Fic: "If You Call" (12/16? J/Z AU; sequel to FaIC)
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven
x-x-x
Zekk had been knocked unconscious before, but waking up afterwards never felt less disorienting. In this case, the harsh lighting made him wince and curl back in on himself even before he had opened his eyes. His headache had returned three-fold, but now with added nausea. His last memory was fuzzy and contained some blue, so he concluded-ow, his head-that he had been hit in the back with a very potent stun bolt. He squinted his eyes open, then quickly shut them again. He was lying on the floor. Carpet, but the floor; and the walls were much more cell-like than the rug under his cheek suggested.
His head hurt. He was pretty sure-yes, his hands were bound tightly in front of him. His thoughts did not want to gather. But. He thought that this…might be familiar. “Nrgh,” he declared himself. “Which of you…cowards shot me in the back?”
“Extraction only,” someone said. “None of your allies, thank you, but what’s honour to a snitch, anyway?”
Dear kriff, Zekk’s head hurt. And-gods, he’d told Jaina he would be fine, that he could easily protect himself to just the bike, she would never let him live this down.
“I figured out where I recognized you from,” the voice continued after a moment.
Zekk dragged his head up, and remembered why he had never joined a gang or taken their protection; the other side always found you out. Zekk tried not to squint at Traest, but the snake was sitting on a chair, practically right in front of the gorram lights. “Traest,” he grunted. He managed to push some of the pain aside for later, and pulled himself up to lean against the wall. Never be overconfident when the others have you, he reminded himself; recuperate, don’t push until you have to. But Zekk refused to lie down and just take it. “You-” He ignored the stars as he straightened himself. “You were one of the pickpockets. On Coruscant.”
“And you were a scavenger,” Traest acknowledged. He looked sullen, but very watchful. “Yes, I did remember that, too. But I saw you in Brakiss’ files. You’re still the Darkest Knight, as far as he’s concerned.”
“The- What the kriff are you talking about?”
Traest raised an eyebrow and ignored him. “His plans for you would have ended it, though-a suicide mission on Jedi brats? C’mon.”
“So what, you’re me in another life?” Zekk asked, trying to sound unimpressed instead of disturbed. He was glad, suddenly, that at least no one could hear his own fears put forward.
Traest gave him an odd sort of grin, not quite vicious. “Two orphans grow up in the undercity, are given a chance to work outside of others’ pockets, and make it off-planet. What are the odds of you, anyway?”
“I would never-”
“You sold us out to the Jedi,” Traest interrupted. “I don’t think you get to whine about a stun bolt in the back.”
Zekk’s head was beginning to clear, some muscle control had returned. He scoffed. “Says the man involved in sentient experimentation and the slave market.”
“That girl who messed you up, yeah?” Traest said. “Was she the one who taught you to be a self-righteous little bugger who thinks he don’t stink? Because you’re floating quite merrily in denial about what you wouldn’t ever do. No wonder you turned to the Jedi.”
Zekk stared at Traest for a long moment, disoriented. “Sith hells,” he finally said, because it wasn’t right. Maybe Jaina and Traest believed otherwise, but Zekk could not imagine that Traest wouldn’t be more-something-if he really knew what Zekk had been doing. Not after that kriffing ring. “You-” he managed to grunt, “you don’t even know.”
“What, are you going to taunt me with your amazing Force powers? There are enough ysalamiri around you to test the effects of exposure. And I’ve had enough training to knock you flat even when you don’t look like sith warmed over.”
Zekk had studied the old holo many times over the past six months, so he could see it exactly: the perfectly inexplicable ring on Jaina’s finger, the arm around her waist as the couple were caught by unobservant paparazzi. “Jaina Solo is part of the Jedi team,” he told Traest, which was when Brakiss walked into the cell. Zekk ignored the older man so he could try to decipher Traest’s expression, but Traest seemed as stunned by the information as Zekk had been by the man’s ignorance.
