captain t-rex

As Tasi dragged herself through the lower streets of Theed, a number of conflicting emotions roiled beneath the surface of what she hoped was a plain expression. Shock. Confusion. Fear. It was a bitter homecoming. She knew her master could sense her distress, and she could feel the grief that clung to the Togruta's force signature as it did to hers.

Tasi tried to school her thoughts, store away the more difficult feelings for the inevitability of Shaak Ti asking her to divulge that which weighed her down. Like always, she'd ask her to name each thought, each feeling. Examine every one. Find the root of the problem and work forwards from there. Rationalise, within reason.

She could feel her eyes on her as they walked towards the pyre. Ever watchful, never judgemental. Some of the other younglings had expressed jealousy when she had been chosen to be her padawan, and she thought of that often. They were right to be jealous. The year that she had spent alongside her master was nothing short of thrilling. She was thoughtful and considerate, wise and fair, and she encouraged her padawan's curiosity in a way that not every master did. Above all, she was exceptionally kind. And because of that, she respected that all Tasi wanted right now was to be left alone.

The padawan had not been on Naboo since she was first taken to the Jedi Temple as a young child. As a youngling she read up on the planet, wanting to understand where she came from and what she'd left behind. The files in the temple archive showed her lush grass plains, glittering lakes and waterfalls, and the most gorgeous architecture that rivalled even the sleek lines of the Coruscant skyline and the Jedi Temple itself. It was beautiful. She had longed to see the planet with her own eyes for as far back as she could remember, but now that she was actually here, she'd rather she was anywhere else.

The pyre was set alight once the attendees had filed into the enclosed space. Master Qui-Gon Jinn's lifeless body was engulfed in flames, and Tasi's eyes became glassy with the tears she forced herself to hold back. He had been a role model of her’s. He was a role model to many, and he was taken from them by a cloaked evil whose existence spelled more trouble to come. Her heart went out to Obi-Wan. Tasi did not want to consider what the pain of losing her own master might feel like.

The Jedi Knight-to-be's face was downcast, serious but not without emotion. He was as strong-willed as his master had been, but Tasi could see the hairline cracks in that facade. He was completely exhausted. By his side, was Anakin Skywalker — the young boy that was to be Qui-Gon's new padawan before his untimely demise. He had spoken to her and Shaak Ti very briefly about the former slave boy before returning to Naboo, not knowing it would be his body's final resting place. The boy's expression was hard to decipher, pinched lips and brows as he stared ahead into the flames. Tasi could not begin to imagine what someone in his position might be feeling in this moment.

Ahead of Tasi, the other side of Qui-Gon's padawan, was the Queen of Naboo. Amidala. If there was ever a picture of stoicism, it was her. She was so still it didn't seem unreasonable that she might be a statue. Her painted lips wore a light frown, and at first her eyes just seemed cold, but on closer inspection they read more as fraught, and somehow fervent. Intense. Like a quiet, repressed anger. Curious. It was enough to distract Tasi momentarily. If someone stumbled upon this vigil unknowing, she thought, they would be able to read the gravity of the situation from those eyes alone.

She had watched her speech in the Senate, heard tell of her heroics in the effort to free her people of the Trade Federation's blockade. Tasi knew they were the same age. She knew not much should be expected of many fourteen-year-olds, but it was obvious this girl was something else. Tasi could not do all Amidala had done in the last few days, not with all that was at stake. One day, maybe. But to be able to accomplish so much at their age was impressive. And kind of terrifying. She was terrifying.

A mission gone sideways, a mark mismanaged and lost, lives at risk — your own chief among them. As per usual, it was your fault. You've been with the Batch long enough that you shouldn't be a liability anymore, but you still find yourself always getting in the way if things. If measuring all of your blunders on a scale, this time wouldn't even be among the worst, but something about it is sending you over a precipice, lurching you towards realising the uncomfortable things you've tried to ignore all this time.

