T'lyn Sketches

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"Spitfire" (A flashback) || Captain Rex x OFC Mae || Clone x OC Week 2025 Event

Pairing: Captain Rex x OFC Mae Killough (Bio HERE)

Word Count: 4.9k

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Medical related touching over armor (seriously nothing kinky about it but clone men's mind may have wandered); slightly suggestive comment; mentions of clone rights (or the lack there of); mentions of deaths on Ryloth

Author's Note: Hi there! I am really excited to participate in the first day of @clonexocweek with a little flashback for my OC Mae! Thank you so much for organizing this event and making all the banners! This was a silly idea that came to me, wondering what if Rex and Mae had crossed paths previously without realizing it. So this is a technical 'first meeting' to provide a bit more weight to the actual first time they interact, found HERE. I hope you all enjoy, and as a reminder, this ship exists within a larger AU by @leenathegreengirl. If you haven't seen her work, seriously go check it out. It's got Clone x OCs all over it with so many original characters! ~ M

Mae & Rex Masterlist || Chronological Next Work || Masterlist

Fire and brimstone is what Cody would have described it as. He couldn’t recall ever having encountered a civilian so furious—at least, not one who wasn’t a military officer. The Jedi didn’t get angry. His brothers, too, typically kept their emotions in check, controlled by discipline and experience. It was only the occasional politician or separatist who displayed their anger so openly, and even then, it was often driven by pride or ideology.

But the small woman in front of him? Her fury was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. She hobbled forward, her movements sharp and determined, though it was clear that every step caused her pain. Despite his recommendation to let him carry her bag—one she clutched tightly, almost desperately—she insisted on managing it herself. And that’s when it hit him. He realized, for the first time, that he had never truly known what real, raw anger looked like—at least not from someone like her. Anger that burned hot and fierce, yet controlled and purposeful. 

When Cody had been sent to the transport ship in the hangar upon its arrival with the fleet, he hadn’t expected to be tasked with retrieving a civilian. He’d assumed it would be another officer, or perhaps someone of higher importance. But General Kenobi had given him clear instructions: find the civilian and bring her to the bridge.

The moment his eyes fell upon her, however, all thoughts of formalities disappeared. The unmistakable markings of the RAR uniform were marred with the signs of a long, grueling journey. The weariness in her eyes, the sheer exhaustion etched into her face, told him everything he needed to know. This woman had likely faced horrors beyond comprehension, and yet here she was—alive. A miracle, really.

Her chest was tightly wrapped in surgical dressing, and her arm was bound to her torso by a makeshift sling, but despite the injury, she moved with a sense of urgency, as if time was slipping away from her. There was no hesitation in her step, only resolve.

She hardly spared him more than a glance and brief exchange of plesantries, rushing to push past him and make her way toward the leaders, the need to speak with them evident in her every movement. When he reached for her bag to assist her, she slapped his hand away with a sharp motion. The action was swift and unyielding, and a small part of Cody understood why. She didn’t want to appear weak or helpless. She wanted to prove she could handle herself, even in her condition.

It wasn’t a battle worth having, so Cody backed off. He wasn’t about to argue with someone clearly determined to maintain control over what little she had left. Besides, if her resolve was anything like the fury in her eyes, he knew better than to push her.

As he walked alongside her, occasionally calling out directions as they navigated the twisting corridors, Cody couldn’t help but notice how her hair unraveled from the bun that had struggled to contain its chaos. Strands of bright red tumbled free, a striking contrast to the sharp anger burning in her eyes. The color, vivid and bold, mirrored the fiery intensity of her emotions—a fury that seemed to consume her from the inside out.

Cody had heard word that the 501st would soon be joining their fleet. It was all part of some reckless scheme cooked up by Master Skywalker and his padawan, an ill-conceived plan to push their main ship through the blockade by sheer force. Cody could already feel the tension in the air, the impending chaos that would follow.

A part of him longed to be down in the hangar with his brothers-in-arms, to be facing that challenge alongside them. But instead, here he was, walking beside a woman who seemed ready to tear his head off at any moment. Her anger was palpable, radiating from her like a storm waiting to break. Maybe, just maybe, he'd catch up with Rex later—after Skywalker had barreled through the blockade, of course, and before his own men would be sent to the surface to deal with the aftermath.

Cody could already sense how intense the invasion was going to be. The Twi’lek had endured horrors that were almost beyond comprehension. The stories of Master Di’s fate, along with the remnants of the Republic's forces, painted a grim picture. Yet, somehow, this woman—this survivor—was still standing. It was a miracle in itself. If anyone could withstand such brutality and emerge on the other side, it was someone like her.

“We can slow down. There's no need to rush—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice cold and resolute. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, her breath labored, but she pushed forward without faltering. Cody didn’t press the issue. If she was stubborn enough to ignore the pain of her injury, who was he to challenge it?

They continued down the hallway, and soon they arrived at the door to the bridge. Cody braced himself for what he anticipated would be a tense confrontation—an explosive exchange with the sole survivor of the last deployment to Ryloth. He understood her anger. Waking up to find yourself discarded, abandoned off-world—it wasn’t a feeling he would wish on anyone. Still, part of him was curious: what made a natural-born, someone with a choice, willing to join this cause? He and his brothers had been bred for war, for duty. She, however, had chosen it.

The door slid open, and Cody spoke just as they entered, his voice steady.

“Generals—”

The woman remained silent at his side as they approached the holotable, where the strategy for the upcoming invasion was already unfolding.

“Cody, right on schedule.” General Kenobi acknowledged him, turning back to his data with a nod. “We’ll need to start preparing the men for deployment soon. Skywalker’s forces managed to breach the blockade, and they’re routing here now. Once they arrive, they’ll establish a protective command perimeter around the planet for the invasion.” Kenobi paused, his expression shifting as he turned toward the woman. With a brief gesture toward another officer, he resumed his transmission with the leadership on Coruscant.

Cody watched as several Jedi joined the conversation via hologram. Master Yoda’s image appeared, and the wise, ancient figure’s gaze landed on the woman standing beside him.

“Arrived, to provide intel on locating the Twi’lek survivors on Ryloth, I see.” Yoda’s voice, raspy but commanding, filled the room.

Cody saw the woman’s nostrils flare, the faintest sign of irritation. Yet, with a controlled breath, she nodded her acknowledgment.

“I can only provide information from before my...unwanted departure from the planet,” she began, but was swiftly cut off by Master Windu’s firm voice.

“The intel you offer will be sufficient, citizen. Any information you can provide might aid our forces in locating Cham’s fighters, especially since the final stand of the 303 was unsuccessful. Tragic, but unfortunately, that sentiment is becoming all too common in this conflict,” Windu continued, his tone flat and dismissive.

At that moment, Cody could feel the woman’s restraint snap, and he knew an eruption was imminent.

“Tragic? That’s all you have to say about it?” Her voice was sharp, laced with a fury that Cody could feel emanating from her. “I thought the Jedi were supposed to be compassionate?” She hissed, the words like a venomous strike. With a swift motion, she dropped her bag onto the durasteel floor of the bridge, the loud thud reverberating through the room, even reaching the transmission coms.

“We are,” Windu replied, seemingly unbothered. “As I was saying—”

“Your definition of compassion and mine are very different,” she cut him off, standing taller, her posture rigid. “What happened to those men—those brave men whom you left to die, I might add—was more than tragic. It was unimaginable.” The words were sharp, every syllable laced with grief and anger. Cody could see the tension in her shoulders, her jaw clenched as if she were holding back more than she could afford.

Mace Windu’s voice came again, but his words only fueled the fire. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re now working to bring freedom to Ryloth.”

“So now, this invasion is worth your attention.” she spat, her voice cold and full of contempt. “Not the countless rotations we spent pleading for reinforcements?” She slammed her palm down on the edge of the table, her eyes now locked on Kenobi as if seeking a Jedi with more understanding than Windu or the others on the Council. From Cody’s experience, Kenobi was certainly more empathetic, more willing to listen—but he doubted even his leader could calm the fury that radiated from this woman.

Kenobi’s tone softened, his voice steady and measured. “What happened on Ryloth was unfortunate, and I understand that what you and your forces endured was deeply upsetting. My condolences for the RAR forces you lost. Perhaps, by helping us locate the Twi’lek freedom fighters, their sacrifices may not have been in vain.”

The woman seemed to pause, her gaze lingering on Kenobi, as if weighing his words. For a brief moment, she appeared to consider his compassionate approach—but it wasn’t enough to quell her anger.

“Kenobi, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice tight but curious. Cody watched as Kenobi nodded. “When was the last time you actually spoke to your men?” she continued, her tone sharp. “I’m not talking about battle plans or troop logistics. I mean, when was the last time you took the time to ask how they’re doing? I know you Jedi have...a sense of things, and I don’t pretend to understand it. But I’m a doctor. I know when people are hurting, when they need more than just orders and missions. And I see that the Jedi could be doing more for the men who fight these battles for you. The RAR may be disbanded, and those of us like me cast aside, but the disregard your order has for these men—it’s obvious. And it angers me.”

