Some Of My Unfinished Drawings That I Found On Gallery

Bro was burned to a crisp.

Two Faces

Word Count: 11k Pairing: fem!reader x Bad Batch, light Tech nods Warnings: nada except light violence. Training, some fluff, and general fun Summary: When your sister becomes a senator, you decide to join her guard to protect her. Your mother sends you to train on Kamino as backlash. You are paired with Clone Force 99 under the guise of a regular trooper. Encountering you outside of uniform they mistake you for your sister. It is a delicate situation and you have to play your cards carefully.

This started out as a request for the guys getting jealous of you undercover and here I am. When I tell you this was SO FUN to write but took SO LONG. If y'all like imma make it a part 2.

“You want to be a foot soldier.” Your mother snarled down her nose. She was a tall woman, taller than you at least, and the governor of your planet. She waved a slender dismissive hand. “Then be a foot soldier.”

Face neutral, you stood before her in the white armor of a clone trooper. You held the helmet with both hands and a white knuckle grip. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you told your mother you wanted to join your sister’s guard

From your mother’s right your sister stood wringing her hands together. She stood at your height with a face that mirrored your own. Often you were mistaken as twins. Only a few years older than you and already she was the senator for your planet -- the perfect example of what you should have been. Despite everything, the two of you were extremely close.

Concern ate her alive as she watched on. She opened her mouth, but your mother’s hand splayed out in front of her face, cutting off your sister’s voice and view of you.

Continuing to stare you down, your mother’s mouth twisted into her nose. Your family practically bred politicians and that was never your path. If the two of you agreed on nothing else it was that you were no politician.

When your sister was elected as Senator, you knew if you were trained you could be in her guard and keep her safe. It was a decision you were proud of and one that sealed your fate in the eyes of your mother. You would be of no use to her. She heard your wish and wanted to make sure you fully regretted it.

Rolling her eyes away from you, your mother turned her attention to a Kaminoan by her other side. As the leaders of two allied planets, your mother and Lama Su maintained a close relationship. At least close enough to call in favors.

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for this opportunity.” Your mother’s disgust faded into a pleasant smile. “Although, I worry she may damage the reputation of your clone troopers.”

The Kaminoan shifted his gaze to you. In near boredom he said, “You do realize she is liable to die?” Settling his hands in front of him, he turned back to your mother. 

She scoffed, the idea of no concern to her. “She made her choice. Should that come to pass, Kamino will not be held responsible.” They spoke of you as if you weren’t even present. “But, do make sure they don’t take it easy on her.”

They. An ‘unorthodox’ squadron of clones you would be paired with.

Your mother said your name, her tone sharp enough to straighten your back. Her head tilted back, the crimp in her lip returning. “If it is discovered that my daughter is beneath that armor, forget ever coming home.” She muttered something to your sister and, in unison, they made for the door. 

Your sister managed one last glance at you before the Kaminoan door swirled open and your mother shoved her through. Your heart sank as the giant white doors shut behind the women.

What if you never saw your sister again?

Alone with Lama Su, the bright, sterile room began to strain your eyes. The unnatural ambience of the room was enough to unsettle you without the addition of the Kaminoan’s cold stare. With slow fluidity, he fully turned towards you. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “The modified armor will hide your identity. All you have to do is follow orders.” Lama Su said in his smooth, detached voice. He gestured a long finger towards you. “Put on your helmet, do not remove it in front of others, and remain silent. Your family may tolerate embarrassment, but I will not endure it here.”

Under his cold stare, you lifted the helmet and sealed it over your head. Your eyes had barely adjusted to the restricted line of sight when the doors hissed opened again.

Where your mother and sister had left, five men strode in. Their armor was mismatched in shape and color, but there was some vein shared between them. It took you a moment until your eyes widened and the gears finally turned. These were the clones!

You were no stranger to clones. The Republic had dispatched a group of troopers to your planet as a show of good faith and alliance, although you wondered at times if your family fully reciprocated that sentiment. That said, these men were unlike any clones you’d seen. 

Their appearances were as mismatched as their armor. Your attention immediately drifted to a behemoth of a man towering over his cohorts and obviously blinded in his left eye. Standing shorter than the rest, one man sported a tattoo covering half his face. Two of them stood at the same height, one with goggles and the other with silver hair. The fifth man looked more akin to a standard clone than the rest, yet his complexion was blanched and he was outfitted with cybernetic prosthetics.  

They were the most mesmerizing things you’d ever seen. And none of them spared even a glance in your direction.

Resisting the urge to look to the Kaminoan for clarification, you kept your eyes forward and did your best to look at attention.

“Clone Force 99, welcome.” Lama Su took a smooth step forward and swept a hand in your direction. Still, their eyes remained trained on the Prime Minister. “This promising trooper is being assigned to your squad for training. While their designation number is of no concern to you, you may refer to your new addition as ‘Phi.’”

Phi. A word you recognized as meaning nothing.

A pale hand landed gently on your shoulder, finally dragging Clone Force 99’s collective attention to you. Even through the armor, Lama Su’s touch made your skin crawl. The urge to bite settled between your teeth and the intensity of his stare did nothing to dissuade that.

His next words came across as almost proud. “I trust you will find the skills of this soldier to be exemplary, possibly even to surpass standard clone trooper protocol. It has been decided that integrating with your unit will provide... a most beneficial learning environment for all.”

The praise threw you off until you noticed the change in the squad’s expressions. Something in Lama Su’s words did not sit well with them. In particular, the tall silver-haired clone did nothing to hide his annoyance. Whatever it was, the undue praise clearly sealed your fate in some way. His sharp glance alone indicated that the undue praise had somehow sealed your fate—a fate Lama Su had very intentionally engineered.

“Training will begin immediately.” Lama Su said. “Proceed to the training facilities to begin. You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

Clone Force 99 wasted no time in filing out of the room, offering no introductions or even a glance to see if you followed. Their dismissal was clear; you were an outsider, not worthy of their camaraderie. Hurrying after them, the quiet of the corridor seemed to amplify the shifting of armor and footsteps.

"Just our luck!" His voice boomed, echoing off the walls. "Why do we get stuck with a reg?" He threw a glance over his shoulder, his good eye scanning you with disdain.

Reg? The term echoed in your mind, a label you didn’t yet understand.

The cybernetic clone fell back beside you. “The question is: what did you do to get stuck with us?” His tone wasn't unkind, merely curious, probing.

Instinctively, your mouth opened to respond, but Lama Su’s directive flashed in your mind—Do not speak in front of others. Clamping your mouth shut, you turned your gaze forward again, grateful for the helmet’s limited field of vision that spared you from seeing their reactions. You did see the way Crosshair's eyes narrowed, it was safe to assume your silence hadn’t helped matters.

Adjusting to the weight of your gear seemed trivial compared to the weight of maintaining silence.

Sighing, the tattooed man shook his head. “Listen,” He said as he stopped and turned. “If we are stuck together, we might as well get along. I’m Hunter.”

He gestured to the others as they continued walking. "That’s Wrecker," pointing to the large man, "Echo," indicating the cyborg, "Tech," nodding towards the one with goggles, and lastly, "And Crosshair," with a tilt of his head toward the silver-haired clone who had kept his distance.

They all waited for your addition, but it didn’t come and your silence remained. From behind your helmet you cringed. This was shaping up to be a terrible idea. You held your breath, bracing for the uncomfortable journey ahead. 

Your silence only fueled Crosshair’s anger. His gaze narrowed, head cocked like a raptor eyeing prey. "Too good to speak to us?" His lip curled in a familiar, cruel sneer that reminded you of your mother. 

Noticing Crosshair had an actual crosshair tattooed over his right eye you couldn’t help the little snort you made, emphasized by your helmet’s voice modulator. You immediately regretted your slip up as Crosshair set his shoulders, head snaking forward. “Something funny, reg?” The way he said that word was pure venom.

 You almost conceded at the guttural sound he made at your continued silence, but before you could react Crosshair cracked his elbow into your helmet. The helmet crashed into your face and pain bloomed across your nose, knocking you down to one knee. Blood trickled from your nostrils, leaving you reeling with doubts and likely a broken nose.

"Crosshair!" Hunter barked. He didn't need to step in further; Crosshair stood back, arms crossed and lips twisted into a smirk of satisfaction.

Echo and Tech shared a glance, Wrecker gave a supportive smile, and Hunter shot Crosshair a sharp, disapproving look before turning his attention back to you. "Get up," he said firmly, "and keep up."

With one last glare from Crosshair, you pushed yourself up to your feet, determined not to show weakness. But as the sharp metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, you couldn't ignore the cold reality of your situation.

They certainly did not take it easy on you and by the end of your first session it was clear to all of you that you were a miserable excuse for a recruit. In the solitude of your room, you finally removed your helmet. In a small mirror you twisted your head, examining the crusted blood and swollen nature of your nose.

A gentle, and painful, touch confirmed your broken nose suspicions. You leaned in for a better look and smiled. It hurt like hell, but at least you made it through your first day.

You looked to a photo of your sister you’d pinned to your mirror. It’s worth it for her. Giving yourself a nod, you replaced your helmet and headed for the med bay- a trip you were going to frequent.

As you entered the medical wing, the only presence were that of two medical droids floating about and a female Kaminoan. The female swept her head in your direction, slowly blinking as you stood at the entrance. You recognized the Kaminoan as Nala Se. She’d given your family a tour of the cloning operations in the past.

She addressed you with a good evening and gestured for you to approach. “I am aware of your identity. You may remove your armor in my presence.” Nala Se said in her ever measured tone. When you still hesitated she added, “The clones are currently in the canteen.”

Reluctantly, you lifted the helmet from your head, exposing the bruised face underneath. Nala Se observed you quietly, her expression unreadable. “You should return home.” She suggested. “Our clones are trained from their creation. You will not be able to match their abilities.”

“That’s not an option now. I either return with training or in a body bag.”

You placed your helmet in a tote at the foot of the medical table and began discarding the rest of the armor in the same fashion. Clad only in your black undersuit, you continued undressing under Nala Se's impassive watch. Her clinical detachment did little to ease the discomfort of the situation

Stripped down to a bandeau and shorts, you climbed onto the examination bed. A droid hovered over you, scanning your body. "Subject exhibits a broken nose and extensive bruising," it reported to Nala Se, who nodded slightly before administering two injections—one for pain and another to reduce future bruising.

As the droid tended to your injuries, Nala Se handed you a set of clothes. "There is more than one way to remain hidden," she stated as she unfolded a Kaminoan-style outfit—a set of dark, tight-fitting pants and a long-sleeve shirt, complemented by a light-colored vest with fabric strips cascading down your legs

You’d no sooner dawned the outfit when the doors slid open again and voices immediately broke the silence.

You froze with your back to the door. Tech's analytical voice floated through the air, "I am merely saying, excess violence will only worsen the situation for all of us."

It was Crosshair who answered with dry amusement. "Speak for yourself," he scoffed. 

Nala Se held your gaze a moment longer before she looked to the approaching clones. “CT-9902 and CT-9904, what is it that you require?”

Tech spoke up from behind you, "There is a high probability that Crosshair fractured his knuckles during training." You could think of a few instances that could’ve caused that, the bruises across your body serving as evidence.

Swallowing the groan in your throat, you finally faced them. Tech and Crosshair stopped in their tracks both staring at you with some confusion.

“Senator.” Tech offered a nod of respect. His polite tone threw you off balance as he mistook you for your sister. The Kaminoans' medical treatment had indeed worked wonders, hiding your identity well enough to prompt the error.

Crosshair frowned, a toothpick tilting in his mouth.

Tech, noticing Crosshair’s tight expression, nudged his brother. “We passed her on the way to meet the Prime Minister.” This was enough for the sniper to remove his toothpick and stand a bit straighter.

The immediate respect was a stark contrast to the blows they’d dealt you all day. Embracing the assumption you smiled graciously despite the stiff feeling in your face. “It is a pleasure to formally meet you, troopers.” You rounded the table to stand before them.

Without your gear, you realized just how much taller they were. And without the restrictive view of your helmet, you could fully appreciate how striking they were. They stood with practiced military bearing, radiating strength and a sense of purpose that matched their formidable presence.

