Technical Devotion, Part Nineteen: Safety

technical devotion, part nineteen: safety

a/n: I remembered I have a taglist this time lmao so yay. also just fyi, there's gonna be seven more chapters (after this one), which is funny to me in and of itself because this fic was originally only supposed to be like 10 chapters in entirety but... I have no chill apparently

warnings: mentions of blood & injuries, traumatic weight loss? idk what to call that

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Echo’s day so far had been particularly monotonous. Every day had been for a while now.

He had skipped breakfast after another sleepless night, instead opting to stay in Kan’s office and monitor Imperial long range comms on the off chance he heard anything about rebels or prisons or anything else that they never talked about. After hours of tuning in and not finding anything, he dragged himself to the mess, and grabbed some caf before continuing on with his previous activity.

This had been his daily routine for a few weeks. He couldn’t bring himself to do much else.

When he walked past the command room on the way back to Kan’s office, he heard people speaking in hushed voices. He turned his ear to the door with a frown, but failed to hear what they were whispering about. He opened the door, and the two people hunched over the holotable shut their mouths when they saw him, looking very caught as they switched it off.

“What’s going on?” He asked, looking between Rex and Spider as they scrambled for something to say.

“Nothing” Rex said quickly, standing up straight, “What brings you here?”

Echo gave them a sceptical look, “I heard you two… whispering”

“Ah, right” Rex rubbed his neck awkwardly, not adding any further comments.

Spider gave him a look, “I think you should just tell him Rex”

“Tell me what?” Echo frowned, stepping into the room.

Rex sighed deeply, “Please don’t be angry when I tell you this, I just wanted to make sure our intel was correct before I got your hopes up”

Echo waited patiently for him to continue, trying to quell the irritation that was already bubbling up. Rex looked to Spider and nodded for him to leave the room. When the door closed behind him, Echo was growing impatient.

“What is it?”

Rex took a deep breath before speaking, “We know where Kan is”

A range of emotions washed over Echo. He was relieved, yes, also angry like Rex had predicted, but his worry was still taking over. Knowing where Kan was didn’t make her safe.

“How?” Echo asked.

“Senator Chuchi did some digging, one of the descriptions of the prisoners matched her perfectly, so we’re pretty certain”

“How long have you known?”

“Since… two rotations ago”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Echo crossed his arms, but Rex jumped in before it could escalate.

“Look, the plan was that Spider was going to go and get her, and she’d be back here before you knew anything about it. Like I said, I don’t want to get your ho-”

“Send me instead” Echo interrupted him, his voice firm as if it was a command.

“Echo” Rex said in a sigh, rubbing his hand over his face, “Spider was an ARF in the 41st elite corps, he’s got this”

“And I was an ARC in the 501st, I’m not seeing the relevance”

“It’s not about that. You know what I mean” Rex gave Echo a pointed look.

“Rex, please” Echo begged, his tone a little desperate, “Please send me instead”

“Echo, we… we’re pretty sure it’s her, but you need to be prepared for it not to be”

“I know, I know. I just-” He looked to his feet, “Please, I- I need to do this”

Rex didn’t want to give in, he really didn’t, but the pleading, broken hearted man in front of him was a hard one to disappoint, even when he wasn’t in this state.

“Fine” Rex conceded, “But I’m trusting you to be objective about this. I don’t want you ending up captured too”

Echo nodded, “Of course”

“Alright” Rex turned the holotable back on, revealing a map, “This is the place”

Echo drew his ship out of hyperspace, the blue streaks pulling back to reveal a planet that made it seem he hadn’t even pulled the lever. The surface was painted by swirling blues, punctuated by large white clouds, and for a moment it reminded him of Pabu.

A stern voice crackled through the comms, interrupting his thoughts and demanding clearance codes for landing. Echo obliged, transmitting the codes that Senator Chuchi had acquired. He waited with bated breath as they verified the authenticity of them, and his body relaxed when they let him know he was cleared for landing.

He brought his ship into the upper atmosphere, going over the plan in his head, trying to remain calm. He’d done things like this before, it would be fine. He was prepared for Kan not to be here, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t scour the entire building until he was sure she wasn’t.

His ship touched down on the landing platform and he took a deep breath, opening up the door and adjusting the stormtrooper armour that he was wearing. He stepped out of the ship, his eyes scanning the platform for anyone taking note of him, of which there were only a few mechanics glancing over as they worked on other ships.

Echo walked slowly, calculated, trying not to look suspicious by rushing about. He followed the map that he'd burned into his brain, heading for the detention block of the base. He nodded to the troopers that were stood just down the hall from the door he needed to access. Ordinarily, an access card would be needed, but Echo was able to bypass that necessity by way of his scomp.

He kept glancing over his shoulder, making sure the stormtroopers were still faced away as he cracked through the door's encryption. The door zipped open, and Echo pulled out his scomp, quickly darting through the door and putting his cybernetic arm back into place.

The cells that lined the hall were only ray shielded, so he could see through and into them. He peered into every cell as he passed, his eyes narrowing in on the figures inside to identify the one he was looking for. He made it though a few corridors before he came across a cell that made him stop in his tracks.

The person inside was curled up on the bench that lined the back of the cell, their knees pressed to their chest and their head resting against the wall. Echo almost didn't recognise her. Her frame was a lot smaller than the last time he'd seen her, her skin clinging to her bones in a way that made Echo’s heart lurch.

Once he had recognised her, he immediately slammed his fist into the control panel to lift the ray shields, ripping off his helmet as he rushed inside.

“M'aira”

Echo fell to his knees in front of Kan’s rigid form, taking her face in his hands. Her eyes fluttered, but didn’t open fully, as if she couldn’t, or didn’t have the strength to.

“Who- What…?” She muttered, an edge of fear and uncertainty.

“It's Echo” He spoke gently, not wanting to frighten her. Her eyes opened a little more at that.

“Echo” She whispered, “You’re here”. She sounded relieved.

“I'm here” Echo confirmed, leaning his forehead against hers, enveloping her in his presence, his safety. “I'm going to get you out of here Cyar'ika. Can you stand?”

As he guided Kan's feet to the floor, Echo noticed a small trickle of dried blood down the side of her neck, and bruising around the tiny wound from which the blood had spilled. Echo decided to put it to the back of his mind, focusing on getting Kan out of here before he dwelled on the state she was in.

Kan’s knees crumbled beneath her as she tried to stand up, and she slumped back onto the bench.

“I’m sorry, I can’t-”

“It’s okay” Echo assured, a hand on her shoulder, “Can I pick you up?”

Kan chuckled at her own joke before she told it in a weak voice, “I don’t know, can you?”

Echo shook his head with a small disbelieving laugh escaping his lips, “Still got a sense of humour I see”

Kan shrugged a little, her eyes fluttering closed at the same time. Echo took that as his sign that it was time to go, and hooked an arm under her knees and across her back, lifting her far easier than he would have liked. She had certainly lost a lot of muscle mass, which explained why she was so weak. Once again, Echo tried not to think on it for now.

Echo promptly made it out of the cell, making his way back through the halls that he had used to find Kan. They didn't make it too far before being intercepted, but Echo wasn't going to let up until Kan was safe again. An Imperial officer was walking along the same corridor as them, and looked up from their datapad as they were about to pass by.

“What is going on?” The officer asked, utterly perplexed by seeing a stormtrooper carrying a barely conscious woman.

“Prisoner transfer, ma'am” Echo responded, his voice unwavering

The imperial frowned and gave Kan a look of what seemed to be disgust, “Why are you carrying her?”

“She doesn’t have the strength to walk, Ma'am” Echo answered her, though he was aware that this situation was certain to become more of an issue soon enough.

The officer gave him a sceptical look, “Show me”

Echo’s arms instinctively tightened a little, staring down at the Imperial through the visor of the stolen helmet.

“That's an order, trooper” She said sternly, her brow furrowing further.

“Just do it Echo” Kan whispered into his shoulder.

He grimaced under his helmet, nevertheless obliging and bending down to place Kan on the ground. She was wobbly on her feet and gripped onto Echo's arm for some stability, ending up just leaning on him to stay upright. Echo did his best not to touch her in a way that would give them away, only letting her use his body to hold herself up.

“Hm” The Imperial hummed, “Okay, pick her up. I shall escort you to your shuttle.

“That's really not necessary Ma'am” Echo countered, immediately taking Kan back in his arms.

“I'll decide what's necessary” The officer snapped back, and Echo couldn't help but wince and roll his eyes at once. He'd figure it out, he knew he would.

He followed the woman out onto the landing platform, then directed her towards his ship. She didn't say anything at first, and neither did Echo, in his mind it was all going according to plan. He was climbing the first steps into the ship when she finally spoke.

“What kind of ship is this?”

He didn't bother answering, instead pushing her back onto the platform and rushing aboard to close the door.

He placed Kan down on the bunk at the back, as gently as he could in a rush. He immediately went about getting the ship in the air, ignoring the blasterfire that was now being directed towards the ship.

He made his getaway, pushing the lever to send them to hyperspace and sitting back, abundantly relieved. He let out a long breath, rubbing his hands over his face to bring himself back to the new reality that Kan was safe. He looked back at her, his heart breaking just a little to see her sat up and looking down to her lap with a despondent expression.

She looked so different, a shell of her old, ever-cheerful self, and it was almost too much for Echo to cope with. He approached her slowly, making himself known but not trying to startle her too much, then knelt in front of her. Her eyes flicked up to his, and they looked empty, such a stark contrast to the eagerness, the life, he usually saw swimming in them.

“Oh Cyar'ika” He brought his hand up and gently stroked her face with his thumb, “What did they do to you?”

Kan didn’t respond, and looked down to her fiddling hands, feeling a little embarrassed of the state she was in.

“M'aira?”

She then turned and laid down in the bunk, facing away from him and staring out of the back window. Echo sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and bringing his hand to her arm to gently rub it back and forth, reminding her that he was there, that she was safe. He could feel her relaxing more and more under his touch, and when it seemed that she had reached the point of sleeping, he took his hand away.

Kan reached out and grabbed his hand, “Don't leave”

Echo’s heart ached at how small she sounded.

“I’m not” He reassured her, squeezing her hand gently before taking it away again.

Echo stood up and went about noiselessly removing his armour, his eyes never leaving Kan as he stacked the pieces on the floor next to the bed. Once he was stripped down to his blacks, he laid down behind her. He could see how rigid she was, and continued to stroke her arm.

“You're safe, Cyar'ika, you can relax” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He once again felt her body ease under his hand, though this time she turned to look at him. Her eyes searched his for a moment, some unknown emotion fighting its way out to reach for him.

“Thank you for coming to get me”

Echo gave her a small smile as he brushed some hair from her face, “Of course M'aira, I'm just sorry it took so long”

Kan let her mouth form a small smile to mirror Echo's expression, just as a violent shiver wracked her body.

“Are you cold?” Echo asked immediately.

Kan nodded.

“Come here” Echo gave no room for argument, and pulled her body into his.

Kan relaxed immediately, the feel of Echo's body pressed against hers confirming that she was safe, that he was really here.

“You're always so warm Echo” She muttered into his chest, which brought a fond smile to his face.

He held her even closer, burying his face in her neck and taking in the scent that he had been missing for months. Kan did the same thing, taking in his presence in every way she could, gripping at his clothing with one hand, the other placed over his chest to ground herself to his heartbeat.

“I've missed you so much”

Echo's heart ached at the cracking of her voice, “I've missed you too Cyar'ika”

Kan lifted her head to look up at him again, “You keep saying that, Cyar'ika, it's Mando'a isn't it?”

“Oh” Echo blushed a little at getting caught, having been only half conscious of himself using it in the first place, “Yeah, it is”

“What does it mean?” Kan asked.

Echo cleared his throat, “It's like… sweetheart, or darling”

Kan let out a contented hum, her head coming to rest against his chest again. “I like it” She asserted, turning it over in her mouth again, “Hm. Sounds better when you say it”

Echo's chest filled with warmth, his heart feeling full, almost bursting at the seems as Kan fell asleep in his arms. This time, he'd make sure that's where she'd stay.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @bunny7567

carrie managing to get an “oh shit” into star wars unnoticed. an icon

this is so up my street it's actually just not fair. enemies to lovers & forced proximity is just the gift that keeps on giving and this is truly gIVING

I think I might lose my mind when you post part 2. I don't think I'm ready. This whole thing + smut???!?!?! yeah, I'm sat.

Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Thorn x Senator!Reader / Thorn x fem!Reader

Words: 12,428 / 28,345

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! enemies to lovers kinda, forced proximity, bodyguard!Thorn, protective!Thorn, a little more than canon-typical violence, so much arguing and flirting and banter, smut in part 2

Summary: You're the most infuriating charge Commander Thorn has ever had the misfortune to babysit, and yet, you're also the one he finds himself falling for.

A/N: This was a request from @capricornrabies that got so out of hand I decided to make it its own thing and split it into two parts. The original prompt was 52. “Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything." / "You think I'm pretty?" from my 500 follower celebration. Featuring my Corrie OCs Burst and Knock! Apologies if Thorn is not necessarily in character, but he had so little screen time this is just build a boyfriend tbh.

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"Commander?"

Thorn freezes, his finger hovering over his datapad before it clenches into a fist.

He glances over at his comm on his desk and heaves a sigh. Well, it’s not his desk, really. Your staff had been kind enough to provide him a private office, tucked away in the fourth level of the estate, far away from the rest of the government officials. They had tried to decorate it for him, but he had waved away most of their attempts, allowing them to only get rid of the garish gold accents and take down the large tapestries that were plastered all over the walls.

But it does still have a lot of useless stuff in it. A lot of useless, fragile stuff. And as much as he’d like to be grateful for the offer of a quiet place to work, he was sure your motives were far from altruistic. He knew exactly what you were trying to accomplish by keeping him so far from you.

 You were by far the most frustrating charge that Thorn has ever had the displeasure of babysitting, and he’d shadowed Senator Orn Free Taa on a pleasure cruise for two weeks, so that was saying something.

You were smart, manipulative, and you had the entire Senate eating out of your hand. The Jedi had no choice but to agree to your demands, and it seemed that every politician under the sun was at your beck and call. It was infuriating, watching you sit there with your perfect smile and your perfect manners, as if the world owed you something, as if you were the greatest thing to ever happen to Coruscant.

And maybe you were, because the last few years have been the most prosperous in recent memory for your planet. You had the support of nearly the entire Senate, and you were able to push through the majority of the legislation you proposed.

If it were not for the fact that you were also extremely stubborn, Thorn might have actually liked you.

But the two of you had locked horns almost immediately after you were introduced, and the past three months have been nothing but a test of wills. And even worse than your annoying personality and inability to stay out of trouble, was the fact that you were one of the few people who could make Thorn freeze up with nothing more than a simple question.

 It was humiliating, really, how weak he was when it came to you. He was a Commander, for kriff's sake. One of the best the Guard had to offer. And yet there was precious little he had in defense against your charming smile and witty comments.

He had no idea how you managed to make him so flustered, and that was the worst part. He never had any idea how you were going to react or what you were thinking, and you had an uncanny ability to make him feel like a complete and utter idiot. He didn’t consider himself an impulsive person, but when he was around you, he found himself speaking before he thought things through, a habit he had been trying to break since he was a cadet.

There was just something about you that threw him off balance. It didn’t matter how many times he saw you or how many meetings he attended with you, the moment you walked into the room, it was like all of his training went out the window, and he was once again a shiny fresh off Kamino, ready to embarrass himself at the slightest provocation.

He should hate you, really. He had no idea why he didn’t. It wasn’t like you got along well, not in the slightest. You had a sharp tongue and you always seemed to be testing his patience, and he found it impossible to relax in your presence. You always made him feel... off. On edge. Like he was a second away from saying or doing something he was going to regret. It was exhausting, really, and Thorn had no idea why you affected him so much. He had no idea what was so different about you. What made you stand out.