Her words were like a punch to the gut, and Cody felt the weight of her anger and her pain. The raw emotion she carried in her voice made it clear: this wasn’t just about the battle, or the cause. It was about the men who fought, and the people who had been forgotten. She wasn’t angry at him, Cody realized. She was angry for him.

For a moment, silence settled over the room, as Kenobi and the others absorbed her words. Cody stood in stunned disbelief. He never imagined he would witness Obi-Wan—of all people—being the target of such a verbal barrage, let alone one that left his leader looking uncomfortably guilty. The transmission from Master Windu cut off abruptly, as if something in her words had struck a chord with the Jedi Master.

That’s a first, Cody thought to himself.

Next came the transmission from the Jedi at the temple. Master Yoda’s solemn image appeared, his expression heavy with thought. “Much to discuss, we shall have. Concerns for the clone army—an important notion. Hear them, you will, Obi-Wan,” he said, his voice calm yet grave, before disappearing from the feed as well.

Cody glanced around the bridge. It felt as though time had frozen, everyone holding their breath, waiting for Kenobi’s response. He knew exactly why. His brothers, like him, were curious to hear how their Jedi leader would address the woman’s accusations.

It wasn’t that Cody felt neglected—overall, he knew that most of the Jedi respected their ideas and military strategies. But, in some ways, she wasn’t wrong in her assessment. It was difficult to express these feelings without coming across as ungrateful. The Jedi, for all their wisdom and kindness, weren’t always attentive to the needs of the clones. They were kinder than the Kaminoans, certainly, but that didn’t mean they truly understood or took the time to listen to the men who fought and bled for them.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan said, carefully choosing his words to avoid provoking another outburst.

“Commander Cody, may I see your helmet?” she asked, turning toward him. Without hesitation, he nodded and passed the helmet to her, his fingers brushing the cool surface as her delicate hand circled the rim.

“Have you ever wondered how the armor these men wear truly functions? Or how impractical it can be?” she asked, holding the helmet out toward the Jedi. Cody was taken aback by her understanding. She seemed to grasp the very complaints he often muttered under his breath to the new troopers—that over time, they would adapt to the constricting armor and the limited visibility through the viewport.

All eyes turned to Kenobi as he took the helmet in his hands, turning it over thoughtfully before peering inside. He paused for a moment, then, without a word, slipped it over his head. Cody’s chest tightened. He couldn’t help but watch, his breath catching as Obi-Wan’s shoulders sagged for an instant. The Jedi’s head tilted slightly to the right before he slowly removed the helmet, a solemn expression on his face.

“Excuse me, Sir,” she said, turning toward his Lieutenant. “What’s your name, Trooper?” Her voice, to Cody’s surprise, was calm—soothing even—something he had not expected from her given the way she’d stormed aboard the ship ready to reign hell.

“Uh, Waxer, Ma’am,” came the stammered response, as Cody watched Waxer blush bright red, his helmet tucked awkwardly under his arm. The trooper stood straighter, visibly flustered by her attention.

“Waxer, would you mind if I demonstrated some of the challenges I’ve noticed with the standard armor, from a medical perspective?” Her tone was respectful, almost measured. Cody’s brow furrowed. He’d never experienced anyone openly seeking consent before touching his men. Even the rare doctors who weren’t his brothers in arms simply did what they had to without question. Not that he minded—their intent was always to help—but there was something about the way she asked that felt different, more deliberate, and somehow more considerate.

Waxer nodded, his face still flushed but giving a stiff acknowledgment. All around them, the rest of the troopers on the bridge seemed to lean in, their attention drawn to the unexpected display.

With quiet confidence, she reached forward and gently lifted Waxer’s arm, showing the Jedi where the armor's design created limitations in movement.

“Now, as you can see here,” she continued, her voice unwavering, “the gap between the codpiece and the thigh armor is so minimal that if you try to move your leg too far, you risk cutting off circulation or causing discomfort. It’s a design flaw that’s hard to overlook.”

She then lifted his leg with one hand, her fingers careful around the back of his knee, and Waxer’s eyes widened. Cody, who had been watching intently, had to suppress a laugh. He could see the poor trooper’s discomfort—this close to his manhood, and she, so composed, going about her demonstration like it was nothing.

Cody could barely contain himself, but he knew better than to let the laughter slip. Instead, he focused on her point, silently agreeing with the doctor. She was showing, not just telling, and doing so in a way that drew every eye on the bridge. There was no mistaking that her expertise was being absorbed by every man in the room, even if her demonstration was a little...uncomfortable for the trooper involved. The men had limited experiences with women, especially one this pretty. Cody internally realized this was going to be the talk of their platoon for ages. 

“Waxer, could you explain how physically taxing the armor becomes during extended periods of wear, particularly when sitting down?” she asked, gently lowering his leg. Obi-Wan’s gaze shifted toward his trooper, and Cody couldn’t help but watch in anticipation. It wasn’t quite an interrogation, but he knew the woman’s intentions were for the benefit of the men. Despite understanding that, he was grateful she hadn’t singled him out, instead choosing to address his Lieutenant.

“It’s not unbearable, Ma’am,” Waxer replied, his voice awkward, his hand reaching to the back of his neck as though uncomfortable with the attention.

“But the strain becomes tiresome, doesn’t it? Surely something lighter would improve your functionality,” she pressed, her eyes encouraging him to speak freely, to be honest.

“It does get heavy, especially at the end of a long day. Sitting is painful, yes,” Waxer admitted quietly, the weariness in his voice unmistakable.

Obi-Wan’s expression remained unreadable, though Cody could tell he was considering her words with an intensity he rarely showed. The woman’s pace slowed, the point seemingly made. She turned toward Obi-Wan, her tone becoming more solemn.

“I know the Senate views this army as little more than a tool, a collection of military assets,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a deep sadness. “But they are men. They deserve respect. They deserve someone who will listen to their concerns without the threat of decommissioning. I’ve spent enough time with them to understand that they rarely voice complaints, and certainly not to the Jedi.” Her words trailed off, her thoughts seemingly taking her to a darker place for a moment.

Cody hadn’t met the clones she’d served with, but he’d heard whispers of their final stand. The conditions on Ryloth had been so dire that the Senate had ordered all RAR workers off the field, dissolving their contracts with frightening swiftness. He didn’t want to dwell on the horrors she’d been forced to endure, but a part of him felt a warmth in his chest at the concern she expressed. She might have been removed from the conflict, but something in her wanted to ensure that, in the end, something good was done for the men she had served alongside. He could respect that, perhaps even understand it better than he’d like to admit.

“Doctor,” Obi-Wan said, his voice calm, waiting for her to properly introduce herself as she repositioned herself beside Cody at the table.

“Killough,” she replied, her voice cool. “Though I’ve neglected that surname for so long to avoid unwanted associations… You may call me Mae.” Her words hung in the air, a subtle hint of something deeper beneath the surface. Cody recalled the name she’d given him in the hangar. It wasn’t the same name, he was certain of it. For a moment, he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before, but the look on the General’s face told him it was significant. There was an unspoken conversation that passed between Mae and Obi-Wan, something quiet yet powerful, before the tension seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had come.

“I see,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, his gaze unwavering. “The Jedi do not hold attachment to their origins, only to who we become. A sentiment we share.” He paused, stroking his beard for a moment before continuing. “Well, Mae, if you prepare a report, I’d be more than willing to share it with the Council—and perhaps with a contact of mine in the Senate. We’ll see what can be done.”

Mae said nothing at first, her eyes scanning the holographic map displayed before them, detailing the planet’s surface. She seemed deep in thought, her mind focused. Finally, she spoke again, her voice measured. “Cham’s forces were fleeing through the canyons, hoping to reach a set of caves to hide from the Separatists. They were traveling with women and children. I wasn’t told the exact location, but…” She zoomed in on a quadrant, her finger tracing a specific area. “I believe they were near this sector.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Thank you. Compassion is in rare supply these days. Your concerns will be passed along, Doctor.” He hesitated for a moment, his words softening. “And, I offer my condolences for the loss of your comrades. May this mission we are about to undertake bring honor to their sacrifice.”

Mae—Cody would need to adjust to that name now—bent down, retrieving something from her small bag. She set it gently on the table in front of them. “My personal reports,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “If that is all, I’ll be on my way. I believe the transport I arrived on will soon be departing for Coruscant. Seeing as my services are no longer required…” Her voice held a trace of irritation now, the faintest venom creeping into her words at the implication of being dismissed.

“Cody, would you ensure the doctor makes it to the shuttle?” Kenobi asked, his attention quickly drawn to a communication officer who had resumed his work after receiving transmissions from Skywalker's fleet.

Cody nodded, and this time, as he bent down to grab the woman’s bag, she made no move to stop him. They walked in silence toward the lift, the hum of the station echoing around them. As the door slid shut, Cody adjusted the weight of the helmet under his arm.

