#lde25

The first time you see snow, you’re coming in for a crash landing.

“It’s not a crash,” Rex says over the com, voice steady in your ear even as the LAAT shudders around you. “It’s a controlled descent.”

“Into a mountain,” you shout back, gripping the safety straps so hard your fingers ache. “That’s the definition of a crash, Captain!”

“Ma’am, if we were crashing, you’d be screaming.”

“I am screaming!”

The gunship punches through a low bank of clouds, and suddenly the viewport is full of white.

You’ve seen it in holos, sure. Pretty documentaries about Alderaan’s winter festivals, weather reports about seasonal storms, all that polite, curated data you catalog for the GAR. But this is different. The snow here isn’t picturesque; it’s driven sideways by savage wind, clawing at the transparisteel like it wants in.

Below, the planet’s surface is all jagged rock and ice, a maze of ridges buried under deceptively fluffy powder. You catch flashes of dark metal in the distance—separatist installations, half-hidden in the storm.

“LZ coming up,” the pilot announces. “Hang on, boys.”

Rex’s hand steadies you by your shoulder, “You’re not supposed to be on the front line,” he says quietly, as if the rest of the troopers could hear him over the roar of the wind. “Soon as we touch down, you head for the relay station and stay behind cover. Understood?”

You tilt your head toward him. His helmet is still on, blue jaig eyes glaring down the length of the gunship, but you can picture the matching furrow in his real brow. You’ve worked with him long enough to know his expressions by the way his shoulders set.

“I am the relay station,” you remind him. “They pulled me out of the heated communications hub because of this planet’s ion interference.”

He huffs, just audible over the comm. “Didn’t say I didn’t want you here. Just don’t want you shot here.”

A beat of warmth flares under your ribs, inconvenient and familiar. You’ve had a quiet crush on Captain Rex since your first deployment with the 501st: he’d handed you a blaster and said so seriously you felt it in your bones, ‘Stay close, and only fire if you have to, ma’am’. He’s all duty and discipline hiding a secret tenderness below, and you’re only human.

You smile anyway, because joking is easier. “Aw, Captain. Careful or I’ll start thinking you care.”

His hand squeezes your shoulder just once before he pulls it back. “Stay behind cover, ma’am.”

The gunship bucks as it hits a cross current, then slams down hard enough your brain rattles in your skull. The doors yawns open to a wall of biting wind and sharp, stinging flakes. The cold punches straight through your thermal gear.

You step into snow for the first time and immediately sink halfway up your calves.

“Oh,” You gasp. “Oh no. Nope. No thank you. I hate this.”

Jesse laughs through the squad channel. “Welcome to Orto Plutonia, civvie.”

“Move!” Rex’s command cuts through the chatter. “Form up! Kix, with the liaison.”

You fall in beside Kix, head ducked against the gale. Your portable relay case bumps against your hip with every step, heavy with encrypted datapads, signal boosters, and enough power to punch a comm line through this cursed atmosphere. The medic half drags you through the snow to get to the connection point. 

The squad advances in a staggered formation, the contrast of their blacks peaking beneath their armor the only thing truly distinguishing them from the snow, blue markings half-obscured. Ahead, through veils of windblown flakes, you can just make out the dark outline of the Republic field station—a low cluster of prefabs half-buried in drifts.

“Static’s brutal,” Fives grumbles. “Can’t see for shit”

“Language,” Kix says mildly.

Fives sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can’t see anything.”

Rex lifts a hand, and the line halts. “Eyes up,” he says. “Droids could be using the storm for cover. Scanner?”

Jesse checks his wrist. “Readings are fuzzy, sir. Getting some movement, but the snow’s bouncing back the signal like crazy.”

You tap your comms headset. “External comms are fully jammed,” you report. “Localized squad channel’s stable. Once we get to the station, I can set up a directional beam and punch through to orbit.”

“Copy,” Rex says. “Let’s make it there in one piece.“

Kix hand is in the middle of your back as you trudge the last hundred meters through knee-deep powder, half guiding you along, half ready to push you down into the snow if need be. You're cursing your entire department for not issuing civilians proper snow gear the whole way.

By the time General Skywalker’s voice finally crackles faintly through the static of your datapad, you can’t feel your toes.

“—me in Rex. Report.”

You patch the signal to the squad’s internal channel. “You’re live, Captain.”

Rex straightens, snow sliding off his pauldrons. “We’ve reached the outpost, sir. Setting up the communications relay now. Awaiting orders.”

You sink to your knees beside the prefab’s half-buried antenna, pry open a frozen access panel, and start coaxing the ancient tech to life. Fingers numb, nose dripping, you fall into the familiar rhythm of troubleshooting: reroute power, bypass damaged relays, swear under your breath at budget constraints.

“You’re shivering,” Kix observes, crouching beside you to offer what little shelter he can from the whipping winds.

“I’m fine,” you say through chattering teeth. “How people voluntarily visit winter resorts I do not understand.”

He chuckles. “At least the snow’s pretty.”

You glance up. The storm has eased just enough that you can see the sky—a pale, washed-out gray, flakes tumbling like static on a broken holo. Pretty isn’t the word you’d use right now, but maybe when your extremities aren’t aching from the cold...

The comm array hums to life, a thread of stable power cutting through the chaotic interference. You grin, teeth clicking. “We’re up,” you announce. “Captain, you have a clear channel to the Resolute.”

Anakin’s voice comes through stronger now. “Good work. Captain, your objective stands. Intelligence confirms a Separatist command outpost approximately four clicks east of your location. Minimal organic life, heavy droid presence. You are to infiltrate, secure any data, and sabotage their main relay. We believe they’ve been tracking fleet movements.”

Rex nods. “Understood. We’ll move out immediately.”

You open your mouth to protest—Excuse me, hi, the civilian would like to not walk several kilometers in an arctic warzone—but Anakin beats you to the punch.

“Lieutenant,” he says, using the honorary field rank they slapped on you for paperwork’s sake. “You are to accompany Captain Rex. The Sepritists’ relay is likely using a variant of the same interference we’re struggling with. We’ll need your expertise to reverse it.”

Rex’s helmet swivels toward you. You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the disapproval from here.

You sigh. “Understood, General.”

The connection clicks off.

Rex strides over. “With respect, ma—Lieutenant, I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I.” You push to your feet and rub your arms for warmth. “But they’re right. If those relays are the same design, a droid’s not going to have the intuition to compensate for the interference. I will.”

“I can’t guarantee your safety out there.”

You study the emotion in his posture—the tight line of his shoulders, the slight dip of his head. He’s scared. Not for the mission. For you.

“You’ve kept me alive this long, Captain.” you say softly. “ I trust you.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then he gives a sharp nod. “Kix, you’re with us. Fives, Jesse—you’re on outpost defense until we return. If we’re not back in three hours—”

“We come and drag your asses home,” Fives says cheerfully. “Got it, sir.”

The trek to the Separatist station is worse. The wind picks up again, driving fine powder into every gap in your gear. Snow finds its way down the back of your neck, under your collar, into your boots. At one point you slip on a patch of ice hidden beneath the drifts and faceplant into a cold so deep it extinguishes every thought in your skull.

A strong hand hauls you upright by the back of your jacket. “Careful,” Rex says, an edge in his voice. “You okay?”

You spit out a mouthful of snow. “I’ve decided I hate my career choices, Captain.”

“Noted, ma’am.”

Still, he doesn’t let go of your jacket until the ground evens out.

The Separatist outpost rises out of the snow like an ugly metal tooth, dark plating rimed with frost. Turrets rotate lazily along the upper ramparts, sensors sweeping the whiteout.

“Heavy droid presence, they said,” Kix mutters. “That’s a lot of hardware.”

Rex waves you both down behind a ridge. “We need a way in, that keeps the bulk of their firepower pointed the wrong direction.”

You peer over the snowbank, squinting through wind and flurries. “Their external relays are mounted high for line-of-sight transmission,” you say, more to yourself than anyone. “If we can get close enough to hijack the signal routing, I might be able to overload the targeting feeds.”

Kix snorts. “In Basic, please.”

“I can break their eyes,” you translate. “Turrets start seeing everything as friendly or enemy. Either way, they’ll stop tracking us properly.”

Rex considers that. “How close?”

You double check and wince. “Uh. About… twenty meters from the primary array. On the exterior wall…. in the open.”

He groans. “Of course.”

You press on. “But if you can get me ten seconds, I can patch us as friendly and broadcast a false priority target on the other side of the compound. They’ll concentrate their fire where we tell them.”

Kix glances between you and Rex. “Sir, with all due respect, this is insane But it’s our best option.”

Rex lets out a tired sigh, some fog from his breath escaping from under the edge of his helmet. “Fine. We’ll move along the ridge, use the snow for cover as long as we can, then make a run for the base of the tower. Once the turrets shift to fire on the false target, we go in under their blindspot. Kix, you’re taking her in, I’ll provide cover and try to draw their fire. Lieutenant—”

“I poke the circuit boards until they cooperate,” you say, trying for humor, but mostly just sounding pitiful and cold. “Got it.”

The run for the tower is a blur of white and adrenaline. Blasterfire erupts as soon as your boots hit open ground, red bolts slicing through the storm. Snow explodes around you. Rex returns fire in measured bursts, picking off perimeter droids with clinical precision. Kix hand in between your shoulder blades, pushing you forward and yanking you out of the way of stray shots.

You slam into the base of the wall, heart in your throat, and drop to your knees in the snow. Ice bites through your pants instantly. You rip off the external panel, fingers shaking as you jack in your datapad and start ripping your way through the tower’s basic security.

“Ten seconds,” Kix says over your shoulder, blaster barking. “Nine.”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” you snap, breath pluming in front of you. You find the routing subroutine and force your own code into the mix, fingers flying on instinct. Input friendly IFF tags, spoof the turret’s target table, redirect priority lockout—

“Three,” Kix says, voice tight.

“Got it!” You slap the execute key. The tower hums as the turrets pivot in unison, barrels swinging to aim at a section of empty white plain on the far side of the base. Blasterfire erupts there instead, pounding furrows into untouched snow.

“Move!” Rex barks, vaulting over the fallen tree he’d been using for cover running straight towards the both of you.

────── ⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────

The inside of the base was one disaster after the other, but by some miracle the three of you managed to secure the intel and make it out in one piece. If making it out happened to entail the three of you falling out a side door that dropped you down a tall embankment… well, beggars can’t be choosers… You were dizzy and disoriented as you stood up the troopers taking control of the situation at hand.

“We’re too exposed,” Kix says, steadying you.. “If they send units topside—”

“They will,” Rex says. “We need cover. There—those rocks! Let’s move.”

The snow is deeper up here, piling in drifts against jagged stone outcroppings. You drag your legs through it, feeling each step like a weight. Your lungs burn with cold, every breath a knife.

Halfway to the rocks, something punches into your side.

You don’t understand what’s happened at first. There’s just an impact, like someone shoving you hard, and then your legs don’t work right. The ground rushes up.

You hit the snow and roll, powder spraying across your face. The sky spins crazily overhead—gray, white, gray, the dark outline of Rex’s helmet looming into view.

“Sniper!” Kix shouts. “Top of the base!”

Rex drops beside you, blasterfire all around. “Talk to me,” he says, urgently. “Where are you hit?”

You blink up at him. Your side feels… hot, weirdly, beneath the cold. You try to move and a white-hot lance of pain drives through your torso.

You gasp. “Oh. There. I guess.”

Kix slides in on your other side, hands already working, pulling away fabric, checking the wound. “Just a graze,” he says, more to Rex than to you. “Pretty bad burn, but not life threatening. Lucky.”

“Define lucky,” you manage, teeth clenched.

“Lucky is ‘you’re not dead,’” Kix says. “Talk later. Hold still.”

Another bolt kicks up snow a meter away. Rex snarls something wordless and fires back, covering both you and Kix with his body.

“Captain—” you protest, breathless. “You can’t—”

“Quiet,” he snaps. “I’m busy keeping you alive.”

Kix slaps a bacta patch onto your side. The gel floods the wound with a burning-then-numbing heat that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. You hiss, fingers digging into the snow.

“This will hold for now,” Kix says. “But she shouldn’t be running around.”

“I’m right here,” you say weakly. “And I vote we have to do, to not get shot again.”

Rex glances up toward the base, then down at you. You can’t see his eyes, but you can feel them, assessing, calculating.

“I’ll draw their fire,” he says abruptly.

Kix starts to protest, but Rex cuts him off with a wave of his hand

“She’s your patient. You take her, move along the rocks and circle wide. If I keep them looking my way—”

“That is a terrible plan,” you cut in.

“Lieutenant,” he says, and there’s an edge in it you’ve only heard a handful of times. “With respect, this is not your call.”

You glare up at him, gut twisting. “I am not letting you play hero just so I can limp back to the gunship with a singed side and a ghost.”

His hand closes around your shoulder. “You’re a civilian, I’m a soldier. This is my job.”

“I’m a communications expert, not the third in command of a whole kriffing legion, Captain.” You said firmly, “You are not-”

He flinches like you slapped him. “No,” he says, quiet and fierce. “You’re worth it.”

The storm seems to mute around you, just for a moment. Snowflakes hang in the air, suspended. Your breath catches.

“Rex,” you say.

He squeezes your shoulder once, then releases you. “Kix, move her now. That’s an order.”

Before either of you can argue again, he pushes up and charges down the slope, firing deliberately wild, making himself as obvious a target as possible.

“Captain, you kriffing—” Kix swears, then slings your arm over his shoulders. “All right, you heard him. We go.”

You stumble along the base of the rocks, using them as partial cover. Every few seconds, a bolt slams into the snow somewhere near Rex’s path. He returns fire, agile even in the drifts, drawing the shots away from you.

“Stay with me,” Kix urges.

“I’m trying,” you grit out. The pain in your side is a hot, throbbing ache now, dulled by the bacta but still very present. Your legs feel like someone replaced your muscles with lead.

You round a bend in the rocks and lose sight of Rex.

“Kix—”

“I know.” His jaw is tight behind his visor. “He’ll be fine. Man’s stubborn and made of pure durasteel.”

You make it another twenty meters before the world tilts alarmingly. Your vision tunnels, edges going dark.

“Hey,” Kix says sharply. “Stay awake.”

“Working on it,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.

Then the snow under your boots gives way.

You don’t even have time to swear. One moment you’re leaning on Kix, the next the ground simply… disappears, collapsing into a hidden crevasse beneath the drift.