Because the truth is, maybe you aren't cut out for this life. Maybe all the planet hopping, running from the Empire and barely scraping by is just some kind of pipe dream that you can't make yourself fit into no matter how you try. Hell, Omega is a child and she carries it better than you. You joined their small crew on the basis of helping them out, but really, you can't keep up.

And maybe you never will.

After landing on this planet, you took off. You don't really care what the Batch think about it right now, and maybe you won’t have to worry about that kind of thing at all soon enough. It feels like you're at a crossroads. Two paths stretch out before you, and the easier one — the one where you give up and they leave you behind to return to a monotonous life — is more tempting than it has ever been.

Plucking a blade of grass from beside you, you sigh and turn your head downwards, watching as you methodically strip it part, string by string. Fiddling always helped you focus, and right now you're struggling. You can't seem to come to a decision.

The sound of soft footsteps against the forest floor pulls you from your thoughts, and when you look up, you spot Tech crossing the boundary of the forest. He doesn't see you at first, seemingly headed in a different direction, but then he catches sight of you. His steps falter a few metres away from you, and you only realise then, with the tension that the moment brings, that your cheeks are wet from tears of frustration. You hope that with the darkened sky he may not see them, but his expression gives him away. He looks as if his brain has just short circuited. He doesn't know what to do, and ordinarily it would make you laugh, but you're too aggravated right now to let yourself.

“Did you need something?” you ask him, keeping your voice quiet so as to not inject any kind of emotion.

“No. I thought—” he thinks better of speaking as his eyes flick over you, but then he takes another step, “I thought you might be upset”

You don't reply, only turn your head to look out over the lake again. An insect chirps into the silence and you wipe the cheek that faces away from the clone.

“The others insisted you were fine” Tech pipes up again, “they said you might need to be alone”

In the cavern of your mind, a reply comes, that they're not far wrong.

“But I disagree”

That makes you turn back, and you can't stop the way your brows knit together in a deep frown. You want to tell him that he doesn't know what he's talking about, that he doesn't know anything about you and has no reason to disagree with his squad. But that would be lying.

Tech has always had a way of seeing through you. You don't try to make it hard on purpose, but keeping your emotions close to your chest has always felt like a safer way to move through the galaxy. Over the course of your time with the Batch, Tech has been the one to peek beyond the veil of indifference more than anyone. You can't exactly pinpoint why, what it is about him that allows you to so often speak freely, but he manages it quite simply. He sometimes even finds a way to tell you how you're feeling before you even know it. It can be alarming, as much as it's comforting.

You don't doubt that it has something to do with drawing logical conclusions from a base knowledge of your habits and an awareness of how each emotion manifests in you. You find it easier to quantify that way, anyway. The idea that he'd be able to read you for a reason more personal, more intimate, makes your skin burn just at the thought. You don't even want to consider it. You've got your hopes up too many times before, and though you know him well enough now, Tech can be an enigma. It is difficult for you to tell what he feels at any given moment. Much less what he feels about you. Or for you. You try to ignore you own feelings for the most part, which is an unsuccessful venture.

“You're upset”

It comes not as a question, but a statement — and your knee-jerk reaction is to disagree.

“I'm not upset” you say, far more harsh than you mean to. As if it would soften your previous words, you add, “I'm frustrated”

Tech seems to openly contemplate the claim, tilting his head, “I do not believe those emotions are mutually exclusive”

You huff, almost a chuckle, and Tech dares to take another step closer. His hand flexes at his side, and he blinks a few times before he deigns to speak again.

“Would you like for me to go?”

The question pulls at your chest. It isn't spoken with an overwhelming amount of emotion, but there's an undertone of desperation that you've not heard from him before. You've never been this vulnerable in front of him, or really anyone, curled up on a rock and unable to stop the steady flow of tears down your cheeks. You wonder if he knows the depth of your distress from just the exterior, of the thoughts that swirl in confusing, unending patterns beneath the surface.