"Thank you," he said quietly after a moment. It wasn’t much, but the weight of what she’d done lingered in the air between them. She had openly criticized both the Jedi and the Senate on behalf of the clone army. It was the kind of conversation Cody had heard whispered in the barracks or out on the planet's surface with his brothers, but never voiced to those who could actually bring about change. The briefing he’d received before heading to fetch her had made it clear that she was a senior officer in the now disbanded organization. A voice like hers carried weight, and to wield that power in their favor was a debt Cody knew he could never repay.

“No need, Commander,” she replied with a soft shake of her head. “You and your men do more than anyone could ask. A simple conversation from me won’t change that fact, but…” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor as she drew in a labored breath. “If I can make it any easier, it’s a privilege.”

“Not many Natborns would say that,” he remarked after a moment, his voice thoughtful.

“Well, I think that’s because the Republic has done its best to keep us apart,” she said, her tone tinged with frustration. “It’s easier to dehumanize clones into just military assets when the citizens only see you at a distance.” Her eyes met his, and Cody could tell she didn’t share that perspective herself, though she understood it all too well.

“I suppose,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with the resignation he’d grown so familiar with. “But this is what we were created for. I guess it’s understandable why people might assume that’s all we are.”

“I still believe,” she said softly, her voice steady but firm, “just as your Jedi believes, that we possess an element of choice. Our origins do not define us. That’s true for anyone who lives, breathes, and has a beating heart—like you and me.” Her words lingered between them as the lift doors opened, and they stepped out into the quiet, sterile hallway. Together, they walked in silence, the soft echo of their footsteps the only sound as they made their way toward the hangar.

The hum of activity in the hangar grew louder as they approached. Inside, the air was thick with the rush of preparation: transports lined up in rows, engines warming, the buzz of soldiers and mechanics alike moving in swift, practiced coordination. And then there was the unmistakable presence of blue and white plastoid armor, troopers milling about, readying for the battle ahead. General Skywalker’s forces had arrived, and the wheels of the invasion were beginning to turn.

Cody paused for a moment as they entered the hangar, his eyes scanning the bustling scene. It was clear that the next phase of their mission was about to begin—the invasion of Ryloth was imminent. Yet, amidst the whirlwind of activity, this brief, unexpected reprieve felt like a stolen moment, fragile and fleeting.

There was something about the chaos around him, the tension of the impending battle, that made this silence between him and Mae feel even more significant. For a moment, it was as if time had slowed, and the weight of her words settled in.

As they approached the transport heading back to the capital, Mae reached out a hand for the bag slung over his shoulder. Without a word, Cody passed it to her, the exchange quiet and familiar.

“Well, Commander,” she said, standing at the bottom of the ramp, her gaze meeting his. “I wish you well with your invasion.”

“Thank you,” Cody replied, his voice low. He hesitated, his curiosity getting the better of him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your plans now?”

He knew she no longer had a contract with the military, and without steady employment, life in the heart of the Republic would surely be difficult. The expense of it all—well, he couldn’t imagine what it would take to navigate that world. But then again, that kind of resourcefulness was something that still felt like a foreign concept to him.

Mae took a moment to adjust the strap of her bag, her eyes momentarily distant. “I might try to find some backwater planet, somewhere far from the conflict.” She sighed, a soft, almost melancholic sound. “I don’t regret helping in this war, not for a second, but...” She paused, her words trailing off for a moment before continuing, her voice quieter. “It would be nice to return to my original purpose—to heal. I think I’ve seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime.”

There was an unmistakable heaviness in her tone, a quiet resignation that spoke volumes about the toll the war had taken on her. Cody couldn’t help but sense the depth of her weariness, as though the weight of all she had witnessed had become too much to carry any longer.

“I think that sounds like a good idea, Doctor. Take care of yourself,” Cody said, his gaze following Mae as she nodded and began walking up the ramp. She didn’t speak another word on the matter, and before long, she disappeared into the transport. For a brief moment, Cody let the events of the past few hours linger in his mind, reflecting on her words, her actions, and the unspoken understanding that had passed between them.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a sharp knock on his shoulder armor broke his reverie. He turned to find Rex standing beside him, a grin spreading across his face.

“Who was that?” Rex asked, his voice laced with curiosity, his head catching the light of the hanger in his short blond hair as he nodded his head in her direction. “And what’s all this comm chatter saying Kenobi and Windu got yelled at by a civvie? Was that the woman the boys won’t stop talking about?”

Cody should have known Rex would be nearby, especially with the arrival of his men. The camaraderie between them ran deep, forged in the heat of countless battles, but the closeness they shared was also born from years of working side by side. Rex had a way of sensing when something was up, and today was no different.

“Yes, she was the one,” Cody replied, his voice thoughtful as he watched Rex’s mischievous brown eyes study him closely. He knew his friend would want a full debrief at some point, but right now wasn’t the time. So instead, Cody decided to give him a taste of the story, without diving too deep. “But, it was… well, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen. An absolute spitfire, that woman.”

Rex raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh? Does the Commander have a little crush?” Before Cody could respond, Rex gave him a playful shove, his laughter echoing around them.

Cody rolled his eyes, feeling the familiar weight of Rex’s teasing. “Not likely. We all know you’re the one with a thing for redheads,” he shot back with a smirk, his tone just as playful.

Rex shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed. “Didn’t get a good enough look at her. Now, spill,” he demanded, nudging Cody with his elbow as they started walking back toward the bridge. “What happened? You’re holding out on me.”

Cody sighed, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. He knew better than to resist Rex’s curiosity. “Fine,” he relented, his voice lowering slightly. “She spoke up for us, Rex. For the clones. In front of Kenobi and the other Jedi. She—” He paused, considering how to describe Mae’s presence, the impact she’d had in such a short time. “She didn’t hold back. She said things none of us ever would. Or could.”

Rex’s eyes widened a little, though his grin never faltered. “A civilian? Getting in their faces like that?” He shook his head in disbelief, clearly impressed. “I gotta meet this woman.”

As they walked, the noise of the hangar and the looming preparations for war seemed to fade into the background. The weight of the upcoming battle would soon return, but for now, Cody allowed himself a moment of quiet gratitude.

For all the pain and chaos they’d been through, there had been something almost... refreshing about Mae. She’d spoken on their behalf—spoken truths that were often ignored. In the midst of the war machine, she’d reminded him that there were still those who saw them as something more than just soldiers. He’d never forget that.

“Maybe you will,” Cody said, his voice quieter now as they neared the bridge. “Maybe you will, Vod.”

I really wanted to do something special for a Gravity Falls print since I really love that show! Then I thought about a Mystery Shack cut away and here we are. Super inaccurate layout but a lot of fun to do!

Between Hearts and Ruin Pt. 2 "Someone New"

Summary: Tech and Leena’s marriage is strained, with mounting tensions that leave Tech feeling exhausted from carrying the weight of trying to fix their issues. Despite his efforts, he’s reached a breaking point, unsure of how much longer he can continue. The same night Tech starts to find some peace with his uncertain decision about their future, he meets someone new, stirring unexpected feelings. Meanwhile, Leena, who isn’t ready to let go, finds solace in the company of someone she knows only vaguely. Both are left questioning the path forward, caught between their unresolved past and the pull of new, uncharted connections.

Word Count: 10k

Pairing(s): Tech / OC Leena

Warnings: Mentions of splitting up, so much Angst in this bad boy, brief mentions of losing spouse

Author's Note: Hi friends! This is a 3 part story crossover between myself and @leenathegreengirl! All characters are part of her Pabu AU. All other chapters will be posted at the same time and linked below. Please check out her page to learn more about the AU if you are new, and if you have stuck around for a while... buckle up because it's going to get intense... You can find a link HERE on her account to a book version of the full story!

Masterlist |Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

As the last sliver of sunlight faded beneath the horizon, Tech made his way through the dense trees, heading toward the far side of the island. The solitude of the home had always been one of his favorite things—its isolation was his refuge. But he knew that wasn’t the case for Leena. She had always hated how cut off it was from the rest of the world.

Now, in the aftermath of their heated confrontation, the weight of everything—his broken marriage, Leena’s begging, and Kayden’s unexpected siding with his decision to leave— left an odd swirling in his stomach. The journey, already daunting, felt even more taxing in the stillness. With the sting of alcohol dulling his senses and his emotions a chaotic swirl, each step felt uneven, his boots catching on unseen roots beneath him. The ground seemed to shift with the weight of his thoughts.

Despite the unease he carried with him, there was an undeniable lightness in Tech’s chest. It was as if the burden that had weighed him down for so long had finally been lifted. For the first time in what felt like ages, he could breathe. There was a quiet relief in knowing that, slowly, others were beginning to see things from his perspective—not holding him solely responsible for the fallout that followed his decision to end the marriage.

