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The reader celebration continues! I hope you know just how amazing you are!

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: Mild harassment/teasing

Artist's Eye (Count + Denal)

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You finished up on the datapad, summarizing what you had found. "According to the Resolute's records, we do have two of the Z-6s onboard. However, based on what you told me about the mission, I would suggest switching to Accelerated Charged Particle Array guns. They have most of the features you'll be using without some of the bulk."

"Are you trying to tell us you don't think we can lift that much, Count?" Swoop teased.

"Yeah, I don't spend so much time working out just to look pretty," Ronto told you, flexing his biceps when you looked up at him.

You glanced away quickly, trying not to focus on the way the black fabric of his body glove clung to the muscle. Shyness had always been your fatal flaw and you wanted to curse as you felt the heat rising in your face. You were fine as long as you were focused on the ship's inventory, the numbers and locations streaming across your screen.

You glanced down at that screen now. "We have more of the ACPAs onboard. As you know, they can pierce deflector shields. That sounds like something you’ll need. I can have a few of them brought to you if you want to make that change."

Abruptly, your view of the screen was blocked by something dark and close. You blinked at what turned out to be an arm and followed it up to Ronto's grinning face. "C'mon, Count, admit it. You just want me for my body."

"Can you please just… focus, please?"

Ugh, you had said 'please' too many times.

Swoop stepped up to push his brother back. "Yeah, Ronto, focus. This is much more impressive."

You tried not to watch, sure from Swoop's tone that you wouldn't like what you were going to see. Still, your attention was caught by Swoop as he started flexing his pectoral muscles, simultaneously at first, then one at a time.

"You guys are ridiculous," you muttered as quietly as you could, looking back at the datapad. It didn't do anything to stop the teasing, but it made you feel a little better.

The troopers could be obnoxious and you often found them overwhelming, but you knew they weren't trying to bother you for real. It was… affection, sort of. The kind of teasing you would expect from a sibling or a close friend. If only you could build your nerve to tease them back, you would have a fine friendship with more than a few of them.

"Are you gonna sit there and listen to that slander, Count?" Ronto asked with a comically offended gasp. "No, you have to judge for yourself. Tell us who has a better body."

That startled a laugh out of you, at least, even if all you could do was shake your head and keep looking down at your datapad. The screen hadn’t changed, and wouldn’t as long as they kept not making a decision.

"I like that idea, vod," Swoop congratulated. "But we all know, of course, that the best way to judge is through touch."

If your face got any warmer, it could start setting off some of the artillery. Still, you had no intention of groping anyone's muscles. "I- I would rather work on your supply order."

"Aww, Count…" Swoop pouted.

Ronto shook his head. "Nothing but work, work, work, all the time. That's our Count."

Okay, you had been getting a bit irritated, but the 'our' in his statement had soothed that feeling.

"Are you both harassing the civilian again?" a new trooper asked, stepping into the room.

His voice was as crisp and sharp as the two blue lines painted on his helmet, running from under each eye and down the planes of plastoid. That helmet was tucked under his arm now.

Denal always stood like an officer, spoke to the men like one. But he had the same rank as most of them, so Ronto and Swoop gave him very little attention and - as usual - absolutely no respect.

"Yeah, vod, of course we are," Ronto told him. "She's the best one we've got."

"Now, don't get cocky, Count," Swoop warned, wagging a finger at you even as he laughed. Cocky was not a word that had ever been used to describe you. "We work with them less and haven't spoken to them as much. But their time is coming."

"Force be with them," you muttered, earning yourself an injured glare from both troopers.

"Maybe we’ll go find someone else who appreciates us,” Ronto said, openly pouting.

“The general said the escape pods are off-limits,” Denal reminded him, and you smothered a laugh at the implication.

“Fine, we’ll leave,” Swoop agreed, making a face at Denal. “Don’t be mean to her after we leave because you’re jealous.”

And then they were gone, leaving you to frown at Denal in confusion. For his part, Denal was staring around the inventory bay like it was the most interesting place he had ever stood. He was paying especially close attention to your desk, and you were immediately embarrassed at the mess you had left strewn across its surface.

“What did they mean, do you think?” you asked.

“Not a clue,” Denal shut down immediately. “I’m not even sure they meant something by it. You know how they are.”

You didn’t really have a response to that, so you just nodded. Every other trooper in the 501st had treated you like a sister from the moment you had first stepped into the inventory bay. Denal was different. He had never seemed to warm up to you. He wasn’t rude or unpleasant, not overtly, but he certainly kept his distance in a noticeable way.

