#clone trooper hunter

Now, standing outside what could be called your quarters on the Marauder, he pressed his palm flat against the cold metal door. The ship hummed beneath his feet, that familiar vibration he’d learned to tune out years ago, but he focused past it. Through the door, he could hear you. The rustle of sheets. A long, shaky exhale. The quiet that followed felt heavy, oppressive, like the air pressure had shifted in that small space.

He’d tried giving you distance. Three rotations of it. Three rotations of watching you retreat further into yourself, your smiles not quite reaching your eyes, your voice a little too flat when you spoke. Tech had asked you about the datapad modifications yesterday, and Hunter had tracked the way you moved slower than usual, how your fingers fumbled with the tools like they weighed too much. You’d laughed it off. Made some joke about needing caf.

But your laugh sounded wrong. Empty.

Hunter knocked, two gentle raps of his knuckles.

“Yeah?” Your voice came muffled through the door, and he heard the scrape of movement, like you were trying to sit up.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

A pause. He could sense your heartbeat, that same slow, heavy rhythm. “Sure.”

The door slid open with a soft hiss, and he took in the scene with quiet concern. The bunk was a mess of tangled blankets, and you were half buried in them, propped against the wall. The lighting was dim, just the faint emergency strips along the floor, and in that low amber glow, he could see the exhaustion carved into your features. Dark circles shadowed your eyes. Your hair was disheveled. When you looked at him, there was a brittleness in your expression, like a leaf curling in on itself at the end of autumn, brown at the edges and barely clinging to the branch.

“Hey.” You tried for casual, but your voice cracked on the single syllable.

Hunter stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He could sense everything in the cramped quarters. The stale air that meant you hadn’t left this room in hours. The faint salt scent of tears, old ones, dried on your skin. The weight in your limbs when he moved closer, like gravity had doubled and you were too tired to fight it.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. That would’ve been pointless. Instead, he crossed to the bunk and sat on the edge, careful not to crowd you but close enough that his presence couldn’t be ignored.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” It wasn’t a question.

Your laugh came out tired, threadbare. “That obvious?”

“Your heartbeat’s been off. Slower.” He kept his tone soft, non-judgmental. “Has been for days.”

Something flickered across your face, surprise maybe, or embarrassment, and you looked away. Your fingers twisted in the blanket draped over your lap, worrying at a loose thread, the movement automatic and listless. “I’m fine, Hunter. Just tired.”

“You’re not fine.”

The words hung between you, simple and irrefutable, and he watched your shoulders sag. The fight drained out of you all at once, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable. Your breathing stayed shallow, deliberate, like each inhale was something you had to remember to do.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Hunter’s chest ached. He’d felt helpless before, plenty of times, usually when someone was bleeding out and the medkit was nowhere to be found. But this was different. This wasn’t something he could stitch up or cauterize.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he said firmly.

"Then why can't I just push through it?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. "You and your brothers… you just keep going. No matter what gets thrown at you, you adapt, you survive, you take on more. And I'm over here falling apart over nothing. I don't have a right to feel like this when you've all been through so much worse."

"Hey." Hunter's voice was firm but gentle. He shifted closer, and when you didn't pull away, he carefully wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Don't do that."

You went still for a moment, then slowly let yourself lean into him, your forehead resting against his chest plate. The coolness of the armor pressed into your skin, grounding. Real.

"We keep going because we have to," he continued quietly. "Because if we stop, we don't survive. But that doesn't mean it doesn't cost us. And it doesn't mean what you're feeling isn't valid."

Comforted by the privacy of his stature, you few quiet tears slipped free, dampening the fabric near his collar. For a few moments, you simply existed there in his hold, too tired to argue, too worn down to keep pretending.

Your fingers rested against his armor and Hunter kept his hold steady, patient. He'd learned a long time ago that sometimes people didn't need him to fix things or say the right words. Sometimes they just needed someone willing to sit in the heaviness with them, to not flinch away from the weight of it.

He didn't know how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other in the dim quiet of your quarters. Long enough for his knees to start protesting the angle. Long enough for your breathing to even out, for the tension to slowly bleed from your frame. When you finally pulled back, your eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, your cheeks blotchy, and Hunter thought you'd never looked more human.

"Sorry," you rasped.

He reached up, using his thumb to gently wipe away the remaining tears from your cheeks. "Don't apologize."

"I got your armor all wet."

"It'll dry." His mouth quirked, almost a smile. "Not the first time. Won't be the last."