The problem now is that Tech likes to fix things, and he's good at it. You briefly wonder how he'd react if you told him that this may be something he cannot mend. You don't want him to leave really, you want him to stay with you and convince you there’s nothing broken to begin with. That is far too difficult and humiliating to say, however.

You can see he's already somewhat out of his depth, and right this second you don't have the capacity to be anything but blunt. After all, if it had been anyone but him, you would have told them to kriff off the moment they stepped out of the forest.

“You can go” you reply, and you realise it doesn't exactly answer his question.

Tech gives you a funny sort of look, like he's not yet sure what you mean to say. He steps back eventually, hesitant, and turns to leave — though before he's turned away fully he's already facing you again, brows drawn in a frown.

“Are you certain?”

An enervated sigh leaves your lips, because now given the opportunity for his company a second time, you can't stand to pass it up.

“Just— sit down” you sigh forcefully, turning outwards toward the lake in a cold sort of invitation for him to do the same in the space next to you.

Tech tentatively walks the final steps and takes his seat next to you, the plastoid of his armour scraping against stone. It's quiet for a long moment, but you can feel his eyes on you. Breaking the silence feels daunting, and you wouldn't know what to lead with even so. You can't make sense of your mind enough to speak it aloud.

“I don't want to misdiagnose the problem here” Tech says, his voice measured and quiet, like he's afraid you'll turn heel and leave any moment.

“You won't” you reply. Your voice is irritated, a little surly, and it's because you know him, and he knows you, so you know what he'll say next.

“Every one of us makes mistakes from time to time” he asserts plainly, “even me”

You scoff at his self-certainty, however founded it might be.

“No one seems to do so with the frequency that I do, though”

“Why does that matter?”

The question is innocent enough, but your whole body turns towards him, scandalised.

“Why would it not matter?” you ask, and you can't seem to stop the flow of words once they come. “All I do is try, and try. And it's me that screws something up, every time — I put myself in danger, or I put everyone else in danger, I lose the mark, I reveal our location, I use the wrong comm channel, or something else that's equally as stupid. Face it Tech, I'm a liability.”

Tech adjusts his posture so he's facing you, so you're face to face. “You're no more of a liability than anyone else” he claims, “there will always be risks, in the work that we do”

“That's— not the point” you say petulantly.

“Then what is the point?”

“I don't k—” you stop yourself, even though the sentiment has been delivered.

Tech sighs, and it deflates his posture. He crosses his legs to match you, and sets his face in a way that denotes something kinder than you feel you're worthy of. His knees are just brushing yours now, and it's a comfort that you need in this moment, but one you wouldn’t have asked for. You wonder if he knows that.

“What is it exactly that's upsetting you?” he asks, and his voice is soft. It's a tone he doesn't often employ, and you can't let yourself talk to him as you have been, so spiteful and irritated.

“It's hard to pin down” you admit, averting your eyes. “I just— I'm tired of having to learn as I go. All of you already have these skills, and I understand there's a reason for that, and that things take time, but I can't help but feel like I hold you back. That you shouldn't have to put up with my mistakes. When I—”

Your words run out as you feel Tech's glove against your cheek, wiping away the tears that stain them. Your breath stutters, and you're sure your eyes are wide as they snap up to meet his again. His touch is delicate, and he watches his own movements as if to make sure he's being careful enough.

His hand retracts, viewing you steadily. “Go on”

You take a breath and this time don't look away from him as you explain. “You… you could all move faster without me — be more efficient, you know? It's like I'm a stray that you've taken in and I'm still yet to find my feet. I was supposed to be helping you, but everything I do seems to just be a hindrance. I have so much still to learn that the rest of you can already do so easily”

“We're all more than happy to let you learn at your own pace. There is not another way that one can learn” Tech tells you, brows drawn.

“But… you shouldn't have to” you insist.

