Thanks so much for all the reviews on the first chapter! Here's hoping the next ones go half as well...
Pacifica wakes to the sandpaper-scrape of thirst in her throat and the distinctly uncomfortable feeling of sweat. Lots of sweat.
She blinks, wiping grains of sand from where they've stuck in her eyes as she squints against the harsh glare of the sun. Her body feels like one giant bruise, as if she's back in preliminary training again and her commander is screaming that she's never going to be more than a spoiled rich girl who can't pull a trigger worth a damn-
Pacifica forcibly halts the memory, shaking off the sudden rush of cold against her spine, no matter how welcome it is in the desert heat. When she'd been here that night – was it only a night ago? – she had taken the cool cover of darkness for granted.
No, the planet is much, much worse in the daytime.
She pushes herself forward, stumbling in the heavy, sliding sand. She curses, pulling violently at the armored plating on her legs. Blast this armor, she should have dressed like Mabel-
Blast.
Pacifica's armor is forgotten in an instant as she sprints forward, slipping and sliding across the sand dunes as she makes her way to the curling smoke plume in the distance. She'd forgotten – how could she have forgotten Mabel? The pilot was her only link to safety, now her only ally-
Her friend?
It takes her the better part of an hour to reach the wrecked TIE fighter, and her stomach drops when she sees it. The fighter is smashed and smoldering, tongues of orange flame lapping out the windows as thick, black smoke streams from the interior. Pacifica doesn't stop to think, surging forward to grab the knit jacket Mabel was wearing, throwing it across her shoulder as she bangs against the glass that's left.
"Mabel!" her heart is already heavy in her chest, her body telling her what her brain refuses to acknowledge.
There's an awful, guttural, slurping sound, and Pacifica stumbles back, watching in horror as the fighter drowns in the sand pit. Mabel's sweater hangs limply from her fingers as she watches it disappear.
Pacifica has to fight the urge to fall to her knees and cry. She's alone.
Dipper doesn't mean to steal the droid. It just sort of…happens. He's never liked scavengers that steal things that clearly have a mind of their own, and it was hardly as if he was going to just watch as the tiny droid was dragged off. Besides, the little thing followed him – he tried to get it to leave. And it's not as if he's keeping him – it, it – personally or anything. One night. That's all.
But it's one night where his makeshift home isn't silent, one night he wakes up from nightmares and something responds, one night he's not utterly alone. So can he be blamed, really, for telling the dealer it's not for sale?
Finders, keepers. And the droid seems to like him, too, as unbelievable as that it. The droid is obviously of good make, sturdy and determined and stubborn – so stubborn. He's still got no idea who it belongs to – WDL-5, as the droid tells him it's name, is classified – but at this point, he doesn't care. The little rolling droid that he rescued likes him, ragged clothes and unwashed hair and all. And Dipper likes having someone – thing – to talk to. As much as the dealer's high offer tempts him, he's not selling. For anything.
Maybe that's why he fights so hard when the two thugs try and steal WDL-5 from him.
By the time she reaches the settlement, Pacifica swears she'll never set foot three miles away from a body of water again. She's drenched in sweat, her limbs heavy and sluggish in the heat even without the armored plating she'd stripped off, leaving her in her thin black jumpsuit, Mabel's sweater tied loosely around her waist. Her throat burns every time she tries to swallow and black spots flicker before her eyes – it takes her a moment to convince herself that the settlement is not, in fact, a mirage.
When she does, she wastes no time. Any instinctive revulsion she'd have towards the villagers or their furnishings are stomped out by the desperate thirst in her throat, and she honestly does not give a damn what her parents would say about her drinking from an open well.
It doesn't stop her from gagging in revulsion once she can breath again, though.
She wipes some of the sweat from her brow, eyes flicking over the small settlement. It doesn't seem to be much, probably even smaller than the village her unit was at earlier, all beaten metal and worn-cloth tents propped up against each other, salvaged junk and seedy vendors littering the grounds. Not exactly the place she would have chosen to find. How is she supposed to find transport here?
