clonexocweek

[clonexocweek]

Hello Clone x OC Week 2025 enjoyers and creators 👋✨

Update from the mod:

Data has been gathered and analysed, and wow! As of right now, 65 entries has been created for day 1 of the event by 53 unique creators. How awesome is that?! Great job everyone!! You all should be very proud 💖

It is truly amazing that there are so many people who want to share their clone x OC story (and we love every minute of it!), however, too much of anything—even clone content—can be very overwhelming. Therefore, we've decided that we will aim to queue up every entry and reblog them 3 times per hour, relatively equally spaced apart in time. This way, there will be some breathing room for enjoyers, and each post will get their own little spotlight and won't be lost amongst all the other entries.

This also means that there will be some delay between the time when you post and the time your post gets reblogged by us. Exactly how long will depend on the amount of entries we get, but hopefully no more than one day. We hope that you don't mind! If you are eager to see new entries right at this second, do consider checking out the #clonexocweek2025 tag.

Now, onto something completely unrelated:

[clonexocweek]

Day two for @clonexocweek

Kix and Cross don't have the ability to scrape out a lot of downtime between everything they've got going on, but they do enjoy beach days when they can get them. It's why, eventually, they end up retiring on Pabu. The sun does them both good 💛

[clonexocweek]

Okay, day 2 of @clonexocweek is here! Hope y’all are ready!

When it comes to quality time, Hunter and Naria don’t get to spend too much time together. Even Post-war, they don’t get alone time together all that much. He’s busy with trying to figure out how to adapt to a life outside of a soldier- she’s trying to figure out what to do now that she’s a Jedi on the run.

When they do get that quality time together, they tend to take walks with one another, go sit down by the beach on Pabu, or- Naria’s favorite activity- Star-Gaze. They find this great spot on Pabu where the stars shine the brightest at night. Shep helped set it up to where the lights on that part of the island are set low so that they can get a better look at the stars. (Great bro-move by Shep, lol)

Naria will go off and tell Hunter about the stars and how she learned that different planets have different meanings for the stars. He’ll just listen because these are the times that Naria is relaxed and not stressed out.

[clonexocweek]

Pairing: Hardcase x OC Kisan Indral, Iridonian history student Ship Name: Hardkis

Kisan (key-SAHN) is a Zabrak student Hardcase met while on Iridonia and instantly connected with. If you’re curious, there is a lot more about these two in this chapter which sums up their connection AND explains Hardcase’s tattoos!

For "quality time," here's a little scene extension from Chapter 6 of the current part of my long fic, “Family Found.” (This is an AU where Hardcase somehow survived Umbara and woke up to find his mind in the body of a blue-eyed cadet.)

The original fic scene and the Clone x OC Week extention are below the cut. Enjoy the fluff!

@clonexocweek

Hardcase divider by @lornaka and @freesia-writes.

Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep.  Wrecker mumbled against his spoon. “What’s that?” Miran and Luvari looked at each other and then at a smiling Hardcase. “That,” Luvari informed him with a pleased smile, “is probably Commander Cody informing us that Iridonia’s solar storm communications blackout is ending.” Hardcase rose slowly and dramatically from his seat. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be on the Cerulean.” He then lept over his chair and ran to the hangar. Ahsoka chuckled as she watched him disappear. “What’s that about?” Miran shook her head fondly. “Hardcase knows a girl on Iridonia. He’ll probably be out there talking to her for the rest of the night.” "Family Found" (Chapter 6)

Hardcase took the steps up the ramp to his ship three at a time, skidding into the panel opposite the hatch with a whispered curse before regaining his balance and entering the cockpit. He had the holoprojector switched on and the comm frequency entered before he even made it to the pilot’s seat.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he urged the blank space before him. “Where are you?” After a couple of minutes of silence, he dropped his head onto the controls and groaned in disappointment.

“Are you looking for me?”

Hardcase’s head shot up. “Kisan?”

“Hi, Hardcase!”

He smiled at the young woman in the hologram. The blueness of the image made her look more like a Pantoran with horns than a warmly hued Zabrak. It made his smile stretch even wider. “I have so much to tell you.”

Hardcase spent the better part of the next hour catching her up on what had happened since he left her planet—everything from settling on Alderaan and reuniting with his Force-gifted squad to the fact that he and all his clone brothers were no longer victims of accelerated aging. It was a lot.

Kisan’s head was swimming by the time he finished catching her up.

“Oh, and Miran bought some Endorian ridge hens. The friendliest one is a pretty, rusty color. I call her ‘Mini Kis.’

“You named a hen for me?” It was a sharp turn from everything else he had shared. She giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s so funny!”

Hardcase felt a little dejected that his roundabout compliment hadn’t been taken the way he intended. He was hoping she would say the gesture was sweet, not funny. “Why is it funny?”

“Because I named one of the new bukks in our herd ‘Bukkcase.’”

Hardcase’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not!” she returned with a laugh. “He reminds me of you. He’s mischievous. He likes to come up behind me and lick my ears. He even seems to use the other bukks as a distraction. He walks toward me with the herd and then breaks away when my back is turned so he can lick me! He’s sneaky.”

Hardcase chuckled and leaned closer to the hologram. “Hmm. Maybe that bukk is on to something. You had better not turn your back on me the next time I see you. I might be tempted to find out for myself what’s so tasty about your ears.”

“Hardcase!”

Hardcase laughed hard at her scandalized tone. He could spend the rest of his life joking around with the lovely girl flickering in front of him, and if his theory about the tattoo leading to his heart being about her was correct, that’s what the Force wanted too.

He stared at her image in silence for a moment, lingering on the lips he had touched for only a few life-changing seconds before he had to leave Iridonia. Her hair had been up then, braided and woven through her smooth horns until they all but disappeared. Her hair was down now, parted by her horns and gathered into a single thick plait over her shoulder. He had never seen it this way. Then it hit him that he had never seen her dressed this way either.

“What are you wearing?”

Kisan held her arms out. “A night shirt.”

Hardcase made a quick and uncomfortable inventory of the situation: hair down, night shirt, took too long to answer. It all led to an incontrovertible conclusion.

He was an idiot.

“Oh, skrag. When I heard the comm blackout was over, I didn’t even…what time is it there?”

“It’s about four hours until dawn.”

“Kis, I’m so sorry! I should have checked!” He rubbed at the back of his neck guiltily. “I guess I got too excited when I heard that comms were back up. We’ll talk more another time.”

“Hardcase, it’s okay. I would rather talk to you than sleep!”

“You’re not tired?”

“I was. I might not sleep for a week after everything you’ve told me tonight.”

Hardcase grinned. “Well, if you really do find yourself having any sleepless nights this week, I know someone who wouldn’t mind keeping you company.”

“Oh? Luvari isn’t too busy?”

The grin grew. “I meant me, and you know it.”

Kisan smiled back impishly, and the sight sucked the air from his lungs. He didn’t know why the Force decided to keep him around after the explosion above Umbara or understand the mysterious dreams he had turned into his tattoos, but he knew one thing with ever-increasing certainty—Kisan was the mark over his heart.

[clonexocweek]

Muffin-top Mornings

Crosshair x Tulip Caulfield || @clonexocweek

Previous Prompt||

Summary: After another late night hookup, Crosshair lets Tulip stay the night. His morning doesn't go the way he thought it would. Turns out, it was pretty nice after all.

Warnings and Tags: Modern au, Swearing, Mentions of sex, (barely) friends with benefits, Two shitheads ignoring they're in love, Crosshairs being immature

The night prior had Crosshair staying up till three in the morning. It had been around midnight when he'd sent that text. And it had been around twelve thirty when she was at his front door. It had been around two fifty when they finally finished and laid down to rest.

It had been two fifty five exactly when Crosshair agreed to let her stay the night. He had looked at her worn out frame and decided she was in no state to drive.

Tulip had stayed over before. It wasn't uncommon but he didn't prefer it. It was complicated, those nights were when he got his best sleep. The thing was Crosshair really didn't want her getting the wrong idea. He was already slipping up himself.

Crosshair was always the kind of person to sleep in. He would spend the entire day in bed if he could. It took several alarms to wake him up everyday, or rather afternoon.

But now Crosshair had passed out beside the girl he'd called in the middle of the night for a fuck. Usually, whenever they did this, she was gone by the morning. Whenever she woke up in the middle of the night, she'd grab her belongings and leave. Tulip was never one for staying over on her own terms anyway. They had both been very clear in their arrangement.

Neither one of them were looking for a true relationship. Their relationship was almost strictly explicit, every conversation they shared was surface level pleasantries if that. Crosshair had absolutely no intention of taking anything further than that. She was a 'man eater' and he was a 'player'. There were only so many ways this could go.

At eleven in the morning Crosshairs phone buzzed on his bedside table. He almost always kept it on 'Do Not Disturb' but he'd turned it off when he was expecting Tulips answer the night before. Biggest mistake of his life.

Hunters caller ID showed on the screen as his phone angrily vibrated against his nightstand. Crosshair tried to ignore it but ultimately failed. As soon as the call ended and went to voicemail he was already awake.

Crosshair pulled himself out of his bed with nobody else in it. Just how he expected. He suspected Tulip would have left an hour or two ago by now. He picked up his phone off the counter.

What he hadn't expected was the pair of shoes he saw in his peripheral vision on the floor. His phone felt like it weighed a ton with the speed at which his hand dropped. One thing was for certain, Crosshair didnt wear three inch plaform boots.

...Was she still here?

There was a cemented crease in his brow as he exited his bedroom. Keen ears listened for any noises that could lead him to a conclusion. His socks slid against the floor as he poked around upstairs. It wasn't until he was passing the stairs that he heard a steady hum of noise from down there.

As Crosshair made it down the stairs he could hear it a little better. It was music... and he definitely knew who was playing it. Her love of 1980's hairmetal was something he only learned from the t-shirts he'd taken off of her. Now it appeared the sounds of 'The Saints of Los Angeles' were reverberating through his kitchen.

He turned the corner to find a scene he couldn't wrap his head around. Standing in his kitchen holding a bowl and a whisk was none other than Tulip. She was still wearing her clothes from last night. Her black and blue hair was tied back but Crosshair thought she looked just as good as did last night. It was a thought he shook from his head rather quickly.

He observed the situation in silence. Her back was to him and she hadn't noticed his presence yet. She was still humming along to the music that came from her phone speaker. Crosshair listened to the quiet chiming of the timer on the oven. She'd been making something. She spun around and turned off the timer with a single oven mitt on she reached into the oven and took out a cookie sheet. Crosshair couldn't place what it was. After a few more seconds he decided that maybe he should actually step in.

He slipped into the kitchen, standing only a few steps away. "Morning." He told her calmly. Crosshair made his way to stand before the coffee pot. He knew he had startled her; he could tell by the way he heard her breath hitch and the way she tensed.

Tulip turned to look at him, sliding the tray on the stove. "Hey." She told him simply. As Crosshair turned his back, Tulip tried to analyze his posture. She was trying to read him. "I made muffin-tops" she said trying to explain the mess around her. "I got kind of bored, and I figured you'd start charging me rent if I didn't do something." She said picking up her phone and turning off the music.

"Is that right." Crosshairs hand stopped moving as he reached out into the cabinet for a mug. He processed her words slowly. What the hell was she talking about? He sighed and finished pouring out the rest of his coffee. "What gave you that impression?" Cross asked.

"The fact this is the fifth time you've called me this month." Tulip answered quickly. She put down the oven mitt and let it sit on the counter. "It's the eleventh, Crosshair." She pointed out.

The man stopped stirring his coffee.

Did he really? He thought back on it harder. Maybe he had. He didn't even know what to say. She wasn't wrong.

"So it is." He said turning around with his mug. Crosshair took a sip as he looked at the two baking trays. "I thought you said you made muffins?" He asked her as he stared at them curiously.

"I did." Tulips expression said everything else she didn't. Crosshair could read her easy enough, her nonverbals were very loud. Her expression was asking him if he was stupid.

"Where's the rest of it?" He asked her.

Tulip half heartedly rolled her eyes. "Glad to see you listen when I talk." She said sarcastically. "They're muffin-tops, you know, the top part" she clarified.

Crosshair rolled his eyes as he listened to her. This was exactly the behavior he was trying to avoid. In that exact moment he made the decision that he'd refrain from calling her for the next while. As pretty as she was and as much as he matched her energy, he wasn't doing this to himself.

"They're still hot." Tulip said to him. She shifted on her feet, after looking at him and seeing his expression, she felt a lump in her throat forming.

She could see it written over his face. He was biting back some kind of remark. Tulip knew him well enough to know he was probably pissed off about something. No doubt it was about her.

Tulip knew how he felt about things. She wasn't stupid. It wasn't like she was limiting herself to only him, Tulips roster was more than full. But there was a reason she came every single time he called. Tulip was not a girl who chased, Crosshair was the first time she'd actually gone after a guy before. She had no intention of anything too serious with him. At the very least she thought they could be friends. If he was going to keep calling her in the middle of the night than she thought, they could at least have that. Apparently, she was wrong.

She knew exactly what was coming next. It was Crosshairs usual trademark speech.

"I'm not your boyfriend." Crosshair finally stated as he looked over the scene before him.

"I never said that you were." She shot back near immediately. Tulip began to clean up the kitchen, she'd started before but she tidied up whatever was left.

"You're acting like it."

"I act like this with my friends." She told him. "Just because I do something nice doesn't mean I'm in love with you. Eat your fucking breakfast."

Crosshair was learning what she was like when she was pissed off. It was a very odd display. Sometimes when he would see her, she was sweet as could be. Other times she was snippy and sarcastic. She always warmed up to him in the end. It was almost funny how much of a turn this had all taken.

He stepped closer to her, nearly caging her against the counter. His eyes met hers, he always wondered what the hell could have been going on inside her head. Crosshair placed his mug down to the left of her. Silently he grabbed one of the baked treats off the tray. They were definitely still warm; it was nearly burning his fingertips.

"Thanks." He finally said as he moved himself away from her. Crosshair took a bite and found himself pleasantly surprised.

Tulip actually saw it on his face. She stood there smiling to herself. "You're very welcome." She told him.

The girl finished cleaning up and turned off the oven. Crosshair stood holding his food and his coffee mug, he looked oddly relaxed.

"I mean it." He said again. "Thanks." He repeated. Brown eyes looking over to her.

Tulip knew that was his way of apologizing for his attitude. She took it for what it was worth. She smiled back at him.

"No problem Crosshair." She hummed.

Hi!!! I promise they actually like each other! This is the most quality time they've ever had! They'll get there eventually 🫶🏻

[clonexocweek]

I am a day late for this one but I forgot I had these Visuals for my OC, so I'm just gonna act like it's still Monday.

@clonexocweek will this be acceptable or am I out of luck? x_x :D

This is Gemini Khaliid, she/they

her Story isn't completely fleshed out yet but they are a Zabrak Force Wielder, who is working for the Jedi in some Capacity.

She's extremely skeptical of the cult-like dynamics of the Jedi, but due to her Powers and Talents she is made a general for my very own OC Battalion, the 704th, also called The Hive.

After the Clone Wars she's taken captive, as many other Jedi were too, and brought to Mount Tantiss to be used for the Emperor's sinister Science experiments.

This is where they meet Tech, who obviously Survived the Fall and was there to be reconditioned. (duh)

Both of them kinda save each other and in the end get rescued by The Batch.

Gem struggles heavily with Anxiety and has had PTSD already, before adding everything that happend during and after the clone wars, because she grew up on a Planet that as been torn by Civil- and outright war since she was born.

[clonexocweek]

@clonexocweek Clone x OC Week Day 2 :

Commander Fox x Omega Nine

The cantina was busy, mostly off duty clone troopers in various shades of armor to officer garb but an occasional civvie could be spotted in the dim yellowed tinted lighting. Music thrummed loudly in the background, much more melodic and upbeat than anything you’d find in the Outer Rim.