Of course, you had heard rumors about the way things had worked on the Resolute before you got there. Maybe it would be best to ask him about it directly? ‘Direct’ wasn’t your best thing, but you could give it a try.

“I think... they think you don’t... like me. Maybe.” You had muttered the explanation and said it much too quickly besides, but Denal must have heard you. At least, you were pretty sure.

Eyes wide, Denal asked, “Why wouldn’t I like you?”

“Because it’s my job to order things for the troopers,” you explained, picking at the false wood grain chipping off the corner of your durasteel desk. “I know you did that before.”

He would deny it, of course. Troopers could get into big trouble for… acquiring items like the ones Denal had been sneaking in for his brothers. Regardless of the trouble, there was always at least one trooper on every ship who made it his mission to find the items the men weren’t supposed to have. Everything from snacks to certain holofilms were highly prized among ships as tightly controlled as the ones the Republic operated.

Denal had been the one in charge of getting those items since he had joined the 501st shortly after the start of the war. Now the troopers just submitted lists of items to you, personal extras snuck in like you wouldn’t notice. 15 buckets of armor polish, 55 trays for the mess hall, 2 containers of chocolate-dipped cookies with star sprinkles, 25 replacement DC-17s… You had noticed those items sneaking onto your lists, but you hadn’t said anything, and you always made sure the items made their way to the right trooper. More importantly, you often stocked some popular items to give to troopers who seemed withdrawn, or ones who had just lost a close friend. You couldn’t do much for the men, but anything you could do, you did gladly.

But you could see how that would be stepping on Denal’s toes. He couldn’t say it, since the practice was so clearly against regulations, but you had taken his place in providing goods to his brothers. You could see how that would upset him.

Denal cocked his head. “I don’t care about that. I didn’t mind getting my brothers the items they wanted, but you’ve taken a lot of stress away. Thank you for that. I probably should have said it earlier.”

You were stunned, so much so that you unthinkingly blurted out what you were thinking, “I thought you spent so much time here because you were trying to catch me making a mistake!”

Denal flinched at that, and the surge of guilt was immediate and overwhelming. “No. No, I wasn’t- I’m not trying to catch you doing anything wrong. I was just trying to… Never mind. It doesn’t really matter.”

Now you felt like an absolute monster. “Wait Denal, please. What were you trying to do?”

“I was- I wanted- Can I paint you?”

“You- What?” You had promised yourself that you wouldn’t say anything dumb in return, that you would make him feel at ease, but Denal’s question was so unexpected that you couldn’t help the confusion that poured from you.

Denal’s face took on just a hint of red under his natural tan, but he held eye contact with you. “I’m supposed to remove the nose art from one of the fighters and I need another person to replace it with. It helps if it’s someone who can pose so I can get the angles right. It’s always easier to work off a reference, you know?”

You didn’t know, actually, but you nodded anyway. “Can’t you just repaint whatever is on the ship now?”

“No, General Skywalker made that very clear,” Denal said with a grimace. “Right now, it’s Senator Amidala. He didn’t like that much. They’re friends and I guess he didn’t take it as the compliment we meant it to be.”

He stopped speaking, watching you with a hopeful and anticipatory expression. You sighed, glancing down at the datapad to stall. You had gone ahead and placed an order for two ACPAs for Swoop and Ronto, and the screen helpfully told you that they would be delivered to the heavy artillery training area in 23 minutes.

But none of that was helpful in giving Denal an answer. You were flattered that he wanted to paint you on the side of a fighter, but in what context? They called you Count, which didn’t say great things. Visions of your face on Count Dooku’s body danced in your head and you frowned.

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea, Denal-”

“Wait, hang on,” Denal requested. “Let me show you some samples before you make your decision. I promise I can actually draw. Give me a few minutes to get my sketchpad and I’ll be right back. Stay here!”

And he was gone before you could say anything. Probably good, honestly. What would you have said, that this was your office and that you were supposed to be here for the next few hours? Not exactly the stunning conversational starter you would have liked to produce.

Now that you knew Denal didn’t hate you, you had even more questions about his behavior. Denal was always hanging around your office, listening to your deals with other troopers and stepping in when they got a little too excited. He didn’t say a lot, but he watched what you did with a certain expression on his face. Almost longing, like he missed helping his brothers get the items they requested and would do anything to take the job again.

