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salaminus · 2 months ago

Note

i loveeeeeee ur writing. its like a masterpiece. mwah. i was wondering if you could do an angsty fic with the prompt "I loved you!" with any clone boy you want (maybe crosshair 👀) I was listening to Cardigan by taylor swift and it lowkey set the mood.

sorry if the request is very vague cause i never watched bad batch yet im a huge simp 🥲 so do whatever you want.

I know you got like a tonnnn on your plate and i lowkey feel bad requesting but you write really good so take ur time to take care of yourself.

hiiiii anon. if you are who i think you are, then you'll have already been watching TBB by now, but if you're not, what are you doing!! /affectionate

after listening to the song (i have a sister who is a swiftie but alas i am not) and thinking harder about your prompt, i was inspired to write this for Echo, so i hope that's okay!

The Way Back

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader

Words: 9,621

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, established relationship, dramatic reunion, reader is a lawyer, Tech is a good brother, Echo needs a hug, allusion to panic attacks/alcoholism/depression

Summary: Echo always knew you were it for him, but the idea of seeing you again after so much has changed is more than he can take. Until one day he finds himself outside of your apartment, and the choice is made for him.

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Echo doesn’t leave the ship when it docks on Coruscant.

His eyes are locked on the city-planet, lit up like a giant firefly, watching the endless stream of ships coming in and out. Their trails of light make the whole thing seem dreamlike, surreal. Even that feels like too much, reminds him too much of the view from your apartment, and he tries to close his eyes, but his eyelids are made of glass.

The first time he saw Coruscant, there had been a moment of... what, awe? Terror? Something. Something big, anyway. He didn't understand then that you can have a feeling be a lot of things. He'd looked down on the galaxy's center of power and felt something bigger than he could possibly contain. Now, sitting alone on the Marauder with only the whirr of the vents for company, he thinks maybe the feeling was dread.

The first time they came back here after Echo joined the Batch, the others didn’t notice his unease. Or at least they didn't mention it. It was an adjustment period for everyone, Echo most of all, and his brothers gave him space to do things on his own terms, even when it meant he did nothing at all.

This time, it's different. He can tell they've noticed how he's been acting, and they're not just leaving him alone anymore. He can tell, because they're giving him looks. The kind of looks that ask questions he doesn't have answers for. They make excuses to stick close by, like they're afraid he might take off or that he's going to break down and have another panic attack. It makes him want to hide even more.

He's not going to, though. It's not so bad. Coruscant has always been a source of good memories for Echo, despite what happened. The sights, the sounds, the tastes — they're all still the same. He'd spent a long time on Coruscant before the Citadel happened, and he'd gotten used to it, the way the air smells, the feel of the rain against his skin. He had a whole life here. He was happy.

It's not so bad. He just... doesn't feel like going out, is all.

He knows he’s being stupid. He knows that he should be out there, enjoying what little downtime they’re afforded. Instead, he's on the ship, trying not to stare out the windows, trying to pretend that he isn't bothered by the thought of leaving, of the possibility of running into you again, however small that may be.

The worst part is that he's not sure why.

It's not that he doesn't want to see you. On the contrary, he does. More than anything. He hasn't stopped thinking about you, wondering if you're okay, if you’re happy, if you've thought of him. He's kept his ears open, and has managed to overhear a few stories here and there about you. The most recent had been about you winning a case for a group of Houk refugees who had been seeking asylum in the city, a big deal for a young lawyer to handle.

It had made him smile, a real, genuine smile, the kind he rarely got to have.

But there's something about seeing you again, about you seeing him that makes him hesitate, makes his stomach turn over and his throat tighten. Maybe it's because he doesn't want to know for certain, doesn't want to see that you're happy, that you've moved on, that you're doing well without him.

Maybe it's because he doesn't trust himself. He's different now, he knows that. He's different, and so are you. He doesn't know if he can face you, doesn't know if he'll be able to handle whatever is waiting for him.

When he woke up in Rex’s arms and realized the galaxy had kept moving without him, he hadn’t thought much of it, solely focused on survival, on the fact that he was alive at all. He hadn't cared about what he'd missed, who he'd left behind. He hadn't known how much time had passed, and the thought that he was a dead man hadn't even crossed his mind. He hadn't thought about you, hadn't given himself the time or space to consider the consequences. You'd been the furthest thing from his mind. He'd had to keep fighting, to keep living. But once he had the time to think about it, to regret, well, it was...

It's different.

There's no other word for it. Everything is different.

Echo has had time, too much time, to think about you, to regret losing you. It's kept him up late into the night cycle, lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, thoughts running a mile a minute.

You'd been a good person, a better one than he could ever hope to be, and he had loved you, and then he had died.

Or, he had thought he'd died. Turns out he hadn't. That had been the only mercy.

You'd been the first and only person in his entire life to see him as something other than a soldier, and he'd loved you for it. You'd seen him, really seen him, and you hadn't run. He had been terrified by that, but it had also been the best feeling in the world. And he had taken advantage of it. He had let you in, he had let himself fall in love, and then he had died.

It's different, now. He's different. The galaxy's moved on, and he's a ghost, and he's scared. He doesn't know how to face you, doesn't know if he can. So when they’d made it out of Skako Minor and Rex had asked if he wanted to comm you, he’d said no. And he's been saying no every time since.

A small voice inside his head, one that sounds a lot like Fives, tells him that's bullshit.

His brother would have called him out on his cowardice, and Echo thinks that's a fair assessment. But even though he misses you and wants nothing more than to hear your voice, it's better this way. It's better if you don't see him like this, if you never find out the truth. The thought of you seeing him, of you seeing what's left of the man you knew, is too much. He can't do that to you.

It's better if you never see him again. It's better if you have closure, if you've moved on and don't think about him anymore.

You deserve more. You deserve someone who hasn't lost as much as he has, someone who you won't have to worry about, someone who will be there for you.

Someone who can give you the life you want.

Echo knows he can't do that. And maybe if he says that enough times, he'll finally believe it.

“Why are you still here?”

The sound of Tech’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He turns and finds his brother watching him from the doorway, an expression of vague curiosity on his face, a soldering iron twirling absently in his hand.

Echo shrugs.

Tech gives a short, impatient huff.

"That is not an answer," he says, crossing his arms and looking pointedly at Echo.

"I was just..." He trails off. Just what? Just looking out the window and moping? He sighs. "Nevermind."

Tech steps into the cockpit, looking unconvinced. Echo can tell he has a question on the tip of his tongue, can see him considering his options. Tech is not the most tactful person in the galaxy, and Echo isn't really in the mood to hear his thoughts, not when they're bound to be blunt. But instead of asking, his brother simply takes his seat beside him and begins tinkering with the dashboard, checking the systems.

The two of them are quiet for a moment, the only sound the clinking of the tools. Then Tech pauses and looks at Echo.

Echo fidgets under his brother's gaze. "What?"

Tech doesn't respond right away, taking a second to look Echo over. His eyes flicker around the cockpit, as if the gauges and switchboards will give him some kind of clue, before coming back to his brother.

"There is nothing wrong with the ship," he says.

"Okay," Echo says, confused. "So?"

"So," Tech continues, "there is no reason for you to be here. We are scheduled to remain docked until 600 hours, and you have the day off. You could be anywhere."

Echo rolls his eyes, a prickle of annoyance flaring in his chest. "Yeah, well, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," Tech agrees. There's a moment where he considers something, and then he speaks again, "If I may offer a suggestion?"

"Go for it," Echo grumbles, not bothering to look at him.

"Go for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Yes. Physical activity is proven to improve mood and mental health. And you could do with the fresh air."

Echo frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Tech says, not even pausing in his work, "that you've been spending an inordinate amount of time locked away in here."

"I'm not locked away," Echo protests.

"No, I suppose not. But you have not been yourself since we arrived."

Echo doesn't have an answer for that.

"Go for a walk," Tech repeats, and this time he does stop and turn to Echo. He leans back in his chair and removes his goggles, letting them rest on his forehead, and the intensity in his gaze makes Echo squirm a bit.

"Where?"

Tech gestures towards the open space in front of them, the sprawling metropolis. "There are a number of options available, I'm sure. There are parks, shopping districts, museums, restaurants..." He ticks the ideas off on his fingers one by one, and then points back to Echo. "Perhaps you should find out for yourself."

Echo snorts. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," he says, the words coming out more defensively than he intended. "I'd rather just stay here."

"Yes, I can see that," Tech says dryly, and Echo gets the distinct impression that his brother is making fun of him.

He scowls.

Tech is undeterred. "But I don't think that is what you actually want to do."

Echo's mouth opens to argue, but then closes it just as quickly. He's not sure what to say, not sure if he wants to say anything. Tech isn't wrong. He doesn't really want to stay on the ship, not truly. The idea of getting out and going somewhere is tempting, and if he's being honest with himself, the last thing he wants to do is sit here, stewing in his thoughts alone. Or worse, with Tech.

And he does need to stretch his legs.

He looks out the window again, taking in the sight of the planet before him. He's not sure what's going to happen once they get the signal for the next job, if they'll ever be back. He might never have this opportunity again.

He takes a breath.

"Fine," he says, throwing his hands up in the air. "You win."

Tech's lips twitch, a barely contained smile. "As I usually do."

Echo shakes his head, a grin playing on his lips. He starts to make his way towards the door, and stops beside his brother.

"Thanks," he says, placing a hand on Tech's shoulder.

"You are welcome," Tech nods. “Try to be back by 0600 hours. If you are late, we will leave without you.

Echo snorts. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

He leaves Tech there and heads to the ramp. His steps slow as he reaches the bottom, but he forces himself forward, out into the bright sunlight and fresh air.

Echo spends the next few hours wandering around Coruscant, letting his feet guide him.

He goes wherever the crowds take him, stopping at whatever catches his interest. It's nice, being able to let his mind go blank and not have to worry about where he's going. He doesn't have to think about anything, doesn't have to consider the consequences, or the risks.

He just exists.

And it feels good.

When he eventually decides to turn back, he's a bit surprised at how far he's come. He hadn't intended to venture so deep into the city, had just wanted a walk to clear his head. But the area he's found himself in is one he recognizes.

Your apartment is nearby.

Echo can feel his pulse start to quicken, his palm begins to sweat, and he stops in the middle of the walkway.

The sun has begun to set, and the crowds are thinning. You’ll be on your way home from work soon, if you weren’t already. His brain helpfully supplies the route you would take, and his eyes flit up towards the skyline. He can't see your building, but he knows it's there, not far away.

The knowledge sits heavy in his chest.

No, he tells himself, shaking his head. I shouldn't.

He has no way of knowing if you're even home. For all he knows, you could be busy, out with friends or maybe on a date.

Don't, his mind warns him. She's moved on. You shouldn't.