What made him act like such a fool whenever he saw you.

Maybe it was because you were a challenge. Maybe it was just the fact that he had been forced to spend so much time with you. Maybe he was just curious.

Whatever the reason, Thorn was beginning to grow tired of it. You had an irritating habit of finding trouble wherever you went, and the past few months have been particularly chaotic, thanks to your efforts.

You were not an easy person to protect, especially since you seemed to have an uncanny ability to slip out of sight when the moment called for it. He was starting to think that you were using the Force, because you would just disappear and then suddenly reappear again somewhere completely different.

Thorn was used to guarding difficult people, but you were taking the cake.

The Jedi Council had insisted that you needed to be assigned a permanent detail, and had tasked him and the rest of the Guard with doing so. And yet, after months, there was not one single clone in the entire GAR that was able to keep an eye on you.

The first time you had given them the slip, Thorn had felt like punching a wall. The second, he was convinced it was an accident. But by the fifth time? It was clear that you were intentionally trying to shake him.

And now, as he stares at his comm, the name of one of the troopers he’d assigned to watch you flashing on the screen, he feels the urge to hit something return with a vengeance.

"Yes?" he answers, his voice tight, and there's a brief silence on the other end.

"We lost her," the trooper admits, sounding miserable. "She said she was going to the refresher and...I guess she wasn't really going to the refresher."

"I see," Thorn says, pinching the bridge of his nose, and he hears the trooper start to apologize.

"It's fine, we'll get her," Thorn interrupts, even though it's far from fine. This is the fourth time they've lost you since they arrived on your home planet, and it was as if your ability to make fools of them all had only strengthened the further they got from the Core. The only solace was that they were far from the watchful eyes of the Jedi Council and the office of the Chancellor, so no one except him knew just how badly they were fucking this up.

“We’ll just track her comm and..." he stops, and his hand falls away from his face. "You did get her to wear her comm, didn't you? Please tell me you got her to wear her comm."

There's another, even longer, pause, and then a small, sheepish, "Sir."

Thorn groans. "She's going to get herself killed."

"We'll find her, sir!" the trooper promises. "We'll scour the entire planet if we have to, she can't have gone too far."

Thorn doubts that, but he doesn't say anything, and instead he hangs up the comm and gets to his feet. He gives a forlorn look to his half-finished report before grabbing his helmet off of the desk and pulling it on, marching out of the office and into the main room where the other Guards are sitting around and playing sabaac.

"Did you get it done?" Burst asks eagerly, glancing over as he strides into the room.

"No, and you're not going to believe what I've just been told," Thorn says dryly, and the troopers all groan.

"What did she do this time?" Knock grumbles. He throws down his cards and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Apparently she went to the refresher and hasn't been seen since."

The group all give each other exasperated looks.

"You know," Burst drawls, "if you just gave us a few minutes alone with her, we'd be able to talk some sense into her."

Thorn stiffens, a rush of...something, some feeling washing over him. It's no secret that his men have become infatuated with you, and Thorn doesn't blame them. You are, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy, and despite the fact that your personality is atrocious, you somehow manage to be charming.

That's the problem.

You're always charming, and he's the only one who ever sees your less favorable side. It's frustrating, and more than once he's had the urge to pull his men aside and ask them how they can stand it, how they can handle being in your presence without constantly wanting to strangle you.

It's bad enough that you make his blood boil, but having to deal with his own men mooning over you is too much.

"That's not how this works," Thorn snaps. "This is supposed to be an assignment, not an opportunity to flirt with our charge."

"So it's fine for you to flirt with her," Burst says, a teasing note in his voice, and the other clones around him snicker. "I see how it is."

"I don't have time for this," Thorn growls, his hands curling into fists. He can feel his face heating up, and he's glad for the protection of his helmet. "She's out there somewhere, unprotected, and you all are sitting here joking around. Now get up, all of you, we need to find her before she gets hurt. Or worse."

"Fine," Burst grumbles, getting to his feet, and the others follow suit. "Where do we start, sir?"

"Fan out, search the entire manor top to bottom. If she’s not here, we’ll start searching the streets."

"We can't possibly search the whole city," Knock protests, and Thorn gives him a long, hard look.

"We don't have a choice," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're not letting her out of our sight again. Do you hear me? She's going to listen to us, one way or another."

"Yes, sir," the troopers say, nodding their heads, and Thorn lets out a frustrated huff.

"Now let's go."

It takes the rest of the afternoon and a large chunk of the night, but eventually, Thorn finds you. You're sitting in a diner, your hands wrapped around a mug of caf, and you don't even look sorry when Thorn stalks over, yanking off his helmet and slamming it down on the table in front of you. The motion makes the carafe rattle, but neither of you flinch.

"Senator," he says through clenched teeth, and you glance up at him, raising a brow.

"Commander," you reply with a tilt of your head. You gesture to the empty mug placed across from you. "Caf?"

He falters slightly, confused for just a moment before he realizes what you're doing. You knew he would find you here. Of course you did. And you're just as smug about it as he expected, your eyes alight with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, the two of you at an impasse.

Thorn grits his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. He knows he should be angry with you, and part of him is. The other part, the part that is not furious or exhausted, is relieved that you're safe. You've been gone for hours, and as the time ticked by, he could feel his anxiety building.

You were so stubborn, and you had no concept of self-preservation. If anything had happened to you, it would have been his fault.

He should have taken better care of you. He should have been more careful, should have been watching you closer.

He was not going to let it happen again.

"Yes," he says curtly, sinking down into the booth and removing his gloves, shoving them into the pouch on his belt. "Please."

You pour him a cup, and then you pick up yours, holding it out for a toast. He narrows his eyes, but reluctantly he raises his cup, letting the two of you knock them together.

"To peace and prosperity," you murmur, and Thorn snorts.

"For everyone except me, apparently," he grumbles. You grin at that, a slow, dangerous smile that makes his stomach flip

"Don't be so dramatic," you chide him, and his eyes narrow.

"Dramatic?" he repeats incredulously. "Dramatic? Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"Worried about me?" you tease, and he feels his face flush.

"I—you are—this is serious!" he splutters. "I'm responsible for your safety, and I can't do my job properly if you're running off whenever you please."

"All I want is a little privacy, is that too much to ask?"

“With three assassination attempts in the last month alone, yes, it is," he says flatly. "You are supposed to have a detail. Do you understand me? A detail. That means that there are going to be guards with you. At all times. If you don’t like it, take it up with the Chancellor, I don't make the rules."

You let out a huff, leaning back against the cushions and crossing your arms over your chest. He's sure that you're not used to being talked to like this, and normally he wouldn't have said anything, but he's fed up. It's been three months of constant arguing, of trying to keep you safe. Three months, and he was still no closer to figuring you out.

"I'm not your enemy," he adds. "We are not here to inconvenience you. We are not here to make you uncomfortable. Our only purpose is to protect you and keep you safe. If you would just work with us—"

"I am!" you protest. "I'm working very hard, and I would appreciate it if you would stop treating me like I'm some kind of spoiled brat."

"If the shoe fits..."

You glare at him. "Look, I understand that this is frustrating, but I have a life, Commander. I'm not going to stop living just because the Jedi and the Chancellor don't think I can take care of myself."

"Well, maybe you can't," Thorn mutters.

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe you can't," he repeats, louder this time. "You're not invincible, you know."

"You don't know what I can or cannot do," you hiss. "How can you make any judgements on how I should act when you barely even know me?"

"Because I've had the misfortune of being forced to deal with you," he snaps. "And I've had the misfortune of seeing you make a target of yourself every single day. Just because you're pretty, it doesn't mean you can just get away with anything."

He doesn’t realize what he said until he sees the surprised look on your face, and the color immediately drains from his own. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, your cheeks starting to flush pink, and Thorn feels his stomach drop. He hadn't meant to say that. In fact, he hadn't even realized he was thinking it.

But it was true.

You were gorgeous, and Thorn was not blind. He had noticed the moment he met you, had seen the way the men in the room were drawn to you. You had the same effect on him, although he liked to think he was at least somewhat better at hiding it than most.

Or so he had thought.

"I..."

"You think I'm pretty?" you finally say, a smile starting to tug at your lips, and he feels the tips of his ears start to burn.

"I, er," he says eloquently, and he clears his throat, his jaw clenching. He had walked right into this, and now he was going to have to pay the price.

Your grin widens, becoming impossibly more smug. The white hot anger that had been boiling inside him moments before is quickly replaced with mortification, and Thorn feels the urge to hide under the table.

"Well, thank you for the compliment, Commander," you murmur, and then you stand, gathering up your cloak and picking up his helmet. "But if that's all you came here to say, we'd best be on our way. I have an important meeting tomorrow morning."

"Wait, what?"

You raise a brow, holding the helmet out, and he hesitantly takes it.

"You can escort me home, can't you?"

"I...of course," he says, trying not to sound too flustered. He had expected this to be a lot harder, and his brain was struggling to catch up. He stands, placing his helmet back on his head, and tries not to wince at the smug expression on your face.

"Good," you say. "I'll give you two weeks."

"Two weeks?" he repeats dumbly.

"Two weeks," you confirm, "and not a single other trooper. You and only you. That's the only way I'll agree to this."

Thorn gapes at you, and then he sighs, shoulders sagging. "Why?"

"Because I'm not interested in having a detail. If you can convince me that I can trust you, then maybe I'll consider changing my mind." You shrug, and you hold out your coat, looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

He stares at you for a moment, and then he rolls his eyes and holds the jacket up, allowing you to slide your arms into the sleeves. "You're infuriating."

"And pretty," you say, turning back around to face him. Thorn reaches out to adjust your collar, smoothing the fabric over your shoulders, and you give him a dazzling smile. "So, do we have a deal, Commander?"

He knows it's a terrible idea. He knows the entire Jedi Council would disagree with him. He knows the Chancellor would never approve. But he's so tired of arguing with you, and his men are already annoyed enough. Maybe it would be easier this way. If it was just him, maybe he could find a way to make this work.

"Alright," he sighs, giving a defeated shrug. "Two weeks. And no tricks."

"No tricks," you promise, and despite his better judgement, he believes you. "Come along, then."

"Senator," he says flatly, falling into step behind you, and you give him a cheeky grin.

"Commander." Your voice is sweet, but he can hear the mocking note hidden underneath, and he grits his teeth. "You really are very cute, you know. I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

His blush comes back full force, and he turns his head away, refusing to look at you. Burst catches his eye through the window, giving him a thumbs up, and Thorn wants nothing more than to run into the street and push him into traffic. He gives him a sign to get lost, and the trooper salutes him, turning around and leading the others away.

He can't believe this is his life now. He's supposed to be the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. One of the toughest men in the Republic. How is it that he keeps losing these fights with you? How is it that every time, he's the one who walks away feeling like a complete and utter idiot?

He has no idea how he's going to make it through the rest of the trip.

"Two weeks," he grumbles, a reminder more to himself than to you, and your soft laugh only serves to deepen his embarrassment. He holds the door open for you, and you give him a playful pat on the shoulder as you pass him.

"Don't worry, Commander, I'll be on my best behavior," you promise, and he can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not.

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as he follows you out into the street, the door slamming shut behind him. 

"Good," he says gruffly. "Because I'll be watching."

You slip your hood over your head, giving him a smirk. "I'll make sure to put on a good show, then."

He has no idea what you mean by that, but it doesn't stop his imagination from running wild. He has a feeling he's not going to sleep well tonight.

"Come along, Commander," you say, and then you're gone, disappearing into the crowds, and Thorn hurries after you, trying his best to ignore the strange warmth blooming in his chest.

It's going to be a long, long two weeks.

Thorn had been prepared for a fight.

He had spent the entire morning mentally preparing himself for the inevitable battle, going over different scenarios and practicing what he would say. It was something he did often, something that had saved him and his men countless times before, and he had expected this conversation to go exactly the same.

He was wrong.

He steeled his shoulders and knocked on your door, waiting for your soft, "Enter," before walking in, his jaw set, ready for an argument.

But instead of the sharp retort he had expected, the door opens, and you're standing there, dressed in an elegant robe, your hair pulled back in an intricate updo. He freezes, caught off guard by how lovely you look, and you smile.

"Commander," you say, and his brow furrows. "Good morning. Would you care to join me?"

"What?"

"Breakfast," you clarify, holding the door open wider, and he swallows thickly. He hadn't expected you to be so... pleasant.

"Of course," he says after a pause, stepping into your rooms. The suite is larger than any room he's ever stayed in, and as he looks around, he can't help but feel out of place. The furniture is ornate, the walls covered with beautiful artwork, and even the floor is lined with thick, expensive rugs. The Governor of your planet clearly likes to live lavishly, and Thorn's sure the cost of one meal in this place could feed a battalion.

He tries not to dwell on that, and he turns his attention back to you. You've closed the door behind him, and you're busy adjusting the folds of your robe. He watches as you smooth the fabric over your hips, and then he looks away, clearing his throat.

"So, are we having breakfast here?" he asks. You nod, motioning to the table set up near the window.

"Yes, if that's alright. My schedule is rather busy, so I thought it would be best to eat here instead," you say, and he follows you over, quickening his pace to pull your chair out for you. You give him a soft smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you murmur, sitting down and letting him push the chair in.

"Of course," he says, and then he sits down across from you, removing his helmet and placing it on the table. There's a plate of food already set out for him, and he eyes it, wondering if this is all some elaborate trap. A droid wheels up, depositing a pitcher of juice and a carafe of caf on the table, and he waits until it has rolled away before speaking.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, and you glance up at him. "About this... arrangement."

"Of course," you reply, picking up a fork and scooping up a bite of fruit. "What would you like to discuss?"

He shifts slightly, not quite comfortable with the whole situation. He had not been expecting to get along with you so well, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do with this newfound friendliness.

"We both have jobs to do," he says slowly, "and I understand that they are sometimes conflicting, but we need to make this work."

"Agreed."

"We can't have any more incidents," he continues, and you raise a brow, the corners of your mouth turning up slightly.

"You mean where I disappear?"

"Yes."

"Well, then," you say, taking another bite, and Thorn's fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

"I don't want you leaving the compound without telling me first. I'll escort you anywhere you need to go."

"Commander—"

"And no more wandering off," he interrupts, ignoring the look you're giving him. "I don't care if you need some fresh air or you're bored or tired, you'll ask me or one of my men first, and we'll make arrangements."

"Is that it?" you ask dryly, and he purses his lips.

"No," he replies. "We will continue to check in regularly, and we'll have a meeting every morning to discuss your schedule."

"So, you'll be joining me for breakfast every day, then?"

"I... yes," he says, surprised by your agreement. You shrug, taking another bite, and he feels like there's a catch.

"Very well. Is there anything else?"

He can't help but stare at you, waiting for the punchline, but you're still eating, and Thorn can't detect even a hint of deception on your face. He lets out a relieved sigh, leaning back in his chair.

"Just don't make things difficult," he says, and then he reaches for his caf. "Please."

"I'll try my best, Commander," you reply, giving him a sly smile. That strange warmth returns, the tightening in his chest, and he has to swallow before replying.

"Right," he says. "Good."

"I have a question for you," you say, and he glances at you, raising a brow.

"Okay..."

"Do you always treat your charges this way?"

"No," he says quickly, and he flushes slightly. "I mean, I've never had a charge like you, Senator. Usually the ones I protect are much more cooperative."

"So it's just me, then?"

"It seems so."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "Well, I'm honored. Truly."

He huffs, and then the two of you lapse into silence. Thorn finds himself studying you as you eat, his eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the delicate lines of your throat, the way your fingers move over the handle of your mug.