You and Kix plunge into darkness in a flurry of powder and fractured ice.

When you hit, the impact knocks every particle of air out of your lungs. For a few seconds you’re not even sure if you’re alive or not.

“Ugh,” Kix groans nearby. “I hate snow. I hate gravity. You okay Lieutenant?"

You cough, curl around your side, and wince as pain flares. “Yeah,” you croak. “More or less.”

Kix helmet light flickers when he taps it, casting a weak cone of illumination around you. You’re in some kind of ice cave, the collapse having dropped you through a thin crust into a hollow space below. The ceiling glitters with frost, reflecting the light like a constellation.

“Could be worse,” Kix says. “Could’ve fallen onto rocks instead of snow.”

“I’d like to lodge a formal complaint with the universe regardless.”

His helmet HUD ticks as he checks his systems. “Comms are spotty,” he says. “Something in this ice is blocking the signal. We’re not getting through to Rex from down here.”

Panic stabs through you, sharper than your wound. “We have to get back up. He doesn’t know where we are, he’ll—he’ll think—”

“He’ll assume we got clear and prioritize his own survival,” Kix says firmly. “Because he’s a professional soldier and not a suicidal maniac.”

You give him a look. “He just ran into sniper fire for us.”

Kix hesitates. “Okay. Fair point. But he also wants you alive. So let’s focus on making that happen.”

You clench your teeth and nod. “What’s our exit strategy, medic?”

He sweeps his light around. The cave slopes downward in one direction, deeper into the ice, and upward in the other toward a jagged opening where you fell through. Snow continues to trickle down from the collapsed ceiling.

“Up is blocked,” he says. “We try climbing, we risk bringing the rest of it down on our heads. Down might open up further along. Maybe a natural fissure we can use to get back to the surface.”

You eye the downward path. “Into the depths of an unknown ice cave on a hostile world with one of us injured and no idea where our captain is. Sounds fun.”

“You’re picking up the clone sense of humor,” he says dryly. “Come on. Lean on me. Slow and steady.”

“Is this where you tell me to stay awake and talk about my feelings?”

“Only if you start slurring your words,” Kix says. “Then it’s concussion protocol and feelings hour.”

You manage a faint laugh and let him guide you.

The cave narrows in places, forcing you both to squeeze sideways through tight gaps between walls of blue-white ice. His helmet light refracts strangely, making it feel like you’re walking inside a broken crystal. Your breath echoes, harsh and loud.

After what feels like an eternity of shuffling, slipping, and cursing, the tunnel widens into a small chamber. A crack in the ceiling lets in a faint, diffuse glow from the storm above. Snow filters down in lazy spirals, gentler here than in the open air.

Kix stops. “We’ll rest here,” he says. “You’re running on fumes, and I need to check that wound.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

He turns his helmet toward you. “You said that before, and then you almost passed out and we fell into a planet. Sit.”

You sit. The snow here is shallow, more of a dusting on the stone floor than actual cover. It’s still cold enough to seep through your gear, but the ice walls block the worst of the wind.

Kix fusses over your side, replacing the bacta patch, checking for additional damage. His hands are gentle, practiced.

“You’re lucky,” he says again. “If that bolt had been a centimeter lower—”

“Lucky is ‘I’m on Coruscant with a hot mug of caf and a stack of routine transmission logs,’” you say. “This is… less lucky.”

He snorts. “If you wanted boring, you picked the wrong battalion.”

You bite back the urge to say you didn’t pick your assignment - even giving your current situation, you still wouldn’t trade your time with these boys for anything. You lean your head back against the ice wall and close your eyes for a second. The cave is quiet, the sort of deep, insulated quiet that makes your own heartbeat sound loud.

“Kix?” you ask softly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think he made it? Rex?”

Kix pauses. When he speaks, his voice is steady. “I’ve been patching that man up since I was assigned to the 501st. Takes more than a storm and a handful of clankers to put him down. He’ll be fine.”

You nod, a little of the tightness in your chest easing. “Okay.”

“You care about him,” Kix adds, casual but not too casual.

You crack an eye open to glower at him. “You’re reading too much into my desire for my commanding officer not to die.”

“Sure,” he says. “And I only carry a medkit for the exercise.”

You huff. “I like him,” you admit grudgingly. “There. You win. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“It’s stupid. He’s a clone, I’m civilian, there are regs and ethics boards and power dynamics and a lot of reasons why it’s a bad idea.”

“Also the war,” Kix says. “Don’t forget the war.”

“Yes, thank you, I was trying.”

He pats your shoulder. “For what it’s worth? I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”

You blink. “What does that mean?”

“Means if we get out of this, and you two don’t at least talk, I’m reassigning myself to a unit with less romantic tension.”

“You can’t reassign yourself,” you point out.

“Exactly. I deal with enough already, take something off my plate.”

Despite everything, a laugh escapes you. It echoes oddly in the cave, softer than the sound deserves.

Above, the faint glow shifts as the storm outside moves. Snowflakes drift down through the crack like bits of torn paper. One melts on your glove, tiny and intricate.

“Dink.” He shoves a canteen into your hands. You sip gratefully, the water lukewarm but welcome.

A crackle of static pops in your ear. You jerk upright.

“—x… Kix… anyone copy?”

Your heart stutters. “Rex?”

More static. Then, clearer: “Kix, Lieutenant, respond. Where are you?”

“We hear you!” Kix says, thumping his helmet. “We fell into some kind of ice cave. Comms have been a mess. Sir, are you okay?”

“Fine,” Rex says, which you weren’t sure if you believed him or not. “I lost visual on you when you went over that drift. My tracker shows your signals below surface level. Can you see sky?”

“Sort of,” you say, craning your neck. “There’s a crack above us. Light coming through, snow falling in. We’re in a… pocket? Chamber? Not sure how far down.”

“Stay put,” Rex orders. “I’ll find you.”

“That’s not efficient,” you protest. “We can try to climb toward the crack, meet you halfway.”

“Negative,” he says, voice sharpening. “You’re injured, Lieutenant. You already fell through once. I’m not risking you on unstable terrain again.”

“You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can. That’s an order.”

Kix mutters, “Told you. Professional soldier, suicidal tendencies, one package.”

You ignore him. “Fine,” you say to Rex. “But you better be careful. I will be very annoyed if you die on the way here just to prove a point.”

The connection fuzzes for a second, and you think you hear a soft huff of laughter. “Copy that.”

The next fifteen minutes are an exercise in patience and anxiety. You sit there in that cold, glittering cave, watching the crack above, listening for any sign of movement. Kix hums under his breath, some wordless tune.

Then, faintly, over the wind: “Grenade out!”

You startle. “What was—”

There’s a muffled thump, and Kix scrambles to shield you as snow pours in through the crack in a thick white waterfall.

“Sir?” Kix calls.

A gloved hand appears over the edge of the fissure, fingers digging into the ice. A moment later, a helmet follows, blue jaig eyes peering down.

“Found you,” Rex says.

Relief hits you so hard it’s almost painful. “Show-off.”

He disappears from view, then reappears half a minute later, lowered on a hastily rigged line anchored to something above. He drops the last meter into the cave with easy grace and straightens up, scanning you both.

He looks like he’s been through the grinder. His armor is scorched in several places, a long black streak running down one side of his chestplate. There’s a new dent in his helmet. More snow clings to him than to the landscape.

“Are you hurt?” you demand, before he can say anything.

“Nothing serious,” he says. “You?”

Kix answers for you. “She’ll live. Blaster graze, patched and stable. Some bruising from the fall. I want to check her for a concussion, and I’d like to get her into a medbay before the numbing meds wear off.”

Rex nods. “Extraction’s on the way. I signaled Fives and the others once I picked up your signal. They’re setting up a beacon for the gunships.” He looks up at the crack. “Think you can handle a climb?”

You eye the makeshift line. “With help.”

He steps closer and offers his hand. “I’ve got you,” he says quietly.

You take it.

With Rex holding you tightly to him as the small motorized pulling drags the two of you upward, the accent is less terrifying than it could be. Your side protests every movement, but the adrenaline dulls the edge. You emerge into blinding white, the storm having eased into a steady fall of lazy flakes. Rex pushes you out first once you’re at the top, and keeps his hands on your waist for a second longer than strictly necessary after helping you stand up.

“Thanks,” you say, breath puffing in the cold.

He doesn’t let go immediately. “You scared me,” he says, so soft you almost don’t hear it over the wind.

You swallow. “You scared me first.”

Kix grunts as he hauls himself out behind you. “If you two are going to start emotionally processing, can we do it somewhere warmer?”

“Gunship’s two minutes out,” Rex says, glancing toward a distant, blinking beacon where you can just make out the shapes of Fives and Echo in the snow. “We’ll be aboard and en route to the Resolute before your toes fall off, Lieutenant.”

“Too late,” you say. “I left my toes back at the first outpost.”

He huffs. “I’ll requisition you new ones.”

“You can do that?”

“Probably not,” he admits. “But I can try.”

The wind shifts, sending a flurry of snow swirling around you. For a second, the world narrows to just the three of you in a haze of white—your breath, their breath, the faint whine of approaching engines.

“Rex,” you say, before you lose your nerve. “Back there. When you said…”

He stiffens. “I was trying to keep you moving,” he says quickly. “Soldiers say things in the field. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” You blink. “That’s not— no. I just wanted to know if you… meant it.”

He goes very still. If he weren’t so close, if you hadn’t spent months learning the language of his silences, you might miss the subtle shift.

“Yeah,” he says at last. “I did.”

The engines are louder now, a gunship sweeping in low over the ridge. Snow blasts outward in a swirling halo as it hovers, ramp lowering.

You have seconds. Maybe less.

“Well, that’s… good,” you say brilliantly.

He tilts his helmet, just a fraction. “Good?”

You can feel Kix hovering politely just out of earshot, pretending to take an urgent interest in his medkit.

You take a breath. The air is cold enough it stings your lungs.

“Because I…” You trail off, then shake your head. “I like you too, Rex. A lot. Against my better judgment.”

He’s very quiet.

The gunship settles, ramps fully down. Fives waves wildly from the open hatch. “Hey! You done making snow angels? We’ve got places to be!”

You flush. “We are not—”

Rex lifts a hand, cutting you off. Then he reaches up, pops the seals on his helmet, and pulls it off.

You’ve seen his face before, of course, but never quite like this—flushed from the cold, eyes bright and intent. His gaze anchors you in place.

“Regulations say I shouldn’t fraternize,” he says. “Regulations say a lot of things.” Snowflakes cling to his lashes. “But I almost lost you three times today, and I’m starting to think I don’t care what regulations say, not when it comes to you.”

You stare at him. Your heart is doing something very undignified in your chest.

“It’s cold,” you say, because your brain has decided now is a good time to stop functioning. “You shouldn’t— your head will—”

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through layers of gear. “Permission to do something reckless, Lieutenant?”

You swallow. “Granted.”

He kisses you.

It’s not the desperate, dramatic holodrama clinch you once imagined. It’s cautious at first, testing, his lips surprisingly warm against yours despite the freezing air. He tastes like recycled oxygen, cold, and something undeniably him. Snow dusts his cheek, melts against your skin.

For a second, neither of you move. The world holds its breath.

Then something inside you loosens, and you lean in, fingers curling in the plastoid edge of his collar. He responds immediately, hand sliding to the back of your head, steady but not demanding, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

You don’t.

Your side twinges, reminding you that you are, in fact, injured and standing upright entirely too long. You break the kiss with a breathless laugh. “Ow. Worth it, but ow.”

He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, eyes closed. “You sure?” he asks quietly. “About this?”

“About kissing a handsome, infuriating clone captain in the middle of a snowstorm after nearly dying twice?” you say. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

A smile ghosts over his mouth. “Good to know.”

“Kriffing finally,” Kix mutters behind you.

You and Rex both turn to glare at him. He just shrugs.

“Get her on the ship, Captain,” Kix says. “If I have to keep doing field surgery on this iceball, I’m putting in for hazard pay.”

Rex sets his helmet back on with a click and slides an arm around your waist, careful of your wound. “You heard the medic,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

You let him guide you toward the gunship, snow swirling around your boots. The ramp is a brief incline of safety, the interior blessedly warm. Troopers crowd around, clapping you both on the shoulders, firing off questions and jokes.

You sink onto a bench as the ship lifts, feeling the ache in your side and the bone-deep exhaustion in your limbs. Rex takes the seat beside you, close enough that your thighs touch.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft enough only he can hear through the local channel. “Rex?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you decide to risk your life for me,” you say, “maybe just remember I can’t replace you, okay?”

He looks at you, then down where your legs are pressed against each other.

“I’ll try,” he says. “No promises. But I’ll try.”

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Guess I’ll just have to stick close and make sure you don’t do anything too heroic.”

“Someone’s got to keep me in line,” he agrees.

Outside, the snowstorm fades into cloud as the gunship climbs, leaving the frozen battlefield behind. Inside, surrounded by the hum of engines and the low murmur of familiar voices, you lean your head on Rex’s shoulder and let your eyes drift shut.

"You've lost your minds. All of you," Echo grumbles from the hall outside the cockpit, spooning a reconstituted nutrient paste into a bowl that smells faintly of burnt synthetic meat. "Do you even know what we're risking here? The Empire has checkpoints on half the major hyperspace lanes. We're supposed to be repairing the ship, not taking a holiday."

Your eyes drift from the view of hyperspace to where Omega sits beside you, her small hands holding a datapad that's playing a vid about Life Day festivities on Coruscant. She’s rapt, her gaze glued to the screen as she watches kids her age playing with gifts under the great Life Day tree, and the sight of her, so small and hopeful, makes the risk feel worth it. Life Day was an event the regs had made sure the clones never experienced, a tradition reserved for families and civilians. For Omega, it’s one more piece of a childhood she's never had.

"We'll be careful," you say, trying to catch Hunter's eye, but he's pointedly ignoring you, focused instead on the navicomputer. "Just one night, in and out. We can blend in."

"Blend in?" Echo scoffs, gesturing at the five of you with his spoon. "Look at us. We're a walking, talking Imperial bulletin. What's our cover story this time? A circus troupe on vacation?"

Wrecker, who has been silently pacing the narrow hallway behind him, stops. "Hey, I'd make a great circus performer." He flexes a bicep, the muscles straining against the fabric of his blacks. "I could be the strongman."

You can't help but smile at that, and even Omega lets out a small giggle. The moment of levity doesn't last long.