He hasn't been to your apartment since the morning he left. The memory is a sharp one, a jagged knife cutting through the fog of his past. He remembers the way your bed had felt, the warmth of your body, the sound of your breathing as you slept tucked against him.

It had been so peaceful.

It had been so easy to leave.

His mind starts to replay those moments, the goodbye you had given him, and it's like a punch to the gut. He knows how much you care about him, knows that if you were to see him again, that wouldn't have changed. You wouldn't turn him away.

The night before, you talked for hours. Your conversation had been punctuated with kisses and caresses, laughter and confessions. You told him how much you wanted him to stay, how much you wished he didn't have to leave, how much you wished things could be different. You talked about what the future might hold for the two of you, and he remembers how that felt, how it made him believe, even for just a moment, that things would work out.

They didn't, of course.

But Echo is still here, and so are you, and he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the galaxy might be giving him a second chance.

He takes a deep breath.

There's no harm in taking a detour, he thinks.

He walks, following the familiar path, trying not to think too hard about what he's doing.

It doesn't take him long to reach the building. He hesitates in front of it, looking up at the facade. It looks just as it did the last time he was here. Same lobby, same doorman, same lift. They haven’t even fixed the panel that's been sticking, and it takes a good deal of force for him to press the button for your floor.

The doors close, and he stares at his reflection, at the dark circles under his eyes, the scruff that has accumulated on his cheeks and chin, the lines that have appeared at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. And then his gaze wanders to the ports and implants, the reminder of what was taken from him and what he was left with. He traces the outline of one with his thumb, remembering how he used to be.

He looks tired.

What are you doing? He asks himself.

He's not sure what he's expecting, doesn't have a plan for what will happen. All he knows is that he can't get the image of you out of his head. He imagines you coming home from work, and him being there, waiting. Would you be surprised? Happy? What would you say? What would he say?

Echo sighs.

He's an idiot.

The lift dings, and the doors slide open.

Your apartment is halfway down the hall, and Echo's stomach clenches with each step he takes. He reaches it and stands outside for a minute, running his fingers over the metal door, staring at the numbers painted on the surface.

It's just a door, he tells himself. Nothing special. Just a door.

His hand moves on its own, hovering over the bell. He waits, listens. There's no sound coming from inside, no music, no voices. Maybe you're not home yet.

Or maybe you're out. Maybe you're not alone.

He rings the bell and holds his breath, counting the seconds.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Nothing.

Echo rings again, this time holding the button down for a few extra seconds, listening for any sign of movement.

There's nothing.

The knot in his stomach tightens, and he releases the button, letting out the breath he'd been holding. He runs a hand over his face, feeling the heat of his skin through his glove. He's sweating.

Well, that's it, then.

He'd thought he was prepared for this possibility, but hearing the silence behind the door and knowing that you aren't home has shaken him more than he anticipated.

Maybe this is for the best, he thinks. It's better this way. Safer.

But the disappointment is palpable.

He's not sure what to do. He considers waiting a little longer, just to make sure, but the more he thinks about it, the more stupid it seems. He doesn't belong here anymore. He shouldn't be here, standing outside your door, hoping for something that won't happen.

He needs to go.

As Echo turns away from the door, a voice calls out behind him.

"Can I help you?"

For half a second, he's sure he imagined it, sure that it's just his brain playing tricks on him, taunting him. But then the voice speaks again.

"Are you looking for someone?"

Echo spins around, heart leaping into his throat, and there you are.

Standing there, a few paces away, is the woman he's been dreaming about, the one he's thought about every day, the one he's missed so much that it hurts.

Your hair is different, longer than he's ever seen it, pulled away from your face. You're wearing a dress, something he's only seen a handful of times, and your makeup is impeccable, but he can still see the hint of tiredness behind your eyes. He wonders how many hours you've put in at work this week, how much you've had to fight for your clients.

But the most noticeable change is that you're looking at him. Your datapad is held loosely in your hands, a bag of groceries on your hip, and you’re staring at him, your brow furrowed in confusion.

He doesn’t blame you.

This is a strange situation, and you must be wondering who the hell is standing in front of you, why they rang your bell and then walked away.

"Um," Echo says, suddenly aware that he hasn't spoken. He clears his throat, trying to gather his wits. He didn't think this through. "Hi."

You blink, clearly not expecting that response.

"Hi," you reply, warily.

Echo tries to say something, but the words won't come.

He's frozen in place, staring at you, unable to do anything except take in your appearance, drinking in the sight of you. He didn't realize how much he needed to see you until now, and the relief he feels is overwhelming.

"Do I..." You trail off, studying him carefully. "Do I know you?"

He feels his heart break, just a little.

You don't recognize him. Of course, you wouldn't. It's been so long, and he's not the same man you knew. His face is one of thousands, identical and interchangeable. He doesn't even look like a clone anymore, not really. He's more machine than man, now, and he has no idea how he expected you to see him.

"Yeah," he manages to say, his voice hoarse. "Yeah, you do."

You raise your eyebrows, waiting. When he doesn't say anything else, you take a step towards him, squinting a little. He can feel the tension in his body, can sense your scrutiny. It's not comfortable, but it's not unpleasant, either.

"Sorry," you say, sounding frustrated, "I can't quite —"

You stop, your eyes widening, and Echo can see the exact moment it clicks.

"Oh," you gasp, covering your mouth with a shaking hand. The motion makes the paper bag of groceries on your arm start to slip, and Echo rushes forward to catch it, placing it on the floor by your feet. He stands up, and he can feel your eyes on him, can see the tears beginning to well up, can hear your breathing quicken.