Tech's face screws up, and it's an expression that you detest. One that betrays he thinks you're being a fool.

“You are being deliberately obtuse” he says, firm, “I am sitting here and telling you that neither I nor the rest of the team care that you are less experienced than us. Why don't you believe that?”

You go to reply, but then his words sink in, and…

Why don't you believe him?

The Batch have given no indication that your mistakes are anything to balk over besides a general concern for your well being, and yet you've constructed this false image of how they see you; weak, inadequate, undeserving of their time and their care. That's not fair to attribute to them, when you know deep down that it's your own insecurity that brings those notions forth.

But… is there not still some truth to what you're saying?

You've been silent too long, you realise. Tech's frustration has melted away into something more quiet, more affectionate, and the way it lights a fire under your heart cannot be helped. The moment feels bittersweet, and it aches. Because even though you want to believe Tech, and you know that there is a place for you among him and his brothers, you don't know if it's a space you feel comfortable taking.

You sigh, resigned to the fact, and there's apology in your eyes before you go to speak. You wipe your palms on your trousers as they begin to feel clammy, and the way Tech straightens tells you he knows to expect a blow.

And…

You can't do it.

A silence stretches out between you, heavy, awkward, and painful. You suppose that Tech knows where your mind is taking this, what conclusion you're drawing from this line of thought. Even with the knowledge that he sees through you, sees your intentions to leave, you can't say it to his face. Maybe you're just a coward. And maybe that's been the problem all along.

“In case you were interested on hearing my version of events,” Tech begins, his voice quiet but edged with a confidence, “I would say that from a statistical standpoint you have not put us at risk any more than Hunter, or Wrecker. Certainly not more than Omega”

A quiet and watery laugh bubbles up and out of you, always enamoured by his way of quantifying the un-quantifiable.

“We have all made mistakes,” he continues, “I would argue that, where Hunter's mistakes often have some supposed ‘reason' behind them, and yours err more on the side of accidental, that your mistakes are far less incriminating in the grand scheme of things.” He pauses and watches the corner of your lips tick upwards, “and… if it's not too much for you to hear, I believe your perspective is skewed by emotion at the present”

You let out an indignant puff of air. He's right, and you know it, but it's not exactly what you want to hear right now.

“What I mean to say is…” he clarifies with a small eye-roll, “you are capable. And you have improved. You're just— choosing not to acknowledge it. For whatever reason”

You don't reply.

Is what he's saying true? Are you so blinded by your own insecurity that you can't see what progress you have made?

Tech stares are you, his brown eyes earnest in a way that always gives wind to the butterflies in your stomach. He's winning you over even when you're trying not to be. Only he can do that, you realise. It makes your heart ache. No one else could have talked you off of this ledge, even if it's only for now.

You smile warmly and turn to place your boots to the ground once more.

“Come on,” you mutter, bringing an end to the topic of conversation, “let's get back to the ship”

The clone wordlessly joins you in standing, and the two of you trudge back to the Marauder in companionable silence. The forest is humid even after the sun has set, and teeming with life. Glowing bugs flit about, lighting your way and guiding you on your journey back. You hadn't taken the time to appreciate the beauty of them as you had stormed past in your fit of rage.

When you reach the ship, you spot the others sat in a circle around a small campfire just outside the door. Hunter's vibroblade twirls in his hand, a nearby tree shows evidence of having had its branches removed, and the smiles that decorate the faces around the fire are wide. It's a view that warms your heart. You don't realise you've stopped walking to take in the scene until a hand is placed on your lower back. Tech is smiling gently as you look to him, and it doesn't occur to you to find it strange that he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Omega greets you with a wide grin and invites you to sit in the spot beside her, which you take with as much enthusiasm as you can muster, and Tech nudges Wrecker to budge up and takes the space opposite you. None of the team speak of your blunder, nor anything to do with the mission, only how they'll move forward from this point. Other than that, conversation is light, and happy. There's talk of memories of missions past, both from your time with them and from before you, with injections from Tech that give a more factual account of events. Wrecker, as always, tells him not to let the truth get in the way of a good story, but Tech hasn't ever fully grasped that concept. You try to keep your exceptionally fond smile secret, but Hunter catches it and raises a brow at your expense. You know he knows how you feel for his brother. There’s no hiding anything from that man.

