Cipher Nine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stabgremlin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
boxofmisfits2026-03-25 03:57 am
stabgremlin) wrote in boxofmisfits2026-03-25 03:57 am
Entry tags:
The Location May Be Hellish...
A year.
A year of treachery and of war and of megalomaniacs who really needed to cut that shit right out. A year of being the one left with the bucket and the mop, of being the one cleaning up after Jedi and Sith alike despite only being one powerless person in the middle of a mess— or more like a clusterfuck— way above his pay grade.
Nine couldn't say that he had been thinking of Hancock the entire time they had been apart.
But he could say that in the quiet moments between the insanity of it all his mind had turned to Earth. To the ghoul. To that stormy night where he had sat safe cuddled up against a man he could be confident wouldn't raise a hand to hurt him despite obviously being both dangerous and fully capable should he be given a reason to be someone's enemy. To the locket left behind that he hoped still hung around a living neck and above a beating heart.
I need a fucking vacation he had said to Marr and Lana both. He hadn't even waited for their response.
The Emperor was off licking his wounds somewhere. The work would pick back up but Nine needed the rest and the actual fucking Sith Lords could do their jobs and hold down the fort for once.
Again he had dropped his companions off where they wanted to go. Stopping by Nar Shaddaa and Alderaan and wherever else. Ignoring the way that Doctor Lokin had stared at him as though he knew that Nine was going to a place that was physically dangerous to him in ways beyond mere hostility. Barely able to ignore when Vector had given him a concerned look.
Earth was dangerous.
But Earth was good to him, too. He wasn't Cipher Nine there. Not Major Nahain, not a Spec Ops Commander. Just him. And it was good enough. Being him— messy and unsure— was good enough.
He had filled his ship with supplies. Food, clean water. Medical supplies. Medicine. Luxuries too— both to gift and to barter with. An entire crate full of those energy drinks that he had promised, that he had written down on his datapad so as to not forget. And then he had taken his droids and he had gone.
Earth was still Earth when he arrived.
Kind of messy. Kind of gross. Kind of dangerous. Kind of exactly the way he had left it.
The Phantom had been parked somewhere no one would come across it and he had his droids camouflage it so that it blended in with the surroundings more than it had the first time he visited. Supplies filled both cargo hold and the main hold and the crew's quarters as well. Ready to be moved into Goodneighbor later.
For now the Chiss moved across the quiet night and headed for where he remembered the entrance to Goodneighbor to be and suddenly he was back to someplace that felt familiar despite the fact that he hadn't spent long there really. His eyes scanned the people milling about even at such a late hour until they landed on just who he was thinking of. Who he had been missing during those quiet moments when he had had time to think. Thoughts that had come to him at an hour just like this one when he had turned in for the night and his mind laid idle.
This time it wasn't a thought though. Not a dream, not an illusion or hallucination.
Nine didn't thank the Force very often for the simple reason that he didn't really believe it had a Will capable of listening to him. Yet he wanted to thank it now.
Instead he slipped between any person in his way, skillfully ducking and weaving between people he didn't deem worth even greeting— headed straight for his reason to return in the first place.
"John," He called out, to get his attention— not that he thought it necessary with how people were laser-focusing in on him being back (and a few people who seemed to be new and looked alarmed about the blue-skinned red-eyed whatever-the-fuck suddenly in their midst.)
Using his voice to call out that name made it feel more real though. Being able to get his hands on him would be even better.
A year of treachery and of war and of megalomaniacs who really needed to cut that shit right out. A year of being the one left with the bucket and the mop, of being the one cleaning up after Jedi and Sith alike despite only being one powerless person in the middle of a mess— or more like a clusterfuck— way above his pay grade.
Nine couldn't say that he had been thinking of Hancock the entire time they had been apart.
But he could say that in the quiet moments between the insanity of it all his mind had turned to Earth. To the ghoul. To that stormy night where he had sat safe cuddled up against a man he could be confident wouldn't raise a hand to hurt him despite obviously being both dangerous and fully capable should he be given a reason to be someone's enemy. To the locket left behind that he hoped still hung around a living neck and above a beating heart.
I need a fucking vacation he had said to Marr and Lana both. He hadn't even waited for their response.
The Emperor was off licking his wounds somewhere. The work would pick back up but Nine needed the rest and the actual fucking Sith Lords could do their jobs and hold down the fort for once.
Again he had dropped his companions off where they wanted to go. Stopping by Nar Shaddaa and Alderaan and wherever else. Ignoring the way that Doctor Lokin had stared at him as though he knew that Nine was going to a place that was physically dangerous to him in ways beyond mere hostility. Barely able to ignore when Vector had given him a concerned look.
Earth was dangerous.
But Earth was good to him, too. He wasn't Cipher Nine there. Not Major Nahain, not a Spec Ops Commander. Just him. And it was good enough. Being him— messy and unsure— was good enough.
He had filled his ship with supplies. Food, clean water. Medical supplies. Medicine. Luxuries too— both to gift and to barter with. An entire crate full of those energy drinks that he had promised, that he had written down on his datapad so as to not forget. And then he had taken his droids and he had gone.
Earth was still Earth when he arrived.
Kind of messy. Kind of gross. Kind of dangerous. Kind of exactly the way he had left it.