Absolutely breathtaking, and in a much different way than when they'd been knocking the wind out of you earlier.

“The honor is ours, Senator.” Tech said. His eyes searched your face, for what you weren’t certain.Though having his eyes on any part of you was a lovely sensation. He paused momentarily, but found your eyes again. 

Crosshair kept his gaze steady as he studied you, lending some clarity to your earlier question. "What brings a senator down to the med bay? Surely not curiosity."

Holding your composure, you lied, “I am… personally interested in the development and progress of the valiant men keeping our galaxy safe.” You took the opportunity to circle the two men while they remained still and eyes forward. The men had equally long legs and cinched waists that were positively sinful. This view of them was certainly an upgrade, igniting an idea in you.

“In fact,” You polished a smile as you came back to their fronts. “I’d be interested in some personal lessons from esteemed men such as yourselves.” 

Surprise lifted Tech’s eyebrows and pulled the corner of Crosshair’s lip up. 

“Mistress Se mentioned your squad is already undertaking the training of a new recruit.” Their expressions dulled at the reminder. “What’s a few extra morning sessions with a mere Senator?”

Nala Se, observing the exchange from the background, stepped forward to say, "That can be arranged for the morning after next. For now, the senator has matters to attend to. CT-9904, please proceed with your treatment."

Tech offered another polite nod before leading Crosshair to the medical equipment. As they moved away, you exhaled, glancing at Nala Se, who gave you an almost imperceptible nod of approval.

The following morning, back in your armor, you walked into the training room and the middle of Clone Force 99’s conversation.

Wrecker was throwing his head around, moaning about something you couldn't quite catch. “-well, why didn’t I see her?”

“You did, Wrecker.” Tech said in a flat, exasperated breath. “If only in passing.”

“But why would a senator want to watch us train?” Echo shook his head in confusion.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “Correction: she wants to train with us.”

As he twirled a knife between his fingers, Hunter asked, “Then why would a senator want to train with clones?”

“Does it matter?” Crosshair drawled from his perch on a rectangular obstacle with a knee pulled up.. “If the little princess wants our hands on her, who are we to deny?”

Little princess. Your mind stuttered at the words while your body visibly jerked at them. The squadron cut their conversation short and looked to you. The amusement between them quickly faded, yet even this attention had heat crawling through you.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter gruffed while putting on his helmet. The rest followed suit and training began.

The session was as brutal as the day prior, starting with sparring and finishing with blaster drills. You didn’t do much better than the day prior, but you were proud to have left with no new fractures. By the next morning you could barely leave bed.

But ‘little princess’ was enough to push you up.

You arrived at the training room early. It was much smaller than the usual arenas, scattered with mannequins instead of physical obstacles. You traded your armor for a form-fitting suit similar to the blacks troopers wore. Without a helmet, you felt exposed—but exhilarated.

When the doors slid open, your pulse quickened. With composure your mother would admire, you smoothed your expression and smiled. “Nice of you boys to join me.”

A small smirk lifted Hunter’s lips as he regarded you. “Senator.” he greeted, his gaze sweeping over your form. The word almost caused your smile to falter, reminding you of the misconception they were under. 

They made their introductions before Hunter, hand at his hip, gestured for you to advance. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

The soreness that wracked your body protested when you squared your shoulders. “I was born ready.” Hopefully your feigned confidence won them over.

The way the leader’s head dipped with a small laugh said it did. Even from a distance, the sound reverberated through you to your core.

“Don’t worry,” Wrecker’s large hand clapped down on your shoulder and right onto an unseen bruise. “We’ll take it easy on ya!”

Crosshair rolled a toothpick between his lips. “Easy’s not our style, Wrecker.” You met his still skeptical stare, not backing down from the challenge.

“I can handle it.”

He snorted, flicked away his toothpick, and strode over to you. Leaning in he said in a low, snippy voice, “Better keep up, princess.”

As much as the nickname heated your blood, you maintained your smile, determined to earn their respect. “I intend to.” You said in an equally low, taunting tone.

From the very beginning, their training style was a complete turn around compared to the borderline abuse you endured while in armor.

Hunter set the pace, showing you rapid movements to prove your reflexes. When a moment of exhaustion hit and you noticeably slowed, Hunter teased, “I thought you said you’d keep up.”

Sagging your shoulders, you rolled back your head with a laugh. “Alright, maybe I wasn’t born for this.”

“We sure were.” Wrecker laughed and took over, launching into instruction about utilizing your body weight against an opponent. He demonstrated on Crosshair, who loudly hissed in protest. Wrecker put a shoulder into Crosshair’s abdomen and tossed him over his shoulder like a sandbag. 

Crosshair struggled against his brother’s hold, until he landed safely on the ground. He snarled at Wrecker, then caught the amused smile tugging at your lips. With a grunt of annoyance, he averted his gaze and casually placed a toothpick back between his lips, feigning indifference.

“C’mon, now you try,” Wrecker encouraged as you stepped close. He used his massive hands to reposition your torso into a bent over position. “Like this, see? You gotta feel the power through your whole body!” His bubbly enthusiasm made it hard to take the movement seriously.

His demeanor wasn’t your only distraction. Despite your mother’s disregard for you, as the daughter of a politician, people were always careful with you. Between their ruthless training of you as ‘Phi’ and their gentle instruction as a ‘Senator,’ you were finding them more and more captivating.

Their presence was intoxicating.

Tech used a more methodical style of instruction. His hands deftly maneuvered your body into a slightly different form. “Optimal form is crucial,” he explained. His fingers lingered just a moment too long on your spine, sending an unexpected shiver down your back. With one hand he pressed your bruised shoulder lower.

Your teeth clenched against the pain, a quiet whine making its way past your lips. Tech immediately released his hand, observing you with a tilted glance. “Interesting,” he whispered with curiosity that pulled your eyes to his. Behind those brown eyes of his, something passed through. He blinked once, twice, and stepped back.

The moment went unnoticed as Echo chimed in. “Throw your weight behind it and aim for his diaphragm.” Wrecker tried to chuckle, but you cut him off by doing just that. Despite your best efforts, he didn’t even flinch. A chorus of chuckles erupted around you, but it felt good to join their lighthearted banter instead of getting the kriff kicked out of you.

The training continued until you were slick with sweat. You were exhausted, sure, but the exhilaration you felt in the beginning only grew with every brush with the men.

Though throughout the trading, Crosshair paid the experience little interest.  He meandered the outskirts of the room, only chiming in when you had a misstep. Finally, winded but grinning, you let yourself sink to the floor. Crosshair sauntered over, standing behind you as he shifted his weight onto one foot.

His weight shifted onto one foot and postured over you. “Looks like what they say about senators is true.” He snorted, but the bite his voice carried when you were Phi was missing.

You leaned back, hands propped behind you, and squinted up at him. “And what’s that?”

His keen eyes scanned you, briefly pausing on your heaving chest before meeting your gaze again. “You’re all talk.”

Crosshair maintained a smug expression while his brothers fell silent, their attention fixed on the two of you. For the first time since training began, the ache in your nose surfaced in your mind. The memory of Crosshair's initial blow hung in the air as you carefully considered the situation, your tongue slipping over your teeth. He didn't realize it, but as you sat there inches from his feet, he was perched right within your reach. His guard was down, dismissing you as a non-threat.

The backhanded comment about Senator inaction was the deciding factor in your next move. You could always tolerate insults aimed at you. The rough training was even tolerable if it meant a means to your purpose. 

Calling out a senator’s - your sister’s - resolve, however, was a step too far.

In one swift motion, you fell back, hooked an arm around his ankle, and yanked his foot out from under him. Crosshair's arms swung through the air, desperately trying to catch his balance, but he tumbled to the ground with a thud, a gasp of air forced from his lungs. Lounging back on one elbow, you kept his ankle cradled firmly in your arm.

The rest of Clone Force 99 tried - and failed - to stifle their laughter. Eventually, they gave him the same round of laughter you received. Crosshair shoved up on his elbows with a scowl. The twitch in his lip betrayed the amusement nipping at him. Grunting with a roll of his eyes, he pushed you off his foot. “Lucky shot.”

You raised your eyebrows with a satisfied hum, then let yourself fall back onto the training mat. As you lay there, staring up at the bright ceiling and still catching your breath with a laugh lingering on your tongue, you felt an unfamiliar sensation—happiness.

All your life, you’d been chasing after your sister, constantly seeking your family's approval. You had never been allowed to simply exist or pursue anything for yourself.

But laying there, beaten and exhausted, you felt strangely good.

Wrecker’s face appeared above you with a lopsided smile. He extended a hand as he said, “Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

Groaning, you accepted his hand and he lifted you with ease. “It comes with having a sister,” you replied. The mention of your sister brought a bubble of anxiety to the surface and Lama Su’s warning pricked you.

“Ha! Just like us then.” With his hand still clasping yours, Wrecker steadied you by gently pressing his other hand against the small of your back.

Your face heated, though it was already flushed from training, and you quickly cleared your throat, stepping out of his grasp. Brushing off imaginary dust from your thighs, did your best to sound casua. “I’m curious,” you said, eager to switch topics, “how’s training that trooper Nala Se told me about?”

Just like mentioning your sister had done to you, bringing up the trainee cast a shadow over the troopers’ mood, which only heightened your anxiety.

“Don’t remind us.” Wrecker gruffed. “It’s bad enough we’re missing out on missions and we’re stuck with a reg.”

“Reg?” You repeated.

Echo sighed with exasperation. “Regular clone.” The way you muddled your face prompted the others to elaborate on their own differences. Though you knew Clone Force 99 was different, you hadn’t realized the full extent until now. You understood now why Echo was the least brutal in his training. With his origins as a regular clone, he sympathized.

Lama Su’s conversation with them finally made sense. He was stoking a fire meant to burn you out. 

You laughed nervously, “Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Hunter rubbed the bridge of his nose, dreading the afternoon ahead. “Trust us, you’re showing more potential than this guy.” 

They all launched into a conversation about the trainee's abysmal performance, not realizing the irony. Meanwhile, Tech stood back, focused on his datapad, occasionally looking up at the group- at you.

Walking away from the group, you tried to peek at his screen. “What are you looking at?”

Tech glanced up at you and quickly tucked the device away. “I was reading up on some political matters.” He adjusted his goggles and glanced at his brothers still chatting away. “Nothing you are not already appraised of.”

Mouthing an ‘oh’ you followed his gaze t back to the others. They looked so different now, discussing the reg amongst them, than they did just moments ago. “Why exactly are you here?” Tech questioned, you could feel his attention on you.

Not bothering to meet Tech’s stare, you answered without hesitation. “To make a difference the only way I can.”

From that point on, a cycle began. Every morning they trained you as the Senator and every afternoon you received a beating as Phi. 

Knowing their distaste for Phi was completely unrelated to you may have eased your anxiety but it didn’t make your training any easier.

That came with your mornings with Clone Force 99 and, on occasion, an even meeting.

The first time you ran into them outside of training happened when you’d snuck off to comm your sister. After stealing a holocom from the medical facility, you wandered the corridors for a few nights to find the best place to reach her. You always worried about an unexpected visitor in your barrack room. Wrapped in a cloak, you huddled beside a viewport, lost in thought as you stared at the device in your hands.

It had been the longest stretch you’d gone without speaking to your sister. Nerves kept your fingers hovering over the controls, practicing how you'd greet her, when suddenly your vision went dark. Your hands dropped the holocom in surprise, but it never hit the ground. 

“Look who we found!” Wrecker’s boisterous voice boomed, warm and close, as his large form pressed up behind you.

Letting out a startled breath, you gently pulled his hands away from your eyes. Standing before you were Hunter and Crosshair, both of whom looked amused.

Hunter practically sauntered forward as he offered you the holocom back. "Caught you," he teased, handing the holocom back to you with a sly grin. His eyes dipped as your fingers brushed against his, he shot a question with smirk at you. “What are you doing out here so late?”

You clutched the device a bit more securely and shrugged. "Just needed a quiet spot to contact my sister," you admitted.

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and pointing it at you. "And you chose the coldest corridor on Kamino for your heartfelt chat?" he was unconvinced.

You spun the device nervously in your hands. “I didn’t think anyone would be out at this time.”

