#ct001

It started because Wrecker couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"I'm just sayin’," Wrecker announced to no one and everyone, dropping onto one of the Marauder's cockpit seats, "that Nola from the supply depot was askin’ about you, Echo. Specifically. By name."

Echo didn't look up from the console he was running diagnostics on. "No."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

"You were going to ask me if I wanted you to set something up." He turned a dial. "No."

Wrecker looked at you. His grin was enormous. You looked back down at your work, because if you made eye contact with him right now you were going to laugh and Echo would know you were on Wrecker's side, which you weren't. 

This was a recurring event. Every port, every depot, every settlement with more than four people in it, someone decided Echo needed a partner. 

The thing was, it had taken the squad an embarrassingly long time to find Echo's weak spot. Hunter got his by mentioning any amount of effort he put into his hair. Tech's was any implication that he might have gotten something wrong. Wrecker didn't really have one, which was deeply unfair. Echo had been impervious to everything until three weeks ago when someone floated the idea of setting him up with a contact on Felucia and something in his expression cracked. Wrecker, of course, grabbed onto that immediately.

Since then it had become the squad's favorite sport.

"She has great aim," Wrecker offered. "You like aim."

Echo picked up his tool again. "I'm done talking about this."

Wrecker caught your eye and mouthed he likes aim with visible joy.

You smirked and pressed your lips together to keep from laughing, but took the moment to assess Echo’s less-than-pleased expression.

You knew Echo hated it. He'd actually told you once, sitting on the ship's ramp while everyone else was asleep. He said it made him feel like people were looking at him and only seeing what was missing. Just like the scomp where his hand used to be. The cybernetic legs that carried him with a soldier's posture regardless, back straight, chin level. His body, whether human or machine, still remembered the Republic even when everything else had changed.

You sat with that thought for a long time after.

You brought it up the next morning, when the ship was quiet and the two of you were running inventory in the cargo hold.

"I have a solution to your problem," you said.

Echo looked up from the crate he was logging.

You set down a supply kit. "If you tell everyone we're together, they'll drop it."

He looked up. His brows pulled in slightly and he set the datapad down, eyes on your face.

"That's going to create other problems," he said.

"Like what?"

The corner of his mouth moved. "Hunter will see through it."

"Hunter sees through everything and doesn't say anything. He'll let it go." You shrugged. "It stops the setups. You stop getting that look on your face every time Wrecker opens his mouth. Everybody wins."

"What look?"

"The one you're doing right now." His jaw was tight and his eyes had gone somewhere flat, the look of a man waiting for something unpleasant to be over.

Then he looked up at you, and the tension in his jaw eased a little. "You'd actually do that for me?"

"Yeah," you said. "I would."

He nodded slowly. "Alright. Thank you."

You decided to tell them at dinner.

It felt like the lowest stakes version of the thing. Everyone was tired, Hunter was focused on the nav charts, Tech was eating with one hand and datapad-ing with the other. Wrecker was the only one fully present, which was either ideal or the worst possible scenario depending on how you looked at it.

You were sitting next to Echo already. You looked at him, a silent whenever you're ready, and he looked back at you for just a second before turning to the table.

"We're together," he said. Simple.

You shifted closer to him and wrapped both hands around his arm, the way you had seen people do. Easy, natural, like you had done it before. It was for the room. You knew it was for the room. His arm was warm under your hands and solid in the way everything about Echo was solid, and you looked at the table and told yourself to focus.

The ship hummed as the eyes of the rest of the Batch all fixated on two two of you. Your heart was doing something stupid and fast in your chest that you were hoping wasn't visible.

Wrecker put his fork down. He looked at Echo. He looked at you. He looked back at Echo.

"CALLED IT," he bellowed, loud enough that Hunter's head came up sharply and Tech's datapad slipped out of his hand. "I called it, I said it, nobody listened to me—"

"You did not call it," Tech said, retrieving the datapad from the floor.

"I implied it."

"You implied nothing, you were actively trying to set him up with someone else yesterday—"

"That was a test."