Nine saw him first, one of the three commanders stationed on Coruscant. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, 79s was under his jurisdiction, but he still had been hoping to avoid him. The ARC groaned under his breath, dark eyes checking his cig for a second. When he looked back at the bar the clone commander was staring him down. Nine forced a brief smile to tug his lips as the other clone nodded and then turned back to the bar to wait for his drink.

It would be too suspicious if the ARC left now, so he had no choice but to entertain the Commander. His eyes rolled at the title. While he was only a Captain, there was a chasm of difference between the two same faced men. Especially considering the cushy ass job this commander had, saving his ass shot at on the front lines.

“Fox.”

“Rez.”

The fucker knew just what buttons to push as his brow creased and he squinted. Fox savored the win, snorting in amusement as he removed his helmet and set it on the table next to the ARCs, red emblazoned t-visors nearly kissing they were so close, “Not here to cause more trouble, are you? Still dealing with your last mess.”

“Of course not..” Nine flicked the last of his cig into his unfinished drink and stood up into Fox’s space, leaning in close, brushing a hand across his armored chest plate, “When will you let me make it up to you.. Hm?”

The ARC titled his head, studying the Commanders face. Fox could feel the other man’s warm breath against his cheek, the smell of liquor and the acidity of smoke lingering. He looked away suddenly, stepping back to let the other clone get by, “I think you’re drunk, trooper, and causing a scene. Tsk. I’ll have to escort you personally back to the barracks.”

A smirk creased the ARCs lips as he grabbed his helmet and walked stiffly toward the exit. Fox wasn’t far behind, flashing a scowl at a pack of his corries that jeered and howled from a corner booth.

-

I can’t stop laughing about O9 crossing his legs. My favorite alpha ARC son.

[clonexocweek]

Trouble in Paradise Headspace

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.11.25: Quality Time | Event Masterlist

↤ Prev | Part 2 of 5 | Next ↦

Summary: On a really boring Taungsday, Eurus suddenly went missing. While Jenne and Siaris go out on a frantic search for their resident Twi'lek, Kore notices the door to the body is absent of any toddler lock. She then meets Fives. Fives is nice. Tags & Warnings: inaccurate portrayal of dissociative identity disorder, in-system relationship (alter x alter), implied multiship/polycule within the system and between them and Fives (minus Kore for obvious reasons), babysitting, just having fun!, Kore meets the Torrent boys, fluff, comfort no hurt, pillow talk Pairing: Fives × OC with Dissociative Identity Disorder Word Count: 6.4k A/N: Another disclaimer before you start; in-system relationship is pretty much real based on my tumblr surf through irl DID experience (I love this post so much, the DID part of tumblr gives me the chance to learn a lot). Anyway, whether you're singles or plurals, maintaining healthy relationship(s) is important (as it's supposed to be)! It's okay if it's a little wobbly, all that matters is the support and encouragement and promise for growth. Enjoy this one!

𝑭𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

— Outside with the Cuties - Frankie Cosmos [X]

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S MISSING?!”

“It means exactly as it is.”

“AND WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS?”

“I am aware that reacting emotionally loud, instead of thinking of a probable and plausible answer to this sort of problem, is completely unnecessary. Unlike you.”

Siaris stands his ground sharing the same level of concern, though in a more collected manner, something Jenne isn't in the first moments of finding out. Even as the calmest figure in the system, Jenne can still see the way his blue forehead creases deeply and mouth upturns in distress.

Her shoulders drop. “You're right,” she sucks in a breath, “I'm sorry.”

“Deep breaths, Jenne,” the Chiss mutters vacantly, “We should find her.”

Sighing harshly and pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while the other grasping his hips, Siaris slowly becomes less collected than he is, which drives Jenne to actually suspect something more between him and the missing Twi'lek.

“You have any idea where she's gone?” she asks.

Underneath the mild weather, Siaris merely turns his body towards the sparse forest in the landscape which leads to a rocky crevice and an unknown, avoided path that stretches deeper into the mountains.

Jenne bristles, horrified. “What are you doing, Eurus?” she breathes, glancing to the side to see a helpless expression now latches onto Siaris’ face that he no longer bothers to hide. “How did you know?”

“I asked the little one.”

They slowly turn back towards the foyer of their barrierless house, where the little girl is tucked away into the corner of the plush green couch clutching one of the throw pillows to her chest.

Siaris cups his hands around his mouth. “Kore, would you please join us here for a moment?”

The girl instantly gets to her feet and takes off running in their direction, a good fifteen meters or so. Her arms thrown up in request, Siaris gently picks her up and settles her on his hip. “Is something wrong, Ari?” she inquires softly.

“Unfortunately, yes.” The Chiss brushes away fray strands of curly black hair from the girl’s cobalt blue eyes. “You see, Eurus is missing, and you are the last person to see her. You saw her go into the mountain pass. Jenne and I have to find her. Are you certain that's where she's gone?”

Kore nods her head and moves to hide her face into his neck. Siaris' neutral countenance falls at the innocent show of sympathy, and his grip on her tightens.

“I'm scared for Eurus,” the girl murmurs.

Siaris sighs and sweeps a hand down the back of her head. “I know, sweet girl. I fear for her too.”

Jenne turns away from the sympathetic display and thoughtfully sets her gaze into the mountain pass. The forest is absent of wild bushes so the crack in the rocky cliffs is visible from behind the treeline, the very spot they're at as of now.

It's where the unknown lies, the darkest moments in her life, the ones that incited neverending nightmares each time she closed her eyes at night. Memories she tucked away into the depths of the mountains she, in all the few goodness that ever happened in her life, would never, ever revisit.

So what made Eurus go there? Stupid Eurus.

“We should have enough time to find her,” Jenne announces quietly, “The body won't wake for several hours. I made sure to call in sick for Eurus.”

Siaris puts Kore down onto her feet. “If everything's clear, we must go now.”

Jenne once again notices the anxious infliction in his tone – to hurry, to quickly find their missing friend.

She reaches out and grabs his hand. “Hey. It's gonna be okay.” She offers a small, reassuring smile, though considering his unaccustomed helpless state, the kind gesture might as well be meaningless. “Eurus can take care of herself, she won't be hurt,” she says.

“She might be!” Siaris exclaims, his outburst surprises Jenne. “The mountain pass is a place we should never go to in the first place! It's where everything our mental defenses cannot contain!”

“I know whatever krayt spit there is in the mountain pass!” Jenne seethes.

Siaris looks down, scarlet eyes dimming in shame of his outburst. Jenne shakes her head, pulling him in further and gingerly places her hands on the sides of his face.

“Get yourself together,” she says firmly, reaching to card away the stray bluish hair that falls over his eyes in distress. “You're not helping us if you're like this. You said it yourself five minutes ago.”

Wordlessly, Siaris grasps her wrists, his touch gentle, and leans his forehead against hers. Both do what they do best together – breathing, following a familiar pattern to quench their frustrated embers down. Somewhere in the middle, Kore had slipped into the space between them and wrapped her arms around their hips as far as she could reach.

Jenne breaks away from the Chiss and kneels to level with the little one's height, doing her best to put on a smile, though her lips quiver on the way.

“Kore, me and Siaris are gonna find Eurus, okay? You're staying here until we come back. Do you understand me, kiddo?”

“Take this as a lesson, Kore,” Siaris adds, “If you want to go to places, you must tell us first. Understood?”

Kore nods to both, clutching her little fists to her chest. Jenne is fond of her, and she has theories on why the little girl turned up in their headspace, becoming her resident alter, their confidant, though she wouldn't say it out loud. Little Kore may be innocent, but due to the nature of all their overlapping memories, she's smarter than she looks, intellectually and emotionally.

Jenne pats the girl's hair softly. “We'll be right back.”

“With Eurus?”

“With Eurus,” Jenne nods, smiling down at her, though it feels more like to convince herself rather than otherwise. “In a bit, kiddo. Stay here where it's safe, okay?”

Kore is already bored.

The Bianva headspace is nothing but beautiful and peaceful. Like a little glimpse of natural paradise tucked into a pocket of a small valley. Mountains covered with dense forest there, rocky cliffs there, sparse forest there, pretty garden here, shimmering lake there. All that her eyes can see is safe, for both her and her friends.

She hasn't been in the headspace long. The first time she popped up next to Siaris' sleeping form, she'd known she was there with a purpose.

The headspace is her home, and so are her friends. Jenne, Eurus, Siaris. Especially Eurus. She hopes the other two will be able to find her, and escape altogether without being harmed.

But the headspace contains nothing but all there is.

Kore is very much aware about the spot they're living in. A modest apartment with whatever’s left family fortune got them out of mercy in one of many decent residence districts on the planet Coruscant, the capital of the Galactic Republic, the center of the galaxy. From the stories on how their day went, Kore is also aware of what they do to maintain the body and their lives altogether.

Jenne works in the morning at one of the cafeterias inside the Grand Army of the Republic headquarters. Lately Kore notices, looming over Jenne's shoulder within Siaris' watch, some clone troopers of the army and Jenne getting to know each other. Exchanging light banters and jokes. Kore decides they're okay. Their armor design is pretty cool and unique. Everybody's got different patterns!

After lunch, Eurus takes over the body, puts on some catchy makeup and hair into two twin braids resembling the feel of her lekku, and goes to work for one of the local fashion designers because she likes to create pretty things. Kore likes how Eurus acts with the body. The body is female, and Eurus makes them look pretty. Eurus is always attentive to their physical appearance like that, being mindful about ‘personal branding’ and stuff.

When her shift of the day is done, the body returns home again. They have dinner. Jenne cooks decently and her dishes are amazing. Home-cooked stuff if there have nothing else to do for the rest of the evening, takeouts if they need to hurry to get to Siaris' place for work.

Siaris' commlink pings a notification when his office needs him to be there for his uncanny expertise. He's a consultant, after all. He works for the police, and Kore thinks it's super duper cool. Sometimes he does his work remotely in the small study room of their apartment. Kore likes to watch him work. Siaris sometimes slows his progress a bit just so he can show what might interest Kore. He's so nice and kind like that.

And now, she's bored.

With all of them being gone, there's no one to speak to, or to accompany her, or to watch over her. Kore likes it better when she has company. Like she's not alone. She doesn't like being alone. Being alone makes her sad.

And bored.

Kore notices how the door that leads to body consciousness is unlocked. Maybe Jenne forgot to lock it. Siaris forgot to lock it because he was distraught. Maybe they trust her not to front when they're gone.

Well, she's glad they trust her. And she doesn't really wanna overstep the boundaries they've set for her. She understands fronting this early can be overwhelming.

Especially right now, since there's no one else in the safe zone of the headspace.

But if their overlapping memories serve her right, when asked, Kore can always subconsciously blame Jenne's daring nature.

She's bored now, anyway.

Fives hasn't got time to even shower merely minutes after being planetside. The mission that command put him in was barely tiresome since it only involved hours and hours of recon, so he's eager to take a short taxi ride to Jenne's apartment complex to check in on the system.

They've met several times like this now that he's lost count already. Jenne's snarky and loud personality is a bit more controlled. Eurus, however, keeps throwing harmless flirt efforts at him that one time it led to a strip sabacc game, though thankfully nobody's piece of clothing is completely taken off. Siaris is a charming guy. Reminds him a bit of Echo with his resourcefulness. Fives rarely meets the Chiss. It's always either Jenne or Eurus in the front.

The doorman nods curtly at him in greeting, already knowing who he is and who he's visiting. Fives strides through the lobby and reaches the entry panel so he can contact Jenne or whoever it is to buzz him in.

“Hellooooo?” their voice answers after seconds too long.

Fives chuckles lightly. “Hey, it's me. Mind buzzing me in?”

A beat of silence, before, “Who are you?”

Fives freezes. He takes a moment to register the voice. That's the body's voice, alright. But this time though, there's a bit of quietness and timidness in it. He shuffles on his feet, feeling awkward where he stands in the corner. He turns and cranes his neck over to find the lobby empty and there's no queue of people trying to use the entry panel as well, and he goes back to the thing.

“Um. Who are you?” he lowers his voice, “I'm a friend to Jenne.”

“I'm Jenne's friend too,” she replies timidly, “How did you meet her?”

Okay. So this is another alter. It clicks with Fives. There are four of them. Jenne, Eurus, and Siaris know him. So this has to be the other one. The kid one.

He clears his throat. “Well,” he says, starting to test the water as he tries to channel whatever it needs to talk to a child. “Jenne works at the place I work at, too.”

“Are you the one they called Fives?”

“That’s me.” He can't help but chuckle. “You’re, uh, Kore. Aren't you?”

“Mhm,” her adorable voice says.

With Kore being in the body at all, despite knowing that she isn't supposed to, Fives has a bad feeling about this.

“Is, is everyone else okay? I thought you were playing.”

“Everyone's gone,” Kore says, “Eurus is missing. Jenne and Ari went to look for her.”

Oh. Not good.

Not good at all.

“Okay, Kore.” Fives is already set to do whatever he may or can to help. “Since you've heard of me, I'm sure everyone has told you that I can be trusted. Can you, uh, please buzz me in so I can come up?”

Well, great. Kore might be unaware of how to buzz someone into their apartment. How long has she been in the body? How long have they been gone? Is anyone else at work asking around in their absence? Fives hopes not, for the sake of their mental health.

“...Okay.”

He sighs in relief. “Thanks, ad’ika.”

In the elevator, Fives can't help his nervous tics. Tapping his fingers against his helmet rhythmically, tapping his foot.

“What the hell are they up to?”

Fives is doing all he can to not squeal and run over and pinch Jenne's– Kore's– the body's cheeks right away as their head peeks around the corner at the end of the tiny entryway. It's Jenne's face staring at him warily alright, but there's a glimmer of child innocence in their wide brown eyes, something that Fives himself is proud to identify instantly.

“Hello,” he says gently as he makes his way in slowly. The door slides close behind him. “My name is Fives. Nice to finally meet you, Kore.” His nervous tics kick in again, but he presses on, “I don't wanna scare you. I would never want to. Is it okay if I come in further, and maybe sit on your couch?”

Kore nods timidly, her position unmoving. Fives redoubles his effort not to storm in and pinch those cheeks. “It's okay. Come on in,” she says, and Fives can finally drop his slow and deliberate à la ARC measures.

“So how did you know about me?” he asks curiously as he starts unclasping his top armor.

Kore settles down on the couch. “Siaris told me about you first,” she says, watching him stacking his double-sided pauldrons into a neat pile on the floor, “He mentioned your name and told me I can trust you. He said you're a friend to all of us.”

Fives smiles softly. “All of you are my friends too,” he says, mentally thanking Siaris for that vouch. He looks at Kore, raising an eyebrow. “But we've never met before because you're not supposed to be in the body, are you?”

Kore looks down at her hands on her lap, picking on her fingernails, something Fives notices the others don’t do. Then it must be Kore’s only quirk. His smile widens at this revelation.

“They never let me,” she says quietly, almost timidly, “I was thinking it's gonna be scary. It feels weird.”

“I'm sure it is,” Fives nods in sympathy. He finishes putting the last pieces of his top armor away, keeping everything below the hip on, and carefully joins her at the couch. “The body is supposed to be Jenne’s, and you're a kid,” he suggests, “Must be feeling tall, right?”

Kore nods, her lips pouting childishly. “It's weird.”

Fives reaches over and rubs her shoulder comfortingly. “It's okay, you'll get used to it,” he consoles, actually meaning it. Kore brightens at the gesture, her smile appearing instantly and her brown eyes gleam. Fives smiles back. He glances at the chrono above the holoscreen. “Are you hungry?”

Kore nods. “Kinda. Can we eat?”

Fives is already thinking of borrowing Jenne's purse. “Yeah, of course,” he grins coyly at the thought and how the system's host would react upon finding out. “What do you wanna eat?”

