#juno writings

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With the Empire a constant threat breathing down your neck, respite was a luxury rarely afforded and often downright ignored for the sake of survival. It was to be expected, you knew what you had signed up for traveling with your wayward band of misfit clones - but with each day of endless running and hiding, it was becoming harder to remember times that you weren’t bunged up in the Marauder for a mission or being chased down on a supposedly ‘safe’ planet.

Whether it was your own wishes spoken into existence, or something out there in the universe had taken mercy, your break finally came in the form of blaster fire.

You were never good with technology, but judging by Echo’s grumbling as he assessed the damage on the monitor, it wasn’t very good, whatever had been hit. Something about being a pain in the shebs to fix, but manageable. You didn’t speak much Mando’an but you felt you could connect the dots on that one.

The ship would have made the journey back to Ord Mantell just fine if a little slower than wanted, but with the job done and no one particularly eager to return to Cid’s parlor, there was no rush to get back planetside just yet.

Instead Hunter had relented, landing the Marauder for a quick pit stop, settling onto the first small planet that was far enough away not to draw unwanted attention.

This temporary stop is probably the most peace you’ve had in months. Dense treelines stretch out as far as you can see on all sides, rich with flora of all kinds that Hunter double checks are safe before he lets anyone even get a foot off the craft.

There are small bodies of water dotted across the grassy terrain and you can’t take a few steps without stepping in one on your path through the grass. They go no deeper than knee-length, a fact quickly discovered when Wrecker had jumped straight into the nearest one - expecting a puddle only to sink straight down to his boots, water flooding through the crevices much to his annoyance.

You and Omega had laughed at his plight, until he’d rounded on you both and you’d scattered, avoiding your own watery fate from the hands of your bomb expert. Once the initial scan of the immediate vicinity flagged no dangers – and the three of you had made a fine show of kicking up water, Hunter had allowed you to take off to - for the lack of a more professional word, play.

It’s nice to see Omega get to be a child, the moments are few and far between and the girl is so clever, it’s hard to remember she’s only been around for 13 cycles.

You allow yourself this moment, splashing around and soaking your fellow teammates whilst the ship is getting fixed. Hunter watches from the sidelines - supervising to make sure they don’t get too out of hand.

At least until Omega catches Hunter in the watery crossfire that was originally meant for you. You both freeze. Wrecker bellows with laughter somewhere behind you all. Hunter slowly turns to face Omega, hair dripping into his face, covering his tattoos so he looks positively menacing.

Omega takes off running first with a cackle, already anticipating when Hunter follows in hot pursuit. It’s an unfair fight, Hunter’s legs are longer and the man’s got unnatural speed, but Omega’s crafty and uses the terrain to her advantage.

Of course, just as you start to cheer Omega on, she trips head first into the puddle at her feet, disappearing in a spray of water. Hunter trudges his way through the marsh and pulls her out by the collar, much like a bedraggled Lothcat.

That signals the end of the battle for the new planet; Hunter tucks Omega under one arm and takes her back to the safety of the Marauder.

From inside the vessel, there are very loud complaints that water should be kept outside of the ship and that included Omega in her current state. This of course is ignored.

“Well, party’s over.” Wrecker wades his way back to dry land, beckoning you to follow which you do - at a much slower pace.

You’re both sopping wet when you reach the grassy bank and you decide you’re not going to risk Echo’s or Tech’s wrath on this one, leave that for Omega and Wrecker. “I’ll just be a few, if you need me you know where to find me.”

Wrecker shrugs, like he doesn’t understand the want to be outside alone, but allows you this piece of solitude “Don’t forget, this ain’t over, next planet we’re on it’s victor against victor.”

Technically, there had been no victor - Maker you weren’t even aware it was a fight for the title, or what this title was. Still, you’ll allow Wrecker to have this. You shoo Wrecker away with a grin. He jabs his two fingers at his eyes and then towards you, which you mimic before he disappears inside the ship.

“Wrecker, for the last time you are not a mop, wring yourself out before you step foot on this ship.” 

Even from outside the ship you can hear the impending scolding and you snicker as your own shoes squelch with each step.

The last slivers of sun are gone by the time you flop onto the bank, squeezing out what water you can from your hair and clothes, before splaying out onto the grass. 

A chill settles in now that you’re not stomping through puddles, but the cool breeze is welcome after your tussle on the marshy battlefield and you stretch out, breathing deep. The air smells of wet soil and fresh grass and you give yourself a moment to just enjoy something that isn’t stale air and smoke.

Almost on instinct, your eyes flutter closed, basking in the feeling while you have it. Your senses are nowhere near as refined as Hunter’s - which, considering how loud things can get on the Marauder, the poor man must suffer terribly - but like this you catch the little things. The wind simpers, making a low howling sound as it blows softly through the breaks in the treeline, masked only by the dull hum of the ship. 

