as well, even though he was very uncomfortable. “Well, I must hang up. I need to recoup from the mission.” 

“ Of course. I’ll call when we get a new mission for you. For now, lay low. ” 

“Thank you, General. Over and out.” 

Huyang hung up the call and once he was sure it was hung up, he took off his mask with a sigh. He rubbed at his aching sensors in his cheeks and grumbled to himself as he stood. “I might as well start calling up a droidsmith.” 

Chapter Text

Huyang couldn’t sleep.

Yes, a droid didn’t necessarily sleep, but the professor preferred referring to it as sleep. It was easier to understand for organics.

Technically speaking, he couldn’t go into recharge and processing mode. Not that he hadn’t tried. He did, but found himself awoken by bumps in the night or the ghosts haunting his processors with their moans and cries.

He couldn’t work on old projects he had started before the Imperial War because his trembling hands wouldn’t cooperate. He didn’t want to make tea, fearing he would wake up Ahsoka or Sabine with the kettle or the running of water. And sitting still was out of the question.

So he paced.

Pacing often helped get his head back on straight, he realized. He just needed to focus on the sound of his footfalls and count his footsteps, and soon his processors would work like they were supposed to again.

He was so focused on his counting and the sounds and feel of the floor against his feet, he didn’t notice Ahsoka standing in the doorway of her room watching him with groggy eyes. Sabine still slept on in the barracks, unable to hear Huyang’s pacing.

Ahsoka whispered, “Huyang? Professor?”

He jolted, stuttering in his steps as he made a startled noise. He turned to Ahsoka, staring at her for a moment in the dark. His eyes glowed like two twin flames, and they slid closed before opening again in a blink. “Lady Tano?” Huyang whispered back. His voice was as hushed as a droid could make their voice, static creeping at the edges. “What are you doing awake? Did I wake you? I apologize. I tried to stay quiet.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh. Hm, ah…” his eyes swiveled in the dark, looking anywhere but Ahsoka. “Thinking. Or… trying to avoid thinking, I suppose.”

Ahsoka’s eyes softened, “Is it one of those nights again?”

Huyang was silent, looking away before finally he replied, voice hushed and exhausted, “Yes.”

“Mm. It’s been a while.”

“Yes, I know. I… didn’t want to inconvenience you.”

Ahsoka’s eyes turned soft and sad as she smiled, “You’ve never inconvenienced me, old friend. Come. You can sleep in my room tonight. I still have one of your cords and your chair.”

Huyang shifted, tapping his fingers together before approaching Ahsoka and following her back into her room. She shut the door and whispered, “I’m going to turn on the light.” They had learned the hard way that sudden lights while Huyang was in this state normally led to more problems arising. 

Huyang nodded his acknowledgment and the lamp against the wall flicked on, bathing the room in a warm light. A bed was built into the wall, slim and meant for only one person. The room was modest and carefully stocked with the occasional item. It was organized and curated just the way Ahsoka liked it.

She tried to urge the professor to sit in the chair but he asked, “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

She pursed her lips before she smiled softly, “Of course, Huyang.”

She plugged him in for the night first, insisting on doing it for him. Maneuvering the droid into the bunk with her was difficult. Huyang was thinner than most droids but his torso was still rather bulky. Eventually, they settled with Huyang’s back and pack sliding out of the frame and Ahsoka pressed against the wall. She threw an extra blanket over him for good measure before turning off the light with the force.

Huyang’s eyes stared at her, dimmed so he didn’t blind her. He whispered, “I don’t like it when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I am something to fix. Like I am helpless.”

“I don’t think you need to be fixed, Huyang, and I most certainly don’t think you’re helpless.”

“Why do you look at me so sadly, then?”

“Is that why you didn’t ask for help before I found you?”

Huyang went silent, a low sigh coming from his vents. His fingers curled against the blanket he was lended. “I don’t want to make you upset. I am programmed to be a guardian. If I’m making you upset, I’m doing a rather poor job of being a guardian.”

“You’re far more than a guardian, Huyang.”

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

The two of them fell silent, the only sound being Huyang’s blinking photoreceptors and the soft clicks of his machinery. Ahsoka shifted a hand out of her blankets and touched Huyang’s helm, tracing the grooves in the metal and running her thumb over an old dent. The professor leaned into the touch, photoreceptors fluttering shut with a click. She whispered, “I wish I could take this pain away, Huyang. I wish I could hold your burdens and let you rest, even just for one night.”

“You don’t need to do that,” the old droid sighed, eyes still shut as he let his sensors soak in the warmth and texture of Ahsoka’s palm. “Young Ahsoka, you have struggled so much. You do not need my struggles added to your burden. And you are doing a fine job as it is now. The ghosts are quieter.”

“I wish they were gone from your mind altogether.”

“As do I. But I can manage. I have strength. The Force wills it so.”

She hummed, brushing her fingers over his head to caress the base of his neck. She rubbed her thumb against the warm vents along his head’s occipital surface, listening to the click and whir of his inner machinery and the soft sighs of his vents.

Eventually his joints loosened and she heard the gentle kachunk of his processors entering rest mode and a new whirring started, the sounds of Huyang’s drives working and chewing at the information from the day.

She relaxed, but kept her hand on Huyang’s helm, intending to bring him comfort if “nightmares” found him in the midst of his rest. She closed her eyes, squished a little uncomfortably but she didn’t mind.

The old droid always woke first out of all the occupants of the T-6 . He dragged himself out of rest mode like rising from a particularly sludgy pool. The ghosts of images and data from his archival memories danced about the corners of his vision as his sensors powered on in a slow gradient.

He saw Ahsoka's face, turned to him, her eyes closed and relaxed, breathing softly in her sleep. For a moment, he saw the outline of the former baby fat in her cheeks, her immature lekku, the wide curious eyes of a youngling. He blinked the memories away, and saw her as she was now, a strong, wise woman who was far more Jedi than she likely thought she was.

He sighed, shifting and then realized he was tangled in the blankets and Ahsoka's limbs. She had shifted in her sleep, the hand that had been resting on his helm now resting on his back, her arm encircling him in a sleepy embrace. One of her legs was slung over his hip, holding him close, so if he moved suddenly in his sleep, she might wake.

"Oh, Ahsoka," he whispered, touched. She was always so cautious of his "nightmares", ever since he had relinquished a slight amount of information about them.

He shifted, trying to shimmy out from her embrace without waking her. He managed to free his hips and was trying to free his shoulders from her arms when the former Jedi's eyes cracked open, gaze smudged with sleep. "Mm...? Huyang?"

"Lady Tano. Go back to sleep, I'm only getting up."

Ahsoka scanned him over groggily before releasing his shoulders and turning over in her bed to go back to sleep.

Huyang chuckled, endeared. He untangled his legs from the blanket she had thrown over him, folding it into a neat square and setting it aside on the chair drawn out nearby. He leaned over Ahsoka, taking the moment to rub his helm against her temple.

She hummed at the kiss of static that danced over her temple, leaning up into the contact before Huyang withdrew. He crawled out of the bunk and made his way to the door, opening it and closing it behind him as he ventured out of Ahsoka's room to the T-6 itself.

Chapter Text

Huyang’s clearest memory of his creator was not when she was alive, but when she was gone. He figured that the reason it was clearest in his drives was because of its recency compared to the others, where his archival data started distorting and warping like old holotapes. He didn’t particularly like indulging in the idea that the reason it was clearest was because a tiny part of his programming never forgave himself for something he couldn’t control. 

She passed of old age in her sleep. He had stood sentinel over her bed as she withered and grew weaker and weaker by the rotation. The last few nights before her voice had left her and she had started refusing food, she insisted he sit on the edge of her bed during his recharge. He continued to do that even after she stopped asking. 

