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Derek Hale sat in the cramped cockpit of the Republic cruiser, his eyes darting between the hyperspace window and the reflection of his own tense expression in the shiny metal panel. His hand rested on the cool leather of his lightsaber hilt, the weight of the weapon grounding him in the present moment as he fidgeted with the single braid that fell over his shoulder. The braid, a symbol of his Padawan status, felt unusually tight today, as if the very fibers of his hair were wound around the coils of his anxiety.
Master Argent, seated calmly beside Derek, noticed his apprentice's fidgeting. The seasoned Jedi's eyes remained focused on the hyperspace window, his expression a mask of serenity that Derek often found both reassuring and slightly unsettling. "Derek," he said in a firm but gentle tone, "Your anxiety is palpable. Remember, the Force is with you."
Derek took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes still locked on the reflection of his own braid in the metal panel. "I know, Master," he replied, his voice quivering slightly. "It's just... Stiles is the first Senator we've been assigned to protect...."
Master Argent turned to face him, his gaze piercing through Derek's nervousness. "Fear is natural, Derek," he said. "But remember, fear is the path to the dark side. Use your training to channel that anxiety into vigilance and focus." He paused, his hand reaching out to pat Derek's shoulder reassuringly. "You've come a long way since your days as a youngling. You're more than capable of handling this mission."
Derek nodded again, taking his Master's words to heart. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the calming presence of the Force wash over him. His fidgeting ceased, and he felt the tightness in his braid loosen as he mentally prepared himself for the task ahead.
The cruiser's engines whined as it exited hyperspace, the stars snapping back into place outside the window. The gleaming city-planet of Coruscant grew larger, its towering skyscrapers piercing the atmosphere like gleaming silver needles. Derek felt the familiar thrill of excitement and awe as he saw the capital of the Galactic Republic come into view, despite his nerves.
Their cruise docked at the Senate Tower, and they disembarked to find the ever-enthusiastic Jar Jar Binks waiting for them. The Gungan's wide eyes lit up at the sight of the Jedi duo. "Mesa so happy to sees yous again!" he exclaimed, his tongue flapping around his mouth as he talked a mile a minute. His awkward gait was a stark contrast to their purposeful strides as they made their way through the bustling spaceport.
Chris nodded curtly at the Gungan. "Thank you for meeting us, Senator Binks. Time is of the essence," he said, his voice echoing the urgency of their mission. Derek couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement at the sight of the clumsy alien in his formal Naboo attire, trying to keep up with their brisk pace.
Once at Senator Stilinski's apartment, they were greeted by the familiar comforts of the Naboo architecture—high ceilings, arching doorways, and a soft, earthy color palette. The scent of ginger lingered in the air, a hint at the recent celebration of the planet's Festival of Love. Stiles, a young man of medium build with a kind face, looked up from his desk as they entered, his eyes widening at the sight of them.
Before either of the Jedi could say a word, Stiles leaped to his feet, rushing over to embrace Derek. Derek stiffened, unaccustomed to such a display of affection from someone outside his pack. The sudden pressure around his torso made him squeak in surprise, a sound that was not lost on the Senator's sharp ears.
"You've grown so much Derek" Stiles said, his eyes misting over with a hint of nostalgia. "It seems like just yesterday you were a scared little pup on the run."
Derek blushed, feeling a sudden warmth in his cheeks that had nothing to do with his newfound comfort with the Force. "Thank you, Stiles," he murmured, returning the embrace before gently stepping back. "Master Argent and I are here to ensure your safety."
Master Argent nodded solemnly. "The situation is serious, Senator. We've received intel on another potential threat."
Senator Stilinski's expression grew grave. "Another one?" He wiped his eyes, shaking off the moment of nostalgia. "I knew it was a risk coming back to Coruscant, but I never imagined..."
Master Argent took the lead, his voice firm and steady. "We understand your concerns, Senator, but the security of the Republic is our priority. We must proceed with caution."
"I am not scared of threats" Stiles said, his voice filled with determination. "But I do appreciate your protection, Jedi." He gestured to his desk, piled high with datapads and holoprojectors. "I have a full schedule, and I cannot afford to let fear dictate my actions. We must find whoever is behind this and bring them to justice."
Master Argent nodded. "Indeed, we shall. But first, we need to establish a secure protocol for your movements." He turned to Derek. "Scan the perimeter for any signs of trouble."
Derek nodded, focusing his senses and reaching out into the Force. His eyes flickered open and shut as he searched for any disturbance in the surrounding area. The corridors of the Senate Tower were typically filled with a cacophony of voices and footsteps, but today, it felt eerily quiet. The Force whispered secrets to him, hinting at shadows lurking just beyond his perception. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
"You're worried about Derek's feelings towards me" Stiles grumbled quietly to Chris once they were alone. "It's okay, I know he's still getting used to the whole 'not allowed to love anyone' bullshit"
Master Argent raised an eyebrow. "Your perception is astute, Senator," he replied calmly. "But that is not our main concern right now. The your safety is at stake."
"Okay then, I want Derek with me and you outside" Stiles said firmly, his grip on the edge of his desk tightening. "I need to feel safe, and having him nearby will do just that."
Master Argent studied Stiles for a moment before nodding. "As you wish, Senator." He turned to Derek. "Stay close to him, but do not let your feelings cloud your judgment. We are here to protect him, not to get emotionally involved."
Derek nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of their mission. "I won't let you down, Master," he said, his eyes meeting Argent's with a steely resolve.
The next few days passed in a blur of meetings and ceremonies, with Derek and Stiles rarely separated. The Padawan's senses were on high alert, his instincts sharper than ever. He could feel the tension in the air, the subtle shifts in the way people moved and talked. It was clear that something was amiss, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Argent remained a constant presence, a silent sentinel watching over them both.
During one of the banquets, Stiles picked up a goblet of sparkling blue liquid, a customary beverage of the planet they were on. Before he could take a sip, Derek's hand shot out, knocking it from his grasp. The room fell silent as the glass shattered on the floor, the sweet smell of the liquid mixing with the coppery scent of fear. Stiles looked at him with a mix of shock and confusion.
"I'm sorry, Stiles," Derek murmured, his voice low and urgent. "I sensed something... wrong." His eyes darted to the shattered shards, and he reached down with the Force to lift one to his nose. The faint scent of venom filled the air, making his stomach twist.
Stiles's face paled as he stared at the spilled drink. "Poison," he whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. The room's buzz of conversation had ceased, the only sound now the tense silence of the onlookers. The realization of the close call settled in, and he swallowed hard. "Thank you, Derek."
Master Argent's lightsaber was out in an instant, the hum of its blade cutting through the air. "We need to leave, now," he barked, scanning the room for any signs of an assailant. The guests scattered, some in fear, others in curiosity, as the two Jedi moved swiftly.
Derek's heart raced as he shielded Stiles with his body, his eyes searching for threats. The Force thrummed around him, a maelstrom of emotions and intentions that he had to navigate with the precision of a lightsaber duelist. He could feel the eyes of the room on them, a mix of terror and accusation. His instincts told him the danger was not yet over.
"Can you two stop making a scene?" a snooty voice drawled from the crowd. Derek's gaze snapped to the speaker, a Twi'lek with an amused smirk on her lips. Argent's grip on his lightsaber tightened, but Derek sensed no malice from her, just a hint of annoyance.
The Senate security droids rolled in, their metallic voices echoing through the chamber. "Senator Stilinski, are you in need of assistance?" one asked, its red optical sensors scanning the room.
Master Argent's gaze never left the Twi'lek. "We're fine," he said curtly, his voice a warning. "But keep the area secured." The droids nodded, their protocols overridden by the presence of the Jedi.
As they made their way through the panicked crowd, Derek couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. He had protected Stiles, prevented a tragedy from unfolding right before his eyes. Yet, the feeling was tainted with a bitter taste of fear. Who had tried to kill the Senator? And why? The questions swirled in his mind like the chaos in the room around them.
