Roy Writes - Blog Posts

the cross fic made me realize there's not enough tech angsty fanfics

how about a groveling tech trying to get femreader back like they were an item before order 66 tech broke things off, they reunite with the batch later but reader became a very sad person after all that time

an i lied because i thought you deserved better so i pushed you away situation ?

sorry if it's a long ask 😅 first timer here

I like your writing 💕

No worries! I love a detailed prompt.

Writing angst for Tech was harder than I thought it would be tbh. I think his direct communication style and self confidence make it especially difficult, so I took a slight detour here that I feel is more true to his character.

Piece by Piece

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader

Words: 5,630

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, allusions to torture, PTSD

Summary: Pushing you away was the logical decision. It was the right choice. But Tech never expected it to hurt so much, nor did he expect to reunite with you months after the rise of the Empire, broken and haunted by your time spent in Imperial custody. Now, he's determined to make things right.

Being in the same room as you is exceedingly difficult in a way Tech didn’t expect.

It’s been weeks since you returned, appearing like a vision from the Force to them, alive, and he still can’t quite believe it. His hands shake slightly when you look at him, his mouth goes dry. He still wants to reach out to you, hold you tight and never let you go, and it is agony to resist, to stand by your side and not be able to touch you.

You were the one who asked for space, time to readjust to being around them again. And he has respected that, despite the desperate, possessive urge to pull you back, to keep you close so you never leave his side again.

It makes it hard to concentrate. Hard to be of any use at all, really.

Tech knows this isn't healthy, the way his mind and body and emotions are behaving, but he is finding it difficult to control. He has a lot of feelings that he isn’t sure what to do with, a lot of emotions that he doesn't understand. Tech isn't one for emotional outbursts, for being ruled by his heart and not his mind. He is rational, logical, always thinking of the most efficient solution to a problem, the most practical way of doing things.

It’s what lead him to break it off with you, after all. He couldn’t afford to have his head in the clouds when so much is on the line, couldn't afford to be distracted by thoughts of you when they could be used against him.

But then you were gone, and Tech was left alone with only the cold reality of his own decisions.

He thought he had made the right choice. Thought he had been logical and sensible, thought it would hurt you less in the long run, if he pulled away. But Tech doesn't feel very sensible now, and it doesn't seem very logical that the best way to protect you would be to push you away.

You have been hurt more than enough. And even if you don't want him in your life anymore, even if you want nothing to do with him, he will never forgive himself for not trying to help.

The fact is, Tech isn’t sure what you want, but he is determined to make amends, to help in any way that he can. It might hurt, might cause him to feel pain at the distance between you, but he is willing to accept that, to live with it if that is what you need.

What he isn’t willing to live with is seeing you unhappy. And you are unhappy.

Your eyes are dark, hollow. Your face is drawn and gaunt, cheeks too thin, and when he sees you, your shoulders are slumped as though under an impossible weight. You barely eat, you barely sleep. Tech watches as you push food around your plate and drink only water. He notices how you keep to yourself, avoid talking and laughing and joking like you used to, and he hates that you have changed so much, that the Empire has taken that joy from you.

And that, more than anything, is what hurts him the most. The Empire took your light, the thing that makes you, you. They ripped your spark away and left a shell behind, and he is struggling to reconcile that with the bright and lively woman he knew, the woman who had such a profound effect on him.

"On all of us," Echo points out one night, as the rest of them watch you sitting alone.

Echo has become increasingly vocal about his feelings, something Tech is glad for. It gives him a chance to understand better, to gain perspective, and Echo has been the one to notice what Tech can't admit, the thing he isn't willing to think about, the thing that hurts the most.

You're suffering, and you're pushing them away.

At first, it seemed reasonable. You were gone a long time, and they hadn’t seen you. It made sense that you needed space.

But time has passed, and you're still not yourself.

Tech thinks back to your first night, how you flinched away from his touch, and realises how foolish he has been. He sees now how much he was hurting you, how much damage his words and actions were causing, and his heart breaks a little more.

It was never about protecting you. Not really.

Tech wanted you. He wanted you for so long, and when he finally had you, he was terrified of losing you. So, he pulled away. He cut ties, and told himself it was for the best.

Except now he has no ties to cut, no bonds left to sever. You're here, but not, and his chest aches as he watches you.

This isn't the way it should be.

Tech should be holding you, and you should be smiling. He should be telling you how much he loves you, how happy he is to have you back. He should be making sure you're comfortable and safe, ensuring that you have everything you need, everything you deserve.

Instead, he stands in the corner of the room, watching silently as his brothers try to coax you into eating, or drinking, or just saying something. Omega is the only one who is successful, who manages to make you smile.

Tech can't understand it. He tries his hardest, he does his best, and you always turn away.

And the more he tries, the more he feels the ache inside him grow, the more his feelings change, twisting and turning and growing, and he can't keep track of what's happening to him. All he knows is that the idea of losing you is the worst thing he can imagine, and the idea of being without you is becoming unbearable.

He doesn't know how much more he can take.

You've been avoiding him.

No, not avoiding. You've been staying away.

Or maybe, you've been ignoring him.

“She's not talking to me,” Tech admits one evening.

He's curled up in the corner of the cockpit, legs pulled up, head buried in his arms. The rest of the Batch have dispersed, going off to their own bunks to rest or to tinker or to read. Tech is usually the last to retire, but not tonight.

Tonight, his shoulders are slumped and his goggles are pushed up onto his head. He's been scrubbing at his face with the heels of his palms for the past few minutes, trying to work through the thoughts and emotions swirling in his mind.

You're not talking to him.

And yes, maybe it's because you're not talking to any of them, but it still feels personal.

You're not talking, not laughing, not doing anything, really. You’re just there, a shadow of your former self, a ghost.

Tech misses the woman who used to laugh and tease him, the one who could always bring a smile to his face and a blush to his cheeks. The woman who was a whirlwind of color and life, the one who lit up his world and made him see things differently. Who kissed him so deeply and passionately that it felt like his entire world was reduced down to the feel of her lips. He misses her warmth, her kindness, the way she touched him, looked at him.

He misses the way he felt around her.

He misses you.

Tech doesn't know what to do. He can't stop thinking about you, can't stop thinking about what he's done, what he could have done.

What he should have done.

Maybe if he'd tried harder. Maybe if he hadn't given up, hadn't let go. Maybe if he had listened to Hunter, had heard Echo. Maybe if he'd told you the truth, he could have stopped this.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He sighs, rubbing at his face. He feels miserable, and it's his own damn fault. He's the one who ended things, who pushed you away. And he can't blame you for that, not when it was him who decided that you weren't worth it.

That isn't to say that he didn't care. Of course, he cared. He cares now. So much it hurts.

You are the person he was in love with, the only one. But it didn't seem fair to ask you to share his life, his world, when he couldn't promise that it would always be safe, that it would always be stable. He couldn't give you a future, couldn't provide for you the way a proper partner should, the way you deserve.

He could give you the present, but he couldn't offer you anything else.

And yet, as Tech sits here, head in his hands, he can't help but think that he should have at least tried. If he'd told you how he felt, maybe things would have turned out differently.

“I only ever wanted you,” you had told him once, and Tech can't believe how stupid he was to let you slip through his fingers.

