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[estoniacobaltpayne]

'39 (Tech X Reader)

PART 5: All Your Letters In The Sand

Fic Summary: You, once a Republic informant and a member of Clone Force 99 during the War, wake up in a completely different galaxy than the one you're used to. With the help of a Mandalorian and his little green kid, you try to find your way back to whatever is left of your squad, and the man you loved and were forced to leave behind. As you navigate this new galaxy around you, Tech must find a way to navigate the galaxy you left behind in the wake of your absence.

Relationships: Tech X Reader, Din Djarin & Reader, Tech & Phee, Tech, Crosshair, Reader & Original Female character

Tags: No use of (Y/N), Gender Neutral Reader (no gender identities are specified, though for the plot of the story reader is able to give birth), Reader's description is NOT specified, ANGST, Angst and honestly very little comfort, there is a conclusive resolve but not exactly a happy ending

MASTERLIST

Grogu would have loved Pabu, you thought. It was heartbreaking, after having worked so hard to rescue him from the Empire, to see him leave with the Jedi, who had come to your rescue in your most dire hour of the mission; but, you and Din both knew that it was for the best, and though you both loved the kid, you wanted him to be safe more than anything. 

After the mission, you had all disembarked the light cruiser with a sense of melancholic finality; the mission had been completed, but the outcome had in no way been what you were expecting. After dropping off the others, Din felt that you both needed to focus on finding your kid now, if nothing else to get his mind off of Grogu, you surmised. 

When Slave 1 had entered Pabu’s atmosphere, your breath had almost completely escaped your lungs. You hoped that Tech, the daughter you shared with him, and the rest of the 99 had gotten to live out the rest of their lives in this beautiful place. Though you were a thousand meters in the air, you could still see the sea floor through the crystal-clear, turquoise water. The island refuge was covered in thriving flora and white stone dwellings, and you couldn’t help but wonder which one, if any, the Batch had occupied during their time here.

Once you landed on the platform at the top of the island, you stood and looked around at the people gathering around you, expressions of both intrigue and apprehension surrounding you. Boba had decided to stay on the ship, and given that he claimed to have caused quite a ruckus here some years ago in his pursuit of the clone Omega, perhaps that was for the best, should anyone vividly remember that day for any negative reasons the fighting had caused. Din, however, stood stoically beside you, ready to support you in any way he could.

A large, older man with dark, tanned skin, dressed in all sorts of colorful, comfortable-looking clothes suitable for the planet’s beach environment, made his way towards you. Two women supported him on either side, both with similar dark skin and thick locks of hair piled seemingly-effortlessly on top of their heads; one flanked his right and appeared to be in her mid forties, and the other looked to be around the same age as the man, and walked with him to his left. The latter of the two women seemed to be eying you skeptically, though you could not fathom as to why.

“Welcome to Pabu,” the man greeted you, the same mixed look of intrigue and apprehension in his eye. “My name is Shep, mayor of Pabu. I hope you find this paradise as enjoyable as we do! Now, what brings you to our corner of the galaxy?” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but being put in a spotlight was not something you’d done since your days of passing information along in the music halls you used to play in; and even then, the spotlights placed on you as you performed on stage were far less metaphorical than the one on you now. That feeling, combined with the fact that the older woman next to Shep was now fully glaring at you, kept the words from rising to your throat.

Taking in a deep, open-mouthed breath, you inflated yourself with a false sense of confidence and began to speak. “I-“

“I know you,” the woman interjected, finally voicing her thoughts. Though how she knew you, well, the only guess you had was that she’d known Clone Force 99; but other than that, you had no idea, you’d never seen her in your life.

It only took her another moment of staring you down to contemplate how she knew, apparently, because suddenly, her eyes shot wide open and her neck craned back with a tilt of her head. She then looked over and acknowledged the woman on the other side of Shep. “Lyana, go get Lyra, and fast.”

The younger woman, Lyana, didn’t hesitate, hurriedly making her way back towards the crowd and down to the lower parts of the island. 

“Phee,” Shep addressed, “care to fill us in?” She let loose a jaunty laugh and sauntered over to you, before quickly bringing you in for a hug. 

Surprised, you looked to your left to see Din standing there, a hand hovering over his blaster holster in what was clearly anticipation for something far less welcoming than a hug, but it begun lowering slowly once he saw that the potential threat was, actually, not a threat at all. 

She pulled back and briefly glanced at your companion before looking back into your eyes, her expression swimming with a fondness and recognition you wished you could reciprocate. 

“Funny, how a pirate was how you got lost to space, and now a different pirate’s the one bringing you home. I told Brown Eyes years ago he should’ve just asked me for help, I just didn’t think I’d be the one to find his treasure,” she said, clearly amused by the situation. 

Suddenly, Lyana pushed her way back out of the crowd, followed by two more women. One was Lyana’s age, and had bright brown eyes and a tanned face that was framed by shaggy blonde hair, and the other was younger than the other two but still older than you. The two new women gasped, immediately making their way over to you and engulfing you in their embrace as well. 

“You’re alive! I can’t believe you’re actually alive!” the younger of the two exclaimed, nestling herself further into you. 

All of the sudden physical touch was starting to become overwhelming, and the woman from before, Phee you think you recalled Shep mentioning her name to be, noticed, for which you were extremely grateful. “Alright now, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. I think right now we got some blanks to fill in.”

The two women hugging either side of you reluctantly pulled away, wiping a few errant tears as they did so. The older of the two smiled widely at you. “After all this time, you finally made it home. I just wish Tech were here to see it, any of them, really.”

