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.