If you strain your ears you can make out the commotion inside - can hear Wrecker arguing that his armor’s still good to wear even though it had been dripping buckets earlier. You catch Omega grumbling something about drying her hair herself and grin, knowing that the kid’s not going to escape Hunter’s grip till she’s not a walking water balloon skulking around the Marauder.

The bickering is playful, void of any of the stress that’s been bubbling among the crew for too long. The batch had needed this excursion even if at first it had been an inconvenience - things were content, relaxed for the first time in a long while.

All too soon, however, this tranquility would be over. No doubt it won’t be long before you get the call to head back and the illusion of peace will shatter. You frown. It’s a sobering thought, an unpleasant reminder of the routine the whole team will fall back into once you leave this planet behind. You want it to last longer - to forget about anything that exists past this planet's atmosphere, so the galaxy doesn’t feel like it’s crumbling apart for once and it’s not your job to try to patch up the cracks. If for just a few more hours.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair – damp but thankfully not soaked. With any luck you’ll be able to sneak onboard without catching as much flack as Omega and Wrecker did-

“Have you been banished from the ship for any particular reason?”

If anyone asks, no, you don’t almost jump out of your skin at the sudden noise, and you definitely don’t narrowly avoid slipping down the bank as you dig your heels in and scramble to look up. You have to crane your neck back to see his face, but your blood pressure is still cussing out Tech for the scare the moment you recognize the clone standing behind you.

“Me? Banished? Never.” You mock gasp taking the shock in stride as you clutch your chest - partly for dramatics but also to check that your heart’s still beating. Somehow that doesn’t seem to convince him - not that you have the best track record anyway - so you shrug. 

“Thought I’d dry off before getting onboard. Wouldn’t wanna add to the indoor pool Omega and Wrecker have got going on in there.”

Tech looks positively miserable at the reminder of the mess, sighing. “Well the sentiment is appreciated. At least one of you has the sense not to risk waterlogging the ship.”

You go to argue that he’s exaggerating - it wasn’t like they’d been that badly drenched. Until you remember Omega was more water than girl by the time Hunter had carried her back into the ship, and Wrecker wasn’t any better with half the marsh stuffed in his gear. Point taken.

You half expect Tech to herd you back onto the ship. If he’s out here, then that means the Marauder’s patched up and ready to go - Tech’s never one to leave a job half finished. But he doesn’t. Instead he pads over to the space beside you, making sure it’s dry before taking a seat on the bank, unclipping his datapad from his belt and bringing it to his face.

Blinking you roll over to get a better look at him, watching Tech tap away at the screen with no urgency. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair and cutting through the silence that stretches for a moment. When had his hair gotten so long? It had been short and slicked back when you had met so many moons ago, now it curled just past the ear - still kept meticulously out of his face. You supposed there weren’t many options out in deep space, you couldn’t imagine being caught by the Empire with half a head done.

And you weren’t about to trust Wrecker and his clippers either.

The silence is almost comfortable, settling between you until Tech speaks again, not sparing a glance from the machine.

“I suppose statistically there are worse planets to land on.” He muses, almost to himself. You were sure he was until he gave a sideways glance in your direction “Though we won’t be interrupting its tranquility for long, we will be space worthy within the hour.”

“Ah. Done already?” Propping your cheek in your hand, you tilt your head trying to catch a glimpse of his screen - with no luck. You’ve always wondered what he types away on that thing. Maybe it’s his diary.

The image of a teenage Tech writing all his secrets in a data pad, hiding away what he had done that day or who had gained his highest admiration, makes you smile, and you hide it in the palm of your hand.

“They were simply routine repairs” Tech reassures “The blaster fire compromised a few controls. Nothing I could not fix, naturally.” from anyone else that would be bragging, but knowing Tech it’s as easy for him as he makes it sound, probably could have done it in his sleep if he was so inclined. Not that he does, mind you.

A pause, then he glances up from his data pad finally in your direction. “You sound disappointed?” there’s a questioning to his tone, like he’s unsure why exactly you would be disheartened having to leave this little haven.

“Well I don’t think any of us wanna be stranded, Tech.” Absently you run your hand through the grass, tugging a few blades between your fingers. Maker, how long had it been since you’d gotten to touch real grass? “Just a shame is all. I was getting used to it.”

“It?”

“Yknow, this” You gesture around. “The peace and quiet-”

As if on cue, a crash rattles the Marauder, Wrecker’s cackle echoing from inside; making you startle and Tech sigh like he was expecting it. After a moment it settles, the rocking slowing and you turn back to Tech.

“Okay maybe not quiet - you know what I mean.”

Tech gives a hum of acknowledgment. “I understand. Between missions from Cid and maintaining a low profile, there’s been little else. Rest has been difficult.”