Yes, he had been the one to initiate the split, and that made him the villain in their eyes at first. But with time—and the painful explanations that came with it—his friends and family had started to understand. They saw the cracks he’d long felt, the fundamental misalignment between him and Leena. It wasn’t just his perception; it was real, and now, they could all see it.

Tech just hoped that with this newfound understanding, they could finally begin to heal. They both deserved that.

There were no other homes on this side of Pabu—just the occasional wildlife that wandered through—and almost no signs of life beyond that. So when Tech finally spotted the faint outline of his house, he was taken aback to see a figure standing in the distance.

The lack of light made him hesitate. Who could it be, waiting for him out there? A wave of unease washed over him. Could Leena have ignored her sister’s plea and circled back, despite his insistence on having space? Maybe one of his brothers had overheard the argument and come to check on him. Mae had been stopping by every now and then, making sure he was managing, even bringing food when she thought he was getting too lost in his own head.

Whoever it was on the porch, Tech wasn’t in the mood for company. He was ready to send them on their way. And as he drew closer, his gaze locked on the figure, straining to make out the shape—at least enough to tell it was a woman. But just as he was about to get a clearer look, a voice cut through the silence. One he didn’t recognize.

“Finally. Shep said I’d find you here,” she said, hopping down from the railing she had been perched on and stepping toward him without hesitation. The faint moonlight barely illuminated her, leaving her features shadowed and indistinct. All he could discern was her slight, shorter frame and long hair, flowing down around her waist. Beyond that, he had little to go on.

Tech cursed himself internally for grabbing his glasses instead of his goggles. He didn’t expect to need them since he’d attended the party, and now he regretted not having the tactical advantage. If he'd had them, he could’ve gotten a clearer picture of who was waiting for him.

“Why would Shep send you to find me here? I do not know who you are,” he asked bluntly, stepping onto the porch, where the woman stood blocking his path. There was something unsettling about how comfortable she seemed in his space—it felt almost imposing.

“I don’t come on land much, especially not for small talk,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “I need help with my boat’s engine and I’ll be on my way. Normally, I can handle it myself, but the nature of this repair is a bit out of my skill set. Shep mentioned someone settled in the old shophouse and knew their way around mechanics. Considering this engine is responsible not only for my work, but also my lodging, it is imperative it is repaired.”

Her words were stripped of frills, no apologies or introductions sprinkled in. It was a way of speaking Tech used himself, and was often told came off as rude, but hearing it from her felt oddly refreshing.  He didn’t often meet those who prioritized the content of their words over the pleasantries society demanded. Whoever she was, she seemed self-sufficient—likely isolated, and perhaps she spent so much time out on the water that is why their paths had never crossed.

With a sigh, Tech glanced over the motor’s outline. How she’d managed to lug it up here on her own, he couldn’t quite figure out. She must be stronger than she looked. Carefully, he slid past her, mindful not to bump into her as he opened the door.

“I can take a look, but I won’t make any promises,” he said, flicking the porch light on before coming forward to assist her in getting it inside to his workbench. The soft glow of the light revealed more than he expected. In the near-darkness, he’d only caught outlines, but now, under the warm light, her appearance was illuminated.

Her skin, paler than his but still kissed by the sun, was marked with stark blue lines—tattoos that covered her arms and torso. She wore a wetsuit, unzipped and tied loosely at the waist, with only a swim top beneath. The material tightly held her breasts in a way that presented them without drawing too much attention to them. 

Dark hair, windblown and slightly frizzy from the sea air, framed her face in messy waves. But it was the strand of white at her hairline that caught his eye—a single, stark contrast to the deep bronze of the rest of her hair. The juxtaposition of it stood out, almost jarring. 

Only furthering the odd clash of features, was the way the woman’s eyes looked. In the darkness it was hard to tell, but he almost thought they looked to be differing shades, but perhaps it was just the light playing tricks on him. If he had to guess one was fair, and one dark - a rare genetic disorder he’d hardly come across in all his travels. 

“You’re staring,” she noted flatly, devoid of emotion, as if merely stating the fact rather than insinuating anything by it.

She wasn’t wrong. He was staring. There was something about her—something both strikingly familiar and entirely unique. Tech was certain he’d remember someone so visually intriguing, and standing here he was taking the opportunity to study just how complex her features appeared to make her so fascinating. But, he knew there were rude connotations with staring, especially at women. 

“Apologies—” Tech told her, reaching out to lift the engine off the bench on the porch she had sat it upon, hoping the weight of it could distract him from the now creeping in guilt at his unintended reaction to studying her features as boldly as he had. 

“That is unnecessary.” Her tone remained matter-of-fact. “It is a purely biological response. Men of sexual maturity usually stare at women upon first meeting to assess their suitability for mating purposes.”

Tech knew the statement was accurate. If anything, it was the kind of fact he might have casually inserted into a conversation himself. But knowing it was true and accepting that he was currently at the mercy of his own instincts were two very different things. For once, he found himself at a rare loss for words.

"I've made you uncomfortable," she said, her voice gentle yet knowing, as she noticed the lingering silence. With a slight step forward, she reached out, effortlessly lifting the other side of the heavy engine, helping him slide it inside with ease. Tech couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles of her arm, though slim, tightened as she moved, her strength evident in the graceful motion. There was something almost mesmerizing about how the delicate frame of the woman hid such a quiet, powerful strength.

"No," Tech replied, shaking his head slightly, his tone softening as he turned to face her. "You haven’t. You just... caught me off guard." He offered a faint smile, trying to ease the tension. She didn’t return the smile, instead, her gaze wandered across the interior of his home, taking in the space with quiet observation.

He hadn’t been here long—just a few months at most—and even then, he’d only bothered with the essentials. The walls bore the signs of a hurried repair, the bare minimum to make the place functional again. When Leena had suggested painting over the natural wood beams, he’d quickly declined. He preferred their rough, unaltered beauty over any kind of artificial touch. Instead, she had hung a few of her own paintings as a compromise. But after she’d left to stay with her sister, he’d taken them down. Not out of spite, but because they felt like a reminder of something he wasn’t ready to hold on to. He had turned them face down and tucked them away.

In the far corner, his bed was neatly made, a simple, practical setup. The only real sign of life in the space was the workbench, cluttered with tools and various projects. Otherwise, the room was bare, almost sterile—unadorned with any personal mementos or decoration. He spent most of his time here working, the space merely a place to rest and recharge. He hadn’t seen the point in making it more than that.

Tech couldn’t help but watch as the woman’s attention seemed to deepen, her eyes tracing every detail of the room with a growing sense of awe. Her posture shifted, the casual curiosity transforming into something almost reverent, as though she were witnessing something sacred. It was an odd reaction, one that stirred an unspoken question within him, but he didn’t voice it. Instead, he turned away, walking toward his workbench, his mind already slipping into the familiar rhythm of assessment.

He welcomed the shift in focus, even if it was an unexpected one. Despite the intrusion into his quiet evening, the distraction of repairing her engine was a welcome reprieve. His hands itched to get to work, to twist, tighten, and fix. It was something he had always excelled at—tinkering, problem-solving, creating order from chaos. The hum of machines and the precise motions of working with his hands had always been a balm for his restless mind.

As he stood before the workbench, setting his tools into place, a sense of calm washed over him. Here, in this space, he didn’t have to think about anything beyond the task at hand. There was comfort in the simplicity of it, the clarity that came with focusing solely on the work. And for tonight, that was enough. He would fix her engine, quiet the constant whirl of thoughts in his head, and let the hum of mechanical precision anchor him.

"You mentioned that you don’t often come upon land," he said, his voice casually probing, though there was a subtle undercurrent of genuine curiosity. He had noticed her mannerisms, the quiet confidence in the way she moved, the calmness that radiated from her despite the uncertainty in her eyes. There was something magnetic about her, a presence that intrigued him in ways he couldn’t fully explain. He found himself wanting to know more, eager to uncover the layers beneath the surface. The island was small, and his isolation felt even more acute with every passing day. Meeting someone new, someone like her, might be the distraction his disoriented mind desperately needed. He had to admit, he was craving a connection.

It wasn’t lost on him how the people here had aligned themselves with Leena, leaving him feeling like an outsider in his own world. Her departure had shifted things in ways he hadn’t expected, and as much as he tried to focus on his work, there was a hollow sense of loneliness gnawing at him. He was more than just a little intrigued by this woman, but he also couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own solitude. He needed something or someone to fill that space, even if just for a moment, to help him regain some sense of balance.

He waited, watching her closely, as if hoping for some sort of sign—an opening, a clue to the story she carried with her. Her response, when it came, was measured, but there was something in her voice that suggested she wasn’t used to speaking of herself openly.

"I don’t," she replied softly, her eyes briefly scanning the horizon outside before she turned back to meet his gaze. "I prefer the open water. There’s more freedom out there."

Her words were quiet, but there was a depth to them that caught his attention. Freedom. She said it as though it meant something much more than just physical space—like it was a lifeline, a choice that had shaped her in ways he couldn’t yet understand.