Once they had reached a secure location, Stiles turned to them, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and determination. "I need to go back home," he announced, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. "There's something there that I need to address. I can't stay here, hiding behind Jedi robes."
Master Argent studied Stiles carefully before speaking. "The Council may not approve of a return to Naboo without further investigation," he said, his tone measured. "But I understand your need to act."
Derek stepped forward, his voice firm. "I'll accompany you, Stiles," he offered. "Master Argent can remain here to handle any political fallout and continue the search for your would-be assassin."
The Senator looked at Derek with a mix of gratitude and concern. "You're too young for this," he said, his expression softening. "But I appreciate the offer."
"Aren't you too young to be a senator?" Derek quipped, trying to lighten the mood as they hurried through the corridors of the Senate Tower.
Stiles chuckled despite the gravity of the situation. "I'm older than I look, Padawan," he replied. "But age isn't everything in politics."
"I'm twenty one, you're nineteen" Derek said, trying to keep the conversation light as they hurried through the corridors of the Senate Tower. "It's not that big of a difference."
"In politics, it might as well be a galaxy," Stiles replied with a wry smile, his eyes still scanning their surroundings warily.
Master Argent's gaze flickered to Derek before returning to Stiles. "Your decision is noted, Senator," he said, his voice a blend of respect and concern. "But you must understand that your safety is paramount."
"I do," Stiles said, his expression serious. "But there's something on Naboo that could shed light on who's after me. And I trust Derek to protect me."
Master Argent nodded. "Very well. We'll take a stealth shuttle. Less likely to be detected."
The journey back to Naboo was tense. Derek sat opposite Stiles, his eyes never straying from the Senator's reflection in the shuttle's small viewport. The planet grew larger, the lush greenery and shimmering lakes coming into focus as they descended. Derek felt his stomach clench; this wasn't just any mission, this was personal.
They landed in the cover of night, the shuttle's engines whispering a soft hiss as they powered down. Naboo's moonlit landscape was a stark contrast to the gleaming steel of Coruscant. The air smelled of fresh grass and blooming flowers, a stark reminder of the peace Stiles had left behind when he'd entered the political arena.
Derek felt the weight of his responsibility as he stepped out of the shuttle, lightsaber in hand. The serene beauty of Naboo belied the danger that lurked within its borders. He scanned the area, his senses tingling with the presence of the living Force. There was no immediate threat, but the quietude was unsettling.
Stiles followed, his eyes scanning the familiar horizon. "It's been too long," he murmured, his voice filled with a longing that Derek couldn't fully comprehend. The two of them had grown closer over the past few days, their shared experiences creating a bond that went beyond mere duty. The young Padawan felt a fierce loyalty to the Senator, not just as a protector, but as a friend.
As they made their way to Stiles's family estate, the night air grew cooler, the scent of rain on the horizon. They spoke in hushed tones, sharing stories of their lives before the Jedi Order and the Senate. Stiles talked of his days as a free spirit on the moons of Naboo, while Derek spoke of the rigorous training and discipline that had shaped him into the Jedi he was today.
Derek found himself opening up more than he ever had with anyone outside of Chris. Stiles's genuine interest and non-judgmental nature made it easy for him to let his guard down. He spoke of his family, his mother and sister, and the pain of leaving them behind to follow the Jedi path. Stiles, in turn, revealed his own family's history of public service and his desire to honor their legacy.
Two days later, as the sun set over the rolling hills of Naboo, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Derek found himself standing on the balcony of the Stilinski estate. Stiles had been preoccupied with urgent matters, leaving Derek to his own devices. His thoughts drifted to the near-death experience at the banquet, the fear that had gripped him, and the way Stiles had looked at him with gratitude in those moments.
The evening air was thick with the scent of blooming night blossoms, the gentle hum of the planet's wildlife serenading the twilight. Derek leaned against the railing, his gaze lost in the horizon, when he heard soft footsteps approaching from behind. He tensed, his hand instinctively moving to his lightsaber, but then he recognized the rhythm. It was Stiles.
Stiles stopped beside him, his own gaze sweeping over the landscape. They stood in silence for a moment, the tension of the past days hanging between them like a palpable force. Derek could feel the Senator's weariness, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on his shoulders. Without thinking, he reached out and placed a comforting hand on Stiles's arm.
The contact was electric, a spark of something neither of them had expected. Stiles looked at Derek, his eyes searching. In that moment, the lines between Jedi and Senator, protector and protected, blurred. Derek knew that he was breaking a sacred rule, but he couldn't help it. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles's cheek. The action was so soft, so innocent, that for a moment, it seemed as if the entire world had stopped spinning.
Stiles's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. He felt the warmth of Derek's breath against his skin, the tender touch of his lips, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to lean into the comfort it offered. Then reality crashed back in, and he took a step back, his hand flying to his cheek where Derek's kiss still lingered. "What was that?" he whispered, his voice a mix of shock and confusion.
Derek's eyes searched Stiles's face, looking for any hint of anger or disgust, but all he saw was surprise. "I... I'm sorry," he stammered, his hand dropping to his side. "It was an impulse, a moment of... I don't know."
Stiles stared at him, his cheek still warm from the kiss. "You... you don't have to apologize," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we can't... this can't happen."
Derek nodded, understanding the gravity of his actions. He took a step back, his hand dropping to his side as if the touch had burned him. "I know," he murmured, his eyes cast downward. "I just... I needed to show you that I care-"
Before he could finish, Stiles's hand was on his chin, tilting it downward. "Look at me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Derek's eyes met Stiles', and in them, he saw a vulnerability that made his heart ache. Stiles leaned in, closing the distance between them, and pressed his lips to Derek's in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a kiss filled with the intensity of a thousand unspoken words, the passion of a forbidden love, and the desperation of two souls seeking solace in each other.
Derek's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into the kiss, his arms wrapping around Stiles's waist. The Senator's arms encircled him, pulling him closer until there was no space between them. The kiss deepened, their tongues dancing together in a silent declaration of feelings long suppressed. The world around them faded away, leaving only the beating of their hearts and the soft sounds of their breath mingling in the stillness of the evening.
For a brief, stolen moment, Derek forgot about the Jedi Code, about the danger lurking in the shadows. All that mattered was the warmth of Stiles's body pressed against his, the sweet taste of his lips, and the feeling of belonging he hadn't experienced since the day he left his pack behind. The Force pulsed around them, a living testament to the connection that had formed between them.
But the moment was fleeting, and reality crashed back in like a wave on the shores of Naboo. Derek pulled back, his heart racing. Stiles's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of fear and hope. "We can't," Derek murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "The Order..."
Stiles nodded, his grip on Derek's arms tightening before he released him. "I know," he said, his voice filled with a sadness that mirrored the emotions swirling in Derek's chest. "But for that one moment..." He let out a shaky sigh. "For that one moment, I forgot."
Derek took a step back, his hand coming to rest on his lightsaber, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of the moment. "We have a mission, Stiles," he said, his voice firm. "We can't let this distract us."
Stiles nodded, his eyes never leaving Derek's. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "But I can't just ignore what's between us."
Before Derek could respond, Stiles leaned in again, capturing his lips in a kiss that was even more urgent than the first. Derek's hand hovered over his lightsaber for a fraction of a second before it dropped to his side, forgotten. He melted into the kiss, the world around them fading away into a haze of desire. The scent of Stiles's cologne mingled with the sweet smell of the night blossoms, intoxicating him further.
That night, Derek was plagued by a nightmare so vivid it felt real. He watched, helpless, as his mother Talia was struck down by a Tuskin Raider's blade. Her screams echoed in his mind, a haunting melody that pierced through the veil of sleep. He bolted upright in bed, his sheets drenched in cold sweat. The room spun around him, the nightmare's grip refusing to release him even as he woke.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon outside casting long shadows across the floor. His heart thudded in his chest, and he could still feel the hot tears stinging his eyes. He knew he had to tell Stiles. He couldn't keep this fear to himself, not when it was threatening to consume him.
Derek took a deep, shaky breath and stepped out of the room, making his way to Stiles's quarters. The Senator's door was open, and he found him sitting up in bed, reading a datapad, the light casting an ethereal glow across his face. Stiles looked up as he approached, concern etched into his features. "Derek, what's wrong?"