For him more so than most, you want to add. You can’t remember a time since joining the crew that Tech’s had more than a Powernap. You’ve found him curled up in the pilot’s seat a few times, or face down on his datapad for a couple clicks when things quiet down. But anything longer than that? Maker, you can't tell if that’s just a Tech thing or if the rest of the batch have the same struggle. 

You wouldn’t blame them, not after everything they’ve been through.

“Though the amount of water brought back aboard is less than ideal, this brief excursion has been…” Tech trails off, like he’s trying to find the right word. “It’s…nice.” He decides and you chuckle.

“Eloquently put from a man of many words.” 

You catch him rolling his eyes behind his goggles, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t comment further on the sarcastic comment.

Conversation lulls so your attention wanders elsewhere. The water around you has settled without several pairs of boots stomping through it. You can see why Wrecker thought they were just puddles - the only indication otherwise is the reeds that sprout up around the marshy underbrush, standing tall and almost glowing against the deep blue reflection of the-

Wait.

There’s a blue light beginning to glow between the reeds, which is new. You change directions; lying flat on your belly so you can peer over the edge into one of the little pools, trying to make out what the source of the light is and where it’s coming from. Tech begins leaning closer as if to pull you back from the edge.

“I wouldn’t advise-“ Tech goes to warn you but you beat him to it with an excited gasp.

“Fireflies!” 

“What?”

Sure enough the source of the light is indeed fireflies, or at least, something that resembles them. There’s dozens of them; they weave in and out of the reeds, appearing from small pockets around the pools and slowly rising up into the darkened sky, generating a hazy blue bioluminescent light. 

You lean back at the revelation, pushing yourself a safe distance from the waters edge as they begin to emerge and fan out across the terrain, their numbers increasing with every second. What had once been a sea of browns and greens, is now an artwork of azure blue.

There have been many wonders that you have come across exploring the galaxy, only multiplied further by the arrival of the batch. And yet sights like these never get old - little pockets of something far removed from the chaos of the universe just waiting to be discovered.

In another life you could stay here, longer than an hour, longer than a day, if only for the promise of such a sight waiting outside of the ship every night. But with that a distant wish you settle for just now, entranced by the vibrant hues that makes the whole place glow like it’s alive.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen something pretty that hasn’t immediately tried to kill us.” Your sigh is wistful as you pull your legs up to your chest, chin resting on your knees as your eyes trace patterns of the lightshow generated by the myriad of luminescent insects.

“I agree. Though what you have found ‘pretty’ in the past has been notably questionable.”

You clutch your non-existent pearls at the jab, mouth aghast.“Really? Name one time I’ve been questionable!” 

“I distinctly remember you calling a rancor ‘adorable”. The quotation marks Tech makes with his free hand earn him a glowering look as you jab an accusatory finger at him.

“Muchi was adorable!”

“Was that decided before or after almost being trampled in her rampage?”

…Fair point. That point of course is promptly ignored as the sky is suddenly far more fascinating than deigning him with a retort that just proves him right again.

With night rolling in, many of the fireflies have wandered from the marshes, meandering overhead and dotting about the skyline above you. They blend into the sky, merging alongside the myriad of stars until you can hardly differentiate the two in a canvas of breathtakingly dark hues. It’s a humbling kind of beauty, and you take your time idling the moments away admiring the sapphire speckles of light buzzing through the air for a while, mesmerized by the simple wonder before you turn to see if Tech’s watching too.

Only to stifle a chuckle.

A firefly has perched itself on the rim of Tech’s goggles, a tiny little thing that casts a soft blue glow over the yellow tint of his lenses. He hasn’t noticed, face still half buried in the datapad in his hands, laser focused on whatever he’s working on.

As much as you’d love to see how long it takes to notice his new companion, as the seconds tick by the urge to point it out is too great and a minute later you cave.

“Tech.” He hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t look up. It’s only by the third call that Tech finally deems it necessary to tear his gaze away from the device, and there's no hiding the little grin on your face when he tilts his head to face you.

“I think you’ve got something there.” you tap a finger beside your temple just above your right eye, mirroring where his goggles rest on his face. 

Of course he connects the dots quickly, and on instinct Tech brings a hand up to adjust his goggles. You half expect the firefly to take off the second he does so, and though its wings flutter briskly to keep itself balanced it doesn’t budge. In fact the little bug uses the gesture as a bridge to climb across the frame and onto his glove, pattering delicately down the fabric before coming to settle on one of his knuckles, where it stops with a deciding flutter.

Whether emboldened by their fellow firefly or drawn in by its light reflecting off of Tech’s glove, it doesn’t take long for a few other fireflies to break from the formation above your heads and move to join the insect.

Before you know it, several of the little things have come to rest on the back of his hand, essentially using the clone’s hand as a landing pad. For what it’s worth Tech doesn’t even flinch at the development, even though the glow is now bright enough that he looks blue right up to his wrist.

If Tech wanted to, he could easily ward them off with a shake of his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t. Instead he places his datapad onto his lap, maneuvering his hand to better view these miniscule guests who have made his hand their temporary perch.

