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It was the end of July, summer in full beat, the sun already warming the air even if it was still early in the morning, and the whole area was packed with people who looked just as excited as you—or probably just a little less, you seemed really, really ecstatic—, all waiting in line after the security checkpoints. For your last birthday months ago, your dad, the mortal one, had decided to gift you two one day entrance tickets to the upcoming San Diego Comic Con, an event about which you’d been nagging him long enough to eventually give in.

So now here you were, impatiently waiting in line, the map probably already fully memorized as well as the panel schedules. And you’d dragged Luke, of course: after all, you did get two tickets, and he was your closest…friend.

Even just thinking the word burned a little, but it was true, there was nothing more. Not that you didn't dedicate part of your daily meal offering to Aphrodite for it to change, of course not, who would be that desperate…

But you didn't want to think about it now because you were so very ecstatic for what was to happen. You’d planned it all for months, all the conferences you wanted to see, the small creators you wanted to stroll past, the pictures you wanted to take… it was like you’d been waiting for this experience for ever, and getting to live it with someone else made it impossibly better.

“This is gonna be so cool, you have no idea,” you said with a huge smile, taking Luke's hand and giving it a squeeze.

“I- sure, if you say so,” the boy replied, giving you one of those awkward smile that made you melt just a tiny bit. “If your version of cool is being in the one place in the word that's packed to the brim with monsters, at least,” he continued, biting down on his tongue, his eyes flickering around him again like he expected to get jumped by a drakon any given second.

You tugged at his hand to get his attention, your gaze fixating on his. “You’ll see. It’s gonna be so much fun that you’ll forget monsters even have it out for us, yeah?”

And Luke really wanted to answer that just bathing in your radiant smile alone was enough to make him forget about his problem. Not that he would say it. But he'd think it hard enough.

Soon enough the center opened to the public, thousands of people swarming the gigantic halls already packed with booths. You caught Luke’s hand by reflex as you walked in with the rest of the crowd, trying not to get lost before you could even get in. The boy almost tripped over his own foot for a second there, his skin tingling against yours even if you’d let him go for barely over a few minutes before taking his hand again, but everytime it just sent this buzzing feeling all up his spine he couldn’t get enough of.

Scanning the tickets by the giant entrance doors, you’d barely taken a few steps in when you stopped on the side of the flow of people. You slowly looked around, taking it all in for a long minute that felt like ages; music was coming from everywhere, comic-con signs hanging from the high ceilings, light shining on a sea of booths from the windows decorating the façade. It was already overwhelming waiting outside, but now it felt like so much information you could’ve fainted from the feeling of accomplishment.

Sliding behind you, Luke gave your shoulders a light, encouraging squeeze, leaning slightly in so you could hear him over the noise. “Come on, we only have a day to see it all,” he softly said, a smile dancing in his voice, and his breath on your skin was just giving you another reason to faint right there and then. “I mean, you do want to see it all, right?”

“Yes!” you couldn’t help but exclaim, turning around in one swift movement, and unable to hold in a laugh at his momentarily stunned expression. “I mean, yeah, I’d really love to see it all.”

“Alright then, lead the way,” he replied, gesturing to the main alley that seemed to stretch behind you. His expression turned sheepish for a second. “But could we, like, start by going to a food stand? I feel like I’m gonna need all the energy I can get just to follow you around.”

“Hey, get over yourself,” you quipped, shoving his shoulder playfully. “But yeah, sure, I’m like really craving a hotdog right now.” You turned back around, taking a look at the hall names posters hanging from the ceiling to remember where all the food vendors were placed.

“Oh, yeah…” Luke slowly dragged in that fake dreamy voice, falling into step next to you, toying with the paper wristband he’d been given at the door. “I’d so get a nice hotdog.”

Fast forward a couple hours, Luke swore he’d already gotten enough steps in to stay healthy for a full month, and yet it felt like you’d barely gotten through one hall yet. But he was never going to complain, because everytime you glanced over your shoulder and at him, saying that same ‘look at that, it’s so cute’ with the hugest grin on your face, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world just being able to live through this full day with you.

Little did he know, it was the same on your side. It wasn’t usual, seeing Luke out of camp; you stayed there only in the summer, he lived there all year for years now, so you only ever spent 2 months together every year. And even if every year those months were so special, this moment felt like so much more everything. So much more casual, so much more natural, so much more intimate. It was like opening up to him about everything he already knew about him but on a deeper scale. And it was also getting to see him out of that orange t-shirt, which felt like the blessing from Aphrodite you’d been waiting for for almost three summers now.

You couldn’t help stealing glances at him when he was looking around for something you’d just mentioned, your eyes following his delicate profile, the perfect slope of his nose up to his dark eyelashes, sliding down to that one scar that decorated his cheek you’d convinced him to stop hiding over time… And each time you’d get interrupted by him pointing to excitedly at the place you were talking about, searching your eyes with a wide grin like awaiting some praise from you. You’d always crack a smile at his reaction, reaching to tousle his air like you knew he hated—mind you, this boy took serious care of his curls—, just to make fun of him with a playfully affectionate ‘what would i do without you?’

“Hmm, you’d probably miss the bat signal even if it was a spotlight right in your face,” he replied jokingly, pointing to a Batman symbol hanging off the side of a booth.

Your eyes immediately zeroed on it, grabbing the edge of Luke’s shirt and dragging him with you. “You are priceless,” you squealed, a bounce in your step as the poor boy tried to keep up with your speed.

Quickly enough you were standing right in front of a comic-books seller, and you were giving your best friend instructions like this was the most important mission of your life. “Okay soldier, I’m not playing about this, alright?”

“Uh…alright?”

“Now, we have but one mission, finding Batman 127, okay? I can’t find it anywhere, this is my one chance.” Luke looked at you with that puzzled expression that clearly meant ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about lady.’ “Ok, just look it up.”

The boy whipped out his phone, quickly searching what he was supposed to look for on google. “I’m not sure… why does this blue guy pops up first? I don’t think that’s-”

“Oh, yeah, no, that’s not-” You quickly took his phone from his hands, scrolling down to find the cover instead, your ears burning up. “He’s just an…iconic panel.”

“You’re buying it for that guy?” Luke instantly replied, a laugh rumbling in his chest. “I mean, the dude’s got a nice a-”

“Shut up and be useful, would you?” you snapped, awfully red in the face as he just shook his head with a small laugh and a smile that took up half his face, scrolling the alleys of comic books for you. Because what was he supposed to do? Refuse you something? Never in a million lifetimes.

It was 5pm when you got out of the Blumhouse panel in hall H, walking in a random direction after picking up some food to share as you both talked. You were going on and on about how mythic this place was, how many life-altering announcements had been made there, and about how excited you were for the FNaF franchise to carry on with the movies, when Luke cut you off, and you genuinely felt like a proud mom for a second.

“That, um… that kinda old guy, Matthew…” he hesitated, trying to remember the full name.

You took a fry from the small plastic box he held up for you. “Matthew Lillard.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, looking like he was trying to concentrate. You took him in as you watched him at your side, because this was genuinely a unique sight.

Luke Castellan, best swordsman in 300 years, carrying all the bags of the many items you’d bought over the day, and still holding the box of fries towards you when his arm was probably crumbling over the weight of all your stuff, just so you didn’t ‘have to get tired, this is your day after all.’ You’d offered multiple times to stop, take a break, maybe even leave if he was starting to get tired and just wanted to rest, even if you could do this all day. But everytime he just shut you down with an almost patronizing shush, shaking his head dismissively and dragging you to the next thing on your mental list. He was making the day all the more perfect.

“So this Matthew guy,” Luke continued, his eyebrows pinching together, “wasn’t he in that like, horror movie you had me watch last Christmas? Like with the white mask and all…”

“Oh my gods, you remembered!” you clapped your hands excitedly, a bounce in your step. “Yeah, he totally is, in Scream! And you remember the other guy?”

“The one that looks like Depp?”

“I- yeah, that one,” you said, trying to contain a laugh. “He’s gonna get into FNaF too, this is like crazy slasher legacy unfolding in real time.”