Derek sat down on the edge of the bed, his voice thick with emotion. "I had a dream," he began, his eyes searching Stiles's for understanding. "A nightmare... about my mother."
Stiles set the datapad aside and leaned forward, his hand reaching out to cover Derek's. "What happened?"
Derek took a deep, shaky breath. "It was... it was so real. She was fighting, and then..." His voice cracked. "They killed her."
Stiles's expression softened, his eyes full of sympathy. "It was a just a nightmare"
But Derek was already shaking his head. "No, it's more than that. I need to go to Tatooine," he said, his voice urgent. "I need to make sure she's okay."
Stiles looked at him, his eyes filled with concern. "Now?"
Derek nodded, his voice shaky but determined. "Yes, now. I can't rest until I know she's safe."
Stiles sighed, understanding the urgency in Derek's eyes. He knew the Jedi Code forbade attachments, but he couldn't deny the bond he'd formed with the young Padawan. "Alright," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Let's get you to Tatooine."
They boarded the stealth shuttle once again, the journey to the desert planet fraught with tension. Derek's thoughts were consumed by the fear that his mother might truly be in danger. He'd left Tatooine behind years ago, but the sandy wasteland remained etched in his memory. The engines roared to life, and they took off into the night sky, leaving the serene beauty of Naboo behind.
"You should remove your clothes" "Oh you want me naked?" Stiles teased as he began to remove his shirt, revealing his well-defined stomach and chest. Derek couldn't help but stare, his heart racing as he took in the sight of the man he had grown to care for.
"No, you can't be recognized as a Senator" Derek whispered, his mind racing. "We need to disguise you."
Stiles rolled his eyes, but Derek could see the concern in them. They quickly donned the garb of simple desert traders, with hoods to obscure their faces. The journey through the night was tense, the hum of the shuttle's engines a constant reminder of the urgency of their mission. When they reached Tatooine, the stark contrast between the lush greenery of Naboo and the harsh, arid landscape of the desert planet hit Derek like a blow to the gut. Memories of his childhood slavery under the cruel hand of Watto flooded back, and he felt a surge of anger and fear.
They landed in Mos Eisley, the spaceport's hustle and bustle a stark contrast to the quiet of Naboo. The air was thick with the smell of spice and the grumbling of various alien species. Stiles kept close to Derek as they navigated the crowded streets, his hand never far from the grip of his lightsaber. They made their way to Watto's junk shop, where Derek had hoped to find answers.
As they approached the familiar façade, Derek's heart raced. He hadn't stepped foot in this place since he was taken away to the Jedi Temple. The memories were raw, the pain still fresh. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, the cool darkness of the shop offering a brief respite from the heat outside.
Watto looked up from his workbench, his beady eyes narrowing in recognition. "Well, well, well," he cackled, revealing his pointed teeth. "Look what the desert dragon spat out."
Derek's grip tightened on his lightsaber, the anger from his nightmare still simmering just below the surface. "Where is she?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.
Watto's leer grew wider. "Ah, so the pup still cares for his mother," he said, his tone mocking. "Tell you what, she left me. Found a new master, she did."
Derek's blood turned to ice at the words. "What do you mean?"
Watto's chuckle grated against Derek's nerves. "I sold her to a man named James," he said, his grin widening. "Said he'd treat her better than I ever could. She's living in the high life now, in the outskirts of Bestine."
Derek's mind raced as they made their way through the desert heat, the twin suns beating down on them like a punishment. Bestine was a small moisture farming community, a stark contrast to the bustling spaceport. His mother, Talia, had been sold? To a man named James? The very thought made his stomach churn with anger and betrayal.
As they approached the simple abode, a young girl with piercing blue eyes peeked out from the shadows, her curiosity piqued by the strangers. "Who's there?" she called out, her voice carrying the innocence of youth.
"Lena," Derek murmured, recognizing the girl he had never met. His mother had mentioned her in a few of the rare holocalls he'd received during his Jedi training. "This is your step sister right?" Stiles said quietly, his hand resting on Derek's shoulder.
Lena nodded, her eyes wide with shock. "You're Derek, mom's son," she whispered.
Before they could exchange any more words, a gruff voice called from inside the house. "Lena, who's out there?"
Derek's stomach clenched as a man with a weathered face and calloused hands stepped out of the doorway. This had to be James, the man who had bought his mother. "Can I help you?" James asked, his eyes assessing them with a hint of suspicion.
"I'm Derek," he introduced himself, trying to keep his voice steady. "I've come to see Talia."
James's expression tightened, his eyes flicking to the lightsaber at Derek's side before returning to his face. "Your mother," he said slowly. "She's not here."
"What do you mean?" Derek demanded, his hand twitching towards the weapon.
James stepped closer, his eyes cold. "What I mean," he said, "is that your mother was taken by Tuskin Raiders last night. They came under cover of darkness, took what they wanted, and left us with nothing but fear."
Derek's world shattered around him. "Tuskin Raiders?" he repeated, his voice hollow. "But why? Why would they take her?"
James's gaze was steely, his voice low. "They take what they want, leave only pain," he said, his eyes never leaving Derek's. "I don't know why they spared us. Maybe they thought we weren't worth their time."
Derek's mind raced. He had to find Talia. The Jedi Code be damned, he couldn't lose his mother again. "I'll go after them," he said, his voice filled with determination. "I'll get her back."
Stiles looked at him, his eyes filled with understanding. "Let me come with you," he offered, his hand on Derek's arm.
But Derek shook his head. "You need to stay here," he said, his voice firm. "Keep them safe. If anything happens to me, you're the only one who can protect them."
Stiles searched his eyes, the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air. He knew Derek was right. His duty as a Jedi came first, even if it meant leaving behind the man who had come to mean so much to him. "But what about you?"
Derek's gaze was unwavering. "I'll be fine," he assured Stiles. "The Force will guide me."
Stiles nodded reluctantly, his eyes filled with concern. "Be careful," he said, his voice a soft whisper.
Derek squeezed his hand in a silent promise before turning and striding away. The Tuskin Raiders had a reputation for their brutality, and the thought of his mother in their clutches filled him with a white-hot rage. He approached the nearest speeder, the engine purring with anticipation.
"Stay here," he called over his shoulder. "Keep them safe."
Stiles watched as Derek climbed onto the speeder, his heart heavy. "But what about you?" he called after him, fear tinting his voice.
"I'll be okay," Derek said, his voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions churning inside him. He gave Stiles a small smile, trying to reassure him. "You're the one who needs to stay safe. Keep an eye on things here."
Stiles nodded, though the worry in his eyes was palpable. "But Derek, the Tuskin Raiders are ruthless. You can't go alone."
"I have to," Derek replied firmly, igniting his lightsaber with a snap-hiss. "I won't let them harm her."
With a heavy heart, Stiles watched Derek speed away, the speeder's engine a fading whine in the desert heat. He knew that Derek was right; his place was here, ensuring the safety of the people under his protection. But the fear that gnawed at him was unshakeable.
Derek raced through the desert, the Force guiding him to the Tuskin Raiders' camp. His mind was focused, his emotions in check. The speeder's engine roared as he approached the makeshift settlement of tents and crude structures, the stench of burning flesh and acrid smoke filling the air. He had to find his mother.
Leaping off the speeder, Derek ignited his lightsaber, the blue blade a beacon in the darkness. The Tuskin Raiders had no time to react before he was among them, cutting through their numbers with the precision of a master swordsman. His eyes searched the camp, desperation fueling his every move. And then he saw her.
Talia lay on the ground, her body bruised and broken, a pool of crimson spreading beneath her. The sight of her brought Derek to his knees. He dropped his lightsaber and rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he cradled her in his arms. "Mother," he whispered, his voice choking with emotion.
Her eyes fluttered open, the light in them fading fast. "Derek," she murmured, her voice a mere breath. "I knew... you'd come."
Derek felt his heart shatter as he took in her condition. "Hold on," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll get you help."