"That was not a test, Wrecker. A test is a procedure intended to establish the quality, performance, or reliability of something. You have no idea what a test is—"

You felt Echo exhale beside you, slow and quiet, and when you glanced at him his eyes were closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them he looked at you, and the corner of his mouth pulled up just slightly, and something in your chest stopped racing and went warm instead.

You shifted your hold on Echo's arm and leaned your head against his shoulder, because Wrecker was watching and you were supposed to be convincing. Echo went still for half a second. Then his posture shifted, just slightly, making room for you.

"See," Wrecker said, pointing at the two of you with his fork like he had just proven something in to the Galactic Senate.

"Eat your food," Echo said.

Hunter looked at you both across the table. He didn't say anything. He just nodded once, like he'd already known and had simply been waiting for you to catch up, and went back to his charts.

Omega leaned over and grabbed your arm with both hands. "I knew it," she whispered, delighted.

"Wrecker's rubbing off on you," you told her.

From across the table Wrecker was still going. "I want everyone to acknowledge that I saw this coming—"

"Nobody is acknowledging that," Echo said.

The table got loud again with Tech and Wrecker going back and forth, and you lifted your head off Echo's shoulder. He didn't say anything about it. Neither did you. But you were aware of the warmth his shoulder had left behind and you focused very carefully on your food for the rest of dinner.

The plan you set into motion worked immediately and completely.

Wrecker celebrated by making himself as involved as possible. He started referring to you as a unit, saved you adjacent seats without being asked, and physically relocated Tech once so you could sit next to Echo at a briefing, which Tech objected to at length while Wrecker ignored him entirely.

The briefing was the first time it felt like actual pressure. Hunter was running through the Genosis job, holomap lit blue in the centre of the room, and you were aware of Wrecker and Omega watching the two of you. Echo must have felt it too because his arm came up along the back of your seat, loose and easy, like it was nothing. Like he had done it a hundred times.

He, of course, hadn't, but you kept your eyes on the holomap. Hunter was talking about entry points. You retained next to none of it.

At some point Echo leaned forward to point something out on the map and the arm dropped. When he sat back he didn't put it up again. You didn't know whether you were relieved or not, but you forced yourself to not think about it.

"This is getting out of hand," Echo said after a few weeks of doing this dance they did. The two of you were standing in the Marauder's small corridor while Wrecker's voice carried through from the cockpit, loud and pleased with himself.

"Yeah, two rooms,” he told their contact, “One for the squad and one for my brother and his girl."

You and Echo looked at each other.

He moved toward the cockpit first. You followed, and by the time you got there Wrecker had already ended the comm and was turning around with the expression of someone who had done something very generous and wanted credit for it.

"You're welcome," he said.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Echo said.

"No, but I did it anyway. You're together now. You need your own room." He paused. "You're welcome," he said again, since the first time hadn't landed.

You stepped around Echo and touched Wrecker's arm. "That was really thoughtful," you said, and it came out warm. "Thank you."

Wrecker's whole face opened up. "See," he said, pointing at you and looking at Echo. "That's how you respond."

You turned back to Echo. He was looking at you with an expression that was doing its best to stay neutral and not entirely succeeding. You gave him a small smile and mouthed it's fine.

Something in his shoulders dropped half an inch.

"Thank you, Wrecker," he said, with the energy of a man who had lost a battle gracefully.

Wrecker clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. "That's what I thought."

Genosis was loud and warm and the streets from the landing pad to the depot were packed enough that you and Echo moved close together without forcing it.

Omega was just behind with Hunter and Wrecker was somewhere further back, loudly narrating the market stalls to Tech, which meant the whole squad had a clear sightline and you both knew it.

Echo's hand found yours. You looked straight ahead and matched his pace and told yourself this was the job.

A vendor called out from a stall to your left and you instinctively turned to look. When you turned back a strand of hair had fallen across your face. Echo reached over without dropping your hand and tucked it behind your ear, the scomp tracing a cool, careful line along your cheekbone. Sure, you guys had this act going on, but you hadn’t been this close to his face before. You could see the faint scar at his jaw, the steadiness in his eyes, the unusual absence of self-consciousness in what he'd just done.