"The point of this trip is to stay hidden," Hunter's voice is low and tight, a clear warning. "Not to draw attention to ourselves and spend our last bit of credits on a festival."

"Guys, it's Life Day," you plead, turning to face him fully. "When was the last time we did something just for us? For fun? We've been running for months. We deserve this. She deserves this."

You nod toward Omega, and this finally gets to him. Hunter’s gaze softens for a fraction of a second as he looks at the young girl, who’s now watching him with wide, pleading eyes. You had her practice the look in the refresher for half an hour this morning, and it was paying off in spades.

“Fine,” Hunter says, the word dragged out of him. “One night. But if you so much as look at an Imperial officer the wrong way, we’re gone. Understood?”

“Understood!” Omega chirps, beaming.

Hunter sighs, the sound heavy with resignation, and turns back to the controls as the Marauder drops out of hyperspace. Behind you, Echo lets out a scoff.

“You can’t be serious,” he says to Hunter’s back.

“The vote is cast, Echo,” Tech’s calm voice cuts in from the copilot's seat where he’s been silently observing the entire exchange, attention split between you and a datapad of his own. “And I, for one, am looking forward to observing the Pantoran cultural practices firsthand. The probability of a successful, uneventful excursion is, in fact, quite high. If we remain vigilant and adhere to a strict protocol, the risk is minimal.”

"Yeah, c'mon, Echo," Wrecker adds, and he claps a hand on his shoulder with a force that sends him stumbling. You feel him bump against your seat and brace himself on the back of it, muttering a curse. "It'll be fun! We can celebrate and relax for a bit, and then we'll go back to being boring. Promise."

"The Empire's been hot on our trail recently. The best way to celebrate Life Day is with a little peace and quiet," Echo insists, his voice a low rumble in your ear. His proximity is distracting, the heat of him seeping through your flight suit. "Not a trip to a crowded city full of potential threats."

You turn in your seat to face him, your knee bumping against his. He doesn't move. "And here I thought you just didn’t like having fun.”

Echo’s eyes narrow at your teasing, but the annoyance in them is tempered by something else. "I like fun. I like it even more when I don't have to worry about being captured or executed by a tyrannical regime."

"Details, details," you wave a dismissive hand, your fingers brushing against his. He twitches, an almost imperceptible movement, and you press your advantage. "Look, we deserve this. All of us. Think of it as a strategic retreat. To boost morale."

"Morale," he repeats, the word flat on his tongue.

"Morale," you confirm with a grin. "Very important for a tight-knit unit like ours. I read it in a manual. Somewhere. You probably know the one.”

He huffs, a small, humorless sound that's closer to a surrender than you expected. "You're impossible."

"Impossible, but persuasive," you reply, leaning in a little closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And I promise I'll make it up to you."

The look on his face is priceless—a mixture of suspicion, intrigue, and a flicker of the old soldier he used to be, the one who knew how to relax. The one who you were starting to see more and more of lately. The unspoken promise hangs in the air between you, a fragile truce in the war of wills that's been waging since you’d brought up the idea. For a moment, the universe shrinks to the small space between your faces, the buzz of the Marauder's engines fading into the background.

"Alright," he concedes, so quietly you almost miss it. "But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming you."

"You always blame me," you point out, but there's no heat in it.

"Because you're usually the one behind it," he counters, a hint of a smile finally touching the corners of his lips. You smirk up at him, your own smile widening as the tension finally breaks. You’ve won. Again.

"Ahem."

Hunter clears his throat, a not-so-subtle reminder that you're not alone, and you pull back. Echo looks away, but not before you catch the faintest hint of a flush on his cheeks. You're not sure if it's from the close proximity or the argument, but you'll take it.

"Approaching Pantora now," Hunter announces, his gaze fixed on the snow-covered planet growing larger in the viewport. "Everyone, gear up. We're going incognito. Civvies only. I don't want to see a single piece of armor on anyone."

The crew scatters, a flurry of movement and chatter as they head to the bunks to change. You stay put, watching the blue-and-white sphere grow larger, a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest. It’s been a long time since you've felt anything close to this. Excitement. Hope.

"You're enjoying this way too much," Echo's voice is still close, and when you turn, he's watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Just trying to bring a little Life Day spirit to the ship," you say, feigning innocence. "Someone has to."

He shakes his head, but there's a warmth in his eyes now, a softening of the hard lines that have etched themselves onto his face over the years. "Just... be careful. Okay?"

"I'm always careful," you reply, and he raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay, I'm usually careful."

"See? That's what I'm worried about," he says, but the teasing is back in his voice. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your arm, a brief, hesitant touch that sends a jolt through you. "You’re a walking hazard.”

“Guess you’ll just have to keep an eye on me then,” you say softly, the words hanging in the recycled air of the cockpit. He doesn't answer, but he doesn't pull away either. For a long moment, you just look at each other, a silent conversation passing between you that feels more real than any of the words you’ve exchanged all day.

"Alright, lovebirds, break it up," Wrecker's booming voice cuts through the moment. He’s standing in the doorway to the cockpit, a garishly colored sweater stretched tight across his chest, a grumpy-looking tooka-cat knitted into the design. "Tech says we need to coordinate our cover stories. I'm a professional boxer on a celebratory tour."

“You are not,” Tech ’s calm voice drifts in from the hall, followed by the man himself, already adjusting the hood of a civilian poncho. “That is the least believable cover story I have ever heard. We are a group of itinerant agricultural consultants. The likelihood of this being questioned is minimal.”

Echo snorts, pulling away from you. “Agricultural consultants? Us? What are we going to do, analyze the soil composition of the city plaza?”

“I would like to if we have the opportunity,” Tech says, completely serious. “The Pantoran tundra, while inhospitable, contains fascinating mineral deposits that could support unique lichen growth. I brought a sample kit.”

Hunter appears behind them, dressed in dark, nondescript clothes that do little to hide the soldier beneath. He’s holding a bundle of folded fabric in one hand.

"Here," he says, and thrusts it at you. “That should fit. Probably.”

You unfold it to reveal a thick, dark blue coat with a fur-lined hood. It's sturdy, practical, and exactly the kind of thing a local would wear to ward off the planet's famous chill.

"Wow," you say, genuinely impressed. "Where did you get this?"

"Traded for it. On Ord Mantell," he says, looking away, as if embarrassed by the small act of foresight. “It was supposed to be for an emergency, but... I suppose this counts.”

You grin. "Thanks, Hunter."

“Our first Life Day gift,” Omega chimes in, appearing from the bunks. She's bundled up in a similar, smaller coat, her face practically glowing with excitement. “It’s tradition to give gifts!”

"Just try not to lose it," Hunter grumbles, but the corners of his eyes crinkle. "And remember the plan. We land, we find a place to stay, we get some food, we see the tree, and we leave. No detours. No 'cultural observations.' And no," he says, his gaze landing pointedly on you and Echo, "straying from the group."

Your shoulders slump slightly at the same time as Echo chokes on the last of his nutrient paste, wiping a hand over his mouth.

"Wasn’t planning on it,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, well, some of us are less predictable than others,” Hunter mutters, before turning and heading back toward the landing cockpit. "Let's move out. I want to be on the ground before the evening rush."

The atmosphere in the landing bay of Pantora’s main spaceport is a chaotic mix of civilian life and droid-assisted industry. The air is crisp and biting, carrying the scent of snow, machinery, and spiced pastries from a nearby vendor. It’s overwhelming after the sterile, recycled air of the Marauder. You pull the hood of your new coat up, the synthetic fur tickling your cheeks, and take a deep breath. It's cold, but it feels clean.

"Stay close," Hunter commands, his voice a low rumble that cuts through the noise of the bustling port. He’s already taken point, his gaze sweeping the crowd with an intensity that makes you feel safer and more conspicuous at the same time. "Tech, you have a map of the city?"

"Affirmative. The Life Day celebrations appear to be centered around the Grand Plaza, approximately point-seven kilometers from our current position. However, I have located a more secluded lodging option in a nearby residential district. It has received excellent reviews for its discretion and quiet atmosphere," Tech says, pulling up a holographic map that shimmers in the frigid air.

"Quiet sounds good," Echo says, standing close beside you. His presence is a solid, familiar weight in the chaos. He's right. The sheer number of people is staggering, a sea of faces, most of them blue-skinned Pantorans, but more than enough humans and other species to make you feel like you could, maybe, blend in.

"But I wanted to see the tree!" Omega protests, her small figure swallowed by her oversized coat.

"We will," you assure her, taking her gloved hand in yours. "First, we find a place to dump our stuff. Then, we see the city. Deal?"

She nods, her disappointment momentarily soothed. "Okay."

"The residential district is in this direction," Tech says, pointing down a wide, snow-dusted avenue. "If we maintain a steady pace, we should arrive within fifteen minutes. I suggest we avoid the main thoroughfares to remain discrete."

"I like ‘discrete,’” Hunter agrees. "Wrecker, take the rear. And try to look... less like you."

Wrecker, who’s already wandered a few feet away to stare at a food stall selling roasted meats on a stick, turns back. "What's wrong with how I look?"

"Everything," Echo mutters under his breath, and you nudge him with your elbow.

“Let’s just get going,” you say, pulling Omega along as you fall into step behind Hunter and Tech.

The city is a marvel of crystalline architecture, the buildings glinting in the pale afternoon sun like giant, sculpted jewels. The streets are lined with trees strung with twinkling lights, and the air is filled with the low hum of conversation and the distant strains of a festive choir. You’re instantly transported back to childhood memories of similar holidays on Coruscant, a wave of nostalgia so strong it almost hurts.

You feel a light touch on your arm and turn to see Echo watching you, a curious expression on his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, forcing a smile. "Just... remembering. This is what it's supposed to feel like."

He nods, his gaze softening as he looks around. "It's... nice. Different." He gestures to a group of Pantoran children chasing each other through a drift of snow, their laughter echoing in the crisp air as they throw snowballs at each other, their breath frosting in the cold. "I've never seen that before. Not in person."

You watch them for a moment, a pang in your chest. For all their training, all their battles, there was so much of the galaxy they'd never been allowed to see. Simple things. Normal things.

"Well, you're seeing it now," you say, your voice quiet. "Might as well make the most of it."

He doesn't answer, but the look he gives you is one of grudging agreement. You fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the city filling the space between you. The walk is longer than fifteen minutes, filled with wrong turns and Wrecker's frequent stops to admire the window displays, but you don't mind. You find yourself enjoying the simple act of walking, of being a face in the crowd, anonymous and unafraid for the first time in a long while. The residential district Tech has chosen is quieter, the streets narrower and the buildings less ostentatious. Snow falls in soft, lazy flurries, dusting the eaves and sills of the tidy townhouses.

The lodging is a small inn that looks twice as old and half as tall as the buildings around it. A wooden sign, creaking in the wind, depicts a snoring tooka-cat curled up in front of a fire. "The Sleepy Loth-cat," Tech reads, adjusting his goggles. "Quaint. And, according to the reviews, the proprietor is deaf as a post and asks very few questions."

"Sounds perfect," Hunter says, already pushing open the heavy wooden door. The inside is warm and dimly lit, smelling of old wood, wax, and something sweet, like baking bread. A small fire crackles in a stone hearth, and a portly Pantoran woman with her white hair in a tight bun dozes in a chair beside it, her chin resting on her chest.

Tech clears his throat, a delicate, polite cough. The woman doesn't stir.

"Ahem," he tries again, a little louder this time. Her head snaps up, her eyes wide. She blinks at the five of you, then at Wrecker, who has to duck to get through the door.

"We require lodging," Tech says, stepping forward. "Four rooms, if possible."

The woman, whose name tag reads 'Mina', eyes you all with a shrewd but sleepy gaze. "Got three rooms left. Life Day rush," she says, her voice a gravelly whisper. "Credits up front. No questions, no trouble."

"That is precisely our preference," Tech says, producing a small, untraceable credit chip from a hidden pocket in his poncho. He handles the transaction with a quiet efficiency that you've come to admire. Mina hands him three old-fashioned metal keys on a ring.

"Top floor. End of the hall. Breakfast at dawn, if you're awake for it," she says, already sinking back into her chair. "Don't wake me if you're not."

The rooms are small but clean, each with two narrow beds and a single window overlooking the snowy street. You and Omega take the one furthest from the stairs, while the boys take the other two. After dropping your bags, you all meet in the hallway, a sense of relief settling over the group. For the first time in months, you have a roof over your heads that isn't the hull of the Marauder.

"Alright," Hunter says, keeping his voice low. "We have a few hours of daylight left. Let's get this over with. Tech, you lead."

The Grand Plaza is even more spectacular than you'd imagined. A colossal Life Day tree, its branches heavy with shimmering lights and glowing orbs, dominates the center of the square. Beneath it, a crowd of revelers mingles, their laughter mingling with the festive music from a nearby band. The air is thick with the smell of roasted nuts and spiced cider.

Omega's gasp of pure delight is all the justification you need. Her eyes are wide, reflecting the thousands of tiny lights, her face lit up with a wonder that makes your chest ache. "It's... it's even better than the vid," she breathes.

You squeeze her hand. "Told you."

"It's a lot of people," Echo murmurs, his gaze sweeping the crowd with a practiced, paranoid intensity. He's standing so close you can feel the tension thrumming through him, a coiled spring ready to snap.

"We look like any other family out for a holiday," you say, trying to reassure him as much as yourself. "Just relax. Try to enjoy it."

"I am enjoying it," he insists, though the tight set of his jaw says otherwise. "From a tactical perspective, it's fascinating. The sheer number of potential exit points, the way the crowd flows..."

"You are a joy to celebrate with, you know that?" you tease, bumping your shoulder against his. He huffs, but some of the tension seems to leave him.

"I want to go closer!" Omega says, tugging on your hand.

"Alright, alright," you say, letting her pull you forward. "Stay close, everyone."

As you navigate the crowd, Wrecker makes a beeline for a vendor selling colorful, steaming pastries. "I'm gonna get one of those," he declares, pointing a thick finger at a confection slathered in purple icing. "And maybe one of those. And that."

"Wrecker, wait—“

Hunter's warning is too late. Wrecker’s already halfway across the plaza, digging through his coat pockets for credits. Hunter pinches the bridge of his nose, a familiar gesture of exasperation, and he turns to give you all a warning look.