But Talia's eyes searched his, and she knew there was no hope. "No," she whispered, her hand reaching up to gently cup his cheek. "It's too late."
Derek's eyes filled with tears as he felt the last of her life force slip away, leaving him with an emptiness that seemed to consume him from the inside out. He held her close, her body growing cold against his own, and for a moment, the world stopped turning.
Her eyes, once so full of life and love, stared blankly into the distance, her breathing shallow and uneven. "Mother," he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his grief. He didn't dare to believe it, didn't want to accept it. But as the light in her eyes dimmed, the reality of the situation crashed over him like a wave, drowning him in a sea of pain.
Talia managed a weak smile, her hand still cradling Derek's cheek. "Don't grieve for me, my son," she said, her voice barely audible. "I've lived a long life, and I'm proud of the Jedi you've become."
Derek's eyes searched hers, desperation and pain warring within him. He didn't know what to say, his thoughts a jumbled mess. The Jedi Code was clear: attachment leads to suffering. Yet here he was, feeling more connected to the woman who had given him life than ever before, and now she was slipping away.
"Mother," he choked out, the word a broken cry of anguish. He had never allowed himself to be this vulnerable, not since he'd left Tatooine. But now, in the face of her impending death, he could hold it in no longer. "Mother, no!"
The Tuskin Raiders paused in their panic, staring at the Jedi Knight with a mix of fear and curiosity. Derek's grief was a sound none of them had ever heard, a raw, primal wail that echoed across the dunes. It was the sound of a soul being torn in two, the agony of a man losing the one thing that had kept him anchored to the light amidst the darkness of his past.
In that moment of silent understanding, something within Derek snapped. The Jedi Code, the teachings of his mentor, the very fabric of his being as a guardian of peace - it all dissipated like a mirage before his eyes. The only truth that remained was the burning hatred and rage that coursed through his veins, demanding vengeance. He stood up, gently laying Talia's lifeless body back onto the sand. His eyes searched the camp, finding the creature who had dared to harm his mother.
With the speed of a sand panther, he sprinted towards the Tusken Raider leader, lightsaber blazing. The creature bellowed, raising its gaderffii stick in defense, but Derek's blade cut through the makeshift weapon with ease. The sound of metal clanging and the scent of burning flesh filled the air as Derek's rage grew with every strike. The other Raiders stepped back, their fear of the Jedi overwhelming their desire to fight. They had seen what these warriors of the Republic were capable of, and they knew they didn't stand a chance.
Derek's lightsaber was a blur as he dismembered and disembowelled, leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. The desert night was painted with the crimson of their blood, and their screams pierced the air like the cries of dying beasts. His heart raced, his breath came in ragged gasps, but he felt no remorse. This was justice for his mother, for the life she had been forced to live, for the pain she had suffered.
The Tusken Raider camp was a hive of chaos and fear, the warriors running for their lives as Derek cut through them like a droid in a blaster storm. They were animals, and he was the predator. His blade sang the song of vengeance as he searched for the one who had led the raid, the one who had given the order to take his mother. He would not rest until the head of the snake had been severed.
The leader of the band, a towering brute with a scar across one eye, raised his gaderffii stick in a final, desperate attempt to fend off the Jedi's fury. But Derek was unstoppable, his rage a living force that propelled him forward. With a roar that echoed through the desert night, he brought his lightsaber down in a sweeping arc, cleaving the Tusken in two. The creature fell, its life extinguished as easily as a candle flame in the wind.
The other Raiders, witnessing the swift and brutal end of their leader, realized the futility of their resistance. They turned tail and fled into the night, their cries for mercy lost in the swirling sands. Derek stood tall, his lightsaber still crackling with the energy of his wrath. The camp was quiet now, the only sounds the distant howl of a creature on the prowl and the gasping of the dying embers of the fires.
The once-mighty Tusken Raiders lay scattered around him, their armor and weapons now tainted with their own blood. The smell of death and the acrid scent of burnt flesh filled the air, a grim testament to the carnage he had wrought. Derek felt no satisfaction, only a cold emptiness where his anger had been. He had done what he had set out to do, but at what cost?
With trembling hands, he picked up his lightsaber and sheathed it, his gaze lingering on the lifeless forms of his mother's captors. He turned away, his eyes finding hers, now peaceful in death. He gently scooped her into his arms, the weight of her loss heavier than any burden he had ever carried.
The journey back to the speeder was a blur of grief and anger. The engine roared to life, and Derek set a course for home. The wind whipped past him, carrying the scent of blood and sand, a bitter reminder of what he had become. Stiles waited for him at the homestead, his eyes searching the horizon. The moment he saw Derek approaching, his heart sank.
Derek pulled up to the house, the speeder's engine dying with a whine. Stiles rushed to his side, his eyes taking in the state of his friend. Derek looked up, his eyes red and haunted. Without a word, he handed James Talia's lifeless body. His stepfather took her gently, his own heart breaking for the pain he saw in Derek's eyes.
Stiles led Derek inside, his hand on his back a silent offer of comfort. They sat in the coolness of the main room, the lights dimmed to match the mood. "You need to rest," Stiles said softly, his hand still on Derek's shoulder.
Derek nodded, his eyes never leaving the spot where he had set Talia's body. "I can't," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I need to... I need to do something."
Stiles understood. He knew that Derek's pain was too fresh, too raw to be soothed by words or comfort. He had felt that same pain when he lost his own family. "Alright," he murmured, squeezing Derek's shoulder gently. "Let's take care of this."
He returned moments later with a tray laden with a steaming cup of Tatooine milk and a platter of food. The rich, creamy scent filled the room, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of grief. Derek's stomach growled despite his anguish, a testament to the physical toll his emotions were taking on him. He took the cup with trembling hands, the warmth seeping through his skin. The sweet, slightly bitter taste of the milk was a comforting memory from his youth, a small island in the storm of his current torment.
Stiles placed the food before him, a simple meal of roasted nerf steak and a variety of spiced tubers, but Derek could barely bring himself to look at it. He knew he had to eat, to keep his strength up for the trials ahead, but the thought of swallowing anything past the lump in his throat was almost too much to bear. He took a deep breath and picked up his fork, forcing the first bite into his mouth.
The flavors exploded across his taste buds, a bittersweet symphony that seemed to echo the tumult of his emotions. The food was a comfort, a reminder of happier times, of his mother's gentle voice, urging him to eat. Stiles sat across from him, his eyes filled with a silent understanding that Derek found both soothing and maddening. He didn't want pity; he wanted answers.
"Why?" he finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse from the screams that had torn from his throat earlier. "Why did they have to take her?"
Stiles didn't answer. He couldn't. There was no answer that would suffice, no words to fill the void that now gaped inside Derek. They sat in silence, the only sound the occasional sizzle of the cooling food on the plate.
Then, as if a dam had broken, Derek's voice echoed through the room, raw and filled with rage. "I killed them all," he roared. "Every last one of those monsters. They won't hurt anyone else."
Stiles's eyes widened, his heart sinking as he digested the words. He knew Derek had gone to find the Tusken Raiders, but the extent of his retribution was something he hadn't anticipated. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice shaking.
Derek's gaze was cold, his eyes reflecting the harshness of the desert night. "I mean I didn't leave one of them breathing," he said, his voice flat. "They took my mother, they hurt her. They had to pay."
Stiles stared at him, his heart racing. "But Derek," he began, his voice strained. "The Jedi Code..."
"To hell with the Jedi Code!" Derek roared, slamming his fist on the table, sending the uneaten food flying. His eyes were wild, haunted by the bloodshed he had wrought. "They didn't care about the Code when they took me from her! They didn't care about innocence when they left her to die in the sand!"
Stiles recoiled, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. He knew the Code forbade such acts of vengeance, knew that Derek had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. But as he looked into Derek's eyes, he saw the depth of his pain and anger, and for a moment, he understood. He took a deep breath, choosing his words with care.
"Derek," he began, his voice gentle. "What you did was..."