He's seen plenty of beautiful women in his lifetime. Coruscant is full of them. But there's something about you that he can't quite put his finger on. You're so unlike the other senators, and despite the fact that you seem to go out of your way to make him miserable, he can't deny there's a certain charm to your demeanor.

He's still trying to figure out what's going on, but he can't quite wrap his head around it. You're not being particularly argumentative, and for once, the two of you are able to sit in a room together without fighting.

"I'm sure," he mutters, and you glance up at him, a glint in your eye. Thorn meets your gaze, and then he quickly looks away, his heart beating a little faster.

He's in trouble.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Thorn's shoulders slump, and he glances over at Burst, raising a brow.

"What?"

"She actually got you to do it."

Thorn scowls, turning back to his datapad. "Shut up."

"Oh, come on, I'm just saying," Burst laughs, plopping down onto the bench next to him. "I didn't think she'd be able to convince you."

"Yeah, well, she did," Thorn mutters. He's not entirely sure how it happened, but you did. And now, here he was, stuck with you for the foreseeable future. It wasn't terrible, not in the slightest. You were actually pretty good company, when you weren't making his life miserable. But it was still a lot to deal with, and he had no idea how he was going to manage it.

He has no idea what it is that makes him act this way around you.

"How'd she do it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of, yeah."

Thorn sighs, his fingers clenching around his datapad, and he stares down at his boots. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to admit that he was swayed so easily, but he knows that Burst is never going to let it go until he tells him.

"I just agreed to it," he finally says, shrugging his shoulders. "It was either this or spend another few weeks arguing with her, and I just...didn't have the energy for it."

"I guess," Burst says doubtfully.

"Look, the sooner we get this trip over with, the sooner we can all go home," Thorn points out. "It's not ideal, but at least now we can keep a closer eye on her."

"So it's just the two of you now, huh?"

"Yep."

"Just the two of you."

"That's what I said, Burst."

"Alone."

"What is your point?"

"I'm just saying, sir," Burst says innocently. "If you wanted a little alone time with her, you could have just said so. We wouldn't have minded. Hell, we would have encouraged it."

"Yeah, well, I don't need any encouragement," Thorn growls, and then he stands, tossing his datapad onto the bench and heading off to find a quiet spot.

The truth was, he hadn't really thought about it. He hadn't thought about the implications of what this would mean. Being alone with you, day after day, until the two of you could return to Coruscant. And now, he wasn't sure what to do.

He couldn't exactly go back on his word, not when he had agreed to it. Not when you had given him the chance to prove himself. But it was difficult, knowing that his feelings towards you had been... complicated, ever since he had met you. Knowing that, if he wasn't careful, things could easily spiral out of control.

And now, the two of you were going to be spending an absurd amount of time together. Alone. With no one around to stop him from doing or saying something stupid.

He was in a lot of trouble.

The rest of the morning goes smoothly enough, and when lunch rolls around, he goes in search of you. You'd spent most of the day holed up in a conference room with a bunch of stuffy politicians, and by the time Thorn comes to collect you, the room is empty except for you. You're sitting at the table, staring out the window, and he's taken aback by how melancholy you look.

"Senator?"

You jump, glancing over at him, and the gloomy expression on your face is quickly replaced with a cheerful smile.

"Commander," you greet him, and he gives you a small nod.

"Time for lunch," he says, and you give him a wry grin.

"Is it, now?"

"You didn't have plans, did you?"

"Only to avoid you," you say sweetly, getting to your feet. You dress flows like water around you, the soft fabric brushing against your legs as you stand, and Thorn finds himself momentarily mesmerized.

He blinks, shaking his head, and gives you a scowl.

"Very funny."

"I thought so," you reply, walking past him and out into the hall. You don't bother looking back to see if he's following, and Thorn lets out a sigh before hurrying after you. He catches up with you easily enough, and the two of you walk in silence down to the dining room. You're not particularly chatty, and Thorn is starting to wonder if there's something bothering you.

You usually like to talk his ear off, and the fact that you're not makes him a little nervous.

He's about to ask if everything's alright when you speak up, your voice so quiet he almost doesn't hear it.

"Thank you," you murmur, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, and Thorn can't help the way his brows furrow in confusion.

"For what?"

"For agreeing to this," you reply, giving him a wry smile. "I know it's not ideal, but...it means a lot to me."

"Of course," he says, surprised. "It was the logical choice."

"Logical," you repeat. "Is that why you agreed to it, then?"

He hesitates, not sure how to answer.

"Yes," he says slowly. "I'm sure the Chancellor would prefer that I spend a couple of weeks with you rather than chasing after you every day. He wouldn't be very happy if he knew I lost you again."

You give a small huff, the sound more amused than annoyed. "And the fact that I'm so charming and beautiful has nothing to do with it?"

Thorn snorts, shaking his head.

"You are very charming, Senator," he agrees. "And you are a very beautiful woman. But if I have to spend another day chasing you down the street, I'm going to lose my mind."

"Good," you say with a wicked smile. He turns his head away, pretending to inspect the paintings lining the hallway, and tries not to flush. "Then let's get through these next few weeks quickly."

"Agreed," he says gruffly.

He holds the door open for you, letting you enter the dining room first, and the two of you find an empty table. There's an assortment of dishes laid out, and Thorn is pleased to see that they're not nearly as lavish as the previous meals. You'd been quite up in arms about the excess and waste of the food yesterday, and the Governor has clearly learned from his mistakes.

Thorn pulls out a chair for you, and you settle down in it, giving him a nod of thanks.

"I'm glad to see he listened," you comment, and Thorn looks over at the table, realizing what you're talking about.

"Yes, well," he says, clearing his throat. "I'm sure he doesn't want to risk upsetting you again."

"No, I suppose not," you agree, picking up a plate. When Thorn moves back around the table, he finds a seat has already been set for him, and he gives you a puzzled look.

"Did you tell someone to prepare this for me?"

"Don't sound so surprised," you reply, rolling your eyes. "It's the least I can do."

He frowns, but sits down nonetheless. As the two of you settle in, a few of the other guests glance your way, and Thorn doesn't miss the way they look at you. He bristles, feeling a surge of protectiveness rush through him, and he straightens in his chair, his hand resting on his blaster. You don't seem to notice the attention, and Thorn doesn't want to embarrass you by bringing it up, but he's determined to keep a close eye on everyone around you.

The others take the hint, quickly looking away, and Thorn's mouth twists in a smirk. Satisfied, he turns back to his plate, and he picks up a fork, spearing a piece of meat.

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the day, Commander?"

"Watching you, making sure you don't wander off, and avoiding my paperwork," he says dryly, and he gets a laugh out of you. He feels his cheeks heat, and he busies himself with his food, trying not to stare.

You're even more radiant when you laugh.

"I'd apologize, but I know it wouldn't do much good," you reply. "How is the paperwork going, anyway?"

"Awful."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you," he says, giving you a wry smile, and you grin at him.

"You're right," you agree. "But it's the polite thing to say, isn't it?"

"You don't need to be polite," he says, shaking his head. "We're supposed to be working together, remember? If we're going to have a successful partnership, we need to be honest with each other."

"Well, if that’s the case, Commander," you begin with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "How do you expect us to survive this week without killing each other?"

"I don't know," he says, unable to hide his grin. "But I suppose we'll just have to make it work."

"You make it sound so easy," you laugh.

"Nothing about you is easy, Senator," he replies, and the two of you continue the conversation, the banter between the two of you becoming more comfortable. The rest of the meal passes in a blur, and by the time Thorn realizes what's happening, he's having a good time.

The conversation is easy, and he doesn't feel as uncomfortable as he usually does. He doesn't feel like he has to constantly monitor his words, or worry about accidentally offending you. He's able to relax and enjoy himself, and he's surprised to find that he likes talking with you.

It's the best meal he's had in a long time, and when the two of you part ways, Thorn's stomach is full, and his heart feels strangely light.

You really were very charming, and he's not entirely sure how he feels about that.

By the time the third day rolls around, Thorn has fallen into a routine.

It's a comfortable routine, one that he didn't expect, but one that is welcomed all the same. His men are less than thrilled, especially since they’ve been given no respite, but they seem happy enough to know that he’s taking the lead on the mission.

You have meetings early in the mornings, which means that Thorn gets up early too. It's not his favorite thing, but it's worth it to spend time with you. The two of you eat together, and then Thorn escorts you to the office, where he stands guard outside your door while you meet with various representatives from other planets.

Then the two of you go back to your rooms, where you quickly eat lunch before leaving to stroll through the gardens.

The weather is temperate on your planet, and the gardens around the compound are beautiful. You seem to enjoy the flowers, and he listens as you point out each plant, the names and the species. Thorn finds himself paying more attention to your voice than the words coming out of your mouth, and he can't help but think that he could listen to you talk for hours.

You're not the arrogant, self-important politician that he'd thought you were, and he's beginning to realize just how much of your personality is an act. The woman you pretend to be is someone who demands attention, and she gets it. The real you is far more humble, and you seem happy to fade into the background when necessary.

Your people love you. They're constantly coming up to you, greeting you, asking after your health, and Thorn is amazed by how many you know by name. He had expected that you would treat them the way you treated him, but they seem happy to see you, and you seem equally delighted to see them.

There are also the gifts. Every few minutes someone will come up and offer something, and it's a constant battle to keep you from accepting. You're not supposed to take gifts, and even though most are small and seemingly harmless, Thorn is not willing to risk anything. So he gently turns down each gift, and each time, your eyes widen slightly and you give a slight shake of your head. The gesture is subtle, almost imperceptible, and Thorn finds it strangely endearing.

It's not the first time he's found something about you to be endearing. The list has grown rather long since you've been here, and it only seems to get longer with every passing day. The way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you brush the hair out of your face. It's all so... charming, and Thorn is starting to wonder if this is what the other troopers meant when they talked about you.

He'd always dismissed them as foolish, but now, as he watches you from his spot in the garden, he wonders if maybe he should have paid a little more attention. He knows that there's no chance of anything happening between the two of you, not unless he suddenly becomes a different person, but that doesn't stop him from looking.

"Commander."

He jerks, his attention snapping back to you, and you give him a knowing smile. "Are you feeling well? You seem a bit distracted."

"I'm fine," he says, his ears burning, and he shifts uncomfortably. "Is it time to head back?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," you say, and Thorn moves closer, holding out a hand. You slip yours into it, letting him help you up, and his skin tingles where you touch him. "I have a conference call with the Chancellor this evening, and I need to prepare."

Thorn frowns. He had forgotten about that. The Chancellor had contacted him the previous night and asked for an update on your safety, and Thorn had told him that everything was going well. He's not sure what prompted the call, but it's not unusual for him to do that, and he tries not to let it bother him.

Still, he can't help but worry. The Chancellor is a busy man, and the fact that he's taking time out of his schedule to speak with you makes him nervous. Maybe the Chancellor is starting to question the wisdom of assigning him to be your personal guard, or perhaps the Council has had a change of heart and is ready to replace him. Either way, he doesn't like it.

"You should wear the purple," he says suddenly, and you turn to look at him, surprise written across your face. "It suits you."

You blink, and then a small smile spreads across your lips, a sparkle in your eye. "Why, Commander," you tease, "that almost sounded like a compliment."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

You let out a soft chuckle, and Thorn has to swallow hard. "Thank you," you murmur, reaching out to brush a stray petal off of his shoulder. He freezes, his breath catching in his throat, and he can't seem to look away. Your eyes are sparkling, and your fingers are trailing up his shoulder and across his chest, and suddenly the temperature seems to increase by several degrees.

He doesn't know what to say, or how to react, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to reach up and grab your wrist. He's not sure if he wants to stop you or hold you tighter, and the uncertainty scares him.

But just as quickly as it happened, it's over. You drop your hand and step away, turning to walk towards the house, and Thorn has to take a moment to compose himself.

"Are you coming, Commander?" you call over your shoulder, and he forces himself to take a deep breath.

"Yes, Senator," he says, and he falls into step behind you, his gaze sweeping over your form, a lump forming in his throat. You look beautiful today, dressed in a pale yellow gown that reminds him of the sun, and he can't help but think about what it would be like to wrap his arms around your waist, to kiss the back of your neck, to feel your skin beneath his fingers.

You look back at him, a mischievous glint in your eye, and his eyes widen.

How long has he felt this way?

He has no idea, and he's not sure he wants to know the answer. You're his charge, his job, and any feelings beyond that are inappropriate. If the Jedi Council ever found out, they would surely be disappointed in him.

He shouldn't want this.

But he does.

And he's starting to realize that the other troopers weren't exaggerating when they talked about how beautiful you were. In fact, Thorn thinks they didn't give you nearly enough credit.

The walk back to the compound is a quiet one, and when you arrive, you head straight to your room. He follows you inside, standing awkwardly in the doorway, and then you turn to look at him.

"Would you mind giving me a moment alone?" you ask.

He hesitates, glancing at the open door, and you roll your eyes.

"I promise not to disappear," you assure him, and he feels his cheeks burn.

"Of course," he says, stepping back into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. He waits a moment, listening for the sound of the lock, and then he walks over to the window, peering out. It's a beautiful view, the city spread out beneath him, the setting sun painting the sky orange and pink. The light catches on the glass buildings, and he can see the faint outlines of ships as they soar overhead.

It's peaceful here, and he can't help but relax a bit. He's used to the chaos of Coruscant, and this is a nice change of pace. The compound is large and well-fortified, and Thorn is confident that no one can get in without alerting the guards. It's a secure location, and it's easy to be lulled into a false sense of safety.

Which is why he's surprised when the door swings open, and a hand grabs him, dragging him inside and slamming him against the wall.

It's an ambush, and it happens so fast that Thorn barely has time to react. He's slammed back again, his helmet falling off, and a foot presses into his chest, pinning him to the wall. A fist comes out of nowhere, and Thorn barely manages to block it, grabbing the arm and twisting, using the assailant's momentum to slam them onto the floor.

The man grunts, and Thorn uses the opportunity to pin him, straddling his hips and trapping his arms, a knee on his chest. His heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he can't help but smile. He hasn't been in a fight in months, and it's been far too long since he's had a good brawl.

He's not sure what he was expecting, but he's glad that whoever it is isn't going down without a fight. He's been tense for weeks, and the opportunity to release some of that pent-up energy is a blessing.

The man bucks under him, and Thorn tightens his grip, a laugh escaping his lips. "Come on," he taunts, "is that the best you can do?"

"Fuck off."

He's about to respond when he hears the door swing open again, and another figure rushes in, tackling him and knocking him off his opponent. They're much smaller, and he's able to toss them off easily, but not before they manage to get in a few solid hits. They land a punch on his jaw, and he sees stars, his head ringing.

The first man is back on him, tackling him and sending him sprawling, and the second figure lands a kick to his ribs. He groans, the wind knocked out of him, and his vision swims. There's a sharp pain in his side, and he gasps, struggling to breathe.

A moment later, he’s on his back, his arms pinned, and a vibroblade pressed to his throat. The man stares down at him, and Thorn can see the anger burning in his eyes. He's panting, his breath coming in short bursts, and Thorn swallows. 

The man smiles. "Not so tough now, are you?"

Thorn grunts, struggling against the weight on top of him, but the blade digs deeper into his skin, and he can't move. He's pinned, and there's no way he can get free. He watches the second attacker stand, moving towards the bedroom, and he struggles harder, his eyes widening.

No.

The door opens, and he can hear you let out a gasp. Thorn's stomach drops, his heart clenching, and his fingers dig into the carpet. This can't be happening. If anything happens to you, if these men hurt you, he'll never forgive himself. He can't let that happen. He can't let you get hurt.

He can't lose you.

