So I shared this with the wonderful @jangofctts already but I was embarrassed by my horrible lack of basic editing. Here's a better version. Thank you @jangofctts for creating such a wonderful character and a wonderful squad as a whole. If you haven't checked out Sunburst Squad you need to. Now.
Title: Unclean
Characters: Reader/Void of Jangofctts’ Sunburst Squad
Summary: We all reach a breaking point, some are just lucky to have someone to cradle our landing.
Warnings: vague mentions of the horrors of war. mild allusion to PTSD. Angst/softness.
Word Count: 1K
He’s staring at his hands when you walk out of the small field theatre.
Disgust roils in your gut. Another day of war. Another life wasted. You peel off your gloves and hear them smack wetly against the bin as they hit the edge and slide down the side.
That’s when you see him turn the water on again. The steam hits the air forming a protective cloud around him. The air is crisp otherwise and a harsh breeze sneaks under a side of the makeshift field hospital.
Void applies soap and scrubs. You can see the almost methodical way he normally cleaned begin to become frantic. He’s digging harder. His short blunted nails scratch against the palm of his hand, the paler skin blooming into harsh red between the scalding water and manic way he works at it.
“Void?” You say his name. He doesn’t twitch. You take a step closer and say it louder. “Void?”
The clone and you had become friends of a sort. You slipped steaming caf under each other’s noses when bad days happened You slide ration packs in front of homescreens to remind each other to eat. You didn’t speak much but this life didn’t allow for much idle chatter. You knew Void didn’t sleep enough, you knew he liked his caf black with just a splash of cream, you knew he valued the lives of his brothers and those in his care more than his own. That’s all you needed to know.
You watch as Void’s hands stop their furious work and grip the edge of the sink basin.
“Void?”
“They’re not clean.” He says looking down into the still running water. “They won’t come clean.”
There’s nothing normal about his voice. The strain, the way it cracks as if he’s hanging on a razors edge. Void was steady if not a little irritable. Void could control himself. Why was the man you were staring at sounding like he was seconds from breaking.
You all have been these last few days. It was a brutal campaign run by a young Jedi Knight who was getting more men killed than not.
He says your name quietly.
“I’m here.”
He reaches for the soap again and this time you take it before he can start, insinuating yourself into his space. His head tracks slowly to yours and he blinks dumbly. Dark circles crowd under his eyes. You think to ask the last time he’s slept but it has to be just as long ago as your last time. Maybe longer.
“They’re not clean yet.” He says again slowly, the words gritted out through his teeth, “I need them clean.”
“Let me help you?” He doesn’t fight you as you set the soap down and cup his hands in your own. They’re red front and back from his attempts to clean them free of any dirt or debris but otherwise pristine. You frown but turn away before he can see.
The first thing you do is turn the hot water down. It’s luke warm after only a minute and you're sure there’s a trooper who will thank you for not letting all the hot water be drained from the small travel tanks. You feel it against your wrist like checking milk from a baby's bottle. Body temperature and perfect you step between him and the sink. It’s a snug fit and you can feel him pressed along your back. Tension radiates through his tired frame. He says nothing as you take his hands in yours and move his arms around your body. Slowly you run them under the water before grabbing the soap. Void is taller than you, heavily muscled and broad but he’s incredibly gentle when he sets his chin on your shoulder.
You set his hands on the edge of the sink and lather your own before picking up one of his. You use the slippery soap to slide your fingers over and around his hand. Your fingers slip through his and your thumbs press and massage along his thumb and along the lines of his palm.
A ragged breath travels past your ear and goosebumps travel down your spine.
You rinse the soap from both your hands and then relather before picking up his other and repeating the process. The tension bleeds from his body. You can feel the tired weight pressing into you but you don’t care, just brace one leg against the sink for support.
“Why are you doing this?” The question is whispered like he’s almost afraid to ask. You rinse his hand and shut the water off. A stack of towels sit on the shelf above you and Void reaches up and grabs one when you can’t reach.
You turn and find yourself locked between his arms. You still don’t answer. You don’t even look at him as you take the towel and dry the first hand.
“Why?” He asks again.
This time you can’t stop yourself from looking up into his tired imploring eyes. He’s seen a lifetime of pain and yet still hasn’t known any of the good. Maybe that was what was so hard about losing troopers these days. It wasn’t just a life lost. It was a life unlived wasted on someone else’s war.
“We look out for each other, right?” You offer a watery smile, feeling your own emotions from the day weighing you down. “All clean.” You try to sound perky but suddenly his gaze is too much and you feel like if you don’t get away you are going to wither under it.
You toss the towel in the bin and duck under one of his arms. Your focus is on the door and then on getting to your rack and getting a few hours of sleep before the next wave of wounded rolls in. You're almost free when Void’s hand on your arm stops you, spins you slowly to him.
Void doesn’t break eye contact with you as he takes your hands in his own. He brings each in turn to his mouth and presses dry chapped lips to one than the other.
“Thank you.”