The night she stopped breathing, he was the first to know. He was the first to alert a medical professional. He was the first to arrive at her room to say a final goodbye to her chilling husk. He was the last to leave the room after her body was taken away. 

After her death, Huyang was moved out of her room to a different area dedicated to droids. He recharged amongst the quiet hulls of astromechs, labor droids, ships and mice. The silence made him anxious, the hum of processors and fans made him fidgety. 

His young, naive processor that didn’t quite understand what death meant waited for her. He brightened slightly whenever he saw her former doctors in the halls of the temple, awaiting status reports on her repairs or news of when she would wake up and teach him more. 

Those reports never came. 

He didn’t attend her cremation. The Council never told him of it. 

He asked why, cycles later, when he was older and understood the circumstances better. The Grandmaster that had witnessed it told him it was because droids weren’t allowed to stand in, since they weren’t items connected to the Force. Huyang argued that the secret beating in his chest made him just as much a part of the Force as the lightsabers they held in decorative funeral hilts. That point gave him the right to attend future cremations. 

He was able to attend her ceremony of archive, being that it included the handling of her lightsaber. He was supposed to learn how to handle them when the bearer passed, since he was built to be her successor as lightsaber teacher and archivist.

He stood against the wall of the stone funeral hall that was meant for the relics of old jedi, most he wouldn’t have known personally and only through tales or old tomes. He watched as knights, masters, padawans and the Council arrived. He remembered wondering where his creator was, even though it was her own ceremony of archive. 

It was only when the Grandmaster started the silent ceremony by having her lightsaber and robes be carried out to the front of the room, where a wall of stone had shelves to place sleeping sabers and ratty robes, did her permanent absence hit him. 

He scrutinized each detail. He watched as the Grandmaster folded up her robes and imagined her folding them herself. How she would never fold her robes in that manner, how uncomfortably neat they were, meant to be a sign of respect instead of daily living. He tensed as the lightsaber was put inside of a shelf with her robes, his vents whirring loud enough to vibrate against the stone walls. 

The shelf’s closing broke something deep in his chest. Jedi filed out past him as they paid their respects and he grabbed the Grandmaster’s sleeve before he left. “Where is she?” he asked, static lacing his vocoder.

The Grandmaster’s eyes widened slightly and then softened, pity in his gaze. “She’s gone, Huyang.”

The droid didn’t say anything in response. His photoreceptors flickered in a blink, and he released the cloth of the Jedi master’s sleeve. 

“Do you want to be alone?” the Grandmaster asked. 

“No. I want my master.” 

“I’m sorry, Huyang.” Huyang stared as the Grandmaster offered his hand. “Come. It’s been a long day. You need to recharge.” 

“No.” Huyang said, turning to walk to the front of the stone room, footsteps lonely and echoing. “Leave me here. I need to think. I need to fix her. Where is she?” 

“Her body’s already been returned to the Force, Huyang… Please come inside.”

Huyang stopped, standing at the shelf that held her artifacts. His fingers twitched, recalling the Grandmaster’s instructions to never open the shelf on the same day as her ceremony. He pulled his hands to his chest, tapping his index finger against his chest plate with soft, rhythmic tinks. “Leave me here. Please.”

”Very well, Huyang. I’ll come get you in a few hours. Make your peace.” 

Huyang watched the Grandmaster leave the hall. Only when he was sure that he was alone, did he turn back to the shelf and place his fingers against the wooden door. He dragged them along the grain, tracing the winding lines. It was smooth like the blade of a knife, soft like a clinic’s desk and cold as death. His fingers clawed against the wood, creating small pock marks with their round tips. He let his hand fall, afraid of what he would do if he allowed himself to touch the shelf longer. 

Instead, he stood and stared at the shelf as it haunted him. His processors were loud, running data lines of how he could’ve saved her, fixed her, kept her safe. He found himself standing in a storm of simulated emotions, stimulants and data. He ran simulations of what she would tell him now, as he struggled and writhed. None of it satisfied him. 

He wanted to scream, cry, rip the shelf off its wall and steal the robes and hilt for himself. He wanted to tear himself apart until he was a mess of plating, circuits and wires, so that maybe, even though he wasn’t part of the Force like her, maybe the kyber inside him or a bit of his drives could join her. 

But he wasn’t built to destroy. He was built to create. So he stood frozen instead. Because there was nothing to create here. Nothing to protect here. 

There would be nobody to hear him when he finds something he thinks is amusing or exciting. Nobody to hold him when he’s nervous or needs guidance. Nobody to smile at him when he succeeds at a task or awakens from his recharge cycle. 

He didn’t know what death meant until just then. He wanted to ask his master for further clarification, but she wasn’t there to answer. 

When the Grandmaster came into the hall to fetch him, he refused to leave, despite his drives warning him of his low battery. 

“I want to charge here.” 

“There’s nowhere to charge here, Huyang. Please, just come in. We’ll give you some of her extra robes if you’d like, if that’d help.”

“Nothing will help!” he cried. “I don’t want her robes, I don’t want her lightsaber, I don’t want her room, I want her! I want my maker! Why didn’t you tell me anything? Why didn’t she say anything? Why-” his voice stuttered, glitched as his battery sputtered. “Why- Why…” His eyelights flickered as his senses shut down in a slow gradient and everything fell into darkness. 

It took several cycles until Huyang felt a semblance of closure and even longer for normalcy. The period between his creator’s death and the construction and opening of the Temple on Coruscant was unstable at best, chaotic at worst. The droid was moved from temple to temple, standing in on a variety of lightsaber training sessions and allowed to interact with the younglings with supervision. Eventually, he was just allowed to teach, as his knowledge grew. 

He threw himself into his work, adjusting ancient hilt diagrams, applying updates to the general hardware, strengthening metal mixtures and adjusting kyber focus and reflective lenses. By the time he was established in the Coruscant Temple, he was known as a skilled craftsman and inventor among the masters and knights of the Order. 

But he still took vigil over the extra robes of his creator. He still kept a square of cloth folded away in a newer storage unit that was added to his design. Her archival shelf was not on Coruscant with him, but he still went to the young archival hall at the Temple on her anniversary. 

He was sitting in on such a day when he realized that his own students would never see him grow old and join her and her peers in the Force. He ran a simulation anyhow, pondering the idea of a cremation and ceremony for himself. 

Droids didn’t cremate, they melted, so that was already a kink in the system. Perhaps, when he ceased functioning, whenever that may be, they would melt him down into a single slab of durasteel. What they would do with it, he wasn’t sure. He wanted to be returned to the Force, but the Force had no place for him to return to. 

Would they fold up his leather apron he had taken to wearing? Would they slide the metal slab of his remains into a funeral hilt? Would they put his heart, his Locus, inside of the shelf, never to be seen or bonded by anyone, just as it lived within him now? 

Or would he be thrown out like any other droid? Stripped of useful parts and the rest chucked into a pile of metal bodies to be rusted by rain and lived in by small creatures. He didn’t protest much to that, he supposed, not as much as his peers likely thought he’d protest. 

He laughed, despite himself, his voice echoing in the empty hall and only for the ghosts of memories to hear him. “This is a rather cruel joke my existence has played on me, mother,” he rasped. “You have given me the ability to learn, to teach, and to understand life and death and so on as a teacher should, but you didn’t gift me the ability to die. You’ve given me eternity, and I don’t know what to do with it. Not right now at least.

Is this what you want me to learn? To understand? Do you want me to continue teaching into the End Days of the galaxy or do you want me to do something else?”

