#soft tech

“All the same, I'll review your scans once more to ensure I haven’t missed something.” That was as close to a dismissal as I was going to get, but still I found myself hesitating, unable to turn away from the worried determination painting subtle lines at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t notice until the silence lasted a beat too long, eyes flicking toward me with an uncertainty that made my heart jump. I almost hesitated… but he’d seemed so undeterred when he took my hand mere moments prior…

I let out a slow, deep sigh as I stepped toward him, arms looping around his lower back with a gentle, featherlight embrace; one he could escape with the barest of withdrawals, but I needed him to know just how grateful I was; for his concern, his understanding, his willingness to talk to me when the others still tripped over the words.

“Thank you.” I whispered against his chest. He was still for a moment, air held in his lungs, arms flared ever so slightly, and I worried I’d overstepped; that I’d pushed too far and might rekindle the heartbreak from that moment he’d shied from my touch… but then his free hand settled lightly over my shoulder blade, the other thoughtlessly setting the tablet down on the bed or the counter or wherever was nearest before moving to slide softly along my lower back.

I’d planned to grant myself only time enough for a single, slow breath, and then I was going to pull away. I was going to give him his space for however long he needed it, but then his body shifted, embrace wrapping so firmly around me, I couldn’t help but let my torso arch forward, molding against his as his deceptively tall form curled around mine, head ducking down to rest his cheek against my temple, ruffling my hair in a thoughtless, firm caress that surely couldn’t be called a nuzzle, his own breath fleeing with a tension neither of us would draw attention to. Not yet. But I let my arms tighten. I let him feel every glimmer of affection and adoration that might be sown through something as innocent and tender and desperate as a hug might possibly portray, and I realized something as my own breath caught.

Some part of me had still feared that he might have reservations; that in our time apart, he had distanced himself from emotion and found logic wanting for reasons I ought stay; that he’d concluded what chaos surely lingered in the days to come as we six struggled to settle into new norms and new roles governed by a love and lust that was anything but new couldn’t be justified by what use I had to the squad as a unit, but that embrace, the relief so shamelessly screamed in the way his fingers dug into the narrow gaps between my armor silenced even whispers of that doubt.

My hand slid up to card through the short curls at the base of his neck, fingertips tracing lightly over the band of his goggles as I tilted my head to just brush my brow against his chin, lips laxed in a gentle smile.

“Thank you.” I murmured once more, leaning back just enough to find his gaze, to let him see my own relief in the face of his, and his breath caught slightly, a tension returning to draw his shoulders back and straighten his spine as though belatedly remembering himself.

“O-of course.” He stammered ever so slightly as he stepped back. “I’ll… inform you if I find anything of note.” The subtle embarrassment in his voice as he quickly turned his attention to where he’d thoughtlessly abandoned his datapad left me chuckling softly as I turned away.

There was a weightlessness to my step that I hadn’t realized I’d been without for so long, suffering beneath the guilt for wants I’d been ashamed of, fears of what retribution surely awaited me should they ever come to light, but now I was free of that, and the possibilities laid out before me in its absence were exhilarating, consuming my every thought as I tread quickly through the door. Too quickly.

I wasn’t paying attention; wasn’t thinking beyond the thrill lingering in the wake of Tech’s embrace, head bowed as though trying to hide the grin I couldn’t begin to fight from my lips, and I didn’t see him; didn’t notice how near I’d come to accidentally walking right into him, but the instant Echo’s hand grabbed my arm, the instant his voice filled that small room, it didn’t matter what he’d said nor how gently he held me. All I saw was that rage in eyes unfocused and hazy with illness, the venom in that remorseless threat, I’m not asking again, and my entire body froze, ice flooding my veins, panic locking my muscles taut, too terrified to move, to breathe, to even try to flee for what punishment it might bring.

“Whoa-whoa; easy.” His arms flared, releasing me before my short, strangled gasp even fell silent. I saw him – saw the sharp concern in the soft brown of his eyes, the way his shoulders dropped like it might lessen the intimidating visage of his powerful form, lessen the way his broad silhouette so effortlessly blocked the hallway, but I saw that nightmare just as clearly, how ruthlessly he’d ground my face into the floor, twisting my arm behind me…

He took another step back, and my heart sank, chest bucking with a stolen breath as my gaze dropped, stomach twisting at the horrifying realization of what had just happened, the fear I’d let him see in me, the guilt and worry storming in his eyes…

“Kriff, sorry; s-… I, um…” I stammered, trying and failing to find some believable excuse that might give a reason – any reason – for my limbs to be shaking like they were; some way to convince him that it had nothing to do with him; that my mind had been broken and pieced back together too many times to even guess toward why such a touch might have so easily shattered me.

“Y- uh… j-just s-surprised me.” The words caught and fumbled, and I knew he granted them no more belief than I did, stance still carefully loose, as unthreatening as he could possibly pretend to be even as that haunted corner of my mind screamed that it was a lie; that I needed to run… to hide, and how I hated myself for it, for the realization that this ran deeper than a moment’s surprise; that this wasn’t something I could just ignore, and the terror of how it would hurt him if he ever found out… kriff, I could never let him find out… So, I pushed it down. I let an impatient shame pinch my brows and pull my lips in a small scowl, and when he carefully lowered himself onto a knee before me, that guilt only grew.

