This work was created for the 2025 @cloneficgiftexchange, for @secondratefiction! This is my first time ever writing for Cody, and I'll admit, I was a little bit nervous. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out though! I hope you like it!
Fandom: Star Wars
Summary: Cody's SO is a Jedi, assigned to work with the 212th as of a few months ago. When the 212th links up with the 501st for the first time since adding a new Jedi, Cody needs to make sure his SO's prepared for the chaos that's coming.
Word Count: 1,536
Category: Fluff, Humor
Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.
“We’re in route to you now. Should be with you in about five hours.”
I nodded from my place between Obi-Wan and Cody, the three of us staring at the holographic version of Anakin Skywalker in front of us. I heard Cody sigh from beside me as Obi-Wan responded.
“We’ll be waiting for you as planned.”
Anakin nodded. “I’ll keep you updated if anything changes.”
Obi-Wan nodded, and then a moment later, the hologram shut off.
“Cody, you know the drill,” Obi-Wan said, turning to face the two of us. “Prepare to link up with the 501st’s fleet five hours from now, and keep your communicator on for any updates or delays.”
“Yes, General.”
Obi-Wan gave us both a smile and a nod, then headed off the bridge. I moved to follow him, but Cody caught my arm before I could.
I turned to give him a raised-eyebrow look, only to find him looking much more visibly stressed than I’d seen him in a long time. And I’d seen Obi-Wan make him visibly stressed often.
“Are you okay?” I asked, brow furrowing as I took a step closer to Cody. I heard the door close somewhere behind us as Obi-Wan headed off to do whatever he needed to do, but my eyes never left Cody’s face.
We’d first met a long time ago, before I’d even been assigned to work regularly with Obi-Wan, when Cody had been visiting Coruscant on shore leave. We’d absolutely hit it off, and had been inseparable for the few weeks he’d been on-planet. When I’d been assigned to the 212th to assist General Kenobi, alongside Cody, I’d taken it as a sign from the Force that we made an unbeatable team, and nothing the Jedi could say would be enough to keep me away from him.
Although, we did a much better job of hiding it than Skywalker and his wife.
Cody sighed heavily, bringing me back into the moment as he looked away from the door Obi-Wan had disappeared through to meet my eyes.
“I’m fine, for now. But…” He shook his head, and I frowned, slipping my arm out of his grip to take his hand instead. “You haven’t seen the kind of chaos the 501st brings in the field yet, have you?”
“No, can’t say I have. I’ve heard some stories here and there, but… don’t tell me that’s what this expression is about?”
Cody sighed again. “Undeniably, they’re a talented group, and they accomplish things that should otherwise be impossible.”
“But? Is Skywalker really that bad in the field?”
“It’s not just him. He pulls focus, maybe, but Ahsoka, Rex, and every other member of that unit… they’re chaos magnets, and they’re happy about it.”
I snorted. “Cody-”
“I know you’re well aware of how insane it can get with us in the 212th. General Kenobi’s a lot more chaotic than his reputation, sure enough. But the 501st is always… so much worse. If we’re going to get through this with our ship intact, much less our General and our men… I’m going to need all hands on deck high coordination from you.”
“…Is it really that bad?”
Cody gave me an exhausted look I’d only ever seen from him once or twice, usually after Obi-Wan did something that made me seriously question how he got his reputation as calm, level-headed, or rational. I took a deep breath, then squeezed his hand.
“Well… consider me warned. I’ll be ready for whatever chaos the 501st bring. No matter what, we’ve got this.”
****************
“CODY! COME IN!”
“I’m here! Problem on deck seven is dealt with, I’m heading to you now!”
I paused for a split second, just long enough to close my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but Cody’s comms had cut out to static and shouting about five minutes ago, and I’d been toeing the line on panic the longer his radio silence stretched on.
I didn’t have time for a longer sigh of relief, though. We were nowhere near out of the woods yet.
My eyes snapped open, I ignited my lightsaber, and then I charged around the nearest corner to continue dealing with the chaos the 501st had managed to bring with them.
Somehow, in the five hours between our call on the bridge and the arrival of the 501st, they’d managed to fly their capital ship through a dormant fleet of vulture droids that had apparently lost contact with whatever Separatist apparatus had been controlling them. They’d been floating in space in a giant debris cloud, completely neutralized, until the 501st had flown straight through and managed to wake them all up.
They’d covered the remaining distance to us as quickly as possible, giving us a heads up about the problem about thirty minutes before their arrival. Now, like Cody had predicted, we were fighting just to keep our ship in one piece.
I shouted as I turned down a hallway where three of the droids had burrowed deep into our ship, and were actively trying to keep tearing in further. I rushed them, lightsaber flashing, and managed to take down the first one before the others even recognized my presence.
A second later, Cody appeared at the end of the hallway, blaster blazing. Like we’d been training for it all our lives, we synced up perfectly, making short work of the other two vulture droids.
“This is ridiculous!” I shouted, in lieu of a hello. “How did they even find these things?”
Cody just shook his head. “Like I said, they’re chaos magnets. Any updates on whether these droids reconnected to a Separatist control station?”
“No, but I don’t think so. They’re not acting with enough coordination for that. It’s like Skywalker and his crew drove their ship through the crowd and flipped every single droid’s switch to “destory as much as possible” at once.”
Cody snorted. “…I’m not sure I’d be surprised if they’d somehow managed that.”
I huffed a laugh, the sheer insanity of the situation getting to me. I made eye contact with Cody, and then I couldn’t hold back a wave of laughter anymore. Even Cody smiled, shaking his head like he also couldn’t quite believe the situation we’d found ourselves in.
“No wonder you looked so exhausted the first time I met you,” I finally managed, taking deep breaths to recover from the laughter. “I’d chalked it up to being Obi-Wan’s fault, but now I know the truth. And I know why he’s got such a shining reputation for level-headedness and anti-recklessness that doesn’t fit him. It’s because Skywalker, Ahsoka, and the 501st are absolutely insane outliers destroying everything in their paths.”
Cody snorted. “Well… on the bright side, lights are still on.”
As if he’d willed it into being, the entire ship went dark the split second the words had left Cody’s mouth. In the now-eerie glow of my lightsaber, the only light source on the entire deck as far as I could tell, I shot Cody a look.
“…Yeah. I should’ve known better than to say that out loud.”
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing again. This time, Cody actually joined me, shaking his head at himself. I managed to straighten up after a few moments, and I nudged his shoulder with my own, my lightsaber still casting a faint glow on both of our faces. He sighed, and leaned right back into me.
“Honestly, Codes, you don’t need to sweat it. Yeah, that wasn’t your finest move, but look around you. By comparison, you’re literally infallible.”
Cody snorted, then took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh.
“We need to get moving again. Let’s head down to the electronics bay with your lightsaber, see if we can’t get power restored.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me. Just give me one second.”
Cody paused, standing just over my shoulder as I lifted my arm to type something into the localized communicator and computer. I waited just long enough to see my message had sent, then looked up at Cody with a smile.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
“…What did you do?” asked Cody, the two of us falling into step reflexively as we headed for the electronics bay. I shot him a grin.
“I just put in an official shore leave request for the two of us. Felt like we could both use a light at the end of this literal dark tunnel of chaos, you know?”
Cody barked another laugh, and even though he shook his head, I could see the somewhat rare grin that I absolutely loved on his face.
“That’s a fantastic idea. All the more reason to get this taken care of quickly, so we can get out of here.”
The two of us shared one last grin in the glow of my lightsaber, before our focus shifted to the bright red lights that had just appeared ahead of us, marking another round of vulture droids. Not even the chaos of the 501st stood a chance when Cody and I stood shoulder to shoulder, taking on all-comers, together.
The first time you see snow, you’re coming in for a crash landing.
“It’s not a crash,” Rex says over the com, voice steady in your ear even as the LAAT shudders around you. “It’s a controlled descent.”
“Into a mountain,” you shout back, gripping the safety straps so hard your fingers ache. “That’s the definition of a crash, Captain!”
“Ma’am, if we were crashing, you’d be screaming.”
“I am screaming!”
The gunship punches through a low bank of clouds, and suddenly the viewport is full of white.
You’ve seen it in holos, sure. Pretty documentaries about Alderaan’s winter festivals, weather reports about seasonal storms, all that polite, curated data you catalog for the GAR. But this is different. The snow here isn’t picturesque; it’s driven sideways by savage wind, clawing at the transparisteel like it wants in.
Below, the planet’s surface is all jagged rock and ice, a maze of ridges buried under deceptively fluffy powder. You catch flashes of dark metal in the distance—separatist installations, half-hidden in the storm.
“LZ coming up,” the pilot announces. “Hang on, boys.”
Rex’s hand steadies you by your shoulder, “You’re not supposed to be on the front line,” he says quietly, as if the rest of the troopers could hear him over the roar of the wind. “Soon as we touch down, you head for the relay station and stay behind cover. Understood?”
