Clones, as a general rule, are supposed to look the same. 

Regulation hair, dark eyes, 1.83 meters tall. Callused hands, chiseled faces. Uniform speaking patterns. 

Clones, as an unspoken rule, look nothing alike. 

Part of this is their own doing—dyed hair, tattoos, dialects picked up after deployment, senses of humor. But there is also something innate to their differences. Clones are human beings, despite what Kaminoan scientists would have you believe, and humans can’t help but be unique. 

Plus, it’s in the eyes. 

No one could convince you differently. Back before the Order—before everything—you’d swear up and down to anyone who listened about how stupid it was that people got your boys mixed up. You understood, to a certain degree. You were a medic and you were trained to tell the difference. And the clones who refrained from tattoos or piercings or didn’t have gnarly scars did closely resemble one another. 

But it took the smallest amount of effort to see how Jesse’s eyes had an almost greenish tint to them in the sun, completely different to the warm orange humor of Fives’ eyes. Echo—before everything—had the darkest eyes, nearly black even in the light, and you’d once gotten close enough to Fox to see two flecks of blue in his right eye.   

Before everything, the boys had taught you the few bits of Mandalorian culture they knew. Besides some terms (and swears) in Mando’a, they’d taught you the Keldabe kiss. Bumping foreheads became a normal part of your routine when you sent them out of the medbay, even after Fives teasingly admitted to you that it usually had a more romantic connotation to it. You’d smiled, gently, and Keldabe kissed him so hard he’d fallen backwards on his butt. 

After that it had become something you all looked forward to, a gentle thing so different from the harshness of war, sharing a moment of peace and eye contact before you parted. For you and Kix, working late nights in the medbay, it danced along the edge of something deeper when you kissed each other goodnight, hands and lips touching as well as foreheads. 

And everything changed. 

The Order. The Empire. The running and hiding and screaming and dying. 

And oh, the worst part was your boys—the ones that made it—marching in uniform armor, white like bones, eyes dark and dead and colorless behind black visors. 

There was no telling them apart now. The Empire had made sure of that. 

So you’d jumped planets until you’d gotten a job in Cid’s Parlor on Ord Mantell, working behind the bar, mixing drinks and patching wounds, keeping your heart kind and closed, as far from Coruscant and the clones and the Empire as you dared to be. Cid was a fair boss, a strange spot of light in the neon night your world had become. She paid you well enough to cover rent and food and flowers and ignored the times you came out of the bathroom with wet cheeks and red eyes. Cid always insisted she kept you around because you could mix a flameout as well as you could set a broken wrist, and you’d saved her from several lawsuits in the past couple of months. But you knew she enjoyed having another person around. 

And everything changed. 

They shuffled in one by one, taking off buckets so gloriously marked and painted you were positive it was a trick of the light. But when the last one in line pulled his bucket off with the only hand he had, revealing pale skin and paler eyes, you cried out. Next moment you were holding Echo’s face in your hands, running your thumbs gently over his cheeks, tears blurring everything but the shine in his eyes, so much lighter, but still the same. 

“I thought you’d died, vod,” you sobbed, bringing your foreheads together. There were scars and plugs circling his head, and a screwdriver where his right hand used to be. But this was one of your boys, untainted, back from the dead, and he was whispering Mando’a in your ear as he hugged you. 

Cid was quick to pull you and the rest into the back rooms, afraid to draw too much attention. You sat with your thighs touching Echo’s, head on his shoulder, watching Cid bargain with Hunter, who looked more haggard than when you’d last met. 

You knew this squad, a group of reject clones who’d formed a force near the end of the war. Wrecker had frequented your section of the medbay after his risky escapades; Hunter was always the one picking him up. They’d added a little girl, Omega, sunshiny and blonde, and from the way they all watched her you were pretty sure she was the reason they were in hiding. Omega stared unabashedly at you, big eyes inquisitive and nervous. She’d nestled up next to Wrecker on the opposite corner of the room. 

