#bad batch howzer

The briefing was as vague as it was urgent: Undercover extraction mission. No squad support. Just Howzer—and a mystery spy with intel vital to the Republic. The second she walked in, the moment you met, Howzer’s first thought was: Well, she’s definitely trouble.

You were the kind of trouble that made hearts beat faster. Dark eyes that flickered with mischief, a confident stride that screamed danger, and a smile that could melt durasteel.

“Captain Howzer,” you said, voice low and smooth as you stepped close, “looks like we’re stuck with each other tonight.”

He tried not to let the fact that his chest tightened show. “Stick close, keep quiet, get the intel, get out. Simple.”

“Simple?” You arched a brow. “I like simple.”

The target was a notorious Separatist nightclub—the perfect place for gathering sensitive intel. The club was a sensory overload: throbbing bass, flashing holo-lights cutting through the fog machine haze, crowds of slick criminals, smugglers, and mercenaries moving in rhythm.

You slid through the crowd beside Howzer, letting your fingertips ghost along his armored arm. The contact was electric. “You’re tense,” you whispered, lips nearly brushing his ear. “You’re gonna freeze up if you don’t relax.”

Howzer swallowed. “Not freezing,” he said, but his voice was rougher than usual.

Before he could protest, you pressed your palm to his chest, right over his armor, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath. “Then let me help.”

The club’s red lights caught your eyes, making them glow with dangerous heat. “Just follow my lead.”

And follow you he did, into the chaos of the dance floor.

The rhythm shook the room and your bodies moved closer, your hips grazing his as you stepped in sync, turning heads. You slipped your hand into his gauntlet, fingers entwining.

“Howzer, darling,” you said, voice dripping with playful seduction, “you’re the hottest thing here. Too bad I can’t get you alone just yet.”

He chuckled low, trying to ignore the way your breath hit his neck.

Suddenly, a pair of Seppie enforcers locked eyes with you two and started moving your way, their expressions less than friendly.

You tugged on Howzer’s hand. “We’re going to have to sell this act.”

He nodded, tension winding tighter in his chest.

You leaned in, lips nearly touching his jaw, and murmured, “I don’t want to waste this chance to pretend you’re mine.”

Howzer’s jaw clenched, a spark igniting in his eyes. “Pretend, huh?”

You pressed your body against his side, sliding your hand around to rest on his broad shoulder. “More than pretend,” you whispered, voice husky.

The Seppies approached, scanning the crowd. Howzer shifted his stance to shield you, stepping protectively close. You tightened your grip on his arm and planted a deliberately slow, teasing kiss just below his ear.

One of the enforcers paused, confused, before shaking his head and moving on.

“Howzer,” you breathed, “you’re doing great.”

He smirked, the usual commander cool replaced by something warmer and more… distracted. “Best mission ever.”

You laughed softly, biting your lower lip, eyes locked with his in a heated, silent conversation.

At the bar, you moved with practiced ease, fingers deftly extracting a data chip hidden beneath the counter while Howzer scanned the room.

“Got it,” you whispered urgently.

Before you could celebrate, blaster fire erupted nearby. The crowd screamed and surged as the club descended into chaos.

Grabbing your hand, Howzer pulled you toward a back exit, but the path was blocked by a line of heavily armed droids.

“No good,” Howzer muttered. “Only way out’s through the main floor again.”

You grinned wickedly. “Then we keep playing the lovers.”

Sliding your arms around his neck, you pressed your body flush against him, breathing heavy, voice a sultry purr. “How about a another dance, Captain? One last dance before we run?”

Howzer’s eyes darkened, the guard slipping away. “You drive a hard bargain.”

In the thick of the chaos, the two of you moved as one, weaving through the crowd with a tantalizing closeness that made every glance from enemies or allies alike hesitate.

Your lips brushed his cheek, fingers tracing along his jawline, igniting a fire that neither mission nor danger could put out.

When you finally burst through the exit, breathless and laughing, Howzer pulled you into a hard, desperate hug.

“Next time,” he whispered, voice low and rough, “we skip the danger and go straight to the flirting.”

You smiled, heart pounding against his chest. “Deal. But I’m still claiming ‘best mission ever.’”