He rested his hands in his lap from where they had started gesticulating as he spoke, becoming more impassioned as he went on. He listened to the echoes of his voice in the stone hall, the silence after that. He waited for an answer, something, anything. He placed his hand over his chest, rubbing his thumb against the durasteel plating of his left breast where the Locus sat inside of him, pulsing endlessly. 

“I think you want me to live,” he finally told the silence. 

He pictured her smile, the way she took his hands the first time he activated and helped him learn to walk. Already, she was such a small part of his life, and that part would only shrink as he grew older and older but he would always remember her smile, her warmth. 

He discovered decades later, he didn’t remember her face anymore. He decided that it didn’t matter. As long as some sign of her existence remained, he was okay. 

And he was still here, intact, functioning, surviving, alive . So he was okay.

Chapter Text

Huyang disliked Sabine Wren. A jedi wasn’t meant to hate, yes, but a jedi could hold a less than stellar opinion on someone without hating them, and that was what Huyang was doing. 

The droid never really liked many mandalorians he came across. Either they treated him like something to wrinkle their nose at and spit on or they treated him like a glorified terminal that occasionally said interesting or funny things. Very rarely had he met a mandalorian that treated him like an equal, or at the very least, with respect. There had been a couple in his long life that was an exception to the trend, but he could count those individuals on one hand. To be fair, his alliance often had him steering clear from mandalorians for the most part, but traveling with Ahsoka meant interacting with more of the armored race of humanoids than he was used to. And unfortunately, their trend of treating him like a silly pet held true. 

So he was… less than enthused when he met Sabine for the first time. He tried to make a good impression of course, since this was Ahsoka’s padawan, a person she had decided upon training and keeping in her life, and maybe someone he was going to have to help train as well. He didn’t talk too much or too little, held himself straight and respectable, and even acted engaged the entire time. 

But then she still treated him in the way he most despised: like he was a nagging terminal AI. Ahsoka had gently explained to him that it took her a long time to get comfortable with Chopper, to the point where she and the astromech actually got along. Huyang had grumbled at that, “It just sounds like they both share a thirst for blood and bonded over that.” 

Ahsoka laughed when he said it. She assured him that it would all work out, and to just keep being him, and eventually, Sabine would come around. 

She didn’t come around. 

They started butting heads early into her training with him. Since he was the only other Jedi trained swordsman on the T-6 , she ended up sparring with him half the time over her first apprenticeship with Ahsoka. 

She underestimated his skills at first. He ended up sending her onto her ass with a well placed slash of his Bokken saber. At least she learned not to underestimate his dueling prowess after that. 

She thrived when Ahsoka was a witness. But when alone, only receiving his instruction, it was an entirely different story. She would grumble, hum and haw. Ask for variants in forms, as if he didn’t know what he was talking about, as if she knew better than him. Perhaps he was too sensitive, he had thought, until he had overheard Ahsoka telling Sabine a piece of information he had already told her. And that time, she didn’t question Ahsoka. She didn’t roll her eyes or squint at her with suspicion.

Ahsoka likely could tell Huyang was annoyed with Sabine, so their solo training became less and less frequent. It was after the scarring of Mandalore that she finally showed him a bit of respect, saying goodbye to Ahsoka after she had told her she could no longer train her. “I’ll… see you around, Huyang.” 

Huyang had given pause at the farewell. He replied gently, kindly, “And I you. May the Force be with you, Lady Wren.”

Sabine’s return to her apprenticeship was met with little enthusiasm from him, despite parting with the mandalorian on the right foot. He was more concerned for her safety than he was in her success, especially as she grieved the loss of her planet, her clan and family, her race as she knew it. Her grief and solitude had only made her more high strung. Her determination became stubbornness, her desire to be useful became an obsession. And her annoyance at his quips became sarcastic agitation.

When he became trapped on Peridia with her and Ahsoka, he could honestly say that was his worst nightmare.

He couldn’t get away from her when he got frustrated, or at least, couldn’t get far. The best he could do was lock himself away in his workshop if he needed privacy, but it was still encroached upon if either Ahsoka or Sabine needed supplies or himself.

Ahsoka was better about respecting his boundaries. Sabine couldn’t quite understand them.

It was on a day that was damp and cold when Huyang finally lost the last bit of his patience. His joints ached and creaked from the weather, reacting to his commands slower than he was used to, and that was already driving him up a wall. He decided to make tea for himself, to at least try to warm up the joints in his hands so he could work on the repairs of the T-6 .

He opened the cupboard he usually kept his tea in and found the tin tipped over and spilled. Huyang’s fingers twitched, his processors whirring. When…

He bristled, realizing what had happened. The crash when Sabine had used the burst of an engine to slash two fighters in half. His processors got stuck on that simple phrase: Sabine did that.

He clenched his hands into fists, his joints creaking and squealing. Every part of him wanted to scream, punch a wall, rip the kitchen apart in a sudden hurricane of emotion. He sucked in a careful breath through his heaving vents. He shut the cupboard with more force than was necessary, paused a moment, then opened the cupboard again and slammed the door shut again. Over and over and over, until he could hear the metal hinges screaming. He threw the door shut finally, wheezing and panting.

“Uh,” a voice spoke up and Huyang’s shoulders rose minutely as he glanced in its direction. Sabine stood at the entrance to the kitchenette, staring at him with wide eyes. “Did I uh… Walk in on something?” 

Huyang stared, dead silent. He released the cupboard door after a few long moments, dents left where his fingers had been gripping at durasteel. “No,” he said, voice clipped. He stepped past her, making a point of avoiding contact. “I’m going out.” 

Sabine blinked, confused as she watched after the droid, “What? You can’t just- Huyang, you can’t just ‘go out’! Skoll and Shin are still out there!” 

“ I’m going out !” Huyang roared, grabbing his robes off the hanger by his workshop, slinging them on and stomping out of the T-6 . “Don’t wait for me!”

Ahsoka was currently out herself, surveying the area for parts, so he didn’t have her to report to at the moment. He only sent out a swift comm before getting onto a howler he had bartered for from one of the locals and riding away. He didn’t care where he went, he just needed to get away. 

His steed understood his desire evidently, as it carried him in a direction he hadn’t ridden off to before and just kept running in a straight line until he would make it turn slightly and slow down a moment to let it catch its breath before continuing. He rode until he could see the glint of noon at the horizon and soon let the howler trot until he found himself at a lake. Huyang slid off the howler’s back, taking its saddle off for a moment to let it rest. It sauntered to the lake and started lapping up water before laying down in the muddy bank to cool its warm underbelly. Huyang watched it, ever interested in the fauna of Peridea before settling against a mossy rock and spreading his legs out in front of himself. 

He sighed, leaning his head back until his neck joints and pistons creaked with the stretch. He shut down his visual array, taking the moment to breathe through his olfactory sensors. It wasn’t a particularly nice smell, the lake. It stank of moss, algae and animal droppings with the occasional tang of mud and wet howler fur. But it was better than being stuck on the T-6 with Sabine and Ahsoka, as much as he loved the former jedi. Much better. 

He opened his eyes to look up at the overcast sky. If he focused his photoreceptors and visual relays hard enough, he could pick out the silhouette of a moon or star. He looked back to the water when he heard a splash. The droid blinked, staring at the howler currently wading out into the lake. It turned to look at him, its black pearly eyes staring him down. 

“I’m not getting in,” he told the reptilian-faced hound. 

It said nothing in response, only stared. 

He sighed, shifting and glancing over his shoulder and the boulder in the direction they came. He was alone, he was fairly certain. If he was going to do something childish and curious, he might as well do it now. 