He waits.

"Echo?" Your voice is soft, tentative, like you're not sure if he's real or not. Like he's some kind of ghost. He's not sure that's not what he is.

"Hey, cyar'ika," he says. His voice cracks, and he clears his throat again.

A small, incredulous laugh escapes you.

"Hi," you breathe. You cover your mouth again, trying to stifle the sob that rises from your chest. "I —"

You let out a shaky breath, and then another, and then all of a sudden, you're crying, tears streaming down your face. Your hands come up to wipe them away, but more keep falling, and Echo is overwhelmed with the desire to hold you, to take away the pain and the sadness, to make everything right. But he doesn't know if he's allowed, doesn't know if it would be welcome. So instead, he just stands there, helpless.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "I can't believe it's you."

He smiles at that, his own eyes burning. "It's me," he confirms. "I'm here."

You're shaking your head, your eyes never leaving his face, as if you're afraid that he might disappear if you look away. He doesn't blame you, and he does his best to stay as still as possible. The last thing he wants is to scare you, or make you think he's going to leave. Not when he just got here.

"I thought..." You start, and then trail off.

"I know."

You swallow hard, taking a moment to compose yourself. "I thought you were dead."

Echo winces. He's heard those words from a lot of people, but coming from you, they hurt. "Yeah, I, uh... I thought so, too, for a while."

He sees the look of horror that crosses your face, the way your eyes grow wet again, and he wishes he hadn't said it.

"How... How long have you been back?" you ask. Your voice is quiet, strained, and Echo can hear the question underneath, the one you're afraid to ask. The one that makes his stomach twist into knots.

"Not long," he answers, trying to keep his tone even, light. "Only a couple months, really."

"Months?" you repeat, incredulous. "You've been back for months?"

Echo shifts uncomfortably and nods. "Yeah."

You stare at him, your mouth opening and closing as you search for words. "And... And you didn't comm me?"

"I, uh... No."

You let out a sharp exhale and turn away, bringing your hands to your face, and he can see that you're starting to shake again. You're silent for a moment, and he can feel his heart pounding, can feel the blood rushing in his ears. His stomach churns, and he feels like he's going to be sick.

"Why?" Your voice is tight, controlled. It's the same voice you use when you're working, the one you use to keep yourself calm, to keep yourself from getting angry.

"I just... I wasn't..." Echo trails off, not sure what to say. I wasn't sure if I was coming back? That's true, but not the whole truth. I wasn't sure you'd want to see me? Also true, but also not the full answer. I wasn't sure I was worth it? Yeah, that's the one.

But he can't say it.

He doesn't know if it's fear or guilt or shame, but whatever it is, it keeps the words stuck in his throat. You're waiting for an answer, and he's not sure he has one.

"Echo," you say, your voice a warning. You turn to face him again, and he can see the hurt and frustration in your eyes. He wants to hold you, wants to apologize, wants to take it all back. But he doesn't move. He can't.

"Why?" you repeat, more forcefully this time.

"I didn't want to bother you," he says. It's the best answer he can come up with, and the worst part is that it's also true. At least, that's what he tells himself.

But the moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it's the wrong thing to say. You stiffen, and then your jaw tightens. He can tell that you're barely holding it together, and he wants to say something, to explain, but he doesn't get the chance.

"You didn't want to bother me," you repeat, and Echo can hear the anger in your voice, can feel the sting of it. "I'm sorry, did I not make it clear how much I care about you?"

"No, you did," Echo says, backtracking, trying to placate you. "You did, I promise."

"Then please explain how you thought keeping me in the dark about the fact that the man I love was still alive and well was not a bother."

The word "love" hits him like a punch to the gut.

You love him. You still love him. You're still here, and you're still loving him, even after everything. He doesn't understand, doesn't know why. Doesn't know how. But he doesn't have time to think about it, not with the way you're looking at him, the hurt and confusion clear on your face.

"That's not what I meant," he says, his voice low, pleading. "It's not that. I promise."

You let out a shaky sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. "What's the difference, then?"

Echo opens his mouth, and then closes it again, not knowing what to say.

"I mourned you," you say. Your voice is soft, almost a whisper, but it sounds loud in the silence between the two of you. "I loved you, and I mourned you, and I was doing okay, and then you just show up, and act like it's no big deal, like I didn't spend weeks, months waiting for you to come back, hoping you'd come back, and..."

Your voice cracks, and a fresh wave of tears begins to roll down your cheeks. Echo reaches out to brush them away, and you flinch. The motion stings, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't push it. He lets his hand drop to his side.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, well, you did," you say, sniffling.

The words hit him harder than he expects, and he feels his throat tighten.

"I didn't know what to say," he admits, his voice breaking. "I didn't know what to do."

"Why not?" you ask, and your anger has softened, turning into something else. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" Echo says quickly. "Of course not. You were perfect. You were... You were amazing."

You look at him, and there's a vulnerability in your eyes that makes him want to gather you in his arms and never let go. He thinks maybe he should. But before he can, you speak.

"So what happened?" you ask. Your voice is quiet, but Echo can hear the desperation, the need for an answer. "Where were you? Why didn't you come back?"

“I—“ Echo looks around, suddenly aware of the hallway and the closed doors surrounding him, closing in on him. The space is too small, the walls are too close, the air is too thick. He feels trapped, like the world is closing in around him, and he takes a step back.