Fearless little things; they hardly move an inch as he does so. This time your laugh at his plight doesn’t go unnoticed and Tech gives you a side glance at the soft sound, wordlessly questioning what you find so amusing with an arched brow.

“They must like you.” You tease, grin a little squished with how your cheek presses against your knee when you tilt your head.

“Unlikely.” Tech is quick to dissuade you of the notion, no doubt pulling on the well of knowledge knocking around in his brain as he continues.

“It is merely a lack of socialization.” He explains, twisting his hand to allow you a closer look. “This planet would rarely see interference from outside influences, and natural predators are limited in such a way that they lack the reservations for caution. Simply put, they have no reason to fear us.”

You nod sagely, like you understood more than the last third of what he’d just said. You’re more focused on admiring the fireflies now that they’re a little closer. Though there’s some distance between the two of you, you can make out that the light the fireflies admit isn’t one stagnant color. No, they instead seem to cycle through several shades of blue - from azures to royal tints that remind you all too fondly of the tumultuous hues of deep oceans.

When you look up to point it out you’re surprised to find Tech's attention is solely on you. Warm brown eyes regard you intently through tinted lenses, and you instinctively give yourself a once over to check that you don’t have any bioluminescent plus-ones of your own. Upon finding none you’re puzzled and begin to ask what’s wrong; only to pause when he nods as though resolving an internal matter in his head.

“Very well - come closer.”

“What?” Brows furrowing your expression scrunches up in confusion. What is he-?

He doesn’t explain, instead shifting positions so that his whole body is facing you. “It will only take a moment. Just raise your hand - like so.” 

Curiosity wins out and you do as he asks, scooting closer and holding out your hand with the palm facing upwards as Tech demonstrates. Your legs knock against the knee pads of his armor and you have to readjust yourself a few times to get comfortable, but eventually you get settled so you’re sitting face to face.

Satisfied with your cooperation Tech’s free hand moves to catch your wrist. It’s a small gesture, but your whole arm prickles like a shot’s gone through your system as you freeze. His touch is gentler than you’d anticipated but the weathered material of his gloves takes some getting used to as he steadies your hand, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool night air.

“Do I need to ask what you’re doing?”

“You can, though it is far easier to show you if you are patient. Now try not to move.”

Easier said than done when he’s holding your wrist like that, and even more so as he brings both hands to cover yours. Your gaze snaps up to Tech’s face, attempting to gauge what’s going through that brain of his. His expression is frustratingly neutral so you have nothing to clue you in on his train of thought. You’re about to bite the bullet and just ask when-

“There we go.”

“Huh?” blinking, you glance down at your connected hands and finally realize what he’d been doing.

The fireflies have taken advantage of the new connection and transferred from Tech’s hand to your own. They tickle as they pad across the bare skin of your palm, leaving it tingling in the wake of their tiny legs as they fan out along your palm. A faint prickle settles all the way up to your fingertips as they potter about, reminding you vaguely of static - you have to wonder if that’s got anything to do with the electrifying colors that they display.

You giggle, wiggling your fingers slowly and their wings flutter at the motion, that fascinating light flaring up brighter and bathing your fingers bright blue. No doubt your face paints a similar picture of the vibrant hue as you lean in to get a closer look, eyes alight in the dance of the emanating glow with a reverent awe.

“I believe they must like you too.” You catch the amused lilt in Tech’s voice as he speaks, breaking you from your reverie and echoing your own words back to you. You snort at the irony.

“Hey, that’s my line-“ you prepare yourself for another teasing jab, grinning despite yourself when you glance up and-

Oh. Oh. He’s a lot closer than before.

Tech’s hunched forward, assuming the usual posture when studying something of interest - definitely not good for his back, but that complaint has fallen on deaf ears for a few months at least. Now though he’s close enough that your faces are only a couple inches apart, and while Tech is focused on your hands you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

The soft blue glow of your surroundings highlights the sharper edges of Tech’s features, azure running along his cheeks and glinting off of his goggles turning them a deeper hue than the usual yellow. Beautiful, is the first word that comes to mind, eyes running along the curve of his jaw as he speaks.

“While it does not happen often, I must concede that you were right in your assessment.” There’s a hint of praise in his words, and that really doesn’t help your brain from overthinking this gesture.

It takes a second to remember how to breathe - since when has breathing suddenly become a conscious effort? Your inhale is sharp as you will your pulse to stop pounding in your ears - with no luck.

“Uh, Tech?”

“The bioluminescence they generate is both aesthetically pleasing and practical-”

“Tech you’re a bit-”

“-That is to say, yes, they are rather pretty.”

“Tech-”

“Yes?”

You startle at how fast his eyes are back on you, that intent gaze from before settled on you with enough intensity that you feel as though you’re under a damn spotlight. The hand cupping your wrist still holds you with a gentle firmness, and you’re pretty sure that your heart shoots straight up into your throat when you feel Tech brush his thumb along the radial pulse.