A sudden cry of anger pulls her attention, and she shoots to her feet, edging towards the commotion. Her eyes widen as she sees a young boy wrestling against the hold of two thugs, the tiny pink and grey droid at his feet trilling in panic. She feels a surge of anger as she watches one thug throw a hit at the boy, the injustice of the attack sending her feet moving of their own accord. They might be fine with attacking some skinny, unarmed boy, but let's see how they fare against one of the First Order's trained killers-
She halts. The boy has ducked out of the one thug's grasp, twisting under the other's arm before her swings his staff with a violent crack against one's head. The first thug falls, and the other is quick behind, his feet swept out beneath him by the boy's leg before he sends his staff plunging viciously against the side of his head.
Pacifica blinks. Well. Looks like the boy can take care of himself.
The droid suddenly swivels to her, a flurry of beeps and whistles escaping it. The boy's eyes suddenly lock onto hers, and Pacifica takes a step back. The boy's face twists into a snarl as he charges her, and Pacifica turns on heel.
She ducks through the mess of tents and metal, wondering how the hell she's managed to piss someone off this quickly. She has no idea what his problem with her is, she thinks in anger as she ducks under another tent. She's never even seen him-
The boy's staff cracks against her head and she hits the ground, stars exploding across her vision.
He's definitely stronger than he looks.
"Who are you?" the boy barks, his voice too loud against Pacifica's pounding skull. "And what'd you do to the pilot?"
The boy's voice is firm, lower than she expected and tinted with a slight accent significant of the outer rim. Pacifica winces, glaring at him as she rubs her head.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she hisses. "Who do you think you are?"
The boy returns the glare. "He-" he gestures to the droid. "Says you've got his master's jacket. So what'd you do to her?" The droid beeps angrily for emphasis.
"The sweater…?" Pacifica's eyes widen in realization. "You're Mabel's droid! WDL-5!" The boy looks at the droid uncertainly. The droid rolls closer, the chirrup of beeps now inquisitive. "I helped her escape from the First Order," Pacifica says, hurriedly. "She was coming back for you when –" Pacifica pauses, the grief that hits her unexpected. "She didn't survive the crash," she whispers. "I'm sorry."
The droid gives a low, sorrowful beep, its domed head swiveling down in misery. The boy lowers his staff, staring at the two with slight wariness and unexpected sympathy.
"Here," the boy says, guilt flickering in his voice as he extends a hand to her. "I'm sorry."
Pacifica stares up at him, truly looking at him for the first time. He looks to be around her age, with curling brown hair escaping his head wrap and darker brown eyes, his skin tanned from the planet's sun. He's rather easy on the eyes, to be honest. With a jolt, she realizes she's left him hanging, and she quickly grabs his hand and hoists herself up, her face flushing.
"I would have done the same, I suppose," she mutters. The boy stares at her, his eyes wide and curious.
"Are you part of the Resistance, then?" he says, his voice tinged with awe. Pacifica starts, shifting under his gaze. The denial freezes on her tongue, dying slowly at the eager, open look in the boy's eyes. The way he's looking at her.
"Yes," she says, scarcely believing the words that come out of her mouth. "I am."
She feels more than sees the droid look up at her suspiciously. She opens her mouth to continue, but the sudden, too-familiar screeching stops her. Her blood grows icy cold in her veins as she meets the boy's eyes in panic.
"Run," she whispers. "TIE fighters, run!"
She grabs the boy's hand, pulling him forward. She blindly registers his protests as he attempts to yank his hand free – with the pitch they're at, the fighters should be right overhead-
The ground explodes behind them, sending the both of them flying forward, crashing hard into the sand. Pacifica coughs, wiping at her irritated eyes as she immediately shoves herself to her feet, years of training making the action instinct. She glances at the boy, who's struggling up, shaky hands wiping sand from his face.
"You okay?" she says, offering him her hand. They've got less than seconds, but she needs him to shake off the shellshock if they're going to get out of this.
The boy's brown eyes go wide at the question, a sort of painful bemusement crossing his face at her question. He quickly nods, though, determination replacing the fear in his eyes.