He stood, taking off his robes and folding them into a neat square that he set aside on top of the saddle. He took off his apron with a click as he grumbled, “Alright, alright. But only this once.” 

He stepped towards the muddy bank, pausing as he watched his feet sink into the mud. He could feel it sinking into his joints and licking at his gears. “Eugh,” he grumbled, not exactly enthused by the texture. “If I rust from this, you’ll have hell to pay.” His threat was weightless, and the howler shook its large head like it knew it. 

Huyang chuckled, eyes squinting good naturedly for what felt like the first time in a millennium. He stepped forward and waded into the water. He was glad he was waterproof, considering the damage he could sustain, out here all alone. He walked until the lake reached just above his waist. He could feel the mud under his feet, the algae and moss clinging to his plating and the water licking at the vents that had shuttered shut along his frame. The water was cold, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Compared to that morning, it was pleasant. 

The howler groaned, rubbing its head into his chest and shoulder. “Mm-hm, yes, yes, I did it,” he sighed, petting the wrinkly snout nuzzling the side of his neck port. He rubbed a thumb under one of its wrinkles and came away with a bit of gunk stuck to his pad. 

“Mm. You need this cleaned. Here…” He cupped his hands in the water, holding them like a makeshift cup before dumping it over the wrinkly skin. The howler snorted, but otherwise stood still and watched as Huyang rubbed the water in between the wrinkles in its skin and gently smudged dirt and grime out of its face. 

“It never occurred to me that you might require upkeep for your skin. I assume your wild sisters and brothers engage in communal grooming, to keep clean. I apologize. I feel I’ve been neglecting you. It’s just…” Huyang’s photoreceptors narrowed for a beat before relaxing into a sad tilt. “It’s just been hard. It’s been hard for us all of course, but I feel so… I feel useless. And Sabine is not helping. She doesn’t act like I’m useless, but she doesn’t act like I’m useful either…! She questions me so often. You must understand how frustrating that is. She acts like she’s been about the galaxy longer than I have! Ridiculous, isn’t it.” 

The howler only leaned into his caresses, saying nothing. 

Huyang sighed. “It’s silly to get angry about, I know. It was much worse when she had met me before. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have feelings, right? I’m allowed to be frustrated, yes? I think I should be. I didn’t even want to come here, and now we’re stuck here. What I wouldn’t give for… Oh, I don’t know. A day off. Somewhere nice, and warm. No sand to pick out of my armor, no mud to muck up my gears, no cold to make my joints creak. And I want to wear something… Clothes of some sort. Nothing that would inhibit my function of course, but something other than that ratty old apron. Maybe a new coat of paint, an oil bath or deep cleaning… Oh… I could go shopping. For new materials. For… for new tea.” 

He sighed, burying his face against the howler’s sweaty and moist mane of fur. “Oh. Oh, Force above. I want to go home. I want to go home, dear thing. I want to go home and rest. I’m so tired of all of this.” 

Huyang jerked his head up when he heard the crack of a foot over muddy gravel. He swung his head around, and stared at Sabine currently staring right back at him. Standing on the bank while he was waist deep in dirty, algae filled water, grooming a howler. 

The vents above the water huffed out a flustered puff of warm air. “Oh. Lady Wren.” His embarrassment subsided into frustration. “I told you not to wait for me.” 

Sabine blinked a couple of times. “Uh. Yeah. You didn’t say I couldn’t follow you.”

“I thought it was implied.” 

Sabine folded his arms. “Figured you’d need a babysitter. Ahsoka is back at the ship after you sent out that comm.” 

Huyang turned his attention back to the howler, cupping his hands in the water to dump it over its mane of fur. “Hm. Did she tell you to stay away?” 

The mandalorian shifted, uncomfortable. “She did. But I figured I should make sure you don’t get dismantled out here.” 

His plates shook a little. He huffed, releasing a puff of frustrated steam as his photoreceptors snapped to her again in an agitated squint. “I can take care of myself, Sabine. I’ve stayed functional with and without help for this long.” 

Sabine huffed, settling against the boulder he had been resting against before. Silence fell between them, uncomfortable and tense. Huyang busied his hands with combing and fingering through the mane to pick out mites and dirt while Sabine watched. 

“Why are you in the lake?” she finally asked. 

“Does it matter?” 

“You could rust.”

Huyang grunted, patting the howler once he was finished. “I have already considered that. I can afford to get wet this once.” The howler waded away once it stopped being groomed, out of the waters to shake off its cleaned coat and dry. 

Sabine watched Huyang as he watched the howler off. He didn’t make a move to wade out of the lake too. He turned his gaze downward, into the depths of the lake where the bank got deeper. Huyang asked, finally, with no sense of anger in his voice, “How much did you hear?” 

“What?” Sabine asked, confused. 

“While you were coming up. I was speaking to the howler. How much did you hear?”

He turned when he heard no response, staring at the mandalorian quietly. “There’s no shame in admitting to eavesdropping on an old man’s musings,” he said. 

“I’m sorry,” she spoke, finally. “About your tea.” 

Huyang snorted. It was a dry, warm thing, despite the chilled water sloshing against his hull. “The tea is nothing in comparison to everything else. Don’t apologize for that.” 

“I’m sorry you got stuck here with us then. I… know we don’t really get along. And I know you like spending time by yourself sometimes.” 

“Mm. Claiming I like something? That’s an interesting change of pace, mandalorian.” His warmness dissipated in favor of his bitterness. 

“Force, Huyang, I’m trying to make amends! You don’t need to be so… difficult!” 

“Difficult!” he laughed, infuriated. “I’m being difficult! I think I’ve been nothing but accommodating! Despite my opinions on your apprenticeship and Ahsoka’s decisions, despite my opinions on this, this… mission! Despite everything ! I’m being difficult! I’ve given you everything I know, despite it all, and you call me difficult!” His hands had started waving wildly, gesticulating with his words and flinging algae coated water about as he ranted. 

Sabine watched with raised brows, obviously not expecting an outburst like this. 

“I’m not- I’m not some service droid to be jerked around every which way, I’m not a terminal to be ordered, I’m not even meant to be a damned pilot! I’m a teacher, an inventor, a being ! And the one thing I am built for is not enough for you! It’s not enough, it’s never enough! All you two do is take and take and take, especially you! What about me? Am I not worthy of something? Grace? Rest? Respect? Care? At least Ahsoka seems to understand what I need… She at least understands I like things and doesn’t bring it up when she needs something from me.” 

Huyang trailed off, vents puffing, as his hands dropped to his sides and into the water with a sploosh .

Sabine blinked at him, a little surprised. “I uh… I’m sorry, Huyang. I didn’t know you… thought that.” 

“Mm. And you didn’t think I thought?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “No, Huyang, I didn’t… I knew you had thoughts. I just… expected it to be more logical.”

“Am I allowed to not be logical every once in a while?” 

Sabine’s mouth went into a straight line. “Well… If you’re doing it right now, I guess you are.” 

Huyang blinked at her, and let out an empty huff of a laugh. “Stars. This is miserable. We’re stuck on a gloomy planet, with no way home or to contact backup or rescue, and I’m standing in a lake covered in algae, screaming at you about feelings I should probably keep to myself.

“I’m sorry.” The droid bowed his head to stare down at his mucky reflection in the water. “I don’t feel like myself. I feel as if my wires are frayed and I’m running on battery fumes.” 

“You sure that’s not the water talking?” 

Huyang laughed softly, “Fairly certain. I’ve felt this before. It will pass, as all things do.” 

Sabine smiled sadly before it faltered. “Huyang, listen. I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have been treating you like you were just a tool. It’s… something I did to Chopper, a long time ago, and I should’ve known better. I get what it feels like, to not be enough. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” 

Huyang hummed. His photoreceptors softened, shoulders relaxing a little. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he sighed.