There’s the sound of a blaster going off in the other room, and Thorn feels ice run through his veins.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

He doesn't even think. He just reacts. The rage builds inside him, the fear and the adrenaline and the guilt all combining into one powerful emotion. He lets out a roar, bucking his hips and shoving the attacker off of him. The man tumbles to the ground, the knife flying out of his hand, and Thorn is on him in a second, his fists flying.

He hits the man again and again, until he can taste blood in his mouth, until his knuckles are raw, until a gentle hand touches his arm and stops him.

The world seems to come back into focus, and he can see the man lying beneath him, bloodied and bruised. He's breathing, but just barely, and Thorn's hand clenches into a fist. If you hadn't stopped him, the man would be dead.

He staggers to his feet, turning to face you. You're watching him, a blaster in your hand, and you give him a small smile. "Nice work, Commander."

Thorn can't speak, his breath coming out in ragged pants, and he shakes his head, the rage inside him threatening to consume him. 

"Senator—"

You place a finger over his lips, shushing him. 

"It's alright, Commander," you murmur, your expression gentle. "I'm okay."

He doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, and you reach up, placing your hands on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks. 

"I'm okay," you repeat, and he lets out a shuddering sigh, leaning into your touch. "See? I'm safe. Thanks to you."

Thorn still can't bring himself to speak, and you give him a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He hesitates, his body tense, and then he relaxes, letting out a shaky breath and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your hair. You're safe. You're okay. You're here, in his arms, and he can feel his heart slowly beginning to calm.

You're okay.

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, but he can't bring himself to care. You're here, you're safe, and he needs to feel that you're alive, that you're real, and that you're here with him. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, and he feels your hands slide up his back, your fingers running through his hair, soothing him.

It's a long time before either of you speak, and when you do, it's Thorn who breaks the silence.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You don't move, your fingers continuing to play with his hair, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

"They must have been waiting for me," you explain softly, and he can feel your voice vibrating through his body. "That man is a guard. And she—“ you nod your head toward the bedroom “—was a maid. I have no idea how they got past security, but I'm not surprised."

Thorn feels his anger start to build again, and he holds you a little tighter. His hands are still shaking, and his heart is racing. He can't believe how close he came to losing you. "Did they hurt you?"

"No," you assure him. "They didn't get a chance to."

He pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have—"

You shake your head. "Commander, I'm fine."

"If I had been there..."

"You were there," you interrupt, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You were there, and you did everything right. You protected me."

He's not sure he did, but the look on your face tells him that he has no choice but to believe you. Thorn nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and you give him another smile, your hands dropping to his chest. You're so close, your bodies pressed together, and Thorn finds himself unable to look away from you. You're beautiful, and he's not sure how he's ever going to stop wanting you.

"Senator," he says softly, and you tilt your head, raising a brow.

"Commander," you murmur, and his breath catches. Your voice is like silk, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

"You are a very difficult woman to protect."

You let out a soft laugh, and his gaze drops to your mouth, watching as your lips part, and your tongue darts out, wetting them. He wants to kiss you, wants to pull you close and press his mouth to yours. He wants, desperately, to forget all about the danger, the attack, the mission, and just be with you. He just wants you.

The two of you stare at each other, neither of you willing to break the spell, and Thorn's hands tighten on their own accord, pulling you closer. You're so close, your noses practically touching, and he can feel your breath ghosting over his lips.

“Commander!”

Thorn’s hands release you immediately, and you stumble back, turning around to face the window as Thorn spins on his heel and steps in front of you, shielding you with his body.

Burst stands in the doorway with Knock behind him, their blasters raised, and Thorn lets out a weary sigh.

Of course. Of course this would happen. He'd gotten so wrapped up in you that he'd forgotten to check his comm.

He's an idiot.

He should have known better.

Thorn raises a hand, signaling for the troopers to stand down, and they lower their weapons, their shoulders slumping.

"Sir," Burst says, looking between him and the battered body on the floor. "We heard shots fired.”

Thorn glances at you, and he can see the corner of your mouth twitching, the barest hint of a smile. You give him a tiny shrug, and he nods, his gaze shifting to the man on the floor.

"There was an attempt on the Senator's life. We handled it," he explains. The troopers tense, and their helmets dart to you, scanning your body.

"Are you hurt?" Knock asks.

"No," you reply, and Thorn can't help the swell of pride in his chest. You'd handled the situation like a true professional, and the fact that you were unharmed was a testament to your training. "I’m alright. Thank you, Knock.”

Knock nods, taking in the scene. "Good.”

“There’s another one in the bedroom," Thorn says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and Knock nods again, moving past them and into the other room.

Thorn waits until he's gone, and then he turns back to you. He gives you a soft smile, taking a step forward. "Senator, why don't you go and clean up? I'll deal with this."

You look at him for a moment, and then you return his smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Thank you, Commander."

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing. "Of course, Senator. It's my job."

"And you're very good at it," you murmur. Your hand lingers for a moment, and then it falls, and when Thorn opens his eyes, you're gone, disappearing into your dressing room and shutting the door behind you.

Thorn stares at the closed door for a moment before letting out a breath and scrubbing a hand over his face. He can hear Burst snickering behind him, and he turns around, giving him a hard glare.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, sir," Burst replies, trying and failing to hide his amusement. "Nothing at all."

Thorn narrows his eyes. "Burst—"

"Commander, you can't deny that this is a bit amusing,” he says as he moves toward the unconscious man. He kicks him over onto his front, and Thorn has to suppress a wince at the damage he did. The man is covered in blood, his nose is broken, and there are several cuts on his face. His eyes are swollen shut, and his breathing is labored. He's lucky to be alive.

“I don’t find any of this amusing,” Thorn mutters, his expression dark. He's angry, and he's not entirely sure why. These men had tried to kill you, and he should be relieved that they had failed. But instead, all he can think about is how close he'd come to losing you, and how easy it would have been for him to get distracted. How close he'd come to not protecting you. How much worse this could have been.

He should have been more careful.

“If you say so,” Burst replies as he crouches down next to the man, a pair of cuffs in his hands. He whistles low under his breath, looking him over. "You did this?"

Thorn clears his throat, his cheeks heating, and he glares at the ground. "Yes."

"Wow, sir. Nice work.” Burst reaches down and pulls the man’s arms behind his back, and Thorn watches as he binds his wrists. The man doesn't move, his head lolling to the side. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Shut up," Thorn growls.

"Just saying, I'm impressed. You must really like the Senator."

"Burst," he says warningly.

"Relax, Commander," Knock interrupts, appearing in the doorway, and Thorn feels a surge of relief. He’s carrying the woman over his shoulder, her body limp, and he dumps her on the ground next to the man. "We won't say anything."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lies, but even he can tell that it sounds weak. Burst snorts, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"Look, this is none of your concern," Thorn snaps, his eyes darting to the door and then back to his troopers. He doesn't want you overhearing their conversation, and the last thing he needs is for this to get back to the Chancellor.

If the Chancellor knew how he felt, if he found out how Thorn had failed him, failed his mission, failed you... well, Thorn would probably lose his position. Or worse.

And it was all because he couldn't keep his feelings in check.

He was an idiot.

The Chancellor had put him on this mission for a reason, and he'd made a promise. A promise to protect you, to keep you safe. And what had he done? He'd let his feelings get in the way, and now he'd failed you.

He couldn't afford to do that again.

“Take them down to the holding cells. Quietly,” he orders, his voice low. “We can’t know for sure that there aren't others. Until we have confirmation, I don’t want the rest of the household knowing about this. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they say in unison, and Thorn turns his back on them, moving towards the bedroom. It's quiet inside, the door hanging off its hinges, and Thorn surveys the damage, his lips pursed.

The room is a disaster, and he's not sure how long it's going to take to fix. He's definitely going to have to speak to the Governor about the security measures, and he makes a mental note to have a word with him first thing tomorrow. They’ll have to move you to another wing, and the compound will need to be swept for more would-be assassins. He's not going to take any chances.

But those are problems for tomorrow. Right now, he just needs a few minutes to calm down.

He walks over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and leaning forward, his head in his hands. His mind is racing, and his heart is pounding. He feels like he's falling apart, like his whole world is crashing down around him, and he can't catch his breath.

This is the first time he's felt like this in a long time, and it scares him. He'd thought he was beyond this. He'd thought he was above it, the feeling of helplessness, the fear and the panic. But as he sits there trying desperately to get his emotions under control, he realizes that he's not. He's not as strong as he thought. He's not invincible.

And it's all because of you.

He'd thought you were his charge, someone to protect. He'd never expected you to be more than that, to mean something to him. But as he sits here, thinking about how close he'd come to losing you, the terror that had gripped him when he'd thought you'd been shot, the rage he'd felt when he'd seen you in danger, he can't deny it any longer.

You mean something to him, and he doesn't know what he would do if anything happened to you.

Thorn shudders, and he closes his eyes. He can't let himself go down that road. You're safe, and that's what matters. The attack had been averted, and no one had been seriously hurt. Everything was fine. He has to keep reminding himself of that, or he'll drive himself crazy.

"Commander?"

He opens his mouth to respond, his head jerking up, but the words die in his throat when he sees you in the doorway. You're wearing the purple outfit he had suggested earlier, and your hair is styled elegantly atop your head. It's hard to describe the feeling that rises in his chest, a strange mix of relief and awe and longing, and it takes him a moment to compose himself.

When he finally speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.

"Senator."

"Commander, are you alright?"

He stares at you, his mind struggling to formulate a response, and you move into the room, kneeling in front of him and placing a gentle hand on his kne

"Commander?"

"I'm fine," he says, clearing his throat and looking away. "Don't worry about me."

You frown as you reach up to brush a lock of hair out of his face. "You're bleeding."

He blinks, startled, and then his hand rises to his forehead, his fingers coming away red. He hadn't even realized he was injured. "Oh."

"Let me take care of that," you murmur, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom. He hears you rummaging around for a moment, and then you return, a small medical kit in your hand. You open it, pulling out a bacta patch and tearing open the packaging.

Thorn lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. He knows he should protest, that he should tell you that he's fine, that you should leave him alone, but he doesn't want to. He's exhausted, and you're being so gentle with him. He can't bring himself to refuse.

You lean forward, pressing the patch on the cut. He winces, and you make a soft sound.

"Sorry," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You give him a half-smile and tilt your head. "Does it hurt?"

He shakes his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Not at all."

"Liar."

"Maybe."

You shake your head and sigh, your eyes flicking down to his hands. The blood from his split knuckles has soaked through his gloves, and the red darkens the black leather. "Let me see."

"I'll get a medic."

You frown, and he holds up his hands. "Please, Senator. I'm fine. You're already late for your call."

"The Chancellor can wait," you argue, but Thorn shakes his head.

"You know he can't," he says, giving you a wry grin. "I'm a big boy. I can handle a few scrapes and bruises."

You don't look convinced, but you seem to know better than to argue with him. You stare at him for a moment longer, and then you nod. "Fine. But I'll check on you afterwards. No arguing."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies, and you give him a sharp look. He smiles, holding his hands up. "No, really, I wouldn't."

"Good," you say, your gaze lingering on his hands. "Will you escort me to the conference room?"

He nods. "Of course, Senator."

You stand up, offering him a hand, and he takes it and lets you pull him to his feet. You smile, and Thorn can't help but feel like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He knows that he shouldn't, but he loves the way you smile at him.

You lead him out of the room, and the two of you head down the hallway. He folds your arm into his, his other hand resting on top of yours, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. He doesn't know what to say, and he's grateful that you don't seem inclined to talk either. There's nothing left to say.

As you make your way to the conference room, he thinks about the events of the past few hours. It had been a close call, and if you hadn't been so quick, or if Thorn hadn't been there...

He could have lost you. He could have lost this. The thought terrifies him, and he tightens his grip on your hand, unwilling to let go.

He doesn't want to think about what would happen if he did.

It's been three days since the attempt on your life, and the mood in the compound is tense.

No one speaks much, and the troopers are on high alert. You seem unbothered by the whole thing, much to his frustration. He's been watching you closely, waiting for a sign that something is wrong, but there's nothing. You're perfectly fine, and it makes him wonder how often you've been targeted. How many attacks have you endured, and how many has he not known about?

It bothers him more than he cares to admit.

He's been sleeping in the hall outside your new room, taking his shifts with the troopers who patrol the corridors at night. It's not a comfortable arrangement, and he's constantly worried that someone is going to attack him, but it's better than being caught off guard. He's not letting anything happen to you, and if that means sacrificing his own comfort, then so be it.

You, on the other hand, seem unfazed. You go about your day, holding meetings, making plans, and Thorn finds himself growing increasingly frustrated. You don't seem concerned, and while that should be a relief, it's not. You should be worried. You should be scared. But instead, you're acting as though nothing has changed, and it makes him furious.

"You need to take this seriously," he tells you after dinner. You're sitting in your room, reading a datapad, and you glance up at him, raising a brow.

"I am taking it seriously," you say, and Thorn huffs.

"You're not," he argues, and you roll your eyes.

"Are you questioning my judgment, Commander?"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

You place the datapad on the table beside you and turn to face him. "And why is that?"

"Because," he says, his voice growing louder, "this is your life we're talking about. Don't you understand that? Someone tried to kill you."

"I'm aware."

"Then why aren't you acting like it?" he snaps.

You frown, folding your arms across your chest. "What exactly do you think I should be doing, Commander? Should I cry? Should I scream? Should I cower in fear? What would make you happy?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," he growls, pacing the length of the room. "You're acting as if nothing has happened. As if this isn't a big deal."

You shrug, picking up your datapad and returning your attention to it. "It's not."

"Not to you, maybe. But it is to me."

"I'm touched," you reply dryly, and he glares at you. You sigh and shake your head. "People try to kill me all the time, Commander. It's part of the job."

He freezes, his heart skipping a beat. "What?"

You shrug again, not looking up. "It's not a big deal."

Thorn's eyes widen, and he lets out a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a cry of frustration. He doesn't know whether to be angry or horrified. You're completely unconcerned, and he doesn't know how to respond.

He's always known that your job is dangerous, but he'd never realized just how much danger you were actually in. He doesn't know if the Chancellor or the Council are aware of this, but he knows that he's going to have a word with them. He's not sure how much more of this he can take.

You raise a brow, giving him a small smile. "What?"

"You're unbelievable," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. He wants to punch a wall, or break something. Anything to release the pent-up energy. He feels like he's going to explode, and he's not sure how much longer he can contain his anger.

"Why, thank you, Commander," you say as you turn your attention back to your datapad, and he lets out a growl, pacing across the room. He can't believe this. He can't believe how cavalier you're being, how flippant, and it's infuriating.

He's never felt like this before, and he's not sure how to cope with the emotions bubbling up inside him. He's worried, and scared, and angry, and a million other things, and it's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to do.

"Commander, are you okay?"

Thorn stops pacing and looks over at you, his gaze meeting yours.

"Why are you so nonchalant about this?" he demands, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. "You could have died. Do you realize that? You could have died, and then where would I be?"

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you look shocked. You stare at him, and Thorn can see the concern in your gaze as you set your datapad down again. "I don't know. Where would you be, Commander?"

Thorn stares at you, unable to speak. He can't bring himself to voice his true feelings. If he does, there's no going back. If he admits how much you mean to him, how much he cares about you, he's afraid of what will happen.

He's afraid that he'll lose control, and that he won't be able to stop himself from telling you everything. From revealing how he truly feels about you. And that would be a disaster.

"Useless," he mutters. "I'd be useless. I'm supposed to be protecting you, and if you had died, I would have been a failure. I couldn't have lived with myself. So, yes, I'm questioning your judgment, and no, I don't think you're taking this seriously."

You're quiet for a moment, and Thorn takes a step closer, his hands on his hips. He's not sure why he's doing this. He knows he's overreacting, and he can't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. He needs you to understand, and he can't seem to keep his mouth shut.