The last clone in the squad caught your eye. He’d barely said a word since being unceremoniously shoved into the back rooms, instead choosing to tap furiously on a datapad. It was impossible to see his eyes through the blue glare from the datapad and his thick goggles. You remembered Wrecker rambling about Tech one day when he’d come into the medbay with a broken finger. From the way he’d been described, he was serious and shy, two traits Wrecker couldn’t understand but loved anyway. He certainly looked very serious, jaw set as he worked, shoulders hunched. He had longer fingers than most clones and seemed a bit taller, too. You guessed those were just a couple of the abnormalities that had singled him out, before everything.  

Then you felt Tech’s eyes on you. He’d caught you staring and was now fully focused on your face, raising one eyebrow in confusion. Without the glare from the datapad you could see the eyes behind his goggles. 

Pretty eyes. Big, golden, almost starry eyes. The rest of his face was stoic, but oh, you could read his soul through those eyes. 

He was beautiful. And you hadn’t expected that one bit. 

Tech blinked, confused that you kept staring without saying anything. A bit of the seriousness melted from his expression and was replaced by the cutest furrow between his eyebrows. 

“Can I…help you with something?” 

Echo stopped rubbing your back and glanced at you, suddenly aware of the staring contest you’d been having with his brother. 

“Oh, no, sorry, just staring off into space—didn’t mean to worry you,” you managed, and Tech nodded once, returning to his work. 

Echo, for his part, said very little. He only smiled, glancing at Tech, then you, a hint of his former humor glinting in his eyes. 

You blushed and hid your face in his chest to avoid the question you knew he was thinking. 

You really weren’t that surprised Cid let you go with the boys. She’d taken one look at your suddenly watery eyes when Echo told you they were leaving, huffed, and started digging credits out of her pockets. 

“Advance pay,” she’d croaked at you. “Don’t be gone too long.” 

It had been two months of jobs, sleeping on the Marauder and eating rations, and you’d never been happier. Wrecker and Omega had taken to including you during their game nights, and Hunter had shown you a few basic moves with his hunting knife. You’d had at least two holofilm nights with Echo and he always cried at the sad parts and always pretended he didn’t. It was, despite some hairy missions and sleepless nights, a quiet sort of existence. So you’d had a lot of time to think.

They’d told you Tech’s thing was his smarts–the Kaminoans had blessed him with increased mental capacity and a photographic memory that made him wicked brilliant and a total nerd to boot. He still hadn’t stopped ranting about the beetles you’d found on Kashyyyk three weeks ago to anyone who would listen (you). 

But you swore his real talent was in perceptiveness–he noticed everything. 

Which was not helpful when you were prone to staring at him. 

He was captivating, and it was horrible. You told yourself it was because of how intent he got on his work, his rare smiles, his gentle hands. 

But you knew it was his eyes. 

Omega and Kix–God, you missed Kix–were the only clones you knew who ever came close to the particular shade of gold in Tech’s eyes, but Omega’s were too auburn, Kix’s too brown. It was a sharp contrast to the almost greyish-brown of Hunter’s eyes and the bluish tint of Wrecker’s one good eye. 

But he noticed every time you started to stare, and you could almost swear he’d started staring back–and that was not something you were prepared to handle. Kix used to do the same, meeting your eyes over trays of meds and bacta, noticing when you got too exhausted or overwhelmed. 

But your feelings for Kix were a pretty scar on your healing heart. You mourned him, and loved him, but you knew moving on was what he would have wanted for you, selfless as he was. 

And now there was Tech.

You told yourself it was a silly crush. You were lonely, and he was a weird sort of lovely. Gentle with you and Omega, patient, and quietly kind. He’d been the one to let you sit up with him when you needed a night to think, and the one to regale you with the oddest facts about his favorite monsters and animals from adventures to make you laugh and wonder. So you resigned yourself to quiet loving, the kind that didn’t scare people away, the kind that didn’t hurt too much when you had to move on. 

