#cb2025

"You two are together, right? Like Crosshair and Hunter."

"Yes," Tech replies. "Is that the information you were seeking? Because you already know that."

Wrecker's mouth opens in a wide O. "Oh, do ya mean if we're bonded mates like Hunter and Cross?"

"Um, yeah." Echo runs his fingers over his own mark. The mark is still raised, but feels dull, not vibrant and alive like before.

Tech looks at him, puzzled, tilting his head to the side. "You can easily see we're not." To emphasize this he bares his neck, proving that there is no claiming mark. "We are together, as a couple, like Hunter and Crosshair are to each other."

"We just haven't marked each other." Wrecker takes Tech's hand, and covers it with his own, intertwining their fingers.

"I am confused by this line of inquiry," Tech states. "Can you please explain?"

Echo shrugs. "I dunno." They show their affection so freely, Echo thinks. "I…" He can feel his cheeks heat up again. "I…" How can he explain that yes, he wants to keep in touch with the Bad Batch, but specifically with Tech and Wrecker? Ever since they rescued him on Skako Minor he's felt a strange pull towards them. "I dunno."

Tech hums, a hint of skepticism, and opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it as a sharp whistle rings through the air. The beta and omega turn as one to see their alphas waiting on the ramp to the Marauder.

"I suppose that we must part ways." Tech's gaze falls to his feet. Echo notices that the omega is tapping his fingers on his thigh—a nervous tick?

"Um, th—thanks again for the datapad." Echo wants to kick himself—fumbling over his words and sounding like a fool. "I'll call you as soon as I can. Maybe tonight or tomorrow?"

Tech smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll hold you to that."

Wrecker steps forward, wrapping his arms around Echo and lifting him off his feet. "I'm gonna miss ya, Echo." He squeezes him, and gently puts him down. "You're a good guy." The beta bumps their shoulders. "I hope we'll see ya again."

Despite the agony of bearing witness to the hollow shells left behind, Fives wants to remain in his vode's presence. To hold their memories close as he passes them in corridors, and listen to the soft sound of vode asleep in bunkrooms. He misses them, though they are right there with him.

The order to board the new Star Destroyer is given. The soft edge of Cody’s words are lost to the chip as he barks the order, his voice almost unrecognisable. The assembled troopers move as one, and Fives lets his training take over as they march forwards. Rows of brothers embarking on their next assignment. It shouldn’t be different than it was in the war, of vode marching away to the stars, but the shells around him are hollow. There will be no minds aboard this vessel. Vader stands there and watches, his blank visor reflecting the emptiness in the vode's gaze. Fives focuses on the white plastoid in front, and marches.

That’s all for now. If you wanna see more, you gotta wait till December 👀👀

Bacara slid off the stool and went after him. At first, Fox did not seem to notice or care, but a little ways out onto the platform outside the door of the bar, he stopped and turned. “What do you want?”

“You know, I was told to pester you.”

Immediately Fox's already perfect posture went ramrod straight, so quickly Bacara winced. His back would not thank him for that. “Is that so?” Fox asked, voice cold enough Bacara thought there might be ice crystals inside his bucket when he breathed out. 

“No, I mean, by Wolffe,” Bacara said. “When I asked what to do on leave.” 

Fox's bucket tilted, but at least he no longer looked like he was about to snap his own spine through tension. “By Wolffe?” he asked, and his voice changed, almost warming back up to room temperature at Wolffe’s name. “The 104th doesn't have anyone on leave.” He gave Bacara's bare face a long look. “The Marines are here, though.”

“Do you keep track of us, Fox?” Bacara asked, a little surprised, because that was outside the Coruscant Guard's purview. Clones on leave technically fell under the Coruscant Security Forces, as the Guard's main mission was to protect the Senate and government buildings. 

Though Bacara heard that had recently been expanded to the prison on Coruscant as well. He supposed that was a government building, if you stretched the definition past the point of good sense. 

The question seemed to make Fox uncomfortable, though nothing like he had been earlier, when Bacara stupidly said he had been sent to pester him. “Sometimes,” he said, an attempted dodge. 

“Has it really been that long since Kamino?” Bacara asked. 

“We talked three times,” Fox said. “It's not like we were close, or have gotten any closer since.”

“Oddly specific and accurate memory of the times you talked to someone you weren't close to,” Bacara said dryly. 

Fox shrugged. “Have a nice leave, Bacara,” and that time when he started walking, Bacara stayed where he was, swaying slightly on the platform outside the club. Brothers were everywhere, taking taxis and speeders, and he eyed some of the speeders up, vaguely comparing them to the BARCs he and Neyo ran in the field. 

But standing there wasn't getting him anywhere, and he still was alone on Coruscant. The drinks hadn't helped at all. 

As they advanced, they encountered more droid units, and denser units. These ones didn't seem as permanent, attached not to locations but their leaders. In fact, some of them were retreating, heading past the squad the way they came. That could only be a good thing. The battle for Christophsis was ending, and it looked like the right side was going to win. Chopper was only disappointed he couldn’t join his brothers on the front lines as he knew he was meant to.

The reason Chopper wasn’t fighting alongside Captain Rex was currently blinking himself awake. Chopper fought the desire to smack him across the face, but settled for a flick on the forehead. “And here I thought the Republic needed my brain intact.” Slick mumbled. 

“Yeah, but you’ve gotta be pretty thick-headed, so I figure that won’t do any harm.” Chopper retorted. He turned away from Slick, popping one of his belt pouches open. The droid fingers inside ticked quietly against one another as Chopper touched them, reassuring himself they were still there. The pouch clicked shut again, Chopper painfully aware of how every time he opened it, the hinge and latch grew looser, more likely to fall off and expose him.

There were many times Chopper considered adding to his collection, and more opportunities to do so. He wouldn’t though. Not on his life.

He opened the front hatch onto a suburban area, in what appeared to have been a commercial district. The cracked street was lined with dozens of storefronts, most sharing the same few buildings. 

Sprays of scorch marks and craters pockmarked the walls, obscuring the signs and advertisements. Graffiti lost its message as chunks of the concrete canvas had been thrown far from their designed position. Snowdrifts of abandoned merchandise were scattered across the street through the shattered transparisteel windows of their native shops. Chopper couldn't tell if it had been bombs or looters who freed them. 

He climbed onto the lower flare of the tank, feeling the worn repulsorlifts sway under the changing weight. Above him, straddling the cannon, was one of his brothers. “Punch?” Chopper asked. He preferred the company of his batchmate over Alloy. The two of them, Punch and Chopper, could talk more or less freely about Slick, whereas around Alloy they had to constantly watch their mouths.

“G’morning,” Punch said, swinging down to lean against the hull, “Slick awake?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Chopper replied. “Perfect.” Punch said. “Come on. I want to have a talk with our sergeant. Alloy and Haye are out looking for supplies, should take them a while.”

“And who’ll keep watch? What if we’re ambushed?” Chopper replied, looking around. The town looked abandoned, but he wouldn’t take that chance.