Luke let out a amused chuckle. “You’re, like, very knowledgeable about this stuff.”

“What can I say? Gods forbid a girl has a hob- Lego!”

Your best friend could’ve sworn you jumped on the spot like a Looney Tunes before you dragged him towards a giant space taken up by the Lego booth, walls of boxes in every direction, giant models on display and tanks full of small, colorful plastic bricks. “Woah…” he let out, looking around and only seeing lego blocks everywhere. “This is-”

“Oh my gods, Luke! They have Vitraya Ramunong,” you exclaimed, pointing to a box high up on a shelf, and Luke did a double take at how quick you’d gotten away from next to him.

He blinked a couple times, trying to register what you were even talking about. “Vit-what?” But you’d already jumped to another shelf.

“And the og starters figures, it’s so pretty,” you dragged out, before grimacing at the price. “Nevermind, this is stealing even your dad wouldn’t condone.”

Luke barely held in a laugh, going back to your side in a few strides, and making his own surprised face when he saw the price label. But he didn’t have much time to dwell on it as you were already pulling him to the large yellow bins. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much bricks in one place.”

“I know, that’s so cool,” you said excitedly, tugging at his t-shirt sleeve to signal him to seat next to you at one of the small tables nearby. “How about…we do a little competition? Who builds a small house the quickest.”

Luke yawned dramatically, putting the bags down underneath the table. “I don’t know, dude, I’m not sure-”

“You’re right, you’d lose anyway, might as well not suffer the humiliation.”

You laid back in your chair, knowing exactly what you were doing, and it was working.

“Oh? Oh, you’re on,” Luke said in a slightly menacing tone, rolling up his sleeves.

About 10 minutes and a lot of rummaging through thousands of small plastic blocks later, Luke stood triumphant in front of his recreation of the Hermes cabin, beige columns and all, while you looked with disdain at your own small, slightly wobbly multicolor house.

“How did you even…”

Luke let out the cockiest scoff, and you had to refrain from hitting square in the back of his head. “Talent? Ow!” This time you didn’t refrain, the boy rubbing over his curls with a pout. “So much violence in this body…”

“Well maybe you should’ve let me win, then,” you simply replied, unimpressed, as you started undoing your…piece, getting the bricks back in the bins.

“Well, it’s not you Annabeth kept reading her architecture books to for the past 5 years,” he grumbled, pushing his recreation of his own cabin a little to the center of the table before taking a picture, not even considering dismantling his masterpiece of architecture. Luke eventually grabbed the bags and stood up, joining you a little further by the exposed sets. “Seeing something you like?”

You hummed, deep in thoughts as you looked at all the boxes. “Too much somethings, Luke, way too much,” you replied, signaling to a whole area. “Like, the flower collection is a classic, but those chrysanthemums… And at the same time, I’d love to finally get the batmobile? But also that Eevee is the absolute cutest, he’s making those sweet eyes at me begging to be bought…”

“It’s a toy.”

“Shut up Castellan, nobody likes you.”

A smile grew at the corner of his lips, standing behind you as you perused all the available models, and he couldn’t help but look fondly at you, taking a second to commit all of this to memory.

As you finally settled on one box—the Eevee one, you said it’d sit perfectly on the windowsill next to your bed—, Luke couldn’t help but his magic son-of-the-God-of-thieves touch, sliding a box of those flowers you’d looked at earlier in one of the paper bags he was carrying, already imagining how you’d scold him when you’d find out later. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

It was getting late now, and you’d decided to go on a short bathroom break before leaving, your best friend groaning about timing and getting tired—not that he really meant it, it was about the principle. But as he leaned on a wall nearby, his gaze sweeping over the room, his eyes caught something, and he quickly went to get it, and bought it this time.

When you got out, drying your hands on your pants, Luke pushed off the wall. “Damn, thought a sink had swallowed you whole or something, you took forever.”

“Better that than being so quick people question if you washed your hands, dumbass,” you sassed back, tilting your head with narrowed eyes.

Luke fake gasped, hand over his heart. “I’m very clean, thank you very much!”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep…” You shook your head in mock disappointment, before turning around, walking towards the exit. “Let’s go, wouldn’t want to miss the train back.”

Luke quickly reached your side, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “I got you something, by the way,” your best friend simply said, opening his fist and letting a keychain dangle from his finger right in front of your face.

Your eyes widened, stopping in your tracks and nearly toppling him in the process. You quickly reached for the keychain, a 3D printed flareon with fake fur for the mane and tail. “That’s- How did you-”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I literally couldn’t not know it’s your favorite when you kept talking my ears off about it when we passed the trading cards stands.” You didn’t even fight back, pursing your lips with a guilty smile. “And I bought it earlier when you weren’t looking, thought it would…help you remember today when you look at it.”

You were gently cradling the pokemon’s fur when you turned to the side to look right at him, your eyes meeting. In this moment, like in many before and probably many to come, you wanted only to reach for his face and kiss him, finally breach that gap both physical and intangible. You’d tried countless times before, to listen to that impulse that tingled at the back of your head and just do it. Yet somehow here you were, just as unable to do it as all the times before.

So you did the next best, lacing your fingers through his and pretending it was platonic, but you knew your smiled carried so much more than friendliness. “You think I need anything to remember today?” you started softly, not averting your gaze from his. “I couldn’t forget it if I wanted to, literally the best day ever with my favorite person…”

Your heart ached at the words, the underlying meaning wanting to burst past your sealed lips. But you acted like everything was normal, softly smiling up at Luke and squeezing his hand once before letting it go and turning around.

“Well, I don’t do this emotion shit. Let’s take that train and go home,” you exclaimed, trying to sound unaffected, before pointing decidedly at the large and crowded exit doors.

You couldn’t see it but, behind you, Luke couldn’t help but touch his hand where your had held it, already missing its short warmth.

Later, safely inside the train that would take you both back somewhere in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma before aiming back for New York, you’d eventually fallen asleep, the adrenaline from the day finally catching up to you.

After you’d groaned in your sleep, Luke had gently moved your head to lay it on his shoulder, and he’d felt a wave of fondness when your face had immediately relaxed, snuggling further into his hoodie—the air conditioning in this train was insane.

When a strand of hair fell on your face, he couldn’t help but softly brush it away, your eyes fluttering open at the touch, but he was quick to cover them with his palm and tell you to go back to sleep.

Surely when you’d wake up it will have felt like a nice dream, him smiling at you the same way you always do.

People of the world, i’m a proud owner of Batman #127. And if you don’t know what i mean by that, look it up on pinterest. I love that blue and black guy.

Ughhhhh i kinda loved writing this? Like, nerd at my core, i’m not even sorry, i wanted to put so much stuff into it… Oh and also, i literally went everywhere on the internet to source every fudging panel on every day and their hours, what food stands there were, what kind of booth etc… i’m crying in europe cause i’ve never been to comic con…

Also fun to reread my stuff from last august since i watched fnaf 2 since lmaoo

Anyway, hope you liked it yeahhhh i kinda like writing this kind of dynamic if you picked up on it haha… gods give me a yearner please cause im the hopeless one rn T-T

He’s left standing in the aftermath of the fight, buildings crumbled before him, sand dunes covering streets and cars. It’s as if the whole city turned into a desert within the short hours of the struggle.

“You look like shit.” Gwen appears behind the portal with a hand on her hip as she saunters over to him.

Hands on his knees, panting, he notices his trainers on her feet before looking up at her with a glare. “Are those my chucks?”

“Y/N let me borrow it since hers doesn’t fit me.” She shrugs, looking at his sand clad suit teasingly. “You better shake that off before you come home, she was having one of her cleaning maniac phases before I left.”

Sighing, just the thought of seeing you at home has him wanting to run away into your waiting arms. “Thank fuck…” he mumbles to himself before taking a step towards Gwen and then shaking his head and body as sand flies and flicks towards the blonde.

“Hey!” She pushes him away as Hobie chuckles. “I just washed this, man!” Wiping her suit, she groans when the sand sticks to the spandex of her gloves instead. “Oh, come on!”

