Chapter Text
Dan sighs as he steps out of the DX-9. He scouts the scene in front of him but doesn’t get much time to elaborate as he is pushed to the side by TK-675 for blocking the entrance. 675, Dan and six other troopers make up a unit only 30 minutes ago ordered to “find those damn droids and get them back here”. They have agreed to split up and Dan, lost in thought, has already fallen behind. He runs to catch up with his half of the unit and shrugs his shoulders at 675 who shakes his head imperceptibly. They head towards the city centre, crossing though masses of humans, non-humans and junk Dan couldn’t identify even if it was remotely clean. They have virtually no idea what they are looking for – or they do; droids keeping rebel data, but that’s not much help in a place where almost everyone owns at least one. People seem to make space for them where they walk briskly though the crowds but it is still unmistakably crowded. As per usual for Mos Eisley. Tatooine in general isn’t Dan’s favourite place to be. It’s hot and sandy and he’s sweating behind heavy armour and woollen regulation underthings clinging to his skin.
They patrol the dock for a while without any luck and by lunchtime Dan feels as if he has checked enough droids to not actually notice if he came across the correct ones. He really cannot blame 675 for starting to get annoyed but is still relieved when he grumpily orders them to check a couple space crafts on their own to go through them quicker and then re-group with the other half of the unit.
He ticks of the two ships at the end of the dock and is just about to declare himself done for the day when a wave of nausea hits him. He is temporarily thrown off by it but manages to both keep himself from tripping over and maybe more importantly from throwing up inside his helmet. At the same time a very dusty and very unhealthy sounding space craft makes a landing to his left. It drags up a cloud of sand as it hits the ground and makes a sound Dan would normally associate with a dying gorog. He inhales deeply, exhales again. This exactly what he is supposed to be looking for. He will not be doing anything like that. He pointedly refuses to look at the monstrosity of a ship any longer and turns to head back. Then he spots 675. Who in turn spots Dan and walks up to him, even his steps look agitated by now. So no luck on the droids. Dan almost laughs at how wobbly he looks but when he does a new wave of nausea washed over him.
“2022, great,” 675 starts. He doesn’t sound like “great” is the best adjective he can think of right now.
“You check the new one and I’ll take those over there,” he points behind him to a row of space crafts. Dan would be offended if he wasn’t so busy keeping himself together.
“Right,” he chokes out and 675 has already directed his attention from Dan towards the ships. Dan hobbles towards the big ship and takes another deep breath. It’s just to get over with. Just this one and then he will be done for the day; don’t blame him if he cuts his protocol of questions down to the bare necessities.
The door is open but no one is in sight when he gets to it. He is about to step inside uninvited when a young woman burst through a door Dan hadn’t seen just by the entrance.
“How can I help you?” the woman asks. She sounds suspicious. And she is suspiciously wobbly.
“I am afraid that I must please show your identification and the documents for this space craft,” he says, adopting his unusual monotone dealing-with-commoners-voice. The woman scrambles inside her hip bag for a while but then pulls out some battered papers. He checks them and they actually seem to be authentic. She is even written as the owner of the ship. Maybe the stars do align in his favour sometimes.
“Do you keep any droids on this transport?” Dan asks. The woman narrows her eyes.
“We have a R2 unit and some parts,” she replies cautiously.
“Then I must ask you to bring it here,” he replies. It isn’t going too bad. He will manage.
“Just the R2 or the parts as well?” She asks. He sighs wearily. Perhaps not.
“Just the R2.” He waits for a minute as the woman brings the droid and he allows himself to rest a hand on the door frame. He quickly removes it as he sees her returning. It is a completely usual red R2 and he checks it as quickly as he can but it still takes longer than he likes. Partly because he can’t seem to focus, partly because the droid is protesting loudly all throughout the process.
“You should teach that droid some respect,” he grumbles as he stands up. The woman sneers at him but nods.
“Right. We’re done here,” he says and as soon as he is done speaking the door closes in his face. It sends a gust of wind over him and it’s, embarrassingly, enough to make him loose his balance again. All he manages to think before his knees fail him and he trips down the landing is that he must really be quite out of it. He panics for a second hoping no one has seen him forcing his knees to cooperate as he stands up and shuffles along the edge of the ship, hiding on the side facing the wall. He knows he is a poor excuse for a trooper but he really doesn’t need anyone else to know it. He leans his head against the ship and tries to calm his breathing down. Only a few seconds pass before a voice interrupts his breathing exercises. He jolts violently enough to bang his helmet against the ship, not helping with his nausea.
“Hey, what are you doing hiding behind my space ship?” the voice says. Dan turns around slowly and to his right stands a very dirty, very wobbly man. He has a wobbly black fringe resting over a pair of wobbly and headache inducing blue eyes and is holding a wobbly cordless hammer drill in his right hand.