Then he was looking ahead. Just keeping up appearances.

You faced forward and said nothing.

The room Wrecker had booked was small, which you suspected had less to do with the depot's availability and more to do with Wrecker specifically requesting it. There were two narrow windows, a table, and one bed.

Echo stood in the doorway and took it in without expression.

"I'll take the floor," he said the moment the door swung shut.

"Echo."

"It's fine. I've slept in worse." He was already moving toward the corner, pulling his jacket off and folding it with the automatic precision of someone who had spent years making do with whatever space a bunk or a battlefield offered. 

His jaw was tight.

You sat on the edge of the bed and watched him arrange nothing in particular in the corner and felt something pull at you that you'd been ignoring for longer than you wanted to admit.

"You don't have to sleep on the floor," you said.

"Well, I'm not putting you on the floor."

"That's not what I said."

He stopped. His back was still to you. He stood there long enough that the street noise outside filled the room, someone laughing below, music drifting up thin and distant, and then he turned around.

"This got complicated," he said.

"I know."

"I don't want to make things strange between us."

You looked at him. "Things are already strange. They've been strange since I suggested this mess."

He crossed the room and sat on the other end of the bed, forearms on his cybernetic knees, eyes on the floor.The silence stretched long enough that you started to regret opening your mouth.

Then he said, "I stopped pretending a while ago."

You looked at him.

"That's why I didn't want things to get strange between us." He kept his eyes on the floor. "Not because of the cover. Because I didn't want you to find out and have it change everything."

"When did it stop being pretend for you," you asked.

He was quiet for a moment. "The briefing. You had your head on my shoulder and I spent the whole time trying to remember what Hunter was saying."

You laughed once, short and surprised. "Me too."

He looked up at that, eyebrows raised.

"I kept telling myself I was helping a friend," you said. "And I was. I meant it when I offered. But somewhere in the middle of all of it I stopped having to pretend to want to be close to you, and I didn't know what to do with that." You looked at your hands. "I didn't want to lose you over it. You're my friend first. That mattered more than whatever this was."

The room was quiet.

"Is," he said.

You looked up.

"Whatever this is," he said. "Not was."

He reached over and his hand covered yours, warm and steady. He didn't say anything else for a moment. With Echo, you had learned, silence usually meant he was making sure he got the next part right.

"I don't want to pretend anymore," he said. "I want the actual thing."

You turned your hand over under his.

"That's what I want too," you told him.

Outside the city kept its noise and the music floated up from somewhere below. The two of you stayed in the room that night, and none of it felt like pretending.

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Echo had been a soldier long enough to recognize patterns. The way Wrecker checked his reflections in polished surfaces after that explosion left scars across his face. How Tech adjusted his goggles three times before speaking when he was uncertain. How Hunter touched the left side of his head when the sensory input overwhelmed him.

And how you never asked for anything.

You'd spent the past week making sure everyone had something for Christmas. You'd tracked down a rare manual on prototype ship modifications for Tech, found Wrecker some kind of explosive compound he'd been wanting to experiment with, and somehow acquired a set of vibroblades for Hunter that were perfectly balanced for his enhanced senses. Even Omega had received a hand-carved tooka doll that you'd clearly spent hours on, working late in the cargo hold when you thought everyone was asleep.

But when Hunter asked what you wanted, you just shook your head. "I'm good. Really."

Echo knew that response. He'd given it himself too many times after Skako Minor, when the others tried to make up for limbs and brothers and a life he'd never get back. I'm good meant don't look too closely. It meant I can handle what I'm carrying.

The problem was, he had looked closely. Not intentionally at first. He'd simply noticed things because that's what his conditioning had drilled into him: observe, assess, adapt. The Techno Union had stripped away his ability to ignore details. Every computation his scomp link ran, every system he interfaced with, every battle calculation that scrolled through his neural implants had sharpened his awareness until he couldn't turn it off.

So he'd noticed.