"Commander," you murmur, "that's not—"

"If you'd died, it would have been my fault," he continues, ignoring you. "I would have failed you, and I would have failed the Chancellor, and I would have failed myself. And I'm not sorry. I'm angry. I'm pissed off. And I'm not going to apologize."

You sigh and lean back in your chair. "I didn't expect you to."

"Good."

"Look," you say, standing up and walking over to him. "I know you're worried, and I appreciate it. I really do. But I'm not some helpless damsel in distress, and I'm not going to stop living my life because someone wants me dead. If I did, I would never get anything done."

Thorn's jaw clenches, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I just don't understand how you can be so calm about this. It's dangerous, and I don't like it."

"That's not your choice," you point out, and he scoffs. "I'm not going to hide, Commander."

"Senator—"

"Commander."

"I don't care," he snaps. "I don't care what you want. This is about keeping you safe, and if that means you're not happy, then so be it."

You roll your eyes, turning your back on him and walking over to the window. You stand there for a moment, staring out at the city below, and Thorn watches as your shoulders slump.

"I'm not some pet, Commander," you say, glancing at him. "I have a job to do, and I'm going to do it." 

Thorn's eyes narrow, and he grits his teeth. "I'm not asking."

"I know," you say, looking back out the window. "But you can't stop me."

He opens his mouth, ready to argue, but you shake your head, cutting him off. "And I'm not going to fight with you about it. If you want to spend all your time worrying about me, that's your business. But don't expect me to do the same."

He scowls. "Senator—"

"Enough, Commander."

The words sting, and Thorn takes a step back, his face twisting in anger. "Fine," he growls, stalking towards the door. "If that's how you feel."

You turn, giving him a hard look. "It is."

He shakes his head and slams his hand against the door panel. The doors slide open, and he pauses, looking back at you.

"For the record, Senator, I do worry about you. A lot. And not just because it's my job. And I'll continue to worry, whether you like it or not."

Your face softens, and Thorn steps into the hallway, the doors closing behind him. He stands there for a moment, his hands clenched into fists, and then he lets out a frustrated groan, leaning against the wall.

He's an idiot. He's the biggest idiot in the entire galaxy.

He's never felt like this before, and he's not sure how to process his emotions. He's worried about you, and angry, and afraid, and he's so tired of arguing with you. But most of all, he's hurt. He thought that you understood, that you would listen to him. He thought that you would see that he's just trying to protect you. But you don't.

He doesn't know how else to convince you, and he doesn't know what else to do. He can't force you to change your mind, and he can't stop you from putting yourself in danger.

But he can try.

Thorn stalks down the hallway, his boots thudding on the floor, and he tries to clear his head. He needs to get his emotions under control. He's acting like a child, and he knows it. But he can't help himself. Why does he have to protect such an infuriating woman? Why does he have to want you so much? Why does he have to care about you so much?

He's been trying so hard not to let his feelings get the better of him, but he's failing. And it's only going to get worse. He can feel it. Every time he's around you, his emotions are in overdrive, and he's having a harder and harder time keeping them under control. He knows he should back off, but he can't. You're like a magnet, and he's drawn to you. He can't stay away. He doesn't want to.

And that scares him more than any assassin ever could.

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“Then Dathomir will be your grave.”

cool cool cool, I'm feeling very very chill about this, very relaxed, I'm definitely not about to cry for the next week straight or anything, nope, nothing like that

but fr I'm ruined goddammit 😭😭 Wrecker being so insistent that he's a monster like my heart can't take it actually, I'm going to cry now and that is a threat

Few Fates Worse Than Death

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 13,780

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, platonic Rex x Reader, kissing, found family stuff so that makes it better right?

Summary: You refused to believe that Wrecker would ever hurt you, but on Bracca, his nightmare finally comes true.

A/N: I've written angst to some degree for every member of the squad except for Wrecker, so I decided to change that. This is the first and probably only time I pull quotes/scenes directly from the show for a one-shot.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The moment Rex told you about the inhibitor chips, everything fell into place. A cold, icy dread filled you, even as the others insisted that the chips held no power over them. Everything that had happened since Kaller, since Crosshair and Master Billaba's men tried to kill you... you saw it all through a new lens, and the galaxy spun dizzyingly before you.

Like the others, you’d barely paid attention to Omega’s explanation of the chip. The idea that the Kaminoans put some sort of mind-altering device inside every clone was beyond the pale, so absurd that, even if it was true, you never thought to give it much attention. And Tech was so confident that his own research proved the chips had no such abilities. It was easier to trust Tech, who had always been honest and open with you, than to question your own instincts.

But Rex was different.

The others protested, but Rex had seen something, experienced it himself, and he wasn't willing to risk any of his brothers falling prey to it again. You can hear his fear in his voice, feel it radiating from him. His insistence that the chips be removed, one way or another, was unshakeable.

Rex looks over at you, as if expecting you to back him, but you can only look away.

You feel like you can't breathe, can't think. You take a step back and settle down on one of the barstools, your hand gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your stomach churns with dread. What do you do? What can you do?

You’d felt it, the moment Jedi across the galaxy were cut down, like a thousand tiny shards of glass stabbing into your mind. The pain had been nearly blinding, and it had taken every bit of concentration you had to keep from screaming. But you hadn’t seen the images. Hadn’t witnessed the slaughter. That had been a mercy. You hadn't been there, hadn't seen them fall, but you still feel the echoes of their deaths in the Force, a dull, aching pain that never goes away.

The thought of what Rex had seen, what the other clones had experienced, sickens you. Being forced to witness the death of someone you care about is awful enough, but to see your own hand, your own blaster, murder the very people you are sworn to protect? You shudder, the horror of it too overwhelming to contemplate.

The others are talking now, and the argument is escalating. You watch them in a daze, barely able to focus. Your thoughts are running away with you, and you have to fight back against the urge to panic.

The clones were made to be obedient, but not this obedient. There was no way the Kaminoans, or the Jedi, or anyone would have created them with the ability to commit mass genocide at the push of a button. It couldn’t be real. It couldn't.

Could it?

"The chips make you a threat to everyone around you," Rex says, and it's like being doused in cold water. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak.

Rex's jaw tightens. "You're all ticking time bombs." 

And you realize then that he's right. Even if the inhibitor chips really do hold no influence over the clones, you can't ignore the potential threat they pose. Not after what happened on Kaller, the horror of it still fresh in your mind. You hadn’t been there after, but you’d heard what happened. If Crosshair had really wanted to kill those refugees, if his chip had made him turn on his brothers... how could the others be so sure their own wouldn’t do the same?

They're all still arguing with Rex, telling him he's wrong, but they don't understand. None of them understand.

Rex turns to you, and when he sees your face, he falters. He knows. He has to know what's running through your head, because he takes a step forward, and you hold up your hand.

"Don't—"

"She's not safe with you," Rex says, gesturing to you. His face is stony, his expression hard. "Any of you. How can you protect her from yourselves?"

Wrecker's eyes dart between you and Rex, and when his gaze settles on you, his brows knit together in a worried frown. He looks distraught, and you wish there was something you could say, something you could do to ease his fears, but you can't get your tongue to work. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "We'd never hurt her."

"No, you don't understand. It's not—" Rex pauses, and his expression goes from pained to resigned. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his shoulders drooping. "What's in your head is more dangerous than you can imagine. I've seen what happens when the chip activates, and I don't want to bury any more of our brothers."

Rex meets each of the Batch's gazes in turn, then his eyes settle on you, and you know that you won't like whatever he has to say next.

"You can't keep her. She's not safe with any of you," he says quietly.

He's not saying anything you haven't thought before, but the way he phrases it sends a sharp stab of hurt through you, and the ache is only exacerbated when he continues.

"I can protect her."

"We can protect her!" Wrecker snaps, taking a step toward Rex. He glares down at the captain, looming over him, and for a moment, you're reminded of just how much larger Wrecker is than him. But Rex doesn't back down, doesn't flinch. Wrecker glances back toward you and Tech, a desperate look in his eye, and his voice goes soft. "Right?"

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Tech doesn't speak either. He just stares at Rex, a deep furrow in his brow.

"She'll be safer with us," Hunter argues. His voice is firm, but you can tell from the way he avoids meeting Rex's gaze that he's not nearly as certain as he seems.

"It's not the same," Rex says, and he's clearly struggling to hold onto his patience. "Trust me. It is not something you can control. I couldn't. It's a risk you do not want to take."

You've heard enough. Your throat is tight and your stomach is roiling, but you can't let them continue like this. You swallow back the bile and rise unsteadily to your feet.

"Enough," you say, your voice thin.

The others turn to you, and when Wrecker looks down at you, his expression is heartbreaking. You take a deep, steadying breath, then glance up at him.

"It's okay," you whisper, and force a small, reassuring smile. "Everything will be okay."

Your words don't have the desired effect. Wrecker's brow furrows and he takes a half-step toward you, reaching out his hand. He hesitates, and you close the distance between you, reaching up to take his hand in yours. His hand engulfs yours, and his fingers close around your hand gently, like he's afraid he might hurt you. His grip is warm and reassuring, and for a moment, everything is okay.

But it doesn't last.

“General, please." Rex's voice is soft, imploring, and when you meet his gaze, there's a pleading look in his eyes. "You know I'm right.”

“I’m not a general anymore, Rex," you say, shaking your head. "And I’m not a Jedi."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

"You can't ask this of me," you say, and a shiver runs through you. You wrap your free arm around yourself, wishing desperately for the security and comfort of the cloak you left behind. "Please. Don't."

Rex closes his eyes, and for a moment, the two of you are silent.

"Alright."

The others look relieved. Wrecker's face scrunches up and you think he's going to cry, but he's also smiling, and he wraps his arms around you and picks you up off the floor. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing as tightly as you can.

"We'll figure this out," you say, and pray the others don't notice the way your voice wavers. "It'll be okay."

Wrecker nods, but his voice is thick when he replies. "I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise. "I'm not leaving."

But Rex's words are stuck in your head, echoing relentlessly. It's a risk you do not want to take.

Wrecker sets you down, and when he steps back, there's a wet sheen in his eyes. He rubs at his face and laughs nervously. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it lightly, and offer him a smile. It feels forced and unnatural, and Wrecker must notice, because his expression falls, and he looks almost guilty. He drops his gaze and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

You look past him to the others. Tech is standing by the door, his arms folded tightly across his chest. You can see his hands are clenched, the muscles in his arms tense. His eyes are fixed on the floor, and when he senses your attention, he lifts his gaze and meets your eyes. His brow is furrowed, and you know he wants to say something. You can see the words forming in his mind, but whatever he's thinking, he keeps it to himself. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then looks away.

Hunter and Echo are standing together, watching you. When you meet Hunter's eye, he gives you a curt nod.

"It'll be alright," he says, and his tone is oddly final. He turns back to Rex. "How do you suggest we get them out?"

"Good question," Rex replies, and his gaze falls on you again. He frowns and tilts his head. "You're sure you don't want to leave?"

"Yes," you reply, but your voice sounds thin, even to you. You clear your throat and repeat the word more firmly, and the others all look at you. "Yes. I'm sure."

Rex hesitates. For a long moment, he just looks at you, as if searching for some sign that you've changed your mind. Then he sighs and nods, his expression grim.

"Alright. I'll be in touch."

He leaves without another word. The moment he disappears up the stairwell, Wrecker tugs you against him, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you against his chest. You squeeze him back, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his chest. Your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your temples, and your head is throbbing.

"It'll be okay," you repeat, trying to sound reassuring, but there's an uncertainty in your heart that you can't ignore. You're not sure who you're trying to convince, yourself or Wrecker, but you both need to hear the words.

You're not sure what comes next. You've only just got back to the Batch, and now this...

It feels like you're standing on a precipice.

You're not sure which way the wind will blow.

Wrecker's headaches are getting worse, and they come more frequently.

He can barely sleep, and his temper is short. More than once, he's lashed out at the others, and you can tell that it's eating him up inside. He's ashamed and frustrated, and all the more upset because there's nothing he can do. When he does manage to rest, it's fitful. You're not sure how long it's been since he slept properly, and it worries you.

Your own rest is fitful as well.

Ever since Rex's revelation, there's been a tension between you all that was never there before. It's like you're all just waiting for something bad to happen, and every day that passes is just more time spent in anticipation of a nightmare you can't stop.

It's hard to shake, and sometimes, it's all you can do not to cry. You miss the Jedi, the people you thought of as family, and the knowledge that the clones were responsible for their deaths is like a knife through your heart. It was easier when you didn't know the truth, when the deaths felt more distant. Now, every time you think about the Jedi, you can't help wondering how they felt in those final moments. If they knew.

The pain in the Force is still there, but it's different. A constant ache, a reminder of all the lives lost. Sometimes, it's too much, and the grief overwhelms you.

The worst part is knowing that the others are keeping their distance.

It's subtle. Just little things, but you can tell.

You and Omega are still spending most of your downtime together, but when you go to spend time with the others, it doesn't last as long. You've barely seen Echo and Tech, and Hunter is avoiding you like the plague.

And Wrecker.

Wrecker is pulling away, and he's doing it so slowly that you didn't notice at first. At least, not until you woke up one morning to find the bed empty. He hasn't slept beside you since that night with Rex, and he's not spending much time with you outside of missions. And the longer this goes on, the harder it is to break the ice.

When you do manage to talk to him, you try to offer support. You want to reassure him, to comfort him, but the pain in his head makes him recalcitrant. It's like he doesn't want you to know the truth of what's bothering him, and the more you press, the more agitated he gets.

One night, you try to help him with his headache. He's sitting on his bunk, leaning over and clutching his head, and you can't stand by and watch him suffer any longer.

You sit beside him and rest a hand on his back. His skin is slick with sweat, and his muscles are tense, his entire body shaking with pain.

"Can I help?" you ask, keeping your voice soft. "Will it help if I massage your temples?"

Wrecker's answer is a muffled groan, and it's impossible to tell whether it's a yes or a no, so you tentatively begin to rub your fingers in slow circles. You start at his temples and work outward, hoping that some of the tension will release.

You keep rubbing for a while, and it seems to help, a little. When his head finally slumps forward, you pause.

"How's that?" you ask softly.

"S'good," Wrecker grumbles, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that he's anything but pleased. "Thanks."

He doesn't move, doesn't relax. You're not sure what else to do, but you don't want to leave him like this. It feels wrong.

"Is there anything else I can do?" you ask, and you try to keep your voice gentle.

Wrecker shakes his head. "I'm fine."

“You’re not.” Your words are quiet, but they feel like a shout. Wrecker freezes, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. You sigh and move so that you're kneeling in front of him, and you place your hands on his knees. "Please, talk to me."

He doesn't answer. He doesn't move, his head bowed.

"Why are you shutting me out?" you whisper.

"I'm not," Wrecker mumbles. His hands come up to cover his head, and you have the feeling that the action has less to do with his headache and more to do with his reluctance to meet your gaze. "I'm just..."

His words trail off, and a tense silence falls between you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, and now your voice is wavering. The tears you've been fighting for days are threatening to spill over, but you hold them back. You take a deep, shuddering breath and lean in closer. "Wrecker. Please."

"It's nothing," Wrecker mutters, and his shoulders hunch. He doesn't look at you, and his hands clench into fists.

"It's not nothing."

You hesitate, then gently rest your hand on his cheek. He flinches, and for a moment, your stomach tightens with fear. But then his eyes flick up to yours, and when he sees your face, a pained look crosses his features. His eyes soften, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

"You're not sleeping. I can tell."

"Neither are you," he grunts, and he tries to pull away.

"I'm worried about you," you whisper. You reach out and touch his hand. "Talk to me."

