Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Coll flings a hand out, seizing the blaster bolts and freezing them in their tracks. He grits his teeth. The bolts ooze with the pirates’ avarice, feeling slimy and repugnant in the Force. With a flick of his wrist, he deflects them into the shuttle floor where they disperse in a flurry of sparks. He levels his Glie-44 pistol at the nearest pirate and fires rapidly, blaster bolts crackling through the air. The pirate topples just as Coll’s pistol jams. 

Coll curses and ducks behind a pile of crates. He discharges the pistol’s energy bank with a ‘snick’ and slaps in a new magazine. There’s a lull in the blaster fire and the sounds of many (too many) feet approaching. Coll’s heart sinks. He can feel the gut-wrenching terror and anxiety of the initiates locked safely in the cockpit behind him. Force sensitives, much less child force sensitives, sell for far too much on the black market for him to hope that the pirates will spare them. 

Coll feels his eyes well up, panic thick in his throat. They’d planned this exodus to Yavin for months, spent nights strategizing how to evade the Empire’s patrols and transport their precious initiates safely. The children had been ecstatic at the prospect of meeting more of their kind, squealing in delight over the view from hyperspace and peppering Coll with questions. Coll squeezes his eyes shut. If he doesn’t hold the pirates here, his little ones will grow up with collars around their necks. The thought of their eyes, dulled with resignation and pain, sends a spike of fury through his veins and his eyes snap open. Like hell will he let that happen. 

Coll takes a deep breath and readies the pistol. He twists out from behind cover and fires as fast as he can. The world narrows to the end of his blaster and the roaring of blood in his ears. Pirates drop around him. For a moment, he feels a spark of hope, thinks that they might get out of this alive, then the ship shudders, walls quaking and rattling as another ship latches onto them. He stumbles and the crates behind which he’s hiding tumble down, exposing him. A slug nails him in the shoulder and he falls to his hands and knees. Pain rips through him. A high pitched whine pierces his ears and his lungs constrict. He can’t breathe, he can’t see. Only feel the fractured slug burning through his shoulder, the echoes of pain blinding in their intensity. He sways, the world spinning and lurching around him. 

The ship stops shaking and a hail of blaster bolts flies so thickly through the air that it glitters with them. A rough hand seizes him by the hair and presses a blaster against his head. Through the darkness eating at the edges of his vision, he sees light glinting off of helmets with T-visors. A stillness falls over the room, the only sounds the ringing in Coll’s ears and his labored breaths. 

The Force screams at him.

He lurches forward, the pirate’s blaster discharging so close to his head that it singes his hair. There’s a staccato of fire, then a muffled thump as the pirate falls.

The initiates’ terror spikes at the sound. Get up , he commands himself. He bites hard on his lip, the iron taste of blood filling his mouth. Coll drags himself up against a crate and levels his pistol at the blurry armored figures with his other arm. He coughs, blood splattering the front of his shirt. 

One of the soldiers lowers their rifle and lifts their hands placatingly. They remove their helmet and their lips move, but the meaning of their words are lost to the ringing in his ears.

Clones. The Empire had found them. 

The terror sitting in his chest crawls up to his throat and the room swims. Sweat drips down his face and into his eyes. His aim wavers in front of him, pistol swaying from clone to clone.

The Jedi who vanish into the Empire’s clutches reappear complacent and mind-wiped. He doesn’t want to imagine what tortures the Empire does to lobotomize them. The Force pulses through him, and for a moment he’s in a dark, empty room and screaming into the void. Coll blinks and the world reappears around him. Ice skitters down his spine and his breath catches. He doesn’t want that agony of existence for himself. For anyone, much less the children he’s guarding. His breaths hitch and despite himself, he glances toward the cockpit where his initiates are. 

When he looks back, the clones’ attention is on the cockpit door. Alarm, thick and viscous, floods Coll’s throat making it hard to breathe. He snarls, baring his bloody teeth and fires off a shot toward the ceiling. The clones recoil and level their blasters at him. Look at me , he screams in the Force even as he swathes the cockpit in a shield so that any observer’s attention will slip away from it. 

