౨❅ Winter Wonderland ❅ৎ
The 12 Days of Batchmas 2025 - Day 1
❄️ Pairings: Tech X Female!Reader
❄️ Word count: 3.8k
Plot Summary: On the rare morning snow falls over Pabu, Tech is already awake and documenting the phenomenon when she steps outside and turns the moment into something far more meaningful than data. Drawn to her warmth and quiet wonder, he rambles through scientific explanations to hide the feelings he can’t quite quantify, only to realize she genuinely enjoys every part of him. Especially the parts he worries are too much.
Tech had been awake for three hours, twelve minutes, and forty-seven seconds when he heard the hatch of the Marauder open.
He knew it was her before he even looked up from his datapad. He had memorized the particular rhythm of her footsteps weeks ago, though he would never admit to such an illogical use of his observational skills. There were far more practical things to catalog than the soft cadence of someone's gait.
And yet.
Tech adjusted his goggles and pretended to be absorbed in his precipitation data. In reality, every shred of attention he had was directed to the woman now standing on Pabu's walkway, her face tilted up toward the falling snow with an expression of such pure wonder that his throat tightened.
Beautiful.
The thought arrived unbidden. Inconvenient. But, accurate.
He had been waiting for this weather event for months. He had tracked the atmospheric patterns, calculated the probability windows, set alerts on his datapad. But now that it was finally here, now that snow was actually falling on Pabu for the first time in years, Tech found he could not focus on the meteorological data at all.
Because she was here. And she was smiling.
"I see you noticed the precipitation."
Smooth, Tech. Very smooth. As if she had climbed out of the Marauder specifically to observe atmospheric water crystals and not because the world looked like something out of a holovid romance.
She turned toward him, and Tech's brain temporarily forgot how to regulate his respiratory system.
"Good morning, Tech," she said, her smile widening. "You are up early."
I have been waiting for you to wake up, his mind supplied helpfully. I have been standing out here for twenty-three minutes hoping you would notice the snow and come outside so I could share this with you because everything is better when you are present and I am completely hopeless.
"I have been awake for three hours," he said instead, lifting his datapad like a shield. "I was collecting data."
"About the snow."
"Yes."
It was not entirely a lie. He had been collecting data. He simply had not been processing any of it with his usual efficiency because he kept glancing at the Marauder's hatch every forty-seven seconds.
Not that he had been counting.
Tech stepped closer. She had snowflakes clinging to her sleeves, each one a tiny architectural marvel, and he wanted to examine them. He wanted to examine everything about this moment and commit it to memory with the kind of detail he usually reserved for starship schematics.
"This is remarkable," he murmured, studying the crystalline structures on her sleeve while trying very hard not to think about how close he was standing. "These flakes are highly symmetrical. Six-sided crystalline structures. As they should be. Though the temperature is slightly higher than expected, which suggests that the water vapors condensed under very stable conditions."
He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. But if he stopped talking about snow formation, he might accidentally say something catastrophic like you look absolutely radiant right now or I have been hoping you would wake up for the past hour or I think about you approximately seventy percent of my waking hours and it is becoming a problem.
"Are you about to give me a full lecture on the physics of snowflakes?"
Tech's mind short-circuited.
She was amused. Not annoyed. Not bored. Amused. There was affection in her voice, warm and genuine, and it made something in his chest feel entirely too tight.
"Only if you want one," he managed.
Please want one. Please let me talk about snow science because it is the only thing keeping me from confessing that I find your presence more fascinating than any meteorological phenomenon.
She laughed—actually laughed—and brushed snow off his shoulder.
Tech forgot how to breathe.
Her hand had touched him. Casually. Easily. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she had not just sent every neuron in his body into complete disarray.
"I would not mind," she said softly.
Tech's heart performed what could only be described as an unauthorized acrobatic maneuver.
She wanted to hear him talk about snowflakes. She was choosing to spend time with him. She was looking at him with those eyes that made him forget whether he was supposed to be exhaling or inhaling, and she wanted to hear him ramble about ice crystals.