“Now you have to clean up too before goin’ back home.” Flinging some sand away from his watch, even scrubbing at the screen to clear some stubborn bits away, he dials in his home dimension. He groans when he remembers something you asked him to do before giving him your usual kiss at the door. “Ah, shit.”

“What? Did it break in the fight?”

“No, I forgot that lovie wanted me to grab some walnut bread for dinner.”

“The one from Miles’ place?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Hobie blows a tired raspberry as he inputs 1612’s coordinates. “She fancies that stuff better than ours.”

“I could get it for her.”

Almost immediately, Hobie’s eyes flick back at Gwen with a teasing glint. “Alright.”

“Shut up and give me the cash.” He could tell that she’s blushing under her mask as she pats her open palm.

“I didn’t even say anythin’.” Handing her a couple of bills, she rolls her eyes and walks back to the portal. “While you’re there, invite him over.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Walking backwards, Gwen flips him the bird before the portal closes behind her.

Snorting, Hobie turns his attention back to his watch as the lights flicker for a moment before he smacks it and the screen returns to normal. He makes a mental note to clean it when he gets home, for now though, he needs to melt into your arms or else he’ll collapse with his own longing.

He needs a cold pint after all that, and maybe some ibuprofen for his aching muscles. So without wasting any more time as the clean up crew finally arrives at the scene, he opens the portal to home and steps into a kaleidoscope of orange and red lights. Hobie’s fatigued body floats around the colourful tunnel in precise directions until he speeds up abruptly, the kind of speed that could be felt through the neck, a quick snap of momentum that has his limbs flying about.

“What the fuck?!” Getting a glimpse of his watch, he sees it flicker in and out, colours inverting, gears buzzing and the screen turning to black. That can’t be good.

Suddenly freezing in mid air, the tunnel shifts backwards as if someone pressed rewind on a remote control. His body floats aimlessly in zero gravity for a moment, until the tunnel turns again. He’s then flung about, back and forth and then around and around like he’s being blended into a smoothie. The G force was enough to make his neck hurt, jaw tightening as he flexes his muscles when he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. He braces for impact.

He thanks all his spidey experience for handling the rough landing. Rolling onto the familiar wooden floor, a tactical roll over the couch that has his muscles throbbing even more, he finally falls on solid ground, limbs limping and relaxing when he’s face to face with the houseboat’s ceiling, complete with the chipping eggshell paint, and some plastic glow in the dark stars. Wait, he doesn’t remember putting those up.

“Love?” Calling for you on instinct, he keeps his gaze up on the ceiling as he feels the tiredness creep up on him. “I think ‘m goin’ to sleep ‘ere.”

“You’ll catch your death there, big man.” His own voice answers back at him, tone strikingly similar to a light southern drawl.

Hobie’s head immediately lifts up as he stares at the source of the voice. His eyes widens at the leather cowboy standing by his feet with a glass of whiskey in hand. As if having a cowboy inside his living room wasn’t enough, the said visitor sports his own face, complete with his signature nonchalant expression. Despite the obviously different style, he has a very noticeable scar across his neck.

“What the fuck?” You’re the first thing that pops in his mind, are you okay? Where the fuck are you? “Where—?!”

“I didn't know we ‘ave a new member, old man.” The sound of footfalls has both Hobies turning to look, where a sharply dressed version of him sits on his armchair with his leg casually thrown over his thigh. This Hobie smirks at shocked Hobie’s raised brow, knowing damn well that he’d never wear something as claustrophobic as a navy blue suit. He has more questions when he sees blood splattered across his dress shirt, and a holstered gun peeking underneath his coat. “I think we got a live one ‘ere.” Smirking, he swishes his martini casually.

“What’s happenin’? Why the fuck are you all in my house?! And where’s—?”

“I thought I was smarter than this.” Another Hobie says, casually leaning against the wall as he wears an almost exact same spider suit as him. Except that he wears a different leather vest that looks like it’s been worn down but well loved that includes a very obvious cherry patch right atop his heart. “You’re in a different dimension, bruv. Fell through the crevice like Alice, innit?”

Realization flickers in his eyes, groaning, head falling back onto the floor, he grimaces and checks his watch. Sure enough, the screen is buzzing with different streaks of light. The sand definitely did more damage to it than he thought. That’s what he gets for trusting Miguel’s tech instead of using his own.

“Fuck.” Biting the inside of his cheek, the smell of salt and sea breeze suddenly wafts over his nose. When he opens his eyes, he faces a large tricorn hat that hides the face of its wearer. For a moment he thinks that this one doesn’t bear his face, but when the pirate looking man crouches down and smirks, he knows that it’s a variant of him too. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“This one got some fuckin’ lip.” This Hobie’s tone is commanding, like a captain running a tight ship but with all his Hobie-like flare with his silver chains dangling around and leather boots that look well tended to. “Like all of us, I suppose.” Tilting his head, the pirate narrows his eyes at Hobie’s full head of hair. “Am I the only fuckin’ one?”

“What?” Scrunching his nose, his eyes roam around the identical faces. “A pirate me? What’s next, a fucking cryptid version of me?”

“I guess the closest one is a minotaur version of us.” The most similar Hobie to himself says against the mouth of his pint.

“Oi,” the suited Hobie flashes his mismatched eyes. “Don’t forget ‘bout fairy and Vamp over there.” He gestures using his chin towards the kitchen, where two more Hobies stand side by side conversing amongst themselves.

The ethereal looking Hobie clad in green and with sad eyes knits his brows. “For the last time, Smith, ‘m not a fairy.”

“Tomato, tomato.”

“I’ve got no bloody wings.”

The chill velvet clad Hobie clasps the fae’s shoulder. Wine red eyes glowing under the kitchen lights as he swishes a suspicious red liquid inside his glass. “D’you want me to drain him? Jus’ say the word.”

“Alright, you broken souls.” An older Hobie steps up from the bedroom as the other variants stop their banter. He has smile lines around his lips, and crow’s feet around his brown eyes. His long braids have white hair weaved around each braid beautifully, salt and pepper hair that adds to his charm. Hobie could only hope that he’ll age that well. He guesses that he will be. “Welcome to the club, what’s your gimmick, hm?” The man smiles at him, dimples in full display, one that Hobie doesn’t have.

“My gimmick?”

“Aye, what’s so different ‘bout you that separates all of us from the other?” The pirate sits down on the couch with a groan. “Sometimes it’s more obvious.” He gestures around his 1700’s seafaring attire.

“Sometimes it’s not.” The cherry Spider-Man says as he leans away from his post to grab a spring roll from the dinner table. Suddenly Hobie’s feeling a lot hungrier than before. “I had a will they won’t they with my childhood best mate. My Y/N and I are together now, don’t worry.” He says while chewing.

There’s a sudden sobbing wail coming from the kitchen.

“Look what you’ve done, mate.” The vampire hisses, fangs sharp as he tries to soothe his fae counterpart by patting his back. “You’re bloody callous, I swear kids these days.”

“Can’t imagine bein’ away from my lovie.” Someone in the corner adds, the darkness hides him as Hobie could only see a purple outline around his eyes and form.

“Isn’t your lovie the black cat?” The older Hobie says with a teasing tone before the Hobie in the corner backs away into the dark once again. Shaking his head, the older one seems to be the one in charge, or tries to be as he keeps everyone from biting each other’s heads off. They do say that the ones who are similar to each other are the ones that end up not getting along. “Cowboy Hobie over there is obviously a cowboy—”

“An outlaw.” He corrects, shooting him a finger gun in his direction.

“Sure,” old man Hobie sighs tiredly. “the one in the corner is the prowler version of us from earth-616.”

Hobie looks over his shoulder to stare at the mysterious Prowler hunched in the corner as he hears munching coming from the dark. “How come I’ve never seen you lot at the society?”

“Not all of us got bit by a spider.” Reaching towards him, the silver fox gives him a helping hand. “I avoid the society, and Wallace over there,” he gestures towards the punk Spider-Man with a cherry patch on his vest. “Usually avoids spider variants of himself.”

“So what’s this then, a support group for us?”