Tech isn't used to feeling helpless. He's used to knowing exactly what he's doing, to being in control. But when it comes to you, it's as if he's floundering. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to act, doesn't know what you want.

He’s tried everything, he's done everything he can, and still, you push him away.

You don't want his comfort. You don't want his love.

He doesn't understand it. You've always seemed happy around him, like his presence brings you some peace. But now, whenever he gets close, you move away. When he tries to talk, you turn your back. When he offers help, you shut him down.

Tech isn't sure why you won't accept his assistance, or why you won't talk to him. It doesn't make sense.

He can't understand, can't rationalize. And he's never felt so lost.

Tech groans, burying his face in his arms. He's being ridiculous, he knows, but he can't help the way he feels.

He misses you.

Tech misses the way your hand fits perfectly in his. He misses the smell of your hair, the softness of your skin, the sweetness of your lips. He misses the way your smile makes him feel like his heart is full, like he can take on the world, like he can conquer anything.

Tech misses the way your body feels against his. The way your fingers feel on his skin. The way your breath catches when he touches you, the way your heartbeat picks up, the way your pupils dilate.

Tech misses the way you made him feel alive.

Tech knows that he isn't worthy of your affection. He knows that he doesn't deserve your love. He's not a good man, not a good partner, not a good friend. He's not the kind of person who should have someone like you, and yet, somehow, you chose him.

But not anymore.

“I only ever wanted you.”

You said those words to him before, and they haunt him. You told him you didn't care about the risks, the dangers, the fact that he couldn't give you the future you deserve. All you cared about was him.

And he threw it away.

Tech isn't sure how long he sits there, wallowing in his misery. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He just sits, and broods.

“Maybe she just needs time,” Echo says, though his voice sounds doubtful.

Tech shakes his head before pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead.

“She has made it clear that she doesn't wish to speak to me, or see me, or have anything to do with me."

The words sting as he speaks them. His throat is tight, and he swallows hard, trying to hold back the emotion.

"I doubt a little more time will change her mind."

There's a long silence.

Echo leans against the wall beside Tech, his arms folded. He's watching Tech carefully, his gaze piercing. Tech feels uncomfortable, and shifts, ducking his head. He doesn't like being scrutinized, doesn't like being vulnerable. He prefers to keep his emotions in check, his feelings close to his chest.

But he's finding it hard to hide them now, and his pain is obvious, even to himself.

“But she does,” Echo says finally.

Tech glances up, frowning. "Elaborate."

"She does want you," Echo clarifies, his voice gentle. "She loves you. She wouldn't have come back if she didn't.”

Tech doesn't want to admit it, but Echo has a point. If you didn't want anything to do with him, then you wouldn't have bothered to find him. You would have left, disappeared again, and never come back.

You wouldn't have risked your life for him.

Tech isn't sure if that makes him feel better, or worse.

Because it means that you do care, but it also means that you might be willing to sacrifice yourself, and Tech can't have that. He can't let you throw away your life, not for him.

Tech groans, burying his face in his hands. He's being selfish, and he knows it. You're the one who was captured, the one who suffered, the one who nearly died. And yet, all he can think about is how much it hurts.

He's been thinking about how much it hurts him. He hasn't been thinking about what you need.

"What should I do?" Tech asks, his voice small and defeated.

"Apologize," Echo replies simply.

"I have tried," Tech protests, lifting his head. "I have apologized countless times, and she does not want to listen. She doesn't want to speak to me."

"No," Echo corrects. "You've apologized for the wrong things."

"Wrong things?" Tech echoes, frowning.

"Yes, the wrong things," Echo repeats.

Tech isn't sure what Echo means by that, but his brother looks confident, sure of himself. Tech wants to believe him, but he doesn't know how. He's spent so long trying to convince himself that he did the right thing, that he did the only thing, that he can't help but doubt.

"How do I fix it?" he asks, voice quiet.

"That, I can't tell you," Echo replies. "But Tech, the first step is admitting that you were wrong."

Tech nods, letting his shoulders sag. He doesn't feel particularly good about the situation, but he's willing to try. It's not easy, admitting he was wrong. He's so used to being right, to having the answer, to knowing what's best. But when it comes to you, he has never felt so lost.

Tech thinks of the pain in your eyes, the way you flinched from him, the way you turned away.

He has to do better. He has to be better.

He has to earn your forgiveness.

"I was wrong," Tech says, his voice steady and sure. "And I'm going to make it right."

You're standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by medical supplies and overturned cots. Your face is pale, eyes wide and fearful, and Tech isn't sure what to do.

The voice of his brothers and Omega inside his head tell him you need space, but they also remind him that you need someone to look after you. That you need help. That you can't be alone.

Tech hesitates. He isn't used to this, the uncertainty, the not knowing what's best. He's never been particularly good at reading people, and even worse at knowing what they need.

He has never been more unsure than he is now.

He wants to help. He wants to take care of you, to make you feel safe, to give you what you need. But he's terrified of getting it wrong. Especially when you're standing in front of him looking like a startled animal.

You're shaking, and your breathing is fast and shallow. Your eyes are darting around the room, as if searching for something. Tech isn't sure what it is, or if it even exists. You look terrified, and Tech knows you have reason to be. The last time you were in a place like this, the Empire was holding you captive, and he can't blame you for feeling uncomfortable.

Tech has to suppress a shudder as he remembers the footage, the recordings they managed to get from the base. The screams, the cries. They haunted his dreams, and Tech can't even imagine what they did to you.

Tech wants nothing more than to run to you, to take you in his arms and promise that he will protect you. But he can't, not without permission.

Not when he isn't sure you'd even want him to.

So, instead, he stands there, watching. He keeps his distance, gives you the space you need. He's trying his best, but it isn't easy.

She just needs time, he tries to remind himself, but Tech isn't so sure.

He isn't sure if time is enough. He isn't sure if anything will ever be enough.

He watches as you stand there, your hands clenched into fists, your eyes still scanning the room. He watches as your breathing speeds up, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He watches as the panic spreads over your face, your lips pressed together, jaw tight.

You look scared, vulnerable, and Tech's heart breaks a little more.

“Cyare,” he calls out, as quiet and soothing as he can manage. You stiffen, and Tech curses himself for causing you discomfort.

He should have stayed quiet.

But then you turn, and your eyes meet his, and something inside him seems to settle.

You look so sad, so lost, and he can't help it. He walks over to you, careful and slow, making sure not to startle you. When he reaches you, he holds out his hand, palm up. He wants you to know that he is there for you, that he will not hurt you.

He will never hurt you again.

He waits, holding his breath. He's afraid that if he moves, if he speaks, you will run. So, he stands, motionless, watching as you stare at his hand.

Slowly, slowly, you reach out, your fingertips brushing his. The touch is gentle, tentative, and Tech is afraid to breathe.

Then, your hand closes around his, and he exhales.

Tech knows he's taking a risk, touching you, but he can't resist. He can't stand the thought of leaving you alone, the thought of not being able to help. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you. He doesn't know what else to do. He wants to hold you, to keep you safe.

He never wants to let you go.

You're shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You're trembling, and Tech knows that this is a big step, that you're taking a chance. So, he holds you, and he waits.

Your body is tense, and Tech is worried that he's overstepped, that he's pushed you too far. But then, slowly, you relax. Your arms wrap around him, your head resting on his shoulder, and he can't help but sigh in relief.