The clone with their helmet off gestures at their squad to stand down. Coll glances at their lips. 

“--ettle down, verd. You’re okay, just put the blaster on the–” 

He looks away, glancing around the ship for anything that might help. There’s five of them and one of him, a slug in his shoulder, and six initiates hiding in the cockpit. He had hit the emergency beacon when the ship first shuddered to halt in the pirates’ tractor beam but any help, present company excluded, is going to take time to arrive. He looks back at the clones. They’d crept forward while he was looking around. He jerks his blaster up at them. 

“BACK OFF!” he barks, an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice. 

He sways with effort. The dim light hurts his eyes and the burning pain in his shoulder hasn’t subsided. He glances down. As he watches, a drop falls from his blood-soaked shirt to splatter on the ground. His stomach churns and he grits his teeth against bile. He shivers even as his heart pumps so quickly he can feel it in his throat. He’s so cold that he’s surprised he can’t see his breath in the air. Bloodloss , his mind whispers to him. 

The helmet-less clone is speaking to Coll again, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. He backs away toward the cockpit door and sags against it then sinks slowly to the ground, blaster pointed at the clones the entire time. The initiates on the other side of the door cluster against it as close to him as possible, little stars in the Force. 

A spike of pain pierces him as his muscles spasm then release. The heat in his eyes spills over. Coll doesn’t have much time, already darkness eats at the edges of his vision. His gaze catches on the ship’s window that opens out into pitiless space. 

The cockpit is atmospherically sealed. 

The cockpit is built to be the last refuge if the hull’s integrity is breached. If he can open the airlock, he and the clones will be sucked out into space but his little ones will be safe until help arrives. His gaze flicks to the airlock console and he stretches toward it in the Force, even as it screams at him, its vehement reproach cutting him like shards of glass. 

The airlock’s latches start to disengage and the clones whirl toward the noise. One lunges for the emergency override, fist breaking the glass cover and slamming into it, and the shifting mechanisms halt.

Coll’s heart stutters then anger surges and he shoves with the Force, sending crates and bodies flying into the walls. Memories of his children flash before him. Finding them, one by one, little treasures in need of rescue and comfort, then watching their chests rise and fall as they slept peacefully. 

And these clones would take them from him.

Coll snarls and batters them with wave after wave of crushing pressure. Years of bitterness from a life on the run from the Empire bubbles up within him and twists into fury. How dare they force him to hide, to suppress who he was to escape notice? All the times he stood to the side to preserve his cover, a bystander to injustice, flash through his mind and he bares his teeth. Around him, objects rise into the air, vibrating with the force of his rage. 

Then out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses a reflection of himself, eyes flashing between their normal brown and Sith-yellow. His breath catches and he stares at himself, transfixed. 

This is who you’ll become unless you stop, the Force whispers to him. 

Ice squeezes his heart. If he releases the clones they’ll hurt him, hurt his children. Lock him away in a lightless void. Coll stares at the men pinned to the bulkhead. He meets the eyes of the helmetless clone, whose face is twisted in pain and desperation. Coll did this. This man was once as young as the little initiates he’s guarding. His long-dead master’s words echo in his ear, “Pain, fear, anger. That is not the way of the Force.” His limbs tremble with indecision, then he allows the objects and men floating in the air to fall. 

Coll stares at his hands. They’re smudged with his own blood and with grit from his blaster. He almost fell to the Dark Side. Coll feels bile crawl its way up his throat. It was so easy to embrace the rage, to allow protectiveness to morph into vindictiveness. 

He looks up at the men picking themselves up off the ground in time to see one level a blaster at him and fire off a blue stunner. Faster than he can think, he throws up his hands, grasping for the Force, but it slips past him. His muscles seize as the stunner envelops him and icy heat skitters through his body. Coll collapses and curls in on himself, breathless and unseeing. He feels the ground tremble with footsteps as the soldiers approach. 