He paused for a few moments before he spoke, “I’m sorry I’ve been rude to you.” 

“Thanks, Huyang.”

“And I’m sorry I called you the worst padawan I’ve ever seen.” 

Sabine snorted, bowing her head. 

“Even though it's true.” 

Sabine laughed. “Stars above, Huyang, you’re such a dick.” She stood up from the boulder, gesturing at him, “C’mon, get out of the lake. Ahsoka will kill us both if you come back rusty.” 

Huyang waved a hand dismissively, clambering up the bank and back onto land. He opened his vents along his lower body, letting them hiss out warm steam. Sabine watched as he picked back up his howler’s saddle and his clothes. She reached out to him, hesitated a moment before finally patting the small of his back just under his pack. Huyang blinked, looking at Sabine curiously. She said nothing, only proceeded to her own howler. 

The next day, he saw a new tin of tea in the cupboard, a flavor he was curious about from one of the Noti traders. He decided not to mention it to Sabine, but he did make three cups for them all to share at lunch. She didn’t mention it either, but she had a glint in her eye as she smiled into her cup. And if the tea was disgusting, they could laugh about it.

Chapter Text

Next to his missions for the Rebellion, Huyang had side projects. Sometimes, he’d run errands for himself. He’d dig in scrapyards for any piece of machinery to help in his upkeep. He’d set up appointments with the rare droidsmith, otherwise and Rebellion, that was either silenced with credits or sent in by his master, “Locus”, for repairs respectfully. He’d travel to a planet that wasn’t in the midst of a scrimmage and simply sightsee or sit in nature for a few hours. 

Most of the time though, he was doing missions assigned by his programming. He had to find younglings, teach them the ways of the Force, kyber and lightsabers, and set a new Order up for success. It was a nagging mite in his processor, his near inability to complete this one task. He was programmed for this. He tried to be kind to himself either way. This was different from the many times he helped establish the Order before. Order 66 proved that. He was being actively hunted, he was being run thin, and he was alone. 

Incredibly alone. 

He had tried to succeed several times before. Most of the time, those children were too scared to even entertain being Jedi, or he was hunted down as soon as it was discovered he was a droid without a master. Sometimes, they were killed. He had witnessed the execution of so many bright lights, force sensitive and otherwise. He held their memories and ghosts in his arms and his back ached from carrying so many. 

Huyang was exhausted. But he remained hopeful. He had to.

The mission he had assigned himself this time was going fairly well. The planet he had found a youngling on this time was Haileap. He wasn’t quite familiar with it, but the weather did wonders for his joints with a mild temperature and not a single sign of rainforest. Huyang likened it to plains when he first saw it, with the minimal amount of trees and salt rocks and quartz coming from the ground. Despite the high salt content of the soil, flora and water, agriculture and society bloomed, like a flower in a desert. 

He found the child, Kleo, manning a fruit stand. He knew she was the one as soon as he spoke to her. Forcesensitive younglings had a way of making themselves known to Huyang. It was like a sixth sense baked into his hardware, the Locus encouraging its development with its energy powering his circuits and programs. He likened it to the pull of a magnet. And he felt that pull with Kleo. 

She was young, a small alien with bejeweled feathers that covered craggy flesh and wore more work pants than dresses like her other feminine peers. Her eyes were wide and bright, full of wonder that Huyang was programmed to encourage and cultivate. 

He made himself a regular at her stand, giving her the name “Atlas” to call him by. He bought her fruits, and they exchanged smalltalk that eventually developed into friendly conversation. He hung around when business was slow (which was often) and talked with her, wanting to know more about his potential future student and gain her trust. 

Over the next couple of months after his initial contact, he learned Kleo came from a poor farming family, trying to make ends meet. She was the youngest of four siblings, all of which worked on the farm with her father. She was the only female of their family, her mother having died after her second birthday. It made their family unit weaker, as in their culture, the lack of a matriarch was seen as distasteful. They were ostracized. She was seen as a blemish on their family, for not being old enough to be their matriarch, to be married off, for anything.

That was what the fruitstand was. Her attempt to be helpful, to not be a burden. It didn’t do much, if Huyang being the only real customer was anything to go by. But Huyang being her only customer made her feel accomplished, like she had finally succeeded. 

Eventually their talks got longer and longer. Atlas became a character of his own. Huyang played the part of an old war veteran, settling on Haileap for retirement. 

“Why here?” she asked, suckling on one of her wares, juice running down her tiny chin. “It’s kinda miserable here, isn’t it?” 

Huyang chuckled, reaching out to rub a cloth covered thumb over her chin to scrub the trail of juice away. “It’s pretty here. At least, compared to where I lived before. You can only look at skyscrapers and cloudcutters so many times.” 

“I want to see skyscrapers and cloudcutters,” she sighed longingly. “I want to travel to Coruscant and… and be a…” She trailed off, chewing her lip.

“Be what?” Huyang prompted, tilting his head.

“It’s silly,” she grumbled. “Father says it's a stupid, silly dream and I shouldn’t think it at all.” 

Something panged in Huyang’s chest. “If it makes you happy to think about, it’s not silly or stupid,” he murmured, looking at her with a softness he hoped carried to his mask.

Kleo frowned, working her jaw, before finally sighing, “I want to be a dancer. I wanna go to Coruscant and perform there.” 

“That sounds lovely, Kleo. I think you could do it.” 

She brightened, eyes locking onto him, “Really? You think so?” 

“Yes! Although, Coruscant is a rather lofty stage. I don’t doubt your skills, but it’s quite a podium to reach.” 

Kleo jumped to her feet, swaying on her heels, “I can do it! I’ve watched holotapes of the dancers that perform at the Galaxies Opera House! And I can sing, too! I can sing really good!” 

And so, an impromptu performance was started. Kleo jumped and spun and sang, dust kicking up around her feet as she performed for the man encouraging the dreams her father shunned. When she was done, panting and posing on her final move, Huyang clapped for her. He cheered to hide the clangs of his palms in his gloves. “Bravo, my girl!” he laughed. “I can see now, you most certainly are Coruscant material!”

Kleo giggled and curtsied, grabbing a pretend dress hem. “Thank you, Mr. Atlas, thank you.”

It was only half a cycle that Huyang had known Kleo before everything fell apart. 

He had been on one of his patrols for the Rebellion, gliding through the Outer Rim in the T-6 to report any Imperial happenings. He received a result from his scanning, and looked to see what it was about. An Imperial invasion, for suspected Rebellion activity. It was an everyday occurrence, something to chew a lip over and report to higher command to not go near the area. The coordinates reported caught his eye though. And then he read the planet name and his core froze in his chest. 

That was the fastest he had disobeyed an order from Rebellion command when he demanded to drop his patrol and go to those coordinates. His commander said no. He did it anyway. 

He landed a little ways away from the village he knew, but he could see the smoke from miles away. He only had time to scramble for his robes, mask and sabers before he lunged out of the ship on a hoverbike he was originally given for repairs by another agent and drove right for the village burning up into cinders. 

He could barely see through the smoke and ash by the time he arrived. His filters that covered his vents were choked with it. Huyang stopped the bike, scrambling further into the burned remains of the town. He looked everywhere for the little fruit stand and found splintered wood and squashed fruit where it used to be. 

Huyang almost despaired right there, almost turned to leave. And then he heard a soft cough and sniffle. He froze for a moment before scrambling in that direction. He found rubble first, a foundation of a building left behind, covered with soot. He whispered in a hushed call, despite how foolish it was, “Kleo? Kleo, are you there?” 