"Can we... Can we not do this out here?" he asks, trying not to let his voice betray his panic.

You study him for a moment, considering. He doesn't blame you. After all, he'd shown up out of the blue, and you had every right to be suspicious. You're still crying, but there's a steeliness in your gaze, and he can tell you're weighing your options, deciding if he's worth it or not. His heart hammers against his ribs as he waits, praying that you'll give him a chance.

Finally, you let out a sigh and nod.

"Yeah," you say, "sure."

You bend down to pick up the groceries, and Echo rushes forward, scooping them up before you can. You look at him, surprised.

"Let me help," he says. "Please."

You hesitate, and Echo can see the worry on your face, but then you nod, fumbling for the keypad. The lock clicks open, and you push the door open, motioning for him to go ahead.

He steps inside, and the familiar scent of your apartment hits him hard. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it, how much he'd come to associate it with safety and comfort. It makes his chest ache, and he takes a moment to steady himself, willing the tears to stop.

Your apartment is the same, and yet so different.

It's still cozy, but there's a coldness to the air, a lack of warmth. The curtains are closed, and the room is dark, the only light coming from the dim bulb above the stove in the kitchen. There are dishes stacked in the sink, and a few pieces of dirty laundry have been discarded on the couch. The floor is littered with shoes and other miscellaneous items, as if someone came home and kicked everything off their feet, leaving it all in a pile. Echo’s brow furrows at the mess, and he wonders when you started to let the place get this way.

"I'm sorry," you say, sounding embarrassed. You take the bag of groceries from him, your cheeks flushed. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Don't worry about it," he assures you.

"Here, let me..." You trail off, disappearing down the hall, and a moment later, he hears a door slam shut.

Echo stands there, unsure of what to do. His gaze wanders around the room, taking everything in, trying to find something to occupy himself with. It feels like years since he's been here, and the sensation is both comforting and strange. He remembers the nights he spent curled up next to you on the couch, the quiet mornings in the kitchen, the lazy afternoons spent in bed.

He shakes his head, trying to focus on the present.

You're back now, and he needs to concentrate.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers against the wood.

It's quiet, but Echo can hear you moving around, and he wonders if you're trying to clean up, trying to make the place a little more presentable. He doesn't care about any of that. He cares about you.

And he doesn't know what to say.

He runs his hand over his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye, trying to think. He's rehearsed this moment in his head, has imagined all the different ways it could go.

And now that it's actually happening, he can't remember a single one.

He's such an idiot.

The minutes pass, and you finally return. He hears you enter the room, the soft sound of your footsteps, but he can't bring himself to look up. Not yet.

"Echo," you say, and he can hear the hesitation in your voice. "What happened?"

"I don't know where to start," he confesses, dropping his hand and glancing up at you.

You've changed into something more comfortable, a pair of sweatpants and your favorite sweater, and your face is scrubbed clean, makeup-free. It's nice to see you this way, a reminder of the times you shared together, and the sight makes him smile.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Nothing, it's just..." He pauses, his eyes wandering over you. "I forgot how you looked in sweatpants."

You roll your eyes, but there's a hint of amusement on your face. "Seriously? You're sitting here, after being missing for months, and you're making fun of my fashion choices?"

"I'm not making fun of you," he says, chuckling. The pressure in his chest eases slightly, and he takes a breath. "I just meant that I missed seeing you this way."

You let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, and then shake your head.

"You're unbelievable," you mutter.

Echo smiles, and for a moment, he feels normal. As if the last year never happened, and this was just a day like any other. As if he'd just come home from a mission, and you'd greet him with a kiss, and everything would be fine.

But then you sigh, and the moment is over.

"Look, I get that this is... Well, I'm sure this isn't what you were expecting," you say. You move to sit across from him, leaning your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands. "But we can't keep pretending like nothing happened. You have to talk to me."

Echo stares at you, his eyes taking in the familiar lines of your face, the curve of your lips, the color of your eyes. They aren’t as bright as he remembered, not as full of life, and the realization breaks his heart. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

"Okay," he begins, clearing his throat. "So, uh, this is going to be a lot."

"That's okay," you say gently. You give him a reassuring nod, and Echo feels a swell of gratitude for you. "Just... Start at the beginning, and we'll go from there."

"Right, the beginning." Echo nods, trying to organize his thoughts, and then he starts to speak.

He tells you everything, from the moment the explosion happened, to the moment he woke up and found himself in Rex's arms, everything in between. He tells you about his injuries, the surgeries, the physical therapy. He tells you about his time with the Batch, his newfound abilities, the things he's been able to do, the things he's learned. He talks about the missions, the jobs, the danger they've faced, and the risks they've taken. He tells you about the planets, the people, the experiences. He tries to leave nothing out, even the hard parts. The loss, the pain, the fear. He doesn't want to spare you any of it.

You sit there and listen, asking questions when necessary, but mostly staying silent. And when he's done, he sits there, feeling a strange sense of relief. He hadn't realized how much he needed to talk about everything, how much he'd been holding in. And he hadn't realized how good it would feel to tell you. To have someone who cared, someone he trusted, who knew him better than anyone.

When the words run out, and the room is silent, you let out a long, slow exhale. You sit there, your hands folded together, your gaze fixed on the tabletop, and Echo waits, not sure what to expect. But the longer the silence drags on, the more worried he gets.

"Cyar'ika?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

You take a breath and look up at him, and Echo is startled to see that your eyes are glassy, and there are fresh tear tracks running down your cheeks.