What were you even going to ask? Were you going to warn him of the close proximity? If you were you’ve no doubt that Tech would be quick to rectify the issue - but was it really an issue? Somehow the thought alone of him moving an inch away is a disheartening prospect.

You force the lump in your throat down, swallowing hard as your lips part with half formed thoughts before you think twice. “I…Tech, do you think-”

“HEY!”

A calmer person wouldn’t have jumped at the sudden interruption, would have heard the call coming from a mile away. You aren’t that lucky - you shoot up so fast that your head bumps against Tech’s with an audible click. The reaction is immediate, both you and Tech groan in pain; shooting away from each other to avoid any other potential collisions and the fireflies instantly scatter to the wind.

Fucking ouch.

You clutch at your head, the point of impact throbbing beneath your touch. That’s going to leave a mark for sure.

Your attention snaps over to the ship to locate the owner of the voice and cause for your newfound injury, just in time to catch Omega as she pokes her head around the hatch from inside the Marauder. Her hair’s curled thanks to the earlier dunk, messy blonde strands framing her face and slightly frizzed no doubt thanks to Hunter’s attempt to dry her off. The man probably scrubbed every last drop off of her poor kid.

“We’re ready to go!” She waves you over excitedly.

Just as quickly as she appears the young girl vanishes back within the ship’s interior, leaving you staring at the empty space she had just inhabited.

Just like her brothers - causes chaos and leaves just as quickly.

You look back over to Tech who is also clutching his own head; you’d gotten the worst of it, but the bump had clearly caused Tech some discomfort as well. He rubs the spot with a pout, wincing under the touch.

The situation is so silly, like something out of a holofilm and, despite the pain, you can’t help but smile a little. Still you at least have half the mind to make sure your skull hasn’t done any lasting harm to Tech. Once you’re sure there’s no more surprise interruptions imminent you shift to check in on Tech, bringing a hand to cup the side of his face angling his head to survey the damage. 

“You okay? Didn’t cause too much damage did I?” His skin is a little rosy from the knock but thankfully there’s no imminent bruising - you don’t think anyone would be particularly happy with you if you’d injured the beloved brains of the group, Tech especially.

Tech waves off your concern with ease, though doesn’t pull away as you tilt his head this way and that. “I am fine, though the impact - while accidental - was less than desirable.”

An understandable sentiment, and an obvious one that makes you chuckle. “Well you can thank your sister for that one.” Saying this you give Tech’s cheek a pat, adding, “Or stay out of headbutting range next time.” 

Tech huffs a little at the sarcasm but returns your smile with one of his own. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“I’m sure you will. Now come on before they decide to fly off without us.”

While you clamber back to your feet on the bank Tech is in no such rush, taking the time to retrieve his datapad before rising to his feet. You move to head back towards the Marauder, taking a few steps before realizing that you’re making the trip alone. Looking back you see Tech staring out over the glowing landscape for a final time, quickly typing something into the datapad now safely back in his hands. 

Tech mutters something as he does so but you don’t catch what. A click later he’s seemingly satisfied with the result and clips the datapad back to its rightful place on his belt, catching up and coming into step beside you in a few brisk strides.

The idea of a peaceful walk back to the ship all but goes out of the window the second another shudder rocks the spacecraft, and Tech’s sigh is one of knowing resignation as his pace picks up. Making a beeline to the hatch you can practically see the gears in his head turning, already forming what you’re sure is a warning on why giving the ship more damage than what it landed with isn’t a good idea.

=======

The first year on Pabu, you’d learned a valuable lesson.

And it was that the heatwaves here were relentless.

The heat’s been gradually ramping up throughout the day - what was once a tepid warmth is now downright blistering both inside and out.

The batch has scattered to the four corners of the property once it became apparent that the temperature wasn’t cooling down anytime soon. 

You’re pretty sure the only one who’s still technically in the house aside from you is Tech; though last time you checked in he was doing what he could to actively combat the heat, opening every single window in the vicinity while tinkering with what you hope is the beginnings of a fan from the living room couch.

Most of your morning has been spent in and out of the fridge - most of the time to fetch drinks but you’ve been caught a couple times leaning into the thing for a two second break from the sweltering temperature only to be griped at for wasting the cold.

It’s around lunchtime when you finally decide to check on everyone, fishing out a pitcher of water from the fridge that someone - likely Tech - had the foresight to stow away earlier. The icy chill against your hands is sorely welcome as you pour out several glasses - it’ll take a few trips to dish them all out, but you’d rather not try to pull a balancing act and risk smashing the glasses trying to show off.