He heard some of the rubble shift, and snapped his attention in the direction of a box on its side that was slowly being opened. And Kleo stumbled out, tears and snot tracking down her soot covered face, but alive. 

Huyang scrambled to her, grabbing her shoulders and enveloping her in his cloak. “Kleo! Oh, Kleo, there you are!” he hissed, trying to be as quiet as possible. He grabbed her face, tilting it this way and that. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

“‘M okay,” she mumbled, still sniffling. “T-They said- They said they were l-looking for me, I-I don’t know what I did wrong, I-” 

“It’s alright, young one, it’s okay. You did nothing wrong, do you hear me? We have to go somewhere safe now, and you can tell me what happened. Come-” 

“No!” she sobbed, “Atlas, my dad! We have to find my dad! And m-my brothers! Th-They- It’s my fault, we have to-!” 

There was a pang of a blaster shot ricocheting off Huyang’s back and the old droid stumbled with a cry of alarm. He spun around igniting his lightsabers more out of instinct than actual thought, before a red beam collided with his yellow ones in a blocked strike. 

He was staring directly into the mask of an inquisitor. 

Huyang’s vents let out a shuddering rasp, and the droid growled over his shoulder. “Kleo. Run.” 

Kleo was dead silent behind him. 

He spun his head around for only a moment, screaming at the shellshocked child, “Run!”

Here, she stumbled to her feet, and ran in the opposite direction, scrambling into the ash and smoke. 

Huyang swung out his blades, forcing the inquisitor back before he spun around himself and started running. That was before he felt the Force crush around his legs and swing them out from underneath him. His advanced gravitational sensors activated as he was about to panic, and he twisted his body, landing on his feet and hands like a cat. 

The inquisitor came out of the smoke, lit by the red blade held in his hand. A low chuckle came out of the dark mask, modulated and deep, “Well… Looks like I found that little youngling’s teacher.” 

Huyang slowly stood up, positioning himself into a starting defensive posture, keeping his center of gravity low. His two blades sung with the familiarity of it. 

The inquisitor hummed. “This will be fun.” 

Red and yellow beams collided with a clash, sparks flying in the darkness of smoke. For a moment, it lit Huyang’s metal hands and his mask. He stumbled back a few steps before continuing on the defensive as the red blade made strike after strike. Each one was parried, Huyang taking the time to watch him, trying to pick out a pattern, an opening. 

Finally, Huyang ducked under a swing, sliding forward to slash at the inquisitor with his blades in a swinging arch. He caught his cape, cutting it in two with a hungry flash of yellow. This forced the inquisitor to stumble. Huyang proceeded, procedurally cutting down his defenses. The inquisitor snarled in defiance, using the Force to knock him back. He twisted in the air once again, landing with a screech of his peds coming into contact with sooty dirt and stone. 

The inquisitor laughed breathlessly, “What is this? You’re not a jedi, are you? You fight like one, but I can’t feel you. And your hands are metal. What are you?” 

Huyang didn’t bother to answer him, instead rushing forward with a flurry of attacks. The inquisitor stumbled but recovered swiftly, the Force fanning out to try and throw the professor off his balance. Huyang blocked an attempted strike, swinging backward out of the way of the blade. He caught himself with one of his hands, backflipping into a kick that uppercutted the inquisitor. Huyang heard the clang of metal against metal as his heel came into contact with the mask before he was thrown by the Force. He tried to twist and regain his footing but he crashed directly into one of the few buildings that still stood.

He choked on a breath, vocoder screeching with static for a split moment as he heard his joints crack painfully against the stone walls. He fell heavily on his side, fighting the instinct to mimic curling in on himself in pain. 

Huyang tried to get up before getting lifted by the Force and flung against that same wall. He let out a staticky yelp, hearing his plating crunch against the rocks under his robes. He landed again, vents heaving to try and cool down overheating sensors. He was lifted again and… 

“Let go of him!” 

He was dropped unceremoniously and he grunted, shuddering in pain. He lifted his gaze to the voice and his photoreceptors widened when he saw Kleo. 

“No…” he slowly stood, quaking on his feet. His goggles for his mask were cracked, making the cloth hood that made it up sag against his faceplates. “Kleo… Go. Run… You need to run…”

He blinked when he saw the blaster pointed directly at the inquisitor in Kleo’s hands. Her hands were stained with new dark blood that wasn’t hers. Tears streamed down her face. “No!” she sobbed. “I’m not leaving you! They killed my dad! My brothers! I’m not leaving you to die, too!” 

Huyang shuddered, errors flickering in the corner of his vision before he shoved them away and lifted his lightsabers and reignited them. “Kleo… Go. Now.” 

“Oh, that’s sweet,” the inquisitor cooed. The masked face turned to him. “The student protecting the master. A tale as old as time, isn’t that right, jedi?”

Huyang took a step forward, growling, “Your fight is with me. Not her. Leave her be.” 

Kleo screamed, “I want to fight! I’m gonna fight!”

The inquisitor tilted his head. “You hear that? She wants to fight. She wants to take me on. Who am I to dissuade a young challenger?” He held out his hand. 

Huyang barely managed to move before the Force grabbed Kleo. He ran as fast as he could to try and save her from the impact, knowing full well what would happen when she would be slammed into the ground. He scrambled to catch her as she was picked up and then flung downwards, towards the earth. Her scream was all he heard before she went suddenly quiet as her head cracked against the floor when he was millimeters away from catching her. 

His processor was capable of processing information in milliseconds. To the more modern droid, that was child’s play, but it was still substantial by human standards. He processed when her breath stopped, when her brain stopped, when her heart stopped, when she stopped moving in microseconds. She was gone just as soon as she was there. 

Huyang's next decision occurred in a millisecond. He turned towards her assailant, lightsabers ignited, and rushed him. 

The inquisitor was obviously prepared for retaliation but not prepared for how fast it happened. One moment, the jedi was standing over her body, frozen and unmoving. The next, he was suddenly at the mercy of twin spears of light.

Huyang found his processors narrowing in on getting this done as quickly as possible. He didn’t care about the disguise anymore, didn’t care to hide anymore. He jerked in surprise as red slashed through the cloth of his mask and hood, leaving them falling off his head and face. 

He clashed their blades together, stopping the sith from cutting his head off. 

The inquisitor froze suddenly, as the blades ignited Huyang’s unshielded face. 

He heard the inhalation of a shocked noise before the droid spun out of the way, gracefully dodging another swing of the blade. 

The inquisitor fought back, new fury in his movements. Huyang narrowed his photoreceptors against the sparks as their blades clashed. Huyang tilted his head, noting the inquisitor’s sudden frenzy. At the moment he didn’t care. Kleo’s body sat heavy on his processor. 

He didn’t hear the inquisitor’s insane cackles until they suddenly stopped when his blades crashed into his mask, cleaving a line vertically through the mask. A yellow, bloodshot eye stared back through the crack and Huyang swung out his blade to finish the slash through the eye. Instead his blades suddenly came into contact with the sith’s hilt. 

Both duelists froze. Huyang staring at the sparking hilt he was currently leaning against and the inquisitor staring at Huyang. Huyang made eye contact with the sith, before tensing and slashing through it. 

The hilt exploded in brilliant reds and oranges, a scream wrenching from the inquisitor. Huyang’s vision went white for a moment, sensors shorting as he crashed backward into the dust. When his vision returned, the smoke and red sparks had settled. He was laying on his back, staring up at the night sky. He could hear someone screaming.

The droid quickly scrambled to his feet, looking to the inquisitor curled around his smoldering hand. He cursed loudly, and looked up at the old teacher, fury and pain gritting his teeth. 