Kore shrugs again. “I dunno.” She puts on a comical thinking face, something that makes Fives laugh easily. Kore hums. “Jenne usually cooks, but we usually have takeouts before Siaris takes the body to go to work.”

Fives’ dark brows lift upon the yet disclosed information. “Siaris goes to work?” he asks in pure curiosity, reaching for the glass of water on the caf table he served himself earlier.

“Sometimes,” Kore mulls, “Only when he's called by his office. He works for the police.”

Fives does a double take. “He what now? CSF?” On Kore's lost expression, he goes on to further explain, “Coruscant Security Force. They're our police. But maybe Siaris is one of the natborn officers they have?”

“I dunno about that,” Kore cluelessly replies, “But sometimes he said something about the underworld.”

Holy mother of Yoda. Siaris works for the Coruscant Underworld Police.

Putting away his water, Fives’ jaw finally snaps close. “Okay, ad’ika.” He claps and rubs his hands together, quickly shifting into a more comfortable position on the couch. “You and me–” he wiggles his pointer finger back and forth between him and her “–we're gonna talk a lot. And you're gonna be spilling some beans, okay? Starting now.”

“Okay!” Kore exclaims cheerfully, clapping along, but her shoulders drop almost instantly, as if remembering something. Then, she declares, “But I'm hungry. Can we eat first?”

Walking down the CoCo District clad in their gray leave uniforms, Hardcase wildly swats his hands around onto his brothers to gain their attention. “Vode, look,” he completely ignores their annoyed grunts and nods towards Dex's Diner, “Is that Fives?”

Echo's eyes widen in recognition. “Dank farrik,” he mutters under his breath, already marching towards the double doors and stepping into the packed atmosphere of the diner. He considerably closes his distance as he gains onto his brother's table, his brothers following behind him, before calling out, “Fives?”

The ARC trooper snaps up to his twin's voice, eyes widening in surprise as he scans each and every single one of his usual company of brothers. Echo notices how the top part of his armors, including his pauldrons, is absent, yet he's still kitted up hips down complete with his kama. Fives' helmet, however, is worn by his lunch company that sits across him, braided sandy blond hair sprouting out from under the bucket and over her shoulder. She's kicking her legs in atmospheric enjoyment.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Fives demands defensively, as if just caught red-handed on a cheesy date.

“We just came by and saw you,” Echo replies, backhanding Hardcase in the stomach in a brotherly manner. His attention shifts to his lunch company. “Uh, who's this?”

Fives scowls, before mockingly sweeps off a piece of dry and noisily chews. “None of your business.”

Echo rolls his eyes.

“Hang on,” Jesse squints, subtly pointing at the unsuspecting woman. “Is this the girl you–”

“NO! Nope, no, no no no.” Fives scrubs his hands down his face, absolutely horrified. He's thankful that Kore has his helmet on to obscure her identity. “No. This is different. And I won't take any more questions from any of you, not even from the General himself if he somehow knew. You'd have to switch methods to get an answer out of me.”

Tup chuckles and goes to indulge Fives' hilariously defensive situation. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I'd rather go with zero rations on a tenday campaign than indulging your stupid questions.”

Hardcase scoffs. “Asking who your lunch company is is stupid?”

“Yes, it's stupid. As stupid as you are. Now go away, I'm enjoying my leave.”

“Very rude, Fives, very rude.” Jesse, hands on hips, turns to face the helmeted woman. On the silly display, he can't help his own smile. “Why are you going out with him?” he asks.

There's a noise that emits a bit distorted due to the vocoder, and it takes a moment for Jesse to register it as a whine, a quite childish one. “He's not rude,” she rebuts quietly, “Fives is nice.”

Fives nods aggressively. “That’s right, I'm nice.” He jabs a finger at the group. “You are the ones being rude for interrupting our lunch.”

“He actually has a point,” Echo shrugs, throwing a subtle wink at his brother. His gaze momentarily sweeps over the table, several plates of partly eaten food that definitely would fill more than two people.

“You're eating all of these?” Tup asks before Echo could.

Fives purses his lips. “Actually we're finished. We're just talking now.”

Hardcase raises an eyebrow. “Really? Lots of leftovers, though.”

Fives huffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah, we're planning to bring it back to her apartment.”

“You can have it,” the woman suddenly offers.

Hardcase dramatically gasps, his mouth already watering. “Really?”

“Mhm!”

“I like her,” Jesse goes to high-five her. Accepting, she giggles, the jolly sound comes a bit odd thanks to the bucket's vocoder. He passes her a harmless wink, before smugly turning to a, surprisingly, neutral-faced Fives chewing on another piece of fries. “You’re not complaining? Not so snarky anymore, eh?” he teases.

“What she says goes, vod,” Fives rolls his eyes, unable to help his own wide, somehow proud, grin either. “Just go get the boxes yourselves and scoop in whatever you want.”

A walk in one of those artificial parks, an ice cream, a visit to an aquatic pet store, a share bucket of buttery bang-corn, a purchase of a colored stylus set, and a trip to a thrift store to get the cheapest civvie sweater and pants (because he didn't carry his overnight pack with him when coming over) later, Fives lets out a relieved groan when he stretches cracking his neck and back.

He'd like to say today's been quite productive. They ate, they had fun, and Kore is happy, occupied with the real-world activities and kept away from stressing over her friends… headmates.

Rex pinged him earlier for a revise on his report, which he finished quickly while Kore was getting creative at the small dining table with several sheets of flimsi they snatched from Siaris' study and the newly purchased colored stylus.

Fives has never been this relaxed in his whole life.

He turns to see the newly put up drawing Kore whipped up that she had his help to stick it to the food preserver with one of the cute magnets. It's a, well, kid drawing. Messy and… stick-y, but he can easily identify her diverse headmates with their corresponding colors of blue, yellow, and brown. They're all holding hands with the little Kore with curly dark hair and blue eyes, who stood at the end of their line. On her other side though, is a sticky figure of Fives himself, with his bronze skin and dark short hair and his white and blue clone trooper armor, and even the little Aurebesh for 5 on his temple!

Fives allows himself to sniffle dramatically, even though the actual tears are nonexistent.

Kore now is tucked away on the couch with their leftover buttery bang-corn, a blanket over her shoulders and eyes glued to the holoscreen. Fives put up one of those kid-friendly holomovies about a fish buir trying to find his missing ad.

Jesse just sent him an ARC-specific holodoc that even Rex was adamant to get Fives to actually read it through and through that the Captain himself attached a personal memo.

So now, he's stuck with work, still.

Doesn't matter though. Kore is safe and satiated. Even when the sun goes down, Fives guesses he can keep this up until morning.

Not an hour later, Kore is trembling. Fives had lowered the air conditioner temp earlier, but apparently it does nearly nothing to help the little one.

“Are you cold?” he asks, concerned.

“Can I hug you?” Kore looks up at him pleadingly, blanket reaching up to her neck. “Jenne cuddles with me when I'm cold.”

“I'm… not sure, ad’ika,” Fives hesitates, but eventually loosening up himself to the idea of cuddling for warmth. He grins mischievously. “I just got off work this noon and I haven't showered yet, so I stink. Wanna smell?” He tugs the collar of his blacks to her direction.

Kore giggles, kicking him in the shin to prevent him moving closer. “Ew, no!”

Fives laughs, ruffling her hair and retreating. “I'll shower first, then we'll snuggy, okay?”

“Okay!”

As much as he'd love to waste all the luxurious hot water and Jenne's much-better-than-GAR-issued soap, he's got an adiik whom he promised warm cuddles to. Not only that, but the guarantee of safety and on constant lookout for her wellbeing and comfort while her headmates are away.

At some point, Fives is concerned for her away headmates, but selfishly, he doesn't want Kore to go yet. He likes her quirky and cheerful upbringing. Something about interacting with her is healing something in him. Fives can't exactly explain what or why.

After shower, he throws on his newly purchased clothes, which colors and patterns Kore helped to choose. In all honesty, he didn't give a damn what color or pattern it was. He wanted to give Kore a choice. And that choice is a soft checkered pajama bottom and a knitted sweater which Kore has been so kind and considerate at all that she chose the closest shade available to 501st blue to match the mark of his armor.

Fives has allowed himself to sniffle dramatically today too many times for her sweetness.

Kore claps her hands when he gives her a twirl to display his sleepover outfit.

Fives puts on another children holomovie, this time it's about a kid being left at home all by himself and using his clever prank skills to ward away the intruders of his home. Knowing of the hour and that it's child bedtime, he purposefully leaves the holo on and makes it serve as a background noise as both of them settle in.

After Fives gains the permit to move closer because he's nice, Kore practically latches herself onto him like a powerful magnet. Eyes glued to the screen, she cuddles to his side with her head on his shoulder and his on top of hers, lying sideways with her head on his lap, plopping down between his legs with his arms around her midsection in an almost protective hold.

One thing he finds out about now is that Kore can't stay still for cuddles. That is, until her eyes are droopy and there are little whines of protest to herself in an attempt to stay awake. Not long after, with a slow, absentminded back rub Fives gives her, Kore stills on his chest, her soft breathing falling into an unmistakable pattern of finally being asleep.

The holomovie ends, and Fives switches the screen off. Still in their sitting position, Kore is settled on his chest and softly snoring. He wouldn't dare to nudge her to wake, but this position may be uncomfortable for her. Never mind him – he's used to sleeping in the middle of a warzone, anyway.

Once Kore lets out an inquiring noise, Fives rubs her arms and asks in a whisper, “Wanna move to the bed where it's comfier to sleep?”

Kore shakes her head, their sandy blond hair shifts against his sweater and gets messier in the process. “I like it here. Wanna lie down. Is it okay?” 

Fives is already shifting them around.

He smiles softly as he wordlessly prompts Kore to recline next to him. “Yeah, it's okay. Just go sleep,” he says when Kore snuggles her head into his chest. He gently runs a hand through her messy hair to tame it down. “When the others are back, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” she says in a small voice, already slipping in and out of slumber. “Good night, Fives.”

His heart melts, tightening his arms around her momentarily, and places a kiss on top of her head. “Good night, cuddle bug.”

Fives can't sleep yet.

Somewhere in the hour their sleeping position had shifted again. Now he's lying flat on his back, a plush pillow he stole from the bedroom behind his head, the system's body sleeping on top of his chest, out like a light, the blanket over them both. At the given opportunity of not having either of his arms pinned under their weight, Fives scrolls through his datapad to relieve himself of any remaining GAR demands.

This time, he tells Rex where he is and how he's unable to return to HQ until the next morning. They're on leave now, anyway. He can even sense Rex's confusion through the screen, the conceding comm reply from the Captain staring back at him before it blinks back to his report in the middle of editing. He might've broken one or two regulations by now, but nothing's more important than looking out for Jenne Bianva's system, especially when the big three have been spectacularly away for a long time.

Kore told him they've been gone since before lunch.

Fives is grateful he's here. Kore absolutely could use some company. He averts himself from thinking on how their day could've gone if his recon mission didn't end today, or if he ever came over at all.

Kore suddenly shifts with a tiny whine, about to come to consciousness. Fives puts his datapad away and goes to tenderly card his fingers through their hair. Eager and anxious to know about their headmates, he decides to go against his will to let Kore sleep again.

“Hey, cuddle bug,” he greets softly, tilting his head down and slipping fallen strands of hair behind her ears with a brush of his fingers. “Is everything okay?”

Kore whines, brown eyes peeking through droopy lids and thick eyelashes. “Fives?” she rasps, voice laced with confusion and sleep, still.

He lets out a chuckle. “Yep, still here,” he says, patting her back. “Are the others back yet?”

Her head flops back onto his chest, looking away from him and sighing deeply. Fives is rubbing her back to offer some comfort despite his same question being ignored not once but twice. Fives gathers she's collecting herself together, probably mulling over the fact their headspace remains empty as they speak.

“Is Siaris’ comm pinging?” she asks in a whisper.

“No. No request to come in,” Fives levels his voice with hers. He tries again, “Is everyone back yet?”

“Mhm.” Kore fiddles with a stray thread on Fives' sweater. “Today's a mayhem. Eurus went off road. Siaris is exhausted as heck. Everyone's exhausted. Last time I saw them before getting here, they're cuddling. I mean, good for them.”

Oh.

Oh wait.

Fives stiffens.

Oh.

“You're Jenne, aren't you.”

Jenne snorts. “I thought you figured that out already.”

Fives slowly, hesitantly pulls his arms away from around her, but isn't completely removing them off. “No, because I thought the last thing you'd want as your dying wish is to cuddle with me on your couch on Taungsday night.” He suddenly smirks, tightening his arms around her again teasingly and playfully burying his face into her hair. “Not hating me that much now, are ya?”

Jenne slaps his shoulder and slightly pushes him away, not that he budges. “Shut up,” she grumbles, though Fives can see her blushing since he'd brushed away her fallen hair earlier. He chuckles deeply, voice rumbling inside his chest and somehow sending Jenne to cuddle into him further.

“The others trust you. I see no reason not to,” she mumbles, “Especially Kore. Kiddo can't shut up about how funny and nice you are.”

“Just doing what I think I need to do,” Fives shrugs. He smirks down at her, though she hasn't looked up. “So, you still wanna cuddle, or?”

Jenne is silent for a moment before muttering under her breath, her voice whispery he almost can't catch it. “This is kinda nice,” she admits.

Fives swells with pride. “I wholeheartedly agree.”

Jenne snorts. “Because you never cuddle someone?”

“Because it's just nice.”

“It's nice because you're cuddling someone?”

“No, just you.” Jenne looks up questioningly at him, one eyebrow lifted. Fives catches himself, stammering, “I-I mean, all of you. Or I mean if you're not co-fronting, then maybe whoever is out in the driver seat.”

Jenne maintains her gaze, her chin stabbing into Fives' chest as she props her head up on it. “Very touching.”

Fives scowls playfully. “Hey, I'm trying to be inclusive.”

“And it's much appreciated, Fives,” she dismisses. Her sparkling brown eyes soften. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Fives smiles genuinely, rubbing her back for another moment. “Just doing the least I can do.”

“It's a lot for me. For us.” Jenne then shifts a bit to stretch her legs, climbing up a bit closer to Fives. She plops back down on him. His arms welcome her back. She frowns. “You know, to be honest, sometimes I forget this isn't my body too. It's theirs as well. Sometimes I slip up. Sometimes I'm too selfish. It's a bit hard.”

Fives' eyes soften. “I'm sure you'll get used to it,” he offers. Jenne looks away from him, but he decides he's having none of it. “Hey.” He lays a hand on her cheek and gently tilts her face towards him. Their eyes meet. Fives takes a deep breath. “You're a survivor. A fighter. You take that to your heart. You won't be here if you decided to give up a long time ago. They're here for you. They love you. And I'm here for you too, and I'll stay if you want me to. And don't black out on me, we're having a moment.”

Despite small pools of tears collecting beneath her eyelids, a corner of Jenne's lips lifts momentarily. “We’re having a moment?”

Fives shrugs, smiling smugly. “From my perspective.”

They stare into each other, basking in each other's warmth in their uncalculated proximity. Jenne blinks lazily. Fives has just recently noticed how thick their eyelashes are, and how the smallest tinge of pink graces their cheeks when they're sated. When their forehead is absent of any distressed crease and when their sparkling brown eyes don't possess a spark of playful annoyance, and when there's only peace in their countenance, Fives quietly takes in their demure beauty.

And when their lips finally meet, the shared touch is not with feverish passion. It's slow, delicate, and thoughtful. Just like how Fives wishes to be a gentle presence in their lives, always supporting, always mindful of his approach to make them content, at peace, and undisturbed.