Get up! 

He’s screaming inside his mind, panic swirling like a burning maelstrom. Then a second stunner hits him and blackness overcomes his vision.

—-----------------------

Clone Corporal Tavo catches his eye in the reflection of the observation window and grimaces at the dark circles under his eyes, then goes back to watching the rise and fall of the Jedi’s chest as they sleep in the med bay. 

Someone walks over to stand next to him and Tavo’s gaze flicks over to them then back to the Jedi. Reluctantly, he turns away to stand at attention and salutes. 

“Sergeant.” 

Despite sharing the same face, the sergeant wears his with such stoicism that his face might as well have been carved from stone. 

Sergeant Hash regards him for a moment, “At ease, soldier.” 

Tavo falls into a parade rest. Despite himself, his gaze flits back to the observation window. “Permission to speak, sir?” 

“Granted.” 

“How are the ade doing?” The Jedi had woken screaming for the ade and needed to be sedated. 

A flicker of something resembling approval flashes through Sergeant Hash’s eyes, “Good. As well as can be expected. Aniss checked them over and they’re fine. The CDC has them now.” 

Tavo frowns, “CDC?” 

Sergeant Hash shrugs “Childcare Development Center. They’re with the other force sensitive ade we’ve found.” 

Tavo’s eyebrows raise. He hadn’t realized that their Finders had been successful in identifying and retrieving force sensitive children. That must be highly classified information. 

He glances sharply at Sergeant Hash, “Should you be telling me that?” 

The good sergeant smiles slyly, “You deserve to know since your Jedi’s going to be working with them. Congratulations by the way. Your claim’s been approved.” 

Approved . Tavo’s eyes widen and elation rushes through him. He fights not to break into a grin. His squad will be delighted. The atin cabur is theirs. He looks back at the sleeping Jedi, eyes hungrily tracing the contours of their sleeping face.

Sergeant Hash clears his throat, “Due to the Jedi’s injury, you’ll be bonding the old fashioned way. I suggest you start before he wakes up.” 

Tavo nods wordlessly. His. His to treasure and protect. To embrace as his own. 

“This is for you.” 

Tavo reluctantly tears his gaze away from his Jedi to take the thick folder from the sergeant. He flips it open. The Jedi's face stares back at him, innocent and fresh-faced in the photograph, so different from the rugged man in their med bay.

He thumbs the page, “This is everything we have on him?” 

The sergeant says, “Almost everything. We lucked out when we picked him up. Finder Regald Coll, assigned to the Mid-Rim. High retrieval rate of force sensitive ade . He’ll keep you busy once he’s redeployed.” 

Tavo lets himself grin, “I’m looking forward to it, sir.” 

Sergeant Hash nods, “Good man.” He leans in, “Fair warning. Intelligence is going to come calling after your Jedi.” 

Tavo blinks, mind spinning. It makes sense that they would take an interest in his Jedi. Rumors that there are more Jedi, hidden in plain sight, had spread like wildfire once the Sentinel squads had been put on alert. Since his Jedi is a Finder, he must have communicated with the greater network of Jedi so that he could deposit any ade he discovered with their creche. Intelligence must be ecstatic. His Jedi is a veritable treasure trove of intel. 

He nods at the sergeant. “Understood. Thank you, sir.” 

Sergeant Hash nods back then turns to leave. “I’ll let you review the file and break the news to your squad. Retur’cye mhi .” 

Tavo salutes. Once the door closes, he exhales shakily and grips the file with trembling hands. His Jedi. 

Since the moment they decanted, they had been told that they were made for the Jedi. He’d been one of the lucky few Sentinels to have served with their Jedi General during the war. It’d been such a temptation, working with them and catching hints of a bond. There were times when he’d caught his General’s eye over the fire, late at night, and had allowed himself to fantasize about holding them close. The night that Order 66 happened, they’d been on leave on Coruscant and his General had bidden his squad to enjoy themselves in the city while they rested at the Temple. Tavo and his squad had seen the missiles strike and flames rise in the distance, grief and horror piercing them. 