But if he had been so stressed and thus grateful to lose that responsibility, what did he want so badly that it made him look that intense about taking it back? Unless he wanted something else, but what?

Oh.

Heat suffused your cheeks and chest. Could that expression on Denal’s face be because of… you? Did he want to be around you so badly that he would spend his free time in your office? Lurk around to keep some of his more exuberant brothers from making you uncomfortable?

You were flattered, softening toward him, but forced yourself to pull back slightly. You weren’t even sure he actually liked you. You weren’t sure you actually liked him. Still, you couldn’t deny that your heart skipped a beat when Denal strode back in with a well-worn flimsi notebook in one hand.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at you without pause. “Some of these are older sketches, but you can at least get an idea of my art style.”

As you leafed through the pages, you definitely did. Whether Denal’s style had been influenced by drawing military emblems or if you just associated the style with nose art, it seemed to fit his talents to a tee. The drawings weren’t hyper-realistic, but they were accurate enough for you to recognize people and places. What’s more, his studies of texture, shadow, and perspective showed that he had as solid a handle on the mechanics of artwork as he did the subjects.

You paged past painstaking renderings of landscapes, and you would have bet a number of credits that they were places where the 501st had been sent. You saw armor drawn from every possible angle, as well as dozens of paint designs. You recognized more than a few patterns. It would seem that Denal was the designated armor painter along with being the 501st’s main nose artist.

As you worked your way back through the notebook, the subjects switched to people. You picked out different features and expressions, ones you had seen on various troopers as they came to ask for specialty supplies. A scar draped over an eye helped you recognize General Skywalker’s intensely focused face. Denal’s studies on the way shadows fell across Commander Tano’s montrals were so realistic that you almost felt like you could touch them.

And then you came to the last few pages. They were filled with studies of different tricky parts. One page was full of hands, each knuckle and nail rendered in shades of black and white light and shadow. Strands of hair streamed across one page with loving strokes of ink and eyes watched you from the next - looking amused, suspicious, or curious, but your favorite were soft with an emotion they shouldn’t be capable of holding without lips. Those lips were on the next page, smiling or speaking, parted to reveal a hint of teeth.

Those teeth were what had clued you in. They were mildly imperfect, distinct, unique…

Your teeth.

The hands were yours, the hair was yours. Those eyes had been yours, drawn in incredible detail, pairing with the lips that had been depicted in every twist and mood you had shown on the Resolute. You looked up at Denal, who glanced down at the page before blanching.

He had stepped around your desk in a moment, snapping the book closed. “So, uh. Anyway. What do you think? Will you let me paint you on the fighter?”

“I- uh… Okay.”

“Okay?” Denal repeated, looking at you with a hopeful light in his eyes.

“Okay,” you said again, trying not to blush as you nodded. “What do you need from me?”

“I’ll come back here when you have some time and I’ll sketch out a design. We’ll figure out the pose, you’ll approve the sketch, then I paint it. You don’t have to be there for that part.”

“Sounds… easy enough on my end,” you said honestly.

Denal laughed, and it was the first time he had relaxed since bringing you his sketchbook. “You may not think so by the end of this. I don’t draw very quickly, so the initial sketching session might take longer than you think.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him shyly. “I don’t mind spending time with you.”

Denal’s sputtered responses only stopped when he left the inventory bay. You were more confused than you had been in a long time, but there was a little burst of pleasure in your chest when you thought about the trooper. You couldn’t bring yourself to be too upset about the way things had gone.

Two days later, you were sitting with Denal in the Resolute’s hangar bay, sitting on a crate and staring at the patched-over paint on the nose of a fighter. Denal had apologized for the location, but had said that the troopers would be more likely to leave you alone if you were in the hangar rather than in a break room or other shared space.

You had been chatting a bit with Denal, but the conversation tended to trail off when he needed to concentrate on some detail or another. The most recent reason was that he needed to focus on sketching your smile.

That made you think of the sketchpad filled with features. Had they really been you? There was really only one way to know, but you honestly didn’t know if you had the nerve to just ask Denal. What if you were wrong? You would seem insufferably self-centered, if not outright paranoid. Was it really worth it to know for sure?

Maybe.

“I think I’ve got what I need with the smile,” Denal said eventually, his voice breaking through your flurried thoughts. “You can feel free to talk now.”

“Good to know,” you told him. You opened your mouth, fully intending to ask about his progress so far, but what came out was, “Were those drawings in the back of your sketchbook… of me?”