The Phantom had been parked somewhere no one would come across it and he had his droids camouflage it so that it blended in with the surroundings more than it had the first time he visited. Supplies filled both cargo hold and the main hold and the crew's quarters as well. Ready to be moved into Goodneighbor later.
For now the Chiss moved across the quiet night and headed for where he remembered the entrance to Goodneighbor to be and suddenly he was back to someplace that felt familiar despite the fact that he hadn't spent long there really. His eyes scanned the people milling about even at such a late hour until they landed on just who he was thinking of. Who he had been missing during those quiet moments when he had had time to think. Thoughts that had come to him at an hour just like this one when he had turned in for the night and his mind laid idle.
This time it wasn't a thought though. Not a dream, not an illusion or hallucination.
Nine didn't thank the Force very often for the simple reason that he didn't really believe it had a Will capable of listening to him. Yet he wanted to thank it now.
Instead he slipped between any person in his way, skillfully ducking and weaving between people he didn't deem worth even greeting— headed straight for his reason to return in the first place.
"John," He called out, to get his attention— not that he thought it necessary with how people were laser-focusing in on him being back (and a few people who seemed to be new and looked alarmed about the blue-skinned red-eyed whatever-the-fuck suddenly in their midst.)
Using his voice to call out that name made it feel more real though. Being able to get his hands on him would be even better.
no subject
He never took off the locket, except to sleep or bathe. And even then, he made sure it was locked in his drawer. They'd made a promise, and Hancock didn't break his promises.
He didn't let his feelings get in the way of his mayoral duties, continuing to run Goodneighbor, keeping out the assholes and making sure the people had a voice. His runs to the wasteland were less frequent, not wanting to risk getting killed before Nine returned.
It was while he was stepping out to hit the bar did he notice everyone's attention turned towards the front of town. He turned around just as he heard that familiar accented voice call his name.
"Nine," He whispered, immediately heading towards the Chiss.
no subject
That would ruin his image though, the suave spy he usually played at being. And honestly it'd probably make Hancock look soft too. He had imagined it though. He had thought of Earth, of Hancock, of returning and tossing himself right back into safe arms and warm and surprisingly gentle hands.
With Hancock's attention on him, the people Nine was weaving around to get to him were kind enough to part to allow him a direct route to him. He hastened his pace toward him, stopping within reach. Not throwing himself at him the way he wanted, even though the desire was obvious in the way he shifted and fidgeted where he stood and the clear internal conflict between being a clingy boyfriend and playing it cool on his face, subtle shifts in his expression as he looked him over.
"John," He said again, voice softer now that he was closer, "You... You look good."
Stars he sounded lame. You look good. Sure it was true. He looked whole. Uninjured. Sober at the moment too even if Nine wouldn't even have minded if he was high.
Still, couldn't he just have said I missed you? Apparently not. He had definitely been in Intelligence for way too long.
no subject
"Don't I always?" Hancock replied. He was back in his period outfit, the one he wore when they first met, the outfit he wore to symbolize his namesake.
"You look just as I remember you."
no subject
With the world being what it was, he wouldn't have been surprised.
He was just glad that one thing in his life had gone right. That John Hancock was still alive and kicking and keeping his promise. He could even see the metal glint of his locket where it hung around his neck, almost hidden by the ruffles on that shirt. After a whole year of being apart, Nine wouldn't have even been upset if he'd bartered it for something more valuable to himself or the community. Something more useful than what had probably started feeling more and more like an empty promise. Like a weight around the neck more-so than Nine leaving half his heart behind for him.
"I... Doubt that."
After the stress he'd experienced Nine was still amazed he hadn't gone prematurely gray.
"But thank you for lying to me about it," He joked, with a half smile.
Maybe he did look exactly the same. He couldn't really tell any more. The tiredness he felt felt as though it had seeped all the way into his bones. But it was slightly alleviated now. Here. Looking up at the man who should have been a momentary distraction and yet in a short time had managed to wind himself around his heart and refused to let go. Or maybe it was Nine who was refusing to let go of him.
"... Buy a girl a drink?" He asked, eager to move somewhere to sit down where eyes wouldn't be on them as much, "All out of caps at the moment, I'm afraid."
no subject
"Right this way," Looping his arm through Nine's, he walked them in the direction of The Third Rail.
"I kept it, by the way. I only took it off to sleep or wash myself."
no subject
Being vapid. A bimbo. Nine was whoever he needed to be, when he needed to be someone else. And he was happy to role play that too. But Hancock had only ever seen him as he was and wanted him all the same. The jaded, foul-mouthed little failure of a Chiss that he was. And Nine was glad for it.
As they walked, he gave his arm a gentle squeeze. It wasn't a hug. Wasn't throwing himself at him. But it was a subtle sign that he had missed him. That he needed to ground himself in the moment, to feel the firmness of his arm beneath his touch. The heat of his body through his coat.
He exhaled softly. A breath he hadn't known he'd been keeping in.
Though he should say something about how he was glad that Hancock had decided to keep the locket despite their promise probably feeling like it had been broken, the next words out of his mouth weren't some quip about it. Now that they were walking and everyone else was getting back to what they had been doing rather than staring at their reunion, he instead found himself telling the truth— he could have gone for a million different distractions. He could have used sarcasm, deflected, redirected. But the truth was what decided to come out of him.
Some fucking spy he was.
"... I missed you, John. A lot."