“This is not yours, I just spoke to the owner,” Dan mumbles. Trying and failing to compose himself.
“She’s mine for as long as I’m fixing her up, aren’t you, Janice?” the man replies as he pats the ship with his drill. Dan stares at him. The man stares back at him and tilts his head a little.
“I’d say you’re looking a little pale, but then again that’s pretty much true for all of you guys, isn’t it?” The man ponders, gesticulating towards Dan’s helmet. The edges of his mouth turn up as if he’s keeping himself from laughing at his own bad joke. When Dan doesn’t say anything in response he clears his throat and continues.
“In all seriousness, you should probably take that helmet off. If the engine overheats, you do well to open her up, believe me; I know what I’m talking about.” He says it casually, mimicking Dan’s pose by leaning against the ship. He is however looking far more relaxed than Dan is feeling.
“That’s against regulations,” Dan breathes, trying to will the world around him to stop wobbling. The edge of the man’s mouth jerks upwards again.
“I won’t tell,” he says.
“This isn’t really a private area,” Dan replies.
“Come into the ship for a while then. I promise I won’t give you any trouble.” Dan considers this for a few seconds as if he had any choice but then shrugs.
“I won’t disarm, just take of the helmet,” he says, more to himself than to the man.
“Sure!” The man says and gesticulates towards Dan to follow him. Dan just about manages to get follow the man inside and question what in the ever loving empire he is doing before he collapses onto the brits in the small room he has been led to.
“I’ll get some water,” the man declares as disappears. As soon as he is gone Dan unlocks his helmet and pulls it off. His hair is sticking to his forehead and he pushes it out of the way, wipes his gloves hand on the brits. The room still wobbles and he can feel a massive headache creeping on to him but at least the nausea seems subdue quickly.
The man comes back with a bottle of water and a blanket but stops in the doorway.
“Aren’t you a little young for a trooper?” He asks. Dan eyes him suspiciously, suddenly very aware of how exposed he is.
“How would you know?” He asks. Dan is twenty-four and really not too young to be a trooper, not that this man has any idea of what he is talking about.
“You’re right, I don’t,” the man agrees with him. He doesn’t seem to be that much older himself, perhaps a couple of years.
“My name is Phil, by the way,” he says as he hands Dan the bottle.
“I’m TK-2022,” Dan mutters.
“Is that actually your name?” Phil wonders. Dan unscrews the bottle.
“As far as you’re concerned it is,” he says.
“Huh, and here I am giving you shelter and everything and you won’t even give me your name. If I’m not mistaken you were checking all of our information only a couple minutes ago.” Phil says. His tone is far less accusing that his words but Dan still senses an ultimatum. Not that he cares.
“Dan. That’s all you’re getting,” Dan sighs, quickly checking to make sure he still has his blaster rifle by resting a hand on its holster. The man flashes him a wide grin, slightly crocked front teeth.
“Nice to meet you, Dan. Now make sure to get some rest, we’re leaving again as soon as I’ve fixed the ship and you probably want to be off by then,” Phil says. Soon thereafter he is alone. He turns of the lights in the small room and let’s himself lie down and rest his head against the thin pillow on the brits. Only for a moment, he closes his eyes.
When Dan wakes up he is sweating and shivering at the same time. His body aches and his left hand, which has been trapped underneath his chest is numb. No headache. The nausea is back. He has no idea for how long he has been sleeping. He’s definitely on the brink of panicking. He opens his eyes wide and first he only sees darkness. Then there is a silhouette of a man in a doorway and all Dan can hear is his own blood pumping, himself gasping desperately for air. The silhouette moves forwards quickly and lays a warm hand on Dan’s shoulder. He crouches near Dan’s face and says something Dan can’t hear. Dan feels tears well up in his eyes and that only causes his to spiral even further from control. He grips for something to hold on to but finds nothing and the rush of blood seems to grow infinitely stronger. He’s so cold. His eyes are burning from not blinking. The man seems to get that Dan doesn’t understand him and starts to mime breathing in an out slowly in an extremely animated manner and Dan doesn’t know why he is acting so weird. Until the man leans in further and Dan feels his breath on his nose. Long breaths pass slowly over his face and he blinks. Once. Twice. He wills himself to mimic the gusts of air until he isn’t shaking any more. Little by little the world turns silent again and his pulse goes down to its usual 65 beats per minute.
“Are you ok?” he hears the man say. Phil. His name his Phil.
“Yes,” Dan croaks. He probably doesn’t sound ok but Phil nods.
“Good, that’s good. You have sunstroke and I think you just had a panic attack of some sort.” Phil informs him in a low voice.