"Sorry," you apologize, wiping at them with your sleeve. "I'm not — I just..."

You take another breath, and then let it out, composing yourself. "Thank you," you say. "For telling me. I know that can't have been easy."

"It wasn't," Echo admits, and his throat tightens a little. "But I'm glad I did."

You offer him a small smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You look like you’re far away, lost in your own thoughts, and Echo has a feeling you're not fully present, not in the moment. And he doesn't blame you. His words can't have been easy to hear.

"Is there anything else you want to know?" he asks, trying to break the silence.

You glance at him, your eyes focusing, and then look away, your jaw clenching. Echo can see the emotion on your face, can tell that you're struggling to stay calm, to hold it together. You've always been good at that, he thinks.

"I just..." You pause, taking a shaky breath, and Echo can see the tears forming in your eyes again. "I just don't understand."

He frowns, confused. "What do you mean?"

You close your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself. Then, you stand up and begin pacing around the kitchen, your hands clasped behind your back. You move slowly, deliberately, your gaze fixed on the floor, like you're trying to make sense of something, figure something out.

Echo watches you, feeling uneasy. You're not giving anything away, and the silence is starting to get to him. He's never seen you in the courtroom, but he imagines this is the stance you take when you're interrogating a witness.

It's effective.

"Can you say something, please?" he asks. He knows he sounds desperate, but he doesn't care.

"I'm thinking," you say, and Echo bites his lip.

He feels like he's going to crawl out of his skin. He wants to get up, to follow you around the room, try to coax a response out of you. He wants to make this better, to make this right. But he knows that pushing you won't help, so he stays seated, trying to keep his patience.

You continue to pace, your expression blank, and the seconds tick by, the only sound the muffled noises of the city outside. It feels like an eternity has passed when you finally stop, standing in front of him, your arms crossed.

"I can't believe you thought I wouldn't want to see you," you say. Your voice is low, almost a whisper, and there's an edge to it that Echo doesn't recognize. It's not anger, not exactly. It's something else, something deeper.

"I know," he replies, his voice just as quiet.

"I thought you were dead," you say, the words coming out in a rush. "I grieved you. I mourned you. And then you show up, and you're... You're alive, and you're here, and you think the best thing to do is to leave me alone?"

"I didn't know what would happen," Echo explains, trying to keep his tone calm. "I wasn't sure if I was coming back, and I didn't want to —"

"No," you say sharply, cutting him off. "That's not an excuse. That's bullshit, and you know it."

Echo swallows, and nods, not sure what to say.

"We made promises," you continue, and Echo can hear the anger in your voice, can see the frustration on your face. "To each other. We talked about our future, we said things that... We made things that were real, and then you just decided it was too much, and you walked away. What the hell is that?"

"I'm sorry," Echo says around the lump forming in his throat. "I shouldn't have —"

"No," you interrupt, your eyes burning. "You shouldn't have."

Echo looks at you, and he feels like he's going to shatter. You’re staring at him with such intensity, and there's an anger in your gaze that he hasn't seen before. It's so different from the gentle look you usually give him, and it makes him ache.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he says. "I swear, I didn't."

"Then why did you?" you ask, and there's a note of pleading in your voice. “I spent so long wondering, worrying, and you just... You didn't care."

"Of course I did," he argues. "It wasn't about that."

"Then what was it about, Echo?" you demand. "What was so important that you thought you couldn't tell me? That you couldn't comm me, or send a message, or do anything that would have let me know you were alive? That would have told me you were okay?"

"I didn't think —"

"What, that I'd care? That I'd worry? That I'd miss you? That I'd wonder where you were, and if you were okay, and what the hell happened to you?" you say, your voice rising.

Echo can feel the frustration building inside him, and he knows he shouldn't respond, knows that getting angry won't help, but the words tumble out before he can stop them. "I'm sorry," he snaps. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

"That's not an excuse," you snap back, and Echo blinks, shocked. You're the most level-headed person he's ever met, and he's never heard you yell before.

"Yeah, well, it's the best one I've got," he says.

"Echo, I loved you," you say, and the past tense stings. "When Fives told me what happened to you, I —" Your voice catches, and the fight goes out of him. He can see the pain on your face, the hurt in your eyes, and he can't help but feel responsible. "I can't even describe it. It felt like my whole world was ending. And I don’t blame you for doing your duty, but I do blame you for not coming back to me."

"I know," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I really am."

You shake your head, turning away from him. "Why didn't you comm me?"

Echo hesitates. He doesn't want to admit his fears, his worries, the insecurities that have plagued him. He doesn't want to tell you how much he doubted, how much he doubted you. It feels too vulnerable, too raw. And it would only make you feel worse. But the longer the silence stretches, the more you deserve the truth. And he can't avoid it forever.

"I didn't think I was worth it," he says, his voice low. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, the sting of embarrassment. He can't look at you, doesn't want to see the pity, the disappointment, the anger. "I didn't think I was worth it."

You turn to face him, your expression softening.

"You were all I had left," he says. He feels exposed, and it's not a comfortable feeling, but he can't stop now. Not with the way you're looking at him. Not when he's so close to fixing this, to getting you back. "After everything that happened, I just... I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You really thought I'd just leave you?"

Echo can hear the hurt in your voice, and he's surprised at the sharpness of it. He expected to be met with some amount of anger, but he didn't expect it to cut so deep. He didn't think his insecurities would upset you so much. He's used to it, by now. After everything he's been through, the doubts and worries have become a constant, an almost comforting presence. But you were never supposed to know about them.