And then you hurt yourself during a stargazing trip. 

It was the perfect definition of trip, really; nothing more cartoonish could have happened to you than the way you caught your toe on a twisty root and flailed all the way to the ground, making a noise that sounded like a sick Wookie. A nasty flare of pain went up your wrist when it caught the brunt of your fall. 

Wrecker laughed first, because it was funny, but he was the first to pick you up and set you gently upright on the ground when he heard you groan. You did your best not to sniffle. They’d all had worse than some stupid scrapes and a tweaked wrist, and you weren’t about to complain. 

Hunter assured you your wrist wasn’t broken and took the bandages from Echo’s pack to wrap it while Omega cleaned the scrapes on your chin and palms and knees with something that stung. It was sweet, the way they all gathered around you, a pack of worried siblings. 

“I can carry her to the outcropping.” 

Tech’s voice was a surprise. He’d silently watched as his sister and brothers tended to you, eyes on your face the whole time. 

“That’s sweet, Tech, but I can walk.” You waggled your feet. “Still in tip-top shape.” Your left ankle twinged in protest, and you winced. 

____

It made sense that Tech would be able to carry you effortlessly. He was just as fast and strong as his brothers, and one of the tallest in the crew. It was just—he held you like it was nothing. You couldn’t feel him straining, and any shifting he did only brought you closer into his embrace. He’d encouraged you to wrap your arms around his neck to make transporting you a bit easier, and he didn’t seem to mind that you’d rested your head on his chest, eyes closed. There wasn’t much to see until the outcropping anyway. 

He had his own scent underneath the regulation soap you all used and it was driving you crazy. 

And thinking about it was driving you crazier. You were glad Echo couldn’t see your face because you wouldn’t be able to stand the knowing look he’d give you. Echo’s antics would reveal your feelings faster than you’d ever want. 

Faint pink light made you open your eyes just as Tech shifted your weight, setting you down on a flat rock and making sure your legs weren’t folded uncomfortably. He settled next to you and placed a hand over your eyes. 

“Tech. What?” You almost pried his hand away but then that would mean touching his hand and suddenly you were overthinking it and twisting your fingers in your lap. 

“Wait until everyone gets settled. In approximately seven ticks it will be the optimal viewing time.” 

So you sat, trying not to think about how warm his gloved hand was, and breathed out a sigh, focusing on the gentle warmth of the light seeping through Tech’s fingers. 

When he drew his hand away everything was new. 

Most planets you visited had sunrises in similar colors, buttery yellows and oranges and the sort of pink you loved as a little girl, but this sky was purple, and so clear. 

There was faint pink light on the horizon where the sun was starting to come up, lining the few flat clouds with scarlet, but the main attraction was the sky above it, a rich, smooth violet expanse, filled with stars and galaxies like gems on a gown. Even Wrecker went silent after his first delighted shout, and you watched the planets dance in a glassy sky, reflected in the smooth water below the outcropping. You forgot about your aching body during the minutes before the sun broke the bonds of the sea and cast pale, pretty light into your eyes. 

There was a glint to your right. You turned just in time to catch Tech shift towards the sun, turning his face into the light. 

Where had he been looking before? 

It gave you something to think about, for sure, as he carried you back to the Marauder, and you leaned your head against him and prayed that maybe everything was changing.

You were never going to get the sand out of your shoes. 

Cid’s last mission had sent you to Jakku, a simple supply retrieval that had ended in a five-hour trek through the desert, since she’d failed to mention her contact was a hermit and lived in a tiny house way out in the dunes. There had been wind chimes all over the house, scraps of metal and glass and hollowed out pipes, so in the end, it had been a little bit magical. But now you were back on the ship, crusted over with sand, and Echo, bless him, was taking forever in the refresher. 