“Traest,” Brakiss snapped when his employee failed to acknowledge him.
The blue-haired man swallowed and quickly turned to Brakiss. He almost looked composed. “Yes, sir.”
“Joolu’s approaching-go and deal with him.”
A look of pure loathing crossed Traest’s face; Zekk’s reveal had obviously unbalanced him. “‘Deal with him’?” he repeated darkly.
“We still need him,” Brakiss snarled. “Unless you’d like his job back?”
“I know a girl who’d be awfully disappointed, Traest,” Zekk chimed in, because the stun bolt had apparently scrambled his brain. “She’s had to spend a little too much time with him, I think she’d get territorial about his blood.”
“The Jedi,” Brakiss noted to Traest.
Traest’s expression had tightened and gone very cold. He nodded once. “They must have-”
“I’m so pleased that your team is so competent, Traest, really, that you could miss a Jedi parading around in a short skirt. Was it a very short skirt?”
“I just got here,” Traest said through gritted teeth. “And Joolu’s the one who-”
“True leadership,” Brakiss mocked. “Delegating blame for your own shortcomings. You see what you left me with, Zekk? Thank you for the tip, though, it’s always wise to be aware of your position. Traest, see to Joolu now, if you can manage that much.”
Traest left with a tense nod for Brakiss and a black glare for Zekk. Zekk was too busy castigating himself for the stupid things that came out of his mouth when he worked on impulse. But Brakiss or Traest had been planning a review, either would have recognized Jaina immediately, and they’d already known the Jedi were here; and Jaina would realize soon that he was missing, wouldn’t she? At least by evening, when she stopped to pick up the speedbike-unless she meant to go to the Dustbowl first, but Zekk could have been out for hours. And the Jedi were wrapping up the mission, so maybe…
“Look at you,” Brakiss said, interrupting Zekk’s thoughts. The blond man, looking older and harder than the last time, smiled almost genially. “Welcome back, my boy. It’s been quite a while-you’re working with the Jedi now, though? After everything I offered you, that’s quite the demotion.”
“Well, they have better health benefits,” Zekk snarked.
“Glorified foot soldiers for their New Republic,” Brakiss said dismissively. “You were supposed to be great.”
“See, but at least working for the NR won’t land me in another cell.”
“You’re in one now,” Brakiss snapped.
“Another decade free than working for you would have given me. Do you put all your cannon fodder in cells when you try to recruit them?”
“Cannon-” Brakiss chuckled, his eyes flashing. “The Jedi didn’t tell you? I hope you aren’t letting them use you so cavalierly.”
Zekk shrugged, but anxiety tightened in his gut. “No different than you.”
“Wrong.” Brakiss began to look angry. “You were meant to lead beside me as the Darkest Knight; instead, you’re playing messenger boy for people no more powerful than you?”
Zekk’s heart sank. “You have the wrong person-”
“Didn’t they tell you?” Brakiss’ eyes gleamed with something like triumph. “Have their egos really grown so much that they think they can keep your gifts hidden?” Brakiss snorted. “Ignored again by the New Republic, Zekk, as if growing up alone wasn’t enough. They don’t deserve you.”
Zekk remembered exactly how crazy Brakiss had seemed all those years ago; even with years and better understanding of who Brakiss was, however, Zekk didn’t think more of Brakiss’ words. He had seen the labs, knew what Traest had done for Brakiss. Listening to him now would have required years of brainwashing. “Somehow,” he said, “your offer fails to tempt.”
“You’d rather help people who lied to you, hid the truth of your potential?” Brakiss snarled.
Zekk glared back at him. The feeling had returned to his limbs, and the cotton was quickly filtering out of his brain. He had escaped when he was sixteen, he could certainly do it now.