Your eyes shot wide, and your posture straightened. “Tech was here? How long? Was he happy here? What-“

“You’re Omega,” Din said, ever observant.

The blonde woman smiled. “Yep, that’s me. And yes, Tech was here, all my brothers were. But, er…” she hesitated,

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but unfortunately Tech had to initiate Plan 99 not long after Phee led us to this place. We were on a mission to save Crosshair from the Empire, and things went south. But you should know, he never stopped looking for you. Everywhere he went. He missed you so much,” she grimaced, looking away from your eyes and down at the ground for a moment, before turning her head to the woman beside her. “But then we found Lyra.”

Lyra gave a small wave. “I’m your daughter,” she said softly. 

Your jaw fell open and your eyes widened. How could you not see it? The big, honey-brown eyes and brown hair that glittered with underlying tones of red and gold in the sun? She had your mouth, but aside from that, almost all of her discernible features were derivative of Tech. Those Kaminoans sure made some seriously strong DNA, the thought popped into your head.

Lyra and Omega stood there, watching you become more and more stunned by the revelation. 

“Let’s… take a walk, just the three of us,” Omega said, moving to loop her arm with yours, but Din abruptly moved closer to you and placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping her from dragging you off. He eyed the group of people who had clearly known who you were (an intimidating stare even through the black visor on his helmet), knowing that ultimately he could trust them not to hurt you, but between months of traveling with you and recently giving up Grogu to the Jedi, he was hesitant to let you go, mostly for his own sake; but he knew that, by this point, you knew this about him, and instead of the brash and annoyed behavior you would’ve displayed to him early on in your time with him, you simply placed your own hand over his, sliding his off your arm with an appreciative smile. But you didn’t let go afterwards, he cheered to himself, which he hoped was a step forward in whatever relationship he was hoping he could eventually form with you.

With a final gentle squeeze to his fingers, you reassured, “I’ll be alright, Din. I’ll meet you back here afterwards.”

Din only offered a small nod of his head in return as he reluctantly dropped your hand, and with a tone that was lower and raspier than normal, stumbled out, “be… be safe.”

Omega and Lyra then led you away from the curious crowd, and down the winding streets of Pabu. Once you were out of earshot, they turned mischievously towards you. 

“So…” Omega started, “are you and the Mandalorian…?”

Your eyes shot wide and you could physically feel the knee-jerk reaction that reverberated down your spine. Were you? You’d suspected his affections for some time, but you weren’t sure you were ready to return them. Perhaps in time you could, but right now, you were still walking the road of love and mourning for Tech.

“Oh! Ah… no, we’ve just been- well uh you see, he found me ’n we’ve been travelin’ together since and uh-“ 

Omega and Lyra doubled over in laughter. “I was just teasing, y’know!” 

You, embarrassed, stared at the ground so hard you thought you’d be able to burn a hole straight through the stone pavement.

“Just like Tech and Phee,” Omega commented. “No way, my dad dated Phee?” Lyra gasped at the gossip.

“Not really, no. Even if he wasn’t looking for this one,” Omega replied, gesturing to you with a wave of her hand, “do you actually think he would’ve had enough game to get with her? No way!” You always knew Tech finding someone else was a reality, and really, you hoped he was as happy as he possibly could be, even if it was with someone else; but a selfish part of you also hoped that he loved you to the end. Omega turned to see your stunned and slightly hurt expression, unable to keep it off your face. 

“But yeah, Phee was really into him, and even if Tech did notice her feelings, he was still too in love with you to ever seriously consider the relationship. He was always charting maps to find you, and coming up with plans and all kinds of crazy calculations to get you back. And then he died not long after that.” She smiled pensively and looked at the same spot in the pavement you previously had been.

“Not that he would’ve ever admitting to believing in such a thing, because y’know, it’s not a proven science,” she locked eyes with you in a moment of melancholic seriousness, “but you were his soulmate.”

“I remember buir told me about the day the squad lost you,” Lyra quietly added.

“Buir?” you asked, unsure as to who would have raised her if Tech had perished. You would have assumed the Batch, but also with the way Hunter disapproved of your relationship, you couldn’t have been sure.

Lyra smiled, clearly remembering fond memories of whoever she considered her ‘buir.’

“Crosshair,” she clarified. “Tech died so soon after he came for me on Alderaan, where I had been taken shortly before the war ended, and I only know the stories of how Crosshair came back to the squad, but once he did, he took up the mantel in raising me. But Tech… well,  Crosshair said he was never the same after he lost you.

“He told me it was a mission gone wrong. That they had to flee and leave you behind. Tech was mad that you hadn’t told him you felt unwell, and was both annoyed and worried when you suddenly lost consciousness, but none of you knew I technically was there, too, to be fair. But the Separatists saw an opportunity, and they took it. The Batch had to flee, and Crosshair said that Hunter had to be the one to fly, because Tech kept trying to take over the controls to go back for you. He also said it was the first, and only time, he’d seen him in hysterics, and that Wrecker had to hold him back. Tech and Hunter got into a big argument about it, and I guess it wasn’t the first time they’d argued about your relationship, because Hunter told Tech that he had predicted exactly what had happened- Tech was putting you ahead of his duty to the Republic. Crosshair said that after that day, Tech retreated into himself, only ever talking when he needed to for missions, and never really smiled again.” Lyra took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. “Crosshair said your presence was a supernova in Tech’s life, radiating a light so bright and colorful and beautiful he knew he’d be blind to anyone else’s love, but he wasn’t prepared for the black hole that formed in your absence.”