 The Republic command center on Ryloth was dimly lit, primarily lit by the flickering displays of tactical monitors and a glowing holographic map of Ryloth, which glowed with affected conflict zones in red. Four men gathered around the display; two were in Republic military attire—an officer and a clone captain, standing at full attention—while the other two Twi’lek men continued their ongoing “diplomatic” negotiations over supply routes. Captain Howzer stood at attention; his ramrod-straight posture projected an air of composure, yet the clench of his jaw revealed his underlying tension. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay composed if General Cham Syndulla and Senator Orn Free Taa continued this at every debrief meeting. 

Since he was first stationed here during the early phases of the liberation of Ryloth, things have been this way: Cham was passionate like the soul of a freedom fighter, while Senator Taa was dismissive, with the demeanor of a Senator who believed that what was best for him was best for the people. From the beginning, it was a combination that would fuel dissent over even the smallest decisions, and honestly, Howzer was exhausted. If they continued like this, they would never reach the actual purpose of this meeting in the first place. 

As if reading his mind from across the table, his commanding officer, an aging Republic admiral, is the first to remind the men why they have gathered by clearing his throat and raising his hand to interject. “Gentlemen, I doubt it is imperative to continue blaming each other for every patrol route and supply delay. Let me remind you that we have a returning asset joining us, one who I hope could help us all gain a broader perspective on the issue at hand: maintaining peace and security on Ryloth.”

Cham halts his tirade directed at the Senator and smiles, his expression shifting from annoyance to warmth—a sudden, noticeable change that didn’t escape Howzer's notice. “Finally. You brought her back. I advised against removing her when you first mentioned moving her to another assignment.” As Cham finished his dramatic introduction, the door hissed open behind Howzer. You entered wearing a subdued Republic Intelligence officer’s uniform, nothing flashy, but it still projected an aura of sharpness that extended beyond your attire. 

You surveyed the room, spotting a familiar smiling face. “Cham. Not surprised you still take the same seat at the table.” 

With that, Cham walks around the table to greet you, grasping your arm in a comrade's embrace. “It’s an honor to have you back home.” 

Your smile widens, just as pleased to return to Ryloth, while your attention shifts to the unfamiliar clone standing next to him, standing tall, embodying the epitome of military protocol. But that wasn’t what caught your attention; it was his face. Overall, it was almost identical to every other clone you’ve worked beside over the years, and yet somehow not… Battle scars hardened his face, yet you could still identify a softness in his eyes. You let your gaze linger in them for just a second too long before taking in the rest of him in. His hair was longer than regulation at the top, featuring an undercut style that you found suited him in a way you couldn’t quite place yet. In that brief moment of assessment, you recognized how he carried himself in a way that said he didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room. You found his presence quite captivating.  

 Cham notices the opportunity and takes it to introduce you. “Captain Howzer, this is Y/N. She’s the Republic’s best strategic mind, and a dear friend. Her work turned the tide more than once on Ryloth. With her support, your job just got infinitely easier.”

Howzer steps forward, offering his hand with a respectful nod. “It’s an honor. Anyone Cham calls a friend, and a strategic asset, has my full attention.” He glances at you with a hint of a smile, clearly still assessing what to make of you. “Though now the pressure’s on, making my job easier is a tall order,” he concludes with a soft chuckle. 

You smile in return, about to open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Senator Taa, who had remained silent before, finally expresses his dry skepticism about your return. “How generous of Intelligence Command to return one of its shadow officers to Ryloth. I wasn’t aware we required spies for peacekeeping.” 

Howzer’s expression shifts, clearly surprised by the Senator’s blatant contempt for you. The venom in his tone was evident; nonetheless, you remain unfazed. With practiced composure, you address Taa with the professionalism you’ve come to depend on when interacting with similar men in his position.  “Senator Taa,” you say, bowing your head slightly, “it has been too long. You remember, I’m not here as a spy; just to provide counsel. I only aim to ensure that our choices don’t provide the Separatists with another opportunity on this planet.” 