"It's not that," he says. "I know you wouldn't have left me. It's just... I didn't want to drag you down with me."

"That's stupid," you reply. There's no malice in your voice, but there's no sympathy, either. "What makes you think I couldn't handle it?"

"It's not about what you could handle," Echo says. "You didn't sign up for this. You didn't sign up for any of it."

"I signed up for you," you argue, and Echo is startled by the fierceness of your tone.

"And look at what that got you."

You fall silent, and Echo regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. He's always known he wasn't good enough for you, but it's different to actually say it out loud. It makes it real. And he's not sure he's ready for that. But you're looking at him like you can't believe he said it, and the disappointment in your eyes makes him feel even worse.

Your eyes rove over him, taking in the scarring, the metal implants, the ports and wires, the armor. You look like you’re seeing him for the first time, and the disgust and fear he’d thought might appear are nowhere to be found, just a profound sense of sadness and resignation.

"Oh, Echo," you breathe. The words are quiet, but they feel like a slap, and he has to look away, not wanting to meet your gaze.

"I'm not the man you knew," he says. He sounds defeated, even to his own ears. His eyes are burning, and he has to fight to keep the tears from falling. He hates how weak he feels, how small, how vulnerable. "I can't be. I'm... I'm not him anymore."

"Yes, you are," you insist. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing gently, and the sensation makes him jump. He'd almost forgotten how warm you are, how soft. How safe. He wants to hold on, to pull you close, to never let go. "You're still the same man, the same Echo, I just..."

"What?" he asks, when you trail off. "You just what?"

You sigh, dropping his hand and running your fingers through your hair, tugging lightly. The familiar gesture makes him ache. "I don't know, Echo," you admit. "I'm... I'm sad. And I'm angry. But I'm mostly just... Confused."

"Confused about what?"

"I'm confused as to why you didn't come back to me," you say. "I'm confused as to why you thought I'd want anything else."

"I thought you deserved better," he says, the words sounding hollow, even to his own ears. "I thought you deserved someone who was whole, who could give you a normal life, who didn't have a hundred years of baggage and trauma to deal with. And I was terrified that you already had that."

"Had what?"

"A normal life," he answers. "Without me. And the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself it was true."

"It's not," you say. Your voice is quiet, but firm, and Echo looks at you, searching for any trace of doubt, of hesitation, of insincerity. But all he finds is determination, and it makes his heart clench. The intensity in your gaze is too much, and he has to look away. His eyes trail over the walls, the ceiling, the floor, lingering on the groceries on the table, the dishes in the sink, the empty bottles of wine shoved into the trash, the pile of laundry on the couch. There’s a dent in the wall that wasn't there the last time he was here, and the carpet is worn. He wonders when that happened.

He feels a tug on his arm, and then you're reaching up to cup his face, your hands soft and warm. You turn his head to face you, your thumb stroking his cheek. The touch is gentle, comforting, and Echo can't stop the sigh that escapes him. It's been so long since someone touched him like this, and it's nice. It's more than nice. It's familiar. It's safe. It's home.

"I only wanted you," you whisper.

"Even after everything?" he asks. He doesn't mean to sound so incredulous, but he can't help it. He's spent so long convincing himself that you were better off without him, and now, hearing you say the opposite, hearing you say the words he'd only ever hoped for, the ones he'd tried to convince himself were true... It's a lot to take in.

"Even after everything," you affirm.

"You could have had anyone," he says. "Why me?"

"Because I love you," you answer, as if it's the simplest thing in the galaxy. As if it's the most obvious thing in the universe. "And I don't want anyone else."

"Cyar'ika..." His voice cracks, and the tears are falling freely now. You wipe them away, and the touch makes his chest ache.

"I've never stopped loving you, Echo," you say. Your voice is barely audible, but Echo hears it. And it's the best sound he's ever heard. "And I don't plan on stopping now."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I left you, and I'm sorry I didn't comm you, and I'm sorry I was such a coward, and I'm —"

"Shh," you murmur, cutting him off. "I forgive you."

Echo can't speak. He's not sure he can move, can't even breathe. The relief is overwhelming, and it threatens to knock him off his feet. His chest tightens, and the tears won't stop falling, and he doesn't know what to do. He's missed you so much, has regretted leaving every single day, and now that you're here, now that he has you back, he can't find the words to express how grateful he is, how relieved, how happy.

"You really thought I was going to leave you?" you ask, and Echo can hear the note of humor in your voice, can see the ghost of a smile on your face. It's reassuring, and he lets himself smile, too.

"Honestly? Yes," he admits.

"Never," you reply.

Echo leans down and rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. You move your hands down his face, brushing the tears away with your thumbs, before bringing them around his neck, wrapping your arms around him. He moves to do the same, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. You let out a quiet gasp of surprise, and Echo chuckles, holding you tighter.

"I missed you," he whispers, and it feels good to say the words out loud. "So much."

"I missed you, too," you say, your breath warm against his neck. You tilt your head and press a kiss against his throat, and Echo feels his heart stutter. "More than I can say."

Echo hums and pulls away, bringing his hand up to brush the hair away from your face. Your skin is warm, and soft, and he leans in and presses a kiss against your forehead, savoring the contact. You sigh, and he can't resist the urge to kiss you again, this time on the cheek.

"Echo," you murmur, letting out a shaky breath.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, and your grip on his neck tightens, your fingers digging into the fabric of his blacks. He moves down your throat, trailing kisses along the column of your neck, and you gasp.