He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, attempting to regain some measure of composure. This was fine. He could do this. He gave lectures all the time. Admittedly, most of his lectures were delivered to his brothers who openly ignored him, but this was essentially the same thing.
Except it was not the same thing at all.
Because she was watching him with genuine interest, and Tech found himself wanting to make this good. Wanting to be interesting. Wanting her to keep looking at him exactly like that.
"The formation of snowflakes begins when water vapor in the atmosphere freezes into ice crystals," he began, his voice steadier than he felt. "These crystals then accumulate additional vapors which attach themselves in specific molecular patterns. This results in the branching structures that form unique shapes. Because the atmospheric conditions shift constantly during formation, each snowflake acquires distinct features."
He watched her face as he spoke, cataloging every micro-expression. The way her eyes brightened with curiosity. The small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. The way she leaned in slightly, as if she did not want to miss a single word.
She was listening. Actually listening.
Tech's chest ached with something he could not quite categorize.
"How long have you been waiting to explain that?" she asked, her tone teasing but gentle.
Since the moment I met you. Since I first realized that you actually pay attention when I talk. Since I started having thoughts that include the word 'us' instead of just 'me.'
"A while," he admitted.
Her expression softened, and Tech felt his carefully constructed defenses crumble like poorly engineered architecture.
The snow continued to fall, transforming Pabu into something out of a storybook. But Tech barely noticed the boats in the harbor or the peaceful crunch of snow beneath his boots. He was too busy trying not to stare at the way snowflakes caught in her hair, turning her into something even more ethereal than usual.
A snowflake landed on her eyelash. Tech's fingers twitched with the wholly inappropriate urge to brush it away.
He shoved his hand into a pocket on his tool belt.
"Want to walk around a bit?" she asked. "It is pretty out here."
Tech's entire nervous system went on high alert.
She wanted to walk with him. She wanted to spend more time with him. This was good. This was very good. This was also terrifying because Tech had been thinking about asking her to walk with him for the past twenty minutes and had been composing and discarding approximately forty-seven different approaches.
"I was going to ask you that," he blurted.
Smooth, Tech. Very smooth.
"Really?"
"Yes." He pushed his goggles up, flustered, needing something to do with his hands that was not reaching for her. "I had planned to phrase it more efficiently. Something like... would you be interested in taking a short observational stroll."
Why did he sound like a particularly awkward protocol droid?
"That is one way to say it."
"Is it an ineffective approach?"
Please say no. Please tell me I have not completely ruined this.
"No. It is very... you."
Tech's heart did something complicated and wholly unauthorized.
She liked that it was very him. She was not asking him to be someone else. She was not rolling her eyes or walking away or suggesting he try being "more normal" like Hunter sometimes gently implied.
She liked him as he was.
Tech opened his mouth, closed it again, and desperately attempted to regain some semblance of composure. His hands were sweating. Why were his hands sweating? It was literally snowing.
She extended her hand slightly.
Tech's brain stopped functioning entirely.
That was her hand. Extended toward him. In a gesture that was universally recognized as an invitation for physical contact. She wanted him to take her hand. She wanted to hold his hand while they walked through the snow like people did in those romantic holofilms Omega sometimes watched.
Oh.
Oh no.
Tech stared at her outstretched hand like it was a complex equation he desperately wanted to solve but was terrified of getting wrong. His analytical mind supplied approximately sixty-three reasons why this was a bad idea.
His heart supplied exactly one reason why it was not: Because it is her.
Carefully, reverently, like he was handling the most delicate piece of machinery in the galaxy, Tech lifted his hand and placed it in hers.
Her fingers closed around his.
Tech forgot how to think.
Her hand was warm. Soft. Perfect. It fit against his like it had been designed specifically for this purpose, and Tech had to actively resist the urge to run a detailed analysis on the statistical probability of such a thing.
He looked at their joined hands with something approaching wonder.
This is happening. This is actually happening.
They began walking through the snowy streets of Pabu, leaving two sets of footprints behind. Tech's entire awareness had narrowed to the feeling of her hand in his, the gentle pressure of her fingers, the way she did not let go even when he stopped to record the increasing flake density.
"The flake density is increasing," he noted, lifting his datapad with his free hand. "Fascinating."