“I’m going after him. Everyone else, stay put,” he commands, before melting into the throng of bodies with an unnerving, professional ease. He's a predator in a flock of sheep, and within moments, he's at Wrecker's side, a hand on his arm, steering him toward the vendor with a grim determination.

Tech, meanwhile, is inching his way closer to the base of the tree, his datapad out, scanning the trunk. "Fascinating," he mutters. "This is not a pine. The cellular structure is consistent with a conifer native to Saleucami. They must have transplanted it. The logistics of such an operation would be..."

“Let’s go look closer,” Omega urges. She squeezes your hand and lets go, racing for Tech’s arm and hanging on it, pulling him toward the trunk.

“You can take them,” Echo says, nodding toward Omega and Tech. “I’ll keep an eye on things from here. A better vantage point.” He gestures with his chin toward a low wall bordering the plaza.

“You’re going to brood?”

“I’m going to maintain situational awareness,” he corrects, but there's a hint of a smile in his voice. "Go on. I'll be right here."

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight after all the trouble I went through to get you here, you’re crazy,” you say, falling into step beside him as he moves toward the wall. “Straying from the group, remember?”

He lets out a soft sigh, a sound of resignation that’s becoming a familiar soundtrack to your interactions. “Fine. But you’re brooding with me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. "Deal."

The wall offers a clear view of the plaza and, more importantly, a slight buffer from the densest part of the crowd. Echo leans against the stone, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sweeping the area with a soldier's practiced discipline. You lean beside him, mimicking his posture, the cold stone seeping through your coat.

"You're really not going to even try to enjoy this, are you?" you ask, your voice light, your eyes on a Pantoran couple cooing over a baby in a stroller.

"I am enjoying it," he insists, his gaze not wavering from the crowd. "In my own way. I'm enjoying not being shot at. That's a significant upgrade." He pauses, then adds, quieter, "And seeing her like that. That's... good."

You follow his gaze to where Omega is now pointing up at the tree, asking Tech a question that you can’t hear but can guess has something to do with the number of lights. Tech is explaining, using elaborate hand gestures, a rare, patient smile on his face.

"Yeah," you agree. "It's worth it just for that."

"You were right," he says, the words so unexpected that you turn to look at him. His profile is stark against the snow-flecked sky, the set of his jaw softer than it was a few minutes ago. "About this. About all of it. We needed this."

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you say, cupping a hand to your ear. “The sound of holiday cheer is making it hard to hear you admit I was right.”

He rolls his eyes, but a reluctant grin tugs at his lips. "Don't push it. You're only right once or twice a cycle. I wouldn't want you to get a big head."

"I'll try to contain myself," you say, turning your attention back to the festivities. A moment of companionable silence settles between you, comfortable and warm despite the biting cold. The band strikes up a new, more upbeat tune, and a group of revelers nearby begins to sing along, their voices slightly off-key but full of cheer.

"You know," you say after a while, "I never really got the whole Life Day thing when I was a kid. Seemed like a lot of fuss for a fancy tree and some overpriced gifts that get forgotten in a week."

"Why’d you want to come so badly, then?"

You shrug, the movement bringing your shoulder closer to his. He doesn’t pull away.

"I guess it's different now. It's not about the tree or the gifts. It's about... this." You gesture vaguely at the scene before you. "Just stopping. For a second. And remembering that there are things in the galaxy worth celebrating, not just fighting."

"Family," he says, the word a quiet admission. "That's what it's supposed to be about, right?"

"Yeah," you say, your heart aching at the simple, profound truth of it. "Family."

You feel him shift beside you, his arm brushing against yours. When you risk a glance at him, he's looking at you, his dark eyes unreadable in the dim light of the plaza. The festive glow of the tree catches in them, turning them into pools of liquid amber. He's close, so close you can see the faint scar that cuts through his eyebrow, the one you've always wanted to ask about but never did.

"The food looks good," he says, abruptly breaking the spell. His gaze shifts away from you, back to the throng of people. "Wrecker's right about that."

"A diplomatic retreat to avoid a personal conversation," you tease, your lighter tone a shield against the sudden, intense wave of something that washed over you. You shove your hands in your pockets and straighten up. "Smooth, soldier."

He has the grace to look a little flustered, a faint pink rising on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. "I'm hungry."

"An excuse I can't argue with," you concede. You look around the market stalls. "What's your poison? Mystery meat on a stick, or a pastry that could induce a diabetic coma?"

A genuine, unrestrained laugh escapes him, a rare and wonderful sound that makes a group of passing Pantorans glance over with smiles. "Let's go with the pastry. Death by dessert seems more festive."

"That's the spirit," you say, and you're rewarded with another one of those small, reluctant smiles that you're starting to crave more than you should. In a surprising burst of boldness, you reach out and your fingers find the crook of his elbow, a light, questioning touch. "Come on. Before Hunter decides it's time to pull the plug."

He allows you to guide him back into the flow of the crowd. This time, he doesn't tense up. Instead, he seems to lean into the touch, a subtle shift in weight that sends a jolt straight through you. You navigate the crowded plaza together, a small island of quiet intimacy in the sea of strangers, and for a little while, you’re just two people out on a Life Day evening. Not soldiers, not fugitives, just… here.

You find a stall selling steaming mugs of cider and the pastries Wrecker had been eyeing. You buy two of each, the transaction feeling strangely domestic with Echo standing patiently beside you, watching the crowd while you fumble with the credit chip.

You find a spot on the outskirts of the celebration, near a stone railing that overlooks a lower level of the city. Snow has begun to fall more heavily, each flake a tiny, perfect star in the lamplight. You hand him one of the mugs and a pastry, and he takes them with a quiet nod of thanks.

"So, verdict?" you ask as you remove your gloves and stuff them in your pockets. The heat from the mug seeps into your frozen fingers. "Worth risking a top-secret Imperial inspection for?"

Echo takes a cautious bite of the pastry. Purple frosting immediately smears across the corner of his mouth. He pauses, a look of intense concentration on his face.

"It's… surprisingly good," he admits after a moment. "A little sweet, but the structure is sound. Good flakiness."

You laugh, and he finally seems to notice the frosting. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, but only succeeds in smearing it further.

"Here," you say, before you can stop yourself. Your hand cradles his jaw, your thumb gently brushing the corner of his mouth, wiping away the purple smudge.

Echo freezes, the pastry halfway to his lips. His skin is warm beneath your touch, faintly stubbled. His eyes are fixed on yours, wide and dark and full of an emotion so raw and vulnerable it makes your breath catch.

The world narrows to the space between you, the festive sounds of the plaza fading to a dull roar. You can feel the faint tremor in his hand as he lowers the pastry. Your thumb lingers for a second too long, a silent question hanging in the frigid air. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans into your touch, a slight, almost imperceptible pressure that feels like a surrender. It’s an answer.

"Found them!" Wrecker’s booming voice cuts through the moment like a blaster shot.

Echo jerks back as if he’s been shocked, and you drop your hand, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving you feeling cold. He turns away, taking a hasty gulp of cider to cover the movement. Omega is right behind Wrecker, holding a small, carved wooden tooka-cat, its tail wrapped in a bright red ribbon. Tech trails them, looking faintly harried.

"We looked everywhere for you!" Omega exclaims, running up to you. She holds up her new treasure. "Look what Wrecker got me!"

"A tooka-cat," you breathe. You force a smile as your heart hammers against your ribs. "It's perfect."

"He won it for me at a game," she explains, her cheeks flushed with cold and excitement. "You had to throw these little balls at these droid targets. Wrecker was amazing. He knocked all of them down with one throw!"

"It was rigged!" Wrecker protests, his mouth full. "I had to show them who was boss."

"And I acquired a fascinatingly inefficient heat pack," Tech says, holding up a small, sizzling pouch. "It utilizes a chemically reactive mineral that is only found on the planet Cerea. Highly impractical, but aesthetically pleasing."

Hunter appears last, his expression a grim mask of disapproval. His gaze lands on you and Echo, and he raises an eyebrow. "Having fun?"

"The most," Echo says, his voice a little too tight. He still won't look at you. He’s staring into his mug as if it holds the secrets of the universe. "Just enjoying the local cuisine."

"Hmm," Hunter says, a noncommittal sound that’s more of a judgment than a word. "It's getting late. The patrols are starting to make their rounds more frequently. We should head back."

"Aww," Omega groans, her face falling. "But the fireworks haven't even started yet."

"We can see them from the inn," Hunter says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It's safer."

You can see Echo’s shoulders relax almost imperceptibly at the mention of leaving. The fleeting bubble of peace has popped, and the fugitive is back. You feel a pang of disappointment, sharp and unexpected. You had been so close.

"You're right," you say, pushing the feeling down and falling back into your role. You find the nearest receptacle and dump the remains of your cider. "The excitement was starting to get to me."

Echo gives you a sideways glance, a flicker of something in his eyes that you can't quite read. Gratitude? Regret? You can't be sure. He drains the last of his own drink and crumples the cup in his flesh-and-blood hand, the plastic crackling in the quiet.

“I’ll catch up,” Echo says, his gaze now fixed on the distant lights of the city. “You guys go ahead. I just want a minute.”

Hunter looks from him to you and back again, a line of worry creasing his brow. “Echo…”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Echo insists, his tone final. “Promise.”

Hunter hesitates, but then nods, a reluctant trust in the gesture. “Alright. Five minutes. Don’t be late.” He turns to the others. “Let’s go. Single file. Wrecker, try not to knock anything over.”

Wrecker salutes with the rest of his pastry, a gesture that’s both ridiculous and endearing. "Sir, yes, sir!"

They melt back into the thinning crowd, Omega waving to you over her shoulder before she disappears. You hesitate, your feet rooted to the spot. Leaving feels wrong. Staying feels like pushing your luck.

“Go on,” Echo says, not looking at you. “I’ll be fine.”

"I know you are,” you reply softly. “I’m not worried about you. I’m… enjoying the view.”

That gets him to turn. He looks at you, truly looks at you, and the mask of the soldier falls away just enough for you to see the exhaustion underneath. The bone-deep weariness of a man who’s been fighting a war his entire life. The cold bites at your exposed cheeks, and you pull the hood of your coat tighter.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. Just a quiet, tired observation.

“I’m a brilliant liar,” you counter, a small smile touching your lips. “You’re just good at seeing through me.”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. He looks away, back toward the tree, which has now become the centerpiece of the dwindling crowd. The band has packed up, and a sense of calm is settling over the plaza, the frantic energy of the evening giving way to a more contemplative quiet.

"It was a good idea," he says after a long silence, the words carried away by the wind. "Bringing her here. Bringing us here."

"We needed it," you agree, your gaze fixed on the snow swirling in the light from a nearby lamppost. It feels like a confession. "I needed it."

He finally looks at you then, and the raw honesty in his eyes is almost too much to bear. "Me too."

A distant boom echoes through the city, the first of the fireworks. A second later, a shower of green and gold sparks blooms in the dark sky above the rooftops, its light washing over his face, highlighting the sharp angles and the soft shadows. You watch him watch the light, a fleeting, beautiful display reflected in his dark eyes. This feels more real than the tree, the food, the crowds. This quiet moment of shared vulnerability.

"We should go," you say, though every part of you wants to stay.

"Yeah," he agrees, his voice rough. He turns, and you walk side-by-side, a careful distance between you, back through the now-deserted plaza. The crunch of your boots on the snow is the only sound, a steady rhythm that seems to match the frantic beat of your own heart.

The walk back to the inn is quiet. You both keep your hoods up, your faces hidden from the few people you pass. The city feels different now, quieter, more intimate. The earlier festive energy has been replaced by a gentle stillness. Another firework explodes overhead, painting the snow in shades of blue and violet.

"It's strange," he says, breaking the silence as you turn onto the narrow street of the residential district. "The colors. Reminds me of Kamino."

You glance at him, surprised. "The sterile white labs and the endless storm outside? Not seeing the resemblance."

"Not that," he says, a faint smile touching his lips. "The training sims. Sometimes they'd program in a 'celebratory' sequence for successful campaigns. We never knew what it was for. Just... colors. In the dark."

You can't help the small, sad laugh that escapes you. "Of course you did. The Kaminoans, celebrating a victory with a light show they never let you actually see. That's so perfectly messed up."

He shrugs. "It was what it was. But this..." He gestures to the sky as another firework, a brilliant, cascading silver, erupts. "This is better."

"Yeah," you whisper. "It is."

You reach the inn, its warm, inviting glow a welcome sight in the encroaching darkness. He opens the door for you, a small, old-fashioned courtesy that makes your heart flutter. The common room is empty, Mina having long since disappeared. The only light comes from the dying embers in the hearth and the faint glow from a nightlight behind the check-in desk.

You climb the narrow stairs in silence, the wood groaning under your weight. The hallway is dark, lit only by a single wall sconce. You stop outside your door, and he stops outside his. The boys' door is shut tight. For a moment, you just stand there, the unspoken words from the plaza hanging between you, heavy and tangible.

"Goodnight, Echo," you say, your voice barely a whisper. You turn the key in the lock, the click loud in the silence.

"Night," he replies. He hesitates, his hand on his own doorknob. "Hey."

You turn back, your heart in your throat. "Yeah?"

He takes a step toward you, closing the small gap between your doors. The space feels charged, electric. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He seems to be fighting a battle with himself, one you can't begin to understand.

"It was..." he starts, then stops again, shaking his head. "Nothing. Get some sleep."

He disappears into his room before you can reply, the door shutting with a soft, final click. You stand there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, the cold from the hallway seeping into your bones. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and slip into your own room.

Omega is already asleep in one of the beds, her new wooden tooka-cat clutched tightly in her arms. The sight of her, so peaceful and untroubled, is a balm. You undress quickly, your movements quiet in the dim room, and slide under the heavy wool blankets. The mattress is lumpy and the pillow is flat, but it's the most comfortable bed you've ever been in.

Sleep doesn't come. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the evening. The look on Omega's face at the plaza. The taste of the sweet cider. The warmth of Echo's skin under your thumb. Every detail is sharp, crystal clear. You can still feel the phantom sensation of his jawline, the prickle of his stubble.

A small explosion of color paints the wall through the window, followed by a distant, muffled boom. The fireworks are coming faster now, a steady barrage of light and sound. In the next room, you hear Wrecker’s muffled snore, followed by a loud grunt as he presumably rolls over. Then, another sound. A floorboard creaking.

Your breath hitches. You sit up, straining to hear. The creak comes again, this time closer. It's not Wrecker's room. It's coming from the hall. Slowly, carefully, you swing your legs out of bed and pad to the door, your bare feet silent on the cold wooden floor. You press your ear against the wood.