But Derek didn't let him finish. "Don't," he whispered, his voice a plea. "Just... don't."
Stiles studied him for a long moment, his eyes filled with a tumult of emotions. Then, without another word, he leaned across the table and pressed his lips to Derek's. It was a soft, tender kiss, filled with the weight of their shared grief and the promise of understanding. For a moment, Derek was lost in the warmth and comfort it offered, his eyes closing as he allowed himself to feel something other than anger and pain.
The kiss was a gentle reminder of the connection that had grown between them, a bond that went beyond their roles as protector and protected. It was a silent declaration of the feelings that had been simmering just below the surface since their reunion on Coruscant. Derek's arms wrapped around Stiles instinctively, pulling him closer, needing the human touch to anchor him in the face of his loss.
Stiles felt the tremors in Derek's body subside as their lips met, the warmth of his kiss a stark contrast to the cold rage that had been consuming him. Derek's arms tightened around him, pulling him closer as if trying to absorb some of the comfort he offered. The kiss was a silent promise that Stiles would be there, that he understood the depth of his pain.
When they finally parted, Derek's eyes searched Stiles's, looking for judgment, for any hint of disappointment or disgust. But all he found was love and compassion, a balm to his troubled soul. He didn't know what to say, his thoughts tangled in a web of grief and confusion. Stiles took his hand, his grip firm and reassuring.
"We need to talk," Stiles said softly, his thumb stroking the back of Derek's hand. "What happened out there, Derek, it's...it's not the Jedi way. But I understand your grief"
Derek's gaze dropped to their joined hands, his throat tight. "I couldn't just let them go," he murmured. "They took her from me. They hurt her."
Stiles nodded, his expression solemn. "But the Code..."
"I know," Derek interjected, his voice thick with emotion. "But she was my mother. I couldn't let them get away with it."
Stiles didn't respond, instead, he just held Derek close, feeling the tremors in his body as he struggled with his grief and anger. They sat there for a long time, the silence stretching between them like the vast Tatooine desert. Finally, Derek pulled away, wiping at his eyes. "We need to go back to Naboo," he said, his voice hoarse.
Stiles nodded, understanding in his eyes. He didn't argue, didn't try to dissuade Derek from his path. He knew that sometimes, the only thing one could do was to be present, to offer silent support. They made the journey back to the stealth shuttle, the weight of what had happened heavy on both of their hearts.
Once in the cockpit, Derek took the controls, his movements automatic as he set a course for Naboo. Stiles sat beside him, their fingers entwined. The warmth of their joined hands was a lifeline in the cold, unforgiving emptiness that had taken hold of Derek. They didn't speak, the hum of the engines and the rhythmic beat of their hearts the only sounds in the cabin.
Upon landing, they made their way back to the estate, the quietness of the night wrapping around them like a shroud. They walked in unison, their steps echoing in the corridors, each one a reminder of the weight they now carried. Stiles led Derek to his chambers, noticing the way his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He knew the kind of turmoil that Derek was going through, the battle between his Jedi teachings and his innate instincts as a son seeking justice.
Once inside, Stiles gestured to the plush chair by the fireplace. "Here," he said gently, "sit." Derek obeyed, his movements mechanical. Stiles bent down to light the kindling, the crackling flame slowly spreading to the logs, casting flickering shadows across the room. He watched Derek, his eyes never leaving his friend's haunted gaze.
Stripping off his dusty clothes, Stiles revealed his own scars from past battles, a silent testament to the trials they had both faced. He walked to the refresher, the water hissing as he cleaned the grime of Tatooine from his skin. He knew that Derek needed this, needed the warmth and the cleansing flame to help purge the darkness that clung to him.
When he emerged, the room was bathed in the glow of the fire, the shadows playing across Derek's drawn features. Stiles approached him, a soft towel in his hand. "Let me," he offered, his voice gentle. Derek looked up at him, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and something else, something that made Stiles's heart clench in his chest.
Derek nodded, his movements sluggish as he allowed Stiles to wipe the sand and sweat from his face and neck. The warmth of the towel was a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled in Derek's soul, a small comfort amidst the turmoil. Stiles worked methodically, his eyes never leaving Derek's, his touch a silent reassurance that he was there, that he cared.
Their eyes met, and Derek felt the pull of the bond that had formed between them. Without thought, he leaned in and captured Stiles's lips in a kiss that was more than just a whisper of comfort. It was a declaration of need, of a hunger that had been growing since that fateful day they met so many years ago. The kiss was fierce, full of passion and pain, a silent scream against the injustices that had been dealt.
Stiles didn't resist, didn't pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around Derek's shoulders as he pulled him closer, their bodies melding together as if trying to find solace in their shared grief. Derek felt the warmth of Stiles's embrace seep into his very bones, chasing away some of the cold emptiness that had taken root. The kiss grew more urgent, a dance of tongues and teeth that spoke of a yearning that had been denied for far too long.
"We can't" Derek whispered. "I don't care" Stiles said back, his voice muffled by their kiss.
Their passion grew, hands exploring, finding comfort in the familiar contours of each other's bodies. Derek's hand slid up Stiles's back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the towel. Stiles's own hands were gentle but firm, as if trying to hold on to something that was slipping away from him.
The towel fell to the floor, forgotten, and Stiles's bare skin was bared to Derek's eyes. He took in the expanse of his chest, the muscles that rippled under his fingertips, the scars that mapped the story of his life. Each one was a testament to the battles he had fought, the pain he had endured. It was a stark contrast to Derek's own armor, the layers of anger and detachment that had protected him for so long.
"Your turn Hale" Stiles smiled gently, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and understanding. Derek took a shaky breath, his gaze lingering on Stiles' bare chest before he reached for the fastenings of his own armor. The plates clattered to the ground, each one a symbol of the walls that had come down between them.
Derek's robes fell away, revealing the powerful form beneath, each muscle defined by years of rigorous Jedi training. The firelight danced across his bare skin, casting an ethereal glow that made him look almost otherworldly. Stiles's eyes devoured him, the sight of the man he had grown to love and admire so deeply a stark contrast to the Jedi Knight who had stepped into his life so unexpectedly.
They stood there, bared to each other in more ways than one. Derek's gaze was filled with a vulnerability that Stiles had never seen before, and it made his heart ache with tenderness. He stepped closer, his hands reaching up to cup Derek's face, their foreheads touching as they breathed the same air, the same pain, the same love.
With a sudden burst of emotion, Stiles hopped into Derek's hold, wrapping his legs around Derek's waist. Derek's arms instinctively circled around Stiles, holding him tight as if he were afraid to let go. Stiles felt the warmth of Derek's body against his, the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. It was a feeling he had craved since that first kiss in the desert, a feeling he had been too scared to acknowledge.
Their kiss grew more passionate as Stiles's legs tightened around Derek, pulling him closer. Derek's hands slid down to Stiles's hips, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of his lower back. Stiles moaned into the kiss, his body responding to Derek's touch in ways he had never thought possible. It was as if their very souls were merging, the lines between them blurring until they were one.
They stumbled towards the bed, their movements clumsy with need. Derek laid Stiles down gently, his eyes never leaving his. The firelight played across their faces, casting shadows that danced like ghosts of their past. They paused for a moment, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating as one. It was a moment suspended in time, a single beat where everything else ceased to matter.
Derek leaned over Stiles, his body hovering just above his. His hands slid down to Stiles's chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath his palms. Stiles's eyes fluttered closed, his face a mask of pleasure as Derek's thumb traced the line of his jaw, the gentle caress a stark contrast to the battle-hardened exterior of the Jedi. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as they sought to claim each other in a way that words could never express.
"I don't know what I'm doing" Derek laughed softly, his eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and passion. "You don't have to" Stiles murmured, his own voice husky with desire. "Just follow your heart."
Derek leaned in, his lips brushing against Stiles's in a gentle kiss that grew more insistent with each passing second. Their breaths mingled, their hearts racing in sync. Derek's hands slid under the covers, tracing the lines of Stiles's body, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. Stiles arched into the touch, his own hands tangling in Derek's hair, pulling him closer.