“Alright, just… just take a breath with me, okay?” He murmured, the subtle, lilting accent in his deep voice almost disjointed in how utterly juxtaposed it was to the feral terror still making my heart race, because how could I feel like this when he spoke to me so softly? How could I shy so violently from his touch now when just moments prior I’d so eagerly lost myself in his embrace?

“Doc?” He pressed in a quiet whisper, and I forced out a small huff, loathing the air of defeat that stole through me, the regret as I hesitantly glanced toward him.

“Hey.” He murmured in a barely there rumble that made my breath hitch, shoulders slumping as a tiny fraction of tension slowly began to drain from taut muscles and faintly trembling limbs. “Sorry… I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.” I let out an almost frustrated sigh.

“No… no, I’m sorry…” I interjected, “You shouldn’t… Dammit, you shouldn’t have to worry about just… touching me like that.” He let out a long, slow breath, eyes just as haunted as they were gentled by how intimately he knew the exact tang of my frustration and the helplessness it carried.

“Are you okay?” He asked, and I felt myself pause; not because of the shame of the only answer I could think to give, but because that wasn’t what he was asking. He wasn’t dwelling on the moment of panic; not when he knew talking about such things would offer no relief. Not yet, at least; not when the adrenaline had yet to fade and memories still threatened to distort and degrade and ruin that happiness I’d only just been allowed to taste.

Stealing another quick breath, I glanced back toward the medbay where Tech was surely still scanning every snip of data until he could silence his own fears, and I nodded.

“Yeah… yeah; no brain bleeds or broken bones.” I answered, voice still too thin but far steadier than I’d expected it to be, and I relished in the smile he offered. It was small, and neither could deny the heartbreak in it, but it was real.

The duality haunted me. This was the Echo I was used to: kind but honest, gentle but firm; yet the man that hurt me, the man that so effortlessly crippled me by twisting my shoulder from its socket… that man was Echo, too; the monster he became when he had to.

“Ple-”

My breath caught at the ripple of that memory, finger tightening around the phantom trigger to murder that mercenary from so long ago, the one I’d tortured for the keycode to save the arc trooper now kneeling before me with that sad, knowing smile, and I leapt for even a tiny distraction.

“That can’t be comfortable.” The glimmer of accusation in my words as I glanced down at his legs earned a barely-there chuckle, but he didn’t deny it as he slowly rose to his full height, shoulders still slouched ever so slightly.

“They’re pretty much healed – just a little sore if I’m on them too long.” He replied, not dismissively, but clearly hoping to leave it at that. I let out a low sigh, attention lingering on the new prosthetics, the image of putrid wounds so poorly hidden beneath stolen bandages and wildly inadequate swaths of bacta long-since stained a far too dark red left me itching to beg him to show me, to let me see for myself that the skin hadn’t yielded from the day’s abuse and begun to fester anew, and I wondered how long it might take for that fear to fade… for any of those fears to fade…

He didn’t mean to move when I reached for his hand, but I saw the little shift of his fingers, too eager for the coming touch to lie still. Despite the warmth that sight sent humming through my chest, I couldn’t bring myself to smile, not when the soreness he was referring to only plagued him because of secrets he’d felt he had to keep because of me, because of the confusion of changing dynamics, the sudden need to second-guess every word and gesture to ensure some line wasn’t crossed that had been blurred long before I even knew it existed, and the heaviness in what was so nearly a gentle quiet weighed all the more merciless amidst the loss of his own tentative grin.

“I’m sorry.” My voice dropped into something almost too quiet to be a whisper, movements desperately gentle, reverent, as I cradled his hand between mine, fingertips tracing scars and veins and the creases adorning his palm. “Dealing with wounds like those… You must have been so afraid, and in so much pain… and to feel like you couldn’t ask for help…” He let out a slow sigh, head dropping though he seemed to lean ever so slightly closer; not crowding me, but… close enough that I could hear his lips and tongue shifting over words he was still trying to find the will to say.

“That’s… not your fault.” He finally admitted. Part of me wanted to ignore that claim, to dismiss it as an empty attempt to offer comfort; to free me of guilt, but that wasn’t Echo’s way, so I found my breath quieting, stilling; waiting for something more. “It’s… it’s still hard to accept sometimes…” He glanced down toward his new legs, such reluctance in hushed words colored only in various shades of shame; shame for the hurt he’d caused and the hurt he’d suffered, shame for being too proud or embarrassed or scared to ask for help, shame for needing help at all…

And there, again, those dual images clashed, because how could I possibly fear the gentle man before me? How could I bring myself to acknowledge that this was the same person that had left me shaking and broken barely more than a week past when now he stood so repentant and vulnerable, muscles atop his cheeks balled in a self-disdained scowl as he glared at the interplay of metals and silicas and engineering that was more deserving of awe than the disgust so evident in twisted lips and narrowed eyes?

I let out a slow breath as I guided his hand to my lips. It felt so natural. Like I’d kissed him a thousand times already with the promise of millions more awaiting, patient as though they’d never known the taste of doubt, and he shared so willingly in that unquestioning comfort as his touch spread out to cup my cheek before letting his thumb and forefinger toy with a loose strand of hair.

“I’m here.” The words washed from my lips as more plea than promise, and the ruin of a smile that sat so briefly but with such heaviness upon his battle-worn face left me stealing a step closer, grip tightening ever so slightly, anything to convince him that there were no conditions to my devotion; no reservations built on prejudice or pity.