"I missed you, too," he murmurs, and you laugh.

"Yeah, I got that," you say. "Now, will you please kiss me?"

Echo smiles and obliges.

The kiss is soft and sweet, and it tastes like home. He cups the back of your neck, his scomp moving to rest on your hip, and you let out a pleased noise, your hands sliding down to his shoulders. The warmth of your mouth, the way your lips part, the little gasps and sighs you make, it all makes him want to get closer, to be nearer.

You break the kiss, and Echo lets out a quiet whimper. You chuckle and rest your head on his shoulder, and Echo brings his hand up to stroke your hair, his fingers combing through the strands. You sigh and lean into his touch, and he can't help the contented smile that spreads across his face.

"I'm glad you're here," you murmur. "I'm glad you came back."

"Me, too," he says. He tilts your head up and presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering. You close your eyes and nuzzle his neck, and Echo sighs, holding you close. It feels so good to have you in his arms again, to be able to hold you, and he wishes he could stay here forever. But the reality of the situation catches up with him, and he can't help the wave of guilt that washes over him.

"I'm sorry, Cyar'ika," he says.

You frown, and pull away slightly. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I didn't think this through," he admits. "I... I didn't know what was going to happen, and now..." He pauses, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I just... I'm sorry. I’m leaving soon, and I know it's going to be hard, and I know you're going to have to say goodbye again, and I'm —"

"Echo," you interrupt, and your voice is firm. You put your hand on his chest, and he can feel the heat of it, even through the layers of armor and clothing. "I know what I signed up for. I'm not expecting anything different."

"But —"

"No," you cut him off. "No buts. I knew what this was, Echo. And I still want it."

"But you shouldn't have to," Echo argues. "I don't want to put you through that."

"Well, it's a little late for that," you reply. Your tone is sharp, and Echo winces. "Look, Echo. I know the situation isn't ideal, but I'm not going to walk away because it's hard. And I'm not going to stop caring just because it hurts." You look at him, and the determination in your gaze makes his heart skip a beat. "You're worth it, okay? No matter what."

"Cyar'ika —"

"No," you say, shaking your head. "You're not changing my mind. You can try, but it's not going to work. So don't waste your time." You give him a stern look, and then your face softens. "Okay?"

"Okay," Echo agrees. He knows it's futile to argue. He's never been able to say no to you. Not when it matters. "I'm still sorry, though."

You roll your eyes, and then stand on your toes and give him a quick kiss. "You're lucky I love you," you say, and the words make him feel lighter.

"Yeah, I am," he agrees, grinning.

"So, what now?" you ask.

Echo shrugs, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He's been so focused on finding you, on convincing you to forgive him, on making things right, that he hasn't thought about what comes next. The prospect of it is both exhilarating and terrifying, and he doesn't know where to start. There's so much to do, and so little time. And he doesn't want to waste another second.

"Do you want to stay?" you offer.

"Stay?"

"Here," you clarify. "For a while. I don't know how long you can, but..." You pause, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I was going to make dinner. If you wanted to stay."

"Dinner?" Echo repeats, and he can't hide the excitement in his voice. The idea of a home-cooked meal is so far removed from his life now, so distant, that the thought of it almost makes him lightheaded. "Really?"

You laugh, and the sound fills him with warmth. "Yes, Echo. Really."

"What are you making?" he asks. The question sounds childish, and he can't believe how eager he is, how excited.

"Just a simple dish," you say. You move towards the counter and begin putting the groceries away, and Echo follows you, a smile spreading across his face. While you tell him about the recipe, he moves toward your sink, picking up a dish and turning the water on. You look over at him, and the fondness in your eyes makes him blush. "You don't have to do that, Echo."

"I know," he replies. "I want to."

"Well, alright then."

The two of you work together, talking and laughing as you wash the dishes and prepare the food. Echo feels lighter than he has in months, and it's a relief to be here with you, to have something normal and familiar to do. Something so domestic, so ordinary, and yet, so special.

He wants to remember this.

When the food is ready, you gesture to the table, and Echo takes a seat. You sit across from him, and for a moment, the two of you just look at each other. He's missed you, missed this. Missed being here, missed having someone who knew him, someone he could trust. Someone he could love.

You're both quiet, and Echo can see the wheels turning in your head, can see the way your eyes dart over him, taking everything in. You're cataloging, committing him to memory too. The realization hits him, and his chest tightens. He'll be leaving soon, and you're doing what you can to make sure you won't forget him. It's a sobering thought, and he's not sure how to handle it.

"Hey," you say, and Echo looks up, meeting your gaze. "It's okay. We'll be fine."

"How did you know?" he asks, startled.

You shrug. "It's written all over your face."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I wish I could stay."

"It's okay," you repeat. “We have the night, and that’s more than enough. For now, let's just enjoy the time we have."

Echo nods.

You're right.

You always are.

You smile, and it's so beautiful, so genuine, that it takes his breath away. You reach across the table and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back, and you lean forward, resting your elbows on the table and putting your chin in your hand. The way you're looking at him, the affection in your eyes, it makes him feel like he's the only thing that matters, like he’s home.

And, right now, he is.

He's missed this.

He's missed you.

And as the two of you sit there, enjoying each other's company, Echo knows he's made the right choice. He knows that coming back was worth it, that finding you, fixing things, making things right, it's all been worth it. And he knows that, no matter what, he'll be back.

He'll find his way back to you.

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