You tilt your head toward him. His helmet is still on, blue jaig eyes glaring down the length of the gunship, but you can picture the matching furrow in his real brow. You’ve worked with him long enough to know his expressions by the way his shoulders set.
“I am the relay station,” you remind him. “They pulled me out of the heated communications hub because of this planet’s ion interference.”
He huffs, just audible over the comm. “Didn’t say I didn’t want you here. Just don’t want you shot here.”
A beat of warmth flares under your ribs, inconvenient and familiar. You’ve had a quiet crush on Captain Rex since your first deployment with the 501st: he’d handed you a blaster and said so seriously you felt it in your bones, ‘Stay close, and only fire if you have to, ma’am’. He’s all duty and discipline hiding a secret tenderness below, and you’re only human.
You smile anyway, because joking is easier. “Aw, Captain. Careful or I’ll start thinking you care.”
His hand squeezes your shoulder just once before he pulls it back. “Stay behind cover, ma’am.”
The gunship bucks as it hits a cross current, then slams down hard enough your brain rattles in your skull. The doors yawns open to a wall of biting wind and sharp, stinging flakes. The cold punches straight through your thermal gear.
You step into snow for the first time and immediately sink halfway up your calves.
“Oh,” You gasp. “Oh no. Nope. No thank you. I hate this.”
Jesse laughs through the squad channel. “Welcome to Orto Plutonia, civvie.”
“Move!” Rex’s command cuts through the chatter. “Form up! Kix, with the liaison.”
You fall in beside Kix, head ducked against the gale. Your portable relay case bumps against your hip with every step, heavy with encrypted datapads, signal boosters, and enough power to punch a comm line through this cursed atmosphere. The medic half drags you through the snow to get to the connection point.
The squad advances in a staggered formation, the contrast of their blacks peaking beneath their armor the only thing truly distinguishing them from the snow, blue markings half-obscured. Ahead, through veils of windblown flakes, you can just make out the dark outline of the Republic field station—a low cluster of prefabs half-buried in drifts.
“Static’s brutal,” Fives grumbles. “Can’t see for shit”
“Language,” Kix says mildly.
Fives sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can’t see anything.”
Rex lifts a hand, and the line halts. “Eyes up,” he says. “Droids could be using the storm for cover. Scanner?”
Jesse checks his wrist. “Readings are fuzzy, sir. Getting some movement, but the snow’s bouncing back the signal like crazy.”
You tap your comms headset. “External comms are fully jammed,” you report. “Localized squad channel’s stable. Once we get to the station, I can set up a directional beam and punch through to orbit.”
“Copy,” Rex says. “Let’s make it there in one piece.“
Kix hand is in the middle of your back as you trudge the last hundred meters through knee-deep powder, half guiding you along, half ready to push you down into the snow if need be. You're cursing your entire department for not issuing civilians proper snow gear the whole way.
By the time General Skywalker’s voice finally crackles faintly through the static of your datapad, you can’t feel your toes.
“—me in Rex. Report.”
You patch the signal to the squad’s internal channel. “You’re live, Captain.”
Rex straightens, snow sliding off his pauldrons. “We’ve reached the outpost, sir. Setting up the communications relay now. Awaiting orders.”
You sink to your knees beside the prefab’s half-buried antenna, pry open a frozen access panel, and start coaxing the ancient tech to life. Fingers numb, nose dripping, you fall into the familiar rhythm of troubleshooting: reroute power, bypass damaged relays, swear under your breath at budget constraints.
“You’re shivering,” Kix observes, crouching beside you to offer what little shelter he can from the whipping winds.
“I’m fine,” you say through chattering teeth. “How people voluntarily visit winter resorts I do not understand.”
He chuckles. “At least the snow’s pretty.”
You glance up. The storm has eased just enough that you can see the sky—a pale, washed-out gray, flakes tumbling like static on a broken holo. Pretty isn’t the word you’d use right now, but maybe when your extremities aren’t aching from the cold...
The comm array hums to life, a thread of stable power cutting through the chaotic interference. You grin, teeth clicking. “We’re up,” you announce. “Captain, you have a clear channel to the Resolute.”
Anakin’s voice comes through stronger now. “Good work. Captain, your objective stands. Intelligence confirms a Separatist command outpost approximately four clicks east of your location. Minimal organic life, heavy droid presence. You are to infiltrate, secure any data, and sabotage their main relay. We believe they’ve been tracking fleet movements.”
Rex nods. “Understood. We’ll move out immediately.”
You open your mouth to protest—Excuse me, hi, the civilian would like to not walk several kilometers in an arctic warzone—but Anakin beats you to the punch.
“Lieutenant,” he says, using the honorary field rank they slapped on you for paperwork’s sake. “You are to accompany Captain Rex. The Sepritists’ relay is likely using a variant of the same interference we’re struggling with. We’ll need your expertise to reverse it.”
Rex’s helmet swivels toward you. You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the disapproval from here.
You sigh. “Understood, General.”
The connection clicks off.
Rex strides over. “With respect, ma—Lieutenant, I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.” You push to your feet and rub your arms for warmth. “But they’re right. If those relays are the same design, a droid’s not going to have the intuition to compensate for the interference. I will.”
“I can’t guarantee your safety out there.”
You study the emotion in his posture—the tight line of his shoulders, the slight dip of his head. He’s scared. Not for the mission. For you.
“You’ve kept me alive this long, Captain.” you say softly. “ I trust you.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he gives a sharp nod. “Kix, you’re with us. Fives, Jesse—you’re on outpost defense until we return. If we’re not back in three hours—”
“We come and drag your asses home,” Fives says cheerfully. “Got it, sir.”
The trek to the Separatist station is worse. The wind picks up again, driving fine powder into every gap in your gear. Snow finds its way down the back of your neck, under your collar, into your boots. At one point you slip on a patch of ice hidden beneath the drifts and faceplant into a cold so deep it extinguishes every thought in your skull.
A strong hand hauls you upright by the back of your jacket. “Careful,” Rex says, an edge in his voice. “You okay?”
You spit out a mouthful of snow. “I’ve decided I hate my career choices, Captain.”
“Noted, ma’am.”
Still, he doesn’t let go of your jacket until the ground evens out.
The Separatist outpost rises out of the snow like an ugly metal tooth, dark plating rimed with frost. Turrets rotate lazily along the upper ramparts, sensors sweeping the whiteout.
“Heavy droid presence, they said,” Kix mutters. “That’s a lot of hardware.”
Rex waves you both down behind a ridge. “We need a way in, that keeps the bulk of their firepower pointed the wrong direction.”
You peer over the snowbank, squinting through wind and flurries. “Their external relays are mounted high for line-of-sight transmission,” you say, more to yourself than anyone. “If we can get close enough to hijack the signal routing, I might be able to overload the targeting feeds.”
Kix snorts. “In Basic, please.”
“I can break their eyes,” you translate. “Turrets start seeing everything as friendly or enemy. Either way, they’ll stop tracking us properly.”
Rex considers that. “How close?”
You double check and wince. “Uh. About… twenty meters from the primary array. On the exterior wall…. in the open.”
He groans. “Of course.”
You press on. “But if you can get me ten seconds, I can patch us as friendly and broadcast a false priority target on the other side of the compound. They’ll concentrate their fire where we tell them.”
Kix glances between you and Rex. “Sir, with all due respect, this is insane But it’s our best option.”
Rex lets out a tired sigh, some fog from his breath escaping from under the edge of his helmet. “Fine. We’ll move along the ridge, use the snow for cover as long as we can, then make a run for the base of the tower. Once the turrets shift to fire on the false target, we go in under their blindspot. Kix, you’re taking her in, I’ll provide cover and try to draw their fire. Lieutenant—”
“I poke the circuit boards until they cooperate,” you say, trying for humor, but mostly just sounding pitiful and cold. “Got it.”
The run for the tower is a blur of white and adrenaline. Blasterfire erupts as soon as your boots hit open ground, red bolts slicing through the storm. Snow explodes around you. Rex returns fire in measured bursts, picking off perimeter droids with clinical precision. Kix hand in between your shoulder blades, pushing you forward and yanking you out of the way of stray shots.
You slam into the base of the wall, heart in your throat, and drop to your knees in the snow. Ice bites through your pants instantly. You rip off the external panel, fingers shaking as you jack in your datapad and start ripping your way through the tower’s basic security.
“Ten seconds,” Kix says over your shoulder, blaster barking. “Nine.”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” you snap, breath pluming in front of you. You find the routing subroutine and force your own code into the mix, fingers flying on instinct. Input friendly IFF tags, spoof the turret’s target table, redirect priority lockout—
“Three,” Kix says, voice tight.
“Got it!” You slap the execute key. The tower hums as the turrets pivot in unison, barrels swinging to aim at a section of empty white plain on the far side of the base. Blasterfire erupts there instead, pounding furrows into untouched snow.
“Move!” Rex barks, vaulting over the fallen tree he’d been using for cover running straight towards the both of you.
────── ⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────
The inside of the base was one disaster after the other, but by some miracle the three of you managed to secure the intel and make it out in one piece. If making it out happened to entail the three of you falling out a side door that dropped you down a tall embankment… well, beggars can’t be choosers… You were dizzy and disoriented as you stood up the troopers taking control of the situation at hand.
“We’re too exposed,” Kix says, steadying you.. “If they send units topside—”
“They will,” Rex says. “We need cover. There—those rocks! Let’s move.”
The snow is deeper up here, piling in drifts against jagged stone outcroppings. You drag your legs through it, feeling each step like a weight. Your lungs burn with cold, every breath a knife.
Halfway to the rocks, something punches into your side.
You don’t understand what’s happened at first. There’s just an impact, like someone shoving you hard, and then your legs don’t work right. The ground rushes up.
You hit the snow and roll, powder spraying across your face. The sky spins crazily overhead—gray, white, gray, the dark outline of Rex’s helmet looming into view.
“Sniper!” Kix shouts. “Top of the base!”
Rex drops beside you, blasterfire all around. “Talk to me,” he says, urgently. “Where are you hit?”
You blink up at him. Your side feels… hot, weirdly, beneath the cold. You try to move and a white-hot lance of pain drives through your torso.
You gasp. “Oh. There. I guess.”
Kix slides in on your other side, hands already working, pulling away fabric, checking the wound. “Just a graze,” he says, more to Rex than to you. “Pretty bad burn, but not life threatening. Lucky.”
“Define lucky,” you manage, teeth clenched.
“Lucky is ‘you’re not dead,’” Kix says. “Talk later. Hold still.”
Another bolt kicks up snow a meter away. Rex snarls something wordless and fires back, covering both you and Kix with his body.
“Captain—” you protest, breathless. “You can’t—”
“Quiet,” he snaps. “I’m busy keeping you alive.”
Kix slaps a bacta patch onto your side. The gel floods the wound with a burning-then-numbing heat that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. You hiss, fingers digging into the snow.
“This will hold for now,” Kix says. “But she shouldn’t be running around.”
“I’m right here,” you say weakly. “And I vote we have to do, to not get shot again.”
Rex glances up toward the base, then down at you. You can’t see his eyes, but you can feel them, assessing, calculating.
“I’ll draw their fire,” he says abruptly.
Kix starts to protest, but Rex cuts him off with a wave of his hand
“She’s your patient. You take her, move along the rocks and circle wide. If I keep them looking my way—”
“That is a terrible plan,” you cut in.
“Lieutenant,” he says, and there’s an edge in it you’ve only heard a handful of times. “With respect, this is not your call.”
You glare up at him, gut twisting. “I am not letting you play hero just so I can limp back to the gunship with a singed side and a ghost.”
His hand closes around your shoulder. “You’re a civilian, I’m a soldier. This is my job.”
“I’m a communications expert, not the third in command of a whole kriffing legion, Captain.” You said firmly, “You are not-”
He flinches like you slapped him. “No,” he says, quiet and fierce. “You’re worth it.”
The storm seems to mute around you, just for a moment. Snowflakes hang in the air, suspended. Your breath catches.
“Rex,” you say.
He squeezes your shoulder once, then releases you. “Kix, move her now. That’s an order.”
Before either of you can argue again, he pushes up and charges down the slope, firing deliberately wild, making himself as obvious a target as possible.
“Captain, you kriffing—” Kix swears, then slings your arm over his shoulders. “All right, you heard him. We go.”
You stumble along the base of the rocks, using them as partial cover. Every few seconds, a bolt slams into the snow somewhere near Rex’s path. He returns fire, agile even in the drifts, drawing the shots away from you.
“Stay with me,” Kix urges.
“I’m trying,” you grit out. The pain in your side is a hot, throbbing ache now, dulled by the bacta but still very present. Your legs feel like someone replaced your muscles with lead.
You round a bend in the rocks and lose sight of Rex.
“Kix—”
“I know.” His jaw is tight behind his visor. “He’ll be fine. Man’s stubborn and made of pure durasteel.”
You make it another twenty meters before the world tilts alarmingly. Your vision tunnels, edges going dark.
“Hey,” Kix says sharply. “Stay awake.”
“Working on it,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.
Then the snow under your boots gives way.
You don’t even have time to swear. One moment you’re leaning on Kix, the next the ground simply… disappears, collapsing into a hidden crevasse beneath the drift.
You and Kix plunge into darkness in a flurry of powder and fractured ice.
When you hit, the impact knocks every particle of air out of your lungs. For a few seconds you’re not even sure if you’re alive or not.
“Ugh,” Kix groans nearby. “I hate snow. I hate gravity. You okay Lieutenant?"
You cough, curl around your side, and wince as pain flares. “Yeah,” you croak. “More or less.”
Kix helmet light flickers when he taps it, casting a weak cone of illumination around you. You’re in some kind of ice cave, the collapse having dropped you through a thin crust into a hollow space below. The ceiling glitters with frost, reflecting the light like a constellation.
“Could be worse,” Kix says. “Could’ve fallen onto rocks instead of snow.”
“I’d like to lodge a formal complaint with the universe regardless.”
His helmet HUD ticks as he checks his systems. “Comms are spotty,” he says. “Something in this ice is blocking the signal. We’re not getting through to Rex from down here.”
Panic stabs through you, sharper than your wound. “We have to get back up. He doesn’t know where we are, he’ll—he’ll think—”
“He’ll assume we got clear and prioritize his own survival,” Kix says firmly. “Because he’s a professional soldier and not a suicidal maniac.”
You give him a look. “He just ran into sniper fire for us.”
Kix hesitates. “Okay. Fair point. But he also wants you alive. So let’s focus on making that happen.”
You clench your teeth and nod. “What’s our exit strategy, medic?”
He sweeps his light around. The cave slopes downward in one direction, deeper into the ice, and upward in the other toward a jagged opening where you fell through. Snow continues to trickle down from the collapsed ceiling.
“Up is blocked,” he says. “We try climbing, we risk bringing the rest of it down on our heads. Down might open up further along. Maybe a natural fissure we can use to get back to the surface.”
You eye the downward path. “Into the depths of an unknown ice cave on a hostile world with one of us injured and no idea where our captain is. Sounds fun.”
“You’re picking up the clone sense of humor,” he says dryly. “Come on. Lean on me. Slow and steady.”
“Is this where you tell me to stay awake and talk about my feelings?”
“Only if you start slurring your words,” Kix says. “Then it’s concussion protocol and feelings hour.”
You manage a faint laugh and let him guide you.
The cave narrows in places, forcing you both to squeeze sideways through tight gaps between walls of blue-white ice. His helmet light refracts strangely, making it feel like you’re walking inside a broken crystal. Your breath echoes, harsh and loud.
After what feels like an eternity of shuffling, slipping, and cursing, the tunnel widens into a small chamber. A crack in the ceiling lets in a faint, diffuse glow from the storm above. Snow filters down in lazy spirals, gentler here than in the open air.
Kix stops. “We’ll rest here,” he says. “You’re running on fumes, and I need to check that wound.”
“I’m fine,” you lie.
He turns his helmet toward you. “You said that before, and then you almost passed out and we fell into a planet. Sit.”
You sit. The snow here is shallow, more of a dusting on the stone floor than actual cover. It’s still cold enough to seep through your gear, but the ice walls block the worst of the wind.
Kix fusses over your side, replacing the bacta patch, checking for additional damage. His hands are gentle, practiced.
“You’re lucky,” he says again. “If that bolt had been a centimeter lower—”
“Lucky is ‘I’m on Coruscant with a hot mug of caf and a stack of routine transmission logs,’” you say. “This is… less lucky.”
He snorts. “If you wanted boring, you picked the wrong battalion.”
You bite back the urge to say you didn’t pick your assignment - even giving your current situation, you still wouldn’t trade your time with these boys for anything. You lean your head back against the ice wall and close your eyes for a second. The cave is quiet, the sort of deep, insulated quiet that makes your own heartbeat sound loud.
“Kix?” you ask softly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think he made it? Rex?”
Kix pauses. When he speaks, his voice is steady. “I’ve been patching that man up since I was assigned to the 501st. Takes more than a storm and a handful of clankers to put him down. He’ll be fine.”
You nod, a little of the tightness in your chest easing. “Okay.”
“You care about him,” Kix adds, casual but not too casual.
You crack an eye open to glower at him. “You’re reading too much into my desire for my commanding officer not to die.”
“Sure,” he says. “And I only carry a medkit for the exercise.”
You huff. “I like him,” you admit grudgingly. “There. You win. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
“It’s stupid. He’s a clone, I’m civilian, there are regs and ethics boards and power dynamics and a lot of reasons why it’s a bad idea.”
“Also the war,” Kix says. “Don’t forget the war.”
“Yes, thank you, I was trying.”