You wrapped your left wrist at night, methodical and tight, before climbing into your bunk. Some old injury that probably ached in the cold of hyperspace. You'd chew the inside of your cheek when you were worried, leaving it raw. And your gloves were falling apart. Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone else would see. But the stitching along the index finger of your right glove had unraveled, and you'd tried to repair it yourself with the wrong thread weight. It wouldn't hold much longer.

You needed new gloves. But more than that, you needed ones that would work for the kind of repairs you did, the delicate wiring and precision work that kept the Marauder flying. The kind that were hard to find and harder to afford.

Echo had always been good at slicing. Even before the Separatists rebuilt him, he'd had a knack for getting into systems he wasn't supposed to access. Now, with ports built into his body, it was even easier. He found a supplier on Ord Mantell, a black market vendor who dealt in military surplus. The gloves were listed as "tactical," designed for demolitions experts who needed dexterity and durability. They were expensive. More than he should spend.

He bought them anyway.

Getting them altered was harder. He'd had to comm an old contact, someone who owed him a favor from back when he'd been with the 501st. It took three days and most of his personal credits, but they modified the fingertips with conductive threading so you could work on live circuits without shorting anything out. A practical feature. Something you'd actually use.

Christmas morning came with the stale recycled air of the Marauder and Wrecker's enthusiastic shouting. Omega tore into her gifts with the unselfconscious joy of someone who hadn't spent most of her life in a Kaminoan facility, and for a moment, Echo let himself feel something adjacent to contentment.

You were smiling. The real kind, not the one you used when you were trying to convince everyone you were fine. You watched Omega's excitement and Tech's genuine appreciation for his manual and Wrecker's immediate desire to blow something up, and your shoulders had finally dropped from where you usually held them up near your ears.

Echo waited until the chaos had settled, until everyone was distracted with their new acquisitions. Then he crossed to where you sat on the edge of the cargo hold, legs dangling, nursing a cup of caf that had gone cold an hour ago.

"Got something for you," he said.

You looked up, startled. "Echo, you didn't have to—"

"I know." He held out the package. Small, wrapped in plain brown paper because he'd never been good at presentation. The scomp link on his left arm whirred softly as he adjusted his grip, a sound he'd long stopped being self-conscious about around you. "You need them."

You took the package slowly, like you weren't sure what to do with it. When you pulled the paper away and saw the gloves, your expression did something complicated. Surprise, maybe. Something else underneath it.

"These are..." You turned them over, examining the quality, the reinforced palms, the conductive fingertips. You went very still when you noticed that detail. "How did you know?"

"You've been repairing the starboard thruster coupling with your bare hands," Echo said. "Saw you flinch last week when you touched the wrong wire. Figured you could use something that wouldn't get you shocked."

You were quiet for a long moment, running your thumb over the stitching. When you looked up at him, there was something in your eyes that made his chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with his cybernetics.

"You pay attention," you said softly.

"Yeah." He sat down beside you, his prosthetic legs extending with the faint hydraulic hiss that accompanied most of his movements now. "Someone has to."

You smiled, and this time it reached your eyes. "Thank you, Echo. Really."

"They're just gloves," he said, even though you both knew they weren't.

You pulled them on, flexing your fingers experimentally. They fit perfectly. Of course they did. He'd measured your old pair when you'd left them in the cockpit three days ago, had calculated the exact dimensions and sent them to his contact.

"They're perfect," you said.

Echo felt something warm settle in the hollow spaces the Techno Union had left behind. He'd spent so long feeling like he was assembled from spare parts, like he was less than what he'd been before. But sitting here, watching you examine the gift he'd chosen, seeing the way you looked at him like he'd given you something that mattered—maybe being observant wasn't just another side effect of what had been done to him. Maybe it was something he could choose to be good at.

"Merry Christmas," he said quietly.

You leaned your shoulder against his, a gentle pressure that didn't demand anything. "Merry Christmas, Echo."

Outside the ship, Ord Mantell's artificial lights flickered in patterns that almost looked like stars. Inside, for the first time in a long time, Echo felt like he'd done something right.

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The ice rink on Pabu wasn't what Echo expected. Natural, formed in a shallow valley where winter settled cold and still. Hunter had mentioned it in passing, said the locals used it when the temperature dropped. You'd been the one to suggest going.