The others are nearby, finishing a sweep of the facility. He should be helping, but he doesn't want to leave your side. Not when you're finally letting him be close to you.

So, he holds you, and he strokes your hair. He whispers quiet reassurances in your ear, tells you that everything will be alright, that he's got you, that you're safe.

He's not sure if you believe him, but he has to try.

He can't lose you again.

Tech is trying.

He's trying his best, but he feels like he's failing.

Every day, every hour, every minute, his mind is filled with thoughts of you.

He thinks about how you're doing, whether or not you're eating, sleeping. He thinks about the nightmares you have, the way your body shakes as you wake, pale and trembling, gasping for air.

He thinks about how his brothers can't seem to calm you, how only Omega is successful, her soft voice and gentle touch somehow bringing you some measure of peace.

Tech can't help but feel that it should be him. It should be him comforting you, not Omega. It should be him easing your pain, not his little sister.

It should be him.

He isn't sure why he can't seem to do anything right. After they left the facility, after you finally started letting him hold you, Tech thought things would get easier.

But they haven't.

You still seem so distant, so far away. You still refuse to eat, to sleep, to talk. And Tech isn't sure how much longer he can handle this.

He's frustrated. Frustrated at himself, at the Empire, at the galaxy. Most of all, he's frustrated at you. Not that he would ever admit it aloud.

You've been through a lot. More than anyone should have to go through. Tech understands that. But he can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, if you'd been willing to accept his help earlier, things would have been different.

Tech doesn't mean it, not really. He doesn't think that it's your fault. He's just tired, and angry, and frustrated. 

And, if he's being honest, he's a little jealous.

You trust Omega. You open up to her. But you won't even talk to him.

It hurts.

Tech has spent the past few weeks trying to make things right, to show you that he’s changed. But you seem unwilling to let him in, to let him help.

It's infuriating.

Tech knows he shouldn't feel this way, but he can't help it. You were his girlfriend, his partner, his lover. And now, you won't even look at him.

He's trying, but he feels like he's getting nowhere. He wants to help, wants to be there for you. But he can't do anything if you won't let him.

“I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Omega says, her voice uncertain. Her feet swing over the edge of the bunk across from him, and her brow furrows. “Won’t she be mad?”

Tech sighs, running a hand over his face. He knows that Omega is worried, but he can't sit around any longer. He has to do something.

"She is already upset. I'm not sure anything else could make things worse."

Tech tries to sound convincing, but the truth is, he isn't sure what the consequences will be. He isn't sure what will happen, isn't sure if this is a good idea. But he has to try.

“If you’re sure,” Omega replies slowly.

Tech nods, trying his best to look confident.

"I'm sure."

He isn't.

"Okay."

Omega pulls out her datapad and types the message. Tech watches as she hits send, then lets out a shaky breath. She slides off the edge of the bunk and hurries down the ramp, leaving him alone.

Tech waits, his nerves growing with each passing second.

You are going to hate him for this, he's sure.

But he has to do it. He has to try.

"Tech?"

Your voice is quiet, uncertain. You're standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself, and Tech feels his chest ache at the sight.

You're here.

You're actually here.

"Hello," he says quietly.

“Where’s Omega?” you ask, your voice sharp. You step forward, and the light catches your face. Tech can see the bags under your eyes, the paleness of your skin. You look tired, worn down, and he hates it.

Tech winces. "She's not here."

"Where is she?"

You sound panicked, and Tech doesn't blame you. The last thing he wants is to make you more stressed. But he needs to talk to you, and this is the only way.

"She is fine," Tech says, trying to sound reassuring. "I asked her to leave."

You narrow your eyes, taking another step toward him. You're still clutching your arms, as if you're trying to hold yourself together. Tech wants to reach out, to take your hands, but he knows you'll pull away.

“What do you want, Tech?” Your voice is harsh, but Tech doesn't mind. You're speaking to him, which is more than he's gotten out of you in days.

"I, ah, I wanted to talk," Tech replies, his tone hesitant.

"About what?"

Tech swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "About us."

You frown, folding your arms across your chest. "There is no 'us', Tech. There hasn't been for a long time. You made sure of that."

Your words are sharp, cutting, and Tech can't help but flinch. He deserves them, he knows. But it doesn't make the sting any less. He takes a deep breath, trying to find the words.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have ended things."

You stare at him, eyes wide. Tech isn't sure if you're surprised, or just angry. He can't read you, not anymore. He isn't sure if he ever could. He's always felt a little bit of awe, a little bit of fear when it came to you. And now, more than ever, he feels completely lost.

"So why did you?" you ask, your voice tight.

Tech sighs, adjusting his goggles nervously. He's not sure how to answer that. He isn't sure if he even has an answer.

"I was... afraid," he admits, his voice low.

"Afraid of what?"

Tech shrugs, looking away. "Everything. The future, the war, losing you."

You don’t say anything, and Tech takes a deep breath, forcing himself to continue.

“I ran an exhaustive cost benefit analysis, and I had determined that the risks far outweighed the benefits. I could not continue our relationship knowing that I would most likely hurt you. In my mind, I needed to end things before they went any further. Before you were able to become attached.”

"I was already attached," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I was already in love with you."

Tech's heart stutters.

"You were?" he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod, biting your lip. Tech feels his stomach twist, a mixture of guilt and hope rising in him. You were in love with him. You are in love with him. And he has hurt you more than he ever thought possible.

"I was a coward," Tech says quietly. "I knew if we had gone any further, and I were to hurt you, it would have caused me immense emotional pain. And, in the process, I would have risked my ability to perform at optimal efficiency, and that would have resulted in harm to the rest of the squad."

Tech looks up, meeting your gaze. "I didn't want to hurt you, and I didn't want to put the squad at risk. But in the end, I failed at both."

You frown, and Tech can tell that you're trying to understand.

"So, let me get this straight," you begin, your voice strained. "You broke up with me, because you thought it was the best option for everyone involved."

Tech nods, his expression pained.

“That’s not for you to decide, Tech. I can make my own decisions. And, I decided to be with you. But instead, you made the decision for both of us, and you didn't even bother to ask my opinion."

“I knew that if I had discussed it with you, you would have tried to convince me otherwise,” Tech explains, his voice soft. “And I wasn't certain I would be able to resist your arguments."

You shake your head, an incredulous look on your face. "So, basically, you dumped me because you couldn't trust yourself to make a logical decision?"

Tech's shoulders slump, and he nods, his head bowed.

"That is correct. It is also…” He looks at his hands, his expression pained. “For all of my unique modifications, I am still a clone. I am still expendable. But you, you are not. You are more important. You are special." He hesitates, swallowing hard. "You are irreplaceable."

Tech can see tears gathering in your eyes, and he feels a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. He never meant to hurt you, but it seems he has managed to do just that. And now, he doesn't know how to fix it.

"Tech, no." You shake your head. "You're not expendable. None of you are."

"That may be the case," Tech concedes. “But at the time I could not see a future in which the two of us could have a happy life together. Not with the way things were, not with the risk we faced. So, I chose the safest option."

"But we could have figured it out, Tech. We could have found a way."

Tech shakes his head, his expression weary.

"I was not willing to take the risk. I was not willing to gamble with your safety, with your happiness. It was a decision I had to make. For all of our sakes."