And Jenne, out of all three of them yet – herself, Eurus, and Siaris – accepts him with a sheepish brush of her own to his lips. A brush becomes two, two becomes three. Their breaths mingle. Fives gingerly places his hand to the back of her head, thick strands of soft sandy blond hair slipping between his calloused fingers, and briefly deepens their kiss.

Once they pull away from each other and look into each other's eyes, there's so much emotion. Fives can practically maybe see everybody's gears turning inside their head. He allows himself a small, breathy chuckle. There's so much emotion in them, and among them is heartfelt appreciation and newfound adoration, and within his is endless support.

“So… you don't hate my guts at all, then?”

Jenne slaps his shoulder again. “Ass,” she hides her smile. And yet, her brown eyes sparkle. “I hate it when I have to repeat myself.”

Fives places a kiss on her cheek. “Yeah? Then say it.”

Jenne chuckles at his insistence and looks up at him. Their sparkling brown eyes are just so beautiful.

“I don't hate you,” she says, “I don't I ever could.”

“I don't hate you too,” Fives mutters in return, smiling cheekily afterwards. Hesitantly, as if just remembering, he takes a deep breath and asks, “Is everyone… okay with this?”

Jenne rolls her eyes. “Although we share the body, we're all separate entities. Do I sound like a Chiss to you right now? Our business is our own. They should be okay.” Aaand it's back. Fives chuckles. Jenne quirks up an eyebrow at him. “Feels weird, huh?”

Fives tries not to think about that at the moment, wanting to just enjoy her presence. “M’not sure, actually.”

“Yeah. That's why I never had a partner before.”

“Wait, really?”

Jenne scowls at his teasing tone. “I mean, romantic partner. Dating. Liking each other. Boyfriend and girlfriend or same genders, whatever you call it these days.” She rolls her eyes. “Who wants a mentally ill partner anyway?”

Fives visibly cringes. “Come on. You're not that bad,” he complains, hugging her tightly for comfort to the point she wheezes and has to push him away with another slap to the shoulder. He grins widely, but his tone turns serious as he says, “I mean your diagnosis. Your condition. You're coping, you're handling it. That's what matters.”

Jenne’s lips quirk up for a second, her expression grateful. “Thanks.”

They lay in each other's arms like that for another good hour, opening up and trading stories of what happened while everybody's… busy. Kore and Fives sightseeing in CoCo District (he doesn't leave out the fact that they were using her credits to purchase things, behind the reason of ‘keeping Kore happy and not fussy’) and Jenne and Siaris on a hike mission to find Eurus.

Jenne describes what their headspace looks like and explains which spot is where and what for, filling the blanks in the vague description Kore spilled a few hours ago. Turns out Siaris and Eurus are closer than even both of them had thought, and that new knowledge alone makes Fives feel he's in this… whatever this is… deep, deeper than he thought.

He can't wait to see what's next.

Now they lay together in silence, just being comfortable with each other's presence, before Fives has a notion to break it.

“...Can I kiss you again?”

Jenne scowls. “Not if we get to… that.”

Fives laughs loudly. “Who says I want that? I'm not in the mood either. I just got planetside today and I'm sleepy.” He pecks her on the nose. “I just like kissing you for the comfort of it.”

Leaning in once more, his lips capture hers with more tenderness in the new enlightenment. His shoulders feel lighter, as if whatever invisible burden has been lifted, and Jenne is kissing him back. It's the most he can receive for now, and he's appreciating every second of it.

“One thing I know about you, ARC Trooper Fives,” she mumbles into his lips, “is that you're an honest man, even behind all that plastoid shell.”

“Heh,” Fives smiles charmingly, his cheeks slightly flushed, “Sounds like me, alright.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights

A/N: There'll be a special entry for Free Space prompt (2/16), and it's gonna be a parody of one of those Wired's Autocomplete Interview! I need prompts from you readers; Google-style questions about DID. And throw in your questions if you're curious about Fives and each of the entire system (Jenne, Eurus, Siaris, Kore). So if you've got any, please put them in the comment section! Thanks 💖

[clonexocweek]

Crosshair X Tahny Quality Time

These two have a few hobbies besides burning down every building they end up in.

Namely, Tah'nyem loves food and has a certain knack for cooking. She's mastered a few techniques in duress for some client meetings...secluded, no take out, no hired help. Just her and her father and their paranoid business partners who needed specialized diets. Though she would normally be annoyed that the kitchen duties would fall to her by default, surprisingly she took to it. Give her time and she could figure out the components of any dish just from taste at this point.

But it's the rare and exotic that she'll crave. In their travels these two found that a nice, luxurious meal is something they both enjoy indulging in... Almost as much as they enjoy indulging in, well, each other.

Hunter is constantly lecturing them about sneaking off to worlds they shouldn't be on just to try a new gourmet spot that's opening, and well...

Racking up the dine and dash tabs.

(Note: Comics are Disgrace canon adjacent but exist more in the hypothetical. Their story isn't wrapped yet! We call these The Pabu Interludes and can be considered more like a back stage everything is fine type of universe.)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

@clonexocweek @feral-ferrule @vimse @kaytunez @substantial-exposure

[clonexocweek]

Clone x OC Week Day 2

Prompt: Quality Time (+ Future, kinda)

Pairing: Mira x Wrecker

Set: Post-S3

Word Count: 334

Mira laughed loudly as Wrecker told her another story about how the Bad Batch had narrowly escaped death. 

“And then, the Rancor and I had to fight for dominance. It was exhausting!” 

“Oh, I’m sure. It sounds like you were very brave.” She passed him another dish, shaking her head. “Taking on an adult Rancor … honestly, it’s a wonder you boys are still alive.”

“Well, uh …” Wrecker scratched the back of his neck. “It was only a baby Rancor. But it was still huge!” he added as she raised an eyebrow at him.

Mira laughed again, clutching her stomach. With all the description he had given her, she had truly believed it was some sort of colossal beast. Trust Wrecker to over-exaggerate. 

When she regained her ability to breathe, Mira passed him another plate. They had been living together for a while and so they had created a system – Mira would wash the dishes, and Wrecker would put them away. It was a nice compromise where they both did an equal share of the work (and it definitely wasn’t because Mira couldn’t reach the top shelf in the cupboard). Usually, they would also have Deke, Stak, and Mox to help them – they were on drying duty most nights – but tonight, they were out with Jannah, Omega, and Lyana. So, just for tonight, Wrecker had been stuck on drying duty.

Wrecker threw the drying towel over his broad shoulder, putting the plate away gently. There had been a few incidents where he had broken a plate (or seven), but he was more aware of his strength now.

When they were done, they settled down on the couch and turned on the Holonet. Wrecker put an arm around Mira’s shoulder as she tucked herself into his side, rubbing circles on her upper arm. His other hand picked up hers, tracing the wrinkles on her fingertips caused by the water. He placed a sweet kiss on her head as they wound down for the night.

Tagging: @clonexocweek

[clonexocweek]

Clone x OC Week Day 2

Prompt: Quality Time (+ Future, kinda)

Pairing: Lila x Hunter

Set: Post-S3

Word Count: 214

“Morning,” Lila greeted Hunter quietly.

“Morning.”

Even though she approached him from behind, she didn’t surprise him – his enhanced senses meant he always knew she was coming.

Lila padded out onto the porch, taking her usual seat next to Hunter. They both enjoyed watching the sunrise on Pabu while they drank their morning caf, so they had moved a couple of chairs out there for that exact purpose.

Her mug was already sitting next to his on the table. She picked it up gratefully, taking a sip and smiling – Hunter had learned how she liked her caf and always made it perfectly every time. 

She sat back, sinking into the soft cushion behind her. Golden rays of light stretched out, bathing Pabu in warm light. The horizon was burnt orange, gradually turning yellow, then white, then blue as her eyes travelled upwards. The water reflected the sky beautifully, the waves glinting brightly as they ebbed lazily against the shore. 

She reached out and slipped her hand into Hunter’s, taking another drink. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. 

Lila loved mornings like this. Everything around them was peaceful and calm, far away from the war they were both used to. And they could just sit in silence and enjoy it together.

Tagging: @clonexocweek

[clonexocweek]

Brynter: Quality Time

Prompt #2 of @clonexocweek! Another already published excerpt and brand new Bryneir and Hunter character art (above) for this chapter that I drew on a whim overnight. What is a sleep schedule anyway? Though I do see now that her torso is not aligned properly, but that's a problem to fix another day.

We're rewinding to their first real quality time together. The morning after they met, they had a conversation. Unbeknownst to them, a string was tied between their souls that would yank them back together again and again across the seas and stars.

Word Count: 5350

Content Warnings: signs of PTSD

Chapter 11: Horizon

The bitter sting of caf burned Hunter’s throat, but he persisted. Their morning simulations had been canceled to allow the squad time to sleep, but his body had woken him at his usual early hour. He’d been restless, frustrated as he’d tossed and turned until he gave up, pulled on his fatigues, and creeped out of their barracks so as not to wake his brothers.

He now sat in the mess hall, alone at the table they usually occupied. He ignored the whispers from the regs around him, circulating cheap theories to explain the absence of the rest of Havoc squad. Some of them knew he could hear their hushed mocking, others didn’t. He downed his second caf, knowing he’d probably regret the crash that would come later, but didn’t really care. It was already relieving the pain brewing behind his brow, and he just needed enough energy to get through the afternoon.

He rose from his seat, shoving his tray and half-eaten meal onto the disposal racks on his way out. With several hours to kill, he walked aimlessly, needing to move his body in an effort to fully wake himself.

More auxiliary training was now on the afternoon’s schedule, added in lieu of their morning sims. They’d have to fly to the maintenance depot on Kamino’s closest moon for a couple of days to continue their lessons on repairing and operating speeders and similar modes of transport. Commandos were expected to be able to pick up just about any old hunk of junk and use it, Kal had told them. He enjoyed the speeder bikes, at least, so he had that to look forward to. Pretty soon they’d be working on starships, after they’d mastered ground transports.

Tech in particular had been itching to move on to starship maintenance and engineering, having already researched the subject to a dizzying extent. The usual rants ensued, of course, but Hunter and the others made a point to pay closer attention to this particular special interest of Tech’s. They’d already been informed that they would be getting a small ship of their own so they could travel about the galaxy from mission to mission without relying on the cruisers.

Tech had already narrowed down the pros and cons for each starship model. The Nu-class was stealthy and the most widely used, but slower and very small. The fastest attack shuttle currently in active production was the Theta-class model, but it was even smaller than the Nu-class. They didn’t mind being a bit cramped, but the reality was that they’d have to live on their ship for months on end and not kill each other.

The right fit, they had agreed, seemed to be the Omicron-class attack shuttle, a new design Tech had come across deep in the manufacturer’s reports. They weren’t in production yet, but were large enough to house them, their weapons, and consumables for extended periods, while still being compact enough to be fast and maneuverable. Tech had already drawn up plans for dozens of modifications he wanted to make to the ship’s design, should they succeed in their request for that ship in particular.

The sun stunned Hunter’s vision for a moment as he stepped outside of the metallic dome, a rare sight on Kamino that he hadn’t expected. The storm must have broken while he was in the mess. He strode over to the railing overlooking the landing platforms ahead, spotting several attack shuttles and gunships ferrying troopers from the planet to the cruisers hovering high above, barely visible through the gaps of the undulating clouds. A single Venator-class star destroyer was on the furthest platform, there only being one landing-zone in the whole complex that could accommodate it’s massive size, hence the need for shuttles when more than one cruiser was on Kamino at a time. Dive troopers were coming and going, trailing water behind them as they made their way to the planetside cruiser, seemingly having been here for practice drills.

He shuffled his feet as he leaned on the railing, rolling his neck as he mulled over how to occupy himself for a few hours. He wasn’t much in the mood for the training rooms or the firing range, and he certainly didn’t have the mental fortitude to study with his brain fueled by almost nothing but shitty caf.

Undecided on what to do, he scanned the platforms again, mentally checking off the class of each ship that came and left. Hunter wondered what far off part of the galaxy they were heading to, what kind of fight the regs on board would end up facing, and how many of them would never return. Part of him wished he was on board one of them. He was eager to prove the regs wrong about his squad, hungry to jump into the fight they’d been training for their entire lives.

He noticed something, or rather someone, out of place. A lone trooper in plain white armor leaning against the railing and watching the ships just as he was, only they were a few levels below him. As he looked down he considered the possibility that the squad-less trooper was likely her, that’s if she was still on Kamino. His feet moved before he made the conscious decision to find out, taking him down a series of ramps to the lower viewing decks.

Every individual Hunter had ever met had a distinct scent that only he could distinguish thanks to his enhancements, some more tolerable than others. The moment his boots hit the lowest level, he caught the newly familiar but pleasant nutty scent, confirming that it was indeed her.

“Bryn?”

Her helmet turned to face him before she quickly glanced around, ensuring they were alone before she responded. “Hi. Wasn’t expecting to see you out here.”

Hunter joined her at the railing, leaning on it as he had above. “Just… wanted some fresh air.”

“Same,” she replied. Even through the modulator of her helmet, he could hear the tiredness in her voice. “Would be better without this thing,” she chuckled, pointing to her helmet.

“Still not allowed to take it off, hey?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Bryn replied quietly in turn. “Not out in the open. The records aren’t fixed yet.”

“Ah. Understood.” Her situation still perplexed him, the strange circumstances and tight-knit secrets, but he never pressed her on it, knowing she couldn’t tell him anything anyway. It was a war, he supposed. Secrets were something he’d have to get used to.

They looked out over the landing platforms in a silence that was simultaneously tense and comfortable. At least her heart rate was steady this time, unlike the sudden harsh thudding he’d heard from her after they’d completed the last sim overnight.

“I’m assuming one of those Venators is your ride out of here?” Hunter asked, breaking their stalemate.

Bryn’s helmet bobbed as she pointed towards the landed cruiser. “We leave in a few hours.”

“That’s not the 501st though.”

“No, they’re 227th. They’re giving me a covert ride back to the fleet.”

“So when you’re back with the 501st, then you’re clear?”

She nodded again. “Free to serve like any other trooper, as if I’ve been serving the whole time.”

Hunter did his best to stifle his intrigue, but couldn’t help wondering what exactly about her warranted the extreme covertness. How many people had to be sworn to secrecy to protect whatever operation she was involved in?

“So you’re just… watching the ships go by until then?”

“Pretty much,” she shrugged with a sigh. “At least the sun finally came out.”

He wished he could see her face, get a read on her thoughts as her flat tone masked her emotion. Whatever she was — content, sad, or maybe just plain tired — the rhythm of her heart remained steady. Commander Colt had said she’d run the solo tests prior to last night, meaning she’d probably spent the last several nights running tests and sims at all hours. He concluded that she was likely even more exhausted than himself.

A cool breeze rushed upwards from the ocean far below, soothing his aching eyes. She couldn’t have felt that relief herself, of course, not with her helmet still on.

“Well, if you have the time, I know somewhere you can still watch the ships, but it’s hidden enough that you could take that bucket off. Only, uh… only if you wanted to… of course.”

Hunter silently cursed himself for stammering, blaming his lack of sleep and the overabundance of caf in his system.

Bryn hesitated for a moment, looking between him and the Venator in the distance.

“It’s not far,” he reassured her. “You can get back up here within a few minutes, when you’re due to leave.”

“Okay,” she answered plainly. “Yeah, would be nice to feel that breeze before heading back into space for who knows how long.”

Hunter felt a tug in his cheek as he motioned for her to follow him. He took her to a maintenance lift inside the nearest dome, accessing it with a code he wasn’t supposed to have. 99 had given it to him years ago, updating him whenever the codes changed, so he’d have a quiet place to go when he needed a break from everything. He loved his brothers, without a doubt, but sometimes he simply needed to be alone to clear his head properly.