The silver haired clone gave a low chuckle, twirling the toothpick between his fingers. "Well, don't let us interrupt your cozy little conversation.”

“We’re headed to the canteen for a bite to eat, you should come.” Wrecker suggested, resting his hands on your shoulder.

Hunter nodded in agreement. "You’re right about one thing - it’s quieter this time of night. Less regs to get in the way."

Wrecker grinned wide and leaned in closer, giving you a gentle shake as his presence nudged you forward. "Besides, it's warmer there!"

You certainly felt warmer, but not just from the prospect of a heated room. Glancing down at the holocom, you wondered if your sister was even awake. Unable to resist their invite, you stashed the device away and smiled. “Alright, why not? Lead the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Crosshair said in a way that made you roll your eyes. He could make anything sound sarcastic.

Joining them turned out to be a worthy trade. Crosshair and Hunter sat across from you and Wrecker. Wrecker made a habit of pushing into your space, offering bites of his favorite bits, while Crosshair and Hunter discussed your upcoming training sessions as Phi—a topic you found less than thrilling. Instead, you chose to bask in Wrecker’s warm attention.

Despite his high energy and monstrous strength, Wrecker proved to be the most gentle of the batch. Always the first to help you to your feet or catch you when you stumbled. His touch light, the calluses of his hands only ever brushing you. The skinship was a new experience for you, but one you wanted more of each time.

After your last bite of a chocolate morsel, Wrecker caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed a thumb over the corner of your mouth, dragging your lip down with the pressure of his touch.

“Got a little somethin’ there,” Wrecker chuckled, showing you the smear of chocolate on his thumb. “Guess I’m not the only messy eater ‘round here.” His smile crinkled his eyes as he dipped his thumb into his mouth to suck off the sweet remnant.

The casual intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on you, though it seemed to escape him. He turned back to his plate, completely missing the heat rising to your face. As a soft smile lilted your lips, you shut your eyes and leaned into Wrecker’s form. Surrounded by them, you felt a wave of contentment—you could happily spend all your free time like this

Wrecker perked up, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he felt your weight against him. He sat stock still for a moment, glancing between you and his brothers. Gradually, he relaxed into your touch and reached an arm around you.

“H-Hey,” he stammered slightly, patting a hand on your hip, “What’s all this?”

A foot knocked into yours from beneath the table. Peeking out from under an eyelid, you met Hunter’s lopsided smile and received another gentle tap. “Don’t be falling asleep on us. It wouldn’t be a good look for us to be carrying your limp body back.”

“Is the little princess tired?” Crosshair added lightly, a rare hint of playfulness in his tone.

Closing your eye once more, you hummed in agreement. Sitting alone with them in a mess hall, sharing a meal and laughing under the harsh lighting, you felt completely at peace.

Your mother had meant this all to be a punishment. She couldn’t have imagined that this place, these men, would heal a part of you you hadn’t realized was broken. They built you up and their training made you feel strong. They never admitted to it while you were in armor, but from their observations of the Senator you were improving.

Something you showcased one afternoon as Phi. During a drill with dummy droids, you found yourself blindsided by a metallic blow to your back. Another droid seized you by the neck and hurled you about twenty feet, leaving you crumpled on the ground as the simulation abruptly ended.

Still seeing stars, you heard the familiar cadence of Crosshair’s footsteps. “Get up.” Crosshair growled from above you.

Twisting onto your side, you struggled to catch your breath. Crosshair’s helmet angled to the side as he clicked his tongue, shoving his heal into your hip. “I said get up.” He punctuated his words with another kick. The sharp pain instantly boiled up weeks of frustration and pain.

Not a single thought registered with you as you snapped. As fast as a hydrosnake, you lashed out, looped an arm around his ankle and thrashed him back as you had before. This time your training took over.

You didn’t stop at holding him by his foot. No, you pulled his leg to the side, opening his hips, and pinned his thigh under your knee. Before he could grab at you, you pressed your torso across his, driving an elbow into the side of his helmet. Your hands clasped behind his bicep, effectively locking him in place.

Crosshair thrashed against you as his free hand hammered into the soft spot between your chest and shoulder plates. With every hit, you tightened your grip on him. His vile threats drowned out the sound of Wrecker’s stomping towards the two of you. 

A large hand ripped you by the back of your neck, instantly detangling you from the sniper. “Not so tough now, are ya?” Wrecker taunted.

Dangling in the air, your legs kicked and fingers scratched at Wrecker’s fingers. The fingers that otherwise delicately touched you choked you in more ways than one. Crosshair shot up from the ground, ripping off his helmet to expose his seething expression. 

“Wrecker!” Echo’s voice rang out from the sidelines, but his veiled command did little to deescalate the situation.

The sarcastic, teasing Crosshair who interacted with you as a senator was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he whipped a finger at you, a silent but unmistakable threat as he closed in on you.

It was Tech that quickly slid between you, effectively barring Crosshair from getting his hands on you. “Crosshair.” Tech’s tone was firm, if not altogether scolding. “You kicked them while they were incapacitated. Therefore, their actions were justified, while your reaction is not.”

Crosshair shook with rage, eyes burning into you past Tech's shoulder. The silent threat of his pointed finger became a promise.

“Wrecker, drop him.” Hunter ordered he yanked Wrecker’s arm down. 

Wrecker begrudgingly released you, setting you down with a rough thud, but you quickly steadied yourself, brushing off the dust. Your breath was labored, but you didn’t falter under Crosshair’s glare. It didn’t matter who Crosshair thought you were at this point, he was just being cruel. It fully pissed you off more than anything up to that point. Tension hung in the air, and with each passing second, your urge to snap grew stronger.

Tech stepped aside and Hunter’s stern gaze moved between you and Crosshair. “Are we done?”

Crosshair let out a low growl before reluctantly shoving his helmet back on with a quick twist. You, on the other hand, weren’t done and needed to calm down fast.

“You’ll never be worth our time,” Crosshair said with venom. “You fight like a child.”

That simmering urge burst through. You lunged forward, craned your head back, and bashed the front of your helmet into his. The old wound on your nose flared, but watching Crosshair thrown back and stumbling dulled the pain to an ache.

He shook it off quickly enough and charged you again, narrowly missing as Echo intercepted him.

While you regained your balance, Tech fell in beside you, gently catching you by the forearm. You were too busy wheezing to notice the strangeness in Tech’s assisting you as Phi. While you watched Hunter and Echo work to calm Crosshair, Tech brought his head closer, whispering for only you to hear, “Do not antagonize him. You’ve already had one broken nose, let’s not aim for another.”

All of your burning rage cooled in an instant. You slowly looked at the technician, whose eyes watched you intensely from behind his helmet. Something in his gaze drowned out all other sounds around you. He looked at you differently from how the others ever had.

You had no idea how he knew, but the way he looked at you made it clear: Tech knew exactly who you were.

He leaned closer, his voice a low, amused murmur. "It was obvious." Your head jerked back as if to say ‘how was it obvious?’

Sensing your immediate tension, he added quickly, "To me, at least. The others don’t seem to have noticed." He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Crosshair remained restrained before looking back at you. "We'll manage Crosshair. You should head to the medical facility to have your nose examined."

“Tech-” You tried to whisper but Tech cut you off, spinning you towards the exit. You didn’t wait for him to tell you again.

You did manage to hear Tech quip, “For the record, Crosshair, that would be twice now they bested you.” You made sure you were out the door by the time Crosshair turned on his brother.

Tech was right to send you to get checked out. You’d avoided a broken nose, but the swelling did need attention. You were still in armor when you got back to your room. Dropping down onto a storage tote, you set your helmet between your feet. Elbows on your knees, you sat looking out over the swath of ocean beyond your windows. 

The steady drum of rain against your window helped soothe your nerves, which had barely eased since you left the training grounds. You sat there for a while, combing through your time on Kamino, searching for any clue as to how Tech figured out who you were. With his keen mind, anything seemed possible, but you still wondered when you slipped up.

The sound of your barrack door opening snapped you out of concentration. You couldn’t reach for your helmet fast enough when someone said,“You need not bother with that”

You whipped around, twisting in your spot. Sans helmet and alone, Tech stood in your room. He’d already seen your face and touched your body, but this felt like you were meeting for the first time.

You slowly stood, picking at your fingertips. “Hi,” was all you managed to croak out as the door shut behind him.

It must've been an odd sight, you thought. The face of a senator on the body of a trooper. You snuck a glance at your reflection in the window. The sight was familiar to you now, but you remembered the juxtaposition taking time to get used to. You weren’t happy that the first time Tech was seeing you as you, your hair was stuck in a bird’s nest of a bun with crooked hairs jutting out at all angles

Tech said your name and something in your chest lurched at the sound. “If I am correct,” He said as moved his goggles up his nose. “-And I usually am, that is your real name. Is it not?” He remained standing just at the entrance of your room.

Your lips tucked into your mouth as you nodded slowly, still unsure about what to even say. “How did you know?”

Upon your admission Tech walked closer, free of the tension you carried. “Observation and deduction.” He explained, stepping around the tote separating you to take you in fully. Unlike when you portrayed Phi or the Senator, you had never noticed him observing you with such explicit curiosity.

Tech circled you, one hand cradling his elbow and the other holding his chin. “I was fairly certain Crosshair broke the trooper’s nose during the initial altercation. When we met in the medical facility, I noticed a distinct mark on your nose—an odd thing for a distinguished guest such as a Senator.” He moved around your right side, his finger gently pressing into your shoulder. “To confirm my suspicions, I applied pressure to a region I hypothesized would be tender if my assumptions were correct.”

"Your reaction confirmed it," Tech concluded, stepping back to give you space. "It was subtle, but it was enough for me to piece together the truth about your dual identities."

He took a seat on the tote facing the window and pulled out his datapad, tapping away as he continued. “Still, I didn’t have an explanation as to why a senator would be here like this. Until you mentioned your sister, which finally prompted me to do a bit of research.” Tech angled his datapad towards you, displaying a news article with a photo of your sister. “I must admit, the resemblance is uncanny. However, with her being accounted for on Coruscant, it would prove impossible for her to be on Kamino.”

He pressed a button and a photo of a stoic family appeared - your parents standing behind you and your sister. You only got a glance in before Tech pulled it back to his face. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the photo. “Besides, while the two of you do share similar features, you are far more… captivating.” Tech looked up at you, still standing beside him. “I could never confuse the two of you.”

Your breath hitched at ‘captivating.’ No one had ever remotely said that to you. It was always either you could pass for twins or your sister was the more fortunate child. Coming from Tech, such a logical and blunt man, it took your breath away. He saw no point in undue praise or flattery; to him, he was merely stating facts. It melted you.

You lowered yourself next to him, knees turned in his direction. “Why haven’t you told the others?”

Tech thought for a moment, his eyes shifting to the side as he considered your question “I do not know your reason for anonymity, but I respect your decision and will not jeopardize that. Your privacy is your own.” He nodded, pivoting to fully face you. “And I find I rather enjoy being the only one to know this about you.”

The tension in your shoulders ebbed, replaced by a fluttering that started in your chest and made breathing a manual task. You caught your reflection again, feeling frustrated that in such a moment you looked so disheveled. You balled your fists tightly enough that your fingernails dug into your palms, embarrassed that he offered such compliments to someone like you.

“Why are you making such a face?” Tech asked.

You watched yourself a second longer before offering him a sad smile. “I think I know now why you wear those goggles.”

Tech’s brows pulled together. “They alter the way light enters my eye to correct my eye’s refractive errors.” You sat back, blinking at the explanation, humor coming to your smile. Tech kept a serious face, not understanding the nuances you were attempting. “They help me see,” He clarified in a flat tone.

You yielded a small laugh, leaning over to tap his knee. “I know, I was trying to say you must need them if you think I’m the pretty sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how mean they sounded. Not just insulting Tech’s taste, but fully airing the distaste you held for yourself. Your smile dropped and along with your eyes to the hand still on his knee.

A drop of panic hit your gut as you started pulling your hand away. “I’m sorry, I-”

Tech grabbed your wrist and you couldn’t react before he hushed you, “Get down.” He said, pulling you both down to the floor. He ducked his head, pushing yours down and pulling you flush against him in one motion. His hand cupped over your mouth just before you heard the door open. Two sets of footsteps echoed in. Whoever it was, they were too far away for you to get a clear image of them in the window’s reflection.