“He doesn’t even have hair to wash,” you complained under your breath, instantly feeling bad once the words left your mouth. Maybe all of his robot parts made it hard to clean up quickly, especially if they had sand lodged in them. You were blessed to be fully intact. And it usually took this long, right?

Then the door to the ‘fresher finally opened, and Echo came out smelling like higher-end lotion and cleanser and soap, and you recalled that Echo was very…fastidious about his appearance when he had the resources and time. 

“Your turn,” he said, and you were already closing the door to the tiny room before he’d finished talking. The industrial lighting was surprisingly comforting, and the water was cool on your hot skin as you washed the layers of sand off. 

“Hey, do you want me to take your clothes?” Omega called through the door. “We’re going to shake them off outside.” 

“Um–I’ll bring them out when I’m done!” 

You were worried the treasure hidden deep in your pants pocket would be discovered before you wanted it to be. At the hermit’s house, there had been a rough crystal of amber about the size of your hand sitting on top of the tiny crowded table in her kitchen. A night-beetle hung suspended in the middle of it, blue wings a rich brown through the orange of the amber. The hermit had seen you eyeing it and tossed it to you without a word. 

Night-beetles were Tech’s favorite. The last time you saw one, he’d told you facts about them for an hour straight, barely pausing to breathe. You were pretty sure the rest of the Batch wouldn’t remember that Tech liked them so much, so you were at low risk of being found out, but you were too worried about it to let your guard down. Thankfully, it fit snugly inside the pocket of your clean vest, and you were able to take it out of the refresher with no real concern. 

Now, how to get it to him without making a scene? 

Unfortunately, Tech was rarely alone. There really wasn’t such a thing as alone time on the Marauder, but especially not for Tech, since he was in charge of every little technical difficulty and listened the longest to Omega’s eager questions.

So should you put it on his desk? Would he even see it? Would he ask where it came from in front of everyone? 

And if you gave it to him directly, would you even be able to do it with a straight face? 

You hadn’t even noticed yourself pacing until someone tapped you. 

“Are you all right?” Tech asked, one hand hovering, unsure, above your shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his helmet and he must have just cleaned his goggles because his eyes were shining in the evening light seeping through the cockpit windows. 

“Yes, I–well–I was just–” 

Any half-formed plans you had exploded into sand. You shoved the rock into Tech’s hands, trying not to focus on the way they instantly closed around it. 

“Got you a rock.”

“I…can see that,” he said slowly. When he held it up to the light, the beetle’s wings glimmered, and he actually gasped a little. You had never heard him make a sound like that before. 

“A night-beetle. How extraordinary.” 

“I know you like them, and Cid’s contact just gave it to me and I figured you’d like it more than I would, so I just wanted to–” stop talking, stop talking–

“This is a very thoughtful gift,” he said softly, and ducked a little to meet your eyes. He wasn’t usually one for direct eye contact, and it startled you.  “You remembered what I like. Thank you.” 

Warmth blossomed in your tummy and you grinned. “I’m glad you like it.” 

When you next saw him, he was sitting at his desk, holding the amber at eye level, watching the blue computer light dance through the facets and bounce off the beetle’s wings. 

The amber was almost the same color as his eyes. 

____

You should have been in your bunk sleeping.

However, so should Tech, and neither of you were headed that direction anytime soon. During today’s supply run, a kicked-up rock from a speeder had cracked Tech’s goggles and caused Echo to use some curse words you’d never even heard of as the speeder drove off. You’d volunteered to change out Tech’s lenses and he’d had some work to do anyway. So here you were, mugs of instant tea cooling beside you, piddling away in companionable silence. Truth be told, you’d fixed the lenses about five minutes ago and you were pretending to tinker so you could spend more time with Tech. You hoped he hadn’t noticed, but his hands had been suspiciously still for a while too. 

“Um. Tech.” 

 “Yes?” 

