Three crows in a trench coat

Anger welled up inside her and she couldn’t help but see the shame rise on Kotallo’s face; it was all it took to light an already shortened fuse—she wasn’t dumb, she saw how Kotallo’s fellow soldiers treated him. She cleared her throat, speaking out calmly, “Please forgive me for my interruption, Chief Hekarro, but it seems we have a more important story going on.” Everyone fell silent and she glared the warriors down. “What seems to be so funny in the Chief’s story that you are laughing so much?”

The soldiers looked away.

“No, please,” she encouraged. “It’s obviously much more important than his.”

The others seemed to be ashamed of the weight of their people’s gaze, but one in particular scoffed. “None of us need a babysitter to feed us.”

She blinked, looking at Kotallo. “I’m not feeding him. Last I checked, he was perfectly capable of bringing food to his mouth.”

“And cutting his food up for him like he’s a child?” he shot back. “A useless warrior in more ways than one.”

Kotallo looked at the floor and muttered, “Leave it, it’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she retorted and rose from her seat. “I’ve held my tongue long enough here.” Pointing at the warrior, she condemned, “You should be ashamed of yourself.” Turning to the others, she added, “In fact, all should be ashamed of how you treat this man.”

“The Ten would’ve—”

“The Ten would’ve considered Kotallo an honorable warrior and held in high regard!” she pulled her armor off until she was in her underclothes, her usually hidden cybernetic arms and legs exposed. “I lost my limbs in battle and yet I was never treated so despicably by my fellow soldiers-in-arms. No one shunned me because I lost my arms and legs. I was lifted up with honor, with dignity, with brotherhood.”

They watched her limbs in shock as she walked towards the group.

“And when my limbs were built and re-attached, I went back into battle, leading my team once more. And they trusted me beyond a shadow of a doubt. You say the Ten wouldn’t care about a wounded warrior?” she glowered at them. “I am the Ten. I fought against the machines before the world went to hell. And we didn’t fucking treat our disabled men and women like dirt. We didn’t fucking think of them like broken weapons with no use. We treated them with respect. With dignity. They were heroes to us.”

She pointed at herself. “I have honor. I am still everything I was before I was maimed. And if you look at your fellow brother and sisters who are maimed like you do Kotallo? You don’t deserve to call yourself a descendant of the Ten. You’re a fucking poor excuse, and my people, my Ten, would be disappointed in your actions and treatment.”

Looking at the Tenakth around, she lifted her head and spoke with fervor. “You hold strength as the highest regard in your society, but you people don’t even know what that entails.” She gazed upon them with anger. “You are called to uplift your fellow man—maimed or not. You are called to support them in times of pain and turmoil. You do not turn your back on them and look upon them with shame.”

She glanced at Kotallo, a warmth in her eyes. “He is more worthy of being called a Ten than any man or woman here.”

Kotallo gaped at her, mouth slack, eyes wide, and silence filled the room as she pulled her clothes back on and sat down with him, pushing at his place. “Eat. Or it’ll get cold.”

You cleared your throat, smiling when he startled slightly and looked back at you, hiding a grin that almost broke through. “You’re cooking,” you noted, a touch of surprise in your voice.

He chuckled softly, a rare sound. “What gave it away? The smell?”

“The fact that you’re standing there with a spatula,” you teased, stepping closer to take a peek at the pot. “Are you making a mess?”

“Hardly,” he replied, though his tone was light. “It’s a thank-you, you know. For everything. For putting up with me and…” His words trailed off, a bit unsteady, as he poked at the food, a trace of a grimace flashing across his face. “For giving me a chance, even after how we met.”

You smiled, recalling the day you both met. Rampart had stepped off the ship on Pabu, looking more like a lost soul than the steadfast Imperial officer he once was. His eyes had met yours, a spark of something unfamiliar lighting in his gaze. A look of love at first sight, perhaps. And then he’d misstepped on the gangplank, tumbling forward and falling head over heels.

It had been quite the ungraceful landing for a former Grand Admiral. You’d rushed to his aid, cautious since you knew who or what he was, but genuinely concerned. That first encounter became the route of many more, each one knocking down walls until you finally let eachother in.

Shaking yourself from the memory, you reached out and brushed your hand over his arm. “If this is your way of thanking me, it’s a good start.” You grinned up at him. “But, I don’t have to ‘put up’ with you, Edmon.”

“Then you’re far too kind,” he said with a wry smile, shifting to plate the food, the aroma wafting your nostrils. “You could have every reason to resent me for who I was. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“That was then,” you replied gently, taking both of your bowls and moving them to the steel dining table. “Who you are now is what matters. Pabu is a fresh start for everyone, including you. You have earned your place here.”

His eyes softened, and he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You have a gift.”

“And what’s that?”

He pauses for a moment before he leans in and places a tender kiss to your forehead before saying, “Making me feel human. For reminding me I’m more than the man I was.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his tenderness and lean into his kiss as this kind of rare softness that he had, was reserved only for you. It wasn’t long ago that you’d felt skeptic around him. And yet, bit by bit, he’d peeled back his uniform, revealing a man you didn’t think would be capable of loyalty, courage, and even warmth. But here you were.

As you both settled at the table, he poured two glasses of drink. He hadn’t said it outright, but you knew he’d put extra care into this evening. Perhaps it was his way of grounding himself, of saying, I’m here, and I’m staying.

“So, are you planning on keeping the beard?” you asked, a playful glint in your eyes as you picked up your fork.

He raised a amused brow. “Ah. You noticed, did you?”

“Noticed?” You laughed, taking a sip of wine. “It’s the first thing I noticed when I met you, stumbling down that gangplank. I mean, it’s very different from the clean-shaven Imperial officer look you had before.”

Rampart ran a hand over his beard, deep in contemplation. “I did consider shaving it,” he admitted before smiling almost bashfully. “But you seem to like it.”

“I do like it,” you said, eyes twinkling. “It suits you. Makes you look…softer.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he replied, though his smile betrayed him. “But I suppose for you, I can make an exception.”

A gentle warmth filled the room as you both continued talking, sharing stories and laughter over the meal he had made.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause, his tone uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Of course.” You nod, covering your mouth as you were still mid-chew.

He leaned forward, holding your gaze. “When you look at me, do you see the man who I am now or, who I was?”

It was a heavy question, and you took a moment to find the right words. “I see the man you choose to be,” you replied slowly. “Every day, you make the choice to be better, to do something good. And I admire you for that.”

A hint of relief softened his expression. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “Thank you. For seeing that in me.”

You leaned over, brushing a kiss to his cheek, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin against yours. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly have invited you to live with me if I didn’t, would I?”

“Fair point,” he conceded, squeezing your hand. “I suppose that’s evidence enough.”

As you filled your hungry belly, complimenting the chef with a kiss, you realised just how head over heels you had fallen for him. It was clumsy, but just as he had for you.