He nodded slowly, his curiosity deepening. "That must be… quiet,” he filled in the gaps. She preferred isolation, as did he. He didn’t mean to impose too much into the brief explanation he’d been gifted. 

"It is," she hummed, stepping closer to the workbench as she watched him carefully remove the cover to reveal the intricate mechanics beneath. Her gaze followed each of his movements with quiet interest, her posture poised, almost as though she were taking mental notes. "I’d like to learn how to fix it, if you don’t mind showing me," she continued, her voice steady but with a note of earnestness. "I’m a fast learner, I assure you."

There was something in her tone—an unwavering self-assurance, mixed with a quiet determination—that resonated with him. It wasn’t just the request itself, but the way she framed it, as though she was accustomed to taking things into her own hands. The insistence on self-sufficiency, the desire to acquire knowledge—it was something he recognized, something familiar. It reminded him of himself, in many ways.

He paused for a moment, watching her carefully. There was a sharpness in her eyes that spoke of a mind that didn’t settle for surface-level answers. It made him wonder about her life before this—what kind of work did she do? She certainly didn’t strike him as the type to spend her days on a fishing boat. No, there was an intelligence about her, a kind of quiet brilliance that seemed out of place in the simple life of a fisherwoman.

As he considered it, he found himself intrigued—what else lay beneath her calm exterior? What had shaped her into this woman, standing here now, asking to learn the very thing he was most skilled at? There was a story there, one he couldn’t help but want to uncover.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, his voice steady as he continued working, his focus shifting briefly to her. “It’s not often I get the chance to share my skills with a willing observer.” He noticed the way she relaxed, her shoulders easing from the tightness they’d held moments before, and it felt like a small victory.

It was then that it struck him—he hadn’t actually learned her name, nor had he shared his. A faint sense of awkwardness flickered in him. “Tech,” he said simply, almost as though it were enough explanation. She paused, her eyebrow arching in quiet disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

The question caught him off guard, and in the dim light of the workbench lantern, he finally took in the full clarity of her features. He had been too absorbed in the task at hand, but now, noticing her expression more closely, he saw that her eyes were in fact distinctly different from one another—one a deep brown, the other a striking shade of blue.

"My name is Tech," he clarified, his tone a bit more deliberate now as he watched her reaction. He could see the confusion in her gaze shift into something closer to understanding, her posture softening further as she absorbed the answer.

“I suppose pleasantries were not properly exchanged,” she said, her voice softening slightly as she spoke, a touch of self-awareness creeping into her words. “Apologies. I’m not exactly skilled at handling... that side of human interaction, the way most people seem to manage so effortlessly.”

As she spoke, Tech caught the faintest flicker of something in her expression—an almost imperceptible hint of embarrassment, lingering in her eyes and the way she looked away briefly, as if she were retreating from her own vulnerability. It was a rare thing to witness, this crack in the calm exterior she had so carefully maintained, and for a moment, it made her seem less like the composed figure standing before him and more like someone who, despite her quiet strength, was still working out the nuances of human connection, same as him.

“I understand,” Tech said, offering a small nod. “It’s not a strength I possess, either.”

She didn’t elaborate further, and he didn’t press her to. After all, what more could be said on the matter? The silence between them stretched comfortably for a moment as she glanced down at his work, her focus sharp as she examined the mechanics with quiet interest.

“Marina,” she said at last, her voice softer now, as though sharing something personal.

“Your name, I presume,” Tech replied with a small, rhetorical smile, though his words carried a hint of curiosity beneath their casual tone.

“Yes.” She moved a little closer then, just enough to peer over his shoulder at his work without encroaching too much on his space. It was an act of quiet observation, and yet, he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the subtle shift in proximity. Her presence seemed to fill the room in ways that made the air feel warmer, and he could feel the heat of her skin against his, even through the layers of his sweater. An odd, fleeting sense of discomfort stirred within him.

He felt the sudden urge to shed his sweater, as though it were too much to bear, the warmth of the room and her nearness intensifying that familiar restlessness. Without thinking much of it, he pulled the garment off, tossing it aside and adjusting his undershirt to cover his torso more comfortably.

“Fitting name for someone who spends all their time on the water,” he said, his voice drifting back into casual conversation. Small talk wasn’t unfamiliar to him, particularly with the way people had interacted with him over the years. The banter, though often fleeting, filled the spaces between moments like these.

“It is,” she agreed, her voice almost flat. “Just as Tech seems to suit someone who works with mechanics.”

Her words were pointed, but not unkind. There was a dry humor in them that Tech could appreciate, the way she spoke as though the names weren’t just labels, but something that defined their purpose. The banter, brief as it was, felt oddly comfortable, like two people who had learned the unspoken rules of conversation without the need to over explain.

Tech glanced at her briefly, a faint smile still tugging at his lips from their exchange. The humor was subtle, but it was enough to lighten the air between them. He found himself curious, though—there was something intriguing about her. In the quiet moments of their conversation, he could tell she was more than she let on. Her directness, the way she carried herself, and even the way she observed everything with such intent spoke volumes.

As his hands continued to work on the engine, his gaze drifted to her once more, still absorbed in her quiet inspection. Something in the back of his mind nudged him forward, pushing him to ask a question that had been lingering.

"So," he began, his tone soft but deliberate, as though he were testing the waters. "What is it that you do, Marina?"

The question was casual enough, but there was an edge of curiosity in his voice. Her name had already begun to unfold something deeper—like a thread that, once pulled, could lead to something more. He was reluctant to pry, but he couldn’t help himself. There was a spark in her that made him want to know more about her, what drove her, what she did when she wasn’t here, observing the inner workings of machines.

She didn’t answer immediately, and for a second, he wondered if the question was too forward. But when she finally spoke, her voice was calm, her words measured.

"I… work on the water," Marina said, her eyes never leaving the engine as she spoke, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corner of her lips. There was something about her quiet confidence that intrigued him, but it was the weight of her words that caught his full attention. "I study wildlife—mostly marine life—to ensure that fishermen maintain healthy, sustainable fishing practices for each species. Pabu is a small island. We can’t afford to deplete our resources, not like other places might be able to. If we’re not careful, we could fish a species to extinction without even realizing it." Her voice softened as she spoke, and the distant look in her eyes suggested she cared deeply for the work she did. "There has to be balance. My hope is that the research I do can shed light on the species that inhabit our waters—how they interact with each other, what they need to thrive, and ultimately, how we can be better stewards of their environment."

Tech listened intently, absorbing her words. He had heard murmurs before—brief conversations between his brothers about the importance of respecting nature’s balance. He remembered Crosshair’s annoyance at a woman who had scolded him and the others for fishing in the same spot too often, but he had never really considered the logic behind it, at least not fully. Now, hearing Marina speak with such conviction, the reason behind her frustration became clear.

Her work was essential, perhaps more so than he had initially realized. The weight of responsibility she carried in ensuring the island’s natural balance didn’t falter resonated deeply with him. As she spoke, Tech found himself thinking of the other inhabitants of the island, many of whom likely viewed the ocean as a source of food and nothing more—never thinking about the long-term consequences of their actions. But Marina? She was thinking about the big picture. The long game. She saw the fragility of their existence, and more importantly, she was doing something about it.

“That is very sensible,” he said, his voice earnest. "Not many people have the scientific mind to think of things like that—to look beyond the surface and understand the ripple effects. It’s easy to just take what’s in front of you and not consider how it impacts the world around you."

Marina’s eyes shifted briefly to meet his, and for the first time, Tech saw something like a soft spark in her gaze—perhaps even a hint of appreciation for his words. She didn’t respond right away, instead letting his statement hang in the air between them as she considered it. When she spoke again, her tone was quieter, reflective.

"It’s hard," she admitted, a small trace of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "People don’t always understand why it’s important. They see the fish, they see the catch, and they only think about today. But they don’t see the big picture—the long-term effects that overfishing, pollution, or mismanagement can have on our waters and our way of life."

Tech nodded, his hands still moving idly over the engine, but his thoughts now occupied with the weight of her words. He understood the drive to protect the fragile balance of things. He had spent most of his life in a similar way—fixing things, repairing the unseen problems, ensuring that things worked in harmony. It was not all that different from what she did.

He gave her a thoughtful glance. "It’s a necessary fight, I imagine. But I can see how it might get lonely, standing on the edge of something so important and watching others not fully grasp its significance."

She didn’t answer at first, but the way her gaze softened and her posture relaxed just a little suggested he wasn’t entirely off the mark. After a beat, she spoke, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. "I’ve learned to be patient. Most people won’t get it right away, and that’s okay. What matters is that I keep pushing for it. For the future." She paused, then added, her tone firm once more, "The ocean has its own rhythm, its own cycle. If we don’t respect that, we’ll lose it. And we’ll lose ourselves along with it."

Tech stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the gravity of her words. There was a certain weight to the responsibility she carried, one that made him think of the work he did in a new light. In his world, the pieces often needed fixing because they had been neglected or overlooked. He hadn’t considered before how Marina’s world, too, was one of repair—only the damage was less obvious, and the cost of ignoring it was far greater.