“Sort of, we talk, give each other shit and sometimes a helpin’ hand.” The cowboy utters as he fidges with the bandana around his neck. “Shit, we are a support group.”

Once on his feet, Hobie dusts himself off, making sand fall from the crevices of his leather jacket and from his pockets down onto the carpet. The older Hobie raises a brow, russet eyes striking him like a chastising father.

“I’ll clean it up.” Hobie’s immediately looking around for a vacuum.

“Don’t even try to clean, I’ll vacuum it up later before my lovie gets home. Sit, eat, while they fix your watch.”

Shaking his head, locs dangling and charms clinking, he leads Hobie towards the dinner table where various plates of food are laid out, together with a familiar platter of chocolate chip cookies that just screams your recipe.

“My—” checking his wrist, he finds the interdimensional watch gone and in place of it is a blue bracelet that he has seen on visitors at the society. “Shit!”

“Calm down, it’s in good hands.” The prowler version of himself is now sitting on the living room floor together with the cherry Hobie, who are now tinkering with his watch. “What, you don’t trust yourself?”

“I trust myself but I don’t trust you, mate.” Knitting his brows, Hobie finds himself pushed down on the chair as a cold pint is shoved in his grasp.

“We all want you to go home. Trust me, I don’t want you stayin’ ‘ere any longer like these wankers.” The older Hobie says while looking over his shoulder at the cracked open bedroom door.

The dapper Hobie appears by his side at the dinner table, kneading at his shoulders with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Whispering against the shell of his ear like the devil at work. “Say, you have someone, right?”

“Yeah—”

“Oi, fairy, looks like you’re the odd one out again.”

“I will strangle you with my vines!” Vines slither out of his arms angrily, trying to lunge at the teasing Hobie. He’d be successful if not for the vampire holding him down with one hand whilst casually drinking.

“Calm down, Tinkerbell!” The suited Hobie fans the flames.

“That’ll work well in your favour.”

“Pissin’ off a mythical bein’, sounds ‘bout right for us.”

“I once fed a man to a gator.”

“We know, mate. And I bit a man’s throat open, we all have our traumas.”

“You’ll wake up my boy!” The older one steps in between them.

Their conversations fall in Hobie’s deaf ears the second he takes a sip of his beer. The cold drink is a cooling balm against his aching body as he sighs in content. The place might look the same as his home, but their beer definitely tastes better than the one from his world. As he munches on some cookies that are definitely your making, he looks around the houseboat, finding all the walls have empty spaces for picture frames that were clearly taken down based on the lighter shade of wallpaper that is in the shape of a frame.

Everything from the steady oak table and mismatched chairs is surely from his houseboat, but there are tiny details around that says differently. The kitchen cabinets are painted in lime green instead of soft blues that he’s used to. When he peeks inside the cracked open door of the bedroom, it has the same four poster bed, same wallpaper that he remembers you picking, and the same wardrobe. But he definitely doesn’t remember putting a baby crib in there with a homemade mobile circling atop it.

The older Hobie notices his gaze, chuckling and clasping his shoulder with the same comfort as one’s father would. “My youngest, you woke him up when you went through the portal, so be quiet, yeah?”

“You’ve got a kid?” He asks in wonderment. “I thought you were supposed to jus’ be...old?”

“No, well, kind of, I have kids with my girl. Three of the little buggers.” Fixing a plate, he gives him a generous amount of food that has Hobie immediately digging in. “Can’t tell ‘em their names though, or I might change the direction of where you’re headin’”

“What?” He asks mid chew as the father figure hands him a napkin, the others listen in, clearly trying to know the new bloke that managed to stumble upon them. The argument finally calmed enough in favour of listening.

“Y’know, like time travelin’” The other Spider-Man says as he carefully screws open the face of his watch, not elaborating any further even when Hobie’s expression wordlessly asks for it.

“Don’t you mean our kids?” The fae adds, glittering golden eyes flash with mirth.

“Don’t make it weird. I’ve got my limits, mate.” Groaning, dad Hobie shuts the bedroom door fully with an experienced aim with his webshooter.

“I’m hundreds of years old.” The being retorts back.

“You don’t act like it.”

“Wait, wait, do we all have the same bird?” Hobie interrupts the argument before it strikes a flame.

“Aye, we do.” The pirate version of him whips out a piece of parchment from his trousers, unfolding it to reveal an old timey portrait of you.

Hobie’s heart leaps in his chest, from your eyes down to the shape of your face, it’s clearly you.

“I know, that’s my scuttlebutt. ‘m guessin’ that she looks exactly like yours?”

“Aye, I mean, yeah.” Chuckling, he hands the picture back gingerly, as if the paper will crumble in his grasp.

“This one is mine,” vampire Hobie unlocks his phone and shows off his wallpaper of you in a coffin, pretending to be a corpse with a large grin on your pretty face. When Hobie raises a brow, the being clicks his tongue. “What? A thousand year old vampire can still learn technology.”

“It’s not that.”

There’s metal tapping against glass coming from the armchair. “This one’s mine.” The suited Hobie shows off his wedding band. “Is that enough proof?”

“You’re not actually married to her, bruv.” Prowler Hobie mumbles under his breath, fixated on the watch. Even then, he still manages to give him lip. “It’s a fake marriage, remember?”

“I don’t need a reminder, Barney.”

“Alright, enough, we’ve already gone over our time.” Dad Hobie checks his own watch, a plastic one with pink glitters on the watch face. “You two need to finish up before my girls get home. I have to put up the pictures and clean up.”

“No, no, slow down.” Fae Hobie says with a smile.

“Don’t make me throw you back inside your abode.”

“So we all end up with her?” Hobie utters softly amidst the group, a tender smile curling around the corner of his lips, eyes gentle, mirroring the others’ eyes from the mere mention of you. The thought of you being his soulmate crossed his mind a few times, but this supports that theory. You’re the one for him.

“Yeah,” the cowboy tips his hat at him. “Trust me when I say this, no matter the timeline, what universe we’re in, it’s always been her.” The whole room quiets down from his sweetened words, a hush falling around the room. Not a dangerous or awkward pause, but something sweeter and softer as Hobie could see it in their eyes that they’re reminiscing about you. “And it’s bloody amazin’, innit?”

When he doesn’t respond, Vampire Hobie steps forward, smiling softly as his fangs poke out from in between his lips. “Don’t tell me you find it borin’, Hobie.”

“No,” shaking his head, his eyes fall towards the plate of cookies. “I find it comfortin’.”

A grin spreads around the whole room, infectious as they all begin to chuckle. He guesses that they all agree.

“Couldn’t have said it better than myself.” Dad Hobie clasps his shoulder, smiling tenderly as he almost chokes on his words. “So, what’s your story, hm?” Sitting down beside Hobie, the rest follow behind, huddling around him, keen on listening.

“I think it’s less interestin’ than what you lot got goin’ on.”

“Try us.” With waiting gazes, Hobie gladly tells everyone his side of the universe as they all listen intently.

When the food and drinks are all gone, and the story is all finished, his newly fixed watch is done and dusted around his wrist. They stand in front of him, Spy Hobie leans against his fae counterpart, while Vampire Hobie snaps a photo of the newcomer.

“Jus’ like I said, you’re free to come back ‘ere, mate.” The silver fox utters, arms folded in front of him as he gives him a subtle smile. “Only if we have a meetin’ scheduled though. Don’t want you hoppin’ in my dimension while we’re havin’ our family dinner.”

“I won’t barge in next time.” Chortling, Hobie inputs his home dimension, checking it twice before pressing the button. He can’t risk falling into a different world again when he really just wants to come home to you.

“Get home safe, big man.” Fist bumping him, dad Hobie sends him off with an armful of tupperwares filled with food.

As Hobie nods, he can’t wait to tell you about the crazy day he had, especially with the bit of him finding out that you’re his love, and your soulmate in every universe where the two of you exist. As he steps into the glowing portal, the orange hues flicker off the second he gets in. But as the door closes, another opens.

The front door clicks open where you step through the doorway with a raised brow.

“Alright, which one of you is my husband?” You say with a smile, a hand on your hip as you meet with older Hobie’s eyes with a teasing glint.