Making the rounds is simple. Even on the hottest days you can always find the batch in their regular haunts, so tracking them down is rudimentary. Your first port of call is the living room, of course. Though Tech barely even glances up at you, thoroughly invested in the amalgamation of machinery scattered across the coffee table, he expresses his gratitude in his own way, giving your arm a brief pat as you push the glass into his field of view. With him taken care of your next route leads you outside.

From the vantage of the rooftop, you can make out a few figures across the backyard and beyond. It gives you a good idea on where everybody’s camped out. A couple of weeks after moving in, the rooftop had to be renovated; Crosshair had been a big help in getting it done, and had promptly claimed a corner of the building for his stuff the moment it was finished. You’d wondered why he had been so helpful, until you figured out it was for personal gain. Well played. Balancing the glass and working the stairs takes some work but you manage to reach the rooftop where, as expected, you find Crosshair propped up in the usual spot. 

The hammock’s a new addition, and as you approach, Crosshair peeks out from his current perch, eyes sharp gauging whoever’s brave enough to come into his space. Once he spots you, or more accurately, the drink you basically hover over his face he softens considerably, though the drink is promptly swiped from your hands the very next second.

You head to your next target.

By the time you find the poor soul lost to the heat, you have to practically peel Omega off of the large rock she’s decided to lounge on like a damn lizard. It takes some maneuvering with only one hand but you manage, holding her up long enough to accept the offered drink and making her promise to find somewhere shadier. Though she looks content to bake in the sun, the last thing you need is to explain to Hunter how Omega ended up burnt to a crisp if she stays out much longer. 

Echo’s got the right idea when you locate him, tucked away beneath the tree to the right of the house basking in the shade with the company of the ice packs previously left forgotten in the back of the freezer. You’re a little miffed you didn’t think of that first honestly, and you praise him for the smart thinking, as you kneel down to nudge him into taking a glass. Echo’s polite enough to offer you a pack for your trouble and while it’s tempting you inevitably turn it down. You’re not blind - even in the shade you’re sure the sweltering heat has a poor effect on his cybernetics and you can only imagine the extra trouble he has to go through not to overheat.

Even Hunter, whose body temperature runs cooler than the rest of the batch, is working up a sweat in the unrelenting heat, legs kicked up on the fencing as he presses himself into a shaded corner of the porch bench when you meander over.

He’s got a datapad in his lap and his sunhat is tilted down to hide his face from view. He looks every bit the napping dad, down to the uncomfortable sleeping position which definitely won’t help his back when he moves. You’re already conjuring up an old man joke in your head, giggling on approach, when Hunter tips the hat back and eyes you up with one eye.

Probably best not to test his patience on a day like this, the supporting the elderly jokes can wait until the temperature becomes inhabitable.

Still, the glass is accepted graciously after being assured you have your own drink inside. That leaves you with just one more person to find - thankfully you know exactly where he is.

Wrecker is definitely suffering the worst from the heat - his body runs warm enough that he is basically a walking furnace, even without any extra layers helping him. Maybe it’s all the extra muscle or the excess energy that practically rolls off of him in waves, but Wrecker’s always ran the warmest out of his brothers.

Stars, you still remember having to drop by Hoth once a year back. The Marauder’s AC had sputtered and packed up the moment you’d hit planetside. While Wrecker didn’t so much as shiver the rest of the crew weren’t so lucky, and had to pilfer every single piece of clothing and blankets on the ship just to feel a fraction of warmth. And even then it’d taken cuddling up close to the bigger clone just to stop your body from turning into an ice cube - a kindness you repaid with as much junk food as you could physically carry as soon as you were able to defrost back in temperate climates.

Sure Wrecker’s warmth had been a lifesaver during the frigid months - You quite happily spent as much time as you could wileing the winter nights away curled up in his arms, sapping at that endless source of body heat as he tucked you eagerly against his chest.

But now? It looked like his internal oven was biting him in the ass.

You find him in the backyard sprawled out on one of the deck chairs, looking a couple of minutes away from melting and becoming one with the furniture. You’re careful to step over the shirt and shoes carelessly discarded in Wrecker’s bid to cool off, but even stripped down to his shorts the poor man’s sweating bullets. 

It’s impossible not to feel bad for him; you’re hoping that the water will be enough to ease some of his suffering. Taking pity on the sorry state he’s been reduced to, you carry the ice-cold drink over to where he’s slumped, the ice cubes clinking against the base of the glass as you round the deck chair he’s slumped against.

You make sure Wrecker knows that you’re there before you try anything, you’d rather not have the thing go flying if he were to jump up because you’d surprised him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s knocked something flying because he’d been taken by surprise - by complete accident, of course, and you recall the hour worth of profuse apologies following the fiasco as he’d helped you clean the mess.

Leaning up against the chair frame you bring a hand to smooth over his bare shoulder, and the heat from his skin practically radiates beneath your fingertips. Stars he really is burning to the touch. Wrecker grumbles leaning a little into the gentle caress but doesn’t open his eyes. Your heart breaks seeing your usually overexcitable partner looking so drained.

