Chapter Text
After waiting around a corner of the hallway to make sure Bant actually made it to her destination- he’d felt the panic spiral starting on their way up, but as nothing he’d tried had helped, the least he could do was make sure she didn’t spend the entire evening hyperventilating in a storage closet- Kit made his way back down to the surface. Bail and Herc were thick as thieves, alternating between speculating on whether or not their wingmannery had been successful this time and honest discussion about supplies.
Either way, they didn’t need his input. Kit wandered the camp a bit, offering his help here and there but mostly enjoying the weather. Sure, it was dry, and he normally hated being in a desert, but at least he was warm all the way down into his bones. The only reason he’d ever be willing to go somewhere like Mygeeto again was if he was able to personally bring Nova home from that desolate rock. Kit highly doubted a single Nova would let him anywhere near the surface. If he’d tried he had no doubt the Devil Dogs would stun his sorry ass and drag him back into his ship until Valor was ready to ship out.
The relief camp’s staffing was a combination of vode and natborn, bulking up the medical staff with experienced doctors and nursing staff Bant had managed to finesse into service. Kit didn’t doubt she’d burned through a lot of favors with members of the MediCorps to find experienced relief workers to work alongside her battalion, and train the vode medics in more fields of medicine than they’d ever have had access to otherwise. There were a handful of local doctors bustling around as well.
Not wanting to be mother henned by yet another battalion’s medics, Kit kept to the edges of the medical area and made himself useful. Bant’s men were unloading the new supplies and Kit was an excellent pack eopie if he did say so himself. He helped with the heaviest items while also sharing as much gossip about Bant as possible. She’d apparently had plenty to say about him while he was on Mygeeto, so turnabout was fair play.
A sudden hush fell across the camp, all of the Vode going statue-still around him, listening to their comms with wide eyes. Kit doesn’t know what to make of the lull, or the strange feeling in the Force. All across the galaxy, vode held their breath in anticipation. Anticipation of what, Kit didn’t know, time syrup-slow as the future was changed, a new path blazing forth.
Calls of “Oya Vode!” rang around him and Kit could only watch in confusion as the vode all readjusted their priorities as one. The Force itself rang with the same sentiment. Across the galaxy, battles ground to a halt, courses were re-routed, ‘dead’ men and ‘dead’ ships alike rumbled back to life to assist. Kit could only watch in silence as the 18th battalion carefully rearranged the camp. Any equipment of war was being packed up and sent back to their fleet of Venators. The medical staffing was shuffled around, the vode medics finishing whatever they were doing before handing things off to the natborns, little by little. The only tents left standing were directly for the medical and other aid work while the vode disassembled their own berthing. The deep relief and joy of the vode was ringing in the Force and Kit was dizzy with it.
“What’s going on?” he asked after being herded over to Herc and Bail. “What’s ‘oya vode’?” He knew what a vod was, of course, he thought of the troopers as vod since that's what they called themselves, but he didn’t speak Mandalorian. He hadn't had the opportunity to pick much up from any of the myriad battalions he’d served with, as the men would just start to get comfortable with him before he was torn away and flung across the galaxy to put out fires elsewhere.
“The Vod’alor’s called us Home,” Herc said, beaming from ear to ear, the weight of the war being taken off his shoulders making him look far younger. “We’re leaving.”
Bail’s own grin was blinding. “It’s about damn time,” he said. “Make sure you take the gifts Breha sent along with you. I’ll find Stone’s second-in-command to get all of their belongings off the Tantive IV.”
Herc nodded a thank you and strode off a few paces to continue giving orders. Kit glanced at Bail, who seemed as relieved as Herc was. In his own hearts, Kit felt the same relief, but also a great deal of fear. The vode would be safe from the war. The Novas would finally, finally be safe. They’d rescued themselves before Kit had curried enough favor with the Council to do anything for them. But who would carry on with defending the Republic? The Separatists weren’t exactly packing up their droids and leaving as well, though he’d heard through the Jedi gossip mill that Mace had given an entire battalion of B-1’s identity crises and quite a few had decided to defect. Hopefully whatever they did was replicable and the Jedi could use it to stop the droids. Their odds were bad when they had a millions-strong army of hyper-competent vode at their backs.
In writing the Vode’s resignation letter, the Vod’alor had signed the Jedi’s death certificate.
Kit could never begrudge them that. The Jedi could- and would- resolve this war, one way or another. It was their actual job, after all, to solve problems at the behest of the Republic.
“Vod, what the kriff are you doing down here?” Herc hissed. Kit glanced up and spotted Stone, back in armor when Kit had last seen him looking awkward in civvies Bail had oh-so-helpfully gifted him with, defiantly glowering back at Herc. “You’ve got the night off!”
“I had the night off,” Stone replied, radiating frustration so tangible Kit could taste it. “But the Call went out.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you had to haul your sorry shebs down here right away, we’re not exactly packed and ready to leave yet,” Herc replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We put way too much work into getting you out here for you to just pack it in and leave. What about Bant?”
“Did you know it’s hard to keep going when you’re interrupted by the news that ‘oh, by the way, we’re deserting, see you around’?” Stone snapped. “The mood was real, real dead after that.”
Herc’s eyes went wide and he slapped a hand over his mouth. He looked sheepish and mumbled “vod, please tell me you weren’t-”
“We were. Now give me something to do before I start yelling.”
Kit winced, reaching out to Bant through the Force. She was clearly hurting and slapped his presence away, her emotions quickly snuffed out and replaced with an eerie calm. Kit took the hint and left her be. He threw himself into helping all over again, keeping an eye out for Bant. She reappeared about twenty minutes later, still calm and collected, hurt buried so deep Kit couldn’t even sense it.
Bant avoided him the whole time they worked alongside the vode to get them organized and sending their gear up to the Venators while Bant and Herc squabbled over what was and wasn’t leaving. Bant kept trying to give her tent back, and Herc wasn’t budging on it staying put, arguing that she’d need it, even leaving a second cot to make sure Kit could share it if need be. No medical supplies were touched, as the medbays on the venators always remained fully stocked when they were deployed, just in case. The same with rations; only those intended for the vode were taken back.
Dusk was falling as the last of the supplies were sent up and the Larties were only taking personnel. It wasn't long before the final transport was waiting, Herc hanging back to talk with Bant.
“We’d like you to come,” he said to Bant. “You’re one of Ours, and you wouldn’t be the only one going.”
Bant shook her head. “Someone needs to stick around to run this thing,” she said quietly, clapping her former Commander on the shoulder with a genuine smile. “Go. Take our men Home.”
“Yes sir,” Herc replied with a grin, turning and heading for the final Lartie. Kit walked up and wrapped an arm gently around Bant’s shoulders as they watched the Lartie disappear into the sky, the boom of Venators leaving atmo rattling the entire camp.
“It’s going to be okay,” he promised Bant softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I’d rather eat tacks,” Bant replied flatly, devoid of her usual cheer and a seamless wall of curated calm in the Force. “C’mon, we’ve got work to do. The camp’s not going to run itself, and you need to make some calls.”