You craned your neck, trying to get a look but Tech held you fast.

“His armor isn’t here.” Crosshair’s sharp voice rung out. “The little snake isn’t home.”

Hunter answered with a sigh, “Cross, none of us like this but you need to ease up. The sooner we get him trained, the sooner we get rid of him.” The two of them made themselves at home, walking around on a light inspection of your space.

Tech kept you both completely still, staying so silent you weren’t sure he was even breathing. Which was impressive considering that between the intruders and being positioned between Tech’s legs you were having a hard time regulating your own sounds.

One set of footsteps quieted. “Would you look at that?” Crosshair snarled. “Looks like the reg has a little crush.” The sound of paper snapping told you he found the picture of your sister hanging from your mirror. The level of agitation in his voice made you worry for the next time Crosshair caught you in uniform.

“That might be why I-” Hunter stopped mid-sentence. You heard footsteps shuffle in place.

“What is it?” Crosshair pressed.

A moment passed before Hunter continued. “It’s nothing. We should go. You can play nice later.” Crosshair made a noise of frustration, and the two of them left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Tech eased his grip on you. His arms hung beside you while you instinctively sagged against him in relief. You twisted around to ask, “What were they doing in here?”

“My guess would be that Hunter wanted Crosshair to make amends.” You could see a thought turning over in him. “And I would say Hunter either just realized the situation or is on the very cusp of doing so.”

“How did they-”

“We have always known which barrack was yours.” Tech answered before you could get the question out. He glanced away momentarily, considering his words carefully. “I advised them early on to leave well enough alone.”

The two of you held each other's gaze for a moment, and Tech's expression softened, becoming more reflective. “I did say I enjoyed being the only one to know your identity,” he murmured. “What I neglected to mention is that I took measures to keep it that way.” Gently, he lifted a knuckle to your cheekbone, brushing back a stray hair. The corner of his mouth ticked upwards.

“It doesn’t bother you - not really knowing me?” You asked.

As Tech began to help untangle the two of you from your hiding spot, he responded. “We may not have had traditional introductions, but I know all that I need to.” You pulled your legs beneath you, reaching out for Tech as he stood. He gripped your hand firmly and pulled you up.

With a slight grunt as he helped you to your feet, Tech continued, “You are resourceful and brave. These qualities are not just observed; they are proven through your actions and decisions here.” Tech’s voice carried a respect and a hint of admiration that felt more personal than his usual factual observations.

“And while I may not know every detail of your past or every layer of your personality yet, I understand your core—your competence, your strength, and your commitment to your goals. These are the attributes that define you, not just the name you carry or the role you play.”

Tech bent over and plucked your helmet from the floor. “Plus, as a clone, a name doesn’t hold a great deal of value for me.” He held the helmet in his hands, He rotated the helmet, examining it before gently handing it back to you. “Does that answer your question?”

Nodding in slight awe, you gently accepted the helmet and immediately dropped it, opting instead to quickly wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you, Tech.” 

Tech stiffened slightly, the rush of adrenaline visible as his posture tightened—a clear sign of his surprise at the physical closeness. This type of interaction was uncharted territory for him. In the window’s reflection, he watched the two of you. Your face was tucked into his chest, hidden from view, but he could feel the tremor of your breathing. Unsure of what else to do, Tech lightly touched your head. “O-of course.”

Tech had a myriad of questions for you about your past and your motivations.Holding you in that moment, he decided, was enough. The questions could wait for another day.

The next morning's training session was particularly challenging for you. It was hard to ignore Hunter's scrutinizing gaze. He watched you as if decoding every movement, his eyes sharp and probing. Tech's earlier observations were spot on—Hunter was definitely onto something.

For once, you found yourself eagerly awaiting the end of the session. As soon as it was over, you hustled away faster than usual, leaving Clone Force 99 to prepare yourself for that evening. You were going to tell them the whole truth.

After mentally rehearsing several scenarios multiple times, you donned your armor and headed for the training facilities. However, as you stepped out of your room, you nearly collided with Nala Se. 

She didn’t flinch, embodying the typical Kaminoan stillness. Towering above you, she blinked slowly, her gaze piercing. “Before you go, I must see to your injuries,” Nala Se stated matter-of-factly. Without waiting for your response—accustomed to your practiced silence—she turned and headed towards the medical wing.

You followed quietly, your mind racing as you pondered which injuries she referred to. Certainly, your nose and the rest of your face still ached from the previous day's exertions, and your torso was a tapestry of bruises, but these were all injuries that had been treated before. Moreover, Nala Se had scarcely crossed your path in recent weeks. Initially, she had helped you avoid detection, but she had not intervened since.

Her sudden appearance was less than comforting.

In the quiet of the medical facility, oddly void of the typical droids, Nala Se motioned to a bed. “Have a seat and remove your helmet.”

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of how your tardiness for training might disrupt your planned conversations that you barely registered her instructions. Nala Se said your name, snapping you back to the present.

Removing your helmet, you looked across the bed at her and realized her gaze was focused past you. It hadn’t been her calling your name.

Outside, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair were on their way to the training facilities, helmets under their arms, when they noticed the Senator entering one of the medical rooms. Today, you weren’t cloaked in your typical attire but wore a robe of deep purple with gold threading, which seemed oddly formal.

Crosshair snorted, “Looks like we need to ease up on our little princess.”

Tech, who had been absorbed in his datapad, looked up. “To what are you referring?”

“I told you she was actin’ weird.” Wrecker said, more concerned than accusatory, ignoring Tech’s question. “Should we do somethin’?”

Echo, looking to clarify for Tech, gestured with his prosthetic arm. “We just saw the Senator enter the medical facility. And yes, we should check on her before heading to training.”

Tech paused, processing the information. He knew you well enough to be aware of your usual post-training soreness and kept an eye on the medical records associated with your after-training exams. You hadn’t sustained injuries severe enough recently to necessitate a deviation from your normal routine. He buzzed with suspicions and worried over the implications of your unexpected visit to the medical facility at such an unusual time.

“Let’s get this over with.” Hunter said, moving forward with all but Tech who stood in place a second longer. If his suspicions were correct, this was not going to go well.

Back inside, you were faced with your reflection. Blinking back confusion, your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. Stepping towards you, adorned in the traditional regalia of your homeworld, was your sister, looking every bit the senator she was meant to be, her hair elegantly braided back with strands of gold and pearls woven through. The purples and golds of her dress made her appear radiant and regal—so much like your mother, and so unlike you in your scuffed armor and haphazardly tied hair.

Nala Se wordlessly removed herself from the room, making the entire setup evident.

“Sister?” Your voice barely whispered as you took a hesitant step forward, half-fearing that any sudden movement might cause her to vanish like a mirage.

Her eyes widened, her pace slowing, as she scanned your face. Her face, so alike and unlike yours, crumpled with emotion, her lip trembling. Then, with a burst of energy, she ran towards you, hands reaching out from the folds of her cloak. You caught her in a tight embrace as she collided into you, her presence grounding the surreal moment.

She didn’t speak at first, only managing to choke back muffled sobs against your shoulder. You rested your head against hers, holding her close, and savored the familiar scent of her perfume—a reminder of days long past. “I’ve missed you,” you murmured, your voice not choked with sadness but steady and comforting. You had always been the pillar for her to lean on; this time was no different.

Your sister pulled back, rubbing tears away with the heel of her hand. She managed a shaky smile, laughing through another small sob. "I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner."

You shook your head with a smile, gently gripping her shoulders. "You have more important things to do. Like, I don’t know, running the galaxy," you joked. Pulling her into another hug, you held her close for a moment before stepping back to reassess her. "Though… what are you doing here?"

Your sister took your hand, her grip soft against your calloused skin, and squeezed it tightly. "I’ve come to take you home. Mother—"

"Mother?" you interrupted, your tone sharpening as you pulled your hand away.

“We need you-”

“We?” You repeated louder. The joy of your sister’s visit dimmed the instant you remembered why you were standing together in a Kaminoan facility in the first place. “If this is for her, you shouldn’t be here.”

Your sister pressed a hand to her chest, perturbed by your tone. You’d never spoken to her like that. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Swallowing the instinct to give in to her, you reached for your helmet. “I don’t need to. You know why I’m here and I intend to see it through. You should leave-”

The sounds of the doors whirring open cut you off as you snapped your helmet on in a hurry.

Suddenly confused, your sister opened her mouth to say something, but instead you heard a familiar voice and the strength you’d maintained was replaced by panic.

The sudden arrival of Crosshair and the rest of Clone Force 99 sliced through the tense atmosphere like a vibroblade. “How touching,” Crosshair drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he rounded the privacy divider at the room's entrance. “What is our little princess doing alone with a reg? I didn’t realize you had a pet.” His cold gaze landed on you, igniting a tremor in your hands.

Your sister’s expression twisted in a stomach churning and familiar way. She scoffed and turned, “Little princess?” She spat the words out, her disdain palpable. You felt like you might gag yourself.

Your attention snapped to Tech who was just as stunned as you’d been moments before. Apparently he’d not predicted this. Hunter kept a straight face, eyebrows a little furrowed. If he had any suspicions about your dual identity, this chaotic reveal was likely skewing his thoughts. Echo, ever the sentinel, stood slightly taller, his posture tightening as if preparing for conflict. Wrecker towered behind the group, watching on with a rare sense of seriousness.

Crosshair, shifting his weight casually and placing a toothpick between his lips, continued to provoke. “What? Don’t want him knowing about our little fun together?” His wording would’ve made you laugh had the situation been different. He stirring up a misunderstanding for his own amusement.

Your sister didn’t bite. She cocked an eyebrow, giving the sniper a challenging stare before turning her attention back to you. “Are these the clones that have been training you?” Her tone was sharp, and her expression mirrored the stern demeanor of your mother.

Caught between weeks of training to maintain silence in your armor and the escalating tension, you found yourself paralyzed, struggling to formulate a response. It seemed all you could do was breathe through the growing panic.

“You two know each other?” Wrecker piped up.

Your sister, her confusion morphing into frustration, glanced quickly back at the group. “Answer me,” she demanded, her voice heavy with authority that did nothing to ease the stiffness of your tongue.

“You little shit,” Crosshair fumed, stepping towards you but immediately restrained by Hunter’s firm grip. Despite being held back, he snapped, “Show respect and answer her.”

Receiving his anger as an unnamed clone never felt as painful as the anger directed to you now.

Whirling on them, your sister jabbed a finger at him. “Who do you think you’re talking to, clone?” The disrespect in the way she said ‘clone’ gutted you and visibly startled Wrecker and Crosshair.

“Me?” Crosshair retorted, pointing a finger back at her. “Why are you defending him?”

“Him?” Her voice rose almost to a shrill. You reached out, trying to pull her back from the brink of the confrontation, only to have your hand sharply slapped away. She spun around to face you. “Take that ridiculous thing off!” She reached for your helmet, and this time, you reflexively slapped her hand away.

Crosshair, seething with anger, wrenched free from Hunter's grasp and charged toward you. Tech's shouts echoed behind him, but Crosshair was undeterred. He brushed past your sister with a dismissive flick, gripped the rim of your helmet with one hand, and shoved you backward with the other. Just as you tumbled to the floor, your sister retaliated, pushing him away forcefully. From your position on the ground, you didn't see it, but the sharp slap she delivered resounded through the room.

With his cheek stinging from the slap, Crosshair held his ground, his grip white-knuckled on your helmet as he turned a furious gaze on the woman standing defiantly before him. The intensity in her eyes was something entirely new to him. They locked eyes, each poised for further confrontation, when a realization dawned on Crosshair.

He’d never seen you look quite like this. In fact, you seemed like a completely different person. Dropping the toothpick from his lips, confusion replaced the anger on his face as he scrutinized the subtle differences in the face before him—slight variations in aging lines and hair length. There was more than that, Crosshair realized as he picked out the innumerable differences.

“Crosshair…” Echo said hesitantly. Still sat on the floor, you were on full display for Echo.

Wrecker’s face fell as he glanced around Crosshair at you.

Steadying a shaky breath, you gathered what composure you could and pushed yourself up off the floor. "Calm down," you whispered, touching your sister’s shoulder as you rose beside her.