"I'm good," he says, grasping her hand. She almost flinches at the wave of heat the contact gives her. "Let's go."
In all of Dipper's dreams of escaping the planet, he'd certainly never hit on this. There was a distinct lack of fighter pilots trying to blast him to dust in those. But he'll take it, because he's got two people that seem to – have concern – care?! The girl's question is still ricocheting in his skull, because no one's ever asked-
The screeching becomes near unbearable again, and Dipper shoves his thoughts to the side.
"We need someone who can fly!" The blonde girl yells, over the screeching of the fighters.
"What, you can't?! What kind of Resistance fighter are you?"
"The one that shoots people that annoy her!" Sheer irritation breaks through the fear in the girl's tone.
Dipper grits his teeth, pushing his legs faster. Well, he does know the basics. "Never mind, we've got a pilot!"
"What, you?!" The girl sounds so incredulous it's insulting.
"Yes, me!" Dipper yells back. They're almost to the ship. "Unless you want to try and learn now!"
The girl's silence is telling.
"There!" Dipper yells, pointing at the abandoned ship half-hidden by tents. "We'll take that one!"
"Are you kidding me?" the girl shrieks. "That's garbage!"
"Garbage that's going to save our worthless lives!" Dipper shoots back, his breath coming in painful bursts. The girl gives a breathless, frustrated groan from behind him, but she follows him as he stumbles his way through the ancient, banged-up ship's doors, barely scraping the lower access door open.
Dipper stumbles into the ship, his sudden excitement at being aboard the ship matched only by the terror that he's about to be vaporized.
"So you can shoot?"
"Yes," the girl snaps, as she darts towards the gun port. "You better be able to fly!"
Dipper doesn't reply, skidding into the cockpit. He feels a surge of terror as he stares down at the controls, panels covered in dust. He bites back against the anxiety. There's no time for second-guessing. He can fly this thing. He can fly anything.
He finds the few familiar controls, and the ship roars to life, bucking forwards as he forces it into the air. The engine is a little strained for Dipper's liking, but for as long as this thing's been lying around, it sounds okay.
"I can do this," he whispers to himself, willing his fingers to be firm on the controls. "I can do this."
He shoves the controls forward and the ship shoots forward, the thrum of the engines vibrating through the ship and ringing in his ears like an exhilarating tempo. Dipper slides into the seat, flicking the left switches on and better positioning the controls. He can see the fighters behind him, both on the sensors and in his gut, but he's not scared anymore.
"Hold on!" he yells, before thrusting the ship faster. They whip across the desert, sending sand billowing in their wake as the fighters' screeching echoes behind them, the sound of gunfire rife in the air. Dipper swings the ship to the left, reflexes he hadn't known existed prompting him. A second later, the sound of gunfire erupts from their own ship, and one of the fighters abruptly disappears off the ship's scanners, along with the telltale sound of a ship exploding.
"Yes!" The girl's excited shriek comes from the gun port. "I got him!"
Dipper feels a grin threaten to break across his own face, but it's quickly wiped away as the other two fighters flank them. His eyes dart wildly around the desert – there's no coverage to be found whatsoever on Jakku, unless you-
Well. Dipper doesn't hesitate as he abruptly changes the ship's course, veering left. It's a crazy, crazy idea – but then again, so is letting some eighteen-year-old kid who's never flown in his life pilot with their lives at stake.
Dipper's heart is pounding loud enough to drown out all other sound, his palms sweaty around the controls, but he's going to make this. He knows he will.
"Woah, woah, where are we going?" the girl yells, probably having caught sight of where he's taking them. "Are you crazy?! You can't just-"
Dipper ignores her, wrenches the controls to the left, and sends them hurtling through the exposed entrance of the fallen star destroyer.
His vision tunnels as they hurtle through the tight quarters, familiar circuitry whipping by them at light speed as he holds the ship steady by sheer willpower. The girl has quit screaming and is firing again, and the shaft behind them blossoms into orange flames as she finds her mark.
Unfortunately, it's at that moment that they lurch forward, the final fighter having found its mark. The girl swears.