You felt crestfallen, and you weren’t really sure what you could say in response. 

“He never really let you go,” Omega added, “we went through his datapad after he died, and we found a bunch of letters he wrote to you, as if you were still there and he could simply,” she made a contemplative, circular gesture with her hands, “send them to you to read.”

Your head slowly perked up. “Can I… can I read some of ‘em?” you asked. 

“Of course,” she confirmed with a bright smile. “And I know just the place for you to read them all. There were like, hundreds,” she said with a slight chuckle.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll have time to read ‘em all,” you said despondently. 

“Why not?!” both Lyra and Omega chimed in unison.

“Well, for one, Din and I, we have to, well I dunno, he’s gotta new quest already I think, and well, to be honest, I didn’t know if y’all’ed have wanted me to stick around. I mean, it’s not like you know me and I kinda just showed up out of the blue. Literally, right out of that blue sky up there,” you rambled, nervously laughing at your stupid joke and picking at your cuticles.

Lyra grabbed your hands and forced you to look into her eyes, which shone with concern and distress. It was weird to have your daughter, who was older than you, force you to look into her eyes when she was speaking to you, very much a motherly thing and not a daughterly thing to do, you thought. 

“Of course I know you! Of course I want you here! There’s so much to tell you, so much I want to hear from you! I just got you back, did you really think I haven’t dreamed of a day where I’d get to meet you? You’re my buir too, and you’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you slink off so quickly!”

The shock and remorse sweeping across your face must’ve been apparent, you thought, because she suddenly smiled sympathetically at you, before letting the mischievous look cross her face again. “I mean, I can’t really blame you though, that Mandalorian you’ve got yourself is certainly nice to look at. I wouldn’t want him to leave without me, either,” she jested. 

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, nostrils flared in (somewhat) mock annoyance. 

“But in all seriousness,” she continued, “I, we,” she said gesturing between her and Omega, “want you to stay. Hell, your… companion can stay too, if he wants.”

Omega watched your eyelids flicker, your eyes themselves flitting between arbitrary points in the air in front of you as you mentally debated yourself. It was a very Tech thing to do, she thought, and she wondered which of the two of you picked it up from the other, or if it had been a trait you both did independently of knowing each other. 

“I’ll ask him.”

“Great!” the two women cheered in tandem, before Omega added, “but first, we need to make a stop along the way.”

The solitary walk back up the streets of Pabu felt, ironically, easier than the descending trudge, you thought. Now that your immediate anxieties about the situation had been quelled, you were left with a light sense of excitement at the opportunity to get to know your daughter and Omega, who was the last living remnant of the Bad Batch as you knew them, and to take the time to properly mourn the love you’d lost.

The landing platform was now clear of people, aside from Boba’s idle ship, and Din, who mindlessly (or perhaps the goal was to attempt to be mindless) fidgeted by making large sweeps of his legs in the air before landing heavily on the airborne foot and repeating the motion with the other leg. It was oddly silly for such a serious man, you thought, and you were sure he hadn’t noticed you approaching, because it seemed like something he’d rather not be caught dead doing.

As you stood there, watching him awkwardly pace (?) in Pabu’s now setting sun, you were faced with a sense of melancholy you weren’t expecting to feel towards the prospect of him leaving you here; deep down, you knew he would not- could not- choose to settle here with you, and the thought brought back the same heaviness you’d thought you’d left behind on your walk back up to the platform.

He’d never not supported you. He’d always been kind, and caring, and protective of you in your most vulnerable moments. He cared for you; maker knows why, you thought, and the idea of him suddenly not being there with you as you navigate a galaxy that certainly wasn’t your own scared you. It also scared you to think that you wanted to be there with him as he navigated the galaxy around him. A whole new anxiety overcame you; you didn’t have feelings for him, at least not yet, but you knew if you let yourself you easily could and that revelation made your fists reflexively tighten.

But two objects in your hand derailed your train of thought. In your right hand, sat the datapad that Omega had told you contained hundreds of Tech’s writings to you, and in the left was a pair of shattered goggles. A piece of the goggles’ broken glass prodded your thumb, and you sucked in a sharp hiss of air at the sudden pain.

Your exclamation shattered the quiet moment, and Din’s visor instantly trained itself on your shocked face, before his gaze travelled down to your hands. 

“You’re injured,” was all he said.

You weren’t sure how to respond. 

He made his way over to you, gingerly picking up your left hand to inspect the damage on your thumb, but stopped when he saw the goggles.

“I’m fine, Din, really. It’s nothin’ more than a paper cut-“

“Are those… his?” The modulator in his helmet was not nearly strong enough to mask the pain squeezing his throat.

“Uh, yeah, they are. Tech was both super near-sighted and mildly red-green colorblind, hence the yellow lenses, which helped him in the field,” you responded, before tapping the crushed attachment on the side with your ring finger. “This was a camera. He liked to document everything, and boy, do I mean everything. That man hoarded information, I swear,” you let out a sentimental chuckle, “but I’ll be damned if it didn’t save our asses a hundred times over.

“Omega said she had ‘em on her ship during her time piloting for the Rebellion. She also gave me this,” you brought up the hand holding the datapad, “she said he wrote letters for me to read when I got home, hundreds of ‘em. Oh! I just had an idea! Maybe you can read some of his other notes, about ships ’n weapons maintenance ’n stuff, he was brilliant with those sorts of things! I’m sure you could find somethin’ useful in there, I’m sure he would’ve loved to share all that information with you, anyways!”