You are quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful. Tech can see the pain in your eyes, the hurt and betrayal, and he wishes he could take it all away. He wishes he could erase his mistakes, undo his actions.

"You made the wrong choice," you say at last, your voice low.

"Yes, I did," Tech admits, his voice quiet. "I was wrong. About a great many things."

He looks up, his gaze meeting yours.

"But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious, that I want to fix things."

"Why?"

"Because I love you," Tech says, his voice breaking.

Your eyes widen, and you suck in a breath. Tech can see the surprise in your expression, the shock. He knows you didn't expect him to say it, to admit it. But it's the truth. And Tech can't hide it any longer. He can't pretend.

He has to be honest. Even if it means losing you.

"I love you," he repeats, his voice stronger this time. "I always have. I've never stopped. I didn't think I was capable of loving anyone, not like this. But, you changed that." He pauses, swallowing hard. "I don't want to lose you, cyare. Not again. Not ever."

"Tech."

You say his name softly, your voice cracking. Tech can see the tears welling in your eyes, and his chest aches. He wants to take you in his arms, wants to kiss away the pain, but he knows he can't. He knows he has to let you decide. He has to let you choose.

You step forward, and his breath hitches in his chest. You're so close, so near, and Tech wants nothing more than to hold you. But he doesn't. He stays where he is, waiting.

You reach out, your hand cupping his cheek, and Tech leans into the touch, savoring the warmth of your skin. You're looking at him, your eyes searching his, and Tech hopes that you can see the truth in them, the sincerity. He hopes that you can feel how much he loves you, how much he needs you.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice breaking.

You nod, and he can see the tears streaming down your cheeks. Tech wants to wipe them away, but he doesn't move. He stays where he is, watching you, waiting. You're still staring at him, and Tech feels a flicker of hope bloom in his chest.

"I'm sorry, too," you whisper, your voice raw. "I'm sorry I shut you out. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry for everything."

You pause, biting your lip. "I love you, Tech. I never stopped. And, I don't want to lose you, either."

Tech's heart swells, and he can't stop the tears that come, or the smile that spreads across his face. You're looking at him with such tenderness, with such love, that he can't help but reach for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tight. You melt into his embrace, your arms winding around his waist, your face buried in his chest. 

Tech can feel your tears, wet against his skin, and he runs a hand through your hair, trying to soothe you. You cling to him, your grip almost desperate, and Tech feels his heart break a little more.

You've been through so much, endured so much pain, and he was part of it. He was responsible for it. And he doesn't know how to make it better. He doesn't know how to take away the hurt, the betrayal, the fear. All he can do is hold you, and promise to never let you go.

"Cyare," he breathes, his voice choked with emotion. "You will never lose me. I am yours. Always."

And then, you lift your head, and his eyes meet yours, and Tech can't stop the surge of emotion that rushes through him. You're so beautiful, so perfect, and he can't believe how lucky he is. 

You're the best thing that has ever happened to him, the only thing that has ever made him feel alive. And now, here you are, in his arms, telling him you love him. It's everything he's ever wanted, everything he's dreamed of. And it's real. You're real. You're here. And you're his.

"I love you," Tech whispers, and then he leans in, capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is soft, gentle, filled with everything he's feeling, everything he can't say. And when you pull away, Tech's heart skips a beat, and he wonders how he ever thought he could live without you.

"I love you," you whisper back, and Tech can't stop the smile that spreads across his face, the tears that sting his eyes. He holds you tight, and the world seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you.

He's never letting you go again.

Promises Made (pt. 2/3)

Part One | Part Three

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,387 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, that comes into play a lot in this part, reader is genuinely unfair to Cross here sorry, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Thank you again to everyone for your kind words and support on all my fics, it really means a lot to me! I loved writing the drama in this part, and it was hard to stop, so hopefully it doesn’t drag on too much. Enjoy!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The moment you enter the cockpit, Crosshair stiffens, staring out of the viewport with wide eyes. The smoggy grey atmosphere of Bracca, pocked with smears of red rust and the glimmer of steel, stares back.

You can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, and you know he’s remembering what happened the last time the two of you were here.

You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he clenches his jaw and curls his lip. You know he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to set foot on this planet ever again, and you’re surprised at how guilty you feel. You thought a part of you would relish the pain he was feeling, would be glad to see him squirm.

But you aren’t.

"Are you alright?" you ask. You hadn't meant to, hadn't even realized you were thinking it until the words slip past your lips.

He looks at you, startled, as though he didn't think you'd notice.

"I'm fine," he snarls, and the bite in his words catches you off guard. You recoil, turning back to the control panel.

"We're landing in twenty," you mutter, and that's the end of the conversation.

The rest of the flight is silent, and it's not until the Marauder is descending into the atmosphere that he speaks again.

"What's the plan?" Crosshair asks, standing behind the copilot's chair. You can hear the creak of the leather as he grips the backrest, can feel his eyes on the top of your head.

"There is no plan," you say. You look back up at him, and there's a furrow between his brows. "We're not here for a job."

He blinks, clearly confused. "What?"

"We're landing, and we're meeting my contact." You turn back to the control panel, watching the ship descend through the viewport. “She’ll give us the coordinates, we’ll get what I came for, and then we’ll leave.”

“That easy, huh?” Crosshair scoffs.

“Were you expecting something more thrilling? A daring chase? A firefight?” you tease. He rolls his eyes. “I told you it was just an exchange. There won't be any trouble."

The Marauder touches down, the landing ramp dropping a moment later. You stand, stretching.

"Besides," you say, grabbing your bag, "you've had your fair share of trouble for one lifetime."

He watches you closely as you sling the bag over your shoulder, and when you look up, you catch him staring. You don't understand the intensity in his eyes, or the way his expression seems to shift, the frustration replaced with something softer. He averts his gaze, crossing his arms.

"If you say so," he grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smirk. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"I don't need protecting."

"Of course you don't, dear." You pat his shoulder as you pass, and he scowls.

He's still glaring when you glance over your shoulder, and you have to hold back a laugh. You don't miss the way the corners of his lips twitch upward as he follows behind, and for a moment, the tension lifts.

It's raining when you exit the ship, and the cold droplets soak through your jacket almost immediately. Crosshair tugs on his helmet as you step out of cover, and you ignore your flash of jealousy as you pull your hood up over your head.

You don't waste time, hurrying toward the abandoned building you're meeting your contact in. Puddles splash under your feet, soaking through your boots, and your clothes cling to your skin. Your hood is doing little to protect you, the water dripping from the edges and onto your face, and you try to focus on anything other than the chill that's settling into your bones.

Crosshair stays a few steps behind, keeping pace. He looms behind you like a shadow. His presence is both comforting and unnerving, and you find yourself constantly checking over your shoulder.

"I hate this place," Crosshair grumbles. The modulator on his helmet makes him sound even more irritated. "Stay close to me."

You turn to see his head on a swivel, his posture stiff, and his hand on the blaster at his side. You can’t help but scoff, and his head snaps towards you.

"What?” he growls.

"Nothing,” you mutter back. “Just nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

You can hear the annoyance in his tone, the barely concealed frustration, and it makes you smile.

"Probably," you reply, turning down a side street.

Crosshair makes an irritated noise. It only encourages you, putting a spring in your step in an otherwise miserable situation. Maybe it's a good thing he came after all. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth, and it's hard to contain your amusement.