You hear the faint, rhythmic creak of someone pacing. Up and down the narrow hallway. You don't have to guess who it is.

You wait, your hand resting on the cold metal of the doorknob. You could open it. You could step out into that hallway and finish the conversation he couldn't. You could ask him what he was going to say. But you don't. You stay there, listening to the restless tread of a soldier who doesn't know how to stand down, and you realize that some battles are not meant to be won by force. Some things have to be given space to breathe.

Eventually, the pacing stops in front of your door. You can feel the weight of his presence on the other side, a palpable energy that makes the air feel thick. You hold your breath, waiting.

After a long, agonizing minute, a soft knock right where your ear is pressed to the wood nearly startles you into falling over. You jump back, your heart pounding, and look at Omega. She sleeps on, oblivious.

You open the door a crack, peering out into the dimly lit hallway. Echo is standing there, his standard-issue blacks, the fabric clinging to the familiar lines of his body. He looks different. More himself. And more vulnerable. The firework glow from the window casts him in a shifting, colorful light, painting him in shades of blue and then gold.

"You're still awake," he says. It's not a question. His voice is low, a rough whisper that’s meant only for you.

"Fireworks," you reply, your own voice barely audible. You cast one more look over your shoulder at Omega before slipping through the door and pulling it almost shut behind you, leaving it open a sliver.

He gestures with his head toward the other end of the hall, where a small, arched window looks out over the city's lower levels. "Can't sleep either."

You follow him to the window, the floorboards groaning softly under your combined weight. The space is narrow, forcing you to stand closer than you probably should. Without the armor or heavy coats between you, you can feel the heat radiating from him, a steady warmth against the pervasive chill of the inn. Outside, a particularly magnificent volley of fireworks erupts, a silent, spectacular display of shimmering gold that paints the falling snow. You both watch it, your shoulders almost touching.

"It's loud," you say, though the explosions are muffled and distant.

"The noise isn't the problem," he admits, not taking his eyes off the window. "It's the quiet in between."

You know exactly what he means. The lulls were the hardest part. The moments when the adrenaline faded and the waiting began. The waiting for the next blaster shot, the next alarm, the next order to run. You fold your arms, a self-protective gesture you instantly regret. It feels like you’re building a wall.

"I'm sorry," you say, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate.

"For what?"

"For pushing. This whole trip. I know it's harder for you. For all of you," you correct, quickly. "I sometimes forget..."

"Forget what?" He turns to you then, his expression unreadable in the dim light. His proximity is doing things to your pulse that have nothing to do with fear or adrenaline.

"Forget what normal is," you finish, your gaze dropping to the worn wooden floorboards. "I lived it, for a while. I have memories to... miss. I'm still learning what it's like for you. What you didn't have."

A long silence stretches between you, filled only by the faint pop of another firework. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than you've ever heard it.

"We had our own kind of normal," he says, a hint of defensiveness, but also a quiet pride. "On the ship. With each other. We had a schedule. A purpose. We knew where we fit."

"Maybe you need a new kind of normal," you suggest gently. "One with... pastry frosting."

A small, genuine smile finally breaks through his serious expression. "Maybe," he concedes. "But it's not the frosting I was thinking about."

Your breath catches. This is it. The precipice. You lift your head, and your eyes meet. The space between you feels charged, humming with a current that’s been building for months, since the first shared joke in the cockpit, the first moment you caught him watching you when he thought you weren't looking.

Echo reaches out, not with a word, but with a slow, deliberate movement. His fingers, cool from the night air, gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek. His touch is hesitant, questioning, as if he’s afraid you might bolt. You don't. You lean into it, just as he had in the plaza, a silent, unequivocal answer.

His thumb traces the line of your jaw, a slow, deliberate exploration that sends a shiver through you from head to toe. He's watching you, his dark eyes searching yours, looking for... permission. A sign.

You give it the only way you know how.

Echo’s eyes widen slightly as your hands find his face, pulling him in at the same time as you close the remaining distance between you.

The kiss is not gentle, not hesitant. It's a collision. Months of stolen glances, witty banter, and suppressed worry culminate in a desperate, hungry press of lips. It tastes of cold night air, spiced cider, and a startling, exhilarating relief.

He stumbles back a step, hitting the wall with a soft thud, and you follow, pressing against him, your hands sliding from his jaw to the nape of his neck. His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him, his scomp pressed against your lower back, his hand cupping the back of your head with a fierce, protective tenderness.

The kiss deepens, growing from something desperate to something exploratory. There's a flicker of tongue, a soft sigh against your lips, a shift in angle that sends a fresh wave of heat through you. Your grip tightens on the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair there. All the noise in your head—the running, the hiding, the constant, low-grade fear—goes silent. There's only this. The feel of him, solid and real and alive against you, the taste of him, the quiet, appreciative noise he makes in the back of his throat when you nip gently at his lower lip.

"Your hands are warm," he murmurs against your lips, the words a rough, breathless whisper. It's such a simple, mundane observation, but it's laced with a wonder that makes your chest ache.

You pull back just enough to look at him, to see the raw, unguarded emotion on his face. His eyes are dark pools in the dim light, pupils blown wide, a faint flush on his cheeks.

"Is that a complaint?" you ask, your thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind his ear.

"An observation," he corrects, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "My extremities are always cold. Comes with the parts."

"I'll have to remember that," you say softly. "A tactical weakness."

"The worst kind," he agrees, leaning in to brush another soft, lingering kiss against your lips. "You could use it against me."

"I'll keep that in mind," you breathe against his mouth, your resolve to maintain any kind of playful distance completely dissolving. "For later."

The sound of a floorboard creaking in one of the other rooms is a splash of cold water. You both freeze, your bodies tensing simultaneously, the soldier's instincts kicking in before the lover's can protest. He pulls back slightly, his head turning toward the source of the sound, his body shifting instinctively to place himself between you and any potential threat.

You hear a door creak open, and Hunter's head of messy hair pokes out into the hallway. He squints, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. For a heart-stopping second, his gaze lands directly on you and Echo, locked in an embrace by the window.

"What's going on?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Everything okay?"

You see the exact moment realization dawns on him. His eyes narrow, taking in your position—Echo still half-shielding you, your hands on his shoulders, the charged, intimate space between you. He doesn't look angry. He looks... weary. And a little bit like he's just solved a puzzle he hadn't realized he was trying to put together.

Echo pulls away, but not far. He keeps a possessive hand on your arm, a clear, unspoken statement. "Everything's fine."

"Yep, all good here," you add, your voice a little too bright. "Just enjoying the fireworks from a better vantage point."

Hunter's gaze drifts from Echo's tense jaw to your flushed face, and he lets out a long, slow sigh. It's the same sigh he gave you back on the Marauder, the one that says he's fighting a losing battle and he knows it. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment.

"Just keep it down. I don't need to hear..." he trails off, waving a dismissive hand. "Anything. We leave at 0700. Sharp."

He doesn't wait for a reply, just gives a final, pointed look at Echo before disappearing back into his room, the door clicking shut with definitive quiet. The silence that follows is heavier than before.

"Well," you say, the word barely a puff of air. "That could have gone worse."

"He's just... protective," Echo says, though the tension in his shoulders tells you he's not entirely unconcerned by the interruption.

"Of a lot of things," you agree. You move to step back, to give him space, but his grip on your arm tightens, holding you in place. "We should probably..."

"Probably," he agrees, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he turns back to you, his expression unreadable. The light from a final, grand volley of fireworks explodes across the sky, a spectacular, multi-colored cascade that illuminates the entire hallway. For a brief, beautiful second, you see everything in the open look on his face. The want, the fear, the fragile, newfound hope. He's not hiding it anymore.

Then, as the light fades, he leans in and presses a soft, sweet kiss to your forehead. It's a chaste, grounding gesture, so different from the desperate passion of moments before. It feels like a promise.

"Or we could stay here," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Celebrate a little longer."

You almost give in. The thought of losing the warmth of him, of going back to the cold bed and the quiet solitude, is suddenly unbearable. But then you glance toward the sliver of darkness peeking through your door, the shape of Omega sleeping peacefully just a few feet away.

"0700 comes early," you whisper, the words a protest even to your own ears.

"You? Being responsible? Now?" he asks, a hint of his usual smirk back in his voice. "What's the galaxy coming to?"

"Blame the Life Day spirit," you say, gently extricating yourself from his hold. "It's making me sentimental."

You back away toward your door, your eyes locked on his. He doesn't follow, but he watches you go, a small, sad smile playing on his lips.

"This isn't over, by the way," you add, your hand on the doorknob. You need him to know that. That the interruption, the reality of your situation, doesn't negate this. Doesn't negate you, together.

The smile on his face grows, a genuine, hopeful thing that makes your heart do a strange little flip. "I was counting on that."

You slip back into the room, closing the door with a soft, definitive click. You lean against it for a moment, your eyes closed, the ghost of his touch still on your skin. The adrenaline is still buzzing under your skin, a chaotic mix of desire and fear and a dizzying, terrifying joy. You’ve just crossed a line you never even knew you were drawing.

When you finally climb into bed, sleep comes faster than you expected, pulled under by exhaustion and the lingering taste of cider on your tongue.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • 

Despite your best effort to hide your limp, you only make it back to the Marauder thanks to Echo, who’s helping you stand, his good arm around you to hoist you up. You look down at the bleeding gash on your leg and pull a bit of a grimace; you can already hear the ‘I told you so’ coming. 

The team is in a hurry to leave the place; an enemy base the teams has just infiltrated. The voices and stomping of several Stormtroopers get louder as they approach your location. It’s only because you split up earlier that Tech doesn’t immediately notice you’re hurt, instead reading through the intel they just got from the base on his datapad as he walks up the ship’s ramp. 

Every clone goes to their assigned spot for a quick take-off, with Hunter at the helm. You want to help Wrecker secure some crates, but you’re unable to take a proper step, as the ship’s shaking and rumbling has you holding onto Echo for dear life so as not to fall. He lets you, and he would be more amused if it weren’t for the fact that you got hurt on his watch. 

Finally, Tech looks up from his pad when he hears the sharp intake of your breath through gritted teeth, and the device is quickly discarded on a shelf to come check on you. 

“What happened?” he asks, more towards Echo than you. 

Wrecker appears behind him, and he and Echo talk over each other, the bigger clone taking the blame, while the other remarks you were being reckless. It’s a jumble of words and accusations and apologies, and Tech swiftly lifts a hand to shut them up. He takes you from Echo’s hold and brings you over to some crates where you can sit down.

“Are you okay?” he asks first, and you nod. “Let’s hear your side of the story,” he offers. His tone is gentle but you know he’s not happy about this, obviously. 

Tech grabs the first aid kit from one of the crates and then takes a seat in front of you. While he tends to your injuries, you start your retelling of what happened on the mission.

– – – earlier – – –

Tech tells you to stay put on the ship, but you insist on going; you don’t like being left behind, and in enemy territory no less. Sure, you started out as a civilian attaché many missions ago and kind of never left and just stuck around, but that doesn't mean you don't pull your weight with the team. And Tech knows that. He says it’s for your safety, since they’re not entirely sure how many enemy forces they’ll encounter on this mission.

You try to pull rank and go the “If Hunter says I can go, I go, because he outranks you” route, but Hunter takes a step back with raised hands; he’s staying out of this discussion.

So you assure Tech that you can take care of yourself, pointing to the blaster at your hip and Wrecker standing on your other side, which makes the bigger clone give a proud smile. That seems to reassure Tech enough to allow you to go on the mission. You quickly peck his cheek when he finally gives in.

The plan is clear: get in, do some recon, extract info, plant the bombs and leave.

The team decides to split up to cover more ground. You go with Echo and Wrecker, who are in charge of the bombs and keeping watch outside, in case reinforcements arrive unexpectedly. 

The intel they got was good enough, and the team quickly makes their way around the base while Hunter, Crosshair and Tech infiltrate it.

You make your way to one of the platforms and realise that while the intel was right about the location of the platforms, they omitted the state of them; completely run down, rusty, seeming to creak under the light breeze.

It dawns on you that there’s no way Wrecker can make his way over to the main building to plant the bombs. When going over the mission plan earlier, he and Tech already pinpointed the structural weak points, and this is the only way to access them, from the outside at least. Without a word, you take the charges from Wrecker’s hands.

“What are you doing?” he asks, confused.

“Are you seeing how flimsy these look?” you retort, pointing at the thin metal structure leading to the main building. “There’s no way you’ll make it. No offence.”

“None taken,” he shrugs his shoulders lightly. “But it’s not like I can let you go either.” 

“I’m lighter and more agile than you, and I’ve watched you plant these a hundred times,” you point out, flipping the charges over between your fingers. “Besides, you have the detonator, so it’s not like they’ll blow up in my face or anything, right?”

Wrecker is about to say that’s a good point when Echo interjects.

“Actually, comms are jammed,” he says with a sigh as he puts his comlink away after failing to contact the others. “All of them, including the detonator frequency.”

You try your own comlink, and sure enough, there’s no response, only static. Biting the inside of your cheek and with furrowed brows, you look around, your wavering optimism perking up just a bit as you spot something in a wall.

“Well, we can sync these to a timer, right?” you ask, looking up at Wrecker and pointing to the bombs.

“Sure can,” he responds, and he immediately gets to work.

“Good, because we’re out of time,” you say as you check the chrono on the mini datapad hanging from your belt loop. You point to the socket you just saw in one of the walls and look up at them. “Here’s what we’ll do: Echo, try to lift the jamming signal. Wrecker, make sure we have a swift exit, and I’ll go and plant the bombs.”

Echo and Wrecker share a look, hesitating for a second too long, in your opinion.

“Watch out!” You suddenly point behind them, and they fall for it, turning around to face possible danger. Snatching the bombs again, you make a run for it.

Wrecker groans, urging Echo to get comms working again so he can contact the team. The other clone kneels down and plugs his scomp link into the wall, trying to find a way in, but it’s tougher than anticipated.

When you’re done attaching all the charges, you start making your way back. The structure creaks under your weight, but it seems to hold. It’s only when you’re just about to reach the platform where the others are that a pole finally gives in despite your careful movements, and you hear a hollow crack as it snaps. 