Their kiss deepened, tongues dancing together in a silent conversation of need and desire. Stiles could feel the tension coiling in Derek's muscles, the same tension that had been present since their arrival on Tatooine. His own body responded in kind, eager to offer the release Derek so desperately needed.
They moved together, a choreographed dance of passion that had been building for years. Derek's hands roamed over Stiles's skin, exploring every inch as if he were trying to memorize the feel of him. Stiles's own hands were equally busy, tracing the lines of Derek's back, feeling the warmth and strength beneath his fingertips.
Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, the years of training and discipline forgotten as they gave in to the primal urges that had been simmering just beneath the surface. The soft sounds of their lovemaking filled the room, mingling with the crackling of the fire. Stiles's eyes never left Derek's, the connection between them unbreakable as they sought solace in each other's embrace.
Stiles gasped and moaned as Derek's skilled hands roamed over his body, setting him alight with a passion he had never before experienced. Derek's touch was tender yet firm, each caress a silent declaration of his love and need. The fire in the hearth reflected in their eyes, casting flickering shadows across the room, adding a sense of urgency to their union.
Derek's kisses grew more demanding, his teeth grazing Stiles's neck as he sought to claim every inch of him. Stiles's nails dug into Derek's back, his body arching in pleasure at the feel of Derek's hardness pressing against him. The air was thick with the scent of their desire, the heat of their passion a stark contrast to the coldness that had gripped Derek's heart.
They moved as one, their bodies fitting together as if they had been made for this moment. Each thrust, each caress, was a declaration of their bond, a silent promise that no matter what the future held, they would face it together. The world outside their chamber ceased to exist, their focus solely on the connection that pulsed between them, a force more potent than any in the galaxy.
As they reached their climax, the room was filled with their cries of release, echoing off the stone walls like a symphony of passion and grief. Derek collapsed onto Stiles, his body spent, his breaths ragged. Stiles held him tight, his arms a warm embrace that seemed to melt the icy anger that had been gripping Derek's soul.
They lay there, entwined, their hearts pounding in sync, the only sound in the quiet room. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth, casting a warm glow over their sweat-slicked skin. Derek's eyes searched Stiles's, looking for the judgment that never came. Instead, he found only love and acceptance.
Stiles's arms tightened around Derek, pulling him closer, as if he could absorb the pain and guilt that clung to him. "You don't have to be alone," he whispered, his breath warm against Derek's neck. "We're in this together."
Derek's eyes searched Stiles's, the depth of his gratitude a silent testament to their bond. He leaned into the embrace, feeling the warmth of Stiles's body against his own. The weight of his emotions was still heavy, but the burden felt lighter with Stiles by his side. They lay there, the fire's warmth a gentle caress against their skin as they basked in the afterglow of their shared passion.
Finally, Derek pulled away, his eyes heavy with reluctance. He reached for his discarded armor, the cold metal a stark reminder of the reality that waited outside their chamber. Stiles watched him, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding, as he dressed in silence. Each piece of armor was a barrier, a shield that separated him from the world and the love they had just shared.
Stiles couldn't help the pout that tugged at the corners of his mouth as Derek's muscular form was once again obscured by the layers of plating. The warmth of their passion had been a fleeting reprieve from the coldness of their duties, and now it was time to don their public personas once more. He sat up, the sheets slipping down to reveal his bare chest, the fire's warmth no longer enough to chase away the sudden chill in the air.
Derek noticed the shift in the room's energy and paused, his hand hovering over his lightsaber. He looked back at Stiles, the love in his eyes clear despite the mask he had donned. "What is it?" he asked gently, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the quiet space.
Stiles bit his bottom lip, the pout deepening. "I just don't want to lose this," he murmured, gesturing between them. "What happens now? Does this change things?"
Derek sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving Stiles. He knew the weight of his words would be significant. "It doesn't change anything," he said, his voice firm. "Our duty remains the same. But..." He paused, his gaze softening. "But we have each other. We'll figure this out."
He reached for his lightsaber, the metal hilt cool and comforting in his grip. The blade ignited with a snap-hiss, the blue flame casting a soft glow across the room. The sight of the weapon, a symbol of his Jedi order, brought a pang of guilt to his chest. He knew he had strayed from the Code, but the warmth of Stiles beside him made the burden slightly more bearable.
Stiles watched him, his expression a mix of concern and admiration. He knew the turmoil Derek was facing, the conflict between his Jedi vows and his deep-rooted need for vengeance. Yet, in that moment, he saw a glimmer of hope. "We'll face it together," Stiles assured him, his voice steady and reassuring.
Derek nodded, the weight of their shared secret heavy on his shoulders. He took one last look at Stiles, the firelight playing across his features, before turning to leave. At the door, he paused, the holocommunicator in his hand beeping insistently. He activated it, the image of a concerned Chris Argent flickering to life.
"Master," Derek said, his voice gruff with unspoken emotion.
Chris Argent's holographic image was tense, the lines around his eyes deep with concern. "Derek, I've found something you need to see."
Derek's stomach dropped. "A clone army," he murmured, the words sticking in his throat like sand.
"Yes," Chris said, his own expression a mix of excitement and caution. "An entire battalion of clones, bred for the Jedi. They could be the key to ending the conflict with the Separatists."
Derek stared at the message, his mind racing. The revelation was both awe-inspiring and troubling. A clone army to serve the Jedi? It was something they had never anticipated, something that could tip the scales of the war in their favor. Yet, the very thought of it made him feel uneasy. The Jedi were guardians of peace, not leaders of a faceless army.
Stiles watched Derek's expression shift from passion to concentration as he absorbed the news. He knew the gravity of what they had just heard. The implications of a clone army could change everything, and he could see the turmoil it stirred in Derek's eyes. "What do we do?" Stiles asked, his voice low.
Derek took a deep breath, the warmth of the moment with Stiles giving way to the cold reality of their duty. He deactivated the holocommunicator, the image of Chris Argent fading away.
"Chris will report to the council" Derek said, his voice firm. Stiles nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They had to keep their personal feelings in check, their duty to the Republic was paramount. Derek reached out and squeezed Stiles's shoulder, a silent promise that he wasn't alone in this.
They both knew that the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty. The revelation of a clone army was just the tip of the iceberg in a galaxy teetering on the brink of all-out war. Their roles as Jedi would be tested, their bond stronger than ever, yet needing to be kept hidden.
Their mission took them to the desolate planet of Geonosis, where the whispers of the impending battle grew louder. The air was thick with the stench of fear and the metallic tang of anticipation. They moved stealthily through the dusty landscape, the hum of droids and the distant roar of engines a constant reminder of the looming danger.
In a blink of an eye, it all went wrong. Separatist forces surrounded them, their blasters pointed menacingly at the Jedi and Senator. Derek and Stiles had been captured.
The cold metal of the cuffs dug into their wrists, a stark reminder of their vulnerability. Stiles's eyes were wide with anger as he watched the droids march them through the dusty streets of Geonosis. "I'm a Senator you filthy nerf herders!!!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the stone buildings.
One of the droids turned to face him, its red eyes scanning him with a cold, calculated interest. Without a word, it raised a metal hand and slammed it into Stiles's stomach, the force knocking the wind out of him. Before he could even gasp for air, another droid stepped forward, shoving a rag into his mouth, effectively silencing his protests. Derek's heart raced as he watched, his own anger bubbling to the surface.
"Stiles," he murmured, his voice low and full of concern. The Senator's eyes met his, the fear in them unmistakable, but also a hint of something else—trust. Trust that Derek would get them out of this situation.
Derek took a deep breath, focusing on the Force. He could feel it pulsing around them, a living, breathing entity that whispered of the impending chaos. The very fabric of the universe seemed to hum with anticipation, as if it knew the monumental battle that was to come.
"You made him more angry" Derek smirked, his gaze never leaving Stiles's face as they were dragged through the crowded streets.
"Well, it worked didn't it?" Stiles shot back, his voice muffled by the gag. His eyes danced with a rebellious spirit that made Derek's chest tighten. They had been captured, but they were far from defeated.