“I think you’re doing important work,” he said at last, his voice low but steady. "You’re not just maintaining things; you’re preserving them. That’s not something most people even consider."

Marina gave him a small, grateful smile, the warmth in her expression making her seem more human, more approachable. It was a rare thing to see, and for a brief moment, Tech felt the isolation of his own existence shift just slightly. Maybe, just maybe, there were people out there who understood what it felt like to be on the outskirts while trying to contribute as much as possible. 

“I’m glad to hear someone understands,” Marina said with a quiet, appreciative smile. "It’s not exactly something that goes over well with most people. I’ve been called just about every insult under the sun at this point.” Her tone was almost detached as she spoke, like these words, these judgments, were merely facts of life—inevitable, unimportant things that didn’t carry the weight of emotion for her. There was a certain strength in the way she carried herself, a level of indifference to the opinions of others that Tech couldn’t help but admire. She had mastered the art of dismissing negativity without letting it touch her.

Tech’s gaze flickered down to his clothes, and he was reminded once again that he was still wearing his dress pants. The realization hit him that, given the nature of the task ahead, these pants were woefully unsuitable for the kind of hands-on work he was about to do. He needed something more comfortable—something that wouldn’t restrict his movements or get ruined in the process. He had become accustomed to the simplicity of more casual attire, the kind that let him move freely and focus entirely on the task at hand. The dress pants, with their stiff fabric, felt like an obstacle, especially in a situation like this. On top of that, his glasses kept slipping down his nose, something that was becoming increasingly frustrating as he worked. He missed his goggles, which fit more securely and didn’t distract him from the task at hand.

“If you don’t mind,” he began, pausing as he considered his words. “I’d prefer to change into something more suitable for a complex repair like this one—” He trailed off as he caught a quick glimpse of her reaction. It was subtle, but he noticed her slight flinch, a reflexive shift in her posture as if she had misinterpreted his words for something else.

“I can come back later, if this is a bad time,” she offered, immediately backpedaling, clearly thinking she might have overstepped. “I shouldn’t have barged in on your evening like this—”

“No, that’s not the issue,” Tech cut in gently, his voice softening. He realized that he had inadvertently made her feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to such delicate dynamics, especially when it came to interactions like this. "It’s just… fabric like this," he said, gesturing vaguely to his formal attire, "it’s overwhelming, and I prefer to be in something that doesn’t distract me. Something more comfortable." He hoped his explanation would make sense. It wasn’t so much the idea of changing—it was the sensation of being too confined by his clothes, the lack of freedom. The weight of them made everything feel more intense, and he didn’t want to be distracted while focusing on the repair.

Her gaze softened in response to his words, and he noticed the tension that had lingered in her posture ease away. She regarded him for a moment, silent and thoughtful, as though weighing his explanation, before giving a slow, measured nod. “I see. That makes sense,” she said quietly.

Tech offered her a small, almost grateful smile in return, his appreciation for her understanding more evident now. With a brief glance towards a storage cabinet near the wall, he turned away, preparing to step out of the room. Realizing he needed a moment to change, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a polite warning before he left. She didn’t raise her eyes from her inspection of the workspace but nodded in acknowledgement, her attention still fixed on the task at hand.

Tech hesitated at the door before leaving, reluctant to leave her alone, even though he knew it was unnecessary to feel that way truthfully. He didn’t particularly worry about her being alone in his humble space; the concern was more about her comfort. He understood how strange it could feel to be left alone in someone else’s environment. There was always that subtle sense of displacement, a quiet discomfort that could arise in such moments. He wanted to minimize that for her, even if it was just a small consideration.

Besides, the pressing need for more comfortable attire was calling out to him with every step he took away from the room. The confines of his dress pants felt like an increasingly oppressive reminder that he wasn’t quite in the right element for the task at hand.

Tech moved quickly as he stepped into the small bathroom. The soft hum of the wall light faintly in his ears as he undressed with practiced efficiency, eager to slip into something more practical. As he pulled his shirt off and changed into a simple pair of worn, comfortable trousers and a faded t-shirt, his eyes caught something on the bathroom shelf—a glint of metal, faint but unmistakable. It was his wedding band.

He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the small shelf, fingers lingering near the familiar, weathered ring. The silver had dulled over time, the once-brilliant shine now softened with wear. Dings in the metal he hadn’t bothered to buff out, and the green stone in the center. He hadn’t worn it in a while—hadn’t needed to, not after everything had unraveled. Yet, there it sat, a relic of a past life. The sharp pang in his chest was fleeting but sharp, a reminder of what once was, of who he had been before everything had changed. He set it down gently, almost reverently, before turning away, the old memories already slipping back into their place, tucked away in the corners of his mind.

Returning to the room, he found Marina still standing near the workbench, but her attention had shifted. She was now examining something with quiet interest on the wall. She was standing in front of one of the wooden beams, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of initials carved into the wood. Tech paused in the doorway, watching her for a moment. The initials were old, worn smooth by time, but the marks were still legible—two letters carved deeply into the beam. He recognized them instantly: K + M

A strange, quiet tension filled the air between them, and he could feel the weight of the moment settle heavily around him. His chest tightened, but he said nothing, allowing her the space to observe as she continued to trace the letters, her fingers moving over them like she was seeking something, and he wondered why she bothered in the first place.

Tech cleared his throat, stepping fully into the room, his gaze flicking from the initials to her face. He forced a small, neutral smile as he moved past her to the workbench. "They’ve been there for a long time," he replied. "Before I got here." She jumped slightly, surprised at his return it seemed as she withdrew her hand from the beam, though her gaze lingered for just a moment longer. The quiet stillness in the room grew, the weight of unsaid words hanging thick in the air.

He shifted uncomfortably, the silence pressing in on him. "I—" he began, but the words stalled in his throat. "It’s nothing of importance and no reason to mention," he finished, hoping the explanation would be enough to let the subject slip away, even if he wasn’t quite sure how to move past it himself.

Marina didn’t press him. Instead, she gave him a small, respectful nod, clearly sensing the personal nature of the moment. "I am curious," she said simply, and for the first time since arriving she actually inquired something from him.

“I just felt wrong covering them up. My uh…” he trailed off, uncertain how to drop the information. Given her responses so far, he doubted she would be that judgemental, but a part of him liked the idea of not divulging his recent split. This was likely one of the only non-partial parties left on the island to his recent divorce, and something made him apprehensive to lose the nonbias so quickly. Ultimately her questioning gaze won out and he continued, “My ex wife wanted to carve over them.”  

Her gaze didn’t falter, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, something softer and almost surprised at his explanation. The quiet respect she showed was exactly what he had needed, and for a moment, it felt like she truly understood without needing to say a word. The silence stretched for a beat longer, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a new kind of space between them—something unspoken but mutual.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but curious. It was a simple question, and yet it carried a weight that felt different than the judgmental questions he had grown accustomed to.

Tech glanced at the initials one more time before returning his gaze to her, a small sigh escaping him. “Because some things… some things don’t need to be erased. And-.”

The weight of the words hung between them, filling the room with an unspoken understanding. For a moment, neither of them spoke again. Tech felt the silence stretch longer than he expected, the air thick with the weight of his confession. The words he had shared about his past, his marriage, and his pain, left him feeling exposed, though only for a fleeting moment. But there was something else—something he hadn’t told anyone. Something that he wasn’t sure he was ready to share..

The secret had been buried deep inside him, a hidden truth that only came to light in the quiet isolation of this house. As he sifted through the remains left by the previous occupants of the house, Tech had stumbled upon something unexpected. A leather-bound journal, weathered and worn, but still intact. It had been tucked away on a shelf, half-hidden behind a stack of old tools.

Out of curiosity, he had opened the journal, and the first few pages revealed something that caught him off guard—a detailed, intricate set of mechanical drawings. The owner of the house, it seemed, was a man of remarkable skill. Sure, Tech was already adept at repairing machines, his mind well-versed in schematics and blueprints, but this was different. This man didn’t just fix what was already built—he created. He designed new, innovative machines from scratch, his ideas flowing seamlessly from his mind to paper. It was a talent that Tech recognized immediately—a raw, untapped genius in engineering that left him both awestruck and envious.

As he flipped through the pages, Tech realized that this man was no mere technician; he was a creator, a visionary in the truest sense of the word. Some people were born with the ability to craft new things, to see the world not as it was, but as it could be. The way this man’s thoughts were captured on the pages of his journal spoke to a brilliance Tech could only dream of. The drawings were so precise, so full of life, each one reflecting a mind that worked differently from his own.

But then, in the midst of all the mechanical designs, Tech came across something unexpected. Scattered among the diagrams were pages filled with scribbles—small notes, seemingly disconnected thoughts, memories, or musings. As he read through them, Tech began to understand that this man wasn’t just brilliant with machines—he had a heart full of passion, too. The romanticism in his words was undeniable.