“I know.” He murmured, some glimmer of warmth managing to ease that weight from him as he leaned closer in turn, and there was no hesitation from either of us as my head tilted back.

He tasted like caf that had been forgotten for too long and now held a bitterness emphasized by the slight chill of his lips. Still, there was a subtle rhythm to how he kissed me, unrushed and unworried; and how could I not loop my arms around his neck in a gesture both yearning and lazy and unabashed by the breathy sigh that followed, before, with the same breath, letting myself sink back onto my heels.

His shame wasn’t gone, but it was softer. I wanted to tell him that it was okay to have those moments – to acknowledge what he’d lost and rage for it, but I didn’t need to. He didn’t need me to tell him things he already knew. He just needed to know that I could love him all the same; that I didn’t see him as less than whole even on days when he felt so terribly fractured.

With a final smile, my hands slid down his jaw as I began to ease back, attention flicking past him toward where his brothers surely lay in waiting, but, before I could so much as think to step away, his hold shifted, willing me back toward him with a desperate, “wait” in the split second before he kissed me once more, breath nearly a growl as he pressed himself closer, scomped arm wrapping so tightly around my waist that my torso arched flush against his with a gasp that fell far too willingly into a muffled whimper, the sound devoured by his lips.

There wasn’t space left even to moan his name, nails catching on armor and cloth and hair as I lost myself in the suddenness of his need. It wasn’t until I heard the air catch between his teeth in a breathless hiss that I even realized how my body had rolled into him, hips grinding against his armor until he could feel me through even the thick durasteel shifting so cruelly between us. Part of me wondered if that fleeting murmur of friction would be enough; if such muted whispers of movement coupled with far too many months of repressed desires might bring him to the edge, and I found myself desperate to find out, to learn what other noises I might draw from him absent true touch.

But then he was pulling away, forehead brushing mine in what should have been affectionate yet earned only a flare of frustration as I strained to chase his lips once more. The breathy chuckle, the smile beaming across his face, the way his chest seemed to swell as he granted me exactly what I wanted for far too short an eternity, kiss nearly chaste amidst the thoughts raging through my mind; I couldn’t try to suppress the quiet groan from catching in my throat as he straightened up, the muffled sound only fueling his glee.

“Sorry,” he whispered, hand slipping so delicately down my cheek that I instantly felt myself melting into it, “just had to make sure.” My brows twitched together with confusion for the beat it took to remember how to speak.

“Make sure what?” I practically mumbled, voice far more hoarse than I’d intended, and he answered only with that stunning smile, free of every memory of pain or loss or guilt for just a moment as he kissed me once more before finally stepping back, scomp still resting lightly around my waist.

“Come on.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him like this: light. Happy. Truly happy. And whatever glimmers of my own fears lingered suddenly felt so foolish as I let myself be drawn nearer to him, idly following his every step in those few seconds in which we yet remained hidden from sight, body pressed so perfectly against his that even that damned armor felt inconsequential as I cursed how little distance lay between us and the cabin where light from the surrounding hanger already breached the Marauder’s halls to jostle us back to a too impatient present.

Crosshair was waiting out there. As was Hunter… and Wrecker… And my heart fluttered once more at the trepidation of relearning each of them amidst this new reality. But that trepidation was no longer born of pure dread… Despite every sliver of common sense screaming that this was bound to break us, despite the danger constantly looming beyond every corner, I couldn’t deny the real reason my heart was racing as Echo finally stepped away from me in those last few meters to the yawning doorway atop the ramp, his lips still softened with a smile and swollen from my kiss. Despite everything… I was excited.

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“It’s the way they were created. They are…” she watches her father’s face as he searches the sky above them for words, “...copies of one person. Exact copies. That’s what a clone is.” 

“Oh,” Kandria says, but the answer only makes her think of more questions. 

How are they born? Where do they come from? Who is the man they were cloned from? Why are they here? Are they like regular people? Real people? 

The questions swirl in her mind, but the soldiers move closer to them, and she doesn’t want to sound rude if they overhear her asking. They have their helmets tucked under their arms, their armor white and shiny in the afternoon sun. She feels a warmth of embarrassment when they catch her staring. One of them smiles at her, and it crinkles the edges of his eyes. The other doesn’t smile, but he nods at her, a silent greeting. She doesn’t know what to do, so she smiles and nods back at them.

The smiling one chuckles, and they continue by. 

Kandria decides that at least one of her questions has been answered. 

They are real people.

**

“Dree! Get out here!” Uncle Garo roars from the front room. “Bring the med kit!” 

Shoving her data pad under her mattress, Kandria stumbles to her feet, and runs to the corner where their ill-stocked med kit is kept. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she goes to the shelf and snatches up the med scanner she’d pieced together despite her uncle’s protests of it being “a wasted use of parts.” If your injuries are that deep, you might as well die and get it over with. 

Kandria tries to imagine what sort of injuries she will face as she moves to the main room, but she stops short when she sees her cousins staggering through the bay door behind their father with a soldier in broken armor slung between them. The toes of his boots drag the ground. 

“Who…” Kandria begins, but Garo grabs her arm and pulls her toward the wounded man. 

“A kriffing clone. Just get him to stay alive long enough to give us any information we can get out of him. Got it? Don’t be wasteful.” 