"I don't get it," he mutters.

"Get what?"

"This. You." He gestures vaguely, the hand not on his weapon flapping in your direction. "You're being..."

"Nice?" you suggest, glancing over your shoulder.

"Fucking obnoxious."

You laugh, the sound echoing through the empty alley. Crosshair groans, and you can see his shoulders droop in exasperation. "That's my default setting. You should know that."

"Yeah, well," he says, his voice low and rough, "I forgot."

The admission hangs in the air, and you feel a rush of... something. It's not quite guilt, or sadness, but it's not happy, either. It's an uneasy combination, and you shove the feeling down.

"Maybe I've missed this," you tease. You slow your pace, falling into step beside him. "Maybe I've missed the sound of your voice."

"You're a liar," he replies, but you can hear the humor in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" You feign innocence, but there's a playful lilt to your voice that gives you away. "I'm an honest person."

"An honest pain in the ass."

You snicker. "Maybe I've missed having someone to bother."

"You've never had trouble finding a victim," he quips, and you nudge his arm with your elbow. He pushes back, and it's almost a joke, almost a friendly gesture, and for a moment, you forget why you're even here.

"True," you concede. "But nobody else puts up with me like you do."

His helmet tilts down, and you can feel his gaze on you. You look at him, and it's impossible to see his face, but you swear there's a hint of a smile.

"Yeah," he says, and the word is almost fond. "Lucky me."

"Shut up."

You bump his arm again, and he chuckles, the sound barely audible through the filter on his helmet. It's a tender moment, a brief glimpse of the old Crosshair, the one who would banter and bicker with you for hours, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to a different time. You miss it, more than you thought possible.

"We're here," you say, interrupting the moment. You push the door open, and it swings inward, revealing a stairwell. You glance back at him, motioning him forward. He falls into step behind you, all trace of amusement gone.

"Let's get this over with," he says.

You descend into the building, the stairs creaking beneath your feet. You can see feel the tension rolling off Crosshair in waves, and he reaches over his shoulder to draw his rifle.

"Calm down, would you?" you say, and he bristles.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You said it yourself," he mutters, scanning the shadows. "I've had my fair share of trouble for a lifetime."

"That's not what I—"

You're interrupted when you reach the bottom of the stairs, and a tan Abednedo steps from the shadows, a blaster pointed in your direction. She lowers the weapon when she sees you, and a small smile crosses her lips.

“Master Jedi. Pleasure to see you again," the Abednedo drawls, holstering her blaster.

"Saaba," you nod. You nudge Crosshair hard with your elbow, and he grunts before slowly lowering his rifle. You can see his fingers flex, as if he's not sure he should put it away, and you hope he listens.

Saaba gives him a once over, the tendrils that frame her mouth twitching. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Crosshair. Cross, this is my friend, Saaba," you explain.

"A pleasure," Crosshair says, his tone dry.

"I'll admit, I'm surprised to see you've brought company." She squints, her large goggles emphasizing how she sizes him up. “And a trooper, no less. I thought they were your enemies now."

Crosshair tenses, and you can feel his anger flare. You reach for him, touching his wrist. He looks at you, and even with his helmet on, you can tell he's glaring. You shake your head, and he sighs, relaxing a little under your touch. 

You hadn't told her about Crosshair, or about the rest of the Batch. It hadn't seemed important, and you weren't sure how she'd react to knowing the man standing beside you had more than once tried to kill you.

"Things change," you say, your tone light. "He's one of the good guys now."

"Well," Saaba hums, "that's a relief. I'd hate to have to kill a friend of yours."

Crosshair shifts his weight, and he takes a step closer. "You could try."

"Easy," you say, giving his arm a squeeze before dropping your hand.

Saaba laughs. "Oh, I like this one."

"Me too," you agree, and you can't help but grin. Crosshair's helmet swivels towards you, and you can imagine the bewildered look on his face. You shrug.

"Anyway," you say, ignoring the way he's staring at you. "Let's get down to business."

"Of course." Saaba smiles. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a small data disk. "The coordinates you need. As promised."

"Thank you."

You reach for the data, but she doesn't let go, pulling you closer.

"Don't get caught." Her voice is low, and her expression is serious.

"You know me."

"Which is exactly why I'm telling you not to get caught," she says. “I told the Guild I was stripping the place for copper, and I need to report back soon, or they’ll send their own crew. But I can’t guarantee they won’t go poking around on their own.”

"Understood."

She lets go, and you step back, putting the disk in your bag. You grab a pouch, holding it out to her. "For your trouble."

She shakes her head, pushing the credits away. “I owed you one.”

You blink. “Are you sure?”

"Just don't let me regret it," she warns, but her tone is soft. You always liked Saaba, even if she could be a bit of a handful. But she was reliable, and she didn't ask questions.

"Never."

You turn, heading towards the stairs, and Crosshair follows. You don't look back, and Saaba doesn't stop you. Once you're back outside, the door swinging shut behind you, you let out a sigh.

"Well, that was easy," Crosshair drawls.

"Don't jinx it," you grumble. You shiver, tugging your soaked jacket tighter around yourself. The rain hasn't stopped, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think the weather through.

There's a rumble of thunder, and Crosshair looks up.

Great, you think, just great.

"You should have brought a coat."

"Shut up."

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and the sound warms you. You can't remember the last time you'd heard him laugh like that. It makes you smile, even if he is laughing at your expense.

"It's not over yet," you continue, ignoring the way your stomach flutters. "We still have to find what we're looking for, and get off planet."

"I thought you said it was going to be simple," he teases, his tone smug. It's so strange, to hear his voice sound like that again, and it feels... good.

You huff.

"It should be." You glance around the alley, noting how the rain had driven the locals inside. "It's just the retrieval that might be difficult."

He hums, and the two of you walk in silence. The rain hasn't let up, and by the time you reach the Marauder, your hair is plastered to your face. You push it aside, wringing out the water.

"Now, let's see where we're going," you say, climbing the landing ramp.

You settle in the pilot's seat, Crosshair leaning against the doorframe, and you pull the data disk from your bag. You slide the disk into the control panel, waiting as the computer loads the coordinates.

You frown, leaning forward.

“The coordinates are a few clicks south of here," you say, zooming in. “But we can’t take the Marauder there, the terrain is too rough. We'll have to go on foot.”

"On foot?" Crosshair repeats. "Through the scrapyards?"

You nod. He sighs.

"Great."

"You can stay here if you’re scared."

"I'm not scared."

"Well," you say, grabbing your bag and heading towards the exit, "I'm glad to hear it."

Crosshair grumbles, and when he passes you, he knocks his shoulder into yours. You laugh, shoving him back.

"Come on, you big baby. It's not so bad," you tease, closing the ramp behind the two of you.

He scoffs, and the sound is distorted by the rain and his helmet. 

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

As soon as the Marauder disappears from view, the rain goes from bad to worse. The cold droplets sting your face as you trudge through the mud, and the wind whips at your clothing.

The scrapyard is a dangerous place. Thousands of broken starships litter the area, stacked on top of each other in tall piles. Some of them are old, rusted from years of exposure, while others are relatively new, their hulls dented from the harsh winds. Even though you’re cold and miserable, you’re grateful for Saaba's work. If you’d gone searching yourself, it would’ve taken you years to find what you were looking for.