A heavy silence fills the room after the exchange. Howzer observes closely as the Senator shows irritation at your comments, while Cham seems to relax slightly. Clearly, your presence is bound to escalate this already troubled dynamic; he can already see it, so much for making his job easier. 

The admiral interjects, eager to wrap up the lengthy briefing. "Alright—enough of the ceremony. Captain Howzer, she will join your unit for strategic oversight and coordination. While she reports to me, you two will collaborate closely, ensuring you have all the information at your disposal to conduct our peacekeeping and rebuilding operations." 

Howzer nods briefly, the last exchange making him cautious about this new arrangement and what it means for him. “Understood, sir.” 

You lock eyes with the Captain as he shifts his attention from the admiral back to you. "Don’t worry, we’ll manage to get along, Captain. Or at least we can pretend for the mission’s sake,” you jest, attempting to ease the atmosphere.  

“As long as you don’t complicate my job, we’ll get along just fine,” he replies with a smirk. 

The rest of the briefing meeting goes relatively smoothly, yet the initial tension from General Syndulla and Senator Taa’s distant exchanges upon arrival still hangs in the air. As the meeting concludes, Senator Taa gathers his robes with deliberate disdain for those present in the room, offering one last look at you before he departs. “Admiral. Captain.”– he addresses the two men, skipping over your and Cham’s titles altogether–” Let’s hope this newest addition doesn’t complicate matters further.” He exits the room with a flourish, as the heavy doors close behind him with a pronounced hiss.

“Nice to see the Senator hasn’t changed,” you say dryly, allowing your posture to relax slightly, relieved by his exit. You anticipated his discontent over an associate of Cham Syndulla returning and altering the planet’s operational dynamics, but you didn't foresee the apparent hostility directed at you. Much has changed during your absence on Ryloth. 

Cham doesn’t let you dwell on it for too long. “Well. That was painful. But it had its bright spots.” He turns to you, fully wrapping you in a genuine embrace now that the formalities are done. “You’re home. We need to celebrate. My family will host dinner tonight, and we’ll give you a proper welcome. Nothing formal—just food and old friends.” 

You shake your head with a weary half-smile, acknowledging what you already knew about the Twi’lek general before you. Cham never does anything halfway; while he knows that big gatherings aren’t your thing, they are his. "Cham, if this devolves into something where I’m giving a speech for the honor of Ryloth in front of a crowd, I’m going to vanish, never to be seen again, and you know I can do it," you said in a tone that was half mock, half threat. 

He laughs, warm and genuine: “No speeches. Just dinner. Maybe ten... twenty people tops.”

You raise an eyebrow in doubt, already worried about what you were getting into. “Ten?”

"Fifteen… Eighteen, max. The Twi’lek resistance doesn’t do small gatherings. You know that.”

You sigh, both resigned and amused; it has been too long. “Fine. But no military debriefs. No toasts. If someone sings a freedom anthem, I’m gone,” you complete your final offer as the general moves towards the door. Cham gives your shoulder a brief squeeze as he departs. “Deal. It’ll be beneficial for them to see you again. They need to understand that someone has come back for more than just orders.” He then exits, already speaking into his comlink, likely inviting ‘just a few’ more guests. 

After he leaves, you and Howzer are alone for the first time. He stands upright, grabs his helmet from the table at his side, and says, “Well. Looks like I’m your escort now.” 

You study him with a neutral expression, assessing. “You don’t look particularly thrilled about that,” you tease. 

“I’m a soldier, not a politician or peacekeeper. They expect me to handle all this tension without firing a shot,” he pauses, locking his eyes on you, his tone skeptical about the situation. “I’m still unsure about where you draw that line." 

You nod, understanding that he means no offense, and you value the honesty in his observation. He is simply doing his job and acting in the best interest of Ryloth, just as you are. “My job is to ensure no one lights the fuse. Yours is to step in between them if they do. We just have to make this setup work, Captain, for Ryloth.” 

He nods slightly in agreement, pleased that you grasp the situation, and gestures toward the door, saying, “Then we'd better start with that dinner. Wouldn’t want you vanishing into the hills and leaving me to explain your disappearance to Command.”

You grin, “Come on, you’d notice my absence long before Command would. Don’t forget, Cham mentioned I’m here to make your job easier.” 