Tavo exhales shakily and unclenches his hands. No one could have anticipated the early issuing of Order 66. While other Sentinel squads had captured their Jedi, his had lost theirs. Six years later and his heart still twinges whenever he sees other squads happy with their Jedi. 

Tavo looks back at the Jedi. Something warm blossoms in his chest as he watches them sleep. He feels heat prickle behind his eyes and grits his teeth, fighting it back. Years of grief, and finally his squad has a Guide to call their own. 

With one last look at his Guide ( his Guide), Tavo turns to leave. Time to break the happy news to his squad.

Chapter Text

The first thing Coll sees when he pries his eyes open is the heart rate monitor blinking beside his bed. He squints, the blurry trappings of a med bay blinking into focus. His mind feels syrupy and dull. Something tickles at the back of his awareness, a sense of forgotten urgency.

Where the kriff am I? 

A vague sense of dissatisfaction niggles at him and he looks around for… something. Coll shifts and the dull ache in his shoulder flares, but not as painfully as a blaster wound should be. 

Blaster wound. 

The pirates. 

They’d been captured by the Empire.

On the monitor, his heart rate spikes and a light flashes. 

Fear bubbles up at the back of his throat, blurring his vision and Coll instinctively reaches for the Force for solace only to find it gone . Emptiness, a void where before the living Force had enveloped him. His breaths hitch and he fights not to hyperventilate. Coll’s stomach churns even as he gropes blindly for the Force. Run , his mind screams and he twists to the side to get off the bed but a tug at his wrists stops him. Coll looks down. He’s wearing soft blue pajamas. Thick metal cuffs encircle his wrists. He yanks on them, rattling the chains leading from the cuffs to the bed’s railings. 

The harsh lights of the med bay, the Force-blindness, the dizziness from whatever they’d drugged him with, it’s too much. Bile rises in his throat and he tugs futilely on the cuffs while he strains for the Force. 

Then something reaches back. Something warm tentatively brushes up against his consciousness, exuding eagerness. Coll freezes. There must be other Force users being held here, perhaps even other Jedi. Hope sparks in his chest. If he can find the Force users, together they might be able to rescue his children and escape. 

He looks around the room. There’s a tray with medical devices and a bedpan, a chair for visitors, a door, and a large mirror on the far wall that Coll suspects is an observation window. He stretches out in the bond again but there’s no indication of where the other Force user is. 

Coll glances at the door then at the heart rate monitor. It’s still flashing and beeping so he doesn’t have much time. Coll glances down at his wrists. He’s gotten out of cuffs before. He takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw, then wrenches at his thumb. It snaps and Coll bends over breathing harshly as red-hot pain crackles over him. He slips his hand through the cuff and takes hold of his other thumb.

Before he can do anything the door bangs open and armored men burst into the room. Coll flinches back and throws up a hand, grasping desperately for the Force that’s still half-muffled by the other cuff. Medical devices rise shakily into the air and Coll flings them as hard as he can. The soldiers plow ahead, through and around the projectiles. Two of them pin Coll to the bed and he snarls, thrashing from side to side. Someone yanks his head away then there’s the pinprick of a hypo-injector in his neck. 

Coll sags against the bed, chest heaving. His gaze flicks from soldier to soldier. Panic swirls in his chest but he can’t move, only watch the soldiers with glassy eyes. 

One of them stalks forward to stand at his bedside. They remove their helmet and Coll stares up into the familiar face of a clone. This one has jaig eyes tattooed on their face, their armor is painted with black streaks. They tug off their gloves and stow them in their belt, then gently take Coll’s broken hand in their own. 