The chains clanked as the chariot jolted forward, pulled by the snarling creatures that seemed to delight in their captives' discomfort. The wind stung Derek's eyes, but he blinked it away, focusing on the path ahead. The execution arena loomed in the distance, a monstrous structure that seemed to pulse with malicious intent.
Leaning down, Derek pressed his lips to Stiles' gagged mouth, the fabric of the gag damp with the Senator's sweat and the dryness of the desert air. Stiles' eyes widened in surprise before a soft moan escaped through the material. It was a brief, desperate kiss, a silent promise to each other that no matter the outcome, they had found something real amidst the chaos.
The droids didn't react to the intimate gesture, their cold, mechanical eyes focused on their destination. Yet the moment lingered in the air, a spark of humanity in the sea of metal and malice. When Derek pulled back, Stiles' eyes searched his, the unspoken question clear. Derek offered a small nod, a reassurance that they would get through this together.
The chariot came to a sudden stop, and the droids yanked them out with a force that sent them stumbling into the sand. The arena's shadow fell over them, the roar of the crowd a deafening crescendo that seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet. Derek took in the scene with a mix of determination and dread. They were surrounded by the enemy, but he refused to let fear rule him. He had Stiles beside him, and that was all the strength he needed.
"Some rescue mission" Chris sighed dramatically, wrists chained above his head as he dangled from the metal rack. Despite the pain etching his face, there was a glint of humor in his eyes.
Derek couldn't help but smile back at his Master's bravado. "It's not the first time we've had to improvise" he said, his voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at his gut. They had to keep their wits sharp, their spirits high. They had been through worse, they would get through this.
"Why is Stiles gagged?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow at Derek.
Derek shrugged, the tension in his shoulders palpable. "He can be quite...persuasive when he wants to be," he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth despite their dire situation. Stiles glared at him from the corner of his eye, his jaw clenched in annoyance. The gag was a precaution, but the way Derek talked about it, you'd think he enjoyed seeing Stiles silenced.
Their captors had chained them back to back, their arms bound above their heads, forcing them into an awkward embrace that was both comforting and infuriating. Stiles struggled against his bonds, the leather biting into his wrists, but Derek's firm presence was a silent reminder to remain calm. The chains rattled with each of Stiles's movements, the noise grating on Derek's nerves.
"Stiles," Derek murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You have to keep still."
But Stiles was beyond listening. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, his chest heaving with each breath. The gag muffled his protests, turning them into frustrated grunts. He was used to being in control, the voice of reason, but here, chained and silenced, he felt utterly powerless.
Derek watched him, his own heart racing. He knew the fear and anger that boiled within Stiles, had felt it himself when he had first been captured. "Breathe," he murmured, his voice a calming force in the chaos. "We're in this together."
The arena doors slammed open, and the first creature emerged. It was a monstrous creature, a nexu, its fur mottled and teeth bared. The crowd roared with bloodlust as it stalked towards them, its eyes gleaming with hunger. Stiles's body tensed against Derek's, his breathing erratic. Derek closed his eyes, focusing on the Force, feeling the energy around him, preparing for what was to come.
Stiles felt the panic rising in his chest, but Derek's calmness was infectious. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to mimic the Jedi's calm demeanor. His eyes fell on the chains that bound them together, and an idea began to form. He began to twist and squirm, his nimble hands working at the ropes that held his wrists.
Derek's eyes widened as he watched Stiles's movements. He knew what the Senator was attempting and felt a spark of hope flare within him. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm them, they had a chance. He leaned back slightly, giving Stiles room to maneuver.
Stiles's wrists bled from his efforts, but he ignored the pain. With a grunt, he managed to get his hands in front of him, the gag still tight around his mouth. His eyes never left the pole, the slick metal taunting him with its height. But he had climbed worse in his youth, and he was not about to let this be his end. With a deep breath, he began to scale the pole, his bare feet and hands finding purchase on the cold, slick surface.
Derek watched him, his heart in his throat. He had never seen Stiles so focused, so determined. It was as if the very essence of their bond was fueling his climb. The chains rattled with each movement, the sound a symphony of hope and defiance. The nexu prowled below, snarling and pacing, eager for the chase that was about to begin.
Stiles ripped the gag out with a snarl, his eyes never leaving Derek's. "I can't believe we're in this mess," he spat out, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"Focus," Derek hissed, the urgency in his tone unmistakable. "We need to get out of here." The next two creatures were released, the nexu's snarls joined by the bone-chilling shriek of an acklay and a reek.
Stiles climbed to the top of the pole, the nexu lunged, its claws swiping at him. He managed to dodge the first few strikes, but the creature was relentless. One of its massive paws connected with Stiles' back, leaving four deep gashes that burned like fire. Stiles bit back a scream, his body going rigid with pain.
"Stiles!" Derek yelled, watching in horror as the nexu's claws raked across Stiles' bare back. Stiles' eyes squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he tried to ignore the searing pain, focusing instead on the task at hand. He managed to pull himself over the top of the pole, the chains still clamped around his ankles.
The acklay charged, its spiked shell glinting in the harsh arena lights. Derek felt the Force pulse within him, a power that had been dormant for too long. With a roar of defiance, he used the strength of the Force to pull the chains tight, creating a makeshift lasso around the creature's neck. The acklay stumbled, its momentum carrying it forward into the nexu's path.
The two beasts collided with a bone-crunching impact, sending sand flying through the air. The nexu roared in fury, but the distraction had bought them precious seconds. Stiles took the opportunity to hop down from the pole, his bare feet landing in Derek's open arms. The chains rattled and fell to the ground, discarded like the shackles of their fear.
As if on cue, the sound of lightsabers igniting pierced the air. A squadron of Jedi Knights emerged from the shadows, their blades a dazzling array of blue and green, slicing through the droids with the precision of a master sculptor. The crowd gasped as the tide of the battle began to turn, the clank of metal and the hiss of sizzling droid parts a cacophony that seemed to harmonize with the beasts' snarls and roars.
"My back" Stiles whimpered, his voice hoarse from the gag, as Derek set him down gently on the sand. Derek's eyes went wide with concern as he saw the deep gashes across Stiles' back, blood seeping through the torn fabric of his tunic. "We need to get out of here," Stiles said, his voice tight with pain.
Derek nodded, his mind racing. The Jedi and their clone allies had arrived, turning the tide of the battle, but their presence was a double-edged sword. They had to escape before the Jedi Council learned of their indiscretion. "I can heal you," Derek said, reaching out with the Force. The warmth of his touch spread through Stiles' back, soothing the wounds.
Stiles took a sharp inhale as the pain lessened, his eyes never leaving Derek's. "Thank you," he murmured, the words thick with emotion. Derek's gaze was intense, filled with the promise of a future where they could be more than just Jedi and Senator.
In the chaos of the arena, amidst the roar of the dying beasts and the clang of lightsabers, Derek dropped to one knee. Stiles's heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight before him. Derek, the stoic Jedi Knight, was now the most vulnerable he had ever seen him, his eyes brimming with hope. "Marry me," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the din.
Stiles stared at him, the world around them seemingly fading into obscurity. The proposal was sudden, unexpected, yet it felt as natural as breathing. The warmth of Derek's hand against his cheek was the only thing anchoring him to reality. "Here?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse from the gag and the tumult of emotions.
"On Naboo," Derek clarified, his voice firm and sure. "When this is all over. I want to marry you, Stiles. I want to spend the rest of my life protecting you, serving the Republic, and growing our bond."
Stiles' heart felt like it might burst from his chest. The love he felt for Derek was a force unto itself, one that had only grown stronger with each shared secret and stolen glance. He had never dreamed that a Jedi, bound by the strictures of the Code, could offer him this kind of commitment, this kind of love. "Yes," he breathed, his voice shaking with emotion. "I'll marry you, Derek Hale"
Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the horror of the arena faded away. Their world narrowed to the warmth of their skin, the promise in their touch. They had just made a vow that could shake the very foundations of the Jedi Order, but in that instant, all that mattered was each other.