“I wish I was your husband.” Fae Hobie mumbles under his breath, before getting yanked back by the older one of the group.

“Hi, love.” Older Hobie chuckles nervously while the others find the situation amusing. “The meetin’ kind of got away from us—”

Suddenly, the bathroom door creakily opens, and out comes Hobie with box dyed blonde and chopped hair, together with bright blue eyes.

“What’d I miss?” He says with an american accent.

You back away with a yelp, clutching your imaginary pearls with a shocked expression as if you were whiplashed by his presence. Your surprised hop was enough to have the whole room laughing.

—

“So you’re telling me that you already had dinner?” You ask as you stare at your Hobie like he grew three heads. He smells like your flowery soap, all clean and free of sand. He has a bandage over his cut, courtesy of you.

“Love, I jus’ told you that I met different versions of my self.” Sauntering close, he holds out his arms, embracing you as he cages you in between the kitchen counters and himself. “Including a vampire and a bloody pirate, and you’re more surprised at the fact that I already ate?”

Chin resting atop his clavicle, you flutter your lashes as you pout. “But I made carbonara, it’s your favourite.” Your thumb rubs along his windswept brow. “And we already know that there are different versions of us in other dimensions.”

“Yeah, but there’s a swashbucklin’ version of me out there somewhere.” Squeezing you, Hobie nuzzles the crook of your neck, nose brushing along your jaw line. “And you like vampires and ethereal blokes. They also said that there’s a venom me, can’t imagine meetin’ him.”

“I like you more than dusty old beings.” Cupping his cheek, you gently lift his head up to meet with his pout. “I’m sure that you’re the best out of all of them.” You whisper atop his lips, making him chase the kiss as you lean away with a giggle. Hobie resists the urge to carry you to bed “I’m a bit biased, but I know so.”

“I’ll still eat the carbonara, I made room for it.” He practically whines above your lips.

“You did?” Nosing his cheek, he sighs in content, he’s more tired than he thought he was. “It’s cool by the way, I’m glad you met some new friends at the Hobie tea party.”

“I learned somethin’ new today too, but I’ll tell you later after dinner.” Based on his tender gaze, you have a feeling on what it is, and you resist the urge to usher him to bed just to hear him say the words. Smiling and snorting, Hobie pecks your lips, tasting the pasta sauce on your lips when you most probably taste tested it beforehand. “Maybe you could have some sort of group with your variants.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t have one already.” A grin spreads across your lips as Hobie’s eyes widen. “Tell your spy version to man up and just confess to his missus.”

“What the fuck did he do?”

“He already knows.” Sending him a wink, you lean close to kiss his cheek. “I have my own gossip circle too. Please help me with the table, Gwen got the walnut bread I liked.” Hobie’s immediately grabbing the utensils with a lopsided smile.

The feeling of uncertainty you had when you first saw him after almost a year of being a part fades just from his presence alone. It’s like no time has passed between you. “Yeah, it’s not like it’s a first for us— I mean!” Warmth ebbs through your cheeks, but he doesn’t tease back, smiling at you, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Shit, sorry, it’s just been a long time since I saw you. I’m a bit rusty at resisting your smile.” As if making a fool out of yourself in front of the whole camera crew was enough, your co-star turned friend turned crush has your heart beating quicker than a race car especially after not seeing him since the last day of filming.

“Cheeky.” Hobie chuckles under his breath, amber eyes glimmering under the harsh studio lights as he steps foot onto the pristine background that stretches to the floor. “C’mon then, don’t tell me that you’re scared of little old me after all this time.” He offers a helping hand, as if the little barrier they placed around the backdrop will make you stumble on your feet, and as if the fabric will cause you to slip and fall.

“I’m not, never.” Taking his hand, you match his smile. “I am afraid for your poor back though.”

“Always pointin’ out my old bones with you.” Beaming, Hobie slowly crouches down, all the while his eyes never leave yours. You swear that your heart stopped beating right there and then. Once he’s sat crossed legged on the floor, he tugs you down gingerly, and you oblige, forgetting that you’re not the only people in the studio.

Clearing your throat, your palm lingers atop his for a moment before letting go. His warmth seeped through your hand, making blood rush to your cheeks. “Just say the word and I’ll get you a proper chair with back support.” You whisper to him.

Hobie’s heart warms at your words, despite the joking manner, he knows that your concern for him is genuine. “No, ‘m good, sweetheart.” His knee accidentally knocks against yours, but he faces it and does it again on purpose this time. Your beaming eyes say that he chose right. “Sorry, old knees.”

“I think I felt it crack.” You utter softly, whispering for his ears only. That earns a hearty laugh from him that has the crew glancing in his direction. You don’t blame them when he looks magnificent under the lights.

“How have you been? The world treatin’ you right?” Hobie’s shoulder nudges your own, his gentle smile singlehandedly has you feeling the butterflies in your stomach.

“It’s good, the world has been treating me kindly.” You nudge him back, and he grins brightly at you as if it’s the best news he has ever heard of in his whole life.

“Good, you deserve everythin’ that makes you happy.”

You swear that he gets more handsome and kinder every time you see him. Even with your thundering heart, you manage to gaze back at him with a soft smile. You really did miss him, from the way his eyes would light up whenever he sees you on set, his touch whenever he tugs you gently to get your attention, and that signature smile of his that has a whole generation of people clambering over themselves just to see it in person. And you’re one of those people, but you weren’t always like that.

You hate to admit that you were skeptical of Hobie Brown, a bit of a hater, especially when all you’ve seen of him on the celebrity tabloids and articles were of him being too kind for this world. A genuine good bloke that everyone agreed on. You confess that the first day you walked in on set for the first time, a race car track packed with fake audiences and with him wearing a full blown race suit, you were prepared to be proven right on why you don’t like him as much as everyone else does. But this time though, you were glad to be proven wrong.

He was everything like the papers said, good natured, a rebel for a good cause, and the kindest man in the whole show business. You remember the day you met him, it was raining cats and dogs, the exact weather that the director was afraid of when the scene they needed to shoot was of your character confessing to him just before the big race. In the script it read that the sun would be shining in your glimmering tearful eyes, and that the sky was as clear as your love confession. Not dark and gloomy with rain pouring down on all sides. So everything had to take a pause, the production to slow down for just a moment as nothing else could be done with it. You guessed that Hobie sensed your trepidation, nervous about your first scene at your very first big blockbuster. And that the storm was short of nothing but a miracle for you. A brief pause from all the anxiety to relearn your lines and brace yourself.

Instead of him ignoring you like all big movie stars would usually do, he was the first one to walk up to you, greeting you with a smile and a big umbrella to share so that your boots wouldn’t get wet from the smaller umbrella they handed to you. He was all kind smiles, and kinder words of encouragement, reassuring you that everything will be fine, that you’ll do great because you wouldn’t be standing there in the rain with him if you weren’t. Hobie even told you that he was a big fan of the indie movie you were in a few years ago, that it made him see the world in a different perspective. And from that moment on, from a friendly conversation in the rain, to late night talks in the trailers, to inside jokes and hearing him play guitar like no else has, your indifference turned into a crush and now into actual love.

After the filming finished, you had a new project lined up just like him, so communicating with each other has been next to impossible, until now. It’s like taking a cold plunge after standing under the heat the whole day. Your affection for him grew tenfold the moment you set eyes on him in the studio parking lot. Your love for him never truly left, it lay dormant and waiting for this day.

They were right when they said that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“Hi.” Is all you could say as you face him with a tender smile whilst the crew readies the cameras.

“Hi.” Hobie mirrors your softened smile, knocking his foot next to your own teasingly. “Come ‘ere often?”

Chuckling, you nudge him back. “Nope, first time, you?”

“In all my years, I’ve been interviewed by a kid, held puppies while bein’ questioned, and answered questions in a chicken shop.” He takes a deep inhale, looking around the set and the harsh overhead lights. “Well, lookin’ at it now this ain’t that weird, innit?”

“I guess the press has run out of ideas. What are we even supposed to do at an empty set? Breakdance on the floor?”