Kandria pulls out of his grip and takes a few measured steps back. “Take him to my cot,” she tells Bailroy and Jaysha, because she knows full well that none of them will give up their own bed. 

“The floor’s good enough for it,” Bailroy argues. 

“Not good enough for me,” Kandria says, even though she feels herself trembling at her own audacity. 

Her cousins sneer at her, teeth bared; however, a sharp nod from her uncle makes them comply regardless. She follows them back into the storage room, watching disgustedly as they deposit the man roughly onto her thin mattress. Disgust is overwhelmed by a thrill of panic when she hears the metallic thump of her hidden data pad, but neither man seems to notice.

She waits until they have stepped away before she approaches the clone. His face is filthy with dirt and dried blood. His armor, or what remains of it, is shattered, large pieces broken off and missing. He looks like he may already be dead, but when she rests her palm on his forehead, his skin is hot with fever. 

“What happened to him?” Kandria asks, throat tight. 

“We found a railcar that had fallen from the track,” Bailroy says. “It probably fell with it.” 

Kandria bristles, turning on him. “He is not an it. He is a human being.”

Bailroy steps toward her, and it takes every ounce of resolve for Kandria to hold her ground, to not flinch when he leans forward to meet her eye.“Watch your tone, girl,” he growls. 

She curls her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I’m not scared of you,” she lies through gritted teeth. 

Bailroy smiles. “I don’t believe you.” 

“We’ll leave you to tend to your pet,” Jaysha tells her, grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him away. “Don’t get attached. We’re not keeping it.” 

Kandria doesn’t move until they leave the room, the door sliding shut behind them. Her eyes burn, but she won’t let herself cry. She has a second chance, and she won’t squander it with wasted tears. 

**

TECH

“What did you do with Nala Se as a medical assistant?” 

Omega kicks the heel of one boot against the crate they’re sitting on. The methodical thump, thump, thump is distracting, along with the fact that she does not seem to be entirely listening, her eyes focused on the open hatch where they can hear their brothers arguing lightly over supplies and their organization outside. 

“Omega,” Tech prompts. 

She snaps her head up to look at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?” 

Tech suppresses a sigh. When he had told Hunter that they should be sure to continue Omega’s education, he had happily taken on the role of instructor. Typically, the girl at his side is an admirably attentive pupil; however, there are occasions when her priorities are otherwise engaged. He remembers what Hunter told him about patience, a pointed warning that Tech had not fully appreciated at the time it was given. 

He repeats himself carefully. “What skills did you attain as Nala Se’s medical assistant?” 

Omega stills, her swinging boot stopping with a final thud. “Oh. I learned how to use a med scanner and some of the other medical equipment. Mostly how to read the data and take notes. Basic first aid, and minor medical procedures like sutures and resetting dislocations. And I know a lot about using bacta, and giving hypos.” 

“Hmmm. Did you practice these skills often?” 

“A little. Usually, the clone medics handled everything. I would help clean tools and bring supplies; however, there were times that I had to do more.” Omega seems reluctant to continue the discussion, her attention once again flagging to the open hatch. 

“I am sure you were of great help,” Tech says, deciding to let the topic shift on what he hoped was a positive note. 

“I tried to be,” Omega says. “I only ever wanted to help…even when it was hard. Sometimes no one could help.” The child’s voice trembles. “That’s what Nala Se said.”

Tech realizes too late that he has wandered out of his depth of expertise. 

“I know that everyone will die someday,” Omega continues, unsteadily. “But it’s still very sad. Nala Se said it was unprofessional to cry.” 

Tech has never wished so desperately for one of his more emotionally intelligent brothers to interrupt at this moment; however, he knows that the odds of such an occurrence happening at such a convenient time is practically nonexistent. 

Tech turns his body so that he is partially facing Omega. “Did you know that the Kaminoans are often wrong?” 

Omega blinks up at him, dark eyes shining. She scrunches her brows, confused. “What?” she asks. 

“That is to say,” Tech amends, realizing he has been unclear, “Nala Se should not have told you that it was unprofessional to…cry. It is a natural reaction to many emotions. While tears may not always be appropriate in a particular moment, they are a valid response.” 

Omega’s expression softens. “Do you ever cry, Tech?” 

The question catches him off guard somehow; although, it is logical in its arrival. It feels strange to answer in the negative, but he has not actually cried tears since he was very, very young, when his emotions were still unregulated by maturity. Tech has never been traditionally emotive. At times it has given the impression to his brothers and others that he is unfeeling, which could not be further from the truth. He feels deeply. He is just not sure how those feelings might translate to behavior that others might read and understand. 

“Of course,” Tech says stiffly, deciding that the when is unimportant in the context of the conversation. “It is a human emotion, and we are quite human.” 

Omega smiles at him and does something else he does not expect. She lurches forward, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him so tight it is hard to swallow. He makes a noise of protest involuntarily, but Omega holds on for a moment more to say in a soft voice, “Thank you, Tech.” 

But he isn’t sure what she is thanking him for.

**

Tech wakes to someone gently rubbing at his face with a cool, damp cloth. Awareness itself is disorienting, but he is acutely aware of his injuries. His whole body hurts with an ache dulled by mild pain relievers. It is only enough to take the edge off; however, he doubts nothing short of a tranquilizer and a bacta tank would be able to wholly soothe him. 