He pats your shoulder. “For what it’s worth? I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”
You blink. “What does that mean?”
“Means if we get out of this, and you two don’t at least talk, I’m reassigning myself to a unit with less romantic tension.”
“You can’t reassign yourself,” you point out.
“Exactly. I deal with enough already, take something off my plate.”
Despite everything, a laugh escapes you. It echoes oddly in the cave, softer than the sound deserves.
Above, the faint glow shifts as the storm outside moves. Snowflakes drift down through the crack like bits of torn paper. One melts on your glove, tiny and intricate.
“Dink.” He shoves a canteen into your hands. You sip gratefully, the water lukewarm but welcome.
A crackle of static pops in your ear. You jerk upright.
“—x… Kix… anyone copy?”
Your heart stutters. “Rex?”
More static. Then, clearer: “Kix, Lieutenant, respond. Where are you?”
“We hear you!” Kix says, thumping his helmet. “We fell into some kind of ice cave. Comms have been a mess. Sir, are you okay?”
“Fine,” Rex says, which you weren’t sure if you believed him or not. “I lost visual on you when you went over that drift. My tracker shows your signals below surface level. Can you see sky?”
“Sort of,” you say, craning your neck. “There’s a crack above us. Light coming through, snow falling in. We’re in a… pocket? Chamber? Not sure how far down.”
“Stay put,” Rex orders. “I’ll find you.”
“That’s not efficient,” you protest. “We can try to climb toward the crack, meet you halfway.”
“Negative,” he says, voice sharpening. “You’re injured, Lieutenant. You already fell through once. I’m not risking you on unstable terrain again.”
“You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can. That’s an order.”
Kix mutters, “Told you. Professional soldier, suicidal tendencies, one package.”
You ignore him. “Fine,” you say to Rex. “But you better be careful. I will be very annoyed if you die on the way here just to prove a point.”
The connection fuzzes for a second, and you think you hear a soft huff of laughter. “Copy that.”
The next fifteen minutes are an exercise in patience and anxiety. You sit there in that cold, glittering cave, watching the crack above, listening for any sign of movement. Kix hums under his breath, some wordless tune.
Then, faintly, over the wind: “Grenade out!”
You startle. “What was—”
There’s a muffled thump, and Kix scrambles to shield you as snow pours in through the crack in a thick white waterfall.
“Sir?” Kix calls.
A gloved hand appears over the edge of the fissure, fingers digging into the ice. A moment later, a helmet follows, blue jaig eyes peering down.
“Found you,” Rex says.
Relief hits you so hard it’s almost painful. “Show-off.”
He disappears from view, then reappears half a minute later, lowered on a hastily rigged line anchored to something above. He drops the last meter into the cave with easy grace and straightens up, scanning you both.
He looks like he’s been through the grinder. His armor is scorched in several places, a long black streak running down one side of his chestplate. There’s a new dent in his helmet. More snow clings to him than to the landscape.
“Are you hurt?” you demand, before he can say anything.
“Nothing serious,” he says. “You?”
Kix answers for you. “She’ll live. Blaster graze, patched and stable. Some bruising from the fall. I want to check her for a concussion, and I’d like to get her into a medbay before the numbing meds wear off.”
Rex nods. “Extraction’s on the way. I signaled Fives and the others once I picked up your signal. They’re setting up a beacon for the gunships.” He looks up at the crack. “Think you can handle a climb?”
You eye the makeshift line. “With help.”
He steps closer and offers his hand. “I’ve got you,” he says quietly.
You take it.
With Rex holding you tightly to him as the small motorized pulling drags the two of you upward, the accent is less terrifying than it could be. Your side protests every movement, but the adrenaline dulls the edge. You emerge into blinding white, the storm having eased into a steady fall of lazy flakes. Rex pushes you out first once you’re at the top, and keeps his hands on your waist for a second longer than strictly necessary after helping you stand up.
“Thanks,” you say, breath puffing in the cold.
He doesn’t let go immediately. “You scared me,” he says, so soft you almost don’t hear it over the wind.
You swallow. “You scared me first.”
Kix grunts as he hauls himself out behind you. “If you two are going to start emotionally processing, can we do it somewhere warmer?”
“Gunship’s two minutes out,” Rex says, glancing toward a distant, blinking beacon where you can just make out the shapes of Fives and Echo in the snow. “We’ll be aboard and en route to the Resolute before your toes fall off, Lieutenant.”
“Too late,” you say. “I left my toes back at the first outpost.”
He huffs. “I’ll requisition you new ones.”
“You can do that?”
“Probably not,” he admits. “But I can try.”
The wind shifts, sending a flurry of snow swirling around you. For a second, the world narrows to just the three of you in a haze of white—your breath, their breath, the faint whine of approaching engines.
“Rex,” you say, before you lose your nerve. “Back there. When you said…”
He stiffens. “I was trying to keep you moving,” he says quickly. “Soldiers say things in the field. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” You blink. “That’s not— no. I just wanted to know if you… meant it.”
He goes very still. If he weren’t so close, if you hadn’t spent months learning the language of his silences, you might miss the subtle shift.
“Yeah,” he says at last. “I did.”
The engines are louder now, a gunship sweeping in low over the ridge. Snow blasts outward in a swirling halo as it hovers, ramp lowering.
You have seconds. Maybe less.
“Well, that’s… good,” you say brilliantly.
He tilts his helmet, just a fraction. “Good?”
You can feel Kix hovering politely just out of earshot, pretending to take an urgent interest in his medkit.
You take a breath. The air is cold enough it stings your lungs.
“Because I…” You trail off, then shake your head. “I like you too, Rex. A lot. Against my better judgment.”
He’s very quiet.
The gunship settles, ramps fully down. Fives waves wildly from the open hatch. “Hey! You done making snow angels? We’ve got places to be!”
You flush. “We are not—”
Rex lifts a hand, cutting you off. Then he reaches up, pops the seals on his helmet, and pulls it off.
You’ve seen his face before, of course, but never quite like this—flushed from the cold, eyes bright and intent. His gaze anchors you in place.
“Regulations say I shouldn’t fraternize,” he says. “Regulations say a lot of things.” Snowflakes cling to his lashes. “But I almost lost you three times today, and I’m starting to think I don’t care what regulations say, not when it comes to you.”
You stare at him. Your heart is doing something very undignified in your chest.
“It’s cold,” you say, because your brain has decided now is a good time to stop functioning. “You shouldn’t— your head will—”
He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through layers of gear. “Permission to do something reckless, Lieutenant?”
You swallow. “Granted.”
He kisses you.
It’s not the desperate, dramatic holodrama clinch you once imagined. It’s cautious at first, testing, his lips surprisingly warm against yours despite the freezing air. He tastes like recycled oxygen, cold, and something undeniably him. Snow dusts his cheek, melts against your skin.
For a second, neither of you move. The world holds its breath.
Then something inside you loosens, and you lean in, fingers curling in the plastoid edge of his collar. He responds immediately, hand sliding to the back of your head, steady but not demanding, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.
You don’t.
Your side twinges, reminding you that you are, in fact, injured and standing upright entirely too long. You break the kiss with a breathless laugh. “Ow. Worth it, but ow.”
He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, eyes closed. “You sure?” he asks quietly. “About this?”
“About kissing a handsome, infuriating clone captain in the middle of a snowstorm after nearly dying twice?” you say. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
A smile ghosts over his mouth. “Good to know.”
“Kriffing finally,” Kix mutters behind you.
You and Rex both turn to glare at him. He just shrugs.
“Get her on the ship, Captain,” Kix says. “If I have to keep doing field surgery on this iceball, I’m putting in for hazard pay.”
Rex sets his helmet back on with a click and slides an arm around your waist, careful of your wound. “You heard the medic,” he says. “Let’s go home.”
You let him guide you toward the gunship, snow swirling around your boots. The ramp is a brief incline of safety, the interior blessedly warm. Troopers crowd around, clapping you both on the shoulders, firing off questions and jokes.
You sink onto a bench as the ship lifts, feeling the ache in your side and the bone-deep exhaustion in your limbs. Rex takes the seat beside you, close enough that your thighs touch.
“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft enough only he can hear through the local channel. “Rex?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you decide to risk your life for me,” you say, “maybe just remember I can’t replace you, okay?”
He looks at you, then down where your legs are pressed against each other.
“I’ll try,” he says. “No promises. But I’ll try.”
You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Guess I’ll just have to stick close and make sure you don’t do anything too heroic.”
“Someone’s got to keep me in line,” he agrees.
Outside, the snowstorm fades into cloud as the gunship climbs, leaving the frozen battlefield behind. Inside, surrounded by the hum of engines and the low murmur of familiar voices, you lean your head on Rex’s shoulder and let your eyes drift shut.
sign ups for the 2025 exchange are officially open, and will continue to be through october 25th!
the faq for the event can be found here and the rules can be found here, and you can find specific information about life day and what it could mean for fic here!
here’s how the exchange will work:
1. Read over this post, reblog it to the blog you want to participate with, and fill out the sign up form linked below!!
When you sign up, you’ll choose which of the clones you would like to receive an xreader fic about. Because this event is random, I require participants to at least be comfortable writing and reading for Rex, so no one gets an assignment they can’t fulfill.