He was absolutely not letting go of her hand to use both hands for his datapad. His data collection could be slightly less precise for once.
"You really like snow," she observed, watching him with fond amusement.
I like you, his brain supplied helpfully. I like the way you smile at me when I talk about atmospheric phenomena. I like how you listen when everyone else tunes me out. I like how you make me feel like being exactly who I am is not just acceptable but somehow... enough.
"I am interested in uncommon meteorological phenomena," he corrected, defaulting to technical precision because feelings were complicated and snow science was not.
Then, because apparently his mouth had decided to bypass his brain entirely: "But yes. I like it... significantly more when you are present."
Tech's face heated approximately three degrees.
He had just said that. Out loud. To her. Where she could hear it.
There was a pause, and Tech braced himself for awkwardness or gentle rejection or that particular expression people got when he said something that revealed too much.
Instead, she smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not an uncomfortable smile. A genuine, warm, absolutely devastating smile that made Tech's heart perform what could only be described as a barrel roll.
They continued walking until they reached a small open area overlooking the ocean. Snow collected on the stone wall like nature itself was setting the scene for something significant. Waves crashed below, their usual roar muted by the gentle hush of falling flakes.
Tech exhaled softly, his breath misting in the cold air.
"This is ideal."
"It is beautiful," she agreed.
Tech glanced at her, then looked away quickly, his face heating again.
She thought the view was beautiful. Tech thought she was beautiful, standing there with snowflakes in her hair and the ocean behind her and that soft smile on her face that made him want to recalculate every life decision that had led him to this exact moment.
His ears burned. Definitely from embarrassment this time, not the cold.
"That is not exactly what I meant," he admitted.
She tilted her head, curious and patient and entirely too perfect. "What did you mean?"
Tech's mouth went dry.
I meant that having you here is ideal. I meant that I have been alone for most of my life and I never minded until I met you. I meant that atmospheric conditions are fascinating but your presence is essential.
"I meant that the conditions are ideal," he said carefully. "For collecting data." He hesitated, then added in a quieter voice: "And for... other things."
"What other things?"
Tech avoided her eyes, focusing very intently on the snow-covered wall.
For falling hopelessly for someone. For realizing that hand-holding is significantly more pleasant than any technical manual suggested. For wanting to kiss you so badly that I have run approximately one thousand scenarios in my head about how to ask.
"For companionship," he said finally. "Specifically yours."
There. He had said it. It was out there now, hovering between them like the snowflakes drifting through the air.
"Are you saying you like spending time with me?"
Tech frowned, genuinely confused. "I assumed that was obvious."
Had he not been clear? Had he not spent weeks finding excuses to work near her? Had he not memorized her schedule and her favorite foods and the particular way she laughed when something genuinely delighted her?
Apparently not.
Tech's brows pulled together in thought. If his feelings were not obvious, then he needed to make them obvious. Clarity was important. Precision was important.
She was important.
"Then I will make it clearer," he said, meeting her eyes with an effort that felt like courage. "I enjoy your company. Significantly. More than I initially expected, though the trend has been increasingly apparent for weeks now. You listen when I talk about things others find boring. You ask questions that indicate genuine interest rather than polite tolerance. You make me feel..."
He paused, searching for the right words.
Seen. Valued. Like maybe I am not too much or too different or too everything that people usually find exhausting.
"...like myself is sufficient," he finished quietly.
Her breath caught, soft and audible, and Tech's heart hammered against his ribs.
"Well," she said, her voice equally quiet. "I enjoy yours too."
Tech's entire world tilted sideways.
She enjoyed his company. She had just said it. Out loud. Where he could hear it and record it and replay it in his mind approximately seven thousand times.
He shifted closer. Only by an inch, but for Tech—who carefully calculated personal space and rarely breached it—that inch felt like a leap across a chasm.
More snow settled in his hair. He did not care.
She reached up and brushed the flakes away, her fingers grazing his temple.
Tech froze like every circuit in his body had simultaneously overloaded.
"Does that bother you?" she asked softly, her hand still hovering near his face.