That earns a wholehearted laugh from him, a laugh that rumbles through his chest, spreading to you, warmth ebbing from him that has you giggling along with him. You’re done for, you’re absolutely in love with this man that held your hand when you thought that they were going to recast you after it took you ten takes to get the monologue right.

“Fuckin’ right, lovie.” Sighing, he rests backwards, elbows on the floor as he lets out a tired groan. “Might as well get comfortable.”

You copy his movements, smiling. “You’re right, they’re all running around. Maybe the interviewer is late.”

Hobie blows a raspberry, turning to the side to get comfortable, lounging on the floor as you giggle. “Maybe, or the snake got loose.”

“The what now?” Your face falls.

“I heard a cage rattlin’ somewhere. My guess is that it’s like those puppy interviews but with snakes.”

“I don’t know if you’re fucking with me or not.” You chuckle nervously.

“Guess.” Hobie cranes his head to you as the lights above illuminate his features like he was indeed right for the spotlight.

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, you gaze at him, trying to read his expression. “You’re lying because your right eye twitches just a little bit when you lie.” Smugly smiling, you poke his chest as his head lolls back in laughter.

“You know me so fuckin’ well.” Biting his lower lip, his gaze softens, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to grasp your emotions. “Fuckin’ hell, would it be too forward— fuck it— I missed you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Me too— I mean, I missed you too.”

His heart cinches. “Lovie, I—”

“Sorry about that!” The producer yells with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Bring on the kittens!”

“Kittens!” You shriek excitedly, the previous conversation tucked in Hobie’s mind for later. “Oh my goodness! Gimme!” The crew lets out tiny kittens from the side, letting them flood the whole set as they waddle towards you and Hobie.

Meanwhile, Hobie’s eyes are on you, watching your bright expression with so much affection that everyone on set could feel the chemistry between you two.

“And we’re recording in three, two, one!”

Hobie had to unstick his gaze away from you as he greets the cameras with his award winning smile. Meanwhile your eyes lingers on the side of his face, unsaid words gnawing at your chest as you pet one of the kittens that’s making itself comfortable on your lap.

Greeting the viewers, and telling them about the new movie, the heart pounding way he made you feel just a few moments ago could be felt through the cameras. You’re sure that no one could see the way your smile wobbles with nerves, skin searingly hot, or the way his eyes have never left the side of your face the whole time you were saying your piece.

When it’s Hobie’s turn again, you have to poke his side or else the producer will ask you to speak the whole script again. He blinks and with just a flash of his smirk, everyone forgot how tender and affectionate he looked at you. All except for you.

“‘m Hobie Brown, and I don’t look like it but I play a washed up race car driver, who’s down on his luck until a certain someone helps bring his luck ‘round.” Turning to face you, you suddenly forgot that there are cameras around as you giggle and bite your lower lip, feeling the tingles rising up from your fingertips to your arms. “Right, lovie?”

“Right, Hobie.” Your eyes sparkles under the lights, and Hobie thinks there’s no better view than what’s in front of him. “And don’t kid yourself, you look like a proper race car driver.”

“See that,” he points at you, poking the tip of your nose gently, while the cats are meowing for his attention. “and everyone wonders why it took us an extra month to film when my co-star says the nicest words to me.”

“Are you saying that it’s all my fault?” You look at him through your lashes, stifling a laugh whilst a cat claws up his back, trying to climb on him while Hobie lets the small tubby use him as a scratching post.

“A little bit, yeah, mostly.” Nudging your arm, he smiles warmly at you, the kind of smile that never fails to ease you.

“And cut, good acting, Y/N. Great chemistry, we’ll start off with the questions, okay?” The director asks, face obscured by the harsh lights.

“I wasn’t acting.” You mumble more to yourself, not intending for it to be heard by anyone but the cats, but Hobie definitely did when you heard his breath hitch in his throat. Something that cannot be easily faked. Your eyes glance at him, and he looks like he wants to say something, but the producer’s voice cuts through the tension between the two of you. And the way your heart beats quickly will surely be picked up by the mics.

“Sorry?” Hobie clears his throat, trying to act nonchalant, back hunched to let the cat sit on his back, and hands occupied with petting two cats at the same time, a cream coloured cat that meows for more pets, and a black kitten that has the most striking green eyes.

“A fan asked if it was hard to drive the race car on your own?” She reiterates, the harsh lights making her expression hidden. You’re used to all the spotlights, but for some reason, this one agitates you, that you want to punch its light bulbs out just so you could be alone with him naturally.

“It took a bit of trainin’ and practice but I got used to it.”

“Plus he looked great in the race suit.” You accidentally blurt out, but the people behind the cameras seem to like your response nonetheless. Hobie chuckles lowly, shaking his head with a grin as he knocks his foot against your own again while cats casually trot around the two of you.

“That too.” His tone softens, not his usual polite tone, but something genuine as his amber eyes soften the moment he meets with your eyes. Hobie scooches closer, knocking his knee with yours once again, elbow kissing your elbow.

You felt the air shift as the producer asks more questions aimed at Hobie, you know the feeling, because he did the same thing on set to help calm your nerves in the scene where your characters share a bed for the first time. A simple move that meant the world to you. You’re too far gone for this man. And you wish that you contacted him after filming instead of overthinking things and wallowing around while waiting for him to make the first move when he has done that and more during filming days.

As you sit there, answering all the questions with the same smile, you take a leap of faith, reach for his hand that lays beside him after the emerald eyed cat abandoned him to get on your lap, you loop your pinky around his own. Hobie gets the message immediately as he hides the intertwined hands behind his back.

Maybe doing that while he was talking was a mistake because he almost choked on his own spit right in the middle of answering a question about the safety on set. Hobie recovered quickly though, a subtle curl of his lips indicates that your move was something he liked. Hell, he was waiting for you to reciprocate for months now while he was waiting for his phone to ring and for your voice to sound out on the other end. He was always clear with his intentions, but being actors, it was always marred by uncertainty on your end. What if he’s usually like this to everyone else? Or worse, he’s just acting. That the close proximity for months at a time manipulated his feelings for you. That all the flirting and kind touches and words weren’t from the heart. How could you not question it when he looks like he was carved by the gods themselves? That his silver weaved hair intimidate you a little bit?

Hobie wanted to hear something from you, anything that would indicate that you fancied him the same way, but you were never clear, and you blame your natural bashfulness and nerves for it.

There are a lot of regrets and what ifs, but this time, under the spotlights that he’s so used to, and the cameras filming like usual, you decide that you’ll make the first move this time around with clear cut intention.

“A question for Y/N,” you’re awakened from your lovesick stupor. “Did Hobie help you in getting into the role?”

“Absolutely.” You say immediately. “In more ways than one.” Craning your attention to him, Hobie listens intently, eyes boring into yours, gentle and tender as he squeezes your pinky. “He made me feel like myself on set, gave me advice that it felt like I should’ve paid for it.” That has him chuckling, but his tender gaze returns when he sees your glimmering eyes. “And he was always there,” you swallow down the lump in your throat, a sob threatening to spill over. “gentle and always so patient with me whenever I had my doubts. If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t have found my confidence in acting, and confidence in myself. So, yes, he helped a lot.”

Hobie then lets go of your pinky, for a moment you thought that you fucked up, but when he takes your hand fully, weaving his ringed fingers around your own, calloused yet warm, you almost couldn’t hide your ecstatic expression. Good thing that you’re good at acting, showing your happiness through a careful squeeze of his hand.

“And cut!” The director says, satisfied as the crew slowly takes the cats back, and people say their quick thank you to you both. But your attention and Hobie’s were on each other, the noises are muffled, lights dimmed, as if everyone else had already left for the day.

“Hobie, I—”

“Love—” he unintentionally talks over you as you let out a chuckle. “Sorry, you go first.”

“No, I’m sorry, you got cut off earlier.” Your cheek rests atop your shoulder, feeling like you’re not in a studio anymore, and just sitting beside the man you care the most about.

For some reason, his usual confidence that comes so easily to him faded away the moment your hand held his. Hobie thinks it’s just the effect you have on him. And by god, he loves it. Fuck, he loves you.