The only hands he can imagine being so gentle amongst his siblings is his sister. In the same vein that the thought of Omega at his side soothes him, there is an overwhelming sadness. 

“Omega?” he rasps out, throat dry with dehydration and disuse. 

The hands draw away. “You’re awake,” a young voice says. “I didn’t know if you would.” 

It is not Omega’s voice, but it somehow clicks into place the memories of events leading up to this moment. Plan 99. The railcar falling. His goggles, broken. The underground cavern. Rough hands dragging him, a boot pushing him to his back…

Tech gasps, coming fully awake. Panic drives physical pain to depths so that adrenaline might take hold. 

“It’s okay!” the voice says, a frantic whisper.  “Shh, please. You’re alright. I’m not going to hurt you, please, be quiet!”

Tech tries to obey, to steady his breathing. He stares up at the smudged, dim ceiling above him. The analytical part of his mind, always working, tells him that he is in a warehouse of some kind and that it is old. Very old. He puts all of his thoughts to task on that one fact, forcing himself to latch onto its surety, as though it means anything at all. When he finally feels that he has regained control of himself, he turns his head to look at the speaker beside him. It is a girl, possibly a little older than Omega, that stares back at him, eyes wide. She clutches a dirty rag in her hands, stained the rusty color of blood. His blood, he realizes. 

The girl glances over her shoulder. “I don’t think they heard you,” she assures him softly. She moves closer. “My name is Kandria. What is yours?” 

“Tech,” he whispers back. His throat burns. “Please…may I have some water?” 

“Of course,” Kandria tells him, and a canteen appears. 

Tech starts to sit up on his own, but everything - everything - hurts. The girl puts an arm around his shoulders and props him up just enough that he won’t choke, then holds the mouth of the canteen to his lips. Tech is not certain how long he has been without water. However, if the insurmountable thirst that is activated the moment the cool liquid touches his tongue is anything to go by, it has been a while. 

Kandria pulls the canteen away far too soon. “I’ll give you more in a minute. I want to make sure your stomach can handle it. You have a fever. I’ve given you an antibiotic and cleaned any open wounds I could find. I wish we had an IV to get you fluids…” 

Tech’s mind tries to focus on the rattle of words; however, his thoughts are consumed with the canteen in the girl’s hand, just out of reach. 

“Here,” Kandria says, and, as though reading his silent thoughts, she brings the canteen back and allows him another few swallows. “A little more. I just don’t want you to get sick, Tech.”

While his thirst still is not satisfied, he acknowledges the wisdom in her words with a tight nod. 

Kandria smiles and sets the canteen aside before lifting the rag again. “Is it alright if I finish washing your face? It will help me see if there are any other head injuries I should be worried about.” 

Tech nods again, and the girl sits on the edge of the cot and continues her work with soft, short strokes. Tech glances down and notices that his armor has been removed. Not that the plastoid could offer much protection anymore given the state it had come to in his fall. And yet, the loss strikes a deep chord. 

Do you ever cry, Tech? 

“My cousins said that you fell with a railcar,” Kandria says. “Is that true?” 

“Yes.” 

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, but he looks away. If Kandria’s empathy is in any way similar to his sister’s, he does not believe his resolve will be able to withstand the sentiment. 

“It’s a wonder you survived.” 

Tech huffs but cannot find the strength or words to respond.

The sound of raised voices makes Kandria go still. “They’re coming,” she whispers. She leans close, breath warm against Tech’s ear. “You must not tell them anything too important. Please, you have to be valuable to survive, do you understand? I’ll do everything I can to help you, I promise…”

There is a hiss of a door sliding open, and Kandria pushes to her feet, turning her back on Tech. 

“I told you to tell us when it woke up.” Tech recognizes the voice immediately. Prove that you have information we want.

“He just woke up, Uncle Garo. I was just making sure he was stable.” 

A growl answers her first, low and guttural. “Sure, you were. You’re a bleeding heart, Dree. One of the many faults you got from my brother. But he was a better liar. Move aside.” 

The girl does not move, but Tech can see that she is shaking. “He’s concussed. He won’t be able to tell you anything useful yet.”

“Move. Aside. Girl.” 

Every innate instinct in Tech wills him to move, to protect, to put himself between the threatening voice and the girl might have befriended his sister in another life; however, his physical faculties fail him, and he can do little more than struggle to sit the rest of the way up, an agonizing gesture even in its simplicity. He can’t remember if Kandria mentioned broken ribs.

“I will answer your questions to the best of my capabilities,” Tech bites out around a grunt of pain. 

From this distance, the face of the man before him is smeared beyond viable recognition without the aid of his goggles. However, the man’s posture is read easily enough, perfectly in sync with the words and tone this Garo dared use against a child.

Tech comes to a resolute decision then. You have to be valuable to survive…

He will be valuable to this man for as long as it takes to rebuild his strength. 

And when that happens, he will leave this place. He will find his brothers. 

And he will take Kandria with him. 

A/N: Dad-Mode activated…

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He was cute, in a way you never quite thought ship schematics could be. For all his battles, for all his knowledge as a clone, yet still managing to find the little pieces of awe and wonder in the neighbouring ships on docking platforms.

Hunter's orders were clear;

Stay behind and watch the Marauder with Tech. The rest would head into the HUBworld for supplies and procurement. Call if anything happens.