He checked both ways outside the lift before ushering Bryn down a short narrow hallway, much smaller than the wide open spaces in the city above. They were inside one of the giant stilts that supported the dome structures of the complex, now passing by the doors to the living quarters of the maintenance clones. He couldn’t hear a soul down there with them. All of the maintenance clones would have been on duty at this time of day.

Sunlight spilled around their feet as he opened one of the doors, leading to an open-air storage area full of maintenance and repair equipment. Metal sheets were stacked against the walls near racks of large tools and repelling equipment for servicing the stilt itself. Hunter continued on straight to the grated platform outside, no bigger than a few meters wide, with a series of rusted metal ladders at one end.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he said as he stepped out onto the platform, the massive ocean waves visible through the grates nearly a kilometer below.

Bryn popped her head out and looked down. “Oh,” she chuckled as she stepped out. “Good thing I’m not.”

Despite that claim, he noticed that she stuck back by the walls cautiously, rather than approaching the railing beside him, so he took a step back and slid down the wall to a sitting position. She did the same, mirroring his action to sit beside him, before finally removing her helmet and placing it gently to the side.

He watched through his periphery as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her heart rate slowed into an especially calm tempo as the breeze rustled the curls atop her head. She looked so content, like she was completely at peace.

“There’s nothing quite like salted air,” she stated, smiling as she opened her eyes to look out over the horizon. He followed her gaze upwards to where the shuttles continued to fly back and forth through the clouds.

“Does that remind you of somewhere?”

“I grew up on the coast,” she replied. “Being around saltwater reminds me of home.”

That struck him as odd, for a Corellian at least. “Only thought of Corellia as shipyards, that’s all we’ve been taught about it.”

“Ship-building is its main business. That’s inland, far from the ocean’s storms. But there’s still pockets of people along the coasts, mostly fishing villages.”

Hunter felt himself gawk a little at that, raising his forearms to rest on a bent knee. “A remote fishing village? Can’t say that’s what I’d have guessed for you.”

“My village wasn’t that remote compared to some,” she replied, turning to look at him. “I spent plenty of time in the cities too.”

“I see.” He paused, looking back at her. Her demeanor was different here than in the barracks the night prior. No anxious fidgeting or darting glances, just a subtly happy expression that was only further highlighted by the sunlight glowing on her skin. He’d remembered her almost colorless eyes looking greenish before, but now they had a blue tinge, reflecting the color of the sky.

They both watched the shuttles again for some time as the clouds moved, blocking and revealing the sunbeams in streaks that made the water shimmer far below. Hunter had never brought anyone here before, but was glad that it seemed to have a positive effect on her. He appreciated that she felt comfortable in the silence, rather than forcing conversation just for conversation’s sake. He revelled in the quiet, feeling so at peace for a moment that Bryn’s voice almost startled him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“My friends… er, the troopers with the 501st explained how you all get your names, that you either choose one yourselves or your brothers give you one. Wrecker, Crosshair, and Tech are obvious. I don’t really get how Hunter correlates with enhanced senses. I mean, assuming it’s supposed to correlate.”

The way she pronounced each of their names made her unfamiliar rhythmic accent stand out to him more. She placed heavier emphasis on the consonants, rather than the vowels as most clones did.

“Wrecker and Crosshair, well, they're self explanatory. Tech isn’t as obvious as you think. You’re thinking technology, right, or technician? It’s kind of a double meaning, but that’s not where his name came from.”

“Where did it come from then?”

“Tech is for Technically,” he smirked before raising the pitch of his voice to put on his best impression of Tech’s posh vernacular. “Because he corrects us constantly and thinks that opening with the word technically makes him sound smart.”

Bryn’s face lit up with a wide smile as she laughed. “That’s a pretty good impression.”

“Heh, thanks. We called him Technically for a while,” he chuckled. “Eventually just Tech stuck.”

“So what’s the story behind Hunter, then?”

“Well, tracking is my enhanced skill. The senses all play into that.”

Hunter took the time to explain it to her, garnering her full attention. The mutations and enhancements of his five senses, the addition of his sixth sense for electromagnetic waves, and his specialized training. He chose to forego any talk of the experiments, deeming their brutality unnecessary for answering her question.

“Early on, as a kid, one of the trainers who taught me how to track said ‘we’ll make a hunter of you yet’. I liked it, kept it as my name.”

“It suits you. It’s always interesting to me, how you choose your names. They’re either very fitting or downright random.”

“Heh, you’re right about that.”

The flapping of wings could be heard nearby, at least to Hunter’s ears. He paid it no mind.

“It’s certainly more interesting than most nat-borns’ naming stories, most of us are— SHIT!”

Bryn nearly jumped out of her skin, pressing her back stiff against the wall and sliding closer to Hunter as a reflex. Large flying creatures encircled the stilt, coming within a few meters of where they were sitting, a common occurrence familiar to Hunter. He hadn’t reacted in the slightest, aside from the wide grin now plastered on his face.

“Relax, they’re harmless.”

“What the fuck are those things?” Her heart raced now, eyes wide with a blend of fear and shock as they watched the smooth-winged amphibians soar through the air before diving down into the water again.

“They’re just aiwhas. Come on, you said you grew up by an ocean, there had to have been creatures bigger than that,” he teased.

“Not that could also FLY,” she said aghast as she leaned forward where she sat, staring down through the grates to watch the pod jumping playfully through the waves.

The look on her face nearly killed him as he felt his hard exterior crack into a hearty laugh. He couldn’t blame her, he supposed, the aiwhas were comparable to the size of an gunship, but were far more graceful.

“Shit they’re coming back,” she gasped as she again sat back tight against the wall, obliviously pressing her spaulder into Hunter’s arm as if trying to get away from the edge of the platform.

“They’re not gonna hurt you,” he laughed, his shoulders shaking as his hand covered half his face in a vain attempt to hide his broken façade.

The pod flew up around them again, spinning around at an impressive speed as they sang their high-pitched whistles before diving back into the sea. Bryn’s eyes shot even wider, if that was even possible. Her shock remained, but her look of fear was slowly being replaced with one of awe and wonder.

“How are they so big and still able to fly…”

“Would you believe me if I told you the Kaminoans ride them?”

She dramatically turned to look at him as his face strained to hold back the unyielding urge to laugh again. Her eyes locked with his for only half a second before she broke.

“Excuse me!?” she sputtered with a breathy laugh of her own as she squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from him. Her reaction alone was enough to break him entirely.

“It’s the truth!”

“HOW?!” she wheezed, planting her face in her hands as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “So, wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me—”

“I’m telling you that—”

“Shut up. Hold on!” she exclaimed, flapping her hand in front of him, making him laugh harder. “You’re telling me that those creepily calm and eerily tall people upstairs ride those things over this deathtrap of an ocean?!”

“Mostly under the water, actually…”

“UNDER?!”

“Well they’re both amphibious.”

“What in the blasted fuck…” she muttered. “I’m sorry I need a minute.” She was practically choking when she buried her face into her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs as she composed herself.

Hunter wasn’t sure what was so funny about the image of a Kaminoan riding an aiwha, he was so used to the sight that he never thought twice about it. It was strange, he figured, for the fastidious scientists to use such a potentially dangerous mode of transportation. But he didn’t need to fully understand, it was funny to Bryn and her unrestrained candor was priceless to him.

They both eventually recovered and their continued conversation flowed effortlessly as the minutes turned into hours. Hunter’s heart felt lighter and he stopped thinking too hard about what to say next. They swapped stories and questions, sharing more chuckles along the way, although none as eruptive as with the damn aiwhas. He hadn’t known it beforehand, but it turned out he’d really needed that laugh.

•••

His hands made small movements in front of his chest, accentuating the talking points of Hunter’s latest story as Bryn listened in earnest. The ocean breeze kissed her skin, the comforting smell of salt filled her sinuses, and his low raspy voice tolled in her ears. She was enjoying herself more than she’d expected.

“So we got to the training base on Faa, the next planet over in this system,” Hunter continued, recounting his story. “Nobody knows how they got there, but there’s a tooka colony near the base.”

“Alright, surprise tooka colony. Got it.”

“Well, while scouting out the practice enemy holdout, the damned cats would not leave me alone. I was lying in the dirt to stay low, and they were on my back, under my arms, just picking at me constantly. One even sat right up on my helmet.”

“Did they bother anyone else?” she asked with a smirk.

“Nobody. I had no idea why, until I caught the kriffing shits Wrecker and Crosshair putting a bundle of dried grass in my pack. Turns out the stuff is like a drug to the things, they can’t get enough of it. Crosshair figured it out while hanging out with the colony, apparently, so he and Wrecker gathered some up and planted it on me.”

“How long did it take you to figure it out?”

“Three days. Three days of being followed around by nearly a dozen grass-drunk tookas.”

“And your super sense of smell didn’t notice?”

He sighed and shook his head. “See, I did notice it. But the smell went everywhere I went so I assumed it was just the planet itself or something.”

“The image of a tooka perched on your helmet is pretty amusing.”

“Well I’m glad you think so. Damn thing nearly gave away my position.”

Spending this much time in close proximity to Hunter gave Bryn the opportunity to register what exactly was different about him from the other clones, especially since he was out of his armor. He and the rest of Havoc Squad piqued her curiosity, they were the first clones she’d met that weren’t exact copies of each other. She sat beside him on his non-tattooed side, giving her ample time to study him as he shared funny stories from his squad’s training.

He looked a hell of a lot like the regular clones, who his squad called regs, but there were still subtle differences. She’d noticed before that his expressive eyes were a slightly lighter shade of brown, but they were also a little bigger. He was broader in the shoulders, but leaner through the body, and his face still had the typical chiseled clone features, strong jaw, and tawny brown skin.

His hair was different too, but not just in length. Rather than the black coily hair of the regs, his was dark brown wavy curls tied back from his face with the red bandana as it had been the previous night. Aside from the skull tattoo covering half his face, his most prominent permanent feature, she’d realized, was his nose. It was far more pronounced than a typical clone’s, wider with a hump at the bridge where it met his brow, making his side profile quite striking.

“I suppose I’m not allowed to ask you for your war stories just yet,” he said, his statement pulling her back to the present as she snapped her eyes away from his face.

“Not really, no… sorry. Ask me again in a few months.”

He chuckled. “No need to apologize, I get it.”

Aiwhas once again interrupted their conversation as they sang and danced around the stilts supporting the domes high above them. She still felt her heart race a little when they came close to the platform, but she had to admit that they were beautiful.

Bryn was grateful, really, to get a proper glimpse of Kamino without the dark thunderstorms before she left the planet. The roaring waves below were awe inspiring to listen to, their thundering crashes audible even from the extreme height of the platform. She did her best to pay no mind to the rusting of the structure, trusting that the platform was strong as she’d trusted Hunter when he insisted that the aiwhas were harmless.

For no particular reason she could pinpoint, she felt she could trust him. Even so, her hand had been on her com the entire time she followed him down to this place, a subconscious act of safety. She’d known him less than a day, after all, but she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

More transports came and went, buzzing through the air high above them. She was about to comment on the gunships’ nose art designs when Hunter suddenly turned his head and raised his hand, bringing a single finger to his lips to silence her.

“Someone’s coming.”

He rose to his feet and waved his hand for her to follow, and she complied, stepping back inside the storage area. His footsteps didn’t make a sound as he approached the doors to the hallway, listening intently. Bryn couldn’t hear a thing.

“They’re heading this way, I can talk us out of… where’s your helmet?”

“Shit,” she whispered as she whipped her head around. Footsteps approached the door, slowly but steadily, loud enough now that she could hear them too. “It’s on the platform.”

“No time.” Hunter grabbed her elbow and yanked her behind a stack of metal sheeting just as the doors opened.

Bryn controlled her breathing as well as she could, mostly in an attempt to hide, but also so she wouldn’t breath directly in Hunter’s face. The small nook he’d pulled her into barely hid them both. She pressed her back into the metal sheets to try and give him some space, and he kept his hands on the stack to either side of her arms without actually touching her.

The shuffling footsteps moved across the room to the platform outside, which seemed to pique Hunter’s interest as he carefully tilted his head out of their hiding place, watching.

Hunter made a quiet whistle with his teeth to get the person’s attention. “Hey, is it just you down here, brother?”

“Hunter, just who I came looking for. Yes, it’s just me.”

Bryn caught Hunter’s eyes for a moment before he carefully backed up from her, stepping out from their hiding place as she remained frozen and silent.

“Sorry, uh… wasn’t sure who I heard coming… wouldn’t have hidden, if I knew it was you.”

“Not to worry. I stopped by your barracks and Tech said you’d been gone all morning. Thought I might find you here.”

That voice. Bryn knew the voice from somewhere. A clone voice, slightly strained, older… She turned on her heel silently, carefully peeking around the corner of the stack to confirm her suspicion.

“Hello again.”

Hunter’s head swung around to face her, clearly surprised to hear her speak as his eyes flicked between her and his brother. “Ah… 99, this is, uh…”

“This is your mysterious one-night squadmate,” 99 chuckled, shooting a suspicious look at Hunter.

Bryn finally breathed in relief and stepped out from the hiding spot. Hunter looked absolutely addled, the flush on his face barely perceptible.

“It’s okay, we’ve met,” she reassured him as she retrieved her helmet from the platform, clipping it to her belt for quick access, just in case.

“You’ve met?”

“While watching your Plan 76 sim yesterday. 99 clocked me as a nat-born.”

“And Kal swore me to secrecy like the rest of you,” the old man explained. “I take it you passed your sims?”

“Thanks to his squad, I did,” she replied, nodding her head in Hunter’s direction.

“Ah, you didn’t need their ugly mugs, I’m sure,” 99 joked with a sly grin. “I’m assuming you still have to hide your face? Or is there another reason you two were tucked back there?”

The skin of her cheeks burned instantly as Hunter rolled his eyes. She silently cursed her pale complexion, knowing there’s no way she could hide her reaction to 99’s insinuation. Fuck, how she wished she’d had her helmet on already.

“I… I still have to hide my face. Until I’m back on the frontline.”

“Understood,” 99 chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

Hunter stepped towards the door. “You’re due to leave soon, right? Should probably head back up anyway.”

“Right…” she joined him by the door as the old man followed before passing them into the hallway.

“Come along then. I’m going back up too.” 99 shot another quick glance at each of them with a smile, then started to slowly shuffle down the hall.

Bryn looked up at Hunter for half a second, only to find him already looking at her. She quickly averted her gaze and put her helmet back on before the heat of embarrassment returned to her face again. The three of them walked through the narrow hall before cramming into the lift in silence.

“Am I still not allowed to know your name?” 99 asked her.

“Honestly, I don’t see why not anymore,” she replied, reaching her hand out to shake his. “Bryneir Q’ade. You can call me Bryn.”

99 instead took her hand in both of his, squeezing gently. “Good luck out there, Bryn. Give ‘em hell.”

The floor lurched slightly as they started to rise back into the dome structure above.

“I’ll do my best.”

The old man smiled again as the doors of the lift opened, bringing them back to the busier wide-open halls of the city’s main levels.

“Did you… need me for something, 99?” Hunter asked.

“Nothing pressing. I’ll find you later, brother.” 99 smiled at them both before he quietly shuffled away.

Hunter accompanied her to the lower viewing platform where he’d found her hours ago, still not saying a word to her since they’d left that storage area. They stood together and watched as the landed Venator’s engines glowed blue with fire, beginning its preparation for takeoff.

“Thank you, Hunter. I needed that break.” Her vision was slightly obscured by her helmet, a change she was still getting used to. But she had seen him turn to face her, looking at her visor.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Trooper Q’ade, come in.”

Bryn raised her wrist com to reply. “This is Trooper Q’ade.”

“Report to General Fisto in hangar 12-014 onboard the Resilient.”

“Will do, sir.”

Bryn shifted her feet as Hunter sauntered beside her in the direction of the ramps. He was quieter than earlier, his eyes lacking the same spark they had while he’d told her his stories. As they reached the ramps, he broke his silence.