2. The day sign ups end, you will receive two emails from me:
I’ll be using a secret santa website to do the matching, so one email will come from that website, and it will tell you who you will be writing for. I can easily randomize the assignments this way, and it ensures that everyone has a match.
The second email will come from this blog’s event email ([email protected]) and it will have posting information, general information for the participants, and a document of all the prompts. Once you find out from the secret santa website who your person is, you just need to find them on the list to see your prompt and the characters you have the option of writing for.
3. You will have about seven weeks to write your fic, and the word minimum is 800 words. On December 13th (that’s a Saturday), participants will post their fics to tumblr. I’ll send out more details about posting when the event gets closer, so don’t worry about that. I will also put together a list of all the fics when the event is over, which will be linked on the blog’s pinned post with the other past exchanges.
you can sign up here!!
please feel free to reach out to me with any questions! hope to see you in the signups :)
tagging those who said they were interested: @toomanybandstocare
Remind me why I'm following you again? B/c I genuinely don't remember any of your work and you don't even post that much any more.
God forbid a bitch has depression and a lack of motivation.
I mean, I've only been doing this for almost 7 years... But contrary to popular belief - I am not in fact holding anyone hostage. If you don't want to be here, vaya con Dios, peace be with you ✌️
A Stargate: Atlantis blurb I wrote for @bebbie-the-hufflepuff in the mist of the sickness and sleep deprivation
Prompt: "How many fingers am I holding up"/"I don't have six fingers."
----
There was utter chaos outside, the sounds of people screaming and running for their lives as Wraith Darts continued to ravage the village. John groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking around the small cave they’d been knocked into
There had been an explosion near the gate that sent the team flying in all different directions. He had no idea where Teyla and Ford were, but he could just make out McKay laying across from him in the stone alcove they’d rebounded into.
“McKay,” He groaned, hauling himself up to check on the scientist, “McKay, you alright?”
When the other man still failed to respond, panic began to set in. Rodney McKay never missed a chance to complain or show off his flair for the dramatic…
John was on him in a second, turning the other man on his back so he could get a look at him. Rodney groaned at being shifted and John let out a small sigh of relief, he was alive at least.
But his face was covered in blood, and John started to panic again - at least until he noticed the gash on McKay’s forehead. Not ideal, but not as bad as it could have been…
John dug through his pack for the first aid kit, pulling out a wad of gauze to press it to the cut on McKay’s head, “C’mon McKay… talk to me… Rodney! Say something!”
“Stop shouting…” He finally groaned, one eye opening slightly to glare at him, “My head’s killing me.”
“Yeah, well, you took a pretty good hit to the head, so that’s understandable…” John said, holding up his other hand, “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Rodney took longer than John would have liked for him to answer, “I… uh…. Six….”
“I don’t have six fingers, McKay.” John said, cursing under his breath as he applied more pressure to the wound on his head.
“You asked, I answered!” The other man snapped back at him, “Clearly I have a concussion or some other kind of TBI - everything is spinning and…”
He cut himself off, hand pressed to his mouth with a groan. John groaned as well, shaking his head, “Don’t you dare throw up on me…”
Whatever snappy comeback Rodney was about to make was cut off as he dove to the side, retching as he tried to hold himself up and John kept the bandages pressed to his head.
“Just perfect…” John muttered before the com devices crackled and Ford reported that he and Teyla were ok.
“Good.” John said back tensely, “Get the gate open and let Atlantis know we need Beckett on standby. Teyla, I need your help getting McKay back to the gate.”
You’ve had this boy wrapped around your finger from day one
There’s about a 6 year age difference between the two of you, but he still makes sure to take you everywhere with him.
Everyone in 12 knows you as Wyatt’s shadow.
Tries to teach you how his job with the family works, but it doesn’t come nearly as easily to you as it does to him.
You whine and complain about it, he huffs and tells you to focus. But in the end, he lets you sit there and doodle on the paper he gives you and works out his calculations on his own.
He never gets a big take, but religiously buys you treats with whatever money he does make.
Y’all do a lot of those ‘chewy’ marshmallows from the Donner candy shop
He was aging out of the reaping the same year you became eligible… he didn’t sleep the night before worried sick about your name coming out of that bowl.
hiii can u please do johnny cade x reader prom story ?? like basically reader is getting all dolled up and johnny comes to pick her up and sees her and stuff and the go to the actual hall where it's set ??
Johnny was dreading this.
Not spending the evening with you, of course, but the idea of going to prom at all.
Honestly, if he didn’t know the guys would never let him hear the end of it, he might have backed out entierly.
He almost did that night…
Originally, it was supposed to be Darry driving the two of you, along with Pony and his date to the dance… but things had gone awry and now it was Two-Bit charged with getting you all there.
He seriously thought about jumping out of the car and just walking the whole thing on the way to your house. But he didn’t.
Two-Bit and Pony stayed in the car when he came up to meet you, and when your father answered the door he suddenly felt very inadequate in the borrowed clothes he’s managed to pull together for the night
One of Steve’s cleaner white shirts, and a pair black jeans that might have been Darry’s at one point, but they’d come from Pony’s laundry. And Dallas had leant him his leather jacket as well.
He was already swimming it, but he shrank into it even more under the older man’s harsh gaze until your mother chased him aside ushering Johnny in as she called you down stairs.
Instantly Johnny was struck dumb. He stood there in the entryway, mouth handing open like a fool for several moments before he finally got ahold of himself.
“Golly… if you ain’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen…”
Thankfully Two-Bit wasn’t too rough on you two on the way to pick up Pony’s girl - some nice middle class girl he sat next to in science, according to Pony she looked ‘real good in yellow’ - or the way to the venue… though he couldn’t resist entirely.
“Don’t y’all behave now, don’t do anything I would do!” He yelled loudly as he pulled away.
Johnny sighed, but you only chuckled and squeezed his hand where you wrapped your arms around his, and suddenly, nothing else mattered to him.
The night went fairly well. You were enjoying yourself and really, that was all he cared about.
He walked you home at the end of the night. He actually ended up carrying you the last half of the way when you said your feet were hurting from your shoes.
Which just made you giggle as he adjusted you on his back, and he swears he’s never heard a better sound in his life.
You gave him a quick kiss goodnight before ducking inside before your parents came to the door.
He walked back to the Curtis house with the dopiest smile on his face for the rest of the night.
This sweet baby… honestly the amount of pining that went on before he finally worked up the confidence to ask you out…
(and by ‘finally working up the confidence’ I mean: Dallas had to literally bully him into it. Because as much as he loves this kid, he CANNOT listen to him carry on about how pretty he thinks you are, but never being able to say anything to you.)
He panicked his whole way through the first couple of dates because he honestly never thought he would get this far.
But once it finally registers that you two are an official thing… he is on cloud freaking 9.
He makes the effort to walk you to and from school everyday.
No matter where you two are walking, he always puts you to the inside of him.
He’s constantly carrying your books from class to class for you
He is constantly holding your hand, or finding some way to touch you
It’s grounding. He’s way less anxious when he’s around you.
Everyone notices the shift in him. He’s still jumpy, but it’s like he’s less tightly wound all the time. And he’s more confident.
He’s also a giant flirt, but only with you. He was constantly tripping over his words talking to girls with the guys before, but that’s all but gone now.
He’s never going to be on the same level as Ponyboy, but he can be hella smooth and romantic when he wants to be.
He’s got you blushing like no tomorrow, and literally all he’s done is whisper some sweet words in your ear.
Could you do the batfam finding out about Jason’s all castle training? Like they either need to find a user of the all blades for a case or someone try’s to attack Jason bc of the all blades!
Have a great day!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm gonna be completly honest with you... I have no idea what that is. I'm so sorry hon 🩷🩷🩷
hi saw your requests were open. Can I get something when Boromir or Faramir?
I'd love you for anything - but maybe servant!reader? (np if not)
I do a lot of Boromir, so I figure I'd try my hand at Faramir. Please be gently as I fumble my way through this...
The two of your paths really should never have crossed.
You were a new maid, getting stuck with the more tedious and unpleasant tasks. Like scrubbing the spiral stair cases...
You'd been at it for the third day in a row - seriously, why were there so many towers? - when someone came flying up the stairs, tripping over you and sending you face first into the bucket of cold soapy water.
You choked and sputtered, the person who tripped over you apologizing profusely as they tried to help you sit up.
It was one of the sons of the Steward... great... because the day just couldn't get any better...
Lucky for you, Faramir was such a sweetheart at his core - you'd heard some horror stories about his father and people who had fallen victim to his ire.