The two clones call out for you, and you fall with a shriek, Wrecker barely manages to catch your hand midair. Compelled by the urgency, Echo manages to lift the jam, which triggers an alarm; everyone in the base knows you’re here now. Echo pings the rest of the team so check on their status.

When Wrecker pulls you up, they both see the gash on your leg; the broken up pole sticking out from the ground at a low angle, now ending in a sharp edge, evidently cut over your thigh as you fell. You hiss through your teeth at the sting when you try to take a step, but put on a brave face nonetheless. Without missing a beat, Wrecker picks you up and the three of you beeline back to the Marauder. If you counted right, there’s only a few seconds until the bombs detonate. You really hope that the team didn’t go into this side of the base, which would have been against the plan anyway.

You hear Hunter’s voice on Echo’s comlink, informing him that they’re all done and on their way back to the ship. Echo says you’re on your way as well, though there was a bit of an unforeseen situation. Cue the explosion in the background.

– – – – –

When you finish your retelling, your wound is disinfected, cleaned and dressed. Tech looks over it for a moment in silence to make sure everything is to his satisfaction, then he gives you a stim despite your protests. The whole time you talked, he was silent, and despite how good you’ve become at reading his face, there’s been nothing but focus on it for the task at hand.

Only when he’s done patching you up does he allow himself to take a deep breath, and his shoulders slump slightly as he exhales.

“That was very reckless,” he finally says, and you pout. You feel like a kid being scolded.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were on a tight schedule and we couldn't contact you to change the plan.”

“So you improvised.”

You look back at him and see the glint in his eyes, it betrays the seriousness in his voice.

“Learned from the best,” you say with a smile, placing your hands in your lap.

Tech barely manages to bite back a smile of his own with a slight roll of his eyes. Then he goes silent, deep in thought, looking to the side. You wait for a moment, the lean forward to catch his gaze.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask, voice small.

“Of course not. I’m glad you’re safe,” he says earnestly.

You smile again, placing your hand on his. 

“I’ll allow it just this once, but you can say ‘I told you so’.”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused. 

“Well, you told me to stay on the ship, and I didn’t listen, and…”

“That’s not…”

You tilt your head ever so slightly.

“Then what is it?”

Tech turns his hand around to properly hold onto yours. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I didn’t tell you to stay in the ship because I think you're not skilled or that you couldn't take care of yourself. I asked you to stay because… I knew I dread the mere thought of you coming back hurt. Seeing you bleeding like that only confirmed my suspicion. It gave me quite the scare, to be honest.”

“But I’m fine,” you offer, giving his hand a squeeze. “Besides, I know you'll be there to patch me up if anything happens.”

He gives you a meaningful look, and you know it well. What he's trying to say is not coming across clearly. So you raise an eyebrow in question.

“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to see you hurt again.” He pauses for a moment, then adds in a small voice, “I don’t know what I’d do if… There is no future for me without you in it.”

You take a second too long to process what he's saying, and before you can reply, he continues.

“So let’s just be more careful from now on, okay?”

You decide to leave it at that for the moment; there'll be plenty of time to discuss your future together some other time. Together, you think. After all of this is over and he'll be free to actually live a life. You smile to yourself. 

“I promise,” you assure him. “But only if you also promise to be careful yourself, okay?”

“When am I not careful? Every step I take is thoroughly thought through.”

You laugh, about to start counting on your fingers every time he's done something that could have gone very wrong, but he takes your hands instead and places a quick kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m always careful,” he says. “Every risk I take is calculated.”

You chuckle, about to retort when Echo quickly pops his head into the room to announce you're about to drop from hyperspace.

You try to get up but fail, instead remaining seated where you are. With your hands still linked, Tech offers to help you up, but you shake your head.

“Let’s stay here for a while longer?”

He furrows his brows slightly but agrees nonetheless, moving to sit next to you instead of across.

“And thank you. For patching me up.”

“Of course. Any time.”

He leans in to press a kiss to your temple, and you’re quick to hold his face before he can fully pull back to kiss him properly. 

“We’re in route to you now. Should be with you in about five hours.”

I nodded from my place between Obi-Wan and Cody, the three of us staring at the holographic version of Anakin Skywalker in front of us. I heard Cody sigh from beside me as Obi-Wan responded.

“We’ll be waiting for you as planned.”

Anakin nodded. “I’ll keep you updated if anything changes.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and then a moment later, the hologram shut off.

“Cody, you know the drill,” Obi-Wan said, turning to face the two of us. “Prepare to link up with the 501st’s fleet five hours from now, and keep your communicator on for any updates or delays.”

“Yes, General.”

Obi-Wan gave us both a smile and a nod, then headed off the bridge. I moved to follow him, but Cody caught my arm before I could.

I turned to give him a raised-eyebrow look, only to find him looking much more visibly stressed than I’d seen him in a long time. And I’d seen Obi-Wan make him visibly stressed often.

“Are you okay?” I asked, brow furrowing as I took a step closer to Cody. I heard the door close somewhere behind us as Obi-Wan headed off to do whatever he needed to do, but my eyes never left Cody’s face.

We’d first met a long time ago, before I’d even been assigned to work regularly with Obi-Wan, when Cody had been visiting Coruscant on shore leave. We’d absolutely hit it off, and had been inseparable for the few weeks he’d been on-planet. When I’d been assigned to the 212th to assist General Kenobi, alongside Cody, I’d taken it as a sign from the Force that we made an unbeatable team, and nothing the Jedi could say would be enough to keep me away from him.

Although, we did a much better job of hiding it than Skywalker and his wife.

Cody sighed heavily, bringing me back into the moment as he looked away from the door Obi-Wan had disappeared through to meet my eyes.

“I’m fine, for now. But…” He shook his head, and I frowned, slipping my arm out of his grip to take his hand instead. “You haven’t seen the kind of chaos the 501st brings in the field yet, have you?”

“No, can’t say I have. I’ve heard some stories here and there, but… don’t tell me that’s what this expression is about?”

Cody sighed again. “Undeniably, they’re a talented group, and they accomplish things that should otherwise be impossible.”

“But? Is Skywalker really that bad in the field?”

“It’s not just him. He pulls focus, maybe, but Ahsoka, Rex, and every other member of that unit… they’re chaos magnets, and they’re happy about it.”

I snorted. “Cody-”

“I know you’re well aware of how insane it can get with us in the 212th. General Kenobi’s a lot more chaotic than his reputation, sure enough. But the 501st is always… so much worse. If we’re going to get through this with our ship intact, much less our General and our men… I’m going to need all hands on deck high coordination from you.”

“…Is it really that bad?”

Cody gave me an exhausted look I’d only ever seen from him once or twice, usually after Obi-Wan did something that made me seriously question how he got his reputation as calm, level-headed, or rational. I took a deep breath, then squeezed his hand.

“Well… consider me warned. I’ll be ready for whatever chaos the 501st bring. No matter what, we’ve got this.”

****************

“CODY! COME IN!”

“I’m here! Problem on deck seven is dealt with, I’m heading to you now!”

I paused for a split second, just long enough to close my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but Cody’s comms had cut out to static and shouting about five minutes ago, and I’d been toeing the line on panic the longer his radio silence stretched on.

I didn’t have time for a longer sigh of relief, though. We were nowhere near out of the woods yet.

My eyes snapped open, I ignited my lightsaber, and then I charged around the nearest corner to continue dealing with the chaos the 501st had managed to bring with them.

Somehow, in the five hours between our call on the bridge and the arrival of the 501st, they’d managed to fly their capital ship through a dormant fleet of vulture droids that had apparently lost contact with whatever Separatist apparatus had been controlling them. They’d been floating in space in a giant debris cloud, completely neutralized, until the 501st had flown straight through and managed to wake them all up.

They’d covered the remaining distance to us as quickly as possible, giving us a heads up about the problem about thirty minutes before their arrival. Now, like Cody had predicted, we were fighting just to keep our ship in one piece.

I shouted as I turned down a hallway where three of the droids had burrowed deep into our ship, and were actively trying to keep tearing in further. I rushed them, lightsaber flashing, and managed to take down the first one before the others even recognized my presence.

A second later, Cody appeared at the end of the hallway, blaster blazing. Like we’d been training for it all our lives, we synced up perfectly, making short work of the other two vulture droids.

“This is ridiculous!” I shouted, in lieu of a hello. “How did they even find these things?”

Cody just shook his head. “Like I said, they’re chaos magnets. Any updates on whether these droids reconnected to a Separatist control station?”

“No, but I don’t think so. They’re not acting with enough coordination for that. It’s like Skywalker and his crew drove their ship through the crowd and flipped every single droid’s switch to “destory as much as possible” at once.”

Cody snorted. “…I’m not sure I’d be surprised if they’d somehow managed that.”

I huffed a laugh, the sheer insanity of the situation getting to me. I made eye contact with Cody, and then I couldn’t hold back a wave of laughter anymore. Even Cody smiled, shaking his head like he also couldn’t quite believe the situation we’d found ourselves in.

“No wonder you looked so exhausted the first time I met you,” I finally managed, taking deep breaths to recover from the laughter. “I’d chalked it up to being Obi-Wan’s fault, but now I know the truth. And I know why he’s got such a shining reputation for level-headedness and anti-recklessness that doesn’t fit him. It’s because Skywalker, Ahsoka, and the 501st are absolutely insane outliers destroying everything in their paths.”

Cody snorted. “Well… on the bright side, lights are still on.”

As if he’d willed it into being, the entire ship went dark the split second the words had left Cody’s mouth. In the now-eerie glow of my lightsaber, the only light source on the entire deck as far as I could tell, I shot Cody a look.

“…Yeah. I should’ve known better than to say that out loud.”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing again. This time, Cody actually joined me, shaking his head at himself. I managed to straighten up after a few moments, and I nudged his shoulder with my own, my lightsaber still casting a faint glow on both of our faces. He sighed, and leaned right back into me.

“Honestly, Codes, you don’t need to sweat it. Yeah, that wasn’t your finest move, but look around you. By comparison, you’re literally infallible.”

Cody snorted, then took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh.

“We need to get moving again. Let’s head down to the electronics bay with your lightsaber, see if we can’t get power restored.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me. Just give me one second.”

Cody paused, standing just over my shoulder as I lifted my arm to type something into the localized communicator and computer. I waited just long enough to see my message had sent, then looked up at Cody with a smile.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“…What did you do?” asked Cody, the two of us falling into step reflexively as we headed for the electronics bay. I shot him a grin.

“I just put in an official shore leave request for the two of us. Felt like we could both use a light at the end of this literal dark tunnel of chaos, you know?”

Cody barked another laugh, and even though he shook his head, I could see the somewhat rare grin that I absolutely loved on his face.

“That’s a fantastic idea. All the more reason to get this taken care of quickly, so we can get out of here.”

The two of us shared one last grin in the glow of my lightsaber, before our focus shifted to the bright red lights that had just appeared ahead of us, marking another round of vulture droids. Not even the chaos of the 501st stood a chance when Cody and I stood shoulder to shoulder, taking on all-comers, together.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21 @diego42 @crepuscola

The drinks at 79’s may be watered down to the point of tastelessness, but when ordered by a clone they were free, which meant that nights out with the 501st always went a specific way, and if you all drank enough, good times could almost certainly be ensured.

Tonight in particular, you wanted nothing more than to forget about all your troubles for a few hours, to let loose in a way that a GAR medic was not technically allowed to do when she's on the clock. At this point, you had lost count of how many glasses you emptied, because Fives and Jesse simply kept bringing you a new drink every time you finished the last. Laughing with the men in blue felt good, as did dragging them all up one by one to dance to the thumping beat of the music. Every single trooper in that room had the same goal as you when it came to leaving behind the horrors of the war, so no one commented on the excessive amount of liquor everyone consumed or the way you all grew rowdier by the second.

“I think I want anotherrrr,” you shouted over the music to Jesse, who was just as far gone as you were. He nodded dutifully, and you watched as he headed in the direction of the bar. However, the drink acquisition was foiled by Kix, who took one look at you from across the room and simply shook his head.

Soon, your fellow medic was standing right in front of you. “Are you alright?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink this much.”

“‘M Fiiiine,” you said, but Kix didn’t miss the slur in your words or the glassy gaze you wore. “Where’s Jesse? I asked him to get me something to drink.”

Kix shook his head. “I’m cutting you off for the night, vod’ika,” he said, and even in your drunken state you didn’t miss the exasperation in his voice. “You’re wasted.”

“Am not!”

“You are, and I’m not going to have this argument with you right now.”

Kix led you back to the 501st’s booth and (very gently) shoved you down on the bench before pulling out his comlink and walking away. Fives was sitting across from you with a smirk on his face, and you tried to swipe his drink to get a few last sips. But of course, he pulled it from your reach before you could get a grip on the transparisteel.

When Kix returned, he had a solemn look on his face. “Rex will be here in a few moments,” he said to Fives, whose smile grew in a way you didn’t quite understand. “He’ll make sure our dear medic makes it home safely.”

“I told you, ‘m fine,” you said tersely, crossing your arms as a pout appeared on your face. “No one has to take care of me.”

“We just want to make sure you’re okay,” Kix said, with the same tone that he often used when treating his brothers that got injured doing something stupid. Deep down you knew he cared, but you also wanted to punch him for cutting you off.

“Rex would kill us if anything happened while we were out tonight,” Fives added sagely. “To you especially.”

You didn’t catch the way his eyes glinted with mischief, you were too busy mentally preparing to see Rex. To say you had a crush on the clone captain would be something of an understatement, and unfortunately many of the men under his command seemed to have noticed your feelings for their superior. And as much as you denied every accusation, it never seemed to convince them of your lie.

You had practically fallen asleep on the table by the time Rex arrived, but even through your drunken haze you could sense his presence. “You look like you had fun tonight,” he commented warmly, as you pulled yourself out of the booth (you were only slightly struggling to stand, thank you very much).

“We all did,” you said, your voice catching on the last word and giving way to a quiet hiccup.

Rex followed your gaze to where an (equally drunk) Jesse and Hardcase were singing along to the music at the top of their lungs, and he just rolled his eyes. “I can see that. I doubt tomorrow will be any kind of productive.”

“Nope!” You laughed, latching onto his arm as he started to lead you towards the exit. Even just holding onto him made you appreciate how strong he was, and you took a deep breath of the chilly Coruscanti night air when you finally stepped outside, catching the scent of his soap in the process. Maker, he smelled good.

Thankfully, your barracks for this leave period were right next to his, so you didn’t have to give any directions on the way back through Coruscant’s streets. And once you plugged in your GAR-given code (it took a few tries) the durasteel door slid open to reveal your room.