“Right,” Hobie clears his throat, sitting up, turning fully on the floor to face you as his knees brush alongside yours briefly. “‘m in an indie film, that you inspired me to take…and I—” his palms are suddenly clammy, he’d wipe it off but he can’t find it in himself to let go of your hand. “I recommended you to our director to play my wife— I mean my character’s wife in it.”

Seeing a rare flustered Hobie brings your stomach aflutter.

“I have a very busy schedule though.”

“Ah,” his face falls but he hides it quickly. “Right, sorry—”

“I’d do it for a cup of coffee and maybe— just maybe, a dinner with you?”

A smile slowly spreads on Hobie’s face, eyes crinkling in the corners and shining despite the dim room. “If you’re willin’ to have that cup of coffee with me too and then have dinner right after.”

You feel lighter, floating on cloud nine as he tugs at the intertwined hands and brings them to his chest, no longer in hiding. His loud heartbeat could be felt, and you notice that yours falls in sync with his easily.

“It’s a date then.”

Kamino had been all sharp edges and sterile white. Cold water that lapped against endless platforms. Empty halls that echoed with nothing but footsteps and orders.

And yet, somehow, you’d carved out a little pocket of warmth.

Omega had found you in that emptiness. Or maybe you’d found her. The memory was blurry now—an insistent hand tugging yours, big brown eyes fixed on you as if she’d decided, yes, this one, long before you had a choice. From then on, you were the one she shadowed through those long corridors, the one who taught her how to cook something edible out of nutrient paste, who kept her away from Nala Se’s restricted lab doors when her curiosity threatened to get her snatched by security.

And you were the one she curled against at night, clinging like a tooka kit, because the Kaminoans never offered warmth.

So it was no surprise that when Clone Force 99 stole her from that cold world, they got you too.

⸻

The first night on the Marauder was chaos.

Hunter was already rubbing at his temples. Tech was explaining, with far too much detail, that the ship had “strictly limited sleeping capacity, and therefore adjustments must be made for efficiency.” Wrecker was insisting his hammock could “totally hold two people, easy.” Crosshair was silent, but the twitch of his mouth said he was enjoying the show.

And Omega—Omega was clinging to your arm like you were her life raft.

“She sleeps next to me,” you explained, because that was just how it was. “She won’t settle otherwise.”

Hunter raised a brow. “She’s a kid. She’ll adjust.”

Omega immediately gasped like he’d suggested tossing her into deep space.

“No! I can’t!” she shouted, eyes wide. “I won’t sleep without her!”

Her voice cracked with that feral Kaminoan edge, the one you’d spent years sanding down but never fully erased. A flash of that lonely child who had learned to survive on scraps of affection—and refused to let them go once she’d found them.

Wrecker’s face softened. “Aw, c’mon, Hunter. Look at her. She’s like a baby tooka. You can’t just—”

“She’s not a baby,” Crosshair cut in, voice flat but faintly amused. “Just spoiled.”

You leveled him with a glare that had frozen even Kaminoan medics mid-step before. Crosshair smirked and looked away.

Hunter sighed. “Fine. Just… don’t make it a problem.”

⸻

It did become a problem.

Omega spread out like a starfish. She kicked in her sleep. She muttered half-dreamed plans about sneaking into labs or how she was definitely going to learn to fly one day. More than once she punched you in the ribs while mumbling about “Nala Se’s stupid rules.”

And still, she refused to let you leave.

The Batch noticed. Oh, did they notice.

Wrecker teased you relentlessly. “You’ve got your own little shadow! Bet she’d follow you out the airlock if you let her.”

Tech, ever the analyst, commented one morning, “It is fascinating that her sleep cycle appears directly tied to your proximity. A biological dependency akin to—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, pointing a spoon at him as you stirred breakfast.

“—a mother-child bond,” Tech finished anyway.

The room went quiet. Even Crosshair looked up from cleaning his rifle.

Omega, still half-asleep, sat up on her cot beside you and announced, loud and clear, “That’s because she is my mum.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Hunter blinked once. Twice. “…What?”

Omega nodded, curls bouncing. “She raised me. She fed me, tucked me in, kept me safe from the Kaminoans. She’s my mum.”

You felt every set of clone eyes on you. Wrecker’s wide and delighted, Tech’s calculating, Hunter’s stunned, Crosshair’s incredulous.

“She’s not—” you started, but Omega cut you off with that stubborn Kamino-born determination.

“She is.”

And that was that.

⸻

From then on, it became a thing.

Wrecker was the worst offender. “Hey, Mum,” he’d call from across the hold, grinning like a lunatic. “Omega’s trying to climb into the ducts again!”

Tech adopted it too, though more earnestly. “Mum, do you require additional rations for Omega’s growth? Her metabolism is atypical for a child her age.”

Hunter never said it aloud, but the way he looked at you softened—like maybe he finally understood why Omega clung so fiercely to you.

Crosshair only muttered it once, drawling “Mum” under his breath as he passed you in the corridor, but you caught the smirk.

Omega, of course, leaned into it with all the force of a tidal wave. She started introducing you to strangers: “This is my mum. Don’t mess with her.” She refused to budge on sleeping arrangements, growling like a feral tooka the one time Hunter suggested she try a night alone. She held your hand openly, tugged you into her schemes, and whispered conspiracies under the blanket at night until you laughed yourself breathless.

And every time she called you Mum, you pretended to roll your eyes. But secretly—deep down—you knew there was nothing else you’d rather be.

Because on Kamino, Omega had been starved of affection. And you had been starved of purpose. Together, you’d filled those gaps.

Now, on a ship full of soldiers who didn’t know what to do with a child, you knew exactly what you were.

Not just her guardian.

Not just her shadow.

But her mum.

It started because Wrecker couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"I'm just sayin’," Wrecker announced to no one and everyone, dropping onto one of the Marauder's cockpit seats, "that Nola from the supply depot was askin’ about you, Echo. Specifically. By name."

Echo didn't look up from the console he was running diagnostics on. "No."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

"You were going to ask me if I wanted you to set something up." He turned a dial. "No."

Wrecker looked at you. His grin was enormous. You looked back down at your work, because if you made eye contact with him right now you were going to laugh and Echo would know you were on Wrecker's side, which you weren't. 

This was a recurring event. Every port, every depot, every settlement with more than four people in it, someone decided Echo needed a partner. 

The thing was, it had taken the squad an embarrassingly long time to find Echo's weak spot. Hunter got his by mentioning any amount of effort he put into his hair. Tech's was any implication that he might have gotten something wrong. Wrecker didn't really have one, which was deeply unfair. Echo had been impervious to everything until three weeks ago when someone floated the idea of setting him up with a contact on Felucia and something in his expression cracked. Wrecker, of course, grabbed onto that immediately.

Since then it had become the squad's favorite sport.

"She has great aim," Wrecker offered. "You like aim."

Echo picked up his tool again. "I'm done talking about this."

Wrecker caught your eye and mouthed he likes aim with visible joy.

You smirked and pressed your lips together to keep from laughing, but took the moment to assess Echo’s less-than-pleased expression.

You knew Echo hated it. He'd actually told you once, sitting on the ship's ramp while everyone else was asleep. He said it made him feel like people were looking at him and only seeing what was missing. Just like the scomp where his hand used to be. The cybernetic legs that carried him with a soldier's posture regardless, back straight, chin level. His body, whether human or machine, still remembered the Republic even when everything else had changed.

You sat with that thought for a long time after.

You brought it up the next morning, when the ship was quiet and the two of you were running inventory in the cargo hold.

"I have a solution to your problem," you said.

Echo looked up from the crate he was logging.

You set down a supply kit. "If you tell everyone we're together, they'll drop it."

He looked up. His brows pulled in slightly and he set the datapad down, eyes on your face.

"That's going to create other problems," he said.

"Like what?"

The corner of his mouth moved. "Hunter will see through it."

"Hunter sees through everything and doesn't say anything. He'll let it go." You shrugged. "It stops the setups. You stop getting that look on your face every time Wrecker opens his mouth. Everybody wins."

"What look?"