“You aren’t a boy anymore, Zekk.” Brakiss voice no longer had even a veneer of friendliness. “Adults make decisions. You will join us, or you will be moved to our labs. You have one-”
And then the shooting started.
x-x-x
Part Thirteen
Please R&R?
x-x-x
Zekk had been knocked unconscious before, but waking up afterwards never felt less disorienting. In this case, the harsh lighting made him wince and curl back in on himself even before he had opened his eyes. His headache had returned three-fold, but now with added nausea. His last memory was fuzzy and contained some blue, so he concluded-ow, his head-that he had been hit in the back with a very potent stun bolt. He squinted his eyes open, then quickly shut them again. He was lying on the floor. Carpet, but the floor; and the walls were much more cell-like than the rug under his cheek suggested.
His head hurt. He was pretty sure-yes, his hands were bound tightly in front of him. His thoughts did not want to gather. But. He thought that this…might be familiar. “Nrgh,” he declared himself. “Which of you…cowards shot me in the back?”
“Extraction only,” someone said. “None of your allies, thank you, but what’s honour to a snitch, anyway?”
Dear kriff, Zekk’s head hurt. And-gods, he’d told Jaina he would be fine, that he could easily protect himself to just the bike, she would never let him live this down.
“I figured out where I recognized you from,” the voice continued after a moment.
Zekk dragged his head up, and remembered why he had never joined a gang or taken their protection; the other side always found you out. Zekk tried not to squint at Traest, but the snake was sitting on a chair, practically right in front of the gorram lights. “Traest,” he grunted. He managed to push some of the pain aside for later, and pulled himself up to lean against the wall. Never be overconfident when the others have you, he reminded himself; recuperate, don’t push until you have to. But Zekk refused to lie down and just take it. “You-” He ignored the stars as he straightened himself. “You were one of the pickpockets. On Coruscant.”
“And you were a scavenger,” Traest acknowledged. He looked sullen, but very watchful. “Yes, I did remember that, too. But I saw you in Brakiss’ files. You’re still the Darkest Knight, as far as he’s concerned.”
“The- What the kriff are you talking about?”
Traest raised an eyebrow and ignored him. “His plans for you would have ended it, though-a suicide mission on Jedi brats? C’mon.”
“So what, you’re me in another life?” Zekk asked, trying to sound unimpressed instead of disturbed. He was glad, suddenly, that at least no one could hear his own fears put forward.
Traest gave him an odd sort of grin, not quite vicious. “Two orphans grow up in the undercity, are given a chance to work outside of others’ pockets, and make it off-planet. What are the odds of you, anyway?”
“I would never-”
“You sold us out to the Jedi,” Traest interrupted. “I don’t think you get to whine about a stun bolt in the back.”
Zekk’s head was beginning to clear, some muscle control had returned. He scoffed. “Says the man involved in sentient experimentation and the slave market.”
“That girl who messed you up, yeah?” Traest said. “Was she the one who taught you to be a self-righteous little bugger who thinks he don’t stink? Because you’re floating quite merrily in denial about what you wouldn’t ever do. No wonder you turned to the Jedi.”
Zekk stared at Traest for a long moment, disoriented. “Sith hells,” he finally said, because it wasn’t right. Maybe Jaina and Traest believed otherwise, but Zekk could not imagine that Traest wouldn’t be more-something-if he really knew what Zekk had been doing. Not after that kriffing ring. “You-” he managed to grunt, “you don’t even know.”
“What, are you going to taunt me with your amazing Force powers? There are enough ysalamiri around you to test the effects of exposure. And I’ve had enough training to knock you flat even when you don’t look like sith warmed over.”
Zekk had studied the old holo many times over the past six months, so he could see it exactly: the perfectly inexplicable ring on Jaina’s finger, the arm around her waist as the couple were caught by unobservant paparazzi. “Jaina Solo is part of the Jedi team,” he told Traest, which was when Brakiss walked into the cell. Zekk ignored the older man so he could try to decipher Traest’s expression, but Traest seemed as stunned by the information as Zekk had been by the man’s ignorance.
“Traest,” Brakiss snapped when his employee failed to acknowledge him.