"That is a Consular-class cruiser! With a modified engine! Certainly not legal from the thruster count or-Oh! That is a refurbished Rho-class shuttle." Tech tittered from the command chair beside you, fingers a flurry of movement over the console to bring up the schematics on file to compare their neighbours ships against, zooming in and out as he went.

"Has anyone ever told you, that you talk to much?" You ask, hardly meaning it in a cruel way from how you relax in your seat, chin propped on a fist as you watch him zip between holograms like a child on Christmas with a new toy. 

"Frequently, actually" Is all you get back, Tech leaning forwards as a ship banked overhead to a nearby platform, name rather incomprehensible at how quickly it is muffled by the soft hum of the next hologram activating and the clone right into his next little chatter of pros and cons to its current upgrades.

Hunter said they'd be back within the hour ... You'd have plenty of time.

"And, how often have they done something about it?" You ask next, a boot coming over to the arm rest to hook the tow behind, gently spinning the engineer around to face you, lacing your fingers together over your knee to regard him.

"... I am not sure I follow?" Oh, bless him. Brains of the mission, clueless outside it.

"I am flirting, Tech" You can't help but chuckle as you see the little lightbulb blink on above his head, and hands slowly pull his lenses down over his face. 

"Oh. Oh, I see  ... Apologies" Well, the glasses might hide his blazing cheeks, but his ears are certainly that 'Bad Batch' signature red. Cute.

"... I can go keep watch outside. Don't worry about it" You offer at the way the cockpit fizzles into silence, Tech in some state of probable rebooting. You'd volunteer to help out wherever Tech wasn't if it causes any tension later. Blame confined spaces and good company. 

Pushing up from your chair with a grunt, a roll of shoulders at how close quarters this ship can be but its ... quaint, you decide as you turn to step down from the cockpit only to turn at a sharp little 'Wait!' behind you. A noise that you ever so slowly turn around to regard Tech about, a brow raised expectantly for the rest. He's spun completely around to face you, even if he can't seem to hold eye contact for a moment before his hands become the most interesting thing in the ship and bothered by imaginary lint or a fascinating scuff he hadn't noticed before.

"Uh, no. That, that won't be necessary" Tech murmurs, gaze constantly flicking up to and away from you behind his little lenses as he fidgets, slowly flicking through holograms as he finds his words. "I'm, uh ... I like that you listen to me?"

"Do the others not?"

"Not always. Echo, occasionally, but mostly, no?" 

"That is a shame. You have a nice voice" You hum, stepping back up into the cockpit and moving to take a seat once again. Tech was in the biggest one, and he certainly didn't take up much of it. It was far too easy to rest a knee between those twiggy thighs and brace an arm above his head on the backrest. "I wouldn't mind hearing a little more of it. What about that one? With the gold?"

"We ... Aren't facing the window"

"Good. I'd hate to share my view. Besides, you've seen every ship that has landed here since we arrived. I don't think you need to see it to know which one I mean." You purr, hand curling under his chin to tip it up to you, not about to let him hide that sweet little face.

"I-It's a H-2. Executive shuttle. Mostly for officials or diplomats" Tech whines, finger still curled under that gorgeous chin and thumb sweeping over that plush little lip before pulling him up for a sharp kiss. They weren't machines, even genetically modified and created humans were still humans. And even lab grown humans had reactions and needs. 

And this one was certainly needy.

"As I said, nice voice" You smirk, letting go of his chin to lean backwards, admiring how little it has taken to undo him. His grip on the arm rests likely will leave dents for the next occupant, he's flushed crimson down that markable throat into the collar of his blacks, and panting softly at getting enough space back to breathe again.

"First time on the ship. ... Or?" Oh, you could have quite a bit of fun based on the answer. 

"N-No, there is a bar. Coruscant. Back rooms... Supply closet" Comes the breathless answer, lean legs shifting under you as the engineer gets a little more comfortable, hands lifting to tug at his blacks collar to let a little more cooler air down there. Was ... Was it this hot in the cockpit, or just him? The thermal regulator says it was comfortable, but it felt like Mustafar up here!

"Good to know. And the blue and white ship?" You ask, noticing how he seems to fuss with the neckline of his blacks and decide it would be ever so cruel not to help him out a bit. 

Fingers curling under the hem of his blacks at the waist, carefully helping raise the fabric up and over his head, mindful of the lenses before pushing the fabric backwards over the backrest of the chair, arms stuck in the tight fabric to the upper arm, tugging faintly at his sudden restraints. Someone's headband would have been rather convenient, but one could always make do with their surroundings. Besides, he wouldn't damage the arm rests or his blacks worrying at them like this. It was quite cute to watch muscles tense and flex either side of his head as he tested how much flex and give he had. Not a lot.

Not that he'd have much thought process to set aside for testing his binds, tipping that chin up again for a graze of teeth along that flushed throat, trailing knuckles down a toned little abdomen to another hem, and resting over fabric to give a soft squeeze and tracing little patterns into the mesh. Oh, that hitch and groan above your ear was delightful, lenses pressing to your shoulder as his head tips forwards, and each little pant as you brush over somewhere sensitive is divine.

"It's a ... its ... ah" He's trembling, from the way the chair creaks at him pushing backwards to arch up, arms flexing in their confines unsure if he wants to hang on for dear life or push you backwards, but if he wasn't pink before he was now. He'd make the Emperial flag envious with his current shade.