Huyang froze. It was like looking at a ghost. 

The inquisitor he had been fighting had olive skin and dark hair, buzzed down to fit his mask which was now a smoldering black pile laying on the floor. Dark bags marred his lower lids and the bridge of his nose looked improperly set, but Huyang could recognize any of his students, no matter the age. 

“Petro?”

Petro snarled, glaring at the droid as he used his good hand to rifle in his robes and pulled out a blaster. 

“Petro, wait-” Huyang started, taking a step forward while holding out his hand in an attempt at soothing. The old droid gasped as a bolt was shot into his shoulder. He stumbled back a step, reaching up to grab it as steam lifted from the new blasterhole. 

“Petro, stop.” He was shot again, this time aimed at his left breast. He stumbled and groaned before swinging out his blade and cutting the barrel off the blaster. 

He took a slow step forward, removing his hand from the earlier injury. “Petro, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” 

“Get away from me!” Petro screamed, scrabbling in the dust. 

“Petro, please, it’s me. Professor Huyang. You remember me, surely…?” 

“I do remember you,” Petro spat, eyes narrowed. “I remember you. I remember you leaving us. I remember you abandoning us.” 

The professor flinched. “What?” 

“Where were you?” Petro snarled. “When the Temple was falling, where were you?” 

Huyang’s processors whirred. His vents heaved. His heart hurt. “I-” 

“You left before it happened. Did you know? Did you know that we’d-” 

“No,” Huyang gasped. “No, never I… I was leaving for supplies. For my workshop.” He took another cautious step forward. “Please, Petro, believe me. If I had known, I would have never left.”

The inquisitor curled in on himself, glaring at the droid. Huyang felt so tired suddenly. “Please, Petro,” he whispered, holding out a hand. “Nobody else has to die today. Please, come with me.” 

“What will you do to me? I’m an inquisitor. I killed your student.” 

Huyang flinched, breath rattling in his vents. “I… I won’t kill you, Petro. We’ll figure it out. Please… Come with me. No one else has to die.” 

Petro stared at Huyang’s hand, good hand pressed against his side, burned one in his robes. He slowly dragged his jaundiced eyes up to Huyang’s face. He reached up with his good hand and Huyang felt hope blossom in his chest. 

Then he saw the vibroknife coming for his neck in a burned hand as Petro lunged upward. 

It happened suddenly, with almost no input from his higher functioning. His blade ignited, and he slashed outward in defense, his other arm lifting to protect his neck. There was a crack as he heard the vibroblade go into his forearm but he heard the choked gasp as his lightsaber slit Petro’s throat. 

Huyang stood in shock as he watched Petro collapse. Petro didn’t make a sound as he died. He just stilled, and faded into dust, leaving his garb behind.

Huyang stood in the midst of the burned down village, the smoke having long settled. The stars twinkled down on him. Alerts blared in his head as his self repair systems activated to do as much as it could. He looked to the only body remaining, gazing at poor Kleo’s crumpled form in the dust. He slowly approached her, and flinched when he saw the dark blood pooling around her head. His hands started shaking as he reached down and picked her up. He cradled her limp form to his chest and whispered, to no one but the night, “I’m sorry, young one. I’m so sorry.” 

The trek back to the T-6 was arduous. He drove the bike to the ship, parking it inside and stumbling his way into the pilot’s seat. Flying the ship out of orbit and into hyperspace was a blur, and Huyang settled back and stared forward. He could see bits of his reflection in the viewport. 

He looked filthy. He felt filthy. 

He slowly stood, flicking on autopilot before dragging himself to the washroom. He didn’t care that the sonic wasn’t made for droids. It was better than sitting in the filth.

He took off his robes first and then turned on the sonic and stepped under its spray. He almost screamed when he felt its solute collide with damaged sensors. He doubled over against the wall, vents heaving as steam rose off his heated plating from the cold liquid spraying down on his curved spine. He shuddered in pain, a staticky whine forcing itself out of his vocoder. 

Huyang looked down at the soot coming off his frame in cascades. He saw old dark blood, dust, ash… 

His knees gave out under him and he collapsed in the sonic with a clang. His vents wheezed as he felt himself growing hotter and hotter, his processor whirring with activity. He tried to breathe, to level out his fans, but his hardware refused to obey him. He clawed at the sonic’s walls, trying to find the lever to turn off the spray of solute before finally finding it and throwing it off with a shuddering clang. 

He curled into himself, clutching at his helm as he struggled to breathe, quaking on the floor and choking on his own cooling fans. A simulated, glitching sob wrenched out of him. He clawed at the floor like a desperate animal, his fingers squealing against the wet porcelain. 

“Stop,” he choked, struggling with the neverending feedback loop of his frantic processor. “Please stop. Tired- So tired, please stop-” his vocoder failed him as his control over that faltered too.

He curled into himself tighter until he could hear his joints creak. He tapped at his head in a frantic rhythm, fingertips fluttering against his helm. He had to force himself to count outloud, squeezing his photoreceptors shut as he forced his processors to work his vocoder.

He glitched, stuttered, choked and sobbed for the first few minutes, numbers unintelligible. Slowly, his counting evened out, and he could finally think again. He slowly stopped tapping at his helm, dropping his hand weakly onto the sonic’s floor. Huyang laid still, only focusing on his stabilized fans and forcing himself to breathe. 

Eventually, he was calm. Calm enough. He pressed his palm down on the floor, slowly pushing himself up to sit. He swayed as his gravitational sensors settled before he brought himself to stand. He held the wall as his knees shook, and then he clambered out of the sonic. 

He left his robes behind and didn’t even bother putting his apron on as he dragged himself into his workshop. He approached his charging port, plugging in and sitting down heavily against the wall. 

He stared up at the ceiling, a long heaving sigh escaping him. A sob choked his vocoder, and he covered his eyes as he massaged his photoreceptors, even though it did nothing. 

Huyang forced a sleep mode, deciding he didn’t want to be awake with his processor any longer. 

He dreamt of watching Kleo perform in the Galaxies Opera House with Petro by his side, cheering her on.

Chapter Text

Her project was a tentative success. 

The Order had just been born, and she had been a master for a measly 5 years. She still gained looks and stares from her peers but compared to her success and doing what she loved most, she didn’t care. She was gifted with a spry mind and a craftsman’s hand, and she aimed to make the most of it. She became the one to teach younglings how to build their first lightsabers. She became the one to uphold their traditional symbiosis with kyber. 

She went through cycles of students but years of loneliness made her ache. Not only that, but an unreliable space to put her archival information was a dire situation that needed rectifying. 

So she brought to the Council schematics for a droid. A droid that was far more advanced than most droids functioning in the Republic that century, with a memory that was at minimum the size of an archival vault. A droid meant to teach, in her stead, for eons to come. 

It took many meetings to convince the Council of the benefits of having such a droid around. It took even more to convince them that the price for parts was worth it. It only took one more secret meeting with the Grandmaster to share her plans for a secondary power source: a kyber engine. Finally, M4A-J33’s parts were in the process of assembly and she had gained its processors to grant it its base programming via terminal and a personality matrix to let it grow. 

When the body was complete and it started up in its new physical form, it was as clumsy as a newborn fawn. Trying to stand on its own the first time it powered on resulted in it almost collapsing onto the floor facefirst. She caught it before that happened, letting out an anxious laugh as she held onto its trembling hands. Or maybe she was trembling. She wasn’t sure. 

It started moving slowly, and eventually learned to walk on its own without holding onto a wall or using her shoulder for balance. It still stayed by her side though, trailing her like a baby duck. It took several rotations before it started speaking of its own accord instead of only speaking when spoken to or repeating words she had already said. 