That got a watery laugh out of you, small but genuine, and something in his chest loosened. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair back from your face with careful fingers. His hand lingered there, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, and your eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

"When's the last time you ate something?" he asked.

You were quiet for a beat too long.

"Right." He stood, already moving toward the door. "Come on."

"Hunter, I can't—"

"You can." He turned back, extending a hand.

Your gaze dropped to his outstretched palm, and he could see the war playing out behind your eyes. The urge to retreat, to hide, battling against something else. Something that wanted to reach out. Wanted to accept the lifeline he was offering.

Slowly, shakily, you placed your hand in his.

The main hold was empty when you arrived, but Hunter had commed ahead. By the time he got you settled on one of the supply crates, the others started filtering in. Wrecker first, his massive frame taking up most of the narrow space, and Hunter didn't miss the way the big guy's expression softened when he saw you.

"Hey!" Wrecker's voice boomed, but he tempered it, gentler than usual. "There you are! We've been missin' ya."

You managed a small smile, though it wavered at the edges. "Hi, Wrecker."

Before you could react, he crossed the hold and pulled you into a hug, lifting you clean off the crate. Your spine popped in three places, and when he set you back down, there was the ghost of relief in your posture.

"There ya go," Wrecker said proudly, like he'd just solved all your problems. He dropped down beside you, the crate groaning under his weight, and dug into his pack. "Here, I saved ya some of those dried meiloorun slices from our last supply run. The good ones, not the chewy ones Tech keeps buyin'."

Before you could thank him, Tech appeared, datapad in hand as always. He adjusted his goggles, a tell Hunter recognized as concern, and took a spot near the wall since the crates were filling up.

"I have been reviewing the sleep cycle data from the ship's environmental controls," Tech announced, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation starter. "Your quarters have been experiencing a point three degree fluctuation in temperature during the night cycle. Suboptimal conditions for rest. I will recalibrate the system."

Hunter caught the way your expression shifted, something warm breaking through the exhaustion. Tech's way of showing he cared was rarely conventional, but it was always sincere.

"Thank you, Tech," you said quietly.

"It is a simple matter of environmental regulation." He adjusted his goggles again, already pulling up the ship's schematics on his datapad. "I will have it corrected within the hour."

Omega bounded in alongside Echo, her energy infectious as always, and Echo's thoughtful as he took in the scene. He didn't say anything at first, just settled on your other side with the careful deliberation of someone who understood what it meant to have dark days. The pair watched as Omega bounded between Wrecker, eyed the dried fruit on the supply crate, and immediately grabbed a piece.

"Hey! Those are for 'er!" Wrecker protested, reaching out and snagging Omega by the ankle. She squealed, laughing as he gently tugged her off balance.

"Wrecker! Let go!"

"Not until you put it back!" But he was grinning, and Tech sighed dramatically.

"The resulting caloric loss from a single piece of fruit is negligible," Tech announced, which somehow turned into Crosshair muttering something about Tech's definition of negligible, and suddenly the three of them were bickering.

The noise created a pocket of space, and Echo used it. His scomp link rested against his knee, and after a moment, he spoke, his voice low enough that only you and Hunter could hear.

"You know, after Skako Minor, there were days I couldn't get out of my rack." His voice was quiet, matter of fact. "Felt like I was still in that stasis chamber sometimes. Like I'd forgotten how to be a person."

Hunter watched you turn toward Echo, really look at him, and saw recognition flicker in your eyes. Someone who understood.

"What did you do?" you asked.

"Learned it was okay to have those days. That they didn't make me broken." Echo's organic hand came to rest on your shoulder, a solid, grounding weight. "And I let these idiots help, even when I didn't want to."

A scoff came from the shadows near the weapons rack, and Hunter's jaw tightened as Crosshair stepped into the dim light, a toothpick rolling between his lips. The sniper had been lingering there the whole time, Hunter realized, listening but keeping his distance.

"You gonna lecture her about feelings now?" Crosshair drawled, but there was no real bite to it.

"Cross," Hunter warned.

But you surprised them both by letting out a weak laugh. "It's okay."

Crosshair studied you for a long moment, his keen eyes picking apart details the way he'd scan a battlefield. Then he moved, fluid and precise, dropping something into your lap. A small toolkit, the one you'd been looking for two rotations ago when you'd mentioned your datapad acting up.

"Found it in the cargo hold," he said with a shrug, like it was nothing. Like he hadn't spent time searching for it because he'd noticed you needed it. "Figured you'd want it back."

