#echo imagine

It has been a long day for everyone. While walking back to the Marauder after a running another job for Cid, Echo finds himself quarreling with his own thoughts. His entire body aches, but that’s not what is bothering him.

Echo doesn’t understand it. Laughs spill from your mouth as you walk side by side with Wrecker.

What could possibly be so funny that she can’t stop laughing?

He feels a pressure in his chest. He can’t explain it. He doesn’t understand why the mere presence of Wrecker being next to her is making him feel angry. Not only is it enraging him, it’s making him sad. The thought of her laughing because of him of all things.

Echo walks at the back of the group watching what is transpiring. He feels guilty. He shouldn’t feel this way, especially when he knows that Wrecker has no feelings for her.

Especially because she isn’t mine.

“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?” Hunter says from next to him. Maker, he must really be thinking if he didn’t realize he had walked to the back.

“What are you talking about?” Echo thinks he has hidden it so well. He doesn’t want to talk about this now, not with her so close by, and certainly not when he is so confused.

“It’s so obvious how you feel about her. If you weren’t so blind you would see that she feels the same way.” Echo looks at Hunter in shock. It’s one thing for him to not be good at hiding his feelings, but there’s no way that she has any type of feelings for him.

Why would he say something like that, though?

“I don’t feel any type of way about her. She’s our medic, our friend too. It would just be wrong and I don’t want to treat her that way.” A lie. Hunter knows it. Everyone knows it. They have all seen the way he looks at her. It’s so obvious to everyone, but not her.

As they arrive back at the ship, Hunter drops the conversation. Tech walks right to the cockpit with Crosshair following behind him, while Wrecker holds your hand as you walk step into the Marauder. Echo’s heart drops in his chest. Hunter is standing there looking at him with a face that can only say ‘I told you so.’ He begins to realize exactly why everyone can see that he has feelings for her.

“Please go talk to her. I don’t want to see you both pining over each other anymore. You both are di’kuts and this has been going on for too long.”

Echo decides that maybe Hunter is right. It is time to confess. He’s been keeping it in for far way too much time already. Especially after hearing Hunter say that she feels the same. Echo walks into the ship only to then see you still holding Wrecker’s hand, but now while sitting together. You both are still laughing together. He can’t hear what you both are talking about over the anger and sadness that he is feeling. That’s when he loses it. Echo turns around and goes to his bunk. He doesn’t realize that you saw him. You look at Wrecker only to see him looking right back at you.

“That was weird. Do you think he’s ok?” you say quietly, hoping that Echo can’t hear you. The last thing you want to do is upset him if nothing was wrong.

“I think you should go talk to him,” Wrecker says quietly. You feel bad to leave him in the middle of your conversation, but you just can’t help the way you feel for Echo.

You smile at Wrecker and get up. You start to get nervous at the thought of being alone in the same room as Echo. It’s hard to speak around him, words getting jumbled at every moment. He has no idea how he makes you feel. He doesn’t know you hold feelings for him. You can feel you heart beating faster as you approach the door.

Can Hunter hear how fast my heart is beating?

You open the door and notice all the lights still off. You say his name quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he has fallen asleep already. You find him curled up in his bunk. You can tell he is still awake after memorizing the way he sleeps after being with all of them for so long.

“Echo, are you ok? I don’t mean to disturb you if you wanted to be alone or have a moment of peace, but I needed to make sure you were ok.” You say quietly, hoping that he isn’t going to push you away.

He doesn’t respond at first. You start to think he is ignoring you, until he turns over. He looks mad.

“Why don’t you go back out there with Wrecker?” He doesn’t mean to snap. He feels bad the moment he does. He just can’t get this feeling out of his head. He’s jealous. He wants to be the one holding your hand while you laugh at whatever he’s saying. He just wants to be yours.

I’ll never be good enough for her.

I’m more machine than man.

She doesn’t like me. She probably like Wrecker.

“I want to make sure you are ok.” The hurt is evident in your voice. Why would he say something like that? It starts to click in your head.

Is he jealous?

“Can I ask why you walked away from all of us?”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what to say. This is his worst nightmare. He doesn’t want to face rejection right now. It would be the worst thing to happen since Skako Minor. He just wants her to leave so he can be alone. But he also wants her to climb into his bunk and lay next to him. He wants to feel her arms wrapped around him. He wants to feel her laying against his chest.

When he doesn’t respond, you start to get worried you have offended him in some type of way. He’s been through so much already; you don’t want to make it even worse for him. But part of you wants to keep pressing him, to get him to confess to liking you. You know it’s not going to happen, but one could hope. With a sigh, you stand up. As you are about to walk away, Echo grabs your wrist.