“Well, whatever fight you have coming your way, good luck.” He reached to shake her hand as she reciprocated the gesture.

“Good luck with the rest of your training,” she smiled under her helmet, forgetting he couldn’t see it. “And with your deployment, when that day comes.”

He didn’t let go of her. Instead, he cupped his other hand over the back of hers, much like 99 had on the lift. “Stay safe out there.”

“You too.” She squeezed gently before slipping from his grip and stepping down the ramp to head to the Venator.

Something tugged in her chest as her feet carried her further away, like a string laced through her rib cage pulling backwards against her stride. She ignored it. Now having reached halfway across the landing platforms, the heat from the Resilient’s engines was palpable through her blacks.

The string wrenched harder and she gave into its temptation, stopping for a moment to look back over her shoulder. He was still there at the top of the ramp, watching her leave. He saluted her, and she saluted him in return. She knew that, among an army of millions, she’d probably never see him again.

Bryn recommitted to her duty, continuing her trek on board the Resilient, wandering deep into its hangar without looking back again.

Full fic below:

[clonexocweek]

All-Nighter Work High

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.11.25: Quality Time | Event Masterlist

↤ Prev | Part 2 of 5 | Next ↦

Summary: One step closer to uncovering the truth. In the domestic comfort of her apartment, Lesiil unravels the web of reasons behind the murders while Marshal Commander Fox is finishing his mundane flimsiwork. Tags & Warnings: inaccurate criminal investigation & its related process, domestic fluff, "he fell first x she fell harder" kinda dynamic, wholesome convo, a smidge of grief and angst, lots of light friendly banter, serial killer case, author wrote an intense analytic background of the case, typical murder investigation, author watches true crime for reference Pairing: Fox × Det. Lesiil Thrace (OFC Crime Investigator) Word Count: 7.4k A/N: Second day of the event! This is one of my faves to write 😄 So giddy to find out you lot are enjoying the previous part so much! Here's fluff as a treat, hopefully you find them cute and amusing 🫶🏼 and a really comprehensive detail of the case for which I turned my braincells on.

𝑰'𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐

— Routines In The Night - Twenty One Pilots [X]

The initial drama that surrounds the case, Lesiil thinks, is utterly ridiculous.

The first time these murders - or more like the first ten or so victims - occured, the Grand Army of the Republic quite blatantly ignored the bleak reports. Because ten clones mysteriously killed during patrol usually meant nothing as they are always replaceable. At that time, the interval between the murders were quite far apart.

Until the number increased. Concerningly.

Twenty-eight more murders in one week, as if the Corrie Butcher himself took a day off work, took a walk, and went on a spree in that span of five days – five to six victims a day on average.

Naturally, it sparked attention from the inner circle of the Galactic Senate, the politicians feared whoever this serial killer was. If the Corrie Butcher targeted the shock troopers, who stood guard by these important figures, then there was a chance where they would be targeted as well. With that, the conflict won the ultimate scrutiny by the Supreme Chancellor himself that he issued a direct order for the Coruscant Guard to finally investigate the accumulated murders – a total of fifty-five cases by that time, after a whole month of being ignored.

And now, after three whole months, the number increases to a shocking total of 164 cases. Since Lesiil got assigned to the Coruscant Guard, three more of these troopers had fallen to the brutal stabbing of the Corrie Butcher, bringing the total to 167.

Not to mock Coruscant Guard’s previous investigation team, but what have they been doing all this time?

Lesiil had broken this down to the Marshal Commander in one of her daily reports.

One; with 160 or so cases within three months, meaning 54 cases each month on average. The Corrie Butcher makes quick work with his killings, probably went on an uncontrollable and opportunistic spree in one of those nights, as he never sets a target of how many he wishes to kill in one night. There’s always another body near the first one, so the forensics and coroner are able to pinpoint the time of death, additionally with HUD timestamp. Following the victims’ patrol route, Lesiil concludes that the brutal Corrie Butcher is an opportunistic man. He’s aware of the intensity of Corrie patrol routine, blends with the dark, and strikes. Once he strikes, he sees another approaching, and repeats. Every other night – not only a serial killer – the Corrie Butcher is also a spree killer.

It’s as if these clones walk into their deaths, without even seeing it coming. All they saw was a hooded figure before choking on their own blood, the first strike being to the neck. 

Two; why shock troopers? This has been the question since the beginning. Although Lesiil has thought of several theories, nothing is certain, even when the variables aren’t deemed too abstract. She favors one that is most probable, though.

Coruscant Guard shock troopers would only have direct altercation with civilians during, most notably, riot control. Escalation of violence incites more pushed force from the Corries, and that incites more violence, but directed towards the troopers this time. Talking about the motive of personal vendetta; there should be something that might be related to the entire case about riot control in particular. Lesiil holds onto that belief, careful not to announce it aloud with utter confidence, yet.

Three; the obstacle that is the Corrie Butcher himself. His criminal record is squeaky clean, his DNA profile that some of the victims’ armor plate or gloves had acquired in shape of spit or sweat doesn't match anywhere in any police database. All that means he was once an innocent civilian, but then something happened, then his sanity was provoked. Right after that, he leaves 160 cases of serial murders across only three months for the Coruscant Guard to desperately chase after. A daring, heinous act like this…

If one wonders how Lesiil's mind works, that's it. For now.

So in conclusion; the Corrie Butcher, once was an unprovoked man, is now a merciless, opportunistic, trauma-driven serial killer who seeks vengeance to the Coruscant Guard. The deepest, darkest shadows of Coruscant had become his best friend, aiding him delivering that vengeful thirst while slipping through coverings beneath the dark and striking men who merely had only been doing their duty.

The Marshal Commander has been understanding and had taken her considerations to his own. Though, Lesiil knows better, so she refrains from being vocal until the situation needs her to – avoiding throwing caution to the wind. She works with her own mind, and her mind is hers only, not for others to judge. Lesiil knows her assumptions aren't for most people, since most people look at her assumptions like the dirtiest filth on their clothes. For these people, her spoken assumptions are nothing but krayt spit.

That's okay. Her mind is her own.

The next week, with the grim note that the victim count has escalated to 173, Lesiil is one step closer.

She had chosen to dive into her Corrie riot control theory. She can always assemble another probability if one fails, anyway.

Thorn kindly provided her with the necessary reports; a total of 11 times since exactly last standard year. From there, she filtered through. She looked for the ones where peace wasn't an option for these civilians – where violence had escalated to the point that non-lethal force had to be used.

She found 7.

Another filtering through. This time, she looked for the ones where people died unfortunately due to escalated violence.

She found 3.

The Marshal Commander glances back and forth between her and the datapad where she stores her findings of the day.

“These are all, Detective?”

Lesiil nods, keeping her expression neutral as always every time she sits for her daily end-of-the-day reports. A glance here and there to his demeanor and a little listening to his skeptical tone, she knows the Marshal remains cautious to her confidence. She's surprised he's got that amount of patience to face, as people dub it, her ‘krayt spit’.

“And where will you take this to?” the Marshal asks again.

“If it isn't troubling, sir,” she starts, “I would like to gain access to the citizen database so I'll be able to filter through again. I need to look at the profile of all these victims, aiming to see their names, physical features, associations, and familial connections.”

That's right. After jotting down the mentioned 3 riots, her search had to stop. To access the profile of these victims, she needs additional access to the central database of Coruscanti citizens. The party who may grant her that access is her own CO, no less.

Sighing, the Marshal leans back into his padded seat. “I can do that tomorrow,” he says finally.

“With all due respect, I need it tonight, sir,” Lesiil affirms, meeting his baffled expression. “Because if I’m right and we need to detain this individual as fast as possible, the whole process of obtaining a search and arrest warrant and assembling a house raid squad afterward takes time.”

The Marshal Commander waves her off. “No offense, Detective, but…” He trails off, glancing away momentarily, and lets out a long sigh. His hand goes to his face, dazedly rubbing his stubble in consideration. She waits. “How confident are you?” he then asks carefully.

“9 out of 10,” she says calmly, “And I am always right.”

A scoff escapes him as he shakes his head.

Lesiil's gaze remains stubbornly fixated onto the man.

Another sigh. “Very well,” he concedes, “But I have other matters to attend to.”

“Flimsiwork, I hope? Not patrol?”

He lets out a low chuckle, “Yeah. One of your luckiest nights.”

Lesiil feels her cheeks slightly heat up in embarrassment. Did she sound too desperate? Was there something the Marshal deemed amusing? Or is it about his crow's feet that emerge whenever he smiles? She won't lie, such a kind of smile that reaches one's eyes is attractive.

“How soon do you need it?” his voice breaks her trance.

“As soon as possible,” she replies calmly, “I'm already willing to work through the night till morning.”

The Marshal looks at her concerningly. “I won't, and can't, allow you to stay overnight here in HQ.”

Lesiil shrugs. She's grown a bit too casual with the Marshal this past week. “I've planned to continue working elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Why, my apartment, of course,” she answers lightheartedly, “24-hour public co-working space is costly, and while my own dwelling is free, I'd hate spending credits for something I do have myself; private space.”

The crease between his eyebrows deepens in thought. She notices a brewing conflict in his amber eyes, sparking and reflecting the lighting of his office. His luscious dark curls have long forgotten to be combed back and fallen to his brows, the silvery strands kissing his eyelids, making her wonder why he isn't choosing the regulatory haircut. But if it's personal preference and is a quirk, among millions of clones, she's glad her CO is a little rebel himself when it comes to his hair underneath that helmet.

“So,” she interrupts softly to not startle him, “Is it a yes, sir?”

His amber eyes pierce her with an intensity she can't quite define. “That data is sensitive and prone enough to security breach. I can't risk it, so as your CO, I’ll have to supervise you while you work and make sure you utilize it accordingly.”

Lesiil hums, nodding. “I’ll brew you some caf, then.”

“It's not–” the Marshal lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes momentarily. He places his jaw in his hand propped on the arm of his padded chair. “It won't look appropriate,” he mutters.

That's what he's worried about?

“I don't see any issue? I work, you watch me work, and we will be doing that till sunrise or till I can't help my fatigue, or you with yours,” she demands, “I solemnly promise I won't continue my work if you somehow fall asleep.”

The Marshal remains unamused. “You could just wake me up, Detective.”

“Could I?”

“I'm serious, Thrace.”

“I am as well, sir,” she counters as respectfully as she can, “Maker knows how many hundred hours of sleep you've lost. If you fall asleep, I will take a break as well and retreat to my room.”

Another pause as he takes it into deep consideration. Lesiil steals the moment to appreciate his pronounced jawline, how the lighting graciously gives his bronze skin a mysterious silhouette despite his caf-less and fatigued countenance, and the white scar across his nose.

It's an old wound for sure, but she silently wonders if it's still sensitive to the touch.

Before she knows it, those amber eyes are already staring at her, one scarred eyebrow slightly raised in question.

The Marshal catches her staring.

“You're gonna have to brew me that caf,” his gruff voice says with a certain inflection that indicates total smugness in her book.

Refusing to give away any cadence that signals shame and embarrassment, Lesiil lets a smile slide seamlessly into her face. “A deal's a deal, Marshal.”

Fox regrets taking that deal.

Lesiil Thrace’s apartment radiates nothing but comfort, haze, and warmth that once he took off his helmet and stepped foot inside, the serene ambience itself lulls him, persuading him to plop down onto one of the plush seatings and then catch some z’s. Upon the invitation she had said to make himself at home, he was actually tempted to lay down and pass out.

Their respective piles of datapads sit on the cleared dining table, flimsiwork ready to be tended to. What's funny for him is that the table is so huge he could dine there with the usual command vode, despite the fact that the detective lives alone.

BD-6 hops onto the table.

Well. Alone, with the droid.

While the host and current occupant of the refresher down the hall is not around, Fox takes the unspoken invitation to observe and prod about the space. One section of the apartment that intrigues him is the spot where he now sets his feet on, the eyes within hung holostills on the wall staring back at him.

They're all, as expected, images of family and coworkers. There are several holostills of the detective and two people which he easily identifies as her buire and there are another of her with a man about her age, all ranged from the age of childhood to maturity, one of those images is them posing in their university graduation toga, wide grins adoring both faces.

Vod.

Just one, instead of millions.

Soft pitter-patter echoing down the hall catches his attention. Detective Thrace adorns some casual set of sleeved shirt and long pajama trousers, void of any patterns, stripped from the usual sight of a punctual set of shirt and jacket and trousers usually seen in HQ. Dark curly tresses, thick and unbound and looks like just has been blow-dried, fans about her shoulders voluminously.

Thrace is heading down the kitchen, not paying a second glance at him standing by that part of the apartment, and straight up switches on the caf machine.

“Is that your brother?” Fox asks to break the silence.

Thrace grabs two mugs from the top cabinet. “Yes. My twin, actually. Railuu Thrace,” she answers, her back to him as she busies herself. “Friendly to everyone he met. Sociable. Silly man, he was.”

Fox tilts his head down upon instinct.

“Was he a detective too?”

“No, sir.” Thrace finally turns around, leaning back against the counter, hands joined in front of her. “But he served aboard the Triumphant as the one and only natborn deck officer. I believe you’re familiar with Jedi General Plo Koon’s flagship incident?”

He stills. “Abregado... yeah.”

Thrace nods absentmindedly, her storm grey eyes fixing elsewhere. “The General personally delivered the news to our family. He was fond of Railuu, and said his sincerest apologies for being unable to retrieve the body due to the… tragic incident.” She looks up at him with a faint smile. “Railuu was as close as family to the entire 104th. He never stopped talking about the unit whenever we got on holocall.”

He wonders if she had befriended a certain commander of his corps because the man reminds her of her late twin brother.

“My condolences,” he offers quietly, “Must be a good man to earn the favor of a Jedi General and his entire battalion.”

“Thank you,” Thrace nods solemnly, “He was. Really was.”

At the given silence once she turns her back on him again, he can't help but think.

Is that why she regards the clones with so much respect, unlike most people?

Thrace calls out from the kitchen, “I hope you're hungry, Marshal, because I'm starving.” She gets back to her feet after retrieving ingredients from the food preservator, smiling his way welcomingly. “I suppose a little break from mess rations wouldn't hurt, would you agree, sir?”

Fox allows himself a small chuckle. Who, even among clones, would deny a good home-cooked dish?

“Drop the ‘sir’,” he says curtly as he makes his way to sit at the dining table, “We're not in HQ. Fox is fine.”

Thrace turns around. “But we're working.”

He gives a pointed gaze at the half-chopped vegetables.

“Later,” Thrace insists, turning back around to resume her food cutting endeavor. “I may be the host tonight, but you remain my commanding officer.”

BD-6 beeps from his current spot on one of the chairs, something about him making Thrace glaring subtly at him.

“What did he say?” Fox prompts.

Thrace openly lets out a long sigh. “Beedee said he took your side, that I should loosen up now that I'm in my own home.”

“Even the droid gets it,” Fox says, nodding towards the droid, “Why wouldn't you? Should I make it an order?”

She lets out a dry laugh. “I do not think it's necessary, sir.”

From this angle, he can't quite see her from his seat, but he'd be willing to bet she's slightly blushing, if not. Merciful as he is towards his coworkers (that's a lie), he decides to drop it altogether and reaches for the top datapads of his pile to start working on awaiting spreadsheets, settling comfortably on the padded chair, the absence of his top armor has never been so relieving.

Within the hour, they have a quiet hearty dinner, clear the table once again, and start working.

Fox tosses her a data stick. “That’s the key to gain access to the database. I'll have to have my eyes on you while you work,” he reminds her.

Thrace, on her way now to her working space to grab her holocomputer, nods in acknowledgment.

He goes back to his mundane spreadsheet. Letters and numbers and statistics hold a menacing glare at him, promptly smacking him right in the nose for even sighing.