Din’s thoughts trailed off as he watched you fondly recount your time with Tech. It was then that he knew. 

Over the months together- actually, it was close to a year now- he’d grown to care about you, love you, even. He desperately wanted the chance to show this to you, to give to you all the things Tech would’ve given to you if you hadn’t been brutally ripped from each other by the meddling hands of fate; but standing here now, as you stood there trying to weave your two separate but eternally intertwined lives together- tried to weave the memory of Tech and the prospect of a future with Din- he knew that, ultimately, you needed time to heal. He could see that you wanted him to stay in your life, and while Din had no intentions of leaving and never coming back to see you again, he realized that at the current juncture in time, he needed to leave in order to move on from losing Grogu, and you needed to stay in order to move on from losing everything you’d ever known.

“He had this insane system for cleaning his armor I’m sure you would’ve loved it-“

Din called your name softly. Despondently. “You’re… you’re going to stay, aren’t you?”

Din watched the smile fall from your lips. 

“Yeah. I think I’m gonna stay. But Omega said you can stay, too!”

Din grasped your wrists and slowly pulled you into him. 

“You know that I can’t. I’ve found everybody else’s people, it’s time I find my own.”

The moment and position you were in reminded you of all the trying times you endured during the war, and how Tech would comfort you in a similar physical manner to this. He would pull you close, and tip his forehead to yours; keldabe, he’d named the action as he explained the limited Mandalorian culture he’d been exposed to from the trainers on Kamino. He’d hold you there, your foreheads touching and noses bumping together, and mutter ‘gar’re morut’yc, ner cyare, gar’re morut’yc,” you’re safe, my darling, you’re safe.

So in a last-ditch effort to comfort both Din and yourself, you leaned forward and lightly pressed your forehead to that of his helmet. 

Din tensed. He thought that perhaps you didn’t recognize the significance of your actions, but when you muttered, “ni ceta, Din,” he knew that you knew what keldabe was, and he was helpless to the desire to pull you closer. 

So he did. 

He wrapped his right arm around your back, and his left came up to cradle your jaw, nuzzling his helmet against the curve of your nose. Your left hand made its way to his bicep and nuzzled itself under his pauldron, and your right tightly grasped the upper edge of his cuirass, pulling him closer to you, too.

It was selfish, he knew, because you could not give yourself to him in the way he wanted, and he didn’t want you to do anything you weren’t ready for, but with the way you were pressed against him, he took advantage of this one, small opportunity, knowing he very well might not get another. You knew it was selfish because, deep down, you wanted to give yourself to Din in that way, but couldn’t, because with the way he was holding you, all you could think about was how Tech used treasure you in such a way.

The sun that was nearly set behind Din finally faded, giving one final, golden flicker before it descended below the water line. Street lights blinked on around you, and the citizens of Pabu could be seen through their windows lighting candles and turning on lamps, as the island prepared itself for the evening ahead.

The change in scenery is what broke up your moment with the Mandalorian. 

“Din I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Din. I wanna go with you but… I can’t,” you said, pulling away from the keldabe, but not out of his embrace. His left hand dropped from your face to settle itself on your hip.

“I know, cyare, but… don’t be. Don’t be sorry. We’ll see each other again, I’ll make sure of that.”

You smiled. “So will I.”

You both pulled away at the same time. The finality of the moment felt bittersweet. On one hand, it crushed you to see Din enter Boba’s ship and fly away, much like the crushed remnants of Tech’s goggles; on the other hand, you were excited for him to find his people like you had found yours, and to bond with them over both past memories and memories that have yet to be made, like the letters Tech left you on his datapad, and the letters you’d undoubtedly ‘write back to him’ to tell him about your time getting to know Lyra and Omega.

As you turned back towards the path that led away from the landing pad and down towards lower Pabu, you were shocked to see Lyra and Omega standing there, looking at you both knowingly and lovingly all the same. It, admittedly, initially made you a little defensive. 

“I know it’s only been like, a year for me since I lost Tech, and I swear there’s nothin’ really goin’ on between me and Din, but he’s been so good to me and-“

Omega cut you off with a wave of her hand. 

“I’m not here to judge, it was a sweet moment. Besides,” she said, and gestured for you to follow them to what you assumed was their- and what was probably also the Batch’s- house, “Tech would’ve wanted you to be happy. Clearly, the Mandalorian makes you incredibly happy.” Her tone fell somewhere between joking and flirtatious. 

“Oh good lord,” you moaned as you rubbed your temple, an exasperated smile donning your face.

The jovial conversation didn’t last long. You quickly approached a small but well-loved house made of the same white stone material as all the others on the island. A short stone wall fenced in the small front patio, where a small, round table with two chairs sat facing away from the house and out towards the ocean. Delicate, hot pink flowers trailed up the protruding wall that the door was framed in, and plenty of potted plants decorated the rest of the patio.

Suddenly, two small children pushed the front door open, followed by an utterly exhausted looking man with frayed wisps of blonde hair (and a crooked nose that seemed to compliment his face in the oddest of ways) who held a third child- a baby no older than a few months- on his hip. 