"We've lost the guns!" she yells, fear evident in her voice. Dipper grits his teeth, eyes narrowing as he takes them through the final stretch of the star destroyer's hull. They don't need guns. He just needs to keep them from getting killed while he essentially commits suicide.
The girl's terrified shriek echoes though the ship as he sends the ship tilting sideways, WDL-5 screeching wildly as he sends them through the impossibly tiny opening, his knuckles white as he grips the controls.
They shoot out of the opening, the brilliant blue sky more welcome than it's ever been before.
The final fighter behind them does not.
Dipper gives a cry of victory, collapsing in relief against the chair as he figures out how to set a course for the inky blackness of space. He springs up, meeting the girl halfway in the hull of their stolen ship, impossibly wide grins plastered across both their faces.
"That was amazing! The way you piloted that last turn-"
"You're an incredible shot, you hit those last two dead on-"
They burst into breathless laughter, grinning with the sheer giddiness of being alive. The girl takes a deep breath, still smiling as she brushes a strand of blonde hair from her face.
"I'm Pacifica, by the way," she says. "You?"
Dipper stares at her, laughter cut short by the shock of the question. No one's ever asked for his name.
"Dipper," he says, a small, shy smile breaking across his face. "I'm Dipper."
Mabel scratches aimlessly at a half-healing scab on her hand, wincing as the medic sponges antiseptic across her brow. The blow that dealt it hadn't been so bad, compared to what Mabel's had before. But what came after, the dark energy pulling and picking at her mind, dousing her in icy cold-
Mabel shivers. Even she'd been rattled after that. The sith aren't playing around.
"Yes, I've got Mabel. Yes – yes, I'm going to look for it, alright? I know how important this is. I built the Resistance."
Mabel's eyes drift to her uncle where he stands at the holocom, talking in a hushed voice to the woman on the other end. She can't hear the woman's reply, too static-filled and choppy from the transmission they're using, but Stan's face tightens.
"I don't care if you need me there, this is – I can't abandon this. It's too important. And if the First Order gets the droid first-"
There's a burst of static from the other side, and Stan's face softens in relief. "Thanks. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He flicks the holocom off abruptly and marches over to her, placing a gentle hand in her hair. "How you feelin', sweetheart?"
"Better," Mabel says, her reply only a fraction of its normal enthusiasm. Stan sighs, taking a seat next to her.
"I'm sorry we couldn't save your friend, kiddo. We looked everywhere, but there wasn't a trace. The ship probably went down in the badlands."
"I know," Mabel whispers, running her fingers over the rough fabric of the blanket in her lap. "I just-" She blinks back tears. She'd been so happy, so excited to have found a friend from the other side, to have found someone she could help escape – and the girl had been so hesitant, but so hopeful-
Stan pulls her into a tight hug. "I know," he says, in miserable commiseration.
"I left Waddles," she whispers. The pain of that is almost choking. "Grunkle Stan, I left Waddles on Jakku – we have to go back- I left him all alone and he-"
"I know, sweetie, but you had to." He tilts her head to face him, giving her an encouraging grin. "You did really good, okay? And I'm going to get him the minute you're in hyperspace to D'Qar."
"But I want to-"
"No," Stan says, firmly. "You aren't going."
"That's not fair!" Mabel protests, feeling a spark of anger. "He's my droid! He's counting on me!"
"And he'll see you at the base," Stan says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Grunkle Stan, can't you just trust me-"
"That's not it!" Stan snaps. He sighs wearily, running a hand through his grey hair. "Mabel, sweetie, I almost lost you."
Any arguments die in Mabel's mouth as she watches her uncle, the weary lines of stress in his brow telling of how awful the last few days must have been for him.
"I'm sorry, Grunkle Stan," she whispers, leaning back against him. He returns the gesture, hugging her tightly.
"I already lost one kid," he says, voice watery. "I can't lose you."
Mabel squeezes her eyes shut, remembering their contact's words. She can't bear to tell Stan now, kill one of the few hopes they have left.
"Find Waddles, okay?" she says, instead.
"I will, Mabel. I promise."