Wrecker looks away. He wipes the tear from his cheek and clears his throat. "Don't be."

"I can't help it." You reach out and touch his hand, and when he flinches, it's like being stabbed through the heart. You draw back and look away. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you."

"I know."

"Just... if you need anything. I'm here."

"I know," he whispers. He looks down at his hands, and the tears are back. He wipes them away, but not before they start rolling down his cheeks. He shakes his head. "I'm a fuckin' mess."

"It's okay."

“It’s not okay,” he snaps. He glares up at you, his brow furrowing, and the pain in his expression is so raw that it takes your breath away. His voice is thick with tears. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," you insist, but your stomach twists and knots at his words. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Wrecker—"

"What if Rex was right?" Wrecker asks, and his words cut straight through your heart. "What if he's right? What if—what if something happens, and I..."

His voice trails off, and when he looks at you, his eyes are wet. He blinks and swallows, and when he continues, his voice is strained.

"What if the chip took control, and I hurt you? Or Omega? I couldn't..." He chokes and shakes his head, looking away. "I couldn't live with myself."

"Nothing is going to happen," you insist, and when Wrecker doesn't answer, your heart sinks. You climb up onto the bed and wrap your arms around him, pulling him against you. He rests his forehead against yours, and the tears are streaming freely down his cheeks. You kiss his cheek and reach up to brush away the tears, but there are too many. You wipe away a few, but the others just keep coming, and Wrecker lets out a soft, miserable noise. "Oh, Wrecker."

He doesn't answer. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and buries his face against you.

"I can't lose you," he whispers, his voice thick. "Not again."

"You won't," you murmur. "I promise. You won't lose me."

You can't be sure that's true, but you don't know what else to say. Wrecker holds you tightly, and you wrap your arms around him and kiss the side of his neck, and then his cheek, his shoulder, his chest, his lips. You want him to know how much you care, how much you need him. How much you love him.

"I'm not going anywhere," you say as your own tears spill over. You squeeze him tight and bury your face against his neck. "You won't lose me."

"If anything happened to you..." Wrecker shudders, and his grip on you tightens. "I couldn't handle it. If something happened, I couldn't—"

He stops and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He presses his face into your hair and squeezes you tightly. His voice is small, almost lost in the darkness.

"I love you."

You freeze. For a moment, your heart stutters, and you feel like your lungs have stopped working. He's never said it before. Not in words, anyway. You’ve known it for a long time, but to hear him say it, even in a moment like this, is something else entirely. It makes you ache.

"I love you," Wrecker repeats, and then his face scrunches up and his words spill out in a rush. "I've loved you for so long. I love everything about you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and the thought of hurting you, or losing you, is too much. I can't. I won't."

"Wrecker." You pull back and take his face in your hands. "Look at me."

"I should have told you earlier," Wrecker mumbles. His words are so slurred together that they're almost unintelligible. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your eyes are filled with tears, and it's hard to see, but you know you need to get close to him, to offer him the same reassurance he's given you countless times. So you slide onto his lap, wrapping your arms around him, and rest your forehead against his.

"I'm not. There was never a good time, not really. But now, right now, I'm glad I heard it." You cup his cheek and brush the tears away. "And I'm glad I can tell you now. Because I love you too. So much. And I need you to know that. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

You press your lips to his, and he responds instantly, returning the kiss with a hunger that catches you off guard. It's intense and overwhelming, and he pulls you tighter against him, like he's trying to merge the two of you together. His hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers splayed across your lower back, and he groans into the kiss. It's the most intense and passionate kiss the two of you have ever shared, and it leaves you gasping for breath.

"I love you," you repeat, and when he looks at you, his eyes are bright. He leans in and kisses your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers. "No matter what. I promise."

"I know." You press a soft kiss to his jaw, then rest your head on his shoulder. "And I won't let anything happen to you. We're in this together. I'm here, no matter what."

Wrecker doesn't reply. He just nods and wraps his arms around you, leaning back until the two of you are lying down. He pulls you on top of him, and when you shift, the movement is enough to send a shiver through him.

He presses his face into your hair and holds you close, and for a long time, the two of you stay like that, holding each other. It's a little awkward, with your legs tangled together and the bunk too small for the two of you, but it feels right. It feels good. Safe.

 "I love you,” you whisper again, and Wrecker's arms tighten around you. He kisses the side of your neck, and his breath tickles the hairs on the back of your neck. You snuggle deeper into his embrace and close your eyes.

"Love you," Wrecker mumbles. 

The way he says it is so soft, so full of adoration, that your heart breaks a little. You love him. You love him so much. You never thought you'd get to say the words, never thought it would be possible, but now that it's out there, the words come so easily, like they've always been waiting to come out. And the relief of hearing him say them back is almost dizzying.

You stay there, wrapped up in each other's arms, and you listen to the sound of Wrecker's breathing. He falls asleep eventually, and his grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. When you're sure he's sleeping, you shift, resting your head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in a while, you feel safe.

For the first time in a while, sleep comes easily.

As soon as you arrived on Bracca, things took a turn for the worse. You'd all managed to dodge the Scrapper's Guild, but traversing the wreckage of the fallen Venator was a trial in and of itself. There was debris everywhere, and you could hardly breathe in the thick, oppressive air. Every step felt like it could be your last, and you and Hunter couldn't stop sensing something in the murky water below. Something lurking, waiting. And when Wrecker fell in...

He'd nearly drowned. He'd nearly been devoured by that dianoga. You'd thought you'd lost him.

You can't think about it.

He's safe now, and that's all that matters. He's safe, and you can finally breathe again. But the tension is still there, coiled tight in your stomach, and it's not just because of Wrecker. There's something else, something more. 

It's been there since Kaller, a feeling that something terrible is looming. You've felt it before, and it's never been wrong. The Force is trying to warn you, but the warnings are growing more frequent, more intense. Something big is coming, and there's no telling when it will happen, but you're sure it's not good.

You're standing in the back of the medbay, trying to keep out of the way as Tech works on Wrecker. He's running scans and taking readings, and the whole time, he's muttering under his breath. You cast a glance at Rex, who's standing next to you, but his attention is focused on the scene in front of him, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

"You've been quiet," he murmurs, his gaze shifting towards you.

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You hesitate. There's no point in keeping it to yourself, and maybe it'll help to get it off your chest.

"The Force is warning me," you say quietly, and Rex nods. "I don't know what it is, but... I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming."

Rex frowns. "Do the others know?"

You nod, and he turns his gaze back toward the medbay. "Have they said anything?"

"Hunter knows," you say, and the words catch in your throat. "But... he's been keeping his distance."

Rex glances at you. His expression is unreadable.

"They all are," you whisper, and the admission is almost painful. You look away, unable to meet his gaze, and you have to fight the urge to cry. "I don't know what to do."

"You're worried," Rex says. It's not a question.

"Yeah," you reply, and a chill runs through you. You wrap your arms around yourself, hugging tightly, and take a shaky breath. “But it’s not just that. The Force is warning me. They... they could be in danger. All of them."

You swallow, and when you speak again, your voice is quiet.

"All of us."

He studies you for a moment, then looks back at Tech. He's still working, but now he's talking, and whatever he's saying is enough to pull a groan out of Wrecker. Rex watches them for a moment, his expression thoughtful, then looks back at you. His expression is grim.

 "How bad is it?"

You don't answer at first. The truth is, you're not sure. But Rex waits patiently, his gaze never leaving your face. Finally, you take a deep breath and force the words out.

"Bad," you say at last. You can't hide the fear in your voice. "Whatever it is, I think it's really bad."

Rex doesn't reply, but you can see the worry on his face. He knows what you're capable of, and he's seen firsthand the things you can do when the Force moves through you. If you're afraid, he's got every reason to be scared, too.

The two of you are silent, and when you can't bear it any longer, you break the silence.

"Do you believe in fate?" you ask.

Rex raises an eyebrow, surprised. He looks back at Tech, then shakes his head.

"Not really. I mean, maybe. Sometimes," he admits, and there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "But I try not to think about it too much."

You nod. "I can't help it."

"Why's that?"

"Because... sometimes, I think it's meant to be. Like, everything that happens is part of some bigger plan, and I can't change it,” you mutter. Your eyes drop to the floor. "All is as the Force wills it, and all that. But I don't know. It's... scary. It makes me feel helpless."

Rex doesn't reply at first. His brow furrows, and for a moment, he seems troubled. He looks over at the others, then back at you, and his expression softens.

"I know what you mean," he says, his voice is gentle. "But whatever it is, we'll handle it."

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and you look at him. His face is serious, and the look in his eyes is reassuring. But he can't give you the answers you want, and the feeling of uncertainty lingers. You turn, pulling away from him, and your gaze falls on the others.

"Yeah," you say, but the word comes out sounding weak. Your eyes meet Wrecker's, and the concern in his expression is enough to make your heart clench. You don't want to worry him. You can't. Not after everything he's been through. You force a smile and say the words you don’t mean, knowing he can hear you. "We'll be fine."

It sounds hollow even to your own ears, but Wrecker relaxes, and the look of worry fades from his eyes. You look away, unable to bear the guilt gnawing at your stomach, and the smile fades from your face.

You know that if something happens, if something goes wrong, he'll blame himself. You don't want that. You don't want him to feel guilty, but the truth is, you're scared. For the first time, you're genuinely terrified. And not just for the Batch.

You're terrified for yourself. For the first time, you have something to lose. Your life, your happiness. You've never had that before.

And you don't want to lose it.

But the truth is, there's nothing you can do. You have to face the future, whatever it may bring, and pray that things turn out okay.

Rex's gaze flicks between you and Wrecker. He can see the concern in Wrecker's face, the worry in yours. His eyes are filled with sadness. Regret.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About before. I didn't..."

His voice trails off, and his brow furrows.

"I should have been more tactful," he says finally, and the corners of his mouth twitch up. He looks away, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "It's not an easy thing to talk about."

"No," you agree. "It's not."

He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You both know there's nothing to say. There's no point in arguing or talking about what might happen. No point in making promises or predictions. There's only the present, the future unknown. So instead, Rex just squeezes your shoulder once more before letting his hand fall away. 

He moves to stand near Hunter, and the two of them start talking quietly. You watch them for a moment, but they're too far away for you to hear, so you turn your attention back to Wrecker and Tech.

Wrecker is groaning and wincing, his face contorted with pain as he hunches over. He looks miserable, and you want to comfort him, but Tech is moving him from one piece of equipment to another, and there's no room for you. 

Omega is hovering nearby, a look of concern on her face. She's wringing her hands, and her gaze darts between the two of you. She wants to help, and she's doing her best, but there's only so much any of you can do. You walk over to place your hand on her shoulder and try to give her a reassuring smile, but it feels forced.

You hate seeing him like this. You hate feeling helpless.

"Relax," Tech says as he prepares the surgical laser. "This won't hurt a bit."

Wrecker glares at him, and the look on his face would be amusing if not for the circumstances. Tech gives him an apologetic smile, then looks back at you.

"Could I trouble you to assist?"

"Of course," you say, and step closer.

"Hold his shoulders, please."

You do as he asks, moving to stand behind the bed, and hold Wrecker's shoulders firmly. He looks up at you, and the misery on his face is clear. It's hard to see him like this, but he needs you. So you do your best. You smile down at him, and when he smiles back, the tightness in your chest loosens, and the fear recedes, a little. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

"It'll be alright," you whisper. "You're going to be okay."

Wrecker takes a shuddering breath and nods, and you feel his body tense as Tech steps closer. You let out a slow, steady breath, and close your eyes, trying to impart as much calm through the Force as possible. Wrecker's shoulders relax, and his breathing slows.

Tech is talking again, and the sound of the laser whines, then there's a flash of light. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the air around you fills with static.

"You're in direct violation of Order 66," Wrecker growls, and your eyes snap open.

He lurches forward, his face contorting, and the force of him breaking from your hold sends you stumbling backwards. Wrecker grabs Tech by the throat, the laser slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. Tech tries to grab Wrecker's hand, but Wrecker is stronger, and he shoves him backwards, slamming him into the wall hard enough that it dents.

He's staring at his brother with cold, empty eyes, and you're frozen, unable to move or speak. There's no sign of the man you love, no trace of the gentle, caring, passionate man who's loved and cherished you since the moment you met. His face is devoid of emotion, his eyes blank and dead. There's no recognition, no hint of compassion or mercy. 

Nothing but a cold, empty void.

Your blood runs cold, and your stomach lurches. This isn't him. This can't be him.

"No! Stop!" you shout. Your voice cracks, and when Wrecker's gaze snaps towards you, a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. His eyes are dark, and there's something else in his expression. Something that scares the hell out of you.

Wrecker's lips curl into a snarl, and the anger is so fierce and sudden that it catches you off guard. You take a step forward, but Rex catches your arm, stopping you. You don't look at him. You can't look away from Wrecker, from his eyes. 

His grip on Tech's throat tightens. Tech's hands scrabble at his hand, and his feet kick uselessly against the wall.

"Please! Wrecker, stop! You're killing him!"

For a moment, you think you've gotten through to him. For a moment, you see something in his eyes, a flash of recognition, a spark of life. But it's gone as soon as it appears, and he throws Tech across the room with a snarl. 

You jerk your arm free from Rex's grip and rush forward, but Echo catches you around the waist and pulls you back behind cover. You struggle against him, desperate to help, but he's too strong.

"Wrecker!" Hunter cries. "Stop! Fight it!"

Wrecker is beyond hearing. He grabs his blaster and fires wildly, narrowly missing Rex as he dives behind the crates next to you, Hunter and Omega close behind. Your heart is pounding, and you're shaking so hard your teeth are chattering. Omega is trembling too, and she's staring blankly ahead with wide, frightened eyes. She looks like she's on the verge of tears.

"He'll destroy the equipment if we don't get him out of here," Echo says, his voice strained.

"You're all traitors!" Wrecker bellows.

He keeps firing, and it's a miracle no one's been hit yet. Rex pops his head up, ducking back down just in time to avoid being shot.

"You need to run," he says to you. "He's not going to stop until he kills you, and I don't think any of us are going to survive if that happens."

You shake your head. "I can't leave him."

"There's no other way. We'll distract him, but you need to go. Now!"

"No!" You shove Echo away and lunge towards Wrecker. Hunter is in front of you in an instant, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you back.

"Stop," he says. "Listen to Rex. Please. He'll kill you. Do you understand? You have to go."

"He needs me." You can feel the tears coming, and when Hunter sees them, his face softens.

"He does," he agrees. "But right now, he's a danger to you. He's a danger to everyone. You have to go. I'll keep him safe. I promise. But right now, he's going to kill you."

He holds your gaze, and the pain in his eyes is so raw and intense that you feel like your heart is breaking.

"What if you can't stop him?" you demand, your voice cracking. "What if you die? I can't let him do this."

Hunter doesn't answer. He's not even looking at you anymore. His attention is focused on his rampaging brother, and he's getting ready to strike. You can see it in his body language, the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

"Omega, stay with Tech," he says, ignoring you. "Make sure he's alright. We'll handle Wrecker."

Omega nods, and the two of you exchange a long, sorrowful look.

"It'll be okay," she whispers. "He'll be okay."

"I... I hope so."

You're not sure how much of that you believe.

"Go," Hunter urges. "We'll find you. I promise."

"Hunter—"

"Go."

You swallow hard and nod, and then you're running, narrowly dodging the blaster bolts thudding into the doorframe as you dash out the doors. You hear Wrecker's howl of rage, and then the sound of blaster fire as the others charge him, and the sound makes you sob.

"No," you whisper, and then you're running.

You're not sure where to go, and the ship is a blur around you as you dart down the halls, tears streaming down your cheeks. You run until you can't run anymore, and then you stumble, your chest heaving and your lungs burning. Your legs are weak, and the muscles in your thighs are aching, but you push on, determined not to give up. 