Standing there, you couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Crosshair, afraid of the disgust you might see mirrored on his face. You missed the horror breaking across him. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on your sister, silently pleading, "Sister, please."

Snapping her hand out, your sister harshly gripped your face and forced it towards the men. “You're the ones who did this to her?” She was likely referencing the scar marking your nose or the other tiny, healed wounds your helmet had dealt you over time.

Heat scorched your face as you were forcibly put on display. You reluctantly met the eyes of Clone Force 99. Crosshair’s face was pale, his brows furrowed deeply and his mouth slightly ajar in a mix of horror and disbelief. Echo and Wrecker were in similar shades of shock. Hunter, on the other hand, looked almost regretful. 

Gently removing your sister’s tight grip, you attempted to soothe her. “They didn’t know. Mother-”

“Do not blame Mother for your stupid decisions!” She screamed, gesturing a hand at you.

“Stupid decisions?” You challenged, feeling insulted. “My decisions have been for you. So I can keep you safe.”

“I didn’t tell you to do something so childish and I didn’t tell you to go and ruin your face.” You inhaled sharply at her words. She knew how to slap with more than just her hand.

Ignoring the clones, she straightened herself, her demeanor cooling into a composed facade that echoed your mother's authority. “Enough.” she stated firmly, making you straighten your posture subconsciously. “You are to come home and act as my body double at an upcoming gathering. The clones who trained you are to act as your security.” Pulling her hood up to shroud her face, you saw a glimpse of your gentle sister once more. “We will discuss your future afterwards.”

With that, she was gone. 

Left alone with the squadron, you looked to the ceiling as opposed to facing them immediately.

Tech approached, saying your name. The others whipped their heads to him, the familiarity in his tone throwing them off. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.

“You knew about this?” Echo accused, turning on Tech.

“Of course I did.” Tech said quickly and dismissively.

Crosshair's hands clenched into fists repeatedly, his anger barely contained. "Was this all a game to you?" he growled, his gaze intense and accusing as he finally turned to you.

You were to weary to be angry at him. How he could ever think being pummeled everyday for weeks was anything close to a game was beyond you.

Meeting his fierce stare you offered a weak smile. It lasted only a second before it fell with your eyes. “No, never. I was sent here for training… I didn’t mean to deceive you.” Your mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”

The room fell silent. Wrecker, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. "So, all this time, you were…”

“Yes,” You finished for him. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I’ve been taking all the training seriously.”

“It shows.” Echo said softly.

Hunter stepped forward. “Alright, we can sort this all out later.” He gave you a firm nod. “As a team. But right now, we have a mission.” He extended you a hand and a smirk, an offering. “The rest… you can explain on the way.”

Your chest caved at the sight. Taking his hand you choked out, “Gladly.”

Tech adjusted his goggles with a smile. “Then that settles it.” Brandishing his datapad, he started scrolling through the screen. “And I have compiled a list of questions that will clarify this entire ordeal.”

Hunter walked beside you, placing an encouraging hand on your back. “Let’s get going.”

Echo and Wrecker still looked conflicted, but nodded in agreement with Hunter's decision, and even Crosshair, though still visibly upset, did not contest.

Tech gave one final note. “All things considered, that went far better than even I could have predicted.”

@bruh-myguy-what i hope you like <3

S2E1: spoils of war

working on something

Have a good day🧡💛🤍

Promises Made (pt. 3/3)

Part One | Part Two

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

Words: 10,651 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, protective!Crosshair, mutual pining, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Okay yes so this chapter is almost half the entire word count, and yes it's because of the smut, but it's also because of love. Thank you so much to everyone who commented and shared this fic. I hope this is the satisfying ending you were hoping for. 💙

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Crosshair stood vigil while you moved dirt and silt, using the Force to finish smoothing over the makeshift grave. He remained quiet as you knelt beside the fresh patch of earth, placing the stone on top. And he watched as you bowed your head, saying a quiet prayer for the Jedi Master. 

You did all you could, burying him deep under a layer of rocks and snow, a final resting place for the man you once thought of as a father. You weren't able to give him the funeral pyre he deserved, not with the storm raging around you, but at least he had a final resting place. And maybe, you could come back when the weather was better, and have a proper ceremony.

Now, you stand, your Master's lightsaber in your hand, the wind whipping at your face. You're chilled to the bone, but the pain is nothing compared to the grief in your chest. You stare at the ground, at the stone that marks his grave, and the tears are a welcome relief.

Crosshair remains a respectful distance away, and you can feel his gaze, his concern. His presence is a comfort, and you take a deep breath, your eyes slipping closed.

"We should head back," he says quietly.

You nod, and the tears sting your cheeks. But your feet remain rooted to the ground, the grief like a physical weight holding you in place.

"Hey."

Crosshair's voice is soft, and you feel his hand on your shoulder. The world comes back into sharp focus under his touch.

You turn to look at him, and the sight of him is almost enough to make you break down. He moves closer, his gaze sweeping slowly over you, and his other hand lifts, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. You want to say something, but the words die in your throat.

He pulls you to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. The sudden movement surprises you, and you gasp, but his grip is strong, and you let yourself melt into his embrace.

"It's okay," he murmurs. "Let it out."

The small hiccups you allow yourself turn into sobs, the sound muffled by his armor as he rubs circles on your back. It's been a long time since anyone's held you like this, and you can't stop the tears.

"I've got you," he says quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear over the wind swirling around you.

You wrap your arms around him, holding onto him like a lifeline. Crosshair is strong and solid and real, and you can feel the weight of his arm around your waist, can hear the beating of his heart through his chest. His fingers brush against the nape of your neck, and you shiver. He doesn't let go, doesn't loosen his grip, and you can feel the warmth of his touch spreading slowly throughout your body.

You're not sure how long he holds you, but you know the two of you can't stay out in the storm forever. You pull away, wiping the tears from your eyes.

You feel the embarrassment creeping in, and you hate the fact that he saw you like this, weak and vulnerable. It's why you wanted to do this on your own, yet you can't help but be grateful for Crosshair's company. You’re not sure if you would have been able to go through with it without him.

He pulls his arm away, his hand lingering on your shoulder. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I..." You look down at the lightsaber in your hands and back to the grave. Your throat feels tight, and your voice is rough.

"You should keep it," Crosshair says.

"I can't. It's his, I—"

"He would've wanted you to have it."

You shake your head, unable to respond. You're not worthy of the weapon, the honor, and you're not sure you'll ever be.

"Take it," he says, his voice soft. "It's the only thing you have left of him."

"But—"

"Take it," he says again. His voice is almost pleading. It makes you hesitate, and your fingers twitch.

He lifts his hand, covering your own. His touch is gentle, and his fingers curl around yours, his gloves pressing against your skin, molding your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Don't thank me," he says, his tone serious. "You deserve it."

Your heart swells, and your throat tightens.

"Okay," you say at last. You tuck the saber into your bag, the weight heavy against your hip.

"Come on," he says, tilting his head. "Let's get back to the ship."

You follow him, and the two of you trudge through the snow. It's nearly up to your knees now, and the wind is blowing hard, making your teeth chatter. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, your feet are freezing, and the temperature is dropping fast.

By the time the you're nearing the landing zone where you left the Marauder, you're shivering uncontrollably. Your limbs feel stiff and numb, your joints aching. Crosshair keeps pace beside you, and he doesn't say anything, but his hand is on your arm, supporting you.

The Marauder looms ahead, the ship's silhouette stark against the horizon. You can see the outline of the cockpit, and you try to pick up your pace, eager to get inside and away from the snow and wind. You're shivering violently, and you can feel the cold seeping into your bones.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" Crosshair asks. 

You're not sure if he's referring to the weather, or the loss, or both, but either way, you know the answer. 

It’s not the one you give him, though.

"Yeah," you mutter. "I'll be fine."

He sighs. "Liar."

"I'll manage."

"No, you won't." He shakes his head, and the gesture is almost exasperated. You can't help but huff.

"Why, are you offering to cuddle?" You try to smirk, to deflect with humor, but his grip on your arm tightens.

"If it'll help."

Your heart skips a beat, and you stare at him. The cold is making you delirious, that's the only explanation for the words that leave his mouth.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah.” Crosshair avoids your gaze. "You can sleep in my bunk."

"Okay," you say after a moment, and his head snaps up, as though he can't believe the word came from your mouth. The grip on your arm tightens.

"Really?"

You shrug, trying to ignore the way your heart races at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You tell yourself that it's the cold, that he's offering comfort, and that the offer has nothing to do with any lingering feelings he may or may not have.

"Yeah," you say, and the word comes out a little too hoarse. "Why not?"

There's about a million reasons why not, but you don't say them. Instead, you wait, watching him carefully. He looks at you, and even though you can't see his expression, you can feel the intensity of his gaze. 

"Alright," he says, his voice gruff, and the hand on your arm moves, sliding up to rest on your shoulder.

The two of you reach the ship, and the ramp opens, a blast of hot air hitting you in the face. Crosshair helps you up, and the warmth feels so good that you want to cry.

You immediately throw off your bag and kneel to brush the snow from your boots, and you're vaguely aware of him moving past you, toward the cockpit. He tugs off his helmet and tosses it aside, and it lands on the floor somewhere with a dull thump. 

By the time you get your legs to cooperate and rise, Crosshair is already settled in the pilot's seat, running through the preflight checks. Despite being the better pilot of the two of you, you let him take control, not trusting yourself to fly right now. You're tired, and you're cold, and the grief is weighing heavy on your heart.

When you slide into the copilot's seat, he glances over at you, his dark eyes meeting yours. You stare at each other, and you have the urge to say something, anything, to break the silence. But he's looking at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip, and the words die in your throat. He turns away just as quickly, his attention returning to the console, and the moment passes.

You try to help him prep the ship, but the exhaustion is too much, and the adrenaline is wearing off. You can't stop shivering, and your muscles ache, the pain nearly unbearable. Crosshair pushes your hand away when you try to set the coordinates back to Pabu, and you can't find it in you to fight him.

He lifts off, the ship groaning in protest, and the wind howls outside. The Marauder shudders, buffeted by the harsh weather, and the engine whines as he navigates the ship into the atmosphere. He's tense, his fingers curled tightly around the controls.

He engages the hyperdrive once you break through the clouds into the atmosphere, and the ship hums, the stars stretching into hyperspace. You slump in your seat, exhaustion and grief taking their toll. You lean your head back, and your eyelids droop.

You're barely aware of him as he stands, and the next thing you know, you feel his arms scooping you up, lifting you easily. You blink, and his face is inches from yours. Your arms wrap around his neck instinctively, clinging to him as he walks.

"I can walk," you protest weakly.

"Shut up," he says, but you can hear the concern in his voice. "You're freezing."

You try to come up with a witty retort, but the words don't come, and you're too tired to care. Crosshair carries you through the ship, and you close your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder, the heat of his body a welcome relief.

He sets you on the edge of his bunk, and his hands are gentle, careful. You're not sure what to say. The moment is surreal, and the exhaustion is making it difficult to focus. Your eyes blink open, and he's kneeling in front of you, his face just inches away.

"Let's get these off," he says as he starts to pull at your soaked clothing.

"Cross, I can undress myself," you say, the embarrassment making you blush.

"Just let me help," he sighs, his voice oddly quiet.

"But I—"

"I'm not letting you freeze to death. Now shut up and let me take care of you."

"Cross, really—"

"Please," he says, and the word is so foreign to his vocabulary that it gives you pause. "Just...let me do this."

"Okay," you murmur, the sincerity in his tone almost enough to make you cry.

He starts with your socks, trailing puddles of water on the ground, and your jacket goes next. The fabric clings to your skin, and his hands are slow and careful as he pulls the material away.

You shiver, and the chill is still lingering. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your lower stomach. The contact sends a jolt of something through you, and you inhale sharply.

"Sorry," Crosshair mumbles, his voice hoarse.

"No, it's...it's fine," you manage.

"I won't look."

"Crosshair, I—"

"I'll just close my eyes, and—"

"No, it's fine," you say. You reach up, your hands grasping the hem of the shirt, and you lift it over your head before he can say another word.