One entry stood out to him more than the others:

Snow rested upon the steadfast earth in waves of crowning glory, soft and deep,  Moonlight and the sea entwined in her gaze, where secrets gently sleep. A heart I hold, with love so tender, cherished in silence, pure and steep. Beneath the heavens’ gentle sway, the winds do whisper, soft and clear, Of fleeting dreams that dusk betrays, yet in her eyes, they reappear. The stars, like beacons, burn so bright, yet pale beside her presence here. The night, adorned in velvet dark, holds whispers of a love untold, Where time itself forgets to mark the moments as our hearts unfold. In her embrace, a warmth so kind, a solace deeper than the cold. Oh, let the snow fall ever more, a canvas pure for love’s design, For in her gaze, I see the shore where sea and sky in rapture twine. And in that gaze, I find my soul, forever bound, forever thine.

The man had written these lines next to a diagram for a new pulley system. The juxtaposition of beauty and logic, of creativity and practicality, baffled Tech. How could someone be so incredibly emotionally, artistically, and intellectually gifted all at once? It was a quality Tech had never fully understood, and yet it stirred something deep inside him.

As he read more of the journal, something shifted within him. His mind wandered back to his own life, to his relationship with Leena. In the early days, he had believed what he was feeling was love. But as time wore on, the truth became clearer—what he had mistaken for love was, in fact, a complicated mix of attraction and curiosity. The man who had written in that journal, though—he had something deeper. That was love. True love. The kind of love that transcended the mundane, the kind that grew between two people who understood each other at their core.

Tech had never felt that way about Leena. The more he reflected, the more he realized the misalignment in their marriage. There had always been a part of him that knew something was missing, something vital that wasn’t there. He had tried to fill the void with material things, with a change of scenery, with the hope that a new house, a fresh start, would fix everything. But it hadn’t.

He hadn’t understood it at the time, but now, after reading the journal, he saw it for what it truly was. He had been holding on to the idea of love, but he had never really known it. Not until he read the words of someone who had truly experienced it. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

That was why he had gotten so angry when Leena had suggested covering up the initials carved into the wood. They were more than just letters etched into a beam—they were a testament to something real, something that existed long before he had arrived. Love had been in these walls, in the house itself, long before he came to claim it as his own. To erase those marks, to wipe away the evidence of something genuine, would have been a violation—a moral boundary he couldn’t cross.

The initials, K and M, were a mystery he hadn’t solved yet, but he felt a deep obligation to respect them, to honor whoever they had been. He had no illusions about who they might have been, but he imagined them as an older couple, perhaps, whose love had lasted a lifetime before death had taken them away. They had left behind something priceless, something Tech could never hope to replace. In some strange way, he owed it to them—and to himself—to respect the depth of their bond by leaving the initials. 

As he stood there, feeling the weight of Marina’s gaze on him once again, searching for the unspoken reason behind his decision to leave the initials intact, Tech found himself caught in a moment of hesitation. The question lingered in the air between them, but something in her eyes made him reconsider his instinct to retreat further into silence. Perhaps it was time to let someone in, even if that someone was a stranger. For once, sharing his thoughts—no matter how raw or uncomfortable—might offer him a sense of relief. The words he had kept buried were only making him feel restless and untethered. And Marina, unlike anyone else on this island, had no ties to the chaos of his past or any allegiance to the people who had once been a part of it. There was no judgment here—no baggage. Only the space to speak freely.

He exhaled slowly, his voice coming out quieter than he expected. "I found a journal when I first began to repair this abandoned house. It was the property of the previous owner. And when I read through his writing, it felt wrong—wrong to cover up something he had etched with love." He paused, searching for the right words. "I admit, I didn’t fully understand the meaning of love until I saw it in his words. The way he expressed it, so openly, so beautifully... It made me realize that what I thought I had known, what I thought I was feeling, wasn’t love at all."

As he spoke, something inside him shifted, like a heavy weight had been lifted ever so slightly. Putting those thoughts into words, even if only for her to hear, felt like a small but significant release. For the first time, he wasn’t just ruminating on the pain in his own mind—he was putting it out there, allowing the space between them to hold it for a moment. The vulnerability wasn’t as frightening as he had anticipated. And maybe, just maybe, sharing it with someone who had no prior knowledge of his life would allow him to make sense of it all.

For a long moment, the silence between them was filled with an unspoken understanding, as though the weight of his confession had silently settled between them. The air felt heavier now, charged with something neither of them could fully articulate. He could sense her hesitation to break the stillness, but eventually, her voice broke through the quiet.

"Would it be... alright if I saw it?" she asked, her tone gentle but laced with curiosity. Her words hung in the air, almost as if she feared he might reject the request, but there was something in her demeanor—something soft yet unwavering—that told him she wasn’t just asking out of idle curiosity. There was a sincerity to her tone, a sense that she held a reverence for people who once occupied this space. 

Depending on how long she had been here, Tech realized that perhaps she did know the couple, and could provide him more clarity on them. He gave a slow nod, his fingers instinctively reaching for the drawer where he had tucked the journal away. He opened it carefully, feeling the weight of the leather-bound cover in his hands. Without a word, he handed her the journal, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he passed it over.

Marina accepted it with quiet reverence, her fingers brushing over the cover before she opened it slowly. Her eyes scanned the first few pages, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbed the words. It was clear from the subtle change in her expression that she was paying close attention, each line of writing seeming to draw her in deeper. She didn’t speak at first, simply turning the pages with quiet deliberation, as if allowing the emotions within the journal to wash over her in their entirety.

“Oh, Keiron…” she whispered softly, her fingers tracing the delicate script as she flipped through the pages. The name hung in the air like a soft breeze, charged with an emotional weight that both puzzled and intrigued Tech. Keiron. The man who had written all of this—Tech’s first true glimpse into the life and mind of the previous owner. His chest tightened at the realization, the unspoken connection between Marina and this mysterious figure suddenly feeling very real.

For a moment, the world outside the journal seemed to fade away, and all Tech could do was watch as Marina continued to read, her eyes flicking back and forth across the page, the weight of the words pulling her deeper into a place Tech wasn’t sure he had permission to enter.

Keiron

That name lingered in the silence, and Tech’s curiosity got the better of him. His voice broke through the stillness, more tentative than he’d like, but desperate to understand more about the person who had written those words, the man whose mind had so captivated him.

“Did you know the man who lived here?” he asked quietly, the question feeling too blunt, too direct, but his need to know couldn’t be contained any longer.

At the sound of his voice, Marina’s head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto his with a jolt of shock. Her mouth parted in surprise, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with tension. Then, as if she were physically shaking off the sudden rush of emotion, she blinked rapidly and refocused on him, her composure returning as quickly as it had faltered.

“I would like to hope I did,” she replied simply, her voice steady, but her eyes were guarded, as if her words held more than she was willing to say. Her cryptic response hung in the air, thick with implication, but she didn’t offer more.

Tech’s brow furrowed. He could sense there was more to the statement, something unspoken that she wasn’t ready to share. But what did she mean? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered for now. Did she mean she had known him well, or was her answer steeped in more regret, or perhaps loss? For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and loaded with questions.

Marina broke the silence before he could decide, her gaze drifting once again to the wall, focusing on the carved initials. Her eyes softened as she stared at them, and her voice, when it came, was quieter, tinged with an emotion that had been carefully hidden until now.

“We were so young when he insisted on doing that,” she murmured, almost to herself, her fingers once again tracing the patterns on the wall. The words were like a crack in a dam—small, but enough to let the flood of memories surge.

Suddenly, it all made sense to Tech. Her quiet familiarity with the house, the way she had seemed to almost own the space, as if it had once been hers. The way she had observed everything so intently—almost as if she were measuring it, wondering what had changed. The way she had wanted to know about the marks left untouched. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was something personal, something deeper.

M. Marina.

“This was your home once,” Tech spoke softly, stepping closer, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. It was clear to him now, but saying it aloud felt like acknowledging a sacred truth. The house had been hers. The space, the memories, the echoes of love and life—it all belonged to her.

Marina didn’t respond immediately, but her eyes met his again, and with a quiet nod, she confirmed what he had already guessed. Her face was open now, but the layers of emotion she carried were still carefully folded beneath the surface.

“And…” Tech hesitated, not wanting to rush into the next question, yet unable to hold back the final piece of the puzzle. “Keiron?”

Her breath caught, and when she spoke his name this time, it was louder, more certain. The name had power, weight, history. And with it came the quiet ache of a love lost.

“Keiron,” she repeated, her voice thick with memory. Then, without hesitation, she met his gaze fully. “He was my husband.”

Tech’s heart skipped a beat, the depth of her words sinking in like stones in still water. She had been married to Keiron, the man who had crafted the journal, the man whose intimate, tender writings had resonated so strongly with Tech. Now it all made sense—everything from the journal to the carved initials on the wall. The connection, the emotional undertone in her voice when she spoke of him… it wasn’t just the story of a stranger to Tech. It was the story of someone who had once shared his own kind of love with Marina, someone whose presence lingered in the house even now, despite the passage of time.

The silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn’t oppressive. It was filled with the weight of understanding, a mutual recognition that neither of them had to speak further. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if the house itself, with all its memories, was bearing witness to this quiet exchange.

Marina seemed to struggle for a moment, her lips pressing together as she looked down at her hands, fingers still lightly brushing against the journal’s pages. Tech knew she was far from finished, that there was more buried beneath the surface. But for now, the revelation hung in the air, and neither of them seemed ready to push it any further.

“I’m not entirely sure how to respond,” Tech admitted, his voice steady, though the weight of her words seemed to settle around him, heavier than expected.

“That’s okay,” Marina replied softly, her voice carrying a certain quiet strength, as if she had come to terms with the uncertainty long ago. “No one really knows how to respond, especially when it’s someone like Keiron.” She paused, as if weighing her thoughts carefully before continuing. “Keiron was adored by nearly everyone he met. His energy, his ideas… they captivated people, and they still do, even after all this time.”

She trailed off for a moment, eyes drifting down to the journal in her hands. A brief flicker of something—a mix of longing and sorrow—crossed her face before she refocused, meeting his gaze again. “I was... on the outskirts. I was never a part of that. Not really. I didn’t fit in the way people expected me to.”

There was a quiet vulnerability in her words, something she rarely allowed to show. But now, in the stillness of the room, with the journal in her hands and the memories clearly flooding her mind, it felt as though she could no longer keep the walls entirely intact.

“When Keiron died,” she continued, her voice steady but tinged with something raw, “I... I just wanted to remove myself from all of it. From the well-meaning words, the empty gestures, the apathy thinly disguised as empathy.”

Her gaze hardened slightly, a subtle bitterness creeping into her tone. “Everyone around me acted as though they understood. As though they cared—but I knew better. They were offering their sympathy, but none of them truly saw me. They couldn’t, not in the way I needed them to. So I stepped back. I kept my distance from their hollow kindness.”

Tech listened in silence, his expression softened. Her words carried a weight of grief that she had clearly carried alone for far too long. He could sense the pain behind her detachment, the desire to find some kind of solace away from the world’s expectations. It struck him then, how much she had endured, not just in losing Keiron, but in the isolation she had been left with after his death.

It was a sorrow Tech could understand, in his own way. The loneliness of being misunderstood. The exhaustion of pretending to be okay when everything inside you was breaking apart. The quiet realization that no one could truly fill the spaces left behind. He didn’t know what to say. Words felt insufficient in the face of what she had revealed. But he couldn’t just let the silence stretch between them either, not after hearing her truth.

“I feel like everyone’s silently blaming me for not doing enough to save my marriage,” Tech confessed, his voice quiet but laced with an underlying tension. “It’s as if I could have done more, should have fought harder, but the truth is... the marriage was doomed from the start. We were so fundamentally misaligned. The chaos, the uncertainty, the aftermath of nearly dying myself—it pushed us into a place we never should’ve gone. We tried to force something that was never meant to be.”

He exhaled slowly, as if letting the weight of the words out of his chest might make them easier to bear. “No matter how much I try to explain it, to make them understand that I wasn’t blind to it, that I felt the disconnect from the beginning, I can’t shake the guilt. Guilt for letting myself fall into something I knew wasn’t right, for indulging it, for allowing myself to pretend everything was fine when it was so far from it. But the worst part is… I still feel like it’s all my fault. That somehow, if I’d fought harder, if I’d been someone else, things could’ve been different.”

There was a long pause as he let the silence stretch between them, a quiet that felt oddly heavy, but also a little freeing. Sharing this with Marina wasn’t something he had planned on, but now that he had spoken it aloud, there was a sense of catharsis. He hadn’t realized just how much he was carrying until he voiced it—how much guilt, how much self-blame.

He glanced at Marina, unsure of how she would respond. Sure, he hadn’t lost Leena—she was still out there, still a part of the world. But in the end, he had lost something far more significant in that marriage. He had lost sight of who he was, what he wanted, what he needed. In the process of trying to make it work, he’d buried pieces of himself, sacrificed his identity to fit into a mold that wasn’t his. And when he tried to reclaim that lost part of himself, to become whole again, he had been vilified by those closest to him.

It was a struggle he wasn’t sure anyone could fully understand. How do you explain the complexity of something so personal, so raw, without being judged or misunderstood? How do you explain the self-doubt and the heavy weight of knowing you were both the architect and the casualty of your own mistakes?

Marina’s silence gave him the time he needed to process it all, but also, her quiet presence seemed to make him feel less alone in the weight of it.

“People don’t get it,” he murmured, almost to himself. “They see the end result, the way it fell apart, and they think they understand. But they don’t see the months, the years, the silent erosion of everything you once thought was solid. It’s not just about losing someone; it’s about losing yourself in the process. And when that happens, there’s no easy way back.”

She broke the silence with a lighthearted remark, the sound of her voice easing the tension in the room. "It sounds like you need better friends," she said, placing the journal carefully on the workbench and turning her gaze toward him.

Her attempt to lighten the mood was clear, and Tech found himself quietly grateful for it. The somber conversation had been heavy, and he was relieved to have the atmosphere shift, even if just a little. He let out a soft breath, shaking off the weight of his thoughts. Taking the conversational olive branch, he responded with a hint of a smile, "It sounds like you do as well."

She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful, though there was a quiet intensity to it as she leaned in just slightly. "Is that an offer to fill a vacancy, or is it rhetorical?"

Tech smirked at her response. "Could it not be both?"

"I suppose you’re right," she replied with a soft chuckle, her eyes flicking back to the engine, which they had both been working on for what felt like hours. The work was slow, but there was a certain satisfaction in the process, even if neither of them had made major progress yet.

After a beat of quiet contemplation, Marina shifted slightly, crossing her arms as she looked at him with renewed focus. "How about we make some caf, and burn the midnight oil trying to get this thing running again?" Her voice had softened with resolve. "I meant what I said earlier—I’d like to learn. Keiron, he was always the one better at this kind of thing. I do my best with what I know, but... it would be nice to have the knowledge on my own."

There was a quiet vulnerability in her words, a sincerity that made Tech pause for a moment, taking in the weight of what she was saying. She wasn’t just asking to learn mechanics; she was seeking autonomy, a sense of agency over her own life, something that had been influenced and shaped by the void of someone else for so long. It also sounded like a request for some companionship in their shared loss. Hers much more substantial, but his more raw.

Tech nodded, his gaze softening as he responded. "I think that sounds good. It gets quiet out here, and I wouldn’t mind the company either. I’ll get the pot started, and we can dive back into this mess. And who knows, maybe we’ll even get it running by sunrise."

Marina nodded, her eyes brightening with a flicker of something—perhaps a spark of hope or even a touch of excitement for the night ahead. "We’ll see," she said, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But I’ll take that challenge."

With that, the silence between them lost its tension. It became a quiet hum of possibility, the gentle rhythm of two people, each in their own way, seeking to make sense of the fragments they held, working toward putting the pieces back together again.

Art but the wonderful @leenathegreengirl!

Next Chapter HERE

You were not only an experience, but you were everything. Thank you for this amazing story, it means the galaxy to us! The Bad Batch journey will continue to live on, and they'll never be without an adventure. ❤️🪐

Happy Life Day

Thank you to everyone for taking this journey with this! It’s been a bright and beautiful Life Day, and we hope it’s been the same for all of you! We love you all! 💚💕

Please enjoy this beautiful compilation of the stories brought to you by my lovely friend Mae (@legacygirlingreen)

We hope you enjoy!! 💚💕

You can read the full collection of Life Day Stories HERE

(Special thank you again to @legacygirlingreen for everything: all the beautiful stories, compositions/layouts, hand picking the perfect songs for each couple, and so much more! I couldn’t have done any of this without her. She is my friend, my creative partner, and just an all around awesome person! Please go check out her blog for more awesome stories!)

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@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream

Day 4 - Echo & Aiko

Life Day is a season of renewal, light, and joy—a time for cherishing those you hold dearly. But what happens when Aiko finds herself struggling to find the perfect gift to give to Echo? Will her celebrations fall apart, or will they discover a moment of joy amidst the holiday hustle? Their festivities are a beautiful blend of love, sacrifice, and enough tooth rotting-fluff to give you a cavity!

(Link to AO3 if you prefer that formatting!)

Event Masterlist

(Special thank you my very dear friend and creative partner @legacygirlingreen for making this event possible! She is the beautiful mind behind ALL the writing, design layout, post editing and song selections!)

💚Tag List💚

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream

i'm sorry i don't know the source of this because it was posted on reddit without credit but i'm obsessed with this

For many of years I had this tradition of drawing Wirt and the beast once a year to see how much I have improved, then depression hit in 2023 and couldn't continue, but it left so really amazing art in the process