They had collectively decided that working on the dining table isn't helping for the back and shoulder pain that pop up after two hours of sitting. And so they’d moved to the living area and settled down on the rug, legs tucked underneath the caf table while leaning back against the couch.

The Marshal had thrown most courtesy and air of professionalism out of the airlock, seeing him now casually lounging across the plush couch by absolute not pulling ranks earlier.

“Getting comfortable are we, sir?” Lesiil teases without looking away from her datapads.

“Can't resist a good couch, DT,” the Marshal then yawns. Taking it as a cue, Lesiil pushes his caf mug an inch further towards him.

The Marshal sits up and reaches for the mug, observing it for a few seconds before sipping. “Do all your caf mugs have poor police puns like this?”

You have the right to remain silent sleeping

Lesiil chuckles softly. “If that’s your way of saying that I have an excellent sense of humor, Marshal, then I appreciate the recognition.”

He looks at her in disbelief. “No way you made these lines.”

“Of course not. Don't be silly, Marshal. I don't make jokes.”

“Understood. No humor coming from you then, DT,” the Marshal sulks.

“Huh. So you believe that, sir?”

“...I appreciate your humor now.”

“Why, thank you,” she grins widely, but then suddenly she grows concerned. “Are you certain you aren't as jittery as supposed from someone being so high on caf, sir? Because this is very highly out of character for you.”

The Marshal pointedly takes another sip. “Not strong enough to break my character. And did you just say I was never funny?”

“Thorn once said you're ruthless and very exhausted that you never have time to make jokes.”

Her guest and commanding officer merely scoffs, replacing his mug, and reclines back on the couch to return to his mundane flimsiwork.

“Thorn told me you're from Alderaan,” he says a minute later, “You a member of the noble houses?”

Lesiil, not even turning slightly to face him as she's still busy on her works, explains, “I was, but I renounced all my royal titles and the duty that followed. I’ve chosen to serve the people by doing the field work. Not too keen on forever being prim and proper.”

The Marshal goes quiet behind her, probably surprised and all learning the new information. “Is that why you sound too formal to everyone's liking when you speak?” he asks again.

She nods. “I was taught such etiquettes, yes.”

Silence for a beat or two, and then…

“Do you swear?” the Marshal prods again.

Lesiil rolls her eyes. “Internally.”

“Really?” he lets out bemused chuckles, “Like what?”

“If I’m not mistaken, Marshal, I do not owe you anything to the point I have to disclose what swear words I use whenever I like.”

“What, afraid to break character?”

“I’ve always been like this.”

The Marshall snorts. “Krayt spit.”

Lesiil shrugs. “Colloquial speech has just never been in my favor, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir’,” he insists, his tone serious coming from behind her, “Just Fox.”

A loud sigh flies off her lips. “If I call you by your name, will you stop pestering me about my use of swear words?”

“I solemnly swear,” he mimics her saying earlier.

Another sigh.

“Okay, Fox.”

The Marshal bursts out into a fit of cackles. “Yeah, it doesn't suit you.” He coughs, clutching his stomach. “Sounds kriffing weird comin’ from you. And it's just a single word. It's like your accent just changed, too.”

Despite the sheer embarrassment for being so bold, Lesiil merely shakes it away and sends him a smirk instead. “I believe you see why now, Marshal.”

Good food. Good caf. Good couch. Good company.

Fox is spoiled as kriff.

If he'd rejected this idea earlier, he'd be stuck in his office till late without selfishly getting familiar with such domestic comfort. He's sure if he'd rejected this idea earlier he'd be dead by now by the rawest form of sole regret alone.

The chronometer now shows 0140.

Fox stretches. “You don't wanna take a break?” he asks the detective.

Thrace huffs quietly. “I’m still trudging through these 52 victims one by one and copying the essentials manually to my datapads because the access key is not even giving me full access.”

“Protocols, Detective,” he reminds her, “Can't give you full access.”

She nods. “Perfectly understood, Marshal.”

“Call me Fox,” he says curtly after rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Fox.”

Then before he can stop it, “Can I call you Lesiil?”

Her tone earlier had been meaning to be deadpanning. He knows it. She only wishes to focus on her work.

But the detective now slowly turns to face him, grey eyes greeting his amber ones. The edge of her lips lift momentarily, driving him to glance at them hoping she doesn't notice. But of course, with the Lorrdian blood, maybe she does? Remembering just that, and how accurate the read can be, he suddenly feels his cheek burn the life out of him. But he never backs down from a challenge. He stands his ground.

Accompanied by a certain twinkle in her stormy orbs underneath the warm lighting of her dwelling, he lets himself think he's certain that he's lost it when her voice, absent of any apathetic deadpan and formality, comes out as soft and sincere.

“Yes you can, Fox.”

He holds her gaze steadfastly, relishing how his given Basic name had rolled off her courteous tongue.

“Well,” he starts, leaning away, “I'm taking a break for an hour, Lesiil. If I suddenly stop talking, don't wake me.”

Lesiil smirks cheekily before turning away. “Never planned to, Fox.”

Seemingly grateful for the eventual silence, Fox notices Lesiil is working almost twice as fast, leaving him almost feeling guilty for distracting her, although the purpose was to build a friendlier rapport. Now watching her tapping and running her dainty fingers across datapads, he considers it somehow as a therapy and, really, a break.

After what must've been half an hour of being awake thanks to Lesiil's good caf still running through his system, suddenly she turns to face him again.

He almost scowls. “What?”

Lesiil rolls her eyes. “First off, that tone is unnecessarily rude,” she says calmly, “Second off, I was just checking if you had fallen asleep. As promised, if you do, I will stop as well and take a break.”

“Why break?” Fox mumbles into the throw pillow under his cheek, “Why not a nap?”

“Caf is running within my veins as we speak. I am now quite awake,” she explains gently, the grey storm in her orbs sparkling at the right angle, “And I do not have the mighty tolerance as you do.”

He smirks. “Just watching you work as I'm supposed to do, Detective. It's not as boring as my reports.”

“It is mentally stimulating,” Lesiil admits with a nod of agreement, “It’s always either something new or something familiar, whilst yours is always the latter.”

“That supposed to mean as an insult?”

“What an outrageous accusation, Marshal.” She turns away, unable to hide her smirk. “I would never insult the very system I am working in.” For yet another minute or two, she finally sighs loudly. “And we're now finished. Finally. Beedee!”

The droid, faraway, trills in attention and immediately makes his way over.

Currently, the chronometer shows 0238.

“What will you do now?” Fox asks when BD-6 starts to tinker about datapads.

Lesiil is still acknowledging the droid's questioning boops before answering him, “Beedee will be helping me with the compartmentalizing as usual. This time we're cataloguing the cause of death of these 52 profiles.” She disengages the data stick from the holocomputer. “It’s a quick process, then we narrow it all down.”

He watches her sipping her caf and sighing afterward. “Isn’t 52 too much?” he asks, concern tinged in his voice.

“I admit, yes,” she says, “I would gladly take your generous helping hand if you are offering.”

Wordlessly, he plops down next to her and takes the datapad she hands him. “Catch me up to your thinking, DT. What should I be looking for?”

“Something that catches your eye,” she answers vaguely, “We’ll wait for Beedee first.” Then, as if cued, their datapads ping. BD-6 beeps in confirmation. Lesiil pats his head. “Thanks, Beedee. Now, let’s sort.”

Fox gobbles down the list, swallowing every now and then as he skims through the written manner of death – which all of them were deemed as accidental – and the cause of death – which varies through traumatic asphyxia to blunt force trauma to cardiac arrest.

“What about parents?” he blurts out as he stares at a still of a senior citizen. “What if parents?”

“Statistics show a person is likely to be reacting more emotionally to the death of spouse or spawn. But there have been more cases involving a murderous parent of a dead child,” Lesiil asserts, “So we're using this as the base of our assumptions that we may be looking for someone younger.”

Acknowledging, Fox manages to cross off a third of the list which consists of senior citizens.

“Some of these are parentless,” he says again, “We're looking for someone that comes out of legal marriages?”

Lesiil looks at him with thought. “If we are dedicated enough to go along with this theory, then yes. Good observation, sir. Fox.”

He scoffs, both at her statement and her slipup. “Still a theory, huh?”

“We’re utilizing whatever data is available and making sensible assumptions. Seeing that we have nothing on the Corrie Butcher, not even a clear screencap of an entire face let alone a name, we take another route to find who his name is and what he looks like.” She gives him a look. “No thanks to your hasty investigation team to overlook everything else there is.”

Fox resists rolling his eyes. “In our defense, we were processing this strictly by the book.”

“The book sometimes hinders you,” declares Lesiil, looking deep into his eyes, “If there's another angle, however improbable or implausible that is, rather than wasting time mulling over nonexistent data and waiting for it to pop up, one must dedicate themselves to approach that angle.”

A smirk slides into his face. “Wise words, Lesii.”

“Those wise words circulate around the Criminal Investigations Department quite regularly since it takes shape as our very job description,” she deadpans, then does a double take. “And did you just call me Lesii?”

“What? Don't like it? Own it.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Sir, yes sir.”

His gaze on her lingers on her and her luscious coiled hair for a little longer before he reels himself away from the trance, and begins working on his share.

Emptying his already full cup; that's what he's doing right now. Dipping his hands into investigative police work, a far cry from his usuals; planning senate security detail, mapping out patrol routes, sniffing criminal activity, studying the cruel and hazardous structures of the underworld, securing every sort of security breaches in a moment's notice, bringing in enemies of the state. As quick and intelligent as he is trained, he can never match Lesiil Thrace's level of intellect.

Working with the woman has been pleasant, albeit the presumptive rambling and mind maps at the end of any day. Lesiil knows what to anticipate, what's sensible, and what's critical to prioritize firsthand. The trait puts her several steps ahead.

It's only been a week, not even a month, since her arrival, and now Fox is presented with a good chance of identifying his brothers’ killer at any moment.

Had she been brought in much earlier… many wouldn't have to die in the hands of this ruthless individual.

“Intriguing,” Lesiil hums next to him.

Fox perks up, leaning closer. “What?”

She tilts her datapad in his direction. “This one. Female, Kayl Brando.” A still of a blonde woman. “Her name had been mentioned in the media. Her family sued the Coruscant Guard for her death, caused by asphyxia, because she attended one of the riots where your division had to use tear gas. The media, backed up by the family's given statement and medical records, mentioned she had a generational severe lung injury so the use of your tear gas had been fatal.”

Fox rubs a hand over his stubble as he recalls. “I remember that, yeah. That was seven months ago.”

Lesiil scrolls more. “Seven months ago, correct,” she confirms, shifting slightly to face him. “Could you please provide more context?”

Fox lets out a long sigh as he runs a hand through his curls. “Charges were dropped. Using tear gas when violence escalates is simply within regulations. Technically not our fault she had that injury in the first place.” He shakes his head. “But if I'm not mistaken, that family had been vocal. Raising awareness from the empathic community and pushing more hostility towards the Corries.”

Lesiil takes another glimpse at the shown data. “And right after that, the trend dies, the talks dwindled to nonexistence,” she nods in confirmation, “It seems everything went into a downward spiral for this family.”

Fox shrugs. “Well, they already lost the lawsuit before it even began. Charges were dropped ‘cause the Coruscant Guard, or GAR, did nothing wrong.”

They continue searching. Fox goes to refill his mug with that beautiful caf blend and snatches a packet of Saleucami cheese biscuits from the little basket on the kitchen counter. Lesiil notices but says nothing, yet the look in her eyes is quite encouraging.

Welcome to my humble abode, Marshal. Make yourself comfortable. And I'd very much like your boots off, please. Refresher’s just down the hall.

He meets her gaze daringly, walks backwards to her food conservator, and opens it.

He gasps.

“Never thought of you as a beer drinker, DT,” Fox eyes the three glass bottles inside. “Stressful times call for desperate measures, huh?”

“You may take one if you'd like, Fox.”

“Tempting. Sticking with caf tonight. Maybe another time.”

Lesiil smiles, but says nothing.

About ten minutes later, she asks again, “Did you find anything yourself, sir?”

Gulping down the last of the cheese biscuits, Fox hums in confirmation next to her. “5 more people followed the notion of that lawsuit.”

Looking down at her own datapad, Lesiil skims through the marked profiles, taking the typed footnotes into careful consideration. Maybe there are actual gears inside her head that whir whenever she thinks, Fox thinks.

“Then we are rounding this up,” she says suddenly.

He does a double take. “We're done?” 

“Hm, not quite.”

It's 0317 now. Lesiil grabs her work commlink. 

“I have to make a few calls to the forensics at CSF and my supervisor beforehand, for the permit and the go. We still have to match DNA samples between these victims and the Corrie Butcher with hopes we’re about to get somewhere.” She looks up at him and Fox catches her knowing smirk. “That must interest you.”

“Yeah, finally, something by the book,” Fox deadpans. “Will that take more time?”

Lesiil shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “I have friends in the division whose sleep I am allowed to interrupt for all I care. This is for a high-profile case, after all.”

“So now they're doing the work? Thank Prime. I'd really like to catch that break right now.”

“Was all that not ‘break’ enough for you, Fox?”

“Oh, it was refreshing, but if I spend another minute looking at a screen, I think I'm gonna develop aneurysm on the spot.”

Another new thing about the Marshal Lesiil has just learned tonight; several cups of caf does absolutely nothing to one extremely fatigued commander to the point she's actually concerned for the prospect of acid reflux.

That, and he is now asleep. Still in a seated position by her side on the rug, arms folded loosely across his chest, legs stretched out under the caf table, head back and flushed on the padded cushion of the couch.

And nothing seems to wake him, even as of now she's contacting her fellow detective partner.

“You’re lucky some of the guys in the lab are still up by this hour, Les,” Eisen the Nautolan speaks through her commlink, “They’re going through it as we speak. Inspector commed me earlier to supervise the whole thing for you as well. It's top priority now.”

“Thank you, Eisen,” Lesiil says in a low voice, being considerate to Fox's state either way, “And about the 6 profiles I've sent you? Is there anything you've found in your search?”

“Yeah. One of them, just recently. Last night, actually. Related to a, uh, Kayl Brando.”

Lesiil draws a sharp inhale. “Before you dive into the explanation, will you please kindly hold for a moment?”

“Yeah yeah, sure. I've got all day, Les. Or morning, whatever. It's 0400 anyway.”

She presses the mute button and turns to the sleeping commander.

“Marshal.” She grabs his forearm and shakes him. “Marshal, wake up.”

Still asleep like dead. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be in Thorn's position, though she's doing the exact opposite of what he'd do.

Lesiil reaches out, muttering an apology under her breath, before carefully pats his cheek. “Fox? Wake up, come on. Fox?”

The Marshal stirs just as she retracts her hand swiftly. But just for good measure, she keeps shaking him awake by the forearm. His lids crack open, drowsy amber eyes peeking through thick dark eyelashes.

“Wha’?”

“We’ve made progress,” Lesiil announces, “I’m currently in contact with my partner, he's gotten something.”

Fox merely nods, yawning and scrubbing his hands all over his face before sitting up properly and cracking his back.

Seeing him refreshed enough to listen to a whole critical conversation, Lesiil disables the mute button and raises her commlink near her mouth. “You may talk to me now, Eisen.”

“Okay, about this Kayl Brando,” the Nautolan instantly replies, “I'd like to confirm again that she really tragically passed away in that riot due to respiratory failure. Underlying cause, as written in her death certificate, is chemical irritant exposure. Tear gas. Right?”

Recognition sparks in Fox's amber brown eyes.

Lesiil locks her gaze with his. “That is correct.”

“That's what I found. Additionally; Kayl Brando was the only daughter to a now divorced couple, Jai Brando and Helne Firrda, both still living on Coruscant. And last night, Ms Firrda called our line to suggest a welfare check on her ex-husband’s house.”