Crosshair doesn't move, doesn't speak. His breath catches, and you're sure he's staring at you, but you're so focused on trying to get your arms untangled from the sleeves that you don't care.

You're in your bindings, and the material is damp, sticking to your skin. You fumble with the fabric, tugging at the straps. It takes a few attempts, but finally, it loosens, and you exhale in relief. It slides down your shoulders, revealing your breasts, and you drop it onto the floor. You shiver, the cold air hitting your skin, and your nipples harden.

You look up at Crosshair, and he's frozen, his gaze glued to your exposed skin. He's staring at the scar above your heart, the one that he gave you, the one that should have killed you. His expression is hard to read, but his hands are trembling, and his breathing is shallow.

The silence is suffocating, and you have the sudden urge to cover yourself. He swallows, his throat bobbing, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. His gaze sweeps over you, and his fingers flex.

"You said you wouldn't look," you remind him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Crosshair blinks, as though coming out of a daze.

"Sorry, I..." he trails off, his voice thick. "You're—" He clears his throat. "Your pants."

"Oh, right." Your hands move to unbuckle your belt, but they're shaking, and your movements are clumsy. You fumble with the clasp, cursing under your breath.

"Here," he murmurs, and his hands move yours aside. His fingers brush against the skin of your stomach, and you suck in a sharp breath.

"Thanks," you manage, and the word comes out as a whisper.

His fingers work quickly despite the tremble of them, undoing the belt and sliding it free. Your pulse is racing, and your mouth is dry, and his touch sends a spark of electricity through you.

He tosses the belt aside, and his fingers find the button of your pants, and he pops it open.

"Up," he orders.

You do as he says, and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your pants. He drags them down, the fabric clinging to your thighs. His movements are slow and deliberate as he pulls the material free from your legs before they join the pile of clothing on the floor.

You sit before him, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, and the chill is still clinging to you, your skin pebbled with goosebumps. Crosshair kneels at your feet, his eyes boring into you as they rake over your exposed skin. His gaze lingers on the scar on your chest, his jaw clenching.

"It's not a big deal," you say, trying to reassure him.

"It is."

"What happened wasn't your fault."

He looks up at you, his eyes burning with a strange intensity. "Yes, it was," he says, his voice low and raspy. You reach for him, but he pulls away, your movements too slow and sluggish to catch him.

"I'm going to change," he mutters. "Try not to pass out."

"I'm fine," you protest.

"Your lips are blue," he says. "And your hands are shaking."

He reaches for your wrist, his grip gentle, and he lifts your hand, holding it up for inspection. You glance down, and sure enough, your fingers are trembling.

"F-fine, maybe I'm a little cold," you mumble.

"You're not cold. You're hypothermic." He lets go of your hand and stands, setting his rifle against the wall.

"It's just—"

"Hush."

You huff, rolling your eyes, and you fold your arms over your chest, hugging yourself in an attempt to get warm. You watch quietly as he begins to take off his armor, the motions practiced and methodical, though more rushed than you’ve ever seen it.

The first piece comes off, followed by another, and another. He doesn't stop until he's standing before you in his blacks, and then he lifts his shirt over his head. The sight takes your breath away. He's muscular, lean and strong, and the desire to reach out and touch him is overwhelming. The only thing you can do is stare, and it takes all of your self-control not to gape at him like an idiot.

He slips past you, and the bed shifts beneath his weight. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he's lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. He's looking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling evenly. Crosshair glances over at you, his brow furrowing.

"Lay down," he says, patting the mattress.

You hesitate. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Lay down," he repeats, his tone firm.

You obey, shifting onto the bed, and the mattress is warm, the sensation almost painful against your skin. He grabs a blanket from the end of the bed and wraps it around you, tucking it in. You curl up, the exhaustion is making your eyes heavy. 

The bed is small, and you're close, too close. But it's warm, and he's warm, and it feels so good you want to cry. Still, you can't seem to relax, your limbs stiff. Your skin prickles, and your muscles are tense.

"I can move—"

"Stop talking," he growls. "Go to sleep."

"You're bossy."

"And you're a brat," he grumbles, and his hands slide over your bare skin, tugging the blanket tighter around you.

You smile, the words bringing a strange comfort. He moves closer, his body pressed against yours. You're acutely aware of him, the sound of his breathing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You shift so your back is flush with his chest. He hesitates, frozen, and then slowly his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him. 

You sigh, the warmth from his skin seeping into yours, and you melt into his embrace. His breath fans against the back of your neck, and you can't remember the last time you were held like this. A strange feeling builds in your chest, one you can't name, but it's overwhelming. The pain of losing your Master is still fresh, but the grief is lessened somehow.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs.

"Yes."

Crosshair curls tighter around you, his arms like a vise. You're surrounded by him, the smell of blaster oil, the sound of his breathing, the heat of his skin. The exhaustion is taking its toll, the warmth of his body too soothing to resist. Your eyes flutter closed, and you let the darkness take you, his heartbeat lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

You wake to the feeling of an arm draped over you, and a body pressed against yours. You blink, and the events of the last two days come rushing back. You're practically naked, and Crosshair's body is pressed against yours, nearly every inch of available skin touching. His chest is flush against your back, and his legs are tangled with yours.

His arm is wrapped around your waist, his fingers splayed against the softness of your stomach, and his breath is warm against the back of your neck. Your heart skips a beat as his fingers twitch against your skin. A rush of warmth floods you, and you swallow, your cheeks flushing.

For a moment, you can't remember how you got here, and what led to this. Then, you remember. You remember the way Crosshair helped you, the way he comforted you, the way he took care of you. And now, you're lying in his bed, and he's holding you, and it feels...nice. 

You should get up, and the thought crosses your mind, but it's not the one you focus on. Instead, you find yourself leaning into him, enjoying the warmth of his skin, and the way his body fits against yours.

Crosshair's arm tightens around you, and he lets out a sleepy groan, pulling you closer. He nuzzles your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. Your heart stutters, and you freeze, not daring to move.

"Hey," he rasps, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey," you whisper back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

And it's the truth. You're still tired, and your muscles are sore, but you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You're not sure if it's the fact that you were able to finally get the closure you needed or if it's because of the man holding you, but you're grateful for the relief.

You shift, and Crosshair's hand rests on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. He presses against you, his chest molding against your back.

"Don't," he mumbles.

"Don't what?"

"Don't go," he says, and there's an uncharacteristic note of pleading in his voice.

You roll over to face him, and his eyes are half-lidded, his gaze heavy. He's still wrapped around you, his arm snaked around your waist. His cheeks are flushed, and his jaw is stubbled, and he's even more handsome than you remember. Your stomach flutters, and your pulse quickens.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper.

He moves his hand to your face, cupping your cheek, and the gesture is so tender, so unexpected. He runs his thumb over your skin, his eyes locked with yours. You can feel his breath, hot and quick against your lips.

"Good," he breathes.

You're not sure who moves first, but his lips are on yours, his kiss urgent, demanding. Your body responds instinctively, and you melt into him, letting him consume you.

Crosshair's hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour. He's rough, and he's hungry, and the way he kisses you makes you weak in the knees. You arch into him, and his kiss grows more heated, more desperate. You part your lips, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

Your hands hold tight to the back of his head, pulling him closer, and he moans against your lips, his fingers digging into your skin. The sound is needy, and it sends a rush of heat through you, a shiver running down your spine. You break away, panting, and he chases your mouth, his lips ghosting over yours.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Crosshair murmurs.

You laugh, the sound breathless, light and airy. "I can tell."

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "Shut up," he mutters, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Make me," you tease.

He's on top of you in a heartbeat, and his body is a delicious weight on top of yours. His hands are on either side of your head, caging you in with a mischievous smirk on his lips. You can't help but smile back.

"You want to be like that, huh?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

You smile sweetly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, and you let out a soft moan.

"What were you saying?" he says, his voice husky.

"Just that—" He bites down on your neck, and you let out a gasp, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

He kisses the spot he bit, his lips soft and tender, and his hands roam over your body. He trails kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone, his touch leaving a burning trail in its wake.

It's overwhelming, his scent, his heat, his presence. Your senses are filled with him, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling. His lips are on your skin, his teeth scraping gently, and his hands are everywhere, exploring, mapping, memorizing. You don’t want it to stop, but it's starting to feel like too much, too fast.

"Cross," you murmur. He doesn’t respond, his lips dragging across your skin, and you try again, your voice tight. “Crosshair.”

He freezes, and his head snaps up. He looks at you, his dark eyes wide and worried. "What's wrong?"

"What are we doing?" you ask.

He frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

"That's not what I mean."

Crosshair pulls away, and you feel a pang in your chest as you see the look on his face, the hurt in his eyes.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks quietly.

"No, I..." Your voice trails off, and the words seem stuck in your throat. "I just... I'm not sure where this is going."

He sighs. "I don't know either."

"It's not that I don't want this," you say quickly. "I just..."

"What?"

You take a deep breath. It's a risk, admitting the feelings you've kept hidden for so long. But the desire is overwhelming, and the fear is stronger.

"Earlier, out there...I said a lot of things, some of them I didn’t mean," you begin. "I don’t want to hate you, and I don’t want you to have to work for my forgiveness. You already have it.” 

You push yourself up so you're sitting, and he does the same. You both sit with your backs against the wall, the blanket pooling at your hips. He's quiet, watching you, his expression unreadable. His silence gives you courage, and you continue.

“What I want is a fresh start. What happened yesterday, it was a turning point. For both of us. I don't want to hold onto the past. I'm sick of all the anger and resentment."

"You deserve to be angry," he says quietly. "After everything I've done, you have every right."

"I am," you admit, and the words come out with a hint of a bitter laugh. “But I’m also so happy to have you back, Crosshair. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. It's not worth it, carrying the anger around. I care about you too much for that.”

He shakes his head, and his gaze drops. "I don't deserve you," he whispers. "I've done terrible things. You know that."

"It's in the past," you say, reaching out to cup his face. His stubble is rough under your fingertips, and his jaw is clenched hard underneath your hand. "You can't change it."

"I know." He sighs. The weight of the galaxy seems to settle on his shoulders, and to see it holding him down makes your chest hurt. 

"I forgive you," you say, and the words are easier than you expected. "We all have. Maybe it’s time you forgive yourself too.”

Crosshair's gaze snaps up, his eyes locking with yours. There's a flash of something, and you see the way his lips tremble. His throat bobs, and he swallows. "You really mean that, don't you?"

You nod. "I do."

"How?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

You shrug. How can you explain it, the way your heart aches when he looks at you, the way his touch sets your skin on fire? How can you explain the way he makes you feel, the way you crave his attention, his approval? How can you explain the way your world feels whole again now that he's by your side?

The words don't come, and instead, you rub your thumb across his cheekbone. His breath catches, and he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. When he opens his eyes, they're glassy, and there's a sheen of tears. You brush them away, your touch gentle, and he exhales.

You can't help but lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, and he leans into you, his hand finding your waist. The kiss is soft and sweet, the kind that takes your breath away, and when you pull away, you're left wanting more.

“I’m sorry I left you behind," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I should've stayed. I should've protected you."

"Cross, I left you behind. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me." You take a deep breath. "I'm the one who abandoned you."

"I don't blame you for what happened." He shakes his head, and his jaw clenches, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He swallows hard, the sound is audible in your closeness.

You run your thumb over his cheek, and he closes his eyes, his body trembling under your touch. You pull him closer, and his head comes to rest on your shoulder. He's tense, and you can feel the way he's holding back, keeping himself from falling apart.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, and the weight of it is suffocating. You've spent so long being angry, blaming him, that you never stopped to think about how he was dealing with his own feelings. How much pain has he carried since that day? How much guilt? You abandoned him, and he was alone, and there's a chance he could've been killed, and...

It's a lot. And the realization of it hits you all at once, your throat tightening, your vision blurring with tears. You've been so caught up in your own pain, in your own grief, that you didn't even stop to consider his. And the thought, the shame of it, is crushing.

Crosshair clings to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You can’t tell if you’re trembling, or if he is, or maybe it's both of you. The emotions are overwhelming, and you don't know what to do, how to comfort him, how to make it right.

All you can do is hold him, so you do. You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as possible. You rest your head against his, your cheek pressed against his temple as small tremors rack his body.