As you climb over a particularly large piece of debris, you glance at Crosshair. The rain is pouring, and it's put both of you in a sour mood, your prior banter forgotten.

You can feel his eyes on you as he walks behind you, and it makes you nervous.

"I'm not gonna fall," you snap, reaching the top.

"Didn't say you were."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to."

"What am I supposed to look at?" he asks, his tone sharp.

You glance around. There's nothing but rain and rust, and the looming shadows of the ships stacked around you. It's an eerie sight, the remains of war and violence, and you feel a chill run down your spine.

"Anything else," you grumble. You slide down the other side, and he's quick to follow.

"How much farther is this thing?"

"I don't know. Not far," you say, but the truth is, you have no idea.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up, Cross."

You push your hair from your face for the thousandth time, and you can’t decide if the rain or the wind is the worst. Both make your clothing cling to your skin, and you're pretty sure you're never going to feel warm again.

"Real mature," he mutters, and you can practically feel the eyeroll. “Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Guessing could be fun,” you tease, trying to distract yourself. But his patience is wearing thin, and you know it as well as you know that yours is fraying too.

"I’m not in the mood for games," he growls back. 

The taught threads of your sanity finally snap, and you stop in your tracks, your patience evaporating like the mist. Crosshair slams into you, and you stumble, barely managing to keep your footing.

"Would you watch where you're going?" he hisses, and you whirl around.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

The venom in your voice catches you both off guard. He falls onto his back foot, taking a step away from you. You don't let it stop you. Your anger rises, the floodgates open, and your emotions come pouring out.

“Why are you here, Crosshair?”

The question comes out harsher than you intended, and Crosshair recoils, his head jerking backwards. You can't see his face, but the tension in his frame is clear. You're not sure why you're asking, not sure if you even want an answer, but the words spill from your lips regardless.

He doesn't say anything.

You cross your arms, waiting. The wind howls, the rain hammering down around you, and his silence drags on. He stands there, the rain pinging off his armor, his shoulders hunched.

Finally, he speaks, and the words are strained. 

“I told you. It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You scoff. "Is that really all?"

"Yes," he says, taking a step closer. "Why else would I be here? Do you think I enjoy freezing my ass off, traipsing around in the mud?"

"No," you reply flatly. "But I don't believe you, either."

Crosshair sighs, and his helmet tilts skyward. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Something true, for once," you say, stepping into his space. "Because if protecting me is your job, you're fucking awful at it."

He flinches, and the movement is so slight you almost miss it. You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, but you can't help but double down. You've been holding it back, all this anger and hurt, and the dam breaks.

“I’ve been hurt dozens of times since you left, at least once by your hand." Your voice rises, and he's motionless, his entire body stiff.

Your hands shake, and you clench them into fists, the ache in your knuckles a welcome distraction. He's still staring at the ground, and your temper flares. Something within you snaps.

"You left, and you didn’t come back. And now, what, you show up here, with some bullshit excuse, and act like nothing ever happened?"

"I can't—"

"I don't care," you cut him off, and your voice is cold. "I don't care what you have to say. You had your chance. You should've stayed away."

Crosshair recoils as though he's been slapped, and for a moment, he doesn't move.

You're frozen, too, the weight of the words hanging in the air. You hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to say any of it, but you were tired.

Tired of his excuses, of his lies, and his refusal to acknowledge what had happened.

You were tired of hurting.

And in that moment, you didn't care if he knew it.

You can't see his face, but you don't need to. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, can feel his rage, and it mirrors your own.

You stand there, staring at each other, your anger a palpable thing, and a part of you is relieved. It's the first real emotion he's shown, the first real indication he's been anything other than indifferent, and you're glad. You wanted a reaction, and you got one.

The thought is quickly quashed when he speaks.

"Maybe I should've," he growls. The pain in his voice underneath the anger takes you by surprise. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with your fucking mess."

His words sting, more than they should, and you hate yourself for it. He's always been good at that, cutting deep with his words, and it's something you'd hoped would change.

You should've known better.

"Well, then," you begin, and your voice is quiet, a contrast to the anger simmering below the surface. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

You turn, and he grabs your arm, stopping you.

"Don't—"

"Don't what?" you ask, whirling around. You yank your arm from his grasp, and his hand drops.

He doesn't reply. You don't move, the rain pelting the ground around you, and the wind whipping at your clothing. Crosshair doesn't say anything, doesn't try to explain himself, and you can't stop the anger from boiling over again.

"Don't go? Don't leave? Why shouldn't I? Why do you care? It's not like you cared about me when—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he interrupts sharply.

"No!" you shout. Lightning cracks in the distance, the flash illuminating the metal around you. "You're the one who doesn't know."

"You think I don't know what happened?" His tone is hard, his words clipped. "You think I haven't had to live with that? With knowing what I did to you?"

"Don't you dare." You jab a finger into his chest, and he takes a step back. His shoulders tense, and you can tell he's furious, but you can't stop.

"You don't get to act like that's some big burden you've been carrying around."

"I have!"

"So have I!"

Crosshair is silent, and you can tell he's taken aback by your admission. He shifts, his weight moving from foot to foot, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn't say anything, his attention shifting from the ground, to the sky, and back again.

The wind blows, and you shiver. You tug your jacket tighter around yourself as the adrenaline starts to wear off. You don't speak, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm trying," he says after a beat, his tone sharp. "I'm trying, and I don't know what else you want from me."

"Not hard enough," you spit back.

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

"You're not," you interrupt. "Not anymore."

He goes still, his entire body rigid. For a moment, the rain is the only sound, battering against the scrap metal and his helmet. His fists clench, and he shakes his head. He lets out a long, slow breath, and the mist from his vocoder obscures your vision.

"I never thought you would forgive me." His voice is low, barely audible over the howling wind. "I just hoped you wouldn't hate me forever."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. There's a lump in your throat, and you can't swallow. Your chest aches, and your fingers tingle, and it takes everything in you to remain upright.

"I don't hate you," you say, and your voice is a whisper. "But I wish I did."

The words are painful to admit, and you're not sure what's worse: saying them out loud, or knowing they're true.

His hand lifts, as though he's going to touch your face, and the movement is so gentle, so careful, that it makes you ache. Then, his hand drops, and his fingers curl into a fist, and he lets out a frustrated huff. 

You can see his hand shake, a reminder that the Empire took something from him, too, and you feel a sudden surge of guilt. But you can’t bring yourself to apologize, can't force the words past your lips, and so you just stand there, watching him. 

The silence stretches on, and you can feel the cold steep into your bones, and you’re tired of waiting for Crosshair, so you turn and start to walk away.

You barely take a step when he speaks, and his voice is pained.

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely audible in the wind.

You stop, your feet sinking into the mud, and your breath catches. The apology is so unexpected, so raw, you feel it in your chest.

You want to look at him, but you can't.

You're afraid that if you do, he'll see right through you, and you'll have to acknowledge that despite your best efforts, your anger has faded, replaced by something else.

So you don't look at him. Instead, you stare at the ground, at the way the mud oozes around your boots.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and his voice cracks. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I didn't— I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'm sorry."

He takes a deep breath, and you can hear it, the way his lungs stutter. It catches on something inside of you, and your eyes burn.

"I don't want you to hate me," he says. The words are so soft, so quiet, that you almost miss them. "And I know I deserve it. But don't. Please."