“I’m sorry… I just saw you… with Wrecker… and I had to walk away…” Echo stops himself from fully confessing. It’s already embarrassing enough that he said all of that, the last thing he needs to do is admit to being in love with you.

“Echo, I have feelings for you.”

Everything stops. Echo feels his breathing stop. He feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He starts to believe this is some dream his mind has conjured up to give him some relief. Or possibly it’s going to turn into a nightmare. He realizes it is real when you go to pull your hand away from him. How long had he been sitting there just staring, not responding. You go to walk away again to save yourself from embarrassing yourself any further, but once again he grabs your hand.

“Wait, I’m sorry for not saying anything. I just didn’t expect you to say that. Maker, I feel like such a di’kut right now. Did you really mean what you said?” You nod and he continues. “I have feelings for you too. I have for a long time. I’m sorry for snapping, I just thought you wanted to be with Wrecker. You looked so happy sitting with him”

“I love Wrecker like a brother, it could never be anything other than that. Besides, he’s not you. He doesn’t make me happy in the way that you do.”

Echo feels himself start to blush. He didn’t even think he could anymore. All of those nights spent wanting you to be besides him could have been avoided. He wishes he listened to Hunter earlier.

“Will you come lay with me?” Echo feels himself getting anxious that you will say no, even after you just confessed.

You nod and climb into his bunk with him. Its not very big, there is hardly enough room for both of you, but it is still worth it. He feels so warm against you. you can feel his accelerated heart rate, just as he can feel yours.

The rest of the night is spent telling each other all of your feelings, from the very start to the little things he does that make you happy. You spend the night laughing and smiling with him. You both fall asleep in each other’s arms, a perfect way to end the night.

 Bonus:

Tech says good night to Hunter and Wrecker as he will be taking the first watch. Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair walk to their bunks, both assuming you’ve both fallen asleep. Hunter walks in first, only to stop in the door way, noticing that your bunk is empty. He looks to the left only to find you and Echo wrapped around each other.

“It’s about time,” Wrecker announces from behind him, having seen them due to being taller than Hunter. Crosshair laughs quietly as he walks in, hoping he doesn’t wake them. They deserve each other.

She turned her head to the side so she could look at you. With a half convincing smile, she looked back down. Bringing your hand closer to her face, you cupped her cheek and gently moved her face so she was looking at you again. There was something off in her eyes, something you couldn't quite place.

"What's wrong?" You mouthed, raising an eyebrow to define your confusion.

*It's stupid.* She signed, shaking her head as it rested in your palm.

You shook your head, dismissing her doubt and waiting for her to continue. It took a moment, but she sighed and turned so she could face you, one leg curled under her while the other hung off the bed.

*When you sign, you don't speak anymore like you used to.*

You were even more confused now. You didn't even realise you did so, and you definitely didn't think she would either. With furrowed brows, you raised your own hands to sign.

*What do you mean?*

She bit her lip as if she was processing what to say. After a moment, she placed her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes before locking gaze with your again.

*I know I can't hear you, but I feel the vibrations of your voice. They're soothing.*

You let your face relax, all confusion rubbing off of your body in an instant. You would of payed closer attention to it of you knew how much it meant to her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You said as you signed. It only now hit you why she'd cuddle up to you when you hummed a song, or why she'd put her head under your chin when you were talking over the phone with someone. "I didn't even realised I stopped."

*It's not your fault. You don't have to start speaking again if you don't want to.*

She smiled before dropping her head, playing with her fingers to try and avoid your gaze. You reached up with your hand, cupping her cheek before pulling her closer to your lips, gently pecking her once, then once again before smiling up at her.

"I love you." You spoke, letting her read your lips. The second she understood, a blush made it's way up her neck and to her cheeks, which she of course tried to hide. You giggled as she looked down, a smile that she tried to supress clear on her face.

*I love you, too*

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet. 

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives. 

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing. 

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika. 

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good. 

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky. 

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin. 

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough. 

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto. 

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling. 

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized. 

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now. 

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep. 

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin. 

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details. 

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.  

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link. 

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile. 

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak. 

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel. 

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch. 

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed. 

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot. 

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you. 

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation. 

Your mouth is moving before you realize it. 

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?” 

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way. 

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.” 

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact. 

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right. 

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

Echo… Echo did not participate claiming that he’s at an unfair advantage over his brothers.

Wrecker he lost after 4 days because he forgot about it.

Tech lost after a week. He knowingly did so because, “It’s a natural, healthy process.” And “There’s no reason one should deny their body release when it’s needed.”

Hunter and Crosshair were extremely competitive.

Hunter made it to day 21 and couldn’t take it anymore. He hated having to admit his defeat, knowing that this meant that Crosshair won.