Bother me? BOTHER ME? You could reprogram my entire operating system and I would thank you.
"No," he responded immediately, his voice slightly strangled. "No. It does not bother me."
He needed her to know. Needed her to understand that her touch was not unwelcome, that it was in fact the opposite of unwelcome, that it was possibly the best thing that had happened to him in recent memory.
"It is... pleasant," he added, which was possibly the understatement of the century.
Pleasant. Like atmospheric pressure was "interesting" and hyperspace was "fast" and she was "acceptable."
Tech looked out over the ocean, then back at her, then down at the snow, trying to organize his thoughts into something coherent. His thumb moved without permission, lightly brushing across her knuckle.
He was still holding her hand.
He had been holding her hand this entire time.
Somehow that felt more significant than any technical achievement he had ever accomplished.
She touched his arm gently, grounding him. "Tech, what is going on in that head of yours?"
Everything. Nothing. You. Mostly you. The fact that I have been trying to find the courage to tell you how I feel for weeks and now that the moment is here I am terrified of saying the wrong thing or saying it wrong or somehow ruining this perfect moment with my complete inability to process emotions like a normal human being.
Tech inhaled slowly, gathering his courage like ammunition.
"I was trying to determine the appropriate moment to ask you a question," he admitted. "I wanted the moment to be... memorable. For you."
"What question?"
Tech looked at her finally, really looked at her, taking in the snowflakes on her eyelashes and the gentle curiosity in her expression and the way she was watching him like what he had to say actually mattered.
His heart felt too large for his chest.
Here goes everything.
"I would like to know if you would consider walking with me again another day," he said, each word carefully selected. "Not for research. Not for data collection. Simply because I enjoy being near you. Because I find your presence... necessary. In a way I did not anticipate but cannot seem to quantify or diminish or ignore."
There. He had said it. All of it. Or at least as much of it as he could manage without completely short-circuiting.
Her face transformed, softening into an expression so warm that Tech felt it like physical heat.
"Yes," she said simply. "I would like that."
Tech's shoulders dropped with relief so profound it was almost painful.
"I am very pleased to hear it," he said, which was possibly the calmest way he had ever expressed the sensation of wanting to reprogram himself into someone who knew how to properly celebrate good news.
She laughed, bright and genuine, and Tech wanted to record that sound and play it on loop.
"Tech. You could have asked me that without all the snow science."
He tilted his head, genuinely confused. "But the snow science is important."
The snow science provided context. Structure. A framework for this interaction that made sense when his feelings decidedly did not.
"I know," she said, and her smile was so fond it made his chest ache. "And I love hearing it."
Tech stared at her.
Love.
She had said love.
"You do?" he asked, because apparently he needed confirmation. Needed to hear it again. Needed to be absolutely certain he had not misheard or misinterpreted or invented that particular word in his desperation.
"I do."
Tech's hand twitched with the overwhelming urge to reach for her again, to close the small distance between them, to do something that expressed the magnitude of what he was feeling.
But his restraint held. Barely.
She took the initiative instead, slipping her fingers between his with an ease that suggested she had been thinking about it too.
Tech let out a quiet breath he had not realized he was holding.
They continued walking, hand in hand, while Tech occasionally rambled about ice crystal growth patterns and atmospheric pressure. But for once, he was only partially focused on the science.
The rest of his attention was dedicated to memorizing this: the feeling of her hand in his, the sound of her laugh when he got particularly enthusiastic about dendrite formation, the way she leaned into him slightly when the wind picked up.
After a while, they reached a small lookout near the upper walkways. Snow dusted the rooftops below like powdered sugar, turning Pabu into something from a storybook.
Tech reluctantly released her hand only long enough to collect a snow sample in a small container. He lifted it up with the kind of pride usually reserved for significant tactical victories.
"I will be able to analyze the composition later."
She smiled at his excitement, and Tech felt it like sunlight.
"I like seeing you happy," she said softly.
Tech's datapad nearly slipped from his fingers.
"I am..." Tech paused, trying to find words adequate for the feeling expanding in his chest. "I am frequently happy around you. It is a variable I did not anticipate, yet it is welcome. Very welcome."
You make me happy. You make everything better just by existing in the same space. I have been lonely for so long and I did not even realize it until you showed me what it felt like to be anything else.
Her expression softened further, impossibly tender. "I am glad."
Tech stepped closer.
He was not entirely sure what he was doing. His body seemed to be operating on some kind of autopilot, driven by feelings too large to contain and too powerful to ignore.
His heart hammered. His palms sweated. His mind supplied approximately seventy-three reasons why this was a terrible idea.
He ignored all of them.
"I would like to kiss you," he said quietly, because if there was one thing Tech believed in, it was informed consent and clear communication. "But I am aware that doing so without asking would be inappropriate. So I am clarifying. Would that be acceptable?"
He held his breath.
This was it. The moment where she would either reciprocate or gently explain that he had misread the situation entirely and they should probably return to being just friends who occasionally held hands during meteorological events.
"Yes," she said softly, her eyes bright. "It would."
Tech's brain blanked entirely.
Yes. She said yes. She wants me to kiss her. Me. Specifically me.
He nodded once, confirming parameters more for his own benefit than hers, then very gently lifted his hand to her cheek.
She was so warm.
His touch was careful, reverent, like he was handling something infinitely precious. Because he was. He was holding something precious and perfect and somehow, inexplicably interested in him.
Tech leaned in with soft determination, his heart racing faster than any ship he had ever piloted.
Their lips met.
Soft. Warm. Perfect.
Tech's entire world narrowed to this: the gentle pressure of her mouth against his, the way she leaned into him slightly, the small sound of contentment she made that sent electricity down his spine.
He relaxed against her, letting out a quiet sigh that carried approximately six weeks of pining and hoping and wanting.
This. This is what all those holofilms were trying to explain. This is why people write poetry and songs and ridiculous romantic nonsense that I always found illogical.
This makes perfect sense.
When he pulled back, his face was burning, his heart was racing, and his brain was attempting to process sensory data that far exceeded any predictive models.
"That was far more agreeable than my calculations predicted," he said, because apparently his mouth defaulted to technical terminology when overwhelmed. He reached up to adjust his goggles, needing something familiar to ground himself. "Exponentially so."
She laughed, breathless and beautiful, and Tech wanted to kiss her again immediately.
"I liked it too," she said.
Tech's heart performed another unauthorized acrobatic maneuver.
She liked it. She wanted to do it again. This was not a one-time experiment or a moment of temporary insanity.
This was mutual.
"Good," he said, attempting to sound calm and collected despite feeling anything but. "Then I believe it would be reasonable to do that again. Later. That is, if you desire to do so."
Please desire to do so. Please let this be the first of many. Please let me keep this.
"I agree," she said, grinning.
Tech felt like he could reprogram a Star Destroyer with his bare hands.
Snow continued to fall around them, transforming the world into something magical. Tech shifted closer until their shoulders touched, needing the contact, needing the confirmation that this was real.
For a long moment, they simply stood together on the snowy lookout, watching flakes drift down and dissolve on the warm stone.
Tech's mind was uncharacteristically quiet. No calculations. No analysis. Just this: her warmth beside him, her hand in his, the peaceful silence of snowfall.
"Would you like to resume our walk?" he asked eventually.
"Yes," she said. "With you. Always."
Always.
Tech looked at her like she had just solved an impossible equation. Like she had given him something he had not known he desperately needed. Like she had taken every lonely moment of his life and rewritten them into something bearable because they had led him here.
To her.
To this.
To always.
He gently took her hand once more, marveling at how natural it felt. How right.
"I am very glad you came outside today," he whispered, his voice raw with honesty. "I find these moments with you... irreplaceable."
She squeezed his hand, her smile soft and sure. "So am I."
Together, they walked through the quiet snowfall, leaving two sets of footprints side by side.
Tech cataloged every detail: the crunch of snow, the warmth of her hand, the way their steps naturally synchronized. He stored it all in his memory with meticulous care, knowing that years from now, he would want to remember this exactly as it was.
The day it snowed on Pabu.
The day he stopped calculating and started feeling.
The day she chose him back.
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