You have to get away. You have to stay alive. If you're alive, you can help him.

But the further you get from Wrecker, the more you feel like your heart is being ripped out. You want to be with him, to save him, but Hunter was right. You have no chance of defeating him without killing him, and the thought of you dying, of leaving him alone, terrifies you.

So you run.

You don't stop until the sound of his blaster fire has faded, and even then, you don't dare stop moving. You're sobbing uncontrollably now, and it's hard to see. Your vision is blurred, and the tears are pouring down your cheeks. You have no idea where you are, and every corridor and door looks the same. It's impossible to tell which way leads out, or even if there is an exit. All you know is that you're lost, and for the first time in a long time, you’re alone.

You finally come to a stop and lean against the wall, gasping for breath. You feel sick, and the walls are spinning. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the wall, willing the world to stop.

But it doesn't. And it's not just the room that's spinning. It's everything. Your whole world is spinning out of control, and you’re helpless to stop it. You've lost everything. You've lost your home, your friends, and now you've lost the man you love. He's been taken from you, and there's nothing you can do.

You're powerless.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest is tight, and it feels like your heart is shattering. You can't breathe. You can't think. You just stand there, crying and shaking and feeling completely, utterly useless.

After what feels like hours, the tears begin to slow. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and the knot in your stomach loosens, just a little.

There's still a chance, you tell yourself. They'll stop him. They'll get him out of there. Wrecker will be okay. Everything will be okay. It has to be.

And then you sense him.

Wrecker's warm presence in the Force is gone, replaced by something cold and empty. He’s always felt warm, bright and strong, but now there's nothing there. Nothing but a cold, hollow void. A darkness so intense that it makes your skin crawl.

Your head snaps up, and you can feel him, a shadow looming in the corridor behind you. His presence is like a black hole, sucking the life and warmth out of the room, and you can't move. You can't breathe. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but you can't. You won't.

You don't know if it's stupid or brave, but you turn to face him.

You move slowly, terrified of what you'll see, and when your eyes meet his, a shiver runs down your spine.

He's standing there, his breathing labored and his body tensed, and he's staring at you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. In the dim light of the wrecked ship, his face is barely visible, but his eyes are shining with a cold, cruel light. There's no recognition in them, no hint of the man you love, and for a moment, you can't believe what you're seeing.

But the hatred radiating off him is real, a tangible thing, and it's enough to make you sick. It's worse than any injury or torture. Worse than anything you've ever experienced. It's a raw, visceral hatred, and it's directed right at you.

You stand your ground, your hands shaking, and you clench them into fists.

"Wrecker," you say, and the words sound small and weak. "I'm sorry."

His brow furrows, and his jaw tenses.

"I should have done more," you continue, and the words catch in your throat. You're choking on the lump that's formed there, and you swallow, fighting back the urge to sob. "I should have protected you."

Wrecker doesn't answer. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in your tear-stained cheeks and the fear in your eyes. You can feel his hatred, the cold rage coiled tight in his muscles. He's barely holding himself back, and the tension in his body is palpable.

"Please," you whisper. "You have to fight this. This isn't you."

He doesn't reply. He takes a step towards you, and you tense, ready to defend yourself. You don't want to hurt him. You don't want to hurt him. You can't.

"Wrecker, please. Don't do this." Your voice cracks, and when he doesn't react, the tears start flowing again. "I love you. I need you. Please, don't do this."

Wrecker pauses, and his eyes widen. The hatred in his eyes wavers, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that you've reached him. But then his lip curls, and the hatred comes surging back. It's stronger this time, fueled by a rage so intense that it takes your breath away.

"Traitor," he growls, and then he lunges at you.

He moves so fast that you barely have time to react. You dodge out of the way, barely avoiding his grasp, and his hand closes around empty air. He snarls and whirls, his eyes burning with hatred. You take a step back, and the tears are streaming down your face.

"Stop this!" you cry. "Wrecker, please! I don't want to hurt you!"

He doesn't listen. He moves with a speed and grace that belies his size, and he's on you in an instant. You manage to avoid him again, but only just. He slams into the wall next to you, and the impact makes the metal buckle. The sound is deafening, and it sends a shockwave through the room. The walls creak and groan, and dust and debris rain down from the ceiling.

Wrecker's head snaps towards you, his eyes burning with a cold, cruel fire, and your stomach lurches. His lips curl into a snarl, and then he's coming for you again. 

You turn and run, darting down the corridor, and he's right behind you. You can hear the pounding of his boots on the floor, and the sound of his ragged breathing. He's gaining on you, and you don't know if you can keep ahead of him without hurting him. 

Your eyes are wide and desperate, and your heart is racing. You're terrified, but you force yourself to push that fear aside, to try and remember your training. You can't let it control you. You can't let it consume you. 

If you do, you'll never save him. You'll never get him back. You have to stay focused. You have to stay calm.

But it's so hard.

Wrecker roars, and you feel the air rush past you as he grabs at your arm. You jerk free, and his fingers close around empty air. You twist and slam your shoulder into his side, and he stumbles, hissing with rage. You reach out with the Force and shove him back, giving yourself just enough room to move, and then you're running again.

"Please," you sob. "Please, stop."

He doesn't.

You dodge around a corner, and the floor suddenly disappears beneath your feet. Your eyes go wide, and you cry out as the world drops out from under you. You tumble down the sudden drop, landing hard on your shoulder, and the breath is knocked from your lungs. You gasp, pain lancing through your shoulder, and for a moment, you're too stunned to move.

The sound of boots pounding on the floor above snaps you out of your daze, and you roll onto your back, pushing yourself to your feet. Your head whips around, taking in your surroundings, and it only takes you a moment to realize where you are. You're in the cargo bay, and the doors leading out to the planet are mere meters away.

Your heart leaps. You can get out. You can get help.

But you hesitate, and the feeling of his presence in the Force is enough to make your blood run cold. You dart behind a stack of crates just as Wrecker lands on the floor in front of you. He hits the ground hard, and the impact is enough to make the floor underneath you shake.

Your hand clasps over your mouth to hide your surprised gasp. Your chest is heaving, and your heart is racing. The tears are still falling, and you're trembling so hard that your knees are shaking.

The sudden silence is almost deafening, and the only sound is the distant hum of the ship's engines. You don't dare to breathe. You can't make a sound.

"I know you're here," Wrecker says. His voice is low and menacing. "You can't hide forever."

He steps forward, his boots crunching on broken glass. His footsteps are slow, methodical, like he's stalking his prey. He's close. So close. Too close.

"Come out, traitor," he snarls.

You shrink back against the crates. Your heart is pounding so hard that you're sure he can hear it. Your palms are sweating, and the crate next to you is slick with condensation. You have nowhere to go, and no way out. If you try to run, he'll catch you. And if you try to fight, you'll have to kill him.

"I'll find you," Wrecker growls. His voice is low and menacing, and it sends a chill down your spine. "You can't hide from me."

He moves closer, and the sound of his footsteps seems to grow louder with each passing second. You hold your breath, and your hand drifts toward your lightsaber on your hip on instinct before you clench your fist and drop your arm. You can't. You can't use it. You won't.

You won't hurt him.

You'll die first.

Wrecker moves around the crates, and his shadow falls across the wall. You can see his outline, and the hatred emanating off him is like a physical thing. It's palpable, suffocating, and it's enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You hear a thud, and a crate falls to the floor with a loud crash. You flinch, and your hand goes to your lightsaber again, but you stop yourself. You can't use it. You can't. Not against him. Not like this.

Another crate topples. And another. And another. Wrecker's getting closer. You can hear him breathing, and your heart is pounding so hard that your head is spinning. You can't see him, but you know he's there, lurking just out of sight.

He's so close.

So close.

He stops, and the room is deathly silent. You can't hear his breathing, and he's motionless, as if he's waiting for you to make a sound. The seconds tick by, and the tension in the air is so thick that it's almost impossible to breathe.

You can't take it.

"Please," you whimper, and the word comes out as a sob.

He freezes, and for a moment, everything is still.

And then the air shifts. You sense a sudden movement, and a fraction of a second later, the crate above you explodes. You yelp and dive to the side, rolling out of the way, and the crate is reduced to splinters.

 Your scramble to your feet, your back slamming against the wall, and you look up. Wrecker is standing over you, and his eyes are cold, dark pools. His hulking form trembles with rage, and he rushes towards you, his hand curled into a fist. You duck under the blow, and your hand flashes out, connecting with his chin. He stumbles, but he doesn't stop. 

He lunges at you, and you dodge, his hand catching your tunic and ripping the fabric. The sound of it tearing is deafening, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he growls.

"Stop!" you plead.

He doesn't.

"Traitor," he hisses. He's on you again, and this time, you can't avoid him. 

Wrecker hits you in the stomach, and the breath leaves your lungs in a rush. Pain blooms through your torso, and your knees buckle. He swings again, and you throw up your arms, blocking the blow. The force of it knocks you to the ground, and your head smacks against the hard floor.

His fingers wrap around your throat, and he lifts you off the ground with one hand. Wrecker pulls you up close to his face, and the look in his eyes is terrifying. It's pure, unbridled hatred, and it's directed at you.

"Wrecker," you manage to croak. Your eyes search his desperate to find any sign of the man you love, and he growls, his grip tightening.

"Wrecker, please." Tears stream down your face, and you claw at his hands, struggling to breathe. Your lungs are burning, and the pain in your head is almost unbearable. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you, and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

You know that your next breath will be your last, and you feel a strange sense of peace wash over you. There are worse fates than dying by his hands. Worse things than losing your life. You're not afraid. You're not angry. All you feel is sorrow, and a deep, aching love for the man in front of you. The man who's been your whole world, your heart, and the only home you've ever known.

If this is how it ends, so be it. At least you got to know him.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice barely audible. "I... I love..."

His fingers tighten, and everything goes black.

Your eyes flutter open, and the world swims back into focus. There's a dull ache in your skull, and the air feels strangely thin. Your chest is heaving, and it takes you a moment to realize that you're not breathing.

No, you're hyperventilating.

Wrecker.

His name is on your lips, and you gasp before a terrible, aching pain lances through your skull. You try to move, but your body is heavy.

You're lying on your side. The ground beneath you is hard, and the air is thick and heavy. There's a bitter taste in your mouth, and your throat is burning. You try to take a deep breath, but it's like someone's squeezing the life out of you.

"Hey. Easy."

The voice is familiar. Soothing. But it doesn't register.

Someone rolls you onto your back, and the movement sends a jolt of pain through your body. You gasp, and the air burns. You can't see anything, but you feel something cool and wet being pressed against your face. It hurts, and you try to pull away, but a gentle hand holds you still.

"Shhh. Relax."

The voice is familiar, but your mind is too fuzzy to place it. Your head is throbbing, and your throat feels like it's on fire. You can't focus. You can't think. All you can do is lay there and try to breathe.

"Stay still. I'm trying to clean you up."

You try to open your eyes, but everything is blurry. A pair of dark brown eyes stares down at you, but it's not the mismatched ones you're looking for.

Rex.

He's holding something cold and wet against your face, and the sensation is painful, but soothing. You take a few shallow breaths, the air finally starting to reach your lungs. You cough, and it's like sandpaper being scraped against the back of your throat.

"Don't try to talk," Rex says. "You need rest."

Rest. The word echoes through your head. Your thoughts are jumbled, and you can't seem to focus.

"What... What happened?" you manage to croak. Your voice is hoarse, and your words come out sounding more like a growl than anything else.

"I think it's better if I don't tell you," Rex says. He's frowning, and the look on his face makes your heart clench. "Just focus on breathing."

You take another breath, and this one is a little easier. The pressure in your head is fading, and your vision is starting to clear.

"Wrecker," you rasp. "Is he...?"

"Yeah," Rex says softly. "He's... He's okay."

"Where is he?"

"We got his chip out, and the others," Rex tells you. "Tech is treating his injuries now."

There's a catch in his voice, and you can tell that something is wrong. Something terrible. You feel a sharp stab of panic, and you try to sit up, but the room spins. Rex grabs your shoulders and eases you back down.

"Just stay still," he says. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," you argue, but your voice is weak, and the effort of talking makes your head spin. Rex shakes his head.

"No, you're not." Rex sighs and presses a damp cloth to your forehead. It's cool and soothing, and the pain begins to ease a little. "Just give it a minute."

"Rex..."

"He's okay. I promise." He smiles at you, but it’s forced, and there's a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart twist. "But he's not doing well. We're all gonna need some time."

Your heart sinks. You know what that means. Rex is telling you that Wrecker needs space. That he's not himself. That he's ashamed and guilty and doesn't want to face you. It hurts. More than the physical pain, more than the headache, the exhaustion, and the fear, it's a deeper, sharper kind of pain. The kind that cuts to the bone, and you can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

"I understand," you say, and you hate the way your voice cracks.

Rex's smile falters, and the sadness in his eyes intensifies.

"Hey, now," he murmurs. "It'll be okay."

"No. It won't." Your voice is thick, and the tears are flowing freely now. You can't stop them. You don't even try. Rex pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing.

"He tried to kill me," you choke out. "He... He was going to..."

Rex holds you, and he doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The pain is written all over his face, and he knows exactly what you're going through. He was there. He watched Wrecker lose control, and he had to watch him almost kill the woman he loves. He had to watch him almost kill his friend.

"I'm so sorry," Rex whispers. He holds you close, and his hand moves gently up and down your back, soothing you. "I'm so sorry."

You cry until your throat is raw and your lungs are burning, and when the tears finally stop, you're exhausted. Your body is limp, and your head is pounding. You lean against Rex, and his arms tighten around you.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you up."

He helps you to your feet, and you wince. Every muscle in your body is aching, your throat is sore, and the wound on the back of your head is throbbing. You feel weak, and the ground seems to sway under your feet. Rex holds you steady while the feeling slowly fades.

"I've got you," he says. Then, slowly, he leads you towards the medbay. You lean against him, and with each step, you can feel the guilt and shame and anger radiating off him in waves. It's overwhelming, and it makes your heart ache.

"Rex," you murmur. "Are you alright?"

"No," he admits. "But I will be."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper.

"It's not your fault," he says, but you can hear the bitterness in his voice, and the resentment. He blames himself for what happened. He's taking the weight of the entire situation on his shoulders.

You want to tell him that it's not his fault, either, but you're too tired. So you lean against him, and let him guide you to the medbay.

The door is open, and Tech is inside, tending to a  cut on Hunter’s face. Echo is helping, and Omega is sitting in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looks exhausted, tears staining her cheeks, but her face brightens when she sees you. 

She scrambles to her feet and rushes towards you, throwing her arms around your waist. The impact sends a shock of pain through your ribs, but you bite your lip and hide your wince. She's clinging to you like a lifeline, and you can feel the tremor in her body as she tries not to cry. You hold her close, stroking her hair, and the ache in your heart deepens.

"Hey," you murmur. "You alright?"

Omega nods against you, her fingers digging into the back of your tunic.

"Are you?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you lie. "I'm okay."

"You're not," she says, and the hurt in her voice is enough to make your throat tighten. "But it's okay. We're here."

She hugs you tighter, and you lean into the embrace, your heart aching. You wish it was as simple as that, but nothing is. Nothing will be. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. You hold her close, closing your eyes, and her presence in the Force is warm and bright, just like always. 

You let yourself get lost in it, and the pain begins to ebb, if only a little, before you open your eyes again.

"Where's Wrecker?" you ask. Your voice is soft, but everyone in the room hears it and the tension is palpable. They exchange glances, their expressions grim.

"He's resting," Tech says carefully. "His injuries are relatively minor, and the surgery was successful, but his mental state is... concerning."