Its first phrase of its own was simple. She had let it observe the undocking of supplies at the temple where the both of them stayed, had turned her back on it for one second before it interrupted her supervision of the labor droids with a simple, “Master, what is this?” When she turned back around, it had a wide eyed avian clutched in its hands, holding it much like how a new padawan gripped a lightsaber hilt. 

From there, M4 was a glutton for information. A few masters of the Council that visited during this period announced it was rude, prodding, annoying. Most of the masters on the Council and herself found it endearing. M4 was curious about everything. It asked her questions almost everyday. It watched and copied her mannerisms, adopting ones it liked and abandoning ones it found no use for. She likened it to teaching a youngling. Sometimes it would reach out and take her hand to hold, looking for comfort and guidance. She found her loneliness soothed by its company. 

The master had started taking it for walks outside of the temple. It was meant to be kept secret until it could defend itself, until it could teach and be trusted with children, so the jungle planet they were on was isolated. For safety, they traded entertainment. M4 got bored, so the walks were a solution. Another activity to fill the day other than staring at diagrams and having meandering conversations about lightsaber and kyber theory and history. 

M4 had taken a liking to the creek that ran nearby. She had yet to find a way to effectively waterproof it, so she found herself worrying her lip as it stared in amazement at the little minnows swimming with the current. Today, she had lended it something she didn’t think a droid would ever put on: a pair of waders with boots. It could barely sit still as she helped it put them on and almost as soon as its metal was hidden in the water resistant clothing, it had rushed off and dove into the creek. 

She watched with a smile as it sloshed around in the creek bed, announcing what it saw to her as it clumsily waded about. A few times, she had to catch it from stumbling with the Force, but she was just happy M4 was happy. 

She blinked. Huh. A droid, happy. 

M4 approached her, waders soaking wet from the knees down. “Master,” it started, tilting its head. “Can I touch them?” 

The master smiled sadly, “I’m sorry, M4, that would damage your servos. And I think it would frighten them.”

“Oh.” It looked back to the creek, wading back out as it asked, “What are they?” 

“What? The fish?” 

“They’re called fish?” 

She chuckled, “They are. They're small fish, minnows.” 

M4 hummed, tilting its head. “Minnows.” It sounded it out carefully, mumbling to itself, “Minnnooowws.” It let out a noise that the master wasn’t expecting: a short giggle. Its photoreceptors squinted with glee as it continued giggling to itself, its vents puffing goodnaturedly.

She tried not to make a big deal about it, instead directing her excited curiosity to being amused with it. “Now, what are you laughing at, little one?” 

It tittered, fingers tapping against his thumb, “Funny name. It sounds funny.”

Her smile grew into a grin and she couldn’t help her own chortle. “I suppose it is funny.” She straightened, calling, “Come along, M4, we’ve barely started our walk and you’ve been playing in the creek for the better part of a half hour.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

M4 followed her, wading through the stream at first and then finding some rocks to hop along and balance on. It paused on one rock, arms outstretched at either side of its torso to keep its balance. “Master?” it called.

“Yes, M4?” 

“Why don’t I have a name?” 

The jedi master paused, frowning and tilting her head at M4. “What do you mean? You do have a name.” 

“No. M4A-J33 isn’t a name…”

“Well, I don’t think that’s your name per se…”

“M4 isn’t one either… It has numbers, names don’t have numbers. Like minnows. And your name.” 

She sighed, turning to M4 completely now. It still balanced on its rock but now it was staring at its feet, optics unreadable. 

“M4…” Her voice gentled as she said, “You’re a droid, M4. Droids have numbers in their name, that’s all.” 

M4 made an expression she hadn’t seen before after she said that. Its lids squinted, obviously trying to mimic one of her expressions she had made in the past. It looked like a grimace. “Why?” 

“Why?” 

“Mm-hm.” M4 settled to sit on the rock instead, its booted feet dunking into the creek. 

“Well… Because…” The master grumbled to herself, rubbing her face for a moment as she tried to think. Because you’re a droid. Because you’re an object. You’re not alive, M4. Things that aren’t alive don’t have names like that. 

She looked up at M4 sitting on its rock, watching her now, waiting for her answer. Its feet were kicking idly in the water now, boots splashing against the current. If M4 wasn’t made of metal, she would’ve looked at it and saw a youngling, maybe only 7 years old. If something was capable of emotion and thought, and wanted what M4 was asking, shouldn’t it be allowed to have a proper name, not a serial code?

It shared her face. Despite the metal and the exaggerated features that came with it, the durasteel outcroppings running along either side of its faux mouth mimicked her facial tentacles. She made it that way to show the Council, the Order, that despite her heritage, she had a place in their history books. The droid deserved a name just as much as she deserved acceptance. 

“You can have a name, M4. It doesn’t need to be M4 or M4-J33. That’s a bit of a mouthful anyhow.” 

The droid brightened, lids disappearing as its eyes widened meaningfully. “Really? I can have a name? A real one!” It faltered a little, murmuring, “What if the other masters get mad at me? Some of them don’t like it when I ask questions, so I don’t think they’d like it if I had a name...” 

“Ah, if they have anything to say, send them to me. I’m saying you can have a name. It wouldn’t do to have a teacher that hates the sound of its own title.” 

“His.” 

“Hm?”

M4 grew shy, shoulder joints raising as much as they could as it bowed its head to look anywhere but her. It mumbled its correction more to the stream than her, “‘His own title’.”

Oh. That made sense. Of course, if it was mimicking her and the other organics it was seeing, going so far as asking for a ‘name’, it made sense it would also relate to gender in some way. 

She smiled gently at it - no, him - encouraging him with a gentle nod. “Well, what would you like me to call you?” 

“Can you choose?” he asked instead, his eagerness returning. “It… would be nice if you chose.” 

The master blinked, and she laughed a little awkwardly. “Alright. Come here, M4. Let me get a look at you.” 

The droid tilted his head, jumping down from the rock to approach her, asking once he stood in front of her, “Why? You see me everyday.” 

She gently took M4’s face in between her palms and he blinked, looking at her in awe. Then he leaned into her touch, watching her face curiously as she squinted and traced his faceplate with her eyes. 

Finally, after a few moments, she announced, “Huyang.” 

The droid blinked, reaching up to touch the back of her hands. His servos were dirty from clambering on top of creek rocks, leaving wet splotches on her skin. “Huyang?” he asked, trying the name with his vocoder, rolling it on his metaphorical tongue. “Why?”

“I had a family before the Order, after I ran from my caste. They helped me feel like I belonged, and I adapted their culture. It’s a term from their native language. It means ‘protect and raise’.” 

He stared up at her, wonder in his eyes. He tried the name again, murmuring to himself as his eyelights flickered to the side, tasting the word in his jaws. “Hu… yang. Huyang.” He blinked. She could hear his vents shudder as a staticky noise escaped him. 

“Yes. I like it,” he announced, looking up at her again. “I’m Huyang.”

The master’s smile grew wider on her face, facial tentacles tingling with excitement. “I’m so proud of you, Huyang.” 

The droid’s eyes squinted in a pantomimed grin and then suddenly, he threw her arms around her. She gasped in surprise. Huyang was warm, pleasantly so. She could feel the kyber and his primary battery pulsing through his frame to power his pneumatics and joints. She could hear his internal fans and processors, pressed so close to him. He mumbled against her shoulder where he had buried his face, “I love you, Master.” 

She stood slack jawed for a moment. Love. Now that’s something you don’t hear from a droid. 

She blinked tears from her eyes, a warbly smile slowly spreading across her face, and wrapped her arms around his back and held him close. “I love you, too, little one.”