"You should've thought about that before you shot me."

He's quiet, the only sound the rain and the wind, and it's obvious the words hit him hard. A part of you regrets it, regrets being so cruel, but another part, a darker part, wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel the pain you've felt since the day he left.

"I know," he says, and there's a note of resignation in his tone. "And I will regret it every day for the rest of my life."

You turn, and his helmet is pointed at the ground.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, that it was the only thing I could do. But I was wrong, and I made a mistake, and I have to live with that." His voice is low, his words heavy, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. "If I could take it back, I would. In a heartbeat."

You blink, the tears burning the back of your eyes, and you fight the urge to turn away. You swallow hard, the pressure behind your eyes so intense that it hurts, before you ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

He lifts his head to meet your gaze. "Because you deserve to know."

"And what do you deserve?"

"Nothing."

It's immediate, so assured and without hesitation that you nearly stumble back.

"I deserve nothing," he continues, and his tone is so self-loathing, so full of hatred, that it makes your chest tighten. 

Your mouth opens, but the words don’t come, and you can't think. You want to scream, want to shout, want to hit him, to comfort him, to apologize, and it's too much, and you don't know what to do.

His words hang between you, the gravity of the situation dawning on you.

He really believes it.

He truly thinks that he deserves nothing.

That he deserves no forgiveness, no mercy, no sympathy, no second chance.

And as much as you want to be angry, as much as you want to hate him, it hurts to see him like this. To see him so resigned, so accepting, that he's willing to take whatever punishment you deem fit.

Your anger fades, and you can feel the fight draining out of you. You let out a long sigh, and the tension in your frame eases. "Cross—"

"Don't." He raises a hand, cutting you off. "Just...don't."

Your mouth closes. The rain batters the metal around you, the wind whips your hair around your face, and it's impossible to keep the tears from spilling over. They mix with the rain, and you wipe them away.

He lowers his hand. "Come on. Let's keep moving."

Crosshair pushes past you, his shoulder bumping yours. He starts to walk, his strides long and purposeful, and the space where his armor touched your arm tingles.

You hesitate before you follow him, and the rest of the walk is spent in silence. Your boots sink into the mud, and the rain beats against your hood. By the time you reach the coordinates, you're shivering, and the rain has started to sleet.

Your feet slip on the icy ground, and you stumble. Crosshair catches your arm, steadying you. You look up, meeting his gaze through the visor of his helmet, and your heart twists in your chest.

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling away.

He says nothing, turning his attention back to the ruins. The star destroyer is huge, the metal hull jutting up from the mud. The bridge has long since broken away, but the main section remains intact. You make your way to the hull, searching for an entrance.

You can feel him watching you, and you wonder if he's thinking about what you said, if he regrets his words, and your stomach twists.

You shouldn't care, not after everything he's done, but the thought of him thinking he deserves nothing, nothing at all, makes you feel sick. You know he does, and it hurts, because there's a part of you that still cares about him.

A part of you that's always cared.

And no matter how many times he's hurt you, that won't change.

You've wanted nothing more than to put the past behind you, to forget the hurt and the pain and the loss. And here is Crosshair, finally willing to talk, to apologize, and all you've done is push him away.

And despite how angry you are, how hurt, you're tired of fighting. You're tired of running from the past, and tired of letting it define who you are.

You take a deep breath, and then another. It's not too late, you tell yourself.

"Here."

You find a service hatch, and you pull it open, slipping inside. The metal groans as your feet hit the ground, and you narrowly avoid a gap in the floor. The interior of the ship is dark, and the only light comes from the holes in the ceiling. Crosshair follows you, and his rifle scans the room.

"It's clear," he says, lowering the weapon.

"Good," you say, wiping the sleet from your jacket.

You start down the hallway, searching the rooms as you go. The ship is in disarray, the furniture overturned and the walls peppered with blaster fire.

There’s a scorched line carved into a wall, and you wince at the sight, your feet slowing to a stop to examine it. You don't have to touch it to know what happened here, and your eyes burn.

You turn, startled to find Crosshair directly behind you. He stares down at you, his posture stiff. "What is it?"

"I..." You're not sure how to respond. He must sense your hesitation, because his head tilts, and you can feel his eyes on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly soft.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he says, and his words take you by surprise.

You cross your arms, looking away. The hallway is dark, and the silence between you stretches on. You're not sure what you expected, but you didn't think he'd call you out. "Cross..."

"No," he repeats, stepping closer. "Don't. Talk to me."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"Talk to me," he says again, more firmly.

Shaking your head, you turn and start walking. He trails behind, the metal creaking beneath his boots, and the sound echoes around the corridor. The hallway splits, and you go right. The lights flicker, the wiring exposed, and the darkness seems to seep in from the edges of your vision.

"It's the burn marks," Crosshair says, after a moment, his voice low.

You stop.

"In the walls," he adds, when you don't respond. "That's why you stopped, isn't it?"

You turn, and he's standing there, his helmet tilted, his posture rigid. He says your name quietly. “What are we really here for?”

You sigh. There isn’t any fight left in you, not now, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. 

“My Master’s body.”

Crosshair inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, and the silence is stifling.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed anything?"

He pauses, considering. "Maybe," he says, his voice low, "but I still would've helped you."

Your fingers twitch at your side. It's a struggle, but you keep your emotions in check. You're not sure if he's being honest, if he's telling the truth, and the uncertainty makes your stomach twist, tangling with the grief that threatens to swallow you whole.

"I couldn't..." You trail off, your throat tight.

You don't have the energy to lie, and your eyes burn. You want to say it, want to tell him how much it hurts, but the words are lodged in your throat. You're afraid, afraid that once you start, you won't be able to stop, and the fear keeps the truth from spilling out.

The moment stretches on, and his fingers brush your shoulder. It's a simple touch, one that's barely there, and it's so unexpected that it takes you by surprise.

He squeezes gently, and the contact is grounding, comforting, and it feels so good that it makes your chest ache.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice is thick with emotion.

You turn, and his helmet is tilted downwards. You know he's looking at you, his eyes boring into you with a heaviness you can't decipher.

"I need to find him," you whisper. You hate how vulnerable you sound. His hand tightens on your shoulder, and you swallow. "I need to..."

"We'll find him," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

"Thank you," you manage. The words sound strange coming from your mouth.

He nods, releasing your shoulder. You miss his touch, and you have the urge to reach for him, to take his hand, but you push it down.

"We'll find him," he repeats.

You nod, and the two of you continue down the corridor. The hallway opens up into a larger room, and you glance around, looking for a clue, a sign, anything. But the sleet has left the space dark, blocking the light from the windows.

"There's nothing here," you say, defeated.

"There has to be," Crosshair insists.

You turn to look at him, and his helmet is pointed in your direction. He's staring at you, the intensity of his gaze causing your skin to prickle.

"There's nothing," you repeat.

"We'll keep looking."

"There's nothing, Cross."

"We'll keep looking," he repeats, and the steel in his voice is enough to make you waver.

You shake your head, frustrated, but before you can speak, the ground lurches beneath your feet.

"What the—"

Crosshair's arm wraps around your waist, and he yanks you forward, his grip on your jacket so tight you're sure it's going to rip. The ship groans, and the ground lurches again, and this time, you can hear the sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Shit," you mutter, gripping his shoulders. "The ground, it's—"

"I know."