"The one you're doing right now." His jaw was tight and his eyes had gone somewhere flat, the look of a man waiting for something unpleasant to be over.

Then he looked up at you, and the tension in his jaw eased a little. "You'd actually do that for me?"

"Yeah," you said. "I would."

He nodded slowly. "Alright. Thank you."

You decided to tell them at dinner.

It felt like the lowest stakes version of the thing. Everyone was tired, Hunter was focused on the nav charts, Tech was eating with one hand and datapad-ing with the other. Wrecker was the only one fully present, which was either ideal or the worst possible scenario depending on how you looked at it.

You were sitting next to Echo already. You looked at him, a silent whenever you're ready, and he looked back at you for just a second before turning to the table.

"We're together," he said. Simple.

You shifted closer to him and wrapped both hands around his arm, the way you had seen people do. Easy, natural, like you had done it before. It was for the room. You knew it was for the room. His arm was warm under your hands and solid in the way everything about Echo was solid, and you looked at the table and told yourself to focus.

The ship hummed as the eyes of the rest of the Batch all fixated on two two of you. Your heart was doing something stupid and fast in your chest that you were hoping wasn't visible.

Wrecker put his fork down. He looked at Echo. He looked at you. He looked back at Echo.

"CALLED IT," he bellowed, loud enough that Hunter's head came up sharply and Tech's datapad slipped out of his hand. "I called it, I said it, nobody listened to me—"

"You did not call it," Tech said, retrieving the datapad from the floor.

"I implied it."

"You implied nothing, you were actively trying to set him up with someone else yesterday—"

"That was a test."

"That was not a test, Wrecker. A test is a procedure intended to establish the quality, performance, or reliability of something. You have no idea what a test is—"

You felt Echo exhale beside you, slow and quiet, and when you glanced at him his eyes were closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them he looked at you, and the corner of his mouth pulled up just slightly, and something in your chest stopped racing and went warm instead.

You shifted your hold on Echo's arm and leaned your head against his shoulder, because Wrecker was watching and you were supposed to be convincing. Echo went still for half a second. Then his posture shifted, just slightly, making room for you.

"See," Wrecker said, pointing at the two of you with his fork like he had just proven something in to the Galactic Senate.

"Eat your food," Echo said.

Hunter looked at you both across the table. He didn't say anything. He just nodded once, like he'd already known and had simply been waiting for you to catch up, and went back to his charts.

Omega leaned over and grabbed your arm with both hands. "I knew it," she whispered, delighted.

"Wrecker's rubbing off on you," you told her.

From across the table Wrecker was still going. "I want everyone to acknowledge that I saw this coming—"

"Nobody is acknowledging that," Echo said.

The table got loud again with Tech and Wrecker going back and forth, and you lifted your head off Echo's shoulder. He didn't say anything about it. Neither did you. But you were aware of the warmth his shoulder had left behind and you focused very carefully on your food for the rest of dinner.

The plan you set into motion worked immediately and completely.

Wrecker celebrated by making himself as involved as possible. He started referring to you as a unit, saved you adjacent seats without being asked, and physically relocated Tech once so you could sit next to Echo at a briefing, which Tech objected to at length while Wrecker ignored him entirely.

The briefing was the first time it felt like actual pressure. Hunter was running through the Genosis job, holomap lit blue in the centre of the room, and you were aware of Wrecker and Omega watching the two of you. Echo must have felt it too because his arm came up along the back of your seat, loose and easy, like it was nothing. Like he had done it a hundred times.

He, of course, hadn't, but you kept your eyes on the holomap. Hunter was talking about entry points. You retained next to none of it.

At some point Echo leaned forward to point something out on the map and the arm dropped. When he sat back he didn't put it up again. You didn't know whether you were relieved or not, but you forced yourself to not think about it.

"This is getting out of hand," Echo said after a few weeks of doing this dance they did. The two of you were standing in the Marauder's small corridor while Wrecker's voice carried through from the cockpit, loud and pleased with himself.

"Yeah, two rooms,” he told their contact, “One for the squad and one for my brother and his girl."

You and Echo looked at each other.

He moved toward the cockpit first. You followed, and by the time you got there Wrecker had already ended the comm and was turning around with the expression of someone who had done something very generous and wanted credit for it.

"You're welcome," he said.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Echo said.

"No, but I did it anyway. You're together now. You need your own room." He paused. "You're welcome," he said again, since the first time hadn't landed.

You stepped around Echo and touched Wrecker's arm. "That was really thoughtful," you said, and it came out warm. "Thank you."

Wrecker's whole face opened up. "See," he said, pointing at you and looking at Echo. "That's how you respond."

You turned back to Echo. He was looking at you with an expression that was doing its best to stay neutral and not entirely succeeding. You gave him a small smile and mouthed it's fine.

Something in his shoulders dropped half an inch.

"Thank you, Wrecker," he said, with the energy of a man who had lost a battle gracefully.

Wrecker clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. "That's what I thought."

Genosis was loud and warm and the streets from the landing pad to the depot were packed enough that you and Echo moved close together without forcing it.

Omega was just behind with Hunter and Wrecker was somewhere further back, loudly narrating the market stalls to Tech, which meant the whole squad had a clear sightline and you both knew it.

Echo's hand found yours. You looked straight ahead and matched his pace and told yourself this was the job.

A vendor called out from a stall to your left and you instinctively turned to look. When you turned back a strand of hair had fallen across your face. Echo reached over without dropping your hand and tucked it behind your ear, the scomp tracing a cool, careful line along your cheekbone. Sure, you guys had this act going on, but you hadn’t been this close to his face before. You could see the faint scar at his jaw, the steadiness in his eyes, the unusual absence of self-consciousness in what he'd just done.

Then he was looking ahead. Just keeping up appearances.

You faced forward and said nothing.

The room Wrecker had booked was small, which you suspected had less to do with the depot's availability and more to do with Wrecker specifically requesting it. There were two narrow windows, a table, and one bed.

Echo stood in the doorway and took it in without expression.

"I'll take the floor," he said the moment the door swung shut.

"Echo."

"It's fine. I've slept in worse." He was already moving toward the corner, pulling his jacket off and folding it with the automatic precision of someone who had spent years making do with whatever space a bunk or a battlefield offered. 

His jaw was tight.

You sat on the edge of the bed and watched him arrange nothing in particular in the corner and felt something pull at you that you'd been ignoring for longer than you wanted to admit.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor," you said.

"Well, I'm not putting you on the floor."

"That's not what I said."

He stopped. His back was still to you. He stood there long enough that the street noise outside filled the room, someone laughing below, music drifting up thin and distant, and then he turned around.

"This got complicated," he said.

"I know."

"I don't want to make things strange between us."

You looked at him. "Things are already strange. They've been strange since I suggested this mess."

He crossed the room and sat on the other end of the bed, forearms on his cybernetic knees, eyes on the floor.The silence stretched long enough that you started to regret opening your mouth.

Then he said, "I stopped pretending a while ago."

You looked at him.

"That's why I didn't want things to get strange between us." He kept his eyes on the floor. "Not because of the cover. Because I didn't want you to find out and have it change everything."

"When did it stop being pretend for you," you asked.

He was quiet for a moment. "The briefing. You had your head on my shoulder and I spent the whole time trying to remember what Hunter was saying."

You laughed once, short and surprised. "Me too."

He looked up at that, eyebrows raised.

"I kept telling myself I was helping a friend," you said. "And I was. I meant it when I offered. But somewhere in the middle of all of it I stopped having to pretend to want to be close to you, and I didn't know what to do with that." You looked at your hands. "I didn't want to lose you over it. You're my friend first. That mattered more than whatever this was."

The room was quiet.

"Is," he said.

You looked up.

"Whatever this is," he said. "Not was."

He reached over and his hand covered yours, warm and steady. He didn't say anything else for a moment. With Echo, you had learned, silence usually meant he was making sure he got the next part right.

"I don't want to pretend anymore," he said. "I want the actual thing."

You turned your hand over under his.

"That's what I want too," you told him.

Outside the city kept its noise and the music floated up from somewhere below. The two of you stayed in the room that night, and none of it felt like pretending.

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