“Oh Wrecker,” sighing, you rub slow circles into his shoulder, hoping to coax him into rousing long enough to show him what you’ve brought with you. When that doesn’t work you try the next best thing - gently pressing the drink to his temple.

The moment the chill of the glass touches his feverish skin, the sigh that Wrecker lets out is one of absolute bliss, head tilting back desperate to chase the relief that the glass provides.

“Oooooh that feels nice.” and you’re sure it does, as the knit in his brows eases and his expression morphs from discomfort to content.

Now that you’ve got Wrecker’s attention you lift the glass from his forehead - reluctantly, but you’d rather he enjoyed his drink before the ice melts. It’s a good thing he isn’t looking at you yet, because it takes all you have not to laugh at the way he groans at the loss, leaning back far enough on the chair you have to press against his shoulder before he ends up tipping the whole thing over.

He cracks an eye open to look up at you, and your expression warms at the cute lopsided grin he flashes. Your name falls from Wrecker’s lips with a content rumble as he stretches out, no doubt working the feeling back into his limbs.

“C’mon Wreck,” you sooth, pressing a quick kiss in place of where the drink had just been - a little cooler than it was before thankfully. “It’ll be better if you drink it before it melts.”

Wrecker’s sluggish but pushes himself upright at your instruction. When he no longer looks as though he’s about to sink back into the deck chair you balance yourself on the edge of it.

Slotting into a space where the chair dips with his weight you make yourself comfortable beside him in spite of the heat. From this spot the sun is relentless - it definitely isn’t helping Wrecker’s overheating problem - and you’re vaguely aware of the warmth that burns along your shoulders and the back of your neck as you twist to face away from the sun. Condensation drips along the outside of the cup in hand, a clear sign as any that you’ve been holding the thing for too long; and the moment you’ve got his eyes on you you’re handing it over.

Wrecker visibly brightens as you give the glass a little swirl, wordlessly coaxing him to take it. A large hand overlaps yours as he accepts the offered drink, giving your fingers a grateful squeeze before freeing the cup from your grip. He tips his head back and just about necks a good third of the glass’ contents, more than a bit of it dripping down his chin in his haste to get something cool into his system.

He’s halfway through chugging the thing before apparently deciding it’s not cooling him down quick enough. In the next second the remaining contents of the glass are promptly poured over Wrecker’s head, rivulets of water streaking pathways over his shoulders and down his front as he groans in relief. 

As though the refreshment has breathed life back into your beloved boyfriend Wrecker barks out a laugh, running a hand over his head. You bite back a chuckle at how fast he perks up, shaking his head like a wet dog - you have to lean back to avoid the splash zone, your eyes following the trails of water droplets that roll down his cheeks and drip from his jaw like a leaky faucet.

“You’re the best, Mesh’la!” Wrecker’s got the foresight to put down the empty glass first before he ducks down, pressing his lips to yours. 

Thanks to the refreshment they’re wonderfully cool and you’re more than happy to sink into the kiss, cupping his face between your hands with a blissful sigh of your own.

“Oh am I?“ You break the kiss just long enough to hum, your thumbs chasing the leftover drops on his chin and swiping them away. You already know the answer - Wrecker never shies away from reminding you every chance he gets - but it never fails to make your heart swell.

“Aw, c'mon ya already know it.” Saying this his kisses start wandering away from your lips, peppering over the bridge of your nose and across your cheek to just below the curve of your ear.

He noses the area affectionately, grinning against your skin at the giggle it elicits from you - a sound that makes him melt all over again.

Wrecker’s affection is all-encompassing - eager to crowd into your space and shower you with all of the love you could possibly want and then some. It’s one of the many things you adore about him, and you’re eager to reciprocate as he drags his mouth across your skin to your lips for more kisses.

He’s still unbearably warm, sweat slicked skin pressing against your side as he curls one arm around your waist, fingers squeezing tenderly at the bare space where your shirt rides up. The other hand comes to rest on your lower back, large palm spread flat along the dip of your spine pressing you against him and you all but fall pliantly into place. Each brush of his mouth against your own ekes out soft, dreamy sighs, and your hands trail down the back of his neck, looping around broad scarred shoulders to tug him closer.

You’d quite happily kiss him all day if you could - maker knows Wrecker would literally jump at the word go. Too bad the hot weather ruins your fun, as you become aware of the burning heat that begins to crawl down your neck and back in the wake of his touch - unfortunately not just thanks to his kisses, as the sun is apparently keen on reminding you.

Your attempt to avoid the heat is followed easily by Wrecker, whose huge form provides an excellent form of shade. That is until you start to feel the deck chair beginning to tip back. 

Your hands fly up to curb the affectionate onslaught before he sends it toppling along with the pair of you. Reluctantly you push away from his lips, though Wrecker is quick enough to steal a couple more kisses for good measure before you can get a word in.