You look down, and the ground beneath you is shifting. You can see the cracks spreading, and the ship starts to tilt, and you realize the ground isn't the only thing that's changing.

"We need to move," you say.

Crosshair doesn't need to be told twice, and the two of you start toward the hallway. You're not fast enough, though, and the ground shifts violently, the force of the impact sending you flying.

You scream, and Crosshair curses. He lunges, wrapping an arm around your waist, and your body slams into his.

The two of you hit the ground hard, and the impact knocks the wind from your lungs. You roll, and your stomach drops as the ground disappears beneath you. Crosshair grunts, and his hand digs into your hip, holding onto you tightly. The ship tips, and you slide down the slick metal floor, heading straight for the gaping chasm.

You let out a panicked cry, and the world goes sideways as Crosshair grabs onto a railing. You can see the bottom of the ship, hundreds of feet below, and you have a fleeting moment of panic.

Your command of the Force is still shaky, and there's a good chance that the two of you will plummet to your deaths if you try to slow your descent. Your heart is in your throat, but then Crosshair pulls, his grip strong, and he hauls you over the edge. 

Your boots scrape against the ground as he pulls you upwards, and you feel your feet catch on the edge. You gasp, relieved, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He pulls the two of you onto the platform, and his arms wrap around you, crushing you against his chest.

"Are you hurt?" he pants, his chest heaving.

You shake your head, and you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to him, and you realize he's trembling.

"I've got you," he says. "It's okay, I've got you."

Crosshair doesn't let go, and his breathing is ragged. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you lean into him, the contact calming. You can feel his heartbeat, and the rhythm is quick, erratic. You stay like that for a long moment, neither of you moving.

You're not sure who moves first, but his arms relax, and you shift, pulling away. He releases you, his hands sliding to your waist. He's still shaking, and his helmet is tilted downward, his gaze focused on you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is a little too high.

He nods. "I'm fine."

Your lips press into a thin line, and he must notice your disbelief, because he lets out a shaky laugh. "I will be," he amends.

You nod, and you can't seem to look away. He's still gripping your waist, and his gloves are slick with rain. You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, and despite the chill, the contact is grounding.

"You saved me," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

You're not sure what to say. There's a part of you that wants to thank him, a part of you that wants to pull him close and wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. It's a strange feeling, one that you haven't felt in a long time, and you struggle to push it down.

Instead, you say the only thing you can think of. "Thanks."

He shrugs, as though it's no big deal. "It's my job."

"No, it's not."

"Yes," Crosshair starts, his tone firm. You blink, and he's leaning down, his helmet inches from your face. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingers curl into his shoulders. His grip tightens on your waist, and you can feel his breath through his vocoder. "It is."

"I—"

"We can argue about this, or we can keep going."

"Right." You nod, pulling away. His grip lingers, and then his hands fall, and you feel cold without them. "I mean, you're right."

You can hear him exhale, and he pushes himself up, holding a hand out to you. 

"I usually am," he says as he hauls you to your feet, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Asshole," you mutter, pushing past him.

"Brat," he says, following close behind.

You climb through a hole in the floor, and you're surprised to find the hallway intact. You walk cautiously, your senses alert, and your steps are slow. The hallway ends at a door, and the panel is cracked, but the lock still works.

The door slides open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. A window looks out onto the snow, and there's a bed, and a chair, and a desk. You look around, and a lump forms in your throat. The bed is made, the covers neatly tucked. A holoprojector sits on the desk, and a stack of books is piled in the corner.

"This was his quarters," you say.

Crosshair doesn't answer, and the quiet is unnerving. You cross the room, your heart hammering in your chest. You stand beside the bed, and your hands curl into fists. You can feel his presence behind you, but he doesn't speak.

"What do we do now?" you ask, your voice sounding far away to your ears.

"Look for clues," he says. "Anything that could point us to where his body is."

You nod, and the two of you search the room. You're not sure what to expect, and you're not even sure what you're looking for. You pick up a datapad on the bed, but the device is blank.

Crosshair is rummaging through the desk drawers, and you walk over to him. He's looking at an open drawer, head tilted. You peer around him, and your breath catches in your throat.

There's a few pieces of flimsi, and a stylus, and a data card. But what makes your heart skip a beat is the stone. It's small, no bigger than your palm, and the surface is smooth, black with a white streak bisecting it.

"I can't believe he kept it," you say, and your voice cracks.

"Kept what?" Crosshair asks, and you can hear the confusion in his voice.

"The stone. I gave it to him when I was a Padawan."

"Why?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I was always giving him gifts. I used to think they were the only way he'd know I cared about him."

Crosshair looks down at you, and his voice is softer than you've ever heard it. "I'm sure he knew."

"You think so?" you ask, and your eyes burn.

"Yeah."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"It's just..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed.

"It's okay," he says, his hand resting on your shoulder.

"No, it's not. He's dead, Cross, and I wasn't here. I was supposed to be here, but I wasn't."

"That's not your fault," he says, and his other hand lifts, resting on your opposite shoulder.

"I know, but..."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"But I—"

"Stop." His voice is firm, and his grip on your shoulders tightens.

"Cross..."

"Shut up and listen," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. "You did the best you could. You were fighting a war, you were doing what was right."

You nod, but the guilt is overwhelming. You force yourself to look up at him. His hands are still on your shoulders, and his helmet is tilted down, his gaze on you.

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats.

His thumbs press gently against the hollow of your collarbones, and his touch is soothing. You take a shaky breath, and his grip loosens, one hand sliding from your shoulder to your face. His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a tear. You inhale sharply, and his fingers cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch.

"Thank you," you manage, your voice breaking.

"It's going to be okay," he says. "I promise."

"Cross—"

"I mean it," he says. Crosshair grabs your hand, and you let him manipulate your fingers until only your littlest one remains facing up. He curls his around yours, squeezing gently.

"Promise?"

He nods. "Promise."

Your lips twitch up, and he squeezes your finger again, his grip firm. His other hand cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he pulls you against his chest, holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest plate.

You stay like that for a moment, closing your eyes as his fingers run through your hair. You sigh, leaning into him, and you can hear his breathing through his vocoder. His hands are warm, and he's solid, and he smells like leather, and blaster oil, and rain.

"We should keep looking," you say, but you don't want him to let go.

Crosshair hesitates, then nods, his grip on your hair loosening. His hand slides from the back of your head to your jaw, and he tilts your chin up, staring down at you.

"Okay?"

You nod, and his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. His touch is so soft, and you can feel his gaze on you. He lingers, and you wonder if he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers tighten on your face, and he leans down.

His forehead presses against yours, and his hands fall away. He exhales, and his breath fans across your lips before he pulls away.

The absence of his touch leaves you cold, and your chest aches, the space between your ribs feeling too tight. You blink, and Crosshair is gone, already walking across the room.

He starts rummaging through the closet, and you shake yourself, clearing your throat. You turn to the desk, and you pick up the stone. Your thumb runs over the surface, feeling its imperfections. 

Suddenly, you gasp. A memory flashes through your mind, one that doesn't belong to you.

"What is it?" Crosshair asks, instantly alert.

"I know where he is."

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @huntersnikeheadband @thebadbatchfan @absolfan @winchesters-girl @sukithebean @spicy-clones @arctrooper69 @qvnthesia