“Right,” he chuckles, “You walk in here quoting Cham like that, and I already know I’m in trouble.”

—-----------------------

As you and Howzer reached the Syndulla residence, the sun was setting behind Ryloth’s peaks. A small crowd had gathered on the open terrace just beyond the gates: resistance fighters, family members, and civilians sharing stories and food. You pause at the edge of the crowd as you disembark from the transport with Howzer by your side, still clad in full armor with his helmet tucked under his arm. Too many familiar faces brighten with recognition, prompting you to lean toward him and murmur, “This is not ten people.”

“Almost forty,” Howzer replies, deadpan, as if delivering grim news. “I kept count on the way up.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” you mutter, almost begrudgingly. You catch Cham’s attention through the open gate as he waves you over, his smile wide and genuine. While large parties aren’t necessarily your thing, you can’t help but feel heartened by the turnout from Ryloth to welcome you back. 

As the evening progresses, you and Howzer make the rounds. Cham plays the gracious host, introducing you to unfamiliar faces and helping you reconnect with old ones. Despite the familiarity, you eventually drift from the main conversation, standing just outside the circle of guests, arms crossed. Howzer lingers loyally at your side, operating in protective ‘bodyguard’ mode. You're grateful for his company, even if it’s protocol. 

“You’ve got that look,” Howzer says, breaking the silence with a smug, knowing look, thinking he can already read you. He might. 

“What look?” you reply, feigning ignorance. 

“The one that says you’ve already calculated three escape routes.” 

"Habit,” you admit, smirking without breaking your gaze from the partygoers. “I typically avoid 'welcoming parties.'"  

“Could’ve fooled me,” his tone warm, amused. “ Half the room lit up the moment you walked in. Not exactly what I expected from someone in intelligence.”

“I’m not what you expected the Republic to send you to babysit, am I, Captain?”

He shakes his head as you continue. “I’m not here to play nice with politicians or push propaganda. I came back for Ryloth,” you speak dryly. 

Once you finish, Howzer studies your face before stating, “Then we’re on the same side. I didn’t come here to play politics either.” Not that he had a choice, but he still wanted it to matter. Following his comment, the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, observing the partygoers and interacting with the few who come to speak with you. 

A few hours later, the crowd has thinned. Plates are scraped clean, drinks have dwindled, and most guests have filtered out, lingering over nightcaps or saying their goodbyes. Captain Howzer, however, stands alone near an empty table, brow furrowed, scanning the terrace with a mild frown.

“Kriff,” he muttered, feeling frustrated as he began to pace, “Where the hell did she go?” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck.  “One intel officer on the entire mountain, and I lose track of her. Real sharp, Captain.” 

He approaches the terrace edge and notices a side path that curves away behind the compound. Feeling an urge to explore the path, he moves slowly and carefully, his instincts honed from his years as a soldier. Turning the corner, he notices the shapes of two figures resting on two worn supply containers. You and the young Hera Syndulla sit on the containers, swinging your legs over the side while leaning back on your hands, gazing up at the starlit night sky. Howzer comes closer but instinctively remains out of sight, just beyond your view, but close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation with the girl. 

“Do you think I’ll ever get to fly out there? Like you and Dad did?” Hera asks softly, tracing the outline of the sky with her hand. 

“I think you’ll go farther than both of us, Hera,” you reply, your voice firm with conviction. You’re not just saying that to appease the young Twi’lek; you genuinely believe it.  

Hera smiles, half shy, half unsure how to accept the compliment. “ Dad says I’m stubborn, born to find trouble.” 

“Good,” you assert, “So was I. Still am. There are worse qualities.” 

“You don’t act like the other soldiers,” Hera states, tilting her head as if considering. Her comment makes you pause, leading you to think before responding. “That’s because I didn’t want to be one. Not really… I wanted to help people, and I discovered this is a way I can, even if it’s …different from what I envisioned.” 

Hera moves in closer, leaning against your arm; you don’t flinch, allowing her to. “Did you miss us when you left?”

“Every day. But I had to go. That’s what the job asked of me, and other people needed my help.” 