"Its a ... what??" You croon, brushing the back of your fingers over the mesh beneath you, dancing nails up and down those quaking thighs and listening to the hitched inhales into your shoulder with each margin of fabric explored. The breathless moan into your neck at your hand slipping under the hem and fingers curling around him was probably the most vocal he's been tonight since you took a seat. 

He's sensitive. 

Understandably so, with a life under armour. Any and all registry to the brain would be armour plates shifting, the blacks doing most of the work as dampeners to the skin so, one could hardly blame him for the hitched keen as you start to move certainly checks out. Thumb tracing little circles over the head with each idle stroke, settling back on your knees to watch Tech.

He's beautiful; Head lolled to the side, flushed skin spreading along his chest and stomach, arms flexing where his hands likely fisted and strained at the sensory feedback, unable to help every moan and pant to escape his lips as you slide your hand along him, squeezing as you move downward if only to watch his expression as hips buck up towards you.

"... What was that?"

"Please" He whines, head tipping backward to thunk against the headrest as you squeeze again, legs shifting under you as booted heels dig into the flooring to push more of himself up to meet you.

"Good boy" You murmur, pleased even in his current state that Tech still has his manners. Even if it would have been cute to teach him some, how could you deny such a pleasant request? 

You catch him by the lips again, cornering every hiccup and moan against your lips as you find a pace that has him shaking and arching up against you, heels squeaking against the cockpit floor on ever press and downward stroke until he's silent. 

Lips parted in little rabbit breaths, hips bucking as he curls forward into your shoulder, seat creaking as arms strain to come forwards, and the little sound as warmth floods your hand is addicting. 

Twitching in your hand as he breaks, hot breaths ghost your neck as he sucks in desperate little breaths, and you love the way his body seems to convulse as you gently slide your thumb back and forth over the slick head. 

Just in time, that is the crew entering the spaceport again, over the headrest of the chair. You've got a few minutes before they'd reach the boarding ramp.

A soft little brush of lips to his throat, making a nice little mark against his collar bone as you help unhook his blacks from over the headrest, and you're freeing his arms from it as you rock back onto your feet, running the fabric through your fingers to toss over by their apparent 'laundry' section of the mess they called belongings as he slumps against you, starting to get lights on behind his eyes as he apparently takes a moment to reboot himself into a post orgasmic version of Tech... Its sweet. 

You've never seen that goofy little smile before. You could almost assume him drunk were it not for their location and the last hour in landing.

"Can you stand? .............. A grunt is not an answer, Ships. Can you stand?"

"I do believe so?" Comes the soft little wheeze the second time around, curling an arm under his arm to haul him up onto wobbly little legs with a comforting pat to clad little cheeks, guiding him down that step into the main galley and leaning in the doorway. 

"Hunter's stepped onto the platform, so we have about  .. eh, two minutes for you to put some new blacks on. Can't let the crew know you're actually fun" You grin.

"I'm always fun" Comes the little retort from somewhere near the bunks, storage lids clacking open and closed from around the corner in mission objective of right sized blacks. Perks of everyone aside Wrecker being somewhat like-sized? You could raid ‘wardrobes’.

He doesn’t see if Omega nods, but she doesn’t verbally agree. She holds his forearm and steadies him until he finds the chair seat and sits down. His vision clears enough that he can see the waiting message light on the console. The coordinates.

“You will be my copilot, Omega,” Tech says, turning slowly to face forward. “I’ll try to give you clear instructions, but please let me know if you need further clarification.”

He hears the copilot’s seat shift and squeak next to him as Omega climbs into it. She says, “Are you sure you’re alright to fly?”

“We don’t have any other options, unfortunately,” Tech says.

Tech opens the coordinates and transfers them to the ship’s nav system. He can’t quite make out the screen’s ETA reading, his vision still unbalanced, everything shifting in and out of focus. If he hadn’t lost so much blood, this would have been substantially easier.

“Alright, Miss Omega,” he says, putting as much confidence as he can muster into the reedy sound of his voice. “We are going to prepare for the jump into hyperspace.”

The Marauder’s familiar output of energy presses against his senses, drawing Hunter’s attention skyward. “Get ready, Wreck,” he says to his brother. “Our ride’s here.”

“About kriffing time,” Wrecker huffs, shifting at Hunter’s side. They’d found unfortunately tight quarters to take cover in while they waited for their siblings to show up.

Tech’s voice filters through their comms. “Approaching your location. Prepare to board.”

“Roger that,” Hunter replies, relieved to hear that some strength has returned to Tech’s voice.

The ship glides into view with the recognizable reckless ease of Tech’s hand at the helm. The ramp lowers, and Omega is leaning out, waving to them. Hunter and Wrecker break from their cover, running for the ship. As soon as their boots are clambering up the ramp, Omega calls out, “We got them, Tech!”

There is a sound of reply, and the ship begins to lift along with the ramp behind them.

“Are you both alright?” Omega asks them worriedly.

“We’re fine.” Hunter takes off his helmet, looking down at the girl with his own eyes. The scent of blood immediately assaults his senses, and his eyes go wide when he sees that her clothes are stained with blooms of deep red. “Are you hurt?” he asks, kneeling to her level to check for himself.