You turned to look at him, revealing the goggles perched on your nose. They were smudged on the left lens where your finger had slipped and the prescription pulled a bit painfully at your right eye. But you blinked, meeting his eyes, sure you looked like a fish. 

“How do I look?” You pasted a stupid grin on your face to hide how nervous you were. 

Tech’s chair creaked as he shifted to face you fully. He stared and stared, narrowing his eyes, leaning into your space. You could smell the regulation soap on his skin again, citrusy and clean, and whatever that nice warm undertone was that was always there. His forehead was nearly against yours. 

Why was he so close surely he didn’t need to be, oh no he’s really really close—

“I…well. I honestly have no idea.” 

… 

Right. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed. You’d been trying to do something cute, be a romantic, get him to stare at you, and you’d forgotten he needed his glasses to see. 

A laugh burst from your chest, so sudden you covered your mouth. Wrecker’s snores in the back startled and stuttered. 

Tech tilted his head. “What’s so funny?” 

You slipped the goggles off your head, still giggling, and wiped away the smudges before settling them back into his hands. “Nothing. Tell me if they work.” 

“All right,” he said, putting the goggles back on. He blinked at you. “Oh.” 

“What? Did I do it right?” 

 “This was done quite well. I can see you much better now. Thank you for cleaning them.” Picking up his datapad, he powered it back on. “You have nice eyes.” 

“What.” 

“Nice eyes,” he repeated patiently. “I can see them better with my goggles on.” 

This definitely wasn’t happening?

“Thank you,” you murmured. “So do you.” 

“I would imagine my eyes are indistinguishable from the rest of us, since we all possess the same genes.” 

Now, hang on.

“But—they aren’t the same. Not at all.” You can’t stop yourself now. “Your eyes are so much more golden than, say, Wrecker’s, and lighter than Omega’s. They’ve also got this nice amber undertone and they’re a little bigger too. Really. They look totally different.” 

He blinked at you. “Well. Thank you. I’m…surprised you noticed.” 

“I used to know a lot more of you,” you said softly, unsure what to do with your hands. You let them twist and flutter. “I loved finding the differences in everyone’s eyes. I loved seeing the little things that made you all unique. I still notice. Even though there’s less of you.” 

Tech’s chair creaked in your direction. His hands, long and gentle, hovered above yours, not touching, but close enough to be warm. 

“I don’t mean to doubt your skills of observation,” he said softly. “I apologize if that is how it came across. I only meant that it is surprising, to me, to find someone who cares enough to notice.”

“Oh.” You fidgeted. “Thanks. Um. I hope it’s not..well, even if it’s nice, I don’t want to come on strong by saying those things to you, because I don’t want it to come across wrong, and–I don’t want you to think that–”

“You are worried about appearing as though you have…romantic feelings for me?” Tech asked.  His voice was so much quieter than it had been. 

“No! No, that’s not–I wouldn’t mind that at all, please don’t hear me saying that, Maker, no, I just–if you don’t feel the same way I would hate for you to feel obligated–”

“You aren’t finishing any of your sentences.” Tech’s facial expression hadn’t changed, but there was a different light in his eyes. 

“I know.” You buried your head in your hands. The silence stretched on for so long you had time to think through every way you could have offended him or said the wrong thing. But when you gathered yourself and looked up, the first thing you noticed was that Tech had moved closer to you, knees almost touching yours. Both of his legs were bouncing nervously. His hands were still hovering in your space, but now they were above your shoulders. 

“Tech, are you okay?” 

“I–I don’t know how to do this.” 

“Do what?” 

“I am not well versed in–in physical affection.” 

Oh. 

“Tech, hang on–don’t force yourself to do something you aren’t comfortable with.” You almost reached up to grab his wrists, but backed away. “Is–physical affection something you want to do?” 

“Yes.” He said it so quietly, and with so much serious intention, that you felt your stomach bottom out a little. 