“Right,” Dan says, nodding. Sunstroke. That would explain the wobbling.
“How long was I asleep for?” He asks.
“About seven hours.” Phil looks at him as if he is bracing himself for another outburst. Dan swallows. Seven hours. That means that his unit has probably returned to home base and left him on Tatooine. That’s fine. He can contact them via the space port. It will be fine.
“So we had to leave. I tried to wake you up but you were in no state to go anywhere. You threw up on me. We’ll drop you of at some space port when you’re feeling better,” Phil informs him. He seems far less easy going and far more absent than Dan remembers, jaw set and shoulders squared. Dan’s mouth feels dry, he licks his lips. They are even worse of.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“What?” Phil replies, staring at him with wide eyes. They are not just blue as Dan first thought but have specks of yellow and green in them.
“For throwing up on you.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I hadn’t washed off from fixing the ship anyways,” Phil says, fixing his fringe with a, Dan observes, still rather dirty looking hand. Dan rubs a hand across his face and tries to sit up. He sways for a bit but Phil grabs hold of his elbow to steady him.
“Thanks,” he says and reaches for the water bottle on the night stand beside the brits.
“Are you going to be okay?” Phil asks and stands up.
“Yes, of course. Thanks again,” Dan breathes. Phil leaves again and Dan is left alone in the dark of the small room but not for long. Only a few minutes later Phil returns with a pile of fabric.
“I brought some clothes if you want to change out of that costume you’re wearing. There’s some towels too,” he says and dumps the pile on the brits next to Dan. Phil lingers for a moment and then leaves again.
He sleeps for another couple of hours and when he wakes he feels better. His brain has stopped spinning and he can at least think clearly again. That, however, seems to come with a whole new load of troubles. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know where he is going. He has no idea who Phil or the woman he first spoke with are. The awkwardness of his entire interaction with Phil is laden with a heavy coat of cringe worthy embarrassment but most importantly instant after instant of breaking protocol in highly unforgivable manners.
He tries standing up and he’s fine. His joints are stiff but the actual sun stroke seems to have passed. His room, he soon discovers, belongs to Phil. On the nightstand is a photo frame of Phil with what must be his family; a couple in their 60’s and what is surely an older brother. There are two doors other than the one Phil has been entering and exiting via; one lead to a wardrobe, the other to a tiny bathroom. Dan figures he might as well make use of the shower while he can. After all, he’s not sure when he will be back with his unit again. Out of his uniform he feels uncomfortably vulnerable, so much so that he locks his rifle in the bathroom with him, but not enough to want to get back into the heavy armour when he’s getting dressed. He picks up the clothes Phil left for him and convinces himself that it is okay, that he can dislocate his holster and fasten it to his belt. Since first entering this space craft he has ignored every rule and regulation he’s been taught and one more won’t make that big of a difference. He stares at himself in the foggy mirror. His hair is curling and he looks too pale. He is a stormtrooper and he should most likely be back at the Death Star by now. He might be declared dead on behalf of his group, or worse, he might be declared a run-away. He remembers a boy who ran away just a couple of weeks after joining. He and Dan had gotten along well, similar interest, personalities. Two weeks after disappearing he was found and terminated. It’s not that Dan doesn’t believe in the Empire, because truly, he does, it’s just that he wonders whether it’s his own or the world’s fault that he feels so out of it. Not in regards to the sunstroke, but when it comes to normal, everyday life. There is the possibility that the world actually kind of inherently sucks and that Dan just so happens to be aware of the fact. There is also the risk that Dan has gotten bored of it, that his mind read everything as a little more dull than the average person, that he finds sand a little too itchy and music a little too loud. Most of all, he tends to find himself bored out of his mind. That is why he became a Stormtrooper in the first place. As a child, nothing sounded more exciting to him than to actually be out there and defend the Empire from the scum of the rebellion and disobeyers of the law. Maybe it was the tedious years of actually learning the laws and regulations that quenched the thirst, but in the end he can’t be sure. He only knows that nothing excited him anymore and that he should get back to his job before it’s too late and he’s left in the gutter.
No one comes to check on him and Dan’s boredom takes the upper hand. He straps his rifle to his side and decides to, better judgement aside, venture of of common ground. The hallway seems bigger now that the airlock is shut. He roams down the corridor warily but meets no one.
The ship is smaller than he had first assumed. A narrow corridor, barely big enough for him to be able to walk without crouching, leads from the entrance air lock to what he deems the cockpit. It parts in the middle of the ship, creating a cross of sorts. Phil’s room is near the entrance but despite the relative smallness of the vessel he’s suddenly unsure if he’ll find his way back. The corridors are clean and unassuming – all greys and pale light and identical white doors. One wall features only one of these white, clean doors so Dan decides to try his luck. The door swings open as soon as he touches the handle.