Your fingers closed around the toolkit, and Hunter tracked the shift in your pulse. Steadier now. Calmer.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Crosshair's expression didn't change, but he gave a short nod before retreating back to his corner.

The conversation around you continued, Wrecker now trying to convince Omega that she owed you two pieces of fruit for stealing one, her protest dissolving into giggles. In the midst of the chaos, she wiggled free and plopped down near you, still clutching her contraband.

"Will you help me with my studies later?" she asked, bumping her shoulder against yours. "There's this navigation problem I can't figure out. You're way better at explaining than Tech."

"I am right here," Tech said without looking up from his datapad.

"You use too many big words," Omega replied simply, popping the fruit into her mouth with a satisfied grin.

You huffed a laugh, and Hunter felt it like a victory. He moved to the small galley counter, pulling together something simple. Ration bars weren't exactly gourmet, but he warmed them up, added some of the preserved fruit they'd bartered for on their last supply run, and poured a cup of caf that he deliberately made weaker than you usually took it. You needed rest more than stimulants.

"I'm not really hungry," you started, but he cut you off with a look.

"Try anyway."

Hunter set the plate within reach, then settled onto the crate beside you. His shoulder pressed against yours, a steady point of contact.

The conversation flowed around you, Wrecker recounting some ridiculous story about a mission gone sideways, Omega interjecting with her own commentary, Tech fact-checking every third sentence. It was noise, familiar and comforting, and Hunter kept his attention split between the banter and you. Monitoring. Making sure you didn't fade away.

At some point, you picked at the food. Not much, but it did taste a lot better than regular ration bars.

After the food was cleared, Omega tugged on your sleeve. "Come on, I wanna show you something."

You let her pull you to your feet, and Hunter watched as she led you toward the bunks, chattering about a new holonovel she'd found. Tech followed, still lecturing about proper narrative structure, and Wrecker clapped a massive hand on your shoulder as he passed, gentle despite his strength.

Hunter stayed in the galley, giving you space but keeping his senses attuned. He could track your movement through the ship, could hear Omega's bright voice and your softer responses. The knot that had been sitting in his gut for three days was finally starting to unravel.

Later, after Omega had fallen asleep mid-sentence and Tech had retreated to his data analysis, Hunter found you standing in the corridor outside your "quarters." You were staring at the door like it was some kind of insurmountable obstacle, your arms wrapped around yourself.

He approached slowly, deliberately making noise so he wouldn't startle you. "Need company?"

You turned, and in the low light, your eyes were overly bright. "I don't want to be alone," you admitted, the words so quiet he almost missed them. "But I don't want to be a burden either."

"You're not." He moved closer, closing the distance until he was right in front of you. "You could never be."

"Hunter..."

You were quiet for a long moment, staring at the door like it took too much energy to look at him. "I don't know how to make it stop."

"You don't have to fix it tonight." Hunter shifted closer, his presence solid and unhurried. "Just get through tonight. Then we'll handle tomorrow when it comes."

"One day at a time?"

"One day at a time," he confirmed. "And you're not doing it alone."

Your breath shuddered out, something loosening in your chest. "Thank you. For... for checking on me. For bringing everyone together like that." You glanced back toward where the main hold was, where you could still hear the muffled sounds of the squad settling in for the night. "I know I've been useless lately, but you all... you didn't have to do any of this."

"You're not useless," Hunter said firmly. "And we wanted to. All of us."

Your breath hitched, and then you were surging forward, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried against his chest again. Hunter held you close, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed across your shoulders. He could feel your heartbeat against his, no longer stalling nor racing, but settling into a rhythm that matched his own.

"Stay," you mumbled against his armor. "Please."

"He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, soft and lingering. "Okay."

He guided you back into your quarters, and this time the space didn't feel oppressive. He shed his armor, piece by piece, setting it carefully aside until he was down to his blacks. You watched him with something fragile and hopeful in your expression, and when he climbed into the bunk beside you, you didn't hesitate. You curled into his side, head on his chest, one hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

Hunter wrapped his arms around you, feeling the way you slowly relaxed against him. Your breathing deepened, evened out, and he focused on that. On the steady rise and fall of your chest. On the warmth of you pressed against him. On the fact that you were here, you were safe, and you were letting him help.

"Hunter?" Your voice was drowsy, already half asleep.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He tightened his hold, pressing another kiss to your hair. "Always."

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