As soon as their hands touch, lightning streaks through Coll’s body. The warmth he’d felt from the other Force user explodes in a cacophony of sensation. Longing pulses warmly through the bond, threading its way through the bright spark of the clone’s mind. Dark swirls of grief flow in eddies alongside a burning sense of duty. Of righteousness. Coll’s eyes widen and he flinches at the onslaught even as the tension in him unwinds. Touching the clone is like watching a fire in a hearth, mesmerizing and warming. The clone gazes steadily back at him. Their lips twitch and they wink. Looking up, they say something to the other soldiers, speaking too quickly in Mando’a for Coll to understand. 

The door opens again and another clone, medic insignia emblazoned on their pauldron, marches into the room. They brush Coll’s clone away and take his hand. Coll watches distantly as the medic assesses it, then injects it with bacta and places it in a brace. The cuff is reattached to his wrist and his hand is tucked gently against his side then the medic slips out the door, leaving Coll with the soldiers. 

There’s four of them, all helmeted except for the one running circles over Coll’s other hand. One by one, they remove their helmets, staring at him with an eagerness that takes Coll aback. Two of them have tattoos on their faces, a circle on their temple and the Mando’a glyph for “new beginnings”. The third has dark blue-dyed hair. 

What do they want from me? He wonders. 

The clone holding Coll’s hand is saying something but he can’t understand them. They’re speaking too quickly in Mando’a for his hazy brain to translate. The clone pauses, looking at him expectantly, but Coll can only stare back at him. They sigh and pat his cheek, ignoring the way Coll flinches back. Their hand is warm and calloused.

Coll watches them warily, fighting to keep his eyes open. The hearthfire of the clone’s presence in the back of his mind is making him drowsy. Then the clone with the cin vhetin tattoo comes to stand at his bedside and tentatively places a hand on Coll’s shoulder. 

Coll gasps as a consciousness slips into his mind and he feels sensations from two perspectives. He smells the sharp antiseptic scent of the med bay, stronger by tenfold. Then the clone reaches deeper into their bond and Coll can hear . The heartrate monitor beeping, the soft breathing of the beings in the room, even the whirl of the air circulation system. Heat pools behind Coll’s eyes then spills over at the onslaught of sensation. The clone brushes his tears away, fingers light against his face. 

They turn towards the clone standing on the other side of the bed and they murmur something in Mando’a then they unstrap their armor and place it on the ground. They stretch, fabric dragging against their skin and outlining their muscles, light glinting off their tattoo, then carefully shift Coll over. The bed dips as they clamber in next to him. They lie down next to Coll and scoot closer until they’re flush, hip and shoulder. Coll stiffens as they wrap their arms around him, but they just lie there, a warm weight around him. 

The soldier with the jaig eyes strokes his hair. He’s close enough for Coll to see his lips. That, along with the sound from their half-formed bond, allows him to hear the soldier murmur, words enunciated and slow, “ Aaray, jet’ika?”

Coll blinks rapidly as his brain translates. He manages to get out, “ Ni alaar naasad ” which is a lie. His thumb is throbbing and the dull ache in his shoulder flares with every twitch and tremor. 

The soldiers stare, then delight blossoms in the half-bond. Jaig Eyes smiles widely, “ Gar jorhaa’ir Mando’a?” he asks, speaking as slowly as before. 

Coll shifts uneasily at the attention, “Only a little” he says in Basic. 

As if responding to his anxiety, the clone holding him runs a hand down his back. He turns to the other clones. His voice, though lowered, is firm and authoritative, “ Jet’ika cuyir haryc. Gar slanar jii.”

“No, no.” Coll scowls at the clone, “I’m not tired. Please, I want answers. Where are my initiates?” 

Jaig Eyes responds, “Safe. They’re being taken care of. You’re on Valor’s Reach, Venator-class star destroyer. We’re en route to Coruscant.” He nods, a clipped movement, “I’m Corporal Tavo.” 

The clone holding him with the cin vhetin tattoo says, “I’m Ratchet.” 

“Swoop,” says the clone with the blue hair. 

The last clone shifts awkwardly. The light glints off the circle tattoo above his eye, “And Niner.” 

Tavo’s voice softens. “You’re not alone now. We’re squad Echo Fang. We stand with you.”