“Well–I could always–here–” 

Gently, moving slowly so that he could see what you were doing, you scooted closer to him so that your knees were touching, and took his hands in yours, lowering them from your shoulders to your lap, running your thumbs, feather-light, across his knuckles. Tech was looking down at your hands, unable to make eye contact. You could see the reflection of his eyes darting around in his goggles. 

“Is this okay?” 

Instead of saying anything, Tech tipped forward, resting his forehead gently on yours. You could barely breathe. 

 The bouncing in his legs slowed, then stopped. He sighed. 

“This is okay.” 

You really wished you could see his eyes. But you were willing to sit as long as it took, holding his hands, foreheads together, the sweetest kiss. 

“Tech.”

“Mmm.” 

“Can I–try something else?” 

His eyes flicked up to you. “Yes.” 

You hoped your fingers weren’t shaking as you raised one of his hands to your lips and pressed the softest kiss to the back of it. Tech’s shoulders went up, surprised, and you dipped down to meet his eyes, see if it was okay. He nodded at you, and you pressed another kiss to his knuckles, then to the back of his other hand. You felt his fingers flex in yours. His eyes were shining. 

“Can I try something else?” 

“Please.”

You turned his hands over and kissed the inside of his wrists, one after the other. Tech was leaning into your space, utterly still. You reached up to cup his face in your hands. 

Up close, Tech had a nice golden undertone to his skin that was hard to see in the glare of the datapad he always had his nose pressed against. There was the tiniest freckle hidden under the lashes on his left eye, and another one just above his right eyebrow. His skin was a little rough and there were tiny scars from shrapnel and firefights. You wanted to kiss the tiny furrow between his eyebrows, run your fingers along the lines of his face. There was a pretty curve to his lips and if you weren’t mistaken, tiny tiny laugh lines right by his nose. You weren’t sure you’d seen him really laugh yet. You wondered if it was a loud laugh, if he went silent and wheezed, if he was a giggler or a cackler or merely scrunched his nose in amusement. 

“Tech,” you breathed. “Mesh’la.”

He blinked at the compliment. “You…know Mando’a?”

“A little.” 

He nodded, slowly. It was really cute, his head bobbing up and down in your cupped hands. Then his hands were on the bottom of your chair, pulling it into his space. It threw off your balance a little and you moved a hand down to his shoulder to catch yourself. He tilted his head, nose nearly brushing against yours. He wasn’t making eye contact, not quite, but his eyes were on your face, taking his time, memorizing your features as you’d done with him. 

“Mesh’la,” he repeated. Beautiful. 

Then he pressed the softest kiss to your mouth. It was a little awkward, quick; he was still nervous. You could feel him shaking a little. But his bravery gave you enough incentive to press into him, kissing him again, giggling when he sighed against you. You felt his nervousness start to fade after a while, as his hands came to rest ever-so-softly on your waist, as you brushed your thumbs across his cheekbones, skimming the band of his goggles. Tech was a sweet kisser and had an inadvertent smoothness to him that caught you off guard, circling his thumbs against your sides in a way that had you feeling a little lightheaded, mouth so gentle you had trouble thinking. 

Tech grabbed your wrists when he broke for air, keeping your hands on the sides of his face. You grinned, then tapped the sides of his goggles, asking for silent permission. When he gave it, you slid them off his head, giving you a full view of his eyes. They were darker than usual and unfocused, amber dipped in honey, tinted a little blue from the light of the computers. He blinked, squinting a little. 

“I love your eyes, Tech,” you said. “Really, cyar’ika. They are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in the cutest smile. He pressed his forehead to yours again, reveling in the feel of your hands on his bare face, in being with you. 

When Wrecker came yawning out of his bunk hours later, he would wake the two of you up with a roar of excitement, unable to control his explosive, contagious happiness at seeing the two of you leaning on one another, heads together, fast asleep. Tech’s goggles lay in your relaxed hands. 

Nobody minded the change.