You swallow hard. You knew it was bad, but hearing Tech say it out loud is different. It makes it real, and the weight of that reality is suffocating. You take a shaky breath and nod, but the tears are threatening again, and your voice is unsteady.

"Can I see him?"

"He doesn't want to see anyone," Echo says. His voice is low, his words measured. He's... He's not himself. Not yet."

"I know." Your voice cracks. "I just... I want him to know that I'm here. That I care. That I..."

"Give him time," Hunter murmurs, his expression pained. "He's not in a good place."

"But I—"

"No." Rex's tone is gentle, but firm. "It's not a good idea. Trust me. He needs space. He needs to figure out how to live with what he did."

"It wasn't him," you protest, but even as you say it, you know that it's not entirely true. It was him. Just not the him you know.

"I know," he says. "But it was his hands that almost killed you. And that's hard to come to terms with."

You swallow hard and nod. You know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't ease the pain in your chest or the ache in your head. You want to see him, to talk to him, but you know it's not what he needs. It's not what you need.

You let out a shuddering breath, your shoulders sagging. You're exhausted, and the world is spinning, and all you want to do is collapse into a ball and cry.

Tech approaches, and he hesitates for a moment before his hand settles gently on your shoulder. His eyes are sympathetic, but the frown on his face is deep, his expression troubled.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"I'm okay," you answer. The lie comes easily, almost automatically. It's a reflex. One that has been well-honed over the years, but one that's not very convincing. Not anymore.

He nods and studies you for a moment. Then, he glances at Rex.

"Help her onto the cot," he says. "I'll do a quick examination and treat her injuries."

"No," you protest. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

"You're not fine," Rex counters. He's not unkind, but his tone leaves no room for argument. "You were attacked, and you have a head injury. We need to make sure that you're okay."

"I am. Really."

"We need to make sure," Tech insists.

"I'm not—"

"You're getting checked out," Rex says firmly. "And that's final."

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your lips. You know he's right. Your entire body aches, and every breath is painful. You're not fine. You know it. But the idea of hearing it from someone else is too much. It's too real.

Rex gently guides you towards the cot, his arm around your waist, and you let him. There's no point in fighting, not when the others are worried about you. So you let him help you onto the bed, and Omega sits next to you, her small hand finding yours.

Tech begins his examination, and Rex hovers nearby, watching closely. You feel small and fragile and weak, and it's a strange feeling. You're used to being strong, to fighting your own battles. But now, you can barely stand on your own. It's a reminder of how fragile you really are, and it makes your chest tighten. No matter how good of a Jedi you can claim to be, it's impossible to ignore that the only reason you're alive is because Rex stepped in and saved your life.

"You have a mild concussion," Tech reports, and his words pull you out of your thoughts. "Several bruised ribs, and multiple contusions." He pauses, and his gaze shifts to your throat. "And those bruises will need time to heal."

Your hand reaches up, and you touch the spot where Wrecker had been holding you. The skin is tender, and the contact makes you wince.

"Yeah," Rex says, anger clear in his voice. "That's going to be a tough one to cover up."

You look away.

"It could have been worse," Tech points out.

"It was bad enough,” he snaps. When you flinch, Rex's eyes widen, regret flickering across his features. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It’s okay." Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. You swallow, but the lump in your throat remains. "I know."

Tech moves to examine the bruise on your stomach, his touch gentle.

"We can apply bacta to the worst of the bruises," Tech offers. "That will help with the healing process."

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You close your eyes and try not to think about it. About the way Wrecker had been staring at you. The coldness in his eyes. The rage. The hatred. The way his hands had tightened around your throat. The way he had been intent on killing you.

"Can I help you?"

Tech's voice is soft, and he sounds unsure of himself. It's such a stark contrast to his usual confidence, and it makes your chest tighten. This is hard for him, too. Hard for all of them.

"I'm okay," you murmur. "Really."

"You don’t have to be," Tech says. His tone is gentle, but there's an edge to it. “We understand, and we'll do our best to make sure that you're taken care of."

You open your eyes and look at him, and the sympathy in his gaze makes you want to cry. You don't want to be the one everyone's worrying about. You don't want to be the helpless victim, the one who needs to be coddled and comforted. You're a Jedi. You're supposed to be the one taking care of others, not the other way around.

But there's nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. So you nod, letting the tears spill down your cheeks, and Tech places a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, and the words come out sounding more like a sob.

"Of course," Tech replies, and there's an unfamiliar warmth in his voice. "You're one of us, and we take care of our own."

He turns back to his instruments, and you lay down, resting your head on the pillow. The medbay is quiet, save for the soft beeps and whirrs of the machines, and the familiar sounds are oddly comforting. Tech continues to examine and treat you, his movements careful and precise. He works silently, and the others are gathered nearby, their attention focused on you. It's strange, but it feels nice, being the center of their concern. It makes you feel safe, and it eases some of the pain and fear and uncertainty.

You're surrounded by your family. By the people who love you and care about you. And as the exhaustion overwhelms you, and the pain fades into a dull ache, you realize that's all that really matters. You may not be fine, but you're alive, and you have people that care about you. And that's more than some can say.

It's been three days since the chip incident, and things are... strained. You've barely seen Wrecker, and when you have, he hasn't said a word. He won't look at you. He won't even be in the same room as you. It hurts, but you're trying to be patient. Trying to give him the space he needs. But it's hard, and every day, the ache in your chest grows a little bit stronger.

You'd hesitated to say goodbye to Rex, and he'd again offered to take you with him. To keep you safe, to give you a place to heal. And again, you'd refused, promising him that things would be okay. And they would. You're certain. They had to be. 

But the entire time you'd spoken to him in hushed whispers, you could feel Wrecker's eyes on you. When you'd finally pulled away from Rex to board the Marauder, Wrecker had turned on his heel, disappearing into the ship without a word. He hadn't so much as glanced at you, let alone said anything.

The pain of that had cut deeper than the bruises on your throat, but you'd hidden it, plastering a smile on your face for the others, even though they all knew better.

The daring escape you'd made from Bracca had only served to complicate matters, and the entire team was on edge after encountering Crosshair again. The tension in the air is thick, and it seems like everyone is walking on eggshells, afraid of setting someone off. 

It's a far cry from the usual banter, teasing, and camaraderie that's typical aboard the ship, and the only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional beep from the instrument panel.

No one has spoken in hours, and the silence is oppressive. You haven't left your bunk since that morning, the high vantage point allowing you to see everything without having to interact with anyone.

It's lonely, but it's also safe.

No one bothers you, and you're free to let your mind wander. You watch the others, and the sight of them fills you with a strange mixture of emotions. You're proud of them, and the love you feel for them is almost overwhelming. But there's also a sense of loss.

What happened was a reminder that everything could change in an instant, and you're not ready for that. You're not ready to lose any of them. Not when they're the only family you have left.

You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and let the feeling wash over you. It's a bittersweet sort of sorrow, and it makes your heart ache. You know that they're not going anywhere, that the five of them are a force to be reckoned with, but you can't help the anxiety that lingers, the fear that something might go wrong. You've already lost so much. You can't lose them, too.

The sound of footsteps approaching the bunk pulls you from your thoughts, and you open your eyes, expecting to see Echo. But the figure in the doorway isn't him.

"I'm sorry."

Wrecker's voice is barely a whisper, but it's loud enough to startle you, and you sit up, wincing as your ribs protest. He’s standing below, looking up at you with his mismatched eyes. His eyes are wide and pleading, and he's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You can tell he's nervous, but there's a hint of something else, too. Sadness. Guilt. Shame.

"It's okay," you say automatically, but the words feel hollow.

"No. It's not." His voice is low, and there's an edge of desperation to it, and his hands squeeze into fists. You can feel the anger radiating off him, and it makes your blood run cold. He looks like he wants to punch a hole in the wall, and you have no doubt that he could if he wanted to. He could tear the whole ship apart. He could tear you apart.

You swallow, but your throat is dry, and the fear is starting to build.

"I could have killed you," Wrecker continues, his voice shaking. “I... I wanted to kill you. I was gonna..."

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence, and his shoulders slump. The anger fades, and the shame is so intense that you feel it like a physical blow. Wrecker closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, his shoulders trembling.

"I tried to kill my own brothers," he says, and his voice cracks. "And I... I almost..."

He takes a shaky breath, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he shakes his head. You're at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch him struggle with the weight of his emotions. You want to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but you can't. You're just as broken as he is.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and his voice is thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Wrecker..."

He looks up at you, and the raw anguish in his eyes makes your heart twist.

"Wrecker, please, it's okay. I know it wasn't—"

"No. It's not." He shakes his head, his expression pained. "It wasn't me. But it was."

You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, cutting you off.

"I remember everything. I remember wanting to hurt you. I remember how good it felt. How right." His eyes darken, his lips curling into a snarl. "I'm a monster."

"No, Wrecker," you insist. "No. You're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You're not," you repeat, more firmly this time. You haven’t used the Force in days, but it flows through you now, warm and reassuring, and you can feel the conviction in your own words. "You're a good man. You're not a monster. I saw you try to fight it. I saw the struggle. I know what's in your heart. And it's not evil."

"I should have fought harder." His fists clench, and he hangs his head. "I'm supposed to protect you, but I... I'm the one who tried to..."

"Wrecker."

Your voice is sharp, but he doesn't respond. He's lost in his own guilt, his own self-loathing, and the weight of it is crushing him.

"Please, Wrecker, stop." You slide off the bunk, landing lightly on your feet, and you approach him, reaching for his hands. He pulls away, and it feels like a knife in your heart. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not mad at you. I'm worried about you."

"You should be." His voice is flat, his words coming out in a growl. "I tried to kill you."

"But you didn't."

"I would have." He turns away from you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders tense. "If Rex hadn't stepped in, I would have."

You reach out, laying a hand on his arm, but he flinches, jerking away from your touch. It's a rejection, plain and simple, but it's not unexpected. He's pulling away, both physically and emotionally, and it's tearing you apart.

"Don't," he says. "Just don't."

"Please," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "Please, talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?" He sounds bitter, defeated, but he doesn't pull away this time. "I'm a monster."

"No, you're not," you insist. "You're my hero."

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"It's true. You are.” He starts to speak again, but you’re faster, and your words cut him off. "You saved my life. Over and over again. You've never given up on me, even when the odds were stacked against us. You've always been there for me, no matter what."

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell that your words are affecting him. His shoulders are hunched, his body tense, but there's a tremor in his muscles, a slight shudder. You step closer, pressing yourself against his back, and you wrap your arms around his waist. You hold him tight, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and you rest your forehead between his shoulder blades.

"I trust you, Wrecker. I know you'd never hurt me willingly. And the truth is, I could've fought back. I could've stopped you. But I didn't. Because I trust you. I trust you with my life. And I always will."

He stiffens, his breath hitching.

"You're not a monster," you continue. "You're not a liability. You're my boyfriend, and you're my best friend. And I'm not afraid of you."

You press a kiss between his shoulder blades, lingering there for a moment. Your throat is tight, your heart racing, and you're filled with an overwhelming sense of affection and devotion. The feelings are strong, almost overwhelming, and you don't try to push them down. You don't try to hide them. You just let them flow through you, let them fill the space between the two of you. 

You've held them back for so long, afraid to show your feelings, afraid to let yourself be vulnerable, but now, the dam has broken, and you're drowning in the intensity of your emotions. There's a warmth spreading through your chest, a kind of peace that you've never felt before, and it's almost euphoric. It's like the first breath after surfacing from a deep dive, and the air is sweet, filling your lungs.

"I love you, Wrecker," you murmur.

"Don't," he growls, but the tension is gone from his body, his muscles relaxing under your touch. He leans back against you, his head dropping forward, his eyes closed.

"I do," you say softly. "I love you. And I'm not afraid."

You hold him, the two of you locked together, neither of you willing to move, afraid that the moment will end. He's trembling, his breathing shallow, his fingers curling around your arms, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't reject you.

"I trust you," you whisper. "I love you. And nothing will ever change that."

There's a long, heavy silence, and then, finally, he speaks.

"I love you, too."

It's barely a whisper, but the words are clear, and the weight of them makes your heart soar. You tighten your arms around his waist, burying your face in his back, and you feel the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You’re so happy that it almost hurts, the emotions swelling in your chest, making it difficult to breathe. It feels like you're floating, the weight of everything finally lifted.

“I love you so much,” he mutters. “More than anything. But you should be with someone else. Someone safer. Someone who won't..."

"Wrecker, stop." Your voice is firm, and you squeeze him, making him gasp. "I don't want anyone else. I want you."

He takes a shaky breath, his hands moving down your arms until his fingers are laced with yours. He squeezes, his grip gentle, and you squeeze back.

"I don't deserve you," he says.

"Yes, you do."

Wrecker lets go of your hands, turning to face you, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes are wet, tears streaking his cheeks, but there's a softness in his expression that you haven't seen in a while. He reaches out, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you chide gently, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I told you, it's okay."

"But—"

You shake your head, placing a finger over his lips.

"Enough." Your voice is soft, but stern. "No more talking."

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features. Then, he gets it, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nods, leaning down, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is soft, almost tentative, but there's an underlying hunger, a need that makes your skin tingle. You press closer, your arms winding around his neck, the kiss deepening, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip.

He tastes like salt, the tears still drying on his cheeks, and the familiarity is comforting, soothing the ache in your heart. He's home. He's safe. And he loves you. Nothing else matters.

The kiss ends, the two of you gasping for breath, but you don't pull away. You stay close, your foreheads touching, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I missed you," he murmurs.

"Me, too." You nuzzle his nose, your hands stroking his cheeks. "So much."

"M’sorry."

"I know.” You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, your fingers caressing the back of his neck. "But you're not responsible for this. None of us are. The only person to blame is the one who put the chips in your heads. You can't be held responsible for what they did."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing," you say, your tone firm. "You're a victim, Wrecker. Just like the rest of us."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping, the tension draining from his body. He's still upset, the guilt is still there, but you can feel it ebbing, the darkness fading.

"I don't blame you. None of us do,” you continue. "We're all just happy that we have you back. We're a family. We take care of each other."

Wrecker gives a small nod, the sadness in his eyes fading a little, replaced by something else. Something warmer, more hopeful.

"You're my family," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "My brothers. Omega. And you."

He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "And I will never stop taking care of you. No matter what."

You bury your face in his shoulder, squeezing him tight. You can feel the tears building again, but they're different this time. They're not a product of pain or loss or fear. They're tears of happiness, of relief, of love. You close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, letting yourself get lost in it. You've come so far, endured so much, but here, in his arms, you're finally home.

Wrecker's fingers curl into the back of your shirt, his breathing shallow, his face buried in your hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

You pull away, looking up at him, a smile on your lips.

"Never."

He smiles back, the expression brightening his entire face. You can't remember the last time you've seen him look this happy, and the sight fills you with a warm glow. This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. With him. With your family.

You kiss him, long and slow and tender, and when the kiss breaks, the two of you are both gasping for breath, the flush high on your cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice rough.

"I love you, too." You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, your eyes meeting his.

"More than anything," he continues. "And I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you. Never again."

His voice is thick with emotion, and there's a fierceness in his gaze, a protectiveness that makes your heart skip a beat. He means it. He'll keep you safe, no matter the cost. And knowing that, believing that, fills you with an overwhelming sense of comfort. It eases the pain, the fear, the anxiety, and for the first time in weeks, you feel... whole.

You're safe. You're loved. You're home. And no matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, that will never change.

"I know." You lean up, brushing your lips against his, and his arms tighten around you. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

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I have a question

is there actually some kinda sexual tension between the droid and the mc in sw outlaws? or are people just insane?

like I'm not gonna deny that I'm horrendously down bad for the droid but like..... what have I just seen....?