Omega quickly shakes her head, pulling away. “I’m okay. It’s Tech. One of the mercenaries got him in the side with a blade. It wasn’t deep, and I was able to do sutures. But he shouldn’t be flying.” She glances warily toward the cockpit.

Hunter nods sharply, standing and making his way to the front of the ship. He hears Wrecker behind him, double checking that Omega isn’t hurt, his booming voice gentle.

“Tech?” Hunter asks as soon as he comes into the space.

His brother turns his head slightly and slowly, as though even the small movement is taxing. “Hunter,” he says, voice thin, “I think it would be best if you took over.”

Hunter slips into the copilot’s seat, switching over main controls to his side. He calls over his shoulder. “Wrecker! Come get Tech.”

“I think I’m more than capable of just sitting here,” Tech protests.

“How about you let me decide on that, trooper,” Hunter returns firmly. “You’re on bed rest until we can check you over.”

Hunter glances over in time to see Tech weakly roll his eyes, and Hunter knows that he’s going to be okay.

“Omega, I wondered if I might ask you a question.”

The words are spoken into a comfortable stillness that has settled over the Marauder. Although Omega still isn’t exactly sure how they pulled it off, their brothers were retrieved, just as Tech had promised. Now, Wrecker and Hunter are in the cockpit, having banished Tech to the bunk room to rest, and Omega has been appointed as his guardian to make sure he actually does.

She sits in a nest of blankets on the floor by his bunk, data pad propped on her knees, reading through the lesson plan Tech made for her a few days ago. Omega looks up at the strange request. Tech doesn’t usually ask questions...he answers them. And the questions he does ask are typically rhetorical.

Omega has a feeling she isn’t going to like this question.

“Sure,” she says, trying to keep her voice light.

Tech hesitates. Another anomaly to his character.

Dread finds a hold, claws digging into the pit of her stomach. Omega knows she isn’t going to like this question.

“I seem to have inadvertently upset you earlier,” Tech begins. He doesn’t look at her face, but something just over her head. “When I commented about your medical training.” His flicker to hers briefly. “I wondered if you might help me understand why that upset you?”

Omega swallows and she finds herself gripping fistfuls of soft blankets, data pad forgotten in her lap. She knows her brother is only concerned about her, wants to comprehend her better; however, the question opens a childhood of secrets she’s tried so hard to keep hidden. She wants to be happy. To forget what was, embrace what is.

Her brothers are her world now.

Not Kamino, not Nala Se. Not anymore.

Telling Tech will cause these worlds to collide, and she will never, ever be able to separate the pieces again. But then words echo back to her, words Tech said just before he passed out, putting his life quite literally in her hands. I trust you.

And she trusts him. All of them. With quite literally her life.

A deep breath. A slow exhale. “I haven’t told anyone this before,” she says, “but I trust you.”

Tech is watching her, and she sees his calculating gaze soften with her words.

Hunter finds Tech still awake hours after Omega has gone to bed. He watches him from the bunkroom doorway for a moment, observing the furious way Tech is pouring over whatever he is reading on his data pad.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Tech visibly startles, then mutters a curse, hand going to the place he was slashed earlier that day. “I was feeling fine until you came in,” he tells Hunter irritably.

Hunter grins apologetically. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me...I wasn’t paying attention and your sudden presence caught me off guard,” Tech responds, voice stiff.

Hunter rolls his eyes, but lets the matter drop, entering the room fully. “You seem upset about something. What’s up?”

Tech’s frown deepens. “Omega and I had a discussion about what her medical training on Kamino entailed. From what she describes...” Tech trails off, looking down at his data pad.

“Tech,” Hunter prompts, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Tech doesn’t look up, fingers gripping the data pad so tight his knuckles pale. “She’s just a child, Hunter. The assignments Nala Se had her complete to practice medical procedures...fully mature medics would be haunted by. She worked with cadavers, Hunter. Deceased clones! She said she still clearly remembers how cold they felt.” Tech is angry. Furious. Hunter can hear the fire eating at the frayed edges his carefully even voice.

It is catching.

Hunter feels the rage boil in his mutilated blood cells, but before he can articulate the words to voice his absolute disgust in their sadistic creators, Tech speaks again.

“And then I so callously called on her to utilize her skills,” Tech says, fevered tone redirected. He distractedly puts a hand back over the wound. “She should never have been put in that position. If I had been more attentive to our surroundings during the mission, none of this would have happened.” His hand curls into a fist.

“But it did happen,” Hunter says, carefully regulating his temper, not wanting Tech to think for even an instant it is directed at him. He sits down on the edge of the bunk, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “I hate what Omega had to go through before we found her, but I am thankful she was prepared to do what needed to be done to save our brother’s life.”

He hears Tech swallow, a painful, emotional sound. “I am thankful as well…” he admits hoarsely. “Without her, we would not have been able to return to retrieve you and Wrecker.”

“And we have her now,” Hunter says, “she’s under our protection.”

“With our lives need be,” Tech agrees.

END

Author’s Note: Wow! The end of Whumptober 2023! I can’t believe I actually did it…31 prompts in 31 days! But I so very honestly couldn’t have done it without all the kind words and support from those who read, commented, liked and reblogged (both on Tumblr & Ao3) all my crazy, random, traumatizing stories…so a HUGE thank you to all you wonderful people! This community is the best, and I am so happy to have had the opportunity to share my love of writing and Star Wars with you all!

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