“Mama!” the two older kids rejoiced in unison as they ran towards Lyra and Omega, though which of the two women they belonged to, you didn’t know. The younger of the two was a girl who appeared to be around the age of five, with wispy hair the same shade of blonde as the exhausted man, though it wasn’t frayed and had yet to lose its youthful shine. The older of the two was a boy only a year or so older. He exhibited that ‘I couldn’t care less’ attitude that brothers always try to portray, but his careful overwatch of his little sister gave him away. He had slightly darker hair, and his eyes were the same honey brown as…

“I… have grandbabies?” you quietly queried, head tilted in shock.

“Yep!” Lyra smiled, embracing the two older kids in her arms while trying to usher them inside the house at the same time.

“Meet Zedha,” she gestured towards the young girl before moving on to the boy, “and Orrin.” She quickly made her way over towards the man and the baby and cooed, “and who could forget about little Wyna? Oh, and this is my husband, Deen,” she finished with a chaste kiss to Deen’s cheek.

The curious eyes of Zedha, Orrin, and Deen were glued to your person. You weren’t sure how to feel about that, or the awkward silence that accompanied the uncomfortable eye contact. Suddenly, the crushing weight of realization that you had a daughter that was older than you- and had three kids of her own!- fell upon your shoulders, and you felt reality around you dissolve into a blur of yellow lighting and sluggish movement. Voices that once were crisp and present faded away, and your perception of time seemed to both narrow and lengthen. You felt like you manually had to breathe, too. In all, you felt off-kilter and jittery in a way that had never been so severe before.

You could faintly feel Omega’s hands on your shoulders as she walked behind you, leading you to a room in the back, but you had no real recollection of your route through the house to get to it, or how you were able to position your legs to get there to begin with. She sat you down on a single bed, the foot of which was only a meter or so adjacent to the door, and was tucked neatly into one corner of the small room. To the left of the bed was a window, and on the other side of the room was a desk that clearly possessed an organized chaos that would only make sense to whoever owned the messy workspace. A closet was built into the wall next to the door, and throughout the whole room was a continuing theme- island paradise with all sorts of Clone War memorabilia mixed in. An interesting combination, but one that clearly could only accurately portray one individual.

“This is my room, but you can use it tonight.” Omega said, shutting the door and sealing you off from the distorted voices outside.

“We used to have to share rooms, when we first got here. The house originally only had two rooms. I used to share this one with Hunter and Tech. It was a tight fit, but I never minded, especially not when I got the top bunk,” she continued, letting out a single, humor-filled huff of air through her nose. “I think we all preferred to squeeze into this room than share one with Wrecker. Even across the hall, you could still hear him snoring.”

At this, you let out your own, albeit smaller, huff of air. The world around you, while visually still out of focus regardless of how wide your eyes were blown, was beginning to smooth itself in an auditory sense now that you were isolated in the room. 

“That sounds like Wrecker,” you remarked, barely above a whisper. 

Omega could sense the panic in your voice. Realistically, she knew you had to be beyond overwhelmed by the whole situation, regardless of how ecstatic you were to find your family. She thought back to what she knew about you, and how to best comfort you in this moment. She knew you had originally been from Bastion, but didn’t know enough about your life pre-war for that to be useful in the present moment. She knew you had been an informant, using your skills as a musician to get into the clubs that Separatist colonels and admirals frequented in order to pass along all the secret information leaked to you during their drunken shore leaves. She knew that’s how you had met the Batch, and by extension Tech. She knew you had always sung a particular song in the moments he needed it most. She knew Tech, then later Crosshair, had always sung that same particular song to Lyra in the moments she needed it most. She knew she remembered it being an upbeat tune that all the while had the most haunting and mournful lyrics she’d ever heard.

She knew that you’d remember it if she sang it to you now. 

And so she did. 

You silently and mindlessly mumbled the words along with her, still sitting hunched over, and mostly still, off the edge of the bed. 

Not a great reaction, Omega thought, so once she finished the whole song, she started it over again. This time, a much more discernible melody sprung from you, and your eyes begin to relax from their blown state. 

By halfway through the third round of the song, you felt significantly more grounded. You looked over at Omega, and began to sing in earnest, how Tech had always liked it. 

Omega watched as your focus returned and your breathing evened.

As you wrapped up the last chorus of the last time through the song, you sat in peaceful silence for a moment.

“Sometimes, when he thought no one was around to see him get that way, Tech would break down, too,” you relented, breaking up the silence. “Always seemed to find him sittin’ on the floor, so I’d sit behind him and tuck him in between my knees. He’d just sit there, with his back pressed to my chest, fidgeting with one of my hands as I sang to him.”

Omega smiled at the recollection. She, secretly, knew this about her brother. She admitted that, as a young adult, curiosity had gotten the best of her and she’d secretly read some of the letters Tech left you on his datapad. Hunter had always said that there was bound to be deeply private and intimate content in them that Tech wouldn’t have wanted anyone but you to read, which is why he forbade anyone from doing so; but Omega, a rebel at heart, had read them anyway. She’d steered clear of the deeply private and intimate ones out of sheer respect for the privacy of yours and Tech’s memory, but she’d been glad she ended up reading the rest of them- they’d given her a profound insight into the psyche and thought process of her lost brother, and now in the present moment, how to connect with you.

Remembering the datapad, she nodded her head towards your right hand.

“You have some reading to do. I’ll leave you to it,” Omega said, standing up to leave the room. She was halfway out the door when she heard you call for her once again.

“Kinda funny, isn’t it?” She looked back at you from the open door, and saw that your eyes were locked on the datapad. Your posture was still quite hunched. Just like earlier in the evening, she thought of Tech’s similar trait, and wondered who, if either, learned it from who.