Coll’s breaths hitch at the reminder and his eyes widen, “What does that mean? How are you in my head? Where are my initiates?“

The monitor beeps rapidly as Coll’s heart rate picks up. 

“Hey,” Ratchet takes him by the chin and gently turns his face so that they’re eye to eye. “It’s okay, you’re okay. We’ll explain everything, just bear with us, yeah?” 

Despite himself, Coll feels heat behind his eyes. The blaring lights of the med bay, the amplified sounds, the smell and feel of the clone pressed against him - it’s all too much.

He jerks his face out of Ratchet’s hold and glares. “Then talk to me.” 

The clones exchange amused looks. 

“ Copikla ” Tavo’s eyes are warm and fond, “That pull you feel? That’s because you’re a Guide. And us…” Tavo tips his head toward the others, pride flickering in his eyes. “We’re the ones made to stand at your side. Your Sentinels. Do you know what that means, Regald?” 

Coll narrows his eyes, “I go by Coll. And no.” 

Tavo’s lips twitch, “Sentinels have enhanced senses. We’re stronger and faster than normal humans too. It sounds too good to be true, and it is. All that sensory input overloads our brains and drives us mad unless we have,” he tips his head toward Coll, “Someone to steady us. A Guide.” 

Coll stares at him. If not for the fledgling bond that lets him feel Tavo’s hearthfire presence, he would think the man insane. As it is, he feels the stirring of another presence in his mind, one that comes into focus the longer he’s in Ratchet’s arms. safelongingours reverberates through his mind and Coll blinks blearily, suddenly sleepy. The drug hums under the bond. He can taste it, metallic at the back of his throat, but it’s the bond that smooths the edges out of him, not just the sedative.

He shakes his head to clear it, “If you didn’t have a Guide until you met me, how’d you survive so long then?” 

Tavo’s presence in his mind ripples with griefyearning , “We did have one. He died when Palpatine bombed the Jedi Temple six years ago.” 

Coll stills. He’d lost friends in the bombing, friends that he still sees when he closes his eyes. Their faces blur now, half-remembered and fading, and that is the cruellest wound of all - that he is forgetting the warmth of their smiles. He hadn’t seen them die, but sometimes he thinks that’s worse. He’s left with only absence. Unanswered comms, names that never lit up his console again, and the hollow guilt of survival because he wasn’t there to stand beside them.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Coll says quietly, “We all lost someone that day.” 

Ratchet murmurs into his hair. “It’s alright mesh’la , it was a long time ago.” 

The silence weighs on him until Coll stirs, voice raw, “Please… I need to know. Where are my initiates?”

“They’re just a few rooms over, being watched over by vode . I promise they’re safe.” Ratchet says. 

Niner shifts uneasily, “We can take him to visit them soon, right Tavo?” 

Tavo shoots him a glare then smooths his face into a smile when he sees Coll looking. “Once he’s better, yes.” 

Coll frowns, “I need to see them.”

Tavo gives a helpless shrug, but the movement is too precise to be genuine. “Medics said to keep you in bed for another day at least. You know how it is. There’s paperwork, sure, and Intelligence will want a chat, but right now you rest.”

Coll sags back against the pillow. Ratchet tucks the blanket more securely around him. safewarmstay swamps Coll’s mind like syrup. 

For a moment, he almost lets the hearthfire presence in his mind soothe him. Then he remembers the sound of the Temple collapsing, the silence after unanswered comms, and the children’s faces waiting for him just out of reach. He turns his face into the pillow, trembling with the weight of it. The clones’ protection is not safety. It’s a cage, and he is already trapped by it.

safewarmstay echoes through his mind, pressing down on his consciousness like a weighted blanket.

Coll stifles a yawn and blinks blearily. His thoughts unravel by degrees, sharp edges dulling as exhaustion seeps in. The weight in his limbs grows heavier, his body sinking into the bed as though the mattress is swallowing him whole. Then the last flicker of awareness clinging stubbornly slips loose, leaving only the quiet darkness of sleep.