But reality crashed back in as Count Dooku emerged from the shadows, his cloak billowing in the wind like the wings of a dark angel. The Sith Lord's gaze was cold, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent as he took in the scene before him. Derek's heart raced as he realized the gravity of their situation. They had to get to him before he could escape.
"Chris!" Derek bellowed, his voice a battle cry as they broke into a sprint through the arena. The sand was hot and unforgiving beneath their bare feet, but they pushed through the pain, driven by the need to stop Dooku from escaping. The air was thick with the scent of fear and burning metal, a stark reminder of the lives lost and the war that raged around them.
Chris Argent, his eyes ablaze with the light of the Force, broke away from his chains, his lightsaber sizzling to life in his hand. The bond between them, forged in the fires of combat and shared secrets, was stronger than any metal could be.
"Dooku will not escape us," Chris shouted over the cacophony of the arena, his voice a mix of determination and anger. They had come so far together, and now, the man responsible for so much suffering was within their grasp.
Derek's lightsaber hummed to life in his hand, the blue blade a beacon in the shadowy chaos. The air was thick with the scent of fear and the acrid smell of burning flesh. The arena's sand stuck to their skin, a grim reminder of the battleground they were fighting on. They were surrounded by the roars of beasts and the clash of metal, but their focus was solely on the Sith Lord before them.
Count Dooku stepped into the light, his lightsaber a crimson arc of death. His eyes were like chips of ice as he surveyed the Jedi Knights and the Senator. The contempt in his gaze was palpable. Derek could feel the dark side emanating from him, a force that threatened to suffocate them all.
The Sith Lord's blade sliced through the air, a blur of red lightning that Derek and Chris barely managed to dodge. The sand around them kicked up, the heat from the blade scorching their faces. The arena was a maelstrom of chaos, a backdrop for the ultimate test of their bond and their skills.
Dooku's blade was a whirlwind of death, spinning and cutting with a precision that belied his age. Derek and Chris fought back-to-back, their lightsabers a dance of blue and green against the crimson fury of their opponent. Each clash sent shockwaves through the air, echoing in their bones.
In a moment of distraction, Dooku's blade shot out, slicing through Derek's defenses. The pain was immediate, searing through his body as his left arm fell to the ground, cauterized by the heat of the lightsaber. Stiles's scream was a knife to Derek's soul as he stumbled back, clutching the stump.
Chris roared in rage, his lightsaber a blur of motion as he launched a fierce counterattack. But Dooku was too skilled, too powerful. He blocked each blow with ease, his crimson blade weaving a deadly pattern through the air. Derek watched in horror as the battle raged on, his own pain a dull throb in the background.
"Derek!" Stiles screamed, the sound of his voice lost in the chaos of the arena. Derek felt his stomach drop, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbled back, the world spinning around him. The pain from his severed arm was intense, but he couldn't allow it to cloud his focus. Not now. Not when everything was on the line.
But Stiles was there, his arms strong and sure as he caught Derek's falling form. Derek felt his body being cradled against Stiles's chest, the warmth of the Senator's embrace a stark contrast to the coldness of the metal beneath them. For a brief moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of them, their hearts beating as one.
Stiles's eyes were wide with fear and determination as he looked down at Derek, his voice a fierce whisper. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his grip tightening around Derek's uninjured arm. "I won't let you die here."
Derek nodded, his breathing ragged. The pain was a living thing, but he pushed it aside. He had to focus on the battle, on stopping Dooku. The Sith Lord was too powerful for them to face alone, but together, they had a chance. "We need to get out of here," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Stiles's.
The medical droids arrived swiftly at the Jedi Temple, their metallic limbs moving with surprising grace. One approached Derek, its cold, unblinking eyes assessing the damage. "Severe tissue damage detected," it said, its voice emotionless. "Requiring immediate cybernetic replacement."
Derek nodded, his jaw set. He had seen others lose limbs in battle, watched as they were fitted with gleaming metal replacements. It was a stark reminder of the price of war, but he knew he was one of the lucky ones. The droid's arms whirred to life as it began the delicate procedure. The pain was unbearable, but he gritted his teeth, focusing on the warmth of Stiles' hand in his own, the promise of a future together giving him strength.
The robotic arm was cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warm flesh it replaced. Derek flexed his new fingers, watching as the metal digits responded with a precision that was both fascinating and eerie. It was a tool, a means to an end, and he knew he would have to learn to wield it with the grace of his former limb. But as he looked down at the gleaming prosthesis, he couldn't help but feel a pang of loss, a reminder of the battle they had barely survived.
Stiles was by his side, his hand warm and comforting in Derek's. He had seen the fear in the Jedi Knight's eyes when his arm had been taken, had felt the tremor in Derek's body as the medical droid had worked its magic. But now, as the last sutures were sealed with a hiss of cooling metal, the Senator's gaze was steady, filled with a determination that mirrored Derek's own.
"You're sure about this?" Derek asked again, his voice low and filled with a vulnerability that was rare for a Jedi.
Stiles nodded, his eyes never leaving Derek's. "For better or worse," he said firmly. They were back on Naboo, the planet that had become a sanctuary for their forbidden love. The lush greenery and tranquil waters a stark contrast to the horrors they had faced on Geonosis.
The wedding was a small affair, held in the secluded garden of the Royal Palace. The air was thick with the sweet scent of blooming gungan orchids and the soft whispers of the evening breeze. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a warm, golden glow that seemed to kiss everything it touched.
Derek, his new cybernetic arm gleaming in the twilight, stood at the makeshift altar, his heart racing as he awaited Stiles's arrival. The scars of battle had faded from his face, but the memory of that fateful day remained etched in his soul. Stiles had been by his side through the pain of healing, both physical and emotional, offering comfort and strength. Their love had been tested, but it had only grown stronger, a beacon in the shadow of the raging Clone Wars.
The sound of soft footsteps approached, and Derek turned to see Stiles walking down the aisle, flanked by a pair of loyal Naboo guards. The Senator looked radiant in a simple white tunic, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The fabric fluttered gently in the breeze, the embroidered blue and gold threads of the Republic's emblem a silent declaration of his love for Derek and his new life.
Derek's heart swelled as Stiles took his place beside him, his hand reaching for Derek's uninjured one. The metal of his new arm was a stark contrast to Stiles's warm, calloused grip, but it felt right, a symbol of their unity in the face of adversity.
Their vows were whispered into the twilight, a promise to stand together against the storm that was the Clone Wars. The words echoed through the garden, a declaration that resonated with the Force itself. Derek had never felt so connected to another being, so alive with love and purpose.
But as they exchanged rings, a shiver of doubt slithered down Derek's spine. The Jedi Code was clear on the matter of attachment, and here he was, pledging his life to a man who was not of his Order, in a bond that defied the very essence of what it meant to be a Jedi. The air grew heavier, the scent of the orchids a cloying reminder of the tragedy that often accompanied love in times of war.
Their eyes met, and Stiles seemed to read the tumult in Derek's gaze. He squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know the risks," he murmured. "But I choose you, Derek. Now and always."
The uncertainty in the air thickened, a palpable weight that seemed to press down on the very fabric of their bond. The Jedi Council would not look kindly on this union, and the Clone Wars waited in the wings, hungry for more sacrifices to its unending appetite for destruction. Yet, as they exchanged rings, the gravity of their situation was briefly forgotten in the warmth of their shared love.
Their kiss was a silent promise of hope in a world of shadows, a declaration that love could conquer all, even the strictures of the Jedi Code. The guests, a small gathering of trusted allies and friends, watched with a mix of joy and trepidation, knowing that their happiness was a fragile flame in the face of the tempest that raged beyond the safety of the palace walls.
The air was thick with the scent of uncertainty, the sweetness of the orchids tinged with the bitter taste of impending tragedy. Derek knew that their union would not go unnoticed by the Jedi Council, and the repercussions could be dire. Yet, as he looked into Stiles' eyes, he couldn't bring himself to care about the consequences. The love that burned within him was stronger than any edict or doctrine.