“Er… what’s funny?”

“How I lost my old life, and came into this one. A bounty hunter froze me in carbonite, another one unfroze me. A pirate got me lost, and then another one found me. I was torn away from the 99, but against all the odds, everything in this new life pointed my way back. Kinda… cyclical, I guess. Like a song that keeps modulating using secondary dominant seventh chords, but eventually… it makes it all the way back around to the original key. I dunno if that makes any sense or not. Hell, maybe I’m just delirious. Actually, yeah. I’m probably just crazy,” you finished with an embarrassed chuckle.

Omega contemplated your parallels for a moment. Your casual comparison to music theory- a topic her brothers had all assured her you were well versed in- didn’t make much sense to her; she’d ask Lyra later, she thought, as Lyra- as they’d all learned watching her grow- inherited talents from both of her parents. What she did know, however, was that, seeing and hearing you speak now, it was easy to see how Tech and yourself had been unable to stop yourselves from falling deeply in love with each other, regardless of the fact that you both knew the consequences or probable outcomes of allowing yourselves to do so. While your interests and abilities were wildly different, the way in which you discussed and utilized and processed said interests and abilities were eerily similar. The arts and sciences, she thought, vastly divergent, but intrinsically connected all the same. One cannot exist without the other. Sentient creatures would have no desire to find the reasoning and maths behind a sound wave if it wasn’t for the fact that they instilled such a profound sense of awe in the first place.

Decades ago, it had been heartbreaking to watch the sciences exist without the arts. And now, a similar heartache was growing inside her, knowing she’d have to watch the arts exist without the sciences.

Omega watched you grip the datapad tighter, before pressing a red button on the side, waking the outdated device. The screen booted up slowly, before lists of hundreds -thousands- of files started loading. A devastatingly painful smile cracked across your lips. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered with what little energy you had left. Suddenly and also in slow motion, your eyes bore themselves into Omega’s. Their expression was downright haunting, Omega thought, but she knew that you knew you had to this. She walked back over to you and took the datapad from you, searching through the files before landing on one and handing the device back to you, before mustering as much self assurance as she could before speaking. 

“Start with this one. Admittedly, I’ve read it more than a few times. So has Lyra. It’s very sweet. When you’re done,” she walked over the cluttered desk adjacent to the long left side of the bed, pulling a small pouch out of the drawer and passing it over to you, “open this pouch. But only after you finish reading, okay?”

The bag was made of a light fabric, but whatever small, rounded object was inside was dense enough to settle the bag flat against your palm. You gave a minuscule nod of your head, “okay.”

“Great! You’ve got this! If you need anything, Lyra and I will be right outside. If you want, when you’re done reading that letter, you can come join us and we can all talk about it together! Maker knows we have. We’d love your input on the matter, too! After, or course, a thorough raiding of Deen’s liquor cabinet,” she jested, trying to lighten the mood before you began the arduous journey of mourning Tech.

Intrigued, you immediately started reading.

——

Date: Zhellday, Standard Week 5, Standard Month 2, 19 BBY

Time: 00:39

Location: Cid’s Tavern, Ord Mantell City, Ord Mantell, Bright Jewel System, Mid Rim

Ner Cyare,

It has been six and a half galactic standard months since you were taken from me, and I believe Hunter’s patience for my grieving period is waning quite thin. Though his more-brooding-than-normal behavior could stem from any multitude of ever-changing environmental factors, I do believe my inability to accept your loss is also playing a significant role in his growing list of frustrations.

It could also be the heat.

Speaking of, you would not have enjoyed Ord Mantell. Its natural sweltering temperatures combined with the heavy pollution that the planet’s rampant industrialization creates makes for a holistically insufferable environment. I’ve always hated being overheated. So did you.

On a more optimistic note, Omega’s abilities with the Zygerrian crossbow she acquired have improved tenfold. She, consistently, is the one positive change that this squad has undergone since the war concluded. You would have liked her very much, I hypothesize, and of course vice versa. Though Omega likes most people, and against all reasoning strives to like all people, I cannot begin to imagine how your presence in her life would benefit her, and how she would have grown to love you. I, well, to be honest, we, struggle to provide her the kind of life an adolescent child needs, and the kind of attention she needs, as well. She is innately curious and creative, and while I and the others can assist in quenching her thirst for knowledge, I cannot stress enough how I wish you were here to help her foster her creativity in a more innocent and natural way far better suited to a child, rather than, albeit impressive, improvised battle strategies in the midst of a war zone.

Selfishly, I cannot even begin to imagine how your presence would benefit me, too, at the point in my life I currently find myself at. I miss you. Desperately. I have been shot at, impaled, scraped and bruised more times in my life than I can count- well, actually I can count them, though I suppose the numbers are not pertinent here- but no superficial wound has ever inflicted me in such a debilitating way as your absence has. And what’s more is that you were taken from me so shortly before the Clone War ended. For so long I had kept myself from truly envisioning what our lives could have looked like after the conflict ended, if only for the sake of my belief that I was protecting myself in the pragmatism of the situation; but in the final months of the war, as we saw the Separatist forces begin to recede and the previous paradigm of the war shift, I finally indulged myself in the imagery. 