After that, he started popping up more and more, following you around while you carried out your duties, and even weaseling his way into helping you with some of them when he could get away with it.
When ever you would ask him why he wasted so much of his time on a maid, he always shrugged and muttered something about 'friends'.
But, there were times you'd catch him just staring at you with something... more, behind his eyes."
Hi ! Could I get cute HC for Viktor Krum and a short reader please? Thank you!
Viktor Krum my beloved! Also, my apologies for the wait - work and finals decided to double team my ass and it has been a whirl wind.
Unlike my usual instinct to say 'this man is a menace' when there is a notable high difference... Viktor is just the absolute sweetest man possible you.
"No, love. Are not short, are perfect"
It is cannon this man gracefulness stops short as soon as he gets off his broom, so he's got close to a whole foot on you, and he's still the one holding onto you for balance.
Tall, gangly, baby deer with no coordination. Please don't let him go to any kind of event on his own. He's still never recovered from the time he tripped in front for 12 countries worth of cameras walking in to the stadium with the team before a big match
Speaking of public events... Man is a text book introvert who unfortunately decided on an extroverted profession.
He has and will continue to hide behind you wen his social battery is tapped out. Does not matter he's a whole head and shoulders taller than you, the man has and will continue to hunch over you to hide his face in your hair while standing in the corner of a crowded room
That is usually your cue to find an excuse to take him home.
Falling back into the Hunger Games b/c of the new book, and I've been listening to other fan theories and such... so I had a thought I had to share...
The third quarter quell had nothing to do with Katniss and was Snow trying to clean house of 'problem' victors. The fact Katniss was going to have to go in again was just a happy little bonus for him.
The games don't come together over night. These have to be planned out a few years in advance to give time for the arenas to be built and such (I think Plutarch Heavensbee even says something to that effect to Katniss in Catching Fire) and a Quell game would need even more prep.
So the whole reaping from previous victors was a way for Snow to get rid of problem victors like Haymitch, Johanna, Beetee, and Finnick and any others he considered to be trouble makers or threats.
Not a single person reaped that day was chosen by chance. They were all hand picked to either get rid of undesirable victors, or be cleaned up neatly with out Snow having to explain or cover up so many victor deaths.
An incomplete list of my owe headcanons/hills I will die on after finish FantasticLand for the second time in a week:
*** Spoilers under the cut***
The pirate that comforted the little boy in the evacuation was not Brock Hockney like people like to speculate, but his brother Bryce.
Brock was not the sociopathic monster they painted him to be at his trial. He was a scared college kid grieving the traumatic loss of his baby brother who suddenly found himself in charge of a bunch of other scared teens and college kids. He suffered a psychotic break, but they needed a 'face of evil' to crucify, and the sword fell on him
Brock didn't even want to be on the Rapture team, but Bryce saw it as an opportunity to make some extra quick cash, so Brock tagged along to look after his brother.
Brock was the one to find Bryce's body. They got separated in the chaos, and Brock couldn't find him in the dark with all the people panicking.
Brock was carrying Bryce's inhaler so he didn't lose it.
Sam Garliek absolutely killed that girl in the storm shelter.
Random life updates that I'm sure nobody cares about, but I'm gonna share anyway...
Your girl finished school! And I'm working now too! I finished school last month, I've taken and passed one of my national board exams (2nd half is scheduled), and I've been at the funeral home for about 4 months now. Also! I'm working with my best friend from school so we're having a ball...
But the home is about an hour away from where I live... so when I work more than one day in a row... I end up staying in the apartment behind the home... Which is where I am now...
If you missed some of the amazing stories written for this event, here is a list of them, all organized by character and in alphabetical order by title. You can also access a collection of those who posted their work on AO3 HERE! It’s still open in case anyone ends up posting there in the future.
Make sure to show some love to all the authors below :)
NSFW fics are strictly 18+ and are marked as such.
Love & War by @high-ct5555
Mistletoe Kiss by @urfriendlyneighbornightfury
Worthy by @rinwritesfics
A Wonderful Life Day by @apocalyp-tech-a
Handy Can by @diviluscorner
Here's To Many More by @masterjedilenawrites
Lighting The Way To Your Heart by @lonewolflupe
My Heart is Yours, and so are my Brothers by @ireadwithmyears
Rest Your Head by @orbitalmirror
Attempt Seventeen by @kyzyner
Can This Be A Real Thing, Can It? by @intricatechaosofyou
For the @cloneficgiftexchange Life Day Exchange 2024
AO3 Link
Summary: The Marauder returns to Pabu on a clear, sunny day, four months after Wrecker, Tech, and Phee set out on a journey that was supposed to take a week—four months of you regretting that you hadn't confessed your feelings to Wrecker when you had the chance. Better late than never, right?
Prompt: "I missed you sunshine", "Can you just…stay? Please…"
Characters: Wrecker / F!Reader (no use of Y/N)
Word count: 4,659
Rating: PG/G (brief mention of alcohol)
A/N: A gift for the lovely @secondratefiction. I cannot thank you enough for your patience and kindness this week. Writing this fic brought me so much joy!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics!
The mid-afternoon sun shone merrily through the windows, casting sharp contrast onto the faces of your students. A lazy silence had fallen over the room, its edges buffed by the crinkle of flimsiplast as they turned their pages, the shuffle of a child turning to lie on her back, the soft shhhhing of a metal water bottle being opened.
A breathy hum—a tune you didn't know.
You rose from your own spot at your desk and began walking to the far end of the room. Frell noticed you before you'd gotten even halfway there; his humming cut off the second he looked up from his book. He smiled sheepishly, and you gave him a small nod of approval. Next to him, Rioran tapped her leg restlessly. Now that you had risen, you had a good angle to look at her face, and her eyes were not fixed on her book, nor anywhere near it. You followed her gaze out the window, to the sea.
Wow, you thought.
It really was a shame that you had to teach the kids on a day like today. You'd much rather have let them loose to go play in the surf—though you were pretty sure that you would have found Frell reading on the beach, anyway. Rioran seemed to draw you into her reverie, and you let your eyes wander over the scene outside. Something caught your attention, far above the horizon. A dark speck, growing larger. Could it be…?
No, you hadn't heard from them in weeks. They were probably caught up in some hare-brained scheme or fantastical adventure.
But Rioran seemed to have noticed the same.
"Wid!" she whisper-shouted. "Look!"
You turned to see the Rodian girl perking up. Wid's antennae twitched, and though her pure black eyes made it difficult to tell where she was looking, you got the sense that she was scanning the scene. A moment passed before she jumped out of her seat with a whoop of delight:
"It's the Marauder!"
It was a good thing that quiet reading time was nearly over, because the room erupted into chaos, and you could feel your own adrenaline jump at hearing the name.
"Be polite!" you chided, as the children shoved each other to see through the window.
You could see it more clearly, now. The ship seemed to be diving sharply towards the sea. Tech was probably the one flying. You smiled a little as your mind's eye conjured up the image of Wrecker holding on for dear life as Tech threw them into his chaotic maneuvers. You'd only been on the ship twice, but that was enough for a lifetime. The Marauder spun through the sky; it flipped; it turned; it skimmed the waves and threw a spray of seawater into the air.
Show-off, you thought, with nothing but fondness.
The roar of the ship grew louder as it approached, and for a moment as it passed overhead, it was the only thing that you could hear. Then it faded, and the children began to chatter among themselves.
Rioran turned to you with that mule-stubborn look on her face that only ever spelled trouble. "You should let us go early."
You tried and failed not to laugh. "That is so not allowed."
"Please! We're not going to be able to focus for another"—she checked the clock—"hour and a half! It would be better to let us go now and see what they brought back, and then we can all go and read at home."
You sighed. "I hear what you're saying, but none of you would actually go home and read, and we—"
"Frell would!"
"—still have math after this!" You paused. "Okay, Frell would, but you would not."
Rioran pouted.
You pouted back at her. "And I'd get fired."
"…touché."
You laughed at that. Still, Rioran had a point, clever girl that she was—the children weren't going to focus for another hour and a half, not on reading nor on math. They got twitchy at the end of a normal day, and worse still when the weather was beautiful or the harvest in full swing; the return of Tech, Wrecker, and Phee was magnitudes more exciting than those.
"How about this: I'll let you choose what you want to work on until the end of the day, and then anyone who wants to go up to the plaza can walk with me. Deal?"
Rioran turned to her peers, and they whispered among themselves for a moment before she turned back to you.
"Deal. May we work on our rockets?"
You grinned. "Put your books away. I'll go get the tarp for the floor."
Rioran had chosen well, you thought, as the students chatted happily amongst themselves, tinkering with their little model rockets. The project had been Omega's idea, last year. All of the tenth grade students had to do at least one afternoon of community service per week, and she had chosen to volunteer as your teacher's aide. Omega was finished with her hours, but her influence remained, and this year's children loved their rockets just as much as last year's had.