Echo adjusted his weight on the rental skates, the blades foreign beneath his cybernetic legs. The prosthetics gave him better balance than he would have had otherwise. Tech would've rattled off specifications and performance metrics, but Echo just needed to know if they'd hold.

You laced up beside him on the bench, fingers working quickly through the eyelets. "You okay?"

"Honestly? Not sure yet." He stood, testing the feel of it. The skates held. Everything held. "But I appreciate you asking."

You smiled at that, the kind that made the corners of your eyes crease, and stepped onto the ice ahead of him. Smooth, easy. Like you'd done this a hundred times. Echo followed, and the first glide sent a strange lightness through his chest. Not falling. Moving.

"This is easier than I thought it'd be," he said, and meant it. No point pretending otherwise.

"See?" You turned, skating backward without looking, and Echo's stomach dropped.

"Careful," he said, softer than he intended. "I'd rather you didn't hurt yourself on my account."

"I'm fine, Echo." But you turned back around anyway, and something in his chest loosened. You glanced back at him. "How are you doing? Really?"

Most people didn't ask twice. "It's strange," he admitted. "Good strange. I don't get much time to just... do things anymore. Things that aren't missions."

You circled around him, close enough that he could hear the scrape of your blades. "Then I'm glad we're here."

"Me too." The words came easier than they should have. But that was the thing about you. You made it easy to be honest.

You caught his scomp with your gloved hand, tugging him forward. The touch landed gentle, respectful. Like it mattered that you were asking before pulling him along. "Come on. Let's go a little faster."

Echo let you lead him into a wider circle, adjusting his weight as the speed picked up. The rhythm started to feel natural, less like compensation and more like cooperation between his body and the mechanics. "You're good at this," he said.

"I'm okay. You're doing better than you think."

"I'll take your word for it." He matched your pace, found himself watching the way you moved more than the ice itself. Confident. Present. "Thank you for bringing me here."

You looked at him, something soft in your expression. "You don't have to thank me."

"I know. I want to." Because it mattered. Because you'd thought of him, invited him, made space for this.

You skated ahead, spun once, and came back beside him. Your hand found his again, not the scomp this time but his actual hand, and you squeezed gently. "Race you to the other side?"

Echo felt a smile pull at his mouth. "You know that's not fair."

"Life's not fair, Echo. Doesn't mean we can't have fun anyway."

That made him laugh, quick and surprised. "Alright. On three?"

"On three."

You counted together, and then you were both moving, faster than before. Echo's cybernetics gave him speed, but you had grace, and you reached the other side at nearly the same moment. You grabbed the rail, breathless and grinning. Echo stopped beside you, close enough to see the flush in your cheeks.

"Not bad for someone who was worried about falling," you said.

"I'm always worried about falling. Doesn't mean I won't try." He looked at you, at the way the cold air made your eyes bright. "I'm glad I did. Try, I mean."

"Me too." You leaned your shoulder against his, the pressure warm even through the layers. "You know, you're different from the others. Hunter's always watching, Wrecker's always moving, Tech's always analyzing. But you... you're just here. Present."

Echo considered that. "I spent a long time not being present. Not being anywhere, really. I guess I'm trying to make up for it."

"You don't have to make up for anything." Your fingers slid over to cover his hand completely. "I like you exactly as you are."

The words settled into him, solid and real. Echo looked at your hand on his, thought about how natural it felt. How right. "I like you too," he said, because you deserved to hear it plainly. "More than I probably should, given everything."

"Given what?"

"Given that I'm not always sure what comes next. For me, for any of us."

You turned to face him fully. "Nobody knows what comes next, Echo. That's not special to you."

"No," he agreed. "But it feels different when you've already lost time once."

You were quiet for a moment, and Echo worried he'd said too much. Been too honest. But then you squeezed his hand again. "Then let's not waste the time we have."

The ice stretched out behind you both, smooth and endless, and Echo felt something in him settle. Not peace, exactly. But close. "I'd like that," he said. "I'd really like that."

You smiled, and this time when you pulled him back onto the ice, Echo didn't hesitate. He just followed.

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