You don't say anything. You can't find the words, can't bring yourself to speak. So you stay there, holding him, giving him the time he needs.

It feels like hours before he speaks. His voice is quiet, barely a whisper.

"I should have been there," Crosshair says, and his voice cracks.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. "I should have come back for you.”

He pulls away, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. There's a look on his face, a mixture of guilt and shame and regret. He shakes his head, and his fingers find your jaw, his touch feather-light. His thumb brushes over your cheek, wiping away your tears.

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. You close your eyes, and you can feel his breath on your lips, your noses brushing.

You've missed this. The closeness, the intimacy. You've missed him.

Crosshair pulls you closer, and his lips ghost over yours, his movements hesitant, uncertain.

You've spent the last few weeks trying to bury these feelings, trying to pretend like they weren't there, and now, they're bubbling to the surface, and you can't fight them.

You don't want to.

You give in, kissing him, and his body reacts instantly. He's pressing against you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his grip almost bruising.

You let him pull you closer until your bodies are flush together. He's warm and solid, and his mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue teasing yours.

His hands are in your hair, his fingers tangled in the strands, and the kiss grows more heated, more urgent. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and you moan into his mouth. 

As soon as the kiss starts, it stops, and he leaves you breathless as he pulls away, gasping for air. You can't stop staring at him, the way his eyes are dark with desire, the way his pupils are blown wide.

He leans forward, his lips hovering over yours, and his voice is low, barely a whisper. “I don't deserve you."

You huff, barely stopping yourself from rolling your eyes. You're tired of hearing those words come from his mouth, and you can't stop the irritation from rising in you.

Crosshair's grip on you tightens, and his eyes are pleading. He's searching for an answer, for some sort of reassurance, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him like this, so unsure of himself. 

Your irritation fades, and your anger melts away, and all you're left with is a deep ache, a longing for the man who holds your heart.

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and your voice is soft, reassuring. "Yes, you do."

His expression is one of disbelief, as though he can't comprehend the idea that you would forgive him, that you would love him, that you would want him. He's always been the one to push people away, to keep his distance, and the fact that he's letting himself open up to you is a huge step. It's one you're grateful for, and you're determined to not take it for granted.

“You do, Cross," you murmur. "You deserve to be happy."

He closes his eyes, his brow furrowed. You watch him, and you can't help but wonder what's going on in his mind.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks, the words barely audible, “I don't want to hurt you again."

You smile sadly up at him. You understand the sentiment. The last year has been a constant battle, a constant struggle. It's a cycle, a vicious one, and you're tired of fighting.

The two of you have both made mistakes, and you're both haunted by them. You're both guilty, and you're both paying the price. But you're here now, together, and maybe that's all that matters.

You can't help but laugh, and it releases some of the pressure that's been building in your chest. 

Crosshair's eyes snap open, and you shake your head to quell his concern, the laughter dying on your lips.

“We've spent the last year hurting each other, Crosshair. And for what? Why can't we just let go of the past, and move on?"

He hesitates, and you can see the doubt in his eyes, the fear. But you can also see the hope, the desire. He wants to move on, and he wants to be happy, and he wants it with you. The realization is a relief, and the weight on your chest is gone, the tension easing. You grin up at him, and his lips twitch, a small smile tugging at the corners.

“I think we've both suffered enough, don't you?" you murmur.

His lips part, as if he's about to say something, but the words don't come. You wait, watching him, and you can see the thoughts swirling behind his eyes. 

Finally, he speaks, his voice is tentative and low. “Okay.”

"Okay," you say, and you lean forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

You pull away, and his gaze meets yours. He's still holding you, his grip tight, as though he's afraid you'll disappear, but the hand on your cheek is gentle.

Crosshair’s fingers run up through your hair, and his thumb brushes against your skin. He lets out a deep breath, his lips inches from yours. He's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time, his gaze filled with wonder.

"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

He shakes his head. "I'm just... I don't know how I got so lucky."

Your heart swells as much as it hurts. You’ll help him understand in time, help him see himself the way you do. But for now, you can’t help the teasing grin from forming.

"You're a real sap, you know that?"

He huffs, the sound a mix of a groan and a chuckle. "And you’re a brat.”

"Yeah," you say, a smile tugging at your lips before you press a kiss to his nose. "But you love it."

Crosshair hesitates for a moment, stiffening slightly. He clears his throat, and your heart skips a beat.

You can't tell if you've made a mistake, if you've crossed a line, but the words are out there now, and there's no taking them back. You search his expression, looking for a sign, any hint of what he's thinking.

He swallows hard, and his eyes dart away, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Yeah," he murmurs at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do." 

He turns back to look at you and catches sight of the bright grin on your face, and his flush deepens.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, and then he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss. 

You respond eagerly, and his hands slide up your body, caressing your skin. He's gentle, his touch almost reverent, and his movements are slow and deliberate, as if he's trying to commit the feel of your body to memory.

You run your fingers over his head, tugging him closer as you lie back against the pillow, and the action spurs him on. His hands explore every inch of your body, and his touch leaves a burning trail in its wake.

Crosshair breaks the kiss, his lips ghosting over your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck. His fingers trace the swell of your breasts, his touch light enough to send shivers down your spine. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you let out a gasp, your body arching into him.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs against your neck.

"Yes," you breathe, your voice thick with desire.

He takes a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, and his teeth graze the skin. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you let out a quiet moan. 

His fingers pinch your other nipple, teasing the sensitive flesh. Your hands grasp his shoulders, and his muscles are firm beneath your touch, his body taut with desire. You drag your nails down his back, and he groans, the sound sending a wave of heat straight to your core.

His hand moves lower, his fingers tracing a path down your abdomen, and he cups your mound, his touch gentle. He strokes your folds through the thin fabric of your underwear, his movements slow and deliberate. Your body responds instinctively, your hips bucking into his touch, pressing eagerly into his palm.

"Fuck," he growls as he feels how wet you are through the fabric of your underwear.

"Please," you whimper.

"Patience," he says, his voice thick.

His fingers slip inside underneath the waistband, and he dips a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance. You moan, your hips jerking as he ghosts over your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Please," you beg, your voice needy.

"Not yet," he murmurs.

"Why not?"

"Because I want to take my time," he says, a low growl that makes your stomach clench.

He continues his torture, and your breath catches in your throat as his fingers find your wetness, sliding up and down the length of your folds. He gently curls his fingers, watching you closely while rubbing his index pad against your entrance.

You shudder, and he presses his finger inside of you, the digit slick with your arousal. You whimper, and his free hand wraps around your waist, holding you in place.

"I'll give you what you want," he promises, his voice husky, "but first, I want to enjoy this."

"Cross," you whimper, your voice breaking.

He hushes you, and you whine. His movements are unhurried, and his thumb traces lazy circles over your clit, his touch agonizingly slow. Your breathing grows ragged, and your body is coiled tight, and the feeling is both sweet and frustrating.

You squirm, trying to increase the pressure, and he stops his movements, pulling his finger from you.

"Behave," he orders.

"I don't want to," you protest, your tone petulant.

He lets out a growl, and he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down. You help him remove the garment, and it joins the pile of clothing on the floor before he sits back on his heels, taking in the sight of you.

"Spread your legs," he commands.

You do as he says, and he leans forward, his breath hot against your skin. He dips his head between your thighs, and his tongue flicks out, teasing your folds. You gasp as he licks a stripe up your wetness, his tongue exploring every inch of your sex.

He finds your clit, and his lips close around the sensitive bud, sucking and licking the small bundle of nerves. Your body writhes, and your fingers hold tight to his head, pulling him closer. His finger teases your entrance, and your breath hitches.

"Please," you whimper.

"What do you want?" he says, his voice rough.

"I want you, Cross. Please.”

He groans, and his finger enters you again, his touch firm. He crooks his finger, and he rubs the sensitive spot inside of you, his tongue lapping at your clit. The tension inside of you is building quickly, and you're teetering on the edge, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

"I'm close," you breathe.

He adds a second finger, and you can feel the tremor in his hand, the strain of his muscles. He continues his assault, and your body trembles, your orgasm fast approaching. You grasp the sheets, and your body tenses, your back arching.

"Cross!" you cry out, and you come undone, the pleasure washing over you. Your walls clench around his fingers, and he groans, the sound vibrating against your clit. He continues his ministrations, his tongue and fingers drawing out your release until you're spent, and you collapse on the mattress, breathless.

You both moan as his fingers withdraw, and he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was..." you start, but the words die on your lips.

"Yeah," he agrees.

You reach up, cupping his face. He's flushed, his breathing labored, and his pupils are blown wide. The arm he’s using to hold himself up trembles at the effort.

"You're shaking," you say.

He lets out a soft chuckle. "So are you."

Crosshair shifts his weight, resting his elbow on the bed, and the movement brings his body closer. His eyes search yours, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much.

"What are we doing?" he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," you say, your thumb brushing over his skin. "But I don't want it to stop."

"Neither do I."

He leans in, and his lips capture yours, his kiss hungry, desperate. You taste yourself on his tongue, and his hand roams over your body, touching and teasing every inch of your skin. You touch him back, exploring the hard planes of his muscles, and his body shudders beneath your fingertips.

He breaks the kiss, and his forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy. 

"Fuck," he breathes.

"What is it?"

"I can't—" He takes a deep breath. "I can't stop thinking about all the time we wasted."

You swallow hard, and your chest aches. He's right. The last year has been hell, and the two of you have wasted so much time.

"We'll make up for it," you promise.

"I want to," he murmurs. "I need you."

His words send a thrill through you. He needs you. He wants you. You’ve waited so long to hear him say it.

"I need you too," you admit. You push yourself up and roll over, so you're on top of him, straddling his lap. You rock your hips, grinding against him, and his erection is hard and straining beneath his blacks.

He huffs a laugh as his hands come up to hold your hips. "I've wanted you for so long. I've wanted this."

His words send a shiver down your spine. You've wanted him too. And now that he's here, he's real, and he's in front of you, the feelings are almost too overwhelming.

"You have me," you whisper around the lump in your throat.

He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. His lips are inches from yours, his eyes locked with yours. "Promise me."

"I promise." Your hand trails down to grab his, locking your little fingers together. You hold your hands up so he can see them, your mouth lifting up into a soft smile. "I pinky promise."

He snorts softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "That's a pretty serious promise."

"It's the most serious one I can make," you say solemnly.

He laughs. The sound is warm and genuine, and it lights up his entire face. Your chest aches, and it's almost too much, the way his expression changes, the way his features soften.

You're tired of holding back. Tired of being scared. You've wasted too much time already.

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands slide up your back, and he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. You melt into him, letting him consume you.

The kiss is intense and desperate. You pour everything you have into it, everything you've been holding back. Your body responds, and you press against him, your hips grinding against his erection. He groans, his body arching into yours, and the sound sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

He pulls away, his breathing ragged, and his eyes are dark with desire. His hands grip your hips, and he rolls over, pinning you beneath him. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he grinds against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his blacks.

He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit. You gasp as he circles the bundle of nerves. He's not gentle. His movements are quick and rough. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, and you buck against his hand, desperate for more.

His other hand grasps your wrist, and he pins it above your head. His grip is bruising. He continues his assault on your clit, his movements relentless.

"Come for me," he growls.

You can't hold back the moan that escapes your lips. Your body is on fire. Every nerve is alight with pleasure. The pressure builds within you, the tension coiling in your stomach. You're on the edge, teetering, and you can feel the release coming.

“Please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

His hand leaves your wrist, and he grabs the waistband of his blacks. He pushes them down, and his erection springs free. You can't help but stare at him, at the way his body moves, the muscles rippling under his skin. His cock is hard and straining, bobbing against his stomach as he turns to kick his blacks away.

Then he’s back on top of you, your skin flush against his. He's hot and heavy against you, his body a welcome weight, and his length presses against your stomach. He grinds his hips against yours, his cock rubbing against your folds.

The sensation is too much. The feeling is too good. You're on the edge again, the pressure building.

His fingers tease your folds, and he finds the wetness pooled at your entrance. He gathers the liquid on his digits, his touch featherlight, and you whimper. He pulls away, and his hand wraps around the base of his cock. He slowly pumps his length a few times, coating it with your wetness. You can’t help but watch, your mouth parting slightly.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yes," you breathe.