What you hadn't considered was that the students were quite independent at this stage of their project, demanding little help from you, and so your mind was largely left free to wander. Nearly four months had passed since Tech, Wrecker, and Phee set out on their ill-fated adventure, and as selfish as the thought was, you didn't think the timing could have been any worse. Before their departure, Wrecker had settled into a routine of walking you to the school every weekday morning, and in turn, you had been helping him learn all of the ordinary skills that had been neglected in clone military school: cooking, mostly, but also the small repairs for which he didn't want to rely on Tech, woodworking, and net-weaving.
You didn't think yourself insecure in matters of romance, nor particularly timid, but you were pragmatic—Shep would call you cautious, and you weren't sure whether you could argue with that. There was all the time in the world, you had thought, to get to know Wrecker. You hadn't feel the need to push things along and tell him how you felt about him.
Then he was gone, and it only took a few days of his absence before you had regretted your caution very much. Would those gentle flirtations still be there upon his return? Had your affections been clear enough?
Not worth worrying about, you told yourself, and tried to focus on your lesson planning. You ended up writing down 120 as the product of 7 and 30, and resisted the urge to hit your head against your desk.
Finally, the end of the school-day was nearing, and the students rushed through their tidying faster than you had seen since the afternoon of the school-wide surfing competition. Phee's return to the island had always been cause for celebration in the past, as she nearly always brought home with her at least six crates full of goods that couldn't be found on Pabu. Since the clones became part of the community, the arrival of the Marauder had become something of an impromptu holiday, no matter when it occurred.
"Who's planning on going up to the plaza as a group?" you asked.
The majority of your students raised their hands. At the age of ten and eleven, they were largely left to their own devices after school, which made these sorts of miniature field trips quite easy. The island was as safe as any place in the galaxy, and it allowed the children a level of freedom that you'd never had growing up.
They clamored for their bags and spilled out of the classroom, so eager to go that Frell had to remind them to wait for you. You were just rounding the corner to the main entryway when you heard a child's voice shout:
"Wrecker!"
Wrecker?
You were standing in a sea of little beings, so it took you a moment to get through the door. Sure enough, there was Wrecker, tossing a tiny child into the air—Frell's youngest sister, if you weren't mistaken. Their family lived across the street from the Batch. By Wrecker's side was Omega, ruffling Rioran's hair and chatting animatedly.
Cheers and questions and exclamations of delight echoed around you, and you hung back, allowing the children to have their fun. Everyone on the island knew Wrecker, it seemed. Much of that could probably be attributed to the fact that he was simply unmissable, with his enormous stature, booming voice, and unusual knack for arriving just when something heavy needed to be lifted. But, you thought, there was also something about his character that drew people in like moths to a flame. People loved Wrecker. How could they not?
Omega was the one who spotted you first, shouting your name and beckoning you over. Wrecker's gaze found you almost immediately. His wide grin softened a little as his eyes met yours.
"C'mere!" he called.
The throng of students was thinning as the younger ones made their way to their relatives and the older ones set out either for the beach or for the plaza, but there were still a fair number crowding around Wrecker and Omega, demanding stories. You threaded through them, and as you approached the fence, you noticed a pile of boxes stacked next to Wrecker.
"Welcome back," you said. "What are these for?"
Wrecker's hands were occupied with balancing Frell's sister sitting on his shoulders—the kids always treated him like a jungle gym—but he greeted you by nudging you with his elbow.
"Hey, sunshine," he said. "Your delivery, remember?"
No, actually, you didn't remember at all.
"You said that it's hard to find colored pencils on Pabu, so we picked some up," he explained.
"I…" you trailed off, wondering when you had even told him that there was a shortage, and what you could possibly do with that many. There looked to be thousands of them.
"It's not all pencils," said Omega. "We also brought other things. Like calculators! Ours are all ancient."
"You, uh, you still need them, right?" asked Wrecker.
He was looking down at you with a bit of anxiety in his eyes. You smiled at him.
"Yes, we do. Wrecker, I don't even know how to thank you. This is incredible. The kids are going to be so happy."
The worry faded from his face, and the girl perched on his shoulders chose that moment to start playing his head like a drum. She let out a squeal as Wrecker lifted her off his shoulders and gave her a little spin before setting her down. It was the sort of thing that children were usually too heavy for before they outgrew it at heart, but forty pounds was like a paperweight to Wrecker.
"Can I take the things inside?"
"Oh, sure! Here, I'll take some."
As you reached for one of the boxes, Wrecker playfully swatted your hand away.
"Nah. I've got them," he said, and picked up all but one of them, which Omega scooped up immediately.
"Show-off," you teased.
"You know me."
The remaining children seemed eager to find out what was inside the boxes, but you knew that if you let them loose with a cornucopia of art supplies in the middle of the afternoon, they'd never want to go home.
"Alright, kids," you said. "Run along. I bet Tech has treats for you up at the plaza. And make sure your parents know where you're going!"
The children scattered, brainstorming possibilities for what Tech might have in store for them from this run.
"Tech does have treats for them, right?" you asked, suddenly nervous.
"Yep!" said Omega. "Some sort of crispy tuber. I thought they were a little odd."
"You've had two bags already," said Wrecker.
"And Phee said that you ate nine."
You couldn't help the smile that threatened to make your face cramp as you took Wrecker and Omega into the school, listening to them bicker good-naturedly. Most of the teachers were still packing up to leave, and Omega took it upon herself to go into every classroom, asking what each one needed. Wrecker would set the boxes down, and you'd help him pull out the requested supplies.
Jino, the upper-level math teacher, had done a funny little dance when you brought him the brand-new set of calculators. On your way out, he whispered your name, beckoning you closer to his desk as Wrecker and Omega left the room.
He tapped the set of colored pencils that he had swiped for drawing graphs. "Did you ask him for all of this?"
"No. Apparently I mentioned the colored pencils to him at some point, but I'm sure that it was mostly Omega's doing."
Jino gave you that look of his that he perfected on teenagers who tried to convince him that a tooka ate their homework.
"Okay, I get it!" you said. "I'll bring him a bottle of wine or something."
"Maybe give him a kiss for good measure. You know, as a thank-you."
"Stop it."
Jino's giggles followed you out the door.
After you had made all your offers to the teacher who hadn't yet left, and dropped most of the rest of the supplies off in the front office, you returned to your own classroom. Unfortunately, your cabinets and shelves were stuffed to the gills with rockets and their parts, not to mention everything else that a fifth grade classroom needed. You couldn't find space for half of your new supplies. As you were opening your desk drawers, wondering if you could rearrange everything to fit, you glanced up to see Wrecker putting a box on the very top shelf.
"Not up there," you said. "I won't be able to reach it."
"These are the extras. You won't need these for a while, right?"
"Well, no, but I hate having to find a stepladder."
Wrecker grinned. "Well, since I already walk you here, you can just ask me to get them down for you. I don't mind."
Your heart skipped a beat.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Omega chatted your ear off as the three of you walked towards your house, listing the many goods that Phee, Tech, and Wrecker had brought back from their travels. At this rate, the island wouldn't need the Interstellar Postal Service to make deliveries at all. Wrecker had unloaded everything from the Marauder before they had come down to the school, and it was now Shep's job to distribute it, so Wrecker had no more work to do. He and Omega were going to grab their rods and go fishing.
"Do you want to come with us?" Omega asked you.
"Maybe another day," you said. "I'll let you two have your bonding time."
"You'll come to dinner though, right?"
You glanced at Wrecker for confirmation that Omega's offer had his approval, and he nodded. "We're having a big dinner with everyone."
"That would be lovely," you said. "What time?"
Omega shrugged. "Dinnertime."
"I'll be there at six."
"Hey, 'Mega," said Wrecker. "Go ahead and grab our tackle. I'll be there in a minute."
Omega gave you a high-five and turned up a side street. Wrecker walked with you to your house, and made no motion to leave, so you unlocked the gate and held it open for him, too. You both made your way to stand in the shade of your tree.
"I…" Wrecker shifted a little. "Ah, nevermind,"
"What?" you said.
"I didn't give you a hug, earlier."
You smiled and held your arms out. Wrecker's hugs were something of a point of fame for him. They were the crushing, joyous sort, where children could fling themselves at him and know for certain that he'd catch them, where even grown men might find themselves being lifted off the ground. This wasn't that, though. This was gentle, betraying him as the sort of man who knew his own strength better than he'd have you all believe when he was trying to bruise everyone's ribs with his affection. You pressed your face into his chest and felt a weight on the crown of your head that you were pretty sure was his face resting against it. The embrace lasted just a few seconds too long, a moment beyond the point of casualness.
Then he spun you around, and you let out an involuntary shriek of delight. There was the Wrecker you knew and—
Oh. Maybe you shouldn't finish that thought.
"See you at dinner?" he said, when he had set you down.
"See you at dinner."
The flutter in your chest didn't settle until he was long out of sight.