After helping you sit down on the bed, Rex busied himself with ensuring that you had water and painkillers within easy reach (because, in his words, you were going to need them at some point or another). It was easy to stare at him as he did this, the way he commanded the room (even with no other troopers present) was both admirable and incredibly attractive.

He came over to sit next to you after he was finished, a solemn look on his face. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I already told Kix that I was-” you started to babble, but the look on his face cut you off.

“From what Kix told me, he had never seen you drink that much. I just want to make sure there wasn’t something I could do to help.”

You made a sound of acknowledgement, which your liquor-addled brain apparently thought was enough of a response before you could lean in to kiss him. It was only supposed to land on his cheek (you swear), but Rex pulled back slightly before any contact could be made. You could hear him say your name in a quiet voice, no doubt questioning what just happened.

It was almost a good thing that the fatigue taking over your body had now combined with the copious amount of alcohol you consumed, because you didn’t feel as embarrassed as you certainly would have if you were sober. “‘M sorry, I know you don’t feel that way.”

“And what way is that?” he asked, with a look on his face you couldn’t quite read.

“Love,” you responded, as if it was obvious. "Haven't you figured out yet that I love you? You’re so smart I thought it was obvious."

Rex’s face shifted, and he awkwardly ran his hand over the cropped curls at the top of his head. “With the amount you drank this evening, you could have fallen in love with anyone.”

You huffed. “No, I wouldn’t have. You may think you’re nothing special, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s cruel that the only time I got the courage to try and kiss you I won’t even remember it.” You did your best to keep your expression neutral, but you were sure the hurt on your face was visible.

There was a long bout of silence, and then Rex spoke. “If you remember this conversation in the morning, we can have a do-over.”

You nodded at his words, the creeping tiredness you felt earlier now having taken over every part of your brain. It was heartbreaking really, how quickly you managed to fall asleep when he was near. And as Rex helped take off your shoes and made sure you were comfortable where you were laying, you couldn’t help but think about how much you wanted to remember every single moment.

***

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you had one thought. It was all that you could focus on, the only thing you wanted to address in these first moments after your liquor-induced bacchanal of the previous night.

This room was too kriffing bright.

Squinting at the light coming in from the window, you groaned as you brought your hands up to your head, your brain spinning as all the memories came rushing back. The drinking, the dancing, Kix cutting you off and calling Rex to escort you home.

Rex.

You didn’t have to look too hard to find the captain, he had fallen asleep on your couch. Something tugged at your heart when you saw him there, slightly too tall for the GAR-issued piece of furniture, but still he stayed to make sure you were okay. Then you remembered what he said right before you had fallen asleep, and your mind began to race as you turned away from him. Did he mean what he said, or was that simply something he told you in order to get you to stop talking to him? What if he thought it so unlikely that you would remember last night that he made a promise he never intended to keep? What if-

“I can practically hear you thinking from all the way over here,” a voice interrupted, as Rex yawned and got up off the couch. “Is everything alright?”

Maybe there was a way to broach the topic in a more sensible way, but your mind was not in a place to really make those plans at the moment. “I remember what you told me,” you blurted out, eyes wide. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, and you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. You’re technically my superior, I wouldn’t want to make anything awkwa-”

You didn’t get to finish your thought before Rex had closed the gap between you and leaned in, placing his lips on yours. The kiss was timid at first, but you deepened it, pulling him closer to you as you smiled against his lips. You had imagined what it would be like to kiss Rex on multiple occasions, but nothing you had ever dreamed came close to the real thing.

When you had to break apart for air, you could see his pupils blown, and you were sure your lips were at least slightly swollen. “Thank you,” you whispered, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “For taking care of me last night.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said softly. “I will always take care of you.”

“And I will always take care of you,” you said, reaching down to take his hand. “Speaking of, how about we go back to bed? Sleeping on that couch could not have been comfortable.”

“Cyare, that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

All the liquor you drank last night only continued to exact its revenge, but the pain dissipated more and more with every second you spent in Rex’s arms.

He was a bright spot in the dark days. He made you laugh when nothing else could. You really loved and looked forward to your conversations in the dead space of the day. Fives would talk to you about anything and everything. You two grew really close and even in the mess of war you found the time to love each other. 

After the war ended, you moved to a small remote planet together. And you were able to go back to cooking everything you loved. You even taught Fives how to cook and cooking together became one of your favorite past times.

Of course, that meant holiday cooking was a very big deal. 

You had spent days preparing: finding fresh ingredients, making dishes in advance, and ensuring that Fives did not eat all the desserts you made.

“But why make my favorite cookies if I can’t have any of them?” Fives whined jokingly when you swatted his hand away for the deserts. 

“They are also for our guests. I can’t have you eating them all!” You pointed a finger at him. 

“Then don’t make such delicious food!”

You flicked a little bit of the batter you were making at him. Your husband laughed as the batter landed on his shirt. He grinned mischievously and scooped the little bit of batter off himself. 

“Don’t start a fight you can’t win, honey!” He chuckled.

You glared at him playfully. You picked up more batter from the bowl onto the spoon. His grin widened.

 He grabbed another bowl filled with pie filling, scooping some of the mixture onto his finger. He flung it at you. It landed on your face. You gave him a look of mild shock before you started laughing. You threw a bit more batter towards Fives, but he dodged it. He retaliated in kind and landed some filling on your apron. 

You went back and forth, laughing like children. A silly little food fight. 

After a couple of minutes, there was a mess all over the kitchen. Batter was on the window and in the sink. There was pie filling on the stove and walls. You and Fives were covered in it. You smiled at him, still laughing a little bit. He came closer to you and wiped some of the mess off your face. You leaned in and gave your husband a peck on the lips. Fives grinned. He leaned in and kissed you more deeply.

“We need to clean up before you brothers get here.” You insisted, pulling away from the kiss. 

“It’s not that bad. We have plenty of time!” Fives replied, leaning in for another smooch. You stopped him.

“There is food on the ceiling, dear.”

“...So maybe we should clean up.”

You were starting to clean the kitchen when Echo and Jesse barged in. You and Fives looked like children getting caught hiding evidence of wrongdoing. The brothers laughed at your expense.

“I can’t believe the two of you did something like this,” Echo lectured as he watched you scrub the mess off the kitchen floor. You gave him a look.

“As if you haven’t done worse.” Fives muttered at his brother.

“I didn’t start that food fight!” Echo let out a scandalized gasp.

“Yes, you did!” Fives retorted.

“I am offended that you would ever think such a thing.”

Jesse leaned over to you and whispered, “They both started that food fight in the cafeteria. The worst part was they were both in ARC training, not fresh cadets.”

You giggled a little. Your husband looked at you in betrayal. After an hour or so, your kitchen was clean and you could get back to cooking the holiday feast.

It was a fun time, chatting as you cooked. Soon enough, more of Fives’ brothers arrived – Rex, Kix, and Tup. It was a perfect holiday as you all sat down to eat your food. You were thankful for your husband, who happily made his brother clean up the aftermath of the feast, claiming that you had worked so hard on it and deserved to rest. 

Once all the guests had left, you and Fives cuddled on the couch in the light of the setting sun.

“I love you dear.” You whispered to him.

Omega's eyes widened at the thought.

Her brother, Crosshair, on the other hand... His eyes rolled and he sneered as he placed a new toothpick in his mouth. “Goody,” he replied snidely.

Omega ignored him as she was used to his no-fun demeanor and her attention returned to the tree she was assigned by Mayor Shep Hazard to decorate for Life Day festivities.

You, however, had trouble ignoring Crosshair, even though many times that's exactly what he deserved. It was true. He could be mean, sarcastic, smug, and anti-social.

But there was another side to him that you noticed that maybe others didn't. He was very protective of Omega, doting even. He seemed loyal to his brothers and stoic as well. Maybe all of those good traits overshadowed the bad because you couldn't help finding him to be attractive. Tall, confident, and eyes that were dark and mysterious as they were contemplative and sensitive.  You often wondered what he was wondering about as his eyes mindlessly focused on nothing at all.

There was a smattering of silver that covered his head and reflected just as brilliantly as one of the Life Day baubles, but when you first met him, he had been bald and a scar peppered the left side of his head that you didn't know too much about, perhaps the same way he lost his hand.  He never mentioned much about it and you were too polite to ask.  It seemed he had many scars besides that, hidden beneath his gruff exterior, and you felt like you wanted to know more, maybe so you could attempt the hopeless cliché of fixing him. You huffed a laugh to herself. How silly. He didn't need to be fixed, but maybe you did.

His brother, Tech strolled up, goggled eyes glued to his datapad. “I was under the impression that Life Day ornaments should represent the blue orbs they have on Kashyyyk. These gold and red toned globes are not traditional nor are these other variously shaped oddities.” He picked up a scalloped seashell with fish etched on to it.

“Oh, Tech!” Omega chided. “Life Day isn't about the color of the ornaments. It's about being together!” She hooked one arm with Crosshair, and the other with Tech, holding them close so they formed a line facing the decorated tree. “I think it looks great!  And anyway, we aren't the only ones with oddities!”

In his mind, Crosshair thought, speak for yourself.  In general, he had been indifferent to Life Day, but just to be at annoyingly at odds with his equally annoying brother, and also supportive of Omega, he grunted a slightly more positive than neutral agreement.

Tech tweaked his goggles and acquiesced. “I suppose it does look acceptable. A tradition that originates in one location with one culture may evolve in to many over time and space.”

“That's the spirit!” Omega hugged her brothers' arms closer to her. She let go and picked up the tree topper, a golden 'star' with many pointy protrusions, and got on her tippy toes. The ornaments jingled as she brushed against the tree branches trying to reach the top, but she was just too short.

“Auuughhhhh...” Crosshair sighed as he came up behind her, grabbed her waist and lifted her so she could finally place the star on top.

For a moment you felt a little jealous, but just a moment, because after Crosshair gently placed Omega back on the ground and stepped back, you marveled at how lovely the tree looked and how it sparkled as much as Omega's eyes and smile when she turned to you excitedly.

“Looks amazing. Good job, Omega!” you complimented her eye for detail.

“Couldn't have done it with out you two!” she chirped cheerily. “I'm going to take the leftover ornaments to Mrs. and Mr. Junperi.”

Crosshair picked up the crate before Omega could. “Why don't you go help those two,” he said referring to Tech and Phee. “I'll take care of this.”

“Really? Okay! Thanks, Crosshair!” Omega ran off, excited to be able to decorate more.

You watched Phee greet Omega from afar with delight, knowing Omega would get a cool story about pirates or legends and definitely more Life Day history from Tech. And Crosshair was doing the favor for the Junperis which left you alone and kind of not knowing what to do next. You squinted at the glistening ornaments thinking about it.

“You coming or what?” Crosshair half turned as you lingered behind.

You thought he had left already! He stood there staring at you as your mind flustered. “Um.... Sure. Or do you want me to take it so you can spend time with your family?” You looked over toward Omega, Tech, Phee, and Wrecker who had joined them.

His eyes squinted as he looked toward them, all chatting and enthusiastically decorating. Out of all of his brothers, he had not expected it to be Tech to have a sweetheart, let alone attracted one in the first place. Crosshair heaved a sullen sigh. Maybe he was jealous which made him even more distraught because it was Tech after all. “I've heard my fill of Life Day trivia.” He rolled his eyes with boredom.

Those eyes now met yours and kept their gaze for a few moments, waiting for you, pleading for you to take the lead because ever since getting back from Wayland, he realized it wasn't his strong suit. He might have been envious before of Hunter's rank as sergeant, but Crosshair's own play at Commander ended up hurting a lot of people. Besides, you were better at the small talk that went along with living on a small tight knit island community.

The more he stared, the more mesmerized he became, your eyes sparkling just as much as the ornaments on the stupid tree. “Well?” he prodded again.  "You have something better to do?"

"Better than tagging along with you?"  You made a mock disgusted face and rolled your eyes like he was a champion at.  When the ever faintest sign of a smile appeared on his lips, you grinned and walked towards him. 

You had spent a decent amount of time together after getting to know him when he came to the bar you worked at. First he came in for drinks to do as most beings did, drink away his sorrows. Then you would catch him at the docks with Wrecker and nod respectfully at each other in passing. Then he would help to bring crates of supplies up to the bar for the owner. Then he would come around to do odd jobs every now and then with Tech, and that is when you really got to know him and he got to know you. After hours, you would sit and have a night cap with him. Though you made sure he knew what he meant to you, it never went beyond that, and you didn't press it. You knew he had been through a lot and he needed his space.

But you also didn't want him to think you were disinterested in accompanying him. After all, you knew he wouldn't have invited too many other people along, probably only Omega come to think about it, and that flattered you. You stepped beside him with a smile and his shoulders seemed to relax a little.

With an upturn of his chin, he gestured for you to lead so you did. Once there, Mrs. Junperi asked Crosshair to help get their tree in its stand since her husband had a bad back and also hang some garland. He wasn't necessarily eager, but he willingly did, as you cordially chitchatted with the old woman.

Crosshair didn't like to say more than he had to to the other refugees on the island, but he found himself listening to your every word, your voice seemed to have a soothing effect on him that he could not explain.

As you chatted with Mrs. Junperi, you watched from the corner of your eye how Crosshair diligently helped the older woman and her husband despite being unenthusiastic about the holiday. It also warmed your heart because of how standoffish he was when you first met him.

“Is there anything else Crosshair can do for you?"  you grinned and playfully elbowed him in the ribs.  You got the reaction you hoped for which was an apathetic roll of his eyes.

Mrs. Junperi retrieved a square dish with lid and handles and held it out.  “If you could be a dear and take this casserole to Galia. I think she is such a wonderful addition to our community, such a good nurse.” 

Crosshair wasted no time accepting the task, and took the casserole dish. Maybe he thought of it like a mission, orders to follow. Trying to grasp for that part of his life when he felt like everything was sorted out and his existence meant something.

But lately he had been feeling meaning in his life. Not only because of Omega and even being reunited with his brothers, but because of you. He watched you smile and wish the old couple well as you gently took the dish from his awkward hold on it due to his prosthetic hand which still gave him trouble grasping delicate items that required a double hand hold.  Maybe the mission was just to spend more time with you.

Once at Galia's residence, the young woman accepted the dish with great enthusiasm. She then asked the two of you to deliver a homegrown herbal medicine to Dr. Belsing, one of the island's doctors.