He positions the head of his cock at your entrance. He's not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. He thrusts his hips forward, pushing into you. Your walls stretch to accommodate his length, and he groans, his body shuddering.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, and when he bottoms out, his pelvis grinding against your clit, you cry out, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His hand comes up to cradle your head.

"I'm going to move," he murmurs.

"Yes," you breathe, unable to hide the relief in your voice.

He pulls out and thrusts back in. The slow drag of his cock is maddening, stoking the fire that he’d ignited. His movements are deliberate and steady, each one calculated and controlled. It’s almost too much. You want him to let go, to lose control, to ravage you.

"Harder," you beg.

"No."

You huff, frustration rising in you.

"Please."

He lifts his head to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, the black nearly eclipsing the honey-brown, and his expression is one of determination, his jaw clenched. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"I don't want to rush this," he murmurs. "I want to enjoy it."

His words are sweet and earnest, but the effect is lost in the desperation, in the need. You can't help but groan in frustration.

"I need you," you plead. "I need all of you."

His lips twitch into a smirk. "Be patient."

"You're such a tease," you complain.

"And you're impatient."

He leans forward and kisses you. His mouth is hot and insistent against yours. His tongue swipes across your lips, seeking entrance, and you grant it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and your arms wind around his shoulders.

His hand moves down to your clit, his fingers circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. You moan, and the sound is swallowed by his kiss. His movements are slow and deliberate, his touch gentle. He's taking his time, and you're not sure if you love him or hate him for it.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, and his lips move down, trailing kisses across your jaw, your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there, nipping at the flesh, and you cry out, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

His movements speed up, and the fire inside of you burns hotter, the pressure building. His fingers continue their ministrations, his pace unrelenting.

"Cross," you moan. "I'm so close."

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. "I know."

His mouth finds yours again. His tongue teases yours as his fingers continue their assault. Your body tenses, the release almost within reach.

When his fingers pinch your clit, your orgasm rips through you. Your walls clench around his cock, and you cry out as the pleasure floods your veins. Your body shakes with the intensity of the orgasm. It's a wave that washes over you. It's pure ecstasy.

His cock is still buried deep inside you. He’s slowed his thrusts to a gentle rocking motion, the movements soothing, allowing you to ride out your high.

When you come down, the aftershocks still coursing through you, his hips speed up. You’re so sensitive, it’s almost too much, but he feels so good, filling you, stretching you. You can't help but moan.

"Fuck," he groans. “You’re so tight.”

You can tell he's close. His thrusts are faster and deeper. He's chasing his own release. You tighten around him, trying to push him over the edge. His eyes fly open, his gaze meeting yours.

"I want you to come," you whisper.

"Not yet."

"Please."

"I'm not finished with you," he says, his voice rough.

He pulls out, and the sudden emptiness is almost painful. His fingers thrust back into you, and the pleasure is sharp and intense, the pressure building.

He fucks you with his fingers, his movements rough and quick. You moan and writhe beneath him, the sensation almost overwhelming. Your walls are still sensitive from your orgasm, and the feeling is almost too much.

"I can't," you whimper. "I'm so sensitive."

"Shhh," he hushes.

Crosshair curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes you see stars, and you can't stop the scream that escapes your lips. The tension coils in your stomach. You're on the edge again. Your body is shaking.

You nearly scream as his fingers leave you, your walls clenching around nothing. He leans down and captures your mouth with his, muffling your cry. His kiss is bruising, his tongue demanding. His lips trail down your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin, and the sensation is overwhelming, the pain mixing with the pleasure.

His hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing. Your body is on fire, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

His hand slides down to cup your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh. You cry out, and he uses his grip to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist automatically. His other hand moves to his length, pumping it a few times, coating it with your wetness.

He pulls his lips away, his breathing labored, and he looks at you, his gaze filled with hunger and longing.

"Ready?"

"Yes," you whisper.

His grip on your ass tightens, and he pulls you closer. His cock teases your folds, sliding between them, and the sensation is agonizing. You whimper, the need for him growing, the need for release.

"Please," you beg.

He pushes into you, the head of his cock stretching your entrance. He feels thicker than before, his length harder. Your walls are still sensitive, but the feeling is too good. You want more. You need more.

He groans, and the sound is raw and primal. His hips buck, and his cock fills you completely, his length buried to the hilt. The pace he sets is punishing, the feeling intense.

"Cross," you gasp.

"You're so tight," he groans. "So perfect."

"You feel so good," you moan. "Fuck."

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and his other hand wraps around the back of your neck. His grip is bruising, but you don't care. You like the way his hands feel on your skin.

You lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is sloppy and messy. He's lost in his own pleasure, his movements rough and uncoordinated. You can't get enough, and you moan into his mouth as he finds the right spot.

"I'm close," he rasps.

“Me too,” you manage.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you cling to him as he brings you both closer and closer to the edge. Your walls flutter around him, the tension in your stomach tightening. His movements become erratic, and his body tenses. You know he's close. You can feel the tremors running through him.

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm—“

“Inside me," you moan. "Please."

The words are barely out of your mouth when he stills, his cock pulsing inside you. You can feel the hot spurts of his release filling you. The sensation is overwhelming, and you scream his name.

Your orgasm hits you hard and fast, and you clench around him, your walls milking him. Your body shakes with the force of the pleasure, and your ears ring.

When the aftershocks finally subside, he collapses on top of you, his breathing ragged. You can feel his heart racing. Your arms wrap around him, holding him close. You never want to let him go.

You're still trying to make sense of what just happened when Crosshair's hand comes to rest on your hip, his fingers tracing slow circles. The sensation brings you back to reality, and you open your eyes to find him staring at you, his expression filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs.

"Yeah," you say, your voice hoarse. "That was..."

"Intense," he finishes, and he flashes you a crooked smile.

You laugh softly. "That's one word for it."

His smile fades, and he shifts his weight, pulling away from you. He slips out of you, and you can't help the soft whine that escapes your lips. You can already feel the soreness setting in.

He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. "I'll be right back."

He slides off the bed and disappears into the fresher. You roll onto your side and press your thighs together, the action doing more to soothe the ache than you'd expected. When Crosshair returns, he has a warm, wet washcloth in hand, and you can't help but smile.

"Thanks," you murmur, reaching out to take the cloth from him. He pulls his hand away.

"Let me," he says softly.

Your breath catches in your throat. He climbs back on the bed and gently pushes your legs apart. His movements are careful as he wipes the cloth over your sex. He's gentle and thorough. You can't help but feel like his touch is more intimate than anything else the two of you have done tonight.

When he's satisfied, he tosses the cloth aside. He lays down next to you, his head propped up on his hand, and his eyes are soft, filled with affection.

"Hi," you say shyly.

"Hey," he murmurs. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

Your heart swells. You can't believe this is happening. It all feels like a dream. You never thought he'd ever be like this with you. You never thought you'd have the chance to be with him again.

You feel tears start to prick the corner of your eyes, but you blink them away, choosing instead to reach out and trace the contours of his face with your fingers. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, his expression relaxed.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Admiring you," you murmur. You can’t keep the affection out of your tone, and you don’t try.

Crosshair snorts, and if you weren't so close, you wouldn't have noticed the hint of redness that spreads across his cheeks. You shake your head and chuckle at the sight. He's adorable.

"You just fucked me so hard I can’t feel my legs, and now you're embarrassed by a little compliment?" you tease.

His eyes open, and he gives you a look. "I hate you," he grumbles.

You grin. "No, you don't."

"You're right," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I don't."

Crosshair pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and you press your body against his, enjoying the closeness. Your hands roam over his skin, your fingers tracing the scars that litter his body. You can't help but wonder how he got each and every one of them.

His hand comes up to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

"For what?"

"For letting me in. And for forgiving me.”

You swallow hard. His words are so simple, but they mean so much. You know it hasn't been easy for him. You know he's been struggling. You've seen the guilt and the pain. And despite all of that, he's here.

You lean in and press a kiss to his chest. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm not—"

"I am," you say firmly.

He swallows hard and nods. It’s obvious the words are difficult for him to hear, and you can’t help but wonder the last time someone told him those words. If they ever did.

You reach up and brush your thumb against his cheek. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

His lips part, and his eyes search yours. He looks overwhelmed, his emotions written plainly on his face.

"I'm starting to," he murmurs. "But I—"

"I love you," you blurt out. "And not just because of this. I've loved you for so long. And I've wanted this for so long."

He blinks at you, his eyes widening slightly. Your heart leaps to your throat.

"Sorry," you apologize sheepishly. "Too much?"

He shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath. "No," he says softly. "It's not."

"Oh," you say.

He leans forward and kisses you, his lips soft and gentle. Your body relaxes, the tension seeping out of you. His hand slides up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you too," Crosshair whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "So much."

He takes a deep breath and leans back against the pillow, his eyes fixed on the bottom of the bunk above you. "I…had a lot of time to think about things while I was…away. And I realized a lot of things. About myself. About us. I realized that I didn't know what I had until it was gone."

You watch him. His jaw is tense. His brow is furrowed. He's still struggling with his emotions.

"Cross," you murmur.

"I'm not good with words," he admits.

"It's okay," you say.

He takes a deep breath. "I missed you," he says. "I missed everything about you. And I regretted so many things. I thought about what we could have had if I had let myself have it. And I... I don't want to waste any more time."

You can't help the tears that roll down your cheeks. He's so sincere, and his words are so heartfelt. It's overwhelming. You lean in and kiss him, pouring every bit of emotion into the kiss. You want him to know just how much you care. How much he means to you.

"I'm glad we didn't waste any more time," you say.

"Me too.” He clears his throat, his gaze searching yours.  “I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay," you say slowly, hesitantly.

Crosshair shifts underneath you, and you prop yourself up on your elbow, watching him curiously. He sits up, and his hand comes up to cradle your face, his touch gentle. "I'm... not really sure how to do this."

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and your heartbeat quickens. "Just ask.”

"I was wondering," he says, his voice soft. "If you wanted to make this, us, official."

He takes a deep breath, and you can feel his nerves, his anxiety. You stare at him, stunned to silence. You're not sure how to respond. You hadn't expected this, not yet at least. Maybe not ever. You never really allowed yourself to hope.

"I know it's complicated, and I know it's going to be hard. But I—"

"Yes," you interrupt, and his eyes snap to yours.

He blinks at you. "What?"

"Yes," you say again. "I would love that."

"Really?"

You laugh softly. "Did you think I'd say no?"

You can't keep the amusement out of your tone. His nervousness is so endearing. You never thought you'd get to see him like this.

"No, I just…huh,” he breathes. His brow furrows, his expression thoughtful.

"What?"

"I wasn't expecting you to agree so quickly.” Crosshair smirks, his gaze meeting yours. "I was ready to make a case. Give you some time to think it over."

His hand moves from your face to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, and his eyebrows lift. "You must really like me."

“Shut up.” You huff and roll your eyes. "I love you, you asshole.”

"I love you too," he says, his voice is warm, and his words are sincere. You lean in and kiss him, your hands moving to his shoulders, pulling him close. You can't get enough of him. You're not sure if you ever will.

When you finally break apart, he lets out a contented sigh and pulls you back down, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, and his expression softens.

"I can't promise you much, but I can promise you that I'll always be there for you. No matter what happens. Even if things go to shit, even if we get separated. Even if...”

He swallows and looks away, his expression darkening. You know what he's thinking, what he's trying not to say.

"Cross," you murmur. "I'm not going anywhere." You cup his face, your gaze meeting his. "And neither are you."

He nods, and his mouth lifts up into a soft smile. "I'm not letting you go. Ever."

"That's a lot of promises," you tease.

He huffs. "Yeah, well, I'm full of them lately."

You press another kiss to his lips, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence. He pulls you closer, his grip tightening. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a deep, contented sigh. “Now let’s go back to sleep. You wore me out."

You chuckle and close your eyes, nestling your head against Crosshair's chest. The sound of his heartbeat is soothing, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is calming. 

You never imagined this would happen, but here you are, wrapped up in his arms. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

You feel safe, and you feel loved. And as sleep pulls you under, you realize that this is exactly where you belong. You're home.

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