Tavo watches Ratchet hold their Jetti . The warm glow of his squadmate in the connection draws him in like a moth to a flame, and he luxuriates in it. It had felt… wrong being the only Sentinel in their squad to have bonded with the pretty Jetti . 

He knows in his head that the Jetti isn’t what one might consider to be classically beautiful. The bags under their eyes, the haunted and wary edge to their gaze, their rangy frame. No, the Jetti will not be winning any beauty pageants. But manda , they’d been gorgeous in the surveillance videos he’d watched of their capture. 

He’d watched the vids with his squad, as he knew all Sentinel squads had done. They’d crowded around his datapad, the air practically vibrating with anticipation. And what a sight it’d been. The Jetti (theirs now) single-handedly holding off an entire crew of pirates. They’d all flinched back when Coll had lashed out at the troopers with the Force. He’d been terrible and glorious, arms outstretched with a bloody snarl twisting his face. Then collapsing to the ground when the stunners got him, and the discovery of the precious cargo he’d been guarding. The trooper’s HUD had captured every flinch and terrified whimper of the Jetti’ade when the cockpit doors finally opened. 

Tavo makes a mental note to check-in on the status of the Jetti’ade , their Guide will want to know how the little ones are doing. He glances back at Ratchet. The vod is running his hand through their Jetti ’s hair, murmuring softly to them. He catches Tavo’s eye and nods at him. Tavo nods back and tucks his smile away as he remembers when they initiated his own bonding.

They’d started it while the Guide was still unconscious from their surgery, arms wrapped around the Jetii just as Ratchet has right now. He sees Ratchet’s dilated pupils and knows what he’s feeling - the frenetic buzz of sensory input that plagues all Sentinels settling into something resembling serenity . The Guide’s presence is a balm that soothes the overtaxed senses of their Sentinel. For the first time since Tavo presented as a Sentinel, he’d been able to hear himself think once he started bonding with the Guide. 

Ratchet nuzzles into the Jetii ’s hair and closes his eyes. His breaths deepen as he falls into a meditative trance. At the foot of the bed, Niner shifts his weight. He watches Ratchet and the Jetii with longing clear in his gaze. His eyes flick up to meet Tavo’s. Tavo nods at him, then gestures for the rest of their squad and turns to leave. 

They troop out and settle into chairs in the waiting area. Tavo leans back and exhales, “Well that could have gone better.” 

Swoop runs a hand through his blue hair, anxiety shadowing his face, “I can’t believe he’d break his thumb to get out of the shackles. Do you think we need to worry about self-harm?” 

Tavo drums his fingers against the arm of his chair then shakes his head, “I don’t think so. He didn’t do it to hurt himself. He did it with a purpose in mind. He’ll need to be watched and maybe fixed with a force-suppressing collar instead of cuffs though.”  

Tavo glances at Niner, who’s staring toward the door that leads to where their Jetii is. “Everything okay, vod ?” 

“‘M fine.” Niner mumbles at the floor, color rising on his cheeks.

Tavo smothers a smile. Niner had joined their squad only 7 months ago but as the youngest with a quiet disposition, they all felt protective of him. Niner hadn’t said anything when they found out their claim on the Jetii was approved, but his eyes had welled up and he’d hurried to hide away in the bathroom.

Swoop clears his throat, “I still think we should keep an eye on the Jetii when we’re deployed.”

Tavo hums, “Sounds like a good idea. We don’t want him to hurt himself again. Hopefully he won’t have to, with us at his back.” 

Swoop nods then he turns to Niner, “You excited to be working with ade soon?” 

Niner tears his eyes away from the door, “Yeah. The tubies were so cute in the vids.”

Swoop grins, “It sounds like the Jetii ’s work takes him all over the Mid-Rim. I can’t wait to see new sights.” 

Tavo chuckles low, already imagining it. “Wherever he goes, we’ll follow. That’s how it’s meant to be.”

The others murmur their agreement, a soft chorus of loyalty that fills the room like a vow.