It's all so normal. So simple. You do have a place here, even if your brain tells you otherwise in moments of weakness. But somehow, it's still shadowed by melancholy. You can't pinpoint what makes it feel that way, but you try not to dwell on it.

As the firelight dies, members of the team begin to peel off. Hunter goes with Omega first, who’s resting a weary head on your shoulder and still arguing that she’s not tired when being practically carried off to bed. Wrecker and Tech bicker back and forth good-naturedly as you watch on, until the larger of the two also retires with a yawn. That leaves you and Tech, and a silence is left in his brother’s wake. Your gaze is directed to the dying embers, and the lack of distraction leaves space for your mind to wander once more.

“You are still considering leaving, aren't you?”

Tech’s voice is almost a whisper, and there’s an emotion you don’t recognise hidden beneath it. Your eyes raise to meet his gaze and that emotion does not become any more known to you. Everything about him seems wound tighter than it should be, too rigid.

“I…” you begin, but realise you don’t have an answer.

His brows draw together in the quiet. He shakes his head a few times, slowly, and he looks away to the ground beside him. His jaw is set and his lips turned down. He’s clearly upset, in some way — but this specific type of upset is foreign to you, still undecipherable.

“Look…” you begin unsurely, “I just think it might be better if I—”

“No”

The word is absolute, unyielding, and it surprises you.

“No?” you question, and a disbelieving scoff worms its way out of you.

“You can't just… leave” he states, and though his teeth grind, he's still quiet as he repeats, “you can't”

“I can't?” this time you practically laugh, and when Tech finally meets your gaze, you realise what’s happening.

He’s not just upset. He’s angry.

You have never seen Tech be angry. Not once. What is most scary about it now, is that it’s not entirely clear why. You can see the way he interprets your laughter too. He thinks it's cruel, that you're laughing at him in this moment. You go to correct yourself, to apologise, but he pushes himself from the ground and starts pacing around on his side of the fire, like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

“I won't allow it” he says, but he's not looking at you anymore.

“You won't allow it?” you repeat back to him again.

He stops his pacing and turns to you, “are you having trouble hearing?”

The question seems genuine enough, but he's being so ridiculous you can't help it. “I think I might be”

Tech looks thoroughly unimpressed. His lips are turned down and he's looking at you like you've wounded him. Your stomach turns at the thought. Is he angry because you’re thinking of leaving?

“Look, Tech. I don't want to—”

“Do not do that” he interrupts with an accusing finger pointed at you, his anger flaring, and rolls his eyes when you have the nerve to look confused. “If you did not want to leave then you would not”

“Tech—” you begin, standing to walk towards him in an attempt to calm him, but he talks over you, resuming his pacing, before you can get the words out.

“You cannot just leave because it’s difficult. That's not right. That's not how things work, and that's not you” he assesses, shaking his head. His hands tighten to fists at his sides, and you realise you've never seen him be so worked up before, if at all.

“Tech, please—”

“No” he whirls on you and steps closer, “do you even—”

“Tech. Listen to me” you raise your voice ever so slightly, still soft enough not to wake those in the ship nearby. His words come grinding to a halt, and his mouth forms a straight line. “I was only thinking about it, okay?”

“How can you even entertain it?”

You level him with a look, squinting as if he's a puzzle you can't figure out. “I can't understand why it's so out of the question”

“Because it— it's that…”

You've never known him trip over his words before.

This new image of him is confusing you. The fact that he’s angry with you is sickening, and not giving a justification for it is so absurdly unlike him.