“Are you gonna leave again?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly. Almost afraid of your answer. 

“Not if I can help it,” you assert, determined to remain for the long haul. 

 Ahem. A throat clears in the dark. You and Hera glance back to see Howzer stepping into view, one brow slightly raised.

“Guess that’s our cue. Time for bed,” you murmur, unceremoniously sliding off the crate and offering your hand to Hera. She groans in protest, but you give her a teasing look.

“Ah, ah. We can’t disrespect our commanding officer like that. Say goodnight, Hera.”

“Goodnight, Captain Howzer,” she says dutifully, dipping her head before heading up the path ahead of you. He chuckles, wishing her a good night similarly as she vanishes into the darkness before them. “You’ve trained her well; I didn’t know that was possible,” Howzer remarked. 

You and Howzer ease into the quiet of the night and start to walk back down the path, trailing leisurely behind the young Syndulla. Howzer walks beside you, helmet still tucked under his arm, his steps unhurried but steady.

From the corner of your eye, you catch him glancing at you again. “You’ve got a staring problem, Captain,” you deadpan, eyes forward.

He doesn’t miss a beat, keeping up. “I’ve got questions. Watching helps.”

That earns him a look as you pivot slightly to face him while still walking. “What exactly are you trying to figure out?”

“Who you are when no one’s looking.” He says it like it’s obvious.

You arch a brow in his direction. “And tonight didn’t answer that for you?”

“It made the question more complicated.”

A smirk tugs at your lips. You let it linger as you toss back, “You ever consider that maybe some people are just… complicated? No secret mission. No ulterior motives. Just messy people trying to do the right thing.”

Howzer hums softly, considering it. “Sure... But those people usually don’t work in intelligence.”

That makes you laugh, the kind that reverberates from your mouth out into the night. “Fair point. I’ll give you that.”

Ahead, Cham’s voice drifts back to you as his daughter approaches him, wrapping him in a goodnight hug. “Ahh, there you are! The transport’s ready to take you both back to base. Time to say goodnight for now.”

You glance up, spotting the military transport vehicle waiting beyond the main gate. “Come on, Captain,” you say, shifting back into motion. “Let’s get you home. I think we’ve both had enough fun for one night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a touch too much formality, clearly teasing.

You grimace. “Ugh. No. Just Y/N, please.”

You didn’t remember the escape.

You remembered the cell—the sting of cold stun cuffs, the fluorescent hum of sterile walls, the shadow of an Imperial officer’s boots crossing your field of vision.

You remembered pain.

And silence.

And waiting for the end.

But now, you woke to the sound of wind.

Real wind—not the artificial filtered kind used to simulate nature in Imperial holding zones. This was dry and real, carrying the scent of rock, dust, and maybe desert flowers if you were still sane enough to tell.

You lay on a cot, wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket. Dim golden light crept across the floorboards of what looked like an old storage room—repurposed into a makeshift sleeping space. There were crates stacked in the corner, and a small table with two chipped mugs.

You sat up slowly. Your body ached like it had been stitched together too quickly. And then—movement.

A man was sitting in a chair across from you, unmoving. Broad-shouldered, armored only in the bare essentials of his gear. He stood when he saw you stir.

You flinched. It was instinct. You hadn’t seen his face yet—just the outline, and the authority in his posture.

“Hey,” he said quickly, palms lifting, voice calm and low. “You’re safe. You’re out. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

You blinked up at him as his face came into focus. Not a stormtrooper. Not an officer. A clone.

But not just any clone. There was something different in his eyes—something soft. He wasn’t holding a weapon. Wasn’t armored head to toe. He looked almost… tired. Grounded.

“Name’s Howzer,” he added, watching you carefully. “I was with the squad that got you out. Captain Rex sent me.”

You opened your mouth, but your throat wouldn’t work. You clutched the edge of the blanket tighter around your shoulders, fingers trembling.

“You were in that cell a long time,” he said gently. “You don’t have to talk yet. Just breathe. That’s enough.”

Your eyes burned, but you nodded. That felt like something you could do.

Howzer stepped back a pace, giving you space. He moved with a kind of deliberate calm—like he knew exactly how close not to get. Like he understood trauma too well to make it worse.