You heard the Batch's house before you saw it. Omega's definition of "big dinner" was what you would call a proper party, with people spilling out of the house and onto the large porch, crowded around tables meant for half as many, sitting in chairs that they had clearly brought from their own homes. Aromas mingled in the air, most of them recognizable to you, and all of them mouth-watering. Hunter and Wrecker stood at the edge of the porch, greeting people as they walked in. Wrecker waved when he saw you, and Hunter gave you a friendly nod.
"Am I late?"
"Nah," said Wrecker. "We're still on the appetizers."
"Glad you could make it," said Hunter, and he sounded like he meant it. "Has Wrecker here told you what they were doing for the past four months?"
You raised an eyebrow at them. "Not yet."
Hunter elbowed Wrecker in the side.
"Alright!" said Wrecker. "So, we kind of got arrested…"
As he began his tale, Hunter moved around him, making room for you to stand on Wrecker's right side. It was habit for you, at this point. It wasn't something he talked about often, but Wrecker's unilateral hearing loss frustrated him, especially when people spoke softly. You had seen the confusion and exasperation that crossed his face when he missed entire sentences because of it. Shep had tried in vain to convince him to learn sign language.
"Why should I have to learn a whole new language?" he had said. "Why can't people just be louder?"
You couldn't fault him, there.
The party grew, and you found yourself leaning closer to him so that you didn't have to shout, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin and smell the saltwater from the docks that still clung to his shirt. When Omega announced that dinner was ready, Wrecker slipped his hand into yours and gently tugged you through the crowd to find seats. You found yourselves at the largest table on the porch, sitting next to Wrecker at the edge of the inner circle, as you thought of them: the Batch, the Hazards, and Phee.
Wrecker's story came to a close, the finale involving a great many explosions of which he sounded quite proud, and you could see Hunter grinning even though it was clearly the second time that he'd heard the tale. Conversation died down as you dug into your meal, but as you started on your second plate, a lively argument had sprung up between Wrecker and Crosshair.
"I don't understand why anyone would put a sweet sauce on meat," said Crosshair, disgusted.
"It's delicious!" Wrecker protested. "You're just picky."
You found yourself giggling along with Omega as the men squabbled. Wrecker "won" the argument by getting Crosshair in a headlock, and then it was Phee's turn to tell stories, heavily embellished by commentary from the rest of the group. You lost yourself in the scene. The sun set, and someone struck up a tune on a violin, and dessert was served, but you hardly processed it, drawn like a moth to a flame into teasing laughter and melodramatic reenactments. Underneath it all was the warmth seeping into your bones every time Wrecker looked your way.
The stars were coming out by the time you were all finished eating, and more instruments materialized to form a proper band. Half of the group got up to dance, and the other half watched with amusement as Omega and Lyana tried to make up their own steps and teach them to Shep.
"You aren't going to go dance?" Wrecker asked you.
"No," you said. "I'm rather enjoying your company."
He nudged your knee with his own. "You haven't told me what you've been doing since I left."
"Nothing much has happened."
"Tell me about it anyway."
So you did. The crowd thinned out a little bit, and the temperature began to drop, so the party moved itself inside. Wrecker had to pull himself away every ten or fifteen minutes to give someone a hug and say goodbye, but every time, he returned, asking you to continue your vignettes of everyday life on Pabu. It was a life he knew well, but still, he listened with rapt attention as if it were you who had gone on an adventure.
Evening turned to night, and someone dragged out the board games, which caused what you could only describe as a ruckus. You played a round of some game you hardly understood, you and Wrecker against Lyana and Omega. The girls trounced you, which only made Wrecker laugh and laugh as they swiped his pieces off the board.
"May I try?" asked Tech, as Omega congratulated you on a game well-played.
"You can sub in for me," you said.
"Oh, no. I was going to play one against two. It's only fair."
"Have fun," said Wrecker. "The girls are going to kick your butt."
"I doubt that," said Tech.
Omega grinned maniacally.
"What should we play next?" Wrecker asked you, as the two of you wandered away from the table.
Between the noise and the crampedness, you found yourself wilting at the suggestion. Games were fun and all—when they weren't being played after five hours of revelry.
"You okay?" Wrecker asked.
"You go on," you said. "I'm going to take a break. I'll be outside."
"Alright."
Wrecker pulled you into a half-hug, the casual sort of thing that he did with everyone. He called out to Crosshair, asking if his brother wanted to play that game with the starships, which made Crosshair roll his eyes, because half of the board games in existence involved starships. You slipped away through the side door, ignoring the pounding in your chest.
Twenty minutes passed before your solitude was broken.
"You like it?" came Wrecker's voice.
You dragged your gaze away from the flower-covered trellis on the porch to see him standing in the doorway, holding something small in his hand that you couldn't make out from where you were sitting on the wide railing.
"I do. Did you make it?"
"Sort of," he said. "It was Omega's design. I just helped the plants along."
He gave an affectionate pat to one of the leaves as he passed through the trellis and leaned against the railing next to you. Sitting up here brought you nearly face-to-face with him, and it struck you how close you were. You looked down at his hands; now you could see that he had brought two tiny cakes, both lumpy and lopsided.
"Leftovers," he explained. "They were ugly."
"I think they're cute," you said.
Wrecker held one out to you, and you plucked it from his palm, taking a small bite. Chocolate. You tried to eat it slowly and savor the taste, and Wrecker mirrored you.
"Hey, Wrecker?" you said, when you were finished. "When did I tell you about the colored pencils?"
Wrecker chuckled. "We were at the Reef."
Oh, no.
Well, that would explain why you didn't remember. The Reef was the island's only bar, and the last time you'd encountered Wrecker there, you'd talked his ear off for an hour. You hadn't drunk too much, so your memories of the night were mostly intact, but the details had slipped your mind.
"Ah," you said, huffing a nervous laugh. "I'm impressed that you remember that. Thank you."
"Any time."
A comfortable silence fell around you both as you admired the foliage above you. The vines were clearly woven into the trellis with care, and the lamplight cast a warm hue on the green leaves and violet blossoms, set against the dark and twinkling sky with a beauty you couldn't quite describe. You turned to ask Wrecker what sort of vines produced flowers as purple as that, and you found him gazing at you intently. Goosebumps prickled on your arms.
"What?"
"I missed you, sunshine."
You knew that look. Warm, open; light-hearted at the corner of his mouth; sincere to a point of aching around his eyes. It was something you'd seen in glimpses before, in the moments after you'd made joke, or the times you offered Omega help with her homework. You felt almost silly. All that time you spent fretting about his feelings, they were already sketched out on his face.
Wrecker cleared his throat. "I'm gonna go…ask Hunter if he wants help with the dishes."
Oh, dammit, you had been quiet too long. Wrecker was already moving away from you, and you panicked and did the only thing you could think of: grab his sleeve and keep him there.
"Can you just…" Tell me this isn't in my mind. "Stay? Please."
Wrecker's brow was pinched. He looked down at your hand where it gripped his sleeve, and you let go, face going hot with embarrassment. But he smiled, good-natured as always, and leaned back against the railing, resting his warm hand at the small of your back.
"How much of all that was Omega's idea?" you asked.
"I asked her what else she thought they'd need. Did the rest myself."
Such an innocuous statement, and yet, it sounded almost confessory. His good eye roamed over you, the deep brown taking on a golden tinge as it reflected the light.
From up here, perched on the railing at eye level with Wrecker, it was easy to lean in and kiss him.
Everything about Wrecker seemed explosive, at first: his voice, his job, his penchant for theatrics. You knew him better than that. This was the man you'd missed for many long weeks, gentle and patient and an endless ocean of joy. With one arm he braced himself against the railing, and the other he wrapped around you. The five foot drop behind you hardly registered in your mind as he held you fast against him, your arms around his neck, kissing you like you were the only two souls in the world.
When you broke apart, you could see a flush in his cheeks that matched yours. Movement behind him caught your eye, and you startled as you realized that it was Omega, now frozen in the doorway, staring at you. Wrecker turned around, his arm still holding you safely, and sucked in a breath.
"Oh, man," Omega whined. "I can't believe I lost to Crosshair."
Lost…?
Wrecker caught on before you did. "How much?"
"I didn't start it!" Omega protested.
"Omega. How. Much."
For a moment there was dead silence, Omega's eyes flitting between the two of you. Then she turned tail and bolted, leaving you alone with Wrecker, whose murderous expression melted into laughter.
"Your brothers need to clean up their gambling problem," you said.
"They always bet on the stupid things," he grumbled.
"I don't think this one is that stupid," you said, tracing a finger along his jaw. "We were taking forever."
Wrecker kissed you again, and you thought that you could lose yourself in him forever.
Ma'am I was at work when I got this notification! I read it while I was covering my boss's lunch break and had to try to explain why I was smiling like an idiot when he came back...
This was beautiful! You did such an amazing job, and it was more than well worth the wait! Please excuse me, I'm going to go cry about this now because I have no other way to process how much I loved this. Thank you so much 💜🩷❤️
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