Phil is sitting in the middle of the room, on the floor, surrounded by pieces of metal and tools. He has his back turned to Dan and he is speaking quickly and quitely into a headpiece, sounding nothing short of furious.
Dan can’t make out what he’s saying but from the way Phil is rubbing at his neck and letting out little huffing laughs when he’s not talking, it sounds far less pleasant than he’s been to Dan so far. He ponders what to do – perhaps he can just back out of the room again – but then he might not find his way back to the room. And he’d very much like to know how long there will be until “the nearest base” is located. He wonders if he could borrow a holo.
Suddenly, Phil whips around and rips of his headset. He regards Dan with wide eyes, tense for a moment, before he seems to relax and lets out a groan. At once, Dan feels regrets leaving his room, and possibly even more leaving his armour in his room. Then Phil speaks.
“Sorry about that, we’re having some technical troubles.” Dan, again, becomes aware of the state of Phil’s surroundings. The room is a stark contrast to the impersonal grey of the corridors. Objects are scattered everywhere and Dan realises the reason for Phil sitting on the floor: the only sitting furniture in the room – a large couch - is covered in what seems to be at least five different disassembled, outdated comlinks and radios.
“Uh, can I help?” Dan asks for lack of anything better to say, and immediately curses himself. Phil seems to be considering him for a moment and then he says, deadpan.
“Do you have any experience building subspace transceivers?”
“Uh, as in comlinks?” Phil stops dead in his tracks.
“Do you know how to build a HoloNet transceiver?” Phil, all previous agitation gone in an instant.
“I mean, I guess,” Dan says, feeling his stomach do something unspeakable. Probably because he hasn’t eaten since before heading out in Mos Eisley.
“Show me,” Phil demands. A “please” added as an afterthought. He pushes some of the pieces of space junk to the side to make room for Dan to sit down. He obliges and starts looking through the pieces. He has been taught how to put together transceivers for emergencies as part of his training and it isn’t that hard if you have the right parts. If you don’t it’s unfortunately considerably more difficult. Phil however seems to marvel at everything he does for the following hour. He coos at Dan and the half-finished transceiver both in every second breath and Dan can’t help but to find himself chuckling at him. Phil seems wholly unaffected by Dan mocking him so he continues. They make technological small talk and really, Phil is much more knowledgeable than Dan could ever be.
“What do you even need it for? Did yours break or something?” Dan wonders. He’s almost finished and has managed to combine some parts to create things that were missing before.
“Something like that,” Phil says and Dan finds himself wondering what that actually means.
“What, did you spill caf on it or something?” He teases and Phil laughs.
“Oh, I wish, it was actually taken in by some Storm-“ He stops himself but a heavy silence has already creeped through the crack in the door and cocooned them. Dan carefully and slowly makes the finishing touches to his transceiver before putting it down in front of him.
“Well, paid you back now, didn’t we?” Dan says, meeting Phil’s gaze. Thinking about all the things the Empire has to do for the sake of order is one of Dan’s least favourite but most frequent past-times. He has spent copious amounts of time trying to justify the more brutal principles of the Empires policies and each time he finds himself finally able to validate burning someone’s home down or raiding a space ship something comes along to knock him of his feet again. Today that happens to be Phil. That doesn’t mean that he can’t keep trying.
Phil reached forward to pick up the transceiver and brushes Dan’s knee on the way. He stands up and Dan follows. Phil looks at him in a way that Dan can’t really make sense of. He is grasping the transceiver, holding it to his chest and Dan feels a burn in his throat. He feels like he should be apologizing for something else, something larger and unrelated to a co-worker stealing a transceiver, but he can’t pinpoint what exactly for so he saves the feeling for figuring out later, in the safety of thick metal walls and rows of other troopers. Instead he says this:
“I should probably get back to my unit somehow.”
“Yeah, no,” says Phil. He has his back turned to Dan again and is about to exit the room.
“What?” Dan asks. His mouth feels dry. Phil turns to him, smiling that half smile; it’s the same one from the space port. Looking for droids in Mos Eisley is starting to feel like a life time ago but it can’t have been more than a day.
“I’m sorry I forgot to tell you but I was, let’s say, otherwise engaged. Trooper TK-2022, for the last 29 hours you have been a hostage under the Alliance to Restore the Republic and I don’t suspect you will be going anywhere for a while.” He turns around to face Dan again, and before he has really taken in anything that Phil has just said, Phil reveals Dan’s rifle which at some point during the last hour has left Dan’s holster and merged its way into Phil’s right hand. He is aiming at his heart.