The blue-haired man swallowed and quickly turned to Brakiss. He almost looked composed. “Yes, sir.”
“Joolu’s approaching-go and deal with him.”
A look of pure loathing crossed Traest’s face; Zekk’s reveal had obviously unbalanced him. “‘Deal with him’?” he repeated darkly.
“We still need him,” Brakiss snarled. “Unless you’d like his job back?”
“I know a girl who’d be awfully disappointed, Traest,” Zekk chimed in, because the stun bolt had apparently scrambled his brain. “She’s had to spend a little too much time with him, I think she’d get territorial about his blood.”
“The Jedi,” Brakiss noted to Traest.
Traest’s expression had tightened and gone very cold. He nodded once. “They must have-”
“I’m so pleased that your team is so competent, Traest, really, that you could miss a Jedi parading around in a short skirt. Was it a very short skirt?”
“I just got here,” Traest said through gritted teeth. “And Joolu’s the one who-”
“True leadership,” Brakiss mocked. “Delegating blame for your own shortcomings. You see what you left me with, Zekk? Thank you for the tip, though, it’s always wise to be aware of your position. Traest, see to Joolu now, if you can manage that much.”
Traest left with a tense nod for Brakiss and a black glare for Zekk. Zekk was too busy castigating himself for the stupid things that came out of his mouth when he worked on impulse. But Brakiss or Traest had been planning a review, either would have recognized Jaina immediately, and they’d already known the Jedi were here; and Jaina would realize soon that he was missing, wouldn’t she? At least by evening, when she stopped to pick up the speedbike-unless she meant to go to the Dustbowl first, but Zekk could have been out for hours. And the Jedi were wrapping up the mission, so maybe…
“Look at you,” Brakiss said, interrupting Zekk’s thoughts. The blond man, looking older and harder than the last time, smiled almost genially. “Welcome back, my boy. It’s been quite a while-you’re working with the Jedi now, though? After everything I offered you, that’s quite the demotion.”
“Well, they have better health benefits,” Zekk snarked.
“Glorified foot soldiers for their New Republic,” Brakiss said dismissively. “You were supposed to be great.”
“See, but at least working for the NR won’t land me in another cell.”
“You’re in one now,” Brakiss snapped.
“Another decade free than working for you would have given me. Do you put all your cannon fodder in cells when you try to recruit them?”
“Cannon-” Brakiss chuckled, his eyes flashing. “The Jedi didn’t tell you? I hope you aren’t letting them use you so cavalierly.”
Zekk shrugged, but anxiety tightened in his gut. “No different than you.”
“Wrong.” Brakiss began to look angry. “You were meant to lead beside me as the Darkest Knight; instead, you’re playing messenger boy for people no more powerful than you?”
Zekk’s heart sank. “You have the wrong person-”
“Didn’t they tell you?” Brakiss’ eyes gleamed with something like triumph. “Have their egos really grown so much that they think they can keep your gifts hidden?” Brakiss snorted. “Ignored again by the New Republic, Zekk, as if growing up alone wasn’t enough. They don’t deserve you.”
Zekk remembered exactly how crazy Brakiss had seemed all those years ago; even with years and better understanding of who Brakiss was, however, Zekk didn’t think more of Brakiss’ words. He had seen the labs, knew what Traest had done for Brakiss. Listening to him now would have required years of brainwashing. “Somehow,” he said, “your offer fails to tempt.”
“You’d rather help people who lied to you, hid the truth of your potential?” Brakiss snarled.
Zekk glared back at him. The feeling had returned to his limbs, and the cotton was quickly filtering out of his brain. He had escaped when he was sixteen, he could certainly do it now.
“You aren’t a boy anymore, Zekk.” Brakiss voice no longer had even a veneer of friendliness. “Adults make decisions. You will join us, or you will be moved to our labs. You have one-”
And then the shooting started.
x-x-x
Part Thirteen
Please R&R?