Lesiil recognizes both names as the ones she saw in multiple holonews articles about their lawsuit. Fox wordlessly shares her expression.

“What for? Something happened?” she inquires hastily.

“Hadn't heard of him in three days. Usually they keep in touch, with her being some kind of a support system. According to her and a brief examination of Jai Brando's medical files…” Eisen lets out a long, heavy sigh, “He’s suffering from PTSD and dissociation. And hell of a track record of substance abuse to cope with his grief, too. As personal commentary, Les, I'd say this is chronically messed up.”

She takes a deep breath. “I have to agree.” Fox nods at her in agreement. “And the welfare check?”

“We had someone there just last night at, uh, they knocked on his residence at 2056. I can send you the bodycam feed and transcript real quick, if you're interested. It was just a brief interaction. The ex-wife calmed down.”

Sounds like another hour of observing, but this time with more certainty. “I'd very much appreciate that,” Lesiil says.

“Okay. Sending,” the Nautolan responds. Not long after, her holocomputer beeps in receival. “I'll keep in touch with you when the test results are in.”

“Thank you for your tremendous aid, Eisen.”

“And you doing great as always, partner.”

“What test results?” Fox asks her once the comm call ends.

“DNA, sir. I sent samples of the 5 victims, Kayl Brando included, and the unknown one found on the victims' bodies to the CSF forensics lab,” Lesiil kindly reminds him, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“Right,” he nods slowly, “So we're onto this guy?”

“For now, the anticipation is overbearing and I hope I am not wrong, or all this will be for nothing.”

“It won't be for nothing,” Fox disagrees, his unapproving gaze bearing down onto her, but there's a softness to it that she can only register as fondness. “It's still progress, Lesii. Don't be so hard on yourself.”

With her mug of caf running out two hours ago and the slower flow of adrenaline pumping through her veins, Lesiil allows her tense body to relax and let herself take a breath.

“Thank you, Fox.”

She meets his gaze lazily as the littlest bit of fatigue begins to catch up on her burnout body, with gratefulness blossoming inside her chest for his tremendous trust and support.

Marshal Commander Fox has been nothing but a man appreciative of everybody's work, even though in possession of a blunt mouth and patience as thin as flimsi. Weird, because Thorn said he's especially impatient with everyone, always urging them along and biting back with a bitter and snarky remark. But not with her.

He respects her in return, it makes her feel… recognized. Not recognized as in fame and notoriety, but for her genuineness, her tireless efforts to restore justice, and her sacrifices; time, mental, body, and shame, when bizarre looks are thrown her way whenever she opens her mouth.

But why treat her like she's anybody different?

Among clones, it's understandable.

But when it's only the two of them like this?

Lesiil is no idiot. She notices his signs. The Marshal has been holding himself back. Sitting an inch closer, peering in when interested, acting so freely and relaxed, holding her gaze a bit longer than supposed to, his beautiful amber eyes softening, catching her lips for a split second just a little while ago. The ridiculous amount of trust and bluntness, as if exhibiting his true self behind all the hard shell of a stoic commander of his corps.

Maybe there will be a time, when it's right, when it's fitting, to give in.

But not now.

As much as she perhaps wishes to curl her fingers into his luscious curls, mindlessly counting each of his silvery strands with the pad of her thumb, caressing his shapely jawlines, tracing his scars and kissing every inch of his skin…

It's not now.

Now, there's murder to solve. A serial murder of Fox's own brothers. Thinking about them makes her think about her own brother, who died along with the crew aboard the Triumphant. Railuu loved the 104th like they were his own brothers. To honor his beautiful memory, maybe she would be willing to completely open up so she can share that fondness with the Coruscant Guard and its Marshal Commander as well.

Fox gets up, his mug and hers in his hands. “I’ll get you more caf, DT.”

A small laugh escapes her. “Ah please, no more. Or I’ll be jittery for the whole day. I prefer not to.”

Not saying anything, he continues his pace towards the caf machine for his refill. As the rich liquid pours in, Fox puts her caf mug in the sink and retrieves a new one from the top cabinet before filling it with cool water.

“We still have work to do, Detective,” he says when he returns to his seat next to her. Her glass of water sits nearby. “Don't fall asleep on me.”

Lesiil had been putting her head on her folded arms atop the table. “I am falling asleep on the table as we speak,” she mutters, letting the caf-induced uneasiness in her body calm down.

“The point stands,” Fox says firmly, almost commanding, “I don't want you sleeping when we're one step closer to the truth.”

Her dark curls form a curtain before her eyes as she shifts. “Possible truth.”

“You're the one 100% confident about this, Lesiil.” His tone gradually grows sharper. “Since when we trade places? I'm the one convincing you now?”

She blinks away her fatigue and sits up straight. “Yes, sir. Apologies,” she mumbles, scooting closer to the holocomputer.

His glare on her dissipates. “Don't sulk. Don't be insecure,” he encourages, “Won't do good for morale. You're doing well.”

Because of all that he is, the smile she directs at him is wider and glowing with genuineness.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly her commlink beeps, startling the serene atmosphere.

“Thrace,” she answers.

“Les, have you watched the footage?” Eisen’s voice rings through.

“Just about to.” She catches urgency in his tone. “Has something come up with the tests?”

“That's the thing. You haven't watched it right? I have, so here I'll save you some time.” Eisen takes a big breath. “The guys checked on Brando. He was cooperative at first, but when they asked about how he's been coping with the loss because the ex-wife mentioned it during the call, he straight up went defensive. There was a bit of verbal altercation, but the worse is when he spat on them. Like, literally. Literal ball of spit.”

Lesiil scrambles up and begins to pace. “Please tell me you took it down as a sample.”

“Oh yeah, they did,” the Nautolan tells her smugly, “Wiped it down and sent it to the lab, initially to put it in the system in case they wanted to press charges against him for assault. I love these guys, alright? Karking smart. They didn't even know this gotta be related to the Corrie Butcher case, and the coincidence is amazing. Ocean spirits are loving me right now.”

“Eisen, I am aware your jittery is most likely caf-induced now, but please can we swerve back on track?”

“Sorry sorry, I'm just excited.” He clears his throat. “So yeah, all that. And I didn't even know about it until like, forty seconds ago. Labs done, by the way.”

Fox's eyes are trained on her, his body rigid in anticipation for what's to come.

“And the results?” she asks.

There's a sniffle. “Oh they're positive, Les!” Eisen exclaims into the commlink, “Everything! Everything came back positive. Everything matched. The DNA found on the dead troopers, Kayl Brando's DNA, her dad's DNA. Everything matched, Les!”

Lesiil is already running to change.

“Jai Brando is the Corrie Butcher!”

“Search and arrest warrant has been obtained,” Fox says to his commlink, the machinery hum of Lesiil's speeder filling the space around him, “The Detective and I are heading down to the suspect's dwelling to arrest him as we speak.”

Thorn acknowledges from the other side. “We'll take over everything here in your place, vod. Stay safe.”

The sun is barely on the horizon as Lesiil expertly swerves her speeder through the early morning traffic with lights and sirens, the air of urgency blaring louder and louder every second.

“I must ask you to relax, sir,” she says from beside him, eyes focused on the front.

Fox doesn't even realize he's anxious until he stops his fingers from tapping against his thigh plate, bucket already donned upon his shoulders.

“Brando isn't going anywhere,” she assures him. “We’ll be having an entry team and the command post ready in no time.”

“You're handling this right,” he dryly comments, not knowing what to say.

“It's standard, sir. And, not meaning to set a joyous atmosphere in the middle of a grim setting, but,” Lesiil offers him a reassuring smile, “I hope you’re ready for your first ever civilian house raid experience, Marshal.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @msmeredithrose @filamentlights

[clonexocweek]

Liri and Wolffe's second encounter, set in the aftermath of the Jedi Temple bombing...

[clonexocweek]

Loani x Captain Wilco

Did I forget to start on the prompts early and decided to do them day of?

…maybe…

So yes RIP quality :(

Kind of a lackluster short comic but I’m still trying to flesh everything out since idk how to write anymore and its my first attempt in trying to make a comic lol :)

I know Wilco only had like 4 minutes of screen time but I felt bad for him :(

[clonexocweek]

The second day give me some challenge so I find old sketches with casual outfits for Tho'ra and Crosshair and put them like the base for illustration.

My OC wasn't warrior all her life, so she can make some different things like cooking, singing, crafting things, but all them need some time to understand what else they can do with each other except saving each other life.

Disclaimer: this moment is from some of the post Tantiss years on Pabu. For those who don't ever meet my stories, arts or author notes at all need to say that I use poliamore relationship for Batch members and my OC. Yes some episodes are more concentrated on Crosshair, because this line takes more time, but others have their time of glory: list of NSFW episodes for Hunter, Wrecker and Echo can be found in my pin-post.

-Oh, I'm so tired, - Tho'ra dragged herself home with the last of her strength and collapsed on a bench on the veranda. - Leave me here.

-You are kidding, sweetheart, we can't do this, rain is starting, - Hunter knelt down and patted her cheek. - I don't like wet cats in the house, so please, be a good girl and make some more steps, - he place kiss to the tip of her nose and wink.

-Tho'ra, may be something wrong with your back again? - Omega asked trying to reach woman's spine, but implants was the same temperature as always.

-No, kid, he is right, I can make this, - she laughed in response. - But there were too many people, we were walking too much, and all that talks, meetings, and other things. It's overwhelming. - Tho'ra rised up from the bench and went to the doorway. - It would be nice if rain will lasts all day. The heat is unbearable.

-It calls weekend market and in is always crowdy there, - answered Omega taking some boxes to the house.

-We thought that this may fan for you, - Hunter return and pulled her in warmly hugging. - I think you was. But if you want to rest now, I think we all know who you should turn to for help.

-Hunter, - she put her jaw on his collarbone and close eyes. His slow patting on back was really soothing. - I know what he's going to say to that. I suppose, Crosshair always didn't like such events, and you need a pair of free hands, because others are fishing.

-Yeah, but you handled yourself much better, than him, - Omega agreed, she was sorting fruits from boxes, and already placed most of their prchases. - People like you, you have really bright smile, and you need smile more. Remember how they compliment your new hairstyle, and this clothes that you make, it looks so unusual. And, mmm, I really like that belt you made for Crosshair, it's suits him so well.

-Go to him, you have some time to rest, lieutenant.

-Oh, come on, Hunter, stop naming me like this, or if you mean something...

-No, not now, sweetheart. You aren't in this mood, you really tired, - his lips was so soft when clone gently kissed her. - My brother needs you more than me today.

-Ok, - answered Tho'ra taking her datapad and go.

She find Crosshair in their room. He was sleeping, in his clothes on, looks like he napping after doing something. Was he waiting her or just stacked in his mind? Tho'ra very careful kiss him and fix his hair with the palm. Then set nere by and scroll some pages in data pad. She looked through news list, find some photos of her home planet and accidentally remembered about native fairy tales. Their always were the mix of occasional life and complete mystical details, she liked them when was a kid, her grandmother was the great storyteller too.

When she found on of her favorites, Crosshair open his eyes.

-How are you? - he asked.

-Lttle tired. We met so many friends, and new people, bought some fresh fruits, vegetables. Hunter sent me here to rest, and I don't want you wake up because of me, - she smiled, stroking him by the head. - It looks so peaceful, and I never dreamed about this being in my life. I haven't even though that such man may bring me to this.

Clone set near woman and rested his forehead against her shoulder:

-Don't wanna loose any moment with you, - he muttered. - I know, it's impossible and I share you with other people, and even you sometimes need your time without anyone around.

-We have to do more interesting things with each other, you know. Wanna me reading for you, - she asked showing him name of the story. - It is some of fairy tails not for kids, but I do not think that you're not enough old for this. I loved this one, it's one of my native, and it helps you understand me more.

The Galaxy want us to be union, but in some ways it's impossible, the planets are far from each other, some people do not even go beyond them, they live in one place for a lifetime. We might never meet each other if Empire don't want me to serve, and I have a low willpower to live with this.

-I don't want anyone else, and there is no another one who could understand and accept me as I am, - with his healthy arm he cuped woman's face and try to catch her eyes. - Smile for me, sweety, and yes, It would be great, if you read aloud. It's so wonderful to hear your voice. Wrecker likes you singing but I only want you talk with me, it is enough.

-Ok, listen.

And they spend about two hours reading. Tho'ra have read three stories a time, making her voice changing when she was reading words for different characters, use thrilling intonation when it was scary or dangerous, and smile widely when one of this stories has it's happy ending.

Crosshair was sitting next to her and holding her hand, it looks so childish but so natural for this man. What he heard today was so different from anything he had ever encountered before. It wasn't summary from the battlefield, it wasn't ship's report, it was intriguing, it has some different words, another way of logic, and it was she who want to share this moment with him.

-You never made this earlier, yes. You stop reading this things when they take you away from your planet. I know what it's like to lose a house. I was watching at ruins of my house about thirty days. I had a chance to go with my broth that time, but I was so stupid, or I was waiting you to show me the light, - he said when she power off datapad.

Thanks for reading, or looking through to everyone 🫶

And more thanks to them who making "likes" and "reblogs" 😍

Thanks @clonexocweek for this event!

[clonexocweek]

@clonexocweek

Word count: 510(roughly)

Rating: general- no warnings apply

Paring: Jesse × Fal

(m/m)

(Romantic)

Author's note!

Again, this is short and I'm still not the best writer. I'm trying but it's not my strong suit.

Fal Huffed as he mindlessly filled out report after report. He felt seconds away from passing out, his limbs feeling like blocks of pure duteasteel.

He didn't even recognize the sound of the medbay doors sliding open, or footsteps behind him until he felt two arms wrapping around his waist. His eyes shot open and he went to retaliate until he recognized it was just Jesse, his idiot of a husband.

"Kix said you were still working... after pulling a 24 hour shift." Jesse spoke up, a stern tone in his voice. It was the one he used when Fal was overworking himself.

"I just have a few more things to finish-" he started before letting out a yelp as he felt Jesse lift him up. "Kix and the others can take care of it. You need to sleep." His husband said while walking out of the Medbay with him in his arms.

Fal grumbled, hating his naturally small size and light weight. Cursing the fact that his species was avian, Jesse always used Fal's light weight to his advantage when it came to pulling him from his work.

The smaller avian man simply Huffed and crossed his arms, leaning his head against Jesse's chest as he felt his eyes start to grow heavy.

When Jesse walked into the Quarters Fal and him shared, he set his riduur down before removing his medical uniform and helping him into his more comfortable clothes.

"C'mon, stay awake just for a bit longer." Jesse spoke softly before quickly getting changed into the smooth sweatpants Fal had bought him. He then picked Fal up again before laying down on the bed with his Riduur resting on his cheat.

Fal yawned and smiled before lazily reaching over to start preening his wings. However he felt his hands get pulled away and Jesse placing a soft kiss to his forehead. "I got it, you just relax."

When Jesse and Fal had only recently started dating, Jesse quickly observed how Fal would take time to carefully preen his wings. And Jesse wanted to help his lover whenever Fal was to tired to properly preen his wings, so he asked Fal and he quickly picked up on how to properly do it the way Fal liked it.

And now, after a long day for either of them, they would cuddle and Jesse would preen Fal's feathers, finding the movements relaxing and comforting while Fal found the movements soothing.

Fal stayed awake much longer than Jesse had expected, but soon enough his riduur fell asleep, going limp against his chest. The clone chuckled softly and finished preening Fal's wings before tugging a light blanket over the two of them. Jesse, like all clones, ran hot so with Fal already laying on top of him he would probably cook alive if he had anything heavier than the extremely light blanket.

Jesse ran his fingers though Fal's hair before letting out a yawn and mumbling "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, mesh'la." He then closed his eyes before falling asleep alongside his Riduur.