“I put some tea on the burner,” he said after a beat. “It’s not great. Local stuff. But it helps.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure you could. Your whole body still felt like it was waiting for the next scream, the next interrogation, the next blow.

You watched him move to the small table and pour something steaming into one of the mugs. Then, without pressure, he set it down on the crate beside you and stepped away again.

“I’ll sit right over here,” he said, nodding to the chair. “You don’t owe me anything. I just… thought maybe you shouldn’t wake up alone.”

That sentence.

That sentence hit something in you.

You stared at the mug. It was shaking. No—it was your hand. You gripped the blanket harder to stop it.

“I thought I was going to die in there,” you rasped. “I didn’t think anyone would come.”

He didn’t say you’re safe now. He didn’t say it’s over. Instead, his voice dropped low and sincere.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve seen what they do. To people who speak out. Who know too much.”

Your eyes lifted to his again.

“Why are you helping?”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Because someone should.”

You stared at him, then looked down again. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t oppressive. It breathed.

“I didn’t think any of you clones cared,” you admitted softly.

Howzer let out a slow exhale. “A lot don’t. Not anymore. Chips saw to that.”

You didn’t know what that meant yet, but you filed it away. It sounded like something buried deep.

He rubbed the back of his neck, then added, “But there are still some of us who remember what we fought for. What it was supposed to mean.”

You looked up. “And me?”

“You spoke up against the Empire. You tried to protect civilians. You mattered.” He paused, voice softening. “You still do.”

A strange sound escaped your throat—half sob, half laugh. You covered your face with your hands, shoulders curling inward. It was too much. Too kind. Too intimate after so long spent dehumanized.

“I don’t know how to be around people again,” you confessed. “I feel… broken.”

“Then be broken,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to be.”

You lowered your hands, blinking at him. His expression hadn’t changed. Steady. Open.

He moved again—slow, cautious—kneeling beside your cot so he didn’t loom.

“I can leave if you want,” he said. “Or I can stay. I won’t touch you unless you ask. But you don’t have to go through this next part alone.”

Your throat clenched. You didn’t know this man. And yet, his presence was the first thing since your arrest that felt real. Safe.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you whispered.

He nodded. “Then I’ll stay.”

You shifted the blanket, and after a moment’s hesitation, reached out. Your hand found his gauntleted wrist—just the edge of it, where skin met armor.

He didn’t move. Just stilled, like he didn’t want to scare you. Like the contact meant something to him, too.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

He gave a small nod. “You don’t have to thank me. You made it out. That’s enough.”

You held onto his wrist for a long time.

And when your breathing slowed, and the tears dried, he stayed right there, kneeling beside your cot, steady as a lifeline. No words. Just quiet company in a broken world.

And in that small, silent room, lit by the desert sun and filled with nothing but the sound of two survivors breathing, you finally began to believe that healing might be possible. That not all soldiers followed orders blindly. That kindness hadn’t been stamped out entirely.

Captain Howzer didn’t promise to fix you.

He simply offered to stay.

And in that moment, it was more than enough.

⸻

You couldn’t sleep.

Even in safety, your body hadn’t learned how to rest. The cot creaked when you shifted, the blanket tangled around your ankles, and the stale air felt heavier the longer you lay awake.

But what really kept you up were the memories—the sterile cell walls, the screaming, the waiting. The echo of boots outside a door that never opened. You hadn’t realized how deeply loneliness could burrow inside your ribs until you were finally out.

You sat up and pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, feet touching the cool floor.

A creak sounded outside the room.

You froze.

Then—Howzer’s voice, quiet, near the door. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” you answered softly.

He hesitated. Then, his silhouette appeared in the doorway, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the hallway lantern.

He was wearing only the bottom half of his armor—no chestplate, no pauldrons. Just a plain dark shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His expression was open, calm. He looked more like a man than a soldier tonight.

“Can’t sleep either?” you asked, voice hushed.

He shook his head once. “Too quiet, sometimes. Feels wrong.”

You understood that too well. The silence that had once meant peace now scraped against your thoughts like broken glass.