I wanted to find us someplace cool but temperate enough to fill a home with more houseplants than we’d have known what to do with. Not a home of lavish size or of gaudy taste, I know that neither you nor I would have preferred that, but with enough space where we could simultaneously indulge in our life’s passions. A room for your music, a room for my engineering, and, most importantly, a bedroom, where not a day would’ve passed that I did not devoutly ensure that you knew I cherished every radiant inch of you. I suppose a kitchen and refresher would also be necessary, though I also suppose that that goes without saying. You would’ve chosen- or made- most, if not all, of the decor, choices I’d have been only too obliged for you to make- you always had an impeccable eye for aesthetics. Of course our home would have had to have been exceptionally acoustically treated, you’d have accepted no less, and I’d have accepted no less for you. A home where you could’ve let loose your talents and I’d have been all too eager to bask in their resonance. A home where I could’ve developed new technologies that you’d have been all too eager for me to teach you about. A home where our inventions, be they musical or mechanical, could have helped heal a galaxy broken nearly beyond repair.

If only we’d have gotten the chance. 

Now, like the galaxy, I, too, am broken, and I do believe that in my case, I am beyond repair.

I find myself clinging to the fading ideas and desires I know will never be realized or achieved. I can fix the ship, and I can fix any unfortunate situation Cid puts the squad through, but for hell’s sake I cannot fix myself or the fact that you are not here with me. 

I cannot fix the fact that I- prematurely, in the most cataclysmic of hindsight- made a ring that I had every intention of asking you to adorn if you were amenable to it.

I suppose the reason as to why I’ve always favored saying ‘I love you’ in Mando’a instead of basic is because ‘ni kar’tayl gar darasuum’ directly translates to ‘I will know you forever,’ and it’s debilitating to know that had I asked you to marry me, I know exactly what you would’ve said, and how you would’ve said it:

‘Tech, hon, hell yeah I’ll marry you! But right now, clones aren’t allowed to get married, so I’m gonna karkin’ fix that! And then there’ll be nothin’ standin’ in our way!’ 

And by god, if anyone could’ve fixed the injustices and inequities that clones face in this galaxy, it would have been you. When we first met you, Wrecker described you as ‘having gumption,’ and never before have I ever head him say anything so accurate, nor since. You always were so ambitious, and kind, and outspoken about what you believed in. You, stubborn, brilliant thing, you. 

You’d have fixed me, too. Of that I’m sure.

As I sit here, now, in Cid’s bar- you would have loathed Cid, and truthfully, I do too- I can’t help but feel the weight of that ring burning a hole through the pouch in which it resides on my utility belt, burdened by a sudden and devastating lack of purpose. However, I believe it might be time to put it somewhere that is not on my person. For one, the ‘jobs’ (if you can even legitimately call them that) Cid has been having us complete on her behalf are becoming increasingly more strenuous and perilous, therefore I am afraid of losing it. For another, I also believe for my own psyche it might be worthwhile to not carry it on my person at all times, as small and as seemingly insignificant as that seems in the grand scheme of your absence. Sometimes, I take it out and fidget with it, however it makes for a poor worry stone, as it only exacerbates my troubles and anxiety; if only I could fidget with it when being worn by its rightful owner. I know the others see me do it, but whether or not they know it’s a ring or that it was intended for you, I do not know. In complete transparency, I am not certain that I want to know.

What I do know is that I will take my final breath loving you. 

I do not consider myself a religious man by any means, but, speaking candidly, if there is an afterlife, or if reincarnation does exist in our reality, then there is nary a deity that I will not implore to allow us to be reunited when the expiry of my life comes due, or for us to find each other again in a kinder life, and in every sequential life thereafter.

With that said, my darling, I am being summoned by the others into Cid’s office for our next assignment. As I’ve mentioned before in my previous entries, I am uncertain as to when I will next be able to put to words my inner most thoughts in this lonely form of catharsis I have in the wake of my memory of you, but until the next time, know that, truly, ni kar’tayl gar darasuum. 

I will know you forever.

I will hold you in my heart forever.

I will love you forever. 

Most sincerely,

Tech

[estoniacobaltpayne]

'39 (Tech X Reader)

PART 4: Little Darlin', We'll Away

Fic Summary: You, once a Republic informant and a member of Clone Force 99 during the War, wake up in a completely different galaxy than the one you're used to. With the help of a Mandalorian and his little green kid, you try to find your way back to whatever is left of your squad, and the man you loved and were forced to leave behind. As you navigate this new galaxy around you, Tech must find a way to navigate the galaxy you left behind in the wake of your absence.

Relationships: Tech X Reader, Din Djarin & Reader, Tech & Phee, Tech, Crosshair, Reader & Original Female character

Tags: No use of (Y/N), Gender Neutral Reader (no gender identities are specified, though for the plot of the story reader is able to give birth), Reader's description is NOT specified, ANGST, Angst and honestly very little comfort, there is a conclusive resolve but not exactly a happy ending

MASTERLIST

Pabu was a paradise. With its warm sun but cool breezes and its abundance of fresh food, the clones who now resided there could have never imagined a place as perfect as the island planet. 

Omega was playing with Wrecker in the gentle ocean waves that lapped at Tech’s feet as he stood on the shoreline. Hunter stood beside him, silently keeping a soldier’s eye on his family, not one to rest even when no threats were present. 

Tech looked out at Omega, whom the squad had been raising for over a year now, and then down at the little girl in his arms. In the year he’d been raising his little sister, and in no way would he trade that for anything, he could’ve also been raising his daughter. The thought made him doleful. 