“You’re hot.” you huff, but it only gets you a cheeky grin as he bumps his nose against yours.

“Thanks.”

With a snort you press a hand to Wrecker’s bare chest before he can dive in for another kiss. “I meant that literally, Wreck. You need to cool off - I’d rather not have to pry you off of this chair when you overheat again.”

This time it’s Wrecker’s turn to huff, breath stiflingly warm on your neck as he buries his face into the crook of it. “I dunno, these kisses are helping an awful lot…” he presses another kiss, just for good measure and you snort a laugh.

“That’ll do anything but cool you down and you know it.”

The pads of your fingers smooth out along his chest, idly tracing over an old scar that stretches below his collarbone. “Could always spray you down in the fresher,” you suggest, “But I’m pretty sure Hunter wouldn’t be happy about wasting all the water.”

“Wouldn’t call that a waste.”

“Your brothers would say otherwise.”

The defeated groan he lets out in response when he realizes you’re not budging vibrates against your skin, and you bring your hand up to pat his back in a ‘there there’ gesture that only earns another groan.

Wrecker goes quiet after a moment, uncharacteristically so considering how boisterous he usually is. That lasts for a moment too long, and you’re beginning to worry you’ve lost him to heatstroke when he suddenly pushes himself upright with a gasp.

“The beach!”

“The beach?” You laugh, a little baffled at the sudden switch. “How did we make the jump from the freshers to the beach?”

“Think ‘bout it! It’s the only way to have constant water without Hunter blowing a fuse!” He taps against his head with his finger and then pokes the center of yours, as if transferring the thought. 

Huh. That’s actually a good idea - one of the many perks of living here was basically being a couple clicks away from the beach. You have to wonder why no one came to that conclusion before. Maybe it was the brain fog accumulated through trying to avoid actively baking beneath the sun for the past couple of hours?

“Right, you wrangle up the others. I’ll head back inside and get the swimsuits and-” your would be list is cut off abruptly as Wrecker promptly scoops you out of the chair, the ground leaving your feet as you sail airborne upwards, finally finding your place over Wrecker's shoulder. It’s wide enough you don’t fall off at all but your vision is upside down for a few seconds. 

“WRECKER!”

“Na, we don’t need no swimsuits! We’ll be in the water!”

You fail to see the logic there. “Wrecker, I'm not swimming naked!”

“You won’t, you can wear what you’re wearing right now.” He protests, still making strides away from the house.

“I can’t swim fully clothed either.”

“Why not? It’ll be fun!”

It doesn’t seem like Wrecker’s in much of a mood to listen to reason - not that he ever is when his mind is set on something. It’s something you both loved and hated about the man. “Fine. But you’re the one who’ll be scrubbing the sand out of everybody’s stuff later.”

“That’s a sacrifice I am willing to make.” He adjusts you on his shoulder, moving you so you’re less like a sack of potatoes and more perched atop it, allowing you to look down at his grinning face. “Now can we go to the beach?”

“The beach?!”  As if the words alone have summoned her, Omega skids into view. All signs of fatigue are long gone and she’s practically beaming, looking significantly redder than the last you saw of her - oh, she is definitely sunburnt. Hunter’s going to kick a fit. “We’re going to the beach?!”

“You bet we are kid!” Omega cheers, practically jumping for joy on the spot. “Go round up the crew and we’re out of here.”

She stands to attention in an instant, hand raised in a mock of a salute with all the seriousness of a child being promised a reward. “Sir yes sir!” and she’s gone in a blink of an eye, sprinting up the path towards the house; stumbling in her haste “Guys! Wake up! We’ve got a mission!”

It takes seconds for Hunter to burst through the back doors into the yard; leaning over the fence with wild eyes and - he had most definitely drifted off between your conversation and this rendezvous, he still looks half asleep. Looks like peace has done Hunter some good. “What? What mission, what’s happening?”

“The beach! We’re going to the beach!” Her shrill voice carries and from your vantage point, you see Hunter press his head to the wooden railing. It looks like he’s either trying to calm his heart or gather his strength not to throttle Omega for the fright. “Did you hear, Crosshairs?”

Your gaze travels.

Crosshair is on the roof, rifle already in hand, though he seems to have clocked on that there is no danger and seems to be contemplating using Omega for target practice instead.

The girl really didn’t know how often her life hung in the balance in this place.

She disappears into the house in a blur of blonde and red - followed swiftly by Hunter, who definitely clocked onto the sunburn the kid’s sporting and runs a defeated hand down his face as he trails behind.

Sighing at their antics you drop your arm to rest atop Wreckers head, bracing yourself on his shoulder. The victorious grin on Wrecker’s face only brightens as he places a hand on your thigh to help keep you upright, rubbing slow circles. Clearly he’s got no plans on putting you down any time soon. You wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planning on carrying you the whole way there atop his shoulder.