“I made some tea,” he offered after a pause. “Didn’t want to drink alone.”

You stood slowly and followed him into the main room. The safehouse was small—two bedrooms, one main area, and a kitchenette that looked like it hadn’t seen Republic service in years. It was old, but clean. Familiar now.

You sat across from him at the small table. The light was dim, warm. Between you sat two steaming mugs.

“This is becoming tradition,” you said, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic.

Howzer gave a low hum of amusement. “It’s the only thing I know how to make that doesn’t involve rations.”

You took a sip. “Still better than what the Empire served.”

His smile faded, and for a moment, he watched you too carefully—like he was searching for bruises no one could see.

“You’re sleeping more,” he said. “That’s good.”

“Not dreaming less,” you admitted.

“How long were you in there?”

You hesitated. “Three months. Maybe more. They stopped marking the days. I think they thought I’d break.”

A silence settled between you. But not a heavy one.

“They don’t like people who speak too loudly,” he said eventually.

“I didn’t scream when they came for me,” you murmured, almost surprised to hear the words aloud. “I thought… maybe that would mean something. That I stayed quiet. Dignified.”

Howzer’s voice was soft. “You don’t owe them your silence. Or your strength.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

His eyes weren’t cold, like the ones behind stormtrooper helmets. They were warm and tired and human. He looked like a man who had seen too much and decided to carry it anyway.

“You’re not like the others,” you said.

He shook his head once. “Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

His jaw tightened, and for a long moment, you thought he might not answer.

“I saw what they did to Ryloth,” he said finally. “The Empire. The orders. I followed them for too long. But one day… I just couldn’t anymore.”

He didn’t sound proud. He didn’t sound angry either.

He just sounded real.

“Do you regret it?” you asked.

“Every day. And I’d do it again.”

You swallowed hard. “That’s brave.”

“No,” he said quietly. “That’s necessary. Brave would’ve been doing it sooner.”

The silence between you changed. It warmed. Stretched. Your eyes lingered on his hands—strong, scarred, fingers curled around the mug like he was anchoring himself to something.

“You’re the first person who’s made me feel safe since…” You trailed off, unsure if you could finish.

He didn’t press. Just said, “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I want to.”

That surprised both of you.

You lowered your eyes to the table, your thumb tracing the rim of the mug. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel normal again. Or… human. But with you, I don’t feel broken. Just… healing.”

Howzer’s voice dropped to a hush. “You are human. You never stopped being.”

You looked up.

And the way he looked back at you—gentle, unwavering—made your chest ache.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you said. “I don’t know how to be close to someone again.”

Howzer reached out—slowly, carefully—and laid his hand on the table, palm up. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t move any closer.

But he offered.

And after a long moment, your hand found his.

You curled your fingers around his palm. The warmth of his skin grounded you, anchored you in the present.

“You don’t have to know how,” he said. “We can just sit here. That’s enough.”

The silence that followed was the good kind—the kind that let you breathe.

You didn’t realize how close you’d leaned until his forehead touched yours.

The contact was feather-light. Chaste. His breath ghosted across your cheek. His eyes stayed closed, and his free hand hovered near your elbow, waiting for you to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your forehead stayed against his, your fingers tightening around his.

“You’re gentle,” you whispered.

He smiled, barely a breath. “I have to be. You’ve had enough pain.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I don’t know if I can feel everything yet,” you admitted.

“That’s okay,” he said. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

And gods—how many people had said that and meant it?

You leaned into him, letting your weight rest partially against his chest. He adjusted, gently guiding you closer, until your cheek pressed against the space just below his collarbone. His arms wrapped around you slowly, hesitantly, then held you like you were something precious.

He didn’t try to deepen the moment. Didn’t press for more. He just held you. One hand in your hair, the other resting low on your back. His heartbeat against your cheek. Steady. Warm. Alive.

“I don’t want this to be temporary,” you whispered.

“Then it won’t be.”

You stayed like that until the lantern burned low, and your body stopped flinching at shadows.

And when you finally fell asleep—held safely in Howzer’s arms, your fingers still twined with his—you didn’t dream of the cell.

You dreamt of the desert wind.