Crosshair once again accepted the task, allowing you to take the jar and you were on your way.

You wondered how many tasks you two would get asked to do, it was almost like the chain missions in the hologame you played. Crosshair seemed at ease with the tasks though.  Maybe he just liked to help. Either way, it only reimbursed the feelings you had for him.  And made you feel like you were a good team even if he didn't do much of the speaking.

Dr. Belsing accepted the medicine with care and gratitude.  "Thank you ever so much.  Won't you please do me a favor and hand these extra decorations to someone who needs them?"  He handed the crate to Crosshair before even receiving an answer.

"Sure!" you smiled and waved goodbye.

Crosshair looked down at the ornaments and other odds and ends he carried.  “We started out with a crate of decorations and ended with one,” he mused.

You hummed in agreement and shrugged.  “As the old saying goes, right back where we started.”

“Story of my life,” Crosshair mumbled under his breath with a despondent sigh.

You shook your head disapprovingly at him and tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe we should just randomly use these decorations ourselves.  Then we end the chain of command.”  You raised your eyebrows at him and tried to smile with your eyes like Omega, because you knew he wouldn't be able to say no.

“Chain of command?  You've been hanging around us too much."

"Is that a bad thing?"

For me?  No, Crosshair thought unable to help himself.  Even if he didn't want to admit it.  Even if he wanted to play it cool and definitely standoffish.  Why did he have to behave that way?  You were someone he enjoyed being around, a friend even if he didn't deserve to have any no matter what Omega said. 

Finally he replied, "It could be if you get stuck near Wrecker after he's had Shep's chili."

You could not stifle your snorting laughter.  You didn't know what was funnier, the joke itself or Crosshair's deadpan delivery of it.

There it was again, that relaxed and relieved feeling Crosshair had when you smiled or laughed.

"Ok, Crosshair, here."  He stopped and you scrounged around in the crate he still held.  You pulled out some boughs of holly and hung them along the wall where steps led to the commons.  You continued on for several more random places until you come upon an arch which was the perfect place for something that caught your eye earlier. Maybe you could give an innocent hint that you wouldn't mind being more than friends.

"Last one, I found the perfect spot for this."  You held up the green leaved twig with trailing shimmery gold ribbon.

"Knock yourself out.” Crosshair dropped the crate and leaned against a wall, fidgeting with the toothpick in the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he observed you.  

As you tried to reach upwards to place the decoration, you quizzed him. “Do you know what mistletoe is?

“Don't really care."  He twirled the toothpick between his slender fingers and bit down on it.  He started to feel a little nervous.  His heart beat a little faster.  Couldn't possibly have anything to do with you stretching your body and bouncing up to hang that decoration.  "I told you I heard enough Life Day trivia.”

“You're supposed to kiss under it.”  You ignored his pessimism.

Crosshair froze a moment and then rolled his eyes. “You've been hanging around Tech too much. I didn't ask for a history lesson.”

Your heart deflated a little bit. Why did you have feelings for this man, when all he did was rain on your parade. Maybe that was fitting since he was from Kamino, you pondered.

But then you thought of the smiles he unwittingly caused today and you knew why, because you knew deep down he was a good person. Maybe he just didn't know it or believe it.

“Can you at least help me hang it, please?” You got on your tippytoes and demonstrated how you were having trouble.  

Crosshair took the toothpick out of his mouth and made a sarcastic gesture toward you with the little wooden splinter. “It's not my fault you're so short,” he drawled. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smug smirk as he inserted the chewed up toothpick back in and lackadaisically stared you down with his arms folded across his chest, completely unwilling to help.

That was it. You narrowed your eyes at him. The corner of your mouth twisting into a disgusted sneer. You've seen him begrudgingly help other people all day, but when you ask for help, all you get is sarcasm. You didn't have Crosshair's great vision, but through the annoyed slits of your eyes, you did notice a sudden sobering of his expression, as if he had gone too far. You didn't care though. You were done with him. “Kriff you, Crosshair!” 

You grabbed the crate and turned it over, stepping on top of it precariously as it had uneven edges and was a little wobbly.  Once you got used to keeping your balance, with your feet teetering back and forth, you lifted your arms to hang up the decoration. You saw out of the corner of your eye, that Crosshair moved toward you, in a half assed way to spot you.

“I said kriff off!” you turned to him sharply. His face straightened, and maybe for the first time since you had known him, he seemed genuinely regretful. But you only noticed in a split second, because that little outburst put you off balance and you had to make a series of comical arm swings and back arches to keep your balance. Only thing was, the more you tried to compensate, the more balance you lost.

It seemed to all happen in slow motion. Your arms flailed out wildly, your right leg flung upward as your left toes made a futile attempt to maintain contact with the flat surface of the crate. The ribbon of the mistletoe sailed in slow streaming waves as it got flung from your hand. You closed your eyes as you braced for impact with -

Crosshair's arms?

You opened one eye and then the other as you stared up at Crosshair who was staring down at you. Your heart was racing, but you weren't sure if it was from the fear of falling or feeling Crosshair's arms protectively squeezing you to his chest.

“Are you all right?” There was actual concern in his voice.

For once you didn't have any words. “Uhh....ummm....” Your mind fluttered with all sorts of vowels and consonants, but none of them coherent as your heart. Warmth flushed to your face from a mix of embarrassment and adoration.

Crosshair found his mind doing the same thing. Holding you, actually embracing you in his arms and feeling the softness and warmth of your body against his seemed to jolt his senses. You were right to tell him off earlier. Why had he been standoffish when he had been trying to impress you all day? Couldn't he do anything right? Was he going to have to ask....Tech? For relationship advice!?

Auuuughhh!  He growled, much to his chagrin out loud because he saw the surprise in your expression. He set you back on your feet and then picked up the fallen decoration and handed it back to you. He then turned you around so your back was to him and lifted you up by your waist, taking care to grip you firmly, but not enough to hurt you just as he had with Omega earlier.

You finished hanging the mistletoe and Crosshair set you on the ground and looked down at you awkwardly and maybe a little too sarcastically, said, “Happy now?”

You looked into his eyes and seemed to get lost in them a moment until you realized that with his sarcastic demeanor and reaching into his pouch for a new toothpick that he had no intention of kissing you under the mistletoe as you had been clearly hinting for him to do.

He asked if you were happy and you could answer that question honestly. No. No, you weren't. You and Crosshair had such a good friendship. You knew that he knew that you knew just how caring he was. Yet, you must have misread him; he seemed to not care for you as much as you cared for him.

“Happy Life Day, Crosshair,” you blurted out with just as much sarcasm as he ever used. Before he could reply, and before your stupid tears fell, you turned to stomp off unhappily.  Maybe your day would have been better spent staring at that tree you helped decorate on the commons instead of tagging along with him.

But before you could take your first step, you felt a hand firmly grip your arm and hold you in place. Crosshair spun you around and pulled you closer to him, making sure you were directly under the mistletoe. Again, it all was happening so fast, yet in slow motion. He spit out his toothpick.  His hands framed your face and directed your eyes to stare into his. All of the emotions you had sensed in him before seemed to flood from his gaze.     

Crosshair didn't know quite what he was doing.  He never cared if he made anyone else angry, with few exceptions. He couldn't just let you march off unhappily.  He'd rather you didn't march off at all.  He knew what you were hinting at, he just couldn't shake off that part of his character that seemed to weigh him down.   But the thought of you being mad at him was a little more than he could take.  He wasn't Tech, but he knew he had to fix things.       

He always thought it was endearing how much shorter than he you were, but now it seemed a little inconvenient.  Nevertheless, he leaned further down until you both closed your eyes, signaling that you were both ready to not only feel each other's lips, but savor the moment as well.  And savor it he did, a combination of softness, warmth, passion, and what could only be described as love poured from your heart to his. 

You melted into his embrace.  You weren't falling to the ground this time, you were most assuredly falling in love as his hands grasped your waist and brought you closer to him.  Weren't you mad at him, shouldn't you be telling him to kriff off?  

Crosshair realized he had been kissing you for a little longer than he had planned.  He gently broke the kiss and looked down at you, up at the mistletoe, and then back to you.  “Happy now?” he asked.

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but more charming than offensive so you let it slide.  As tempting as it was to answer that question sarcastically yourself, you answered honestly.  "Yes.  I guess it's a happy Life Day after all?" you grinned mischievously.

"Auuuughhh..." Crosshair sighed and rolled his eyes.  "I'm not saying it."

"You don't have to," you let him off the hook.  "But we are still standing under the mistletoe."

"So we are..."  Crosshair studied you a moment, taking in all of the subtle expressions that made you you.  

If General Plo Koon had heard the curses that left your mouth when you slammed your finger between the ship parts you had been working on, he surely would have reprimanded you. Luckily for you, there wasn’t anyone around to hear the foul words. Wincing, you pulled yourself out from under the ship to examine your injured finger.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you said, shaking your throbbing hand. “Hope it doesn’t mess with my form.”

You slid the rest of the way out from under the ship and got to your feet, wiping the grease from your hands on the shirt you were wearing. You hoped it wouldn’t stain, but given that the shirt was black, it didn’t seem likely. A hiss slipped from your lips as you grazed your injured finger in the process of wiping your hands off. You shook the hand again, muttering a few extra curses under your breath.

“Does your master know you use such language?” a voice said from the other side of your fighter.

You jumped at the sound and peered over the front of the ship to see who was speaking. Your gaze was met by a scowling face, mismatched eyes narrowed in reproof.

“To be fair, I said some things that were a lot worse a few minutes ago,” you replied. “But I’d like that to remain between us, if you don’t mind Commander.”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I think you’ve been learning some bad habits from the men,” he said. “A young lady shouldn’t use such language, especially a Jedi.”

You scoffed at his words. You knew very well that there were Jedi that swore much more and used much worse words. Some in multiple languages.

“First of all, I’m older than you, Wolffe. Even with the accelerated aging.”

“Okay then,” he said, rolling his eyes. “A proper lady such as yourself shouldn’t say those things.”

“I hardly think of myself as a proper lady,” you retorted. “Even Anakin is more proper than I am. Although that might be from spending time with Master Kenobi.”

The tired sigh you got in response made you grin. You knew that he didn’t want to deal with your sass right now, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. 

“If you don’t need anything else, Commander, I will be heading to my quarters to take a shower.”

“What about your hand?” Wolffe asked, gesturing to your injured appendage. “Surely a wound that caused you to say such filthy things warrants medical attention.”

You waved off his concern, hiding your hand behind your back.

“I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll put a bandage on it once I’m clean.”

You moved to walk around the front of the ship, but stopped short when Wolffe stepped in front of you. It was your turn to raise an eyebrow at him. He held out his hand, clearly wanting you to do the same.

“Really, Wolffe, it’s fine,” you said, hoping you sounded reassuring.

He stood there silently, staring intently at you until you gave in with a resigned sigh, placing your injured hand in his palm. Wolffe peered down at the injury, turning your hand over with a gentleness that surprised you. 

“You should at least get it looked at,” he said. “Don’t want it to get infected. Or like you said, affect your form. Could be dangerous in battle.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he spoke. Had he really heard you say that?

“How long were you watching me?” you asked. 

He raised his gaze to meet yours, something you couldn’t read flickering in his good eye for a moment before disappearing. 

“Long enough.” 

Wolffe released his grip on your hand and stepped out of your way so you could walk past him.

“You should go get yourself cleaned up and have someone look at your hand.”

You made a humming noise in response. As you walked past him, you could feel his eyes on you, following you to the door out of the hanger. You paused at the door when you heard him call your name and turned to face him.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked. “I’m missing the shirt from one of my sets of blacks. Thought maybe Sinker had taken it, but perhaps I was suspicious of the wrong person.”

“Maybe it is,” you said. “But right now it’s covered in grease so I don’t think you want it back at the moment.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and walked through the door and down the hall. You hadn’t expected to get caught taking one of his shirts, and you didn’t feel like dealing with the consequences right now. 

After a few hours, you were clean, your hand had been bandaged and you had exchanged the dirty greasy shirt for a clean one from the laundry room. You made your way down the hall to Wolffe’s quarter with it in your hands. In your head, you tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for why you had the shirt in your possession in the first place.

Judging by the surprise lacing his question earlier, it seemed that Wolffe had forgotten the incident from last week when your tunic had torn during training, nearly exposing you to everyone in the room. He had noticed almost immediately and had quickly taken his own shirt from his body to give to you to cover yourself. You had never returned it to him after that incident. It seemed like the laundry droid had noted its absence amongst the dirty laundry and hadn’t seen fit to give him a replacement. 

The real reason you had never returned it yourself was a bit more complicated. It hadn’t been very dirty when he gave it to you, but it still held his smell. The clean, but slightly musky smell that you tried to ignore when he stood too close to you at briefings. The smell that made your brain shut down for a few seconds sometimes, which made you miss parts of important conversations.

You had no idea how to explain that to him without sounding odd or creepy. So you decided to go with the explanation that you had simply forgotten to return it to him. That would help avoid any awkward conversations that would have followed the actual truth.

When you reached his door, you lifted your hand to knock. Not even thinking, you knocked with your injured hand, sending a shooting pain down the length of your arm. A few more choice words slipped out of our mouth as the door slid open.

“Again with the language,” Wolffe said. “What is with you today?”

You peered at him standing in the doorway in front of you, missing the very article of clothing that you had come to return. Your jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of his bare muscled chest. Given the state of mind you had been in on your way to his door, you weren’t prepared to deal with the feelings the sight inflamed in you. 

“Did you need something?” he asked.

Despite the ease of words leaving your mouth several times that day, at this moment you couldn’t find anything to say. Your mouth felt dry as you tried to form a coherent sentence. Clearing your throat, you lifted your eyes from his bare chest to meet his gaze.

“I came to return your shirt,” you managed to say. “Or at least bring you a new one.”

You held out the garment in question, your hand shaking slightly as you did. Wolffe’s eyebrows lifted in confusion at your behavior, but you saw realization dawn on his expression soon enough. Something that you rarely saw appeared on his face, a smirk lifted the corner of his mouth.

“Is there a problem?”

You shook your head and turned to leave. 

“I’m just a little distracted is all,” you said. “Sorry for keeping your shirt for so long.”

You almost swore you heard a soft chuckle as you walked away, your face heating up with embarrassment. Despite your careful planning, you didn’t think your attraction to him was a secret anymore. Which was going to be a problem.