They had easily found her on Alderaan. She hadn’t been adopted, as Hunter had tried to reason. ‘Too much anxiety about adopting the child of a clone,’ the headmistress of the orphanage, an old, portly Pantoran woman, had said. The moment she had been placed in Tech’s arms, Hunter knew he’d been wrong about his opinion on the whole matter. How could he look at his little brother, who held his baby with such caution and care and love, and not be? Tech never cried, Hunter had thought, unless it was a ‘physiological response to the body undergoing intensive physical situations’ (Tech’s words, not his own), but as he stood there and observed the two as they regarded each other for the first time, Hunter had noticed Tech’s eyes had begun to fog up. 

“Why’d the seppies name her Lyra?” Wrecker had asked the headmistress, uncharacteristically soft. 

“She had no name when she came to us,” the headmistress had clarified, “but we noticed early on that she had a fascination for both music and the stars above, so that is why we bestowed upon her the name.”

Hunter had laughed in his own head at that. There was no doubt Lyra was the child of you and Tech. 

As he looked upon his brother now, standing on the pale golden sands of Pabu, Hunter contemplated what this addition meant for his squad- no, his family. Omega was right when she had said that she was a child when the brothers took her in and fled Kamino, yes, but she was far older at that point than the baby Tech held in his arms at the current point in time. Phee, when she had led the Batch to Pabu, had suggested that maybe it was time for the clones to settle; to establish a life somewhere and put being soldiers behind them. Hunter had been apprehensive about the idea then- being soldiers was all they knew, and he didn’t want to risk accidentally bringing their intragalactic problems upon the generous people of the island; but now, as he gazed softly at the little girl, his niece, who quickly won the hearts of the Batch, he realized that maybe staying and building a life somewhere quiet and safe was indeed a good option. 

Tech continued to watch Lyra as she looked out with fascination at the tumbling ocean waves. She was an inquisitive child, and in some ways farther matured beyond her age but in other ways completely oblivious to the things other children her age were well aware of; and she did indeed have a fascination with both music and the night sky, Tech thought. The day sky too, apparently, because she suddenly looked straight up at the bright sun directly over her head. Tech let out a single, ambivalent chuckle through his nose as he watched her realize that it hurt to look at the sun, before she turned her head back into his shoulder and began to cry. 

Without looking at him, Tech addressed Hunter. “I believe she is in need of some quiet time. I shall take her back to the Marauder so she can rest.” Without another word, Tech turned and left, walking up the winding streets towards upper Pabu, where the ship was docked. Hunter didn’t watch the pair leave, but with his enhanced senses, he could hear them crystal clear. Moreover, he could hear Tech, once he thought he was out of earshot, quietly sing Lyra a song that Hunter used to hear you sing to Tech, in the quiet ‘nights’ of hyperspace behind the cockpit doors, when you thought no one would hear you. He’d never heard Tech sing, though, but he didn’t have a bad voice, Hunter thought. It didn’t contain either the power nor the control and finesse that yours did, but it was more or less in tune and in time. It was… a sweet moment that Hunter knew Tech wouldn’t have wanted anyone to notice, and he pondered if Tech sang the song to Lyra in the hopes of giving her the only connection to you he could- his memory of you.

——

The main door to the Marauder was left down and open, and the breeze that swept through the ship both cooled the air and helped rid of the stuffy, dank smell that had accumulated from the times where four or more people had been crammed into the tight ship together for extended periods of time. Echo, who often complained of the bad smells of the ship and their barracks on Kamino, would have appreciated the cool aerating of the ship, Tech thought. The distant and muffled roars of the ocean waves, combined with the aforementioned fresh air, bathed the ship in a comforting stillness that helped sleep come easy for the baby sleeping inside. 

Tech sat at the navi-computer as she rested, trying to focus on his research on Separatist cargo vessels that had been seized by pirates within the last half-decade. 

“Hey, Brown Eyes,” a voice called as it ascended the ramp to the ship. 

Speaking of pirates, Tech mused. 

“Whatcha doin’ up here by yourself?” she asked, coming up behind him and leaning over his shoulder to stare at the screen he was working on.

Tech quickly looked down the hallway to his cot where Lyra was resting, hoping that the sudden dialogue hadn’t woken her. She stirred, but didn’t wake. He then looked back to the screen, before acknowledging Phee, “I would appreciate if we kept the conversation to no louder than how I am currently speaking,” he whispered. She smirked at him before taking a seat at the navi-computer adjacent to Tech’s. 

“You got it. Now, what’s all this about pirates you’re lookin’ up?” she amusedly queried. “Y’know you can always ask me. You don’t need to search through all those boring databases when you got a much prettier one right in front of you.”

Tech felt his cheeks warm and he kept his eyes trained on the screen, his back turned to her. Her unashamed flirting was something he found both admirable and annoying. He wanted to like her back, he really did; but with Lyra now in his care and the prospect that you could still be out there waiting for him, he found that he would not be able to give up on the idea of you and move on, at least not for a long time.

“Yes, well,” he started, still flustered, “I am researching one particular vessel that previously belonged to the confederate fleet and was apprehended by pirates shortly after the war. Which pirates, I do not know, hence why that aspect is still under investigation.”

Phee leaned back in her chair, the smirk never leaving her face. “Doesn’t sound too interesting, unless… whatever treasure it was hauling is good enough for us to… liberate,” she said with an animated wave of her hands.

Tech finally turned his chair, slowly, to face Phee, though his face remained trained on his boots. “The treasure is not a “what,” but rather a ‘whom,’ and yes, liberation is