“Tech—”

“No” he says for what feels like the tenth time, but in this instance he turns and starts walking away.

You hiss his name again but he continues on towards the forest so that you’re forced to follow, struggling to catch up with his wide gait. It’s even darker now, fewer of the glowing bugs to light the path, and if you’re not careful you could lose him. You eventually manage to scramble in front of him with some effort. He stops in his tracks with an almost comical halt so as to not bump into you, and you catch his wrists when he goes to leave again.

“Stop this” you urge, gripping his wrists tighter when he protests, “talk to me”

Tech’s grimace tells you that he’s resistant to the idea.

“Why do you want to leave?” he asks, and while it’s not what you wanted from him it’s more welcome than the staunch dismissal of the last few minutes.

“I—” you huff, and let go of him so his hands hang limply at his sides, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m really cut out for… all this”

“That’s ridiculous”

“Is it?”

His frown deepens further, and he doesn’t give an answer. “You could walk away from us that easily?”

“Well, no. I—”

“You haven’t considered how that might upset the others?” he says, and his voice raises the more he goes on, “Omega would be distraught. As would Wrecker. Hunter would hold it together because that is his way, but I know without doubt that losing another member of our squad would hurt him beyond measure. We cannot afford to lose anyone else!”

The ghosts of those missing squad members rest heavy in the sudden quiet. You've never known Crosshair, not as an ally at least. Tech rarely speaks about him and when he does it's detached, like he can't afford to look beyond the facts of what happened. You do know Echo, however. He is someone you grew close to, and the hole in your chest caused by his leaving stings anew as you're accused of following in his footsteps.

Tech is right. Of course he is.

Causing that pain in someone else is too much to even begin to consider. Thus far you'd only been looking at it from your perspective. Your own self-deprecation had caused you to be entirely selfish, as it turns out.

“Why are you shouting?” you ask him softly.

“Because I want for you to stay with me!”

His exasperation gives you pause. His turn of phrase is so specific that it all clicks into place at once. Your eyes widen in realisation.

He does return your affections.

Tech likes you.

Usually you wouldn't be so bold in assuming such a thing but you know you're on the money when his own eyes widen to match yours, knowing he's exposed something he didn't intend to.

“I— us! To stay with us” he groans and digs the heels of his palms into his temples, closing his eyes and giving into frustration, “forgive me for being upset that you would abandon me so readily for— agh! Abandon us! All of—”

His frustration is almost adorable, but you can’t take it any longer.

Your fingers find the collar of his cuirass and you pull his body towards yours. He stumbles slightly and his words muddle but your lips are on his before he can ask the question you see in his eyes. He doesn't react immediately, and for that second you fear that you've miscalculated. He's frozen, and you're about to pull away, but then you feel the tension in him unwind.

He melts into it slowly, gaining more confidence by the second. His hands raise to frame your face, bringing you even closer and tilting your head to deepen the kiss. It isn't too hurried, nothing like his desperation from before. Instead, it feels like how a long-awaited kiss should; saying what can't be told with words.

You pull away and look up at him, breathless. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are parted, his chest heaves, and a light blush is dusting his cheeks. You're sure he's never looked more gorgeous than in this moment.

He speaks your name, “what…?”

He's clearly lost for words, and he's looking at you like you might still break his trust and leave after all.

“I—” you try to find a way to consolidate all of your thoughts in one intake of breath, landing on “I'm not going anywhere”

“I know” he says as he drops his forehead to yours, and the corners of his mouth lift into a smile that gives a sense of playfulness, even as you see the relief in his eyes, “I already said that you weren't”

Before you can go to tease him, he presses another kiss to your lips. His thumb caresses your cheekbone and you lean into the tender touch, all thought of taunting leaving you. He is all-consuming, and your mind stills. Your worries fade. The dull hum that seemed to buzz at the back of your brain clears out and things come into focus.

Your place is here.

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