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
"... I wanted to come back sooner."
Had intended to, even. He had thought it'd be a few months tops before he'd have the time to take off to visit him again.
But fate or life or just his horrible fucking luck had had different ideas.
Perhaps the fact that he was wearing a uniform rather than his usual style of clothes said something about how hard he'd been worked. He had lived in the damn thing so long that before heading out he had stared at his closet and wondered how exactly it was he'd used to dress himself back when he'd still had free time.
He looked up toward the sky as they walked together and sighed.
"I think it would have been easier on both of us if I just wasn't."
He would have stayed gone and Hancock could have moved on with his life. And while Nine wasn't particularly keen on dying, at least death would let him rest.
"I wish I could say that it was just the war that's kept me busy, but the space wizards apparently decided that they can't fucking do their jobs and need me to take point for them. Like asking the maid to play host at a fancy party, I swear."
He was, after all, The Help and nothing else.
Nine wished that he could say he was done too but considering what had happened on Yavin. Something worse was coming. He just knew it.
"... I'm sorry it took me so long to come back. I considered sending someone else here to let you know what was going on, but. Your continued safety is more important than being given the definitive answer on whether or not I've kicked the bucket."
And Hancock and Earth in general would not be safe for long if the Empire became aware that the place even existed.
no subject
And yet they were enough to make Nine worry about them ever finding Earth, and not want to risk faking his death.
"Well, you're here now, and that's what matters."
Hancock took them into the Third Rail, seating them at a booth, where they had some relative privacy. He ordered them both a couple of beers to start things off, figuring they could work their way up to the hard stuff.
no subject
That would be unheard of in the Ascendancy. While Chiss could argue on the path forward as well as any other species out there, when their way of life was threatened they all put their differences aside to do what was best for their nation as a whole. But the Empire had never really made sense.
Of course if the Sith and the Empire as a whole had been there when the Emperor's spirit left Yavin he was pretty sure that half of them would suggest to simply serve the galaxy up to him on a silver platter like a bunch of suicidal morons.
"The former leader for Intelligence always called us sanitation workers and honestly as much as I hate him, he was correct. If even half the time we spend picking up after what our overlords break was spent actually fighting the enemy, there wouldn't be a war any more."
The Republic and the Jedi would have been gone long ago if those particular inefficiencies were sorted out.
If Jadus had stuck around to actually go against the Emperor too then maybe Nine wouldn't have been worked into the ground the way he was. And if his dear brother could be convinced to come out of the latest tomb he had decided to fall into to tend to the war rather than the recovery of history that'd still be there later.
"I am. I can stay for about a month."
No longer than that but a month at Hancock's side sounded like heaven.
Rather than sit across from the ghoul, he took advantage of the booth he'd seated them up to sit at his side— laying his head against his shoulder. He had missed this. And maybe he wanted to stay close to continue to beat it into his own skull that the other man was okay. As warm and as alive as he had hoped.
"How have things been on your end?"
That was way more important than continuing to whine about the state of the war.
"Did you end up talking to that friend of yours about hooking up?"
Nine did still remember what they'd talked about last time. Because he had written it down to remind himself. His memory being what it was he didn't want to forget even the smallest thing that was important to Hancock so he had his notes to help him. And he wanted to know whether or not he had been happy.
no subject
Hancock intended to savor every day of that month, wanting to enjoy Nine's company while he still could.
"Oh, right, Nick. Yeah, I asked him. I think I caught him off guard, but he said he'd be open to it. Turns out he's not what you'd call anatomically correct." Hancock figured as much, since Nick's body was more like that of a generation 1 synth. "Mostly it was just him doing hand stuff."
no subject
Earth was dangerous but the conflicts were manageable. And he thought that he might be able to live a pretty good life at the ghoul's side.
"I'm glad that worked out for you."
He really was. Nine had a few friends he would love to proposition too but he was too much of a coward to risk a no. Nothing like Hancock. Nine actually would be heartbroken and find his way to the bottom of a glass if he got rejected by someone he actually cared about.
"... Have you been happy?"
That was a very important question to ask.
no subject
Call it an artificial or fake happiness, Hancock would argue that mentats produced fake intelligence when taken by that logic.
"Thinking about you made me happy, even if it reminded me of how much I missed you. You honestly make me feel better than I have in a long time."
no subject
Nine should know given how he used drugs more than just casually himself.
When he was a much younger person he would probably have admonished people who used them out of some misguided sense of responsibility but he had experienced and seen too much now. An escape from how hard life could be was fine.
"I'm glad you've been doing well."
Nine had worried. Was he sleeping well. Eating well. Was he surrounded by people he could trust. Whether or not being the Mayor was hard on him and if he had people he could lean on when things got too tough or whether he was shouldering every burden and every decision on his lonesome.
As Hancock said that he was happy thinking about him though. That his memory had brought joy and not nightmares, he couldn't help but let out a wry little laugh before shaking his head— at himself, not at the ghoul.
"... I should have just thrown myself into your arms upon seeing you again, shouldn't I?"
His image and concerns about Hancock looking soft be damned.