Denal froze. He managed to keep the smile pasted on his face, but it looked a bit sickly now. Eventually, he turned his attention back to the piece of canvas he was drawing on. When he spoke, his voice sounded very casual considering how tense he still looked. “If you have to ask that, I must not be a very good artist after all.”

That wasn’t a no and his voice didn’t hold the mocking tone you had dreaded to hear. But he did sound hesitant and doubtful about his own ability now, something you hadn’t heard yet and didn’t like to hear at all. “No, you’re a wonderful artist! It’s just…”

You trailed off, not wanting to be seen as someone in need of constant reassurance, but Denal looked back up at you with an eyebrow arched. “Just?”

“Just…” you blew out a breath and smiled, even if the expression sat awkwardly on your face. “I’ve never looked at any of my features and seen them like that. I’ve never seen anything but the imperfections. Those drawings… they made me look…”

“Beautiful,” Denal supplied, carefully getting to his feet behind the stretch of canvas. “You’re beautiful, Count. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that before?”

“Not that I can remember,” you said honestly. “Not anyone I would believe. But that’s okay. I don’t need people complimenting me every day.”

“No, but you deserve it,” Denal countered, walking closer so you could see the sincerity written in every line and curve of his face. “Count, you’re amazing. You’re stunning and kind and helpful. You don’t talk a lot, but you listen with everything you’ve got. And when you do talk? You glow with depth and thoughtfulness. I’ve never met anyone else like that, ever, and you deserve to know how special you are.”

You stared up at him, trying to process what he had said. It was true - you didn’t feel like you needed someone else to affirm you every day of your life, but it was nice every now and again. Just a bit of reassurance.

Denal held out his hand. “I think I’ve got enough done to show you what I mean. Do you want to see what I have so far?”

For some reason, your throat was tight, but you nodded and put your hand into his. Denal helped you gently to your feet and led you around so that you could see what he had been working on.

In the sketch, you were sitting slightly to the side. You had been balanced on a crate, but Denal had explained that it would give the eventual impression that you were sitting on the nose of the fighter. Your legs looked long and shapely, your posture effortlessly straight and graceful. Your face, though, was what held your attention. Denal’s work on practicing your features had paid off here - you almost expected the sketch’s eyes to blink as they met yours and the smile she wore was so contagious that your own lips itched to mirror it.

You glanced over at Denal, startled by the depth and beauty of his work, and he looked apologetic. “It’s just a rough sketch. I promise the final version will be more-”

He couldn’t keep talking, not when you flung your arms around him in a hug. A moment later, you remembered yourself and muttered, “I’m sorry, I should have asked permission-”

“You have it, just stay here,” he interrupted, just as abruptly as you had done to him. You stayed in his embrace even as he continued to speak. “You’re extraordinary. I need you to know that. You should hear it every single day.”

“Denal, that’s sweet, but I’ve never seen anyone with as much talent as you have,” you countered. “If you think I’m extraordinary, you need to know that you’re just as much so. Probably more.”

Denal’s back shuddered, as if he had drawn in a gasping breath at the unexpected compliment. No small wonder; it was likely he had never been told how special he was, not by someone other than his brothers. You held him a little tighter with the realization, but let him go when he made a slight move backward.

“Does that mean I’m extraordinary enough that you won’t mind if I keep spending time in the inventory bay?” Denal asked when you were facing each other straight-on.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to spend time together outside of the inventory bay,” you said quickly, before you lost your nerve. Your face was so hot and holding eye contact almost hurt, but it was important enough that you forced yourself to deal with the discomfort.

“Absolutely,” Denal accepted immediately. “It’ll take me a few days to finish painting the nose art, then my free time is yours. Whenever and wherever.”

You smiled and he returned it, the expression beatific. “I don’t think anything could make me happier than that.”

“Then I’m going to see how quickly I can paint,” Denal said, not sounding like he was entirely joking. “I need to get this done.”

With a laugh, you gestured toward the fighter. “All yours, Mr. Artist.”

Denal made a comically determined face and headed for the fighter as you watched with amusement. Your heart rate was still a bit high - you hadn’t pushed yourself like that in a long time - but it had been more than worth it. Denal was more than worth it, and you found yourself greatly looking forward to when the fighter was finished.

---

A/N - I'm not 100% sure why I like Denal so much, but he definitely deserved better than he got. Swoop and Ronto are OCs who appear off and on in most of my 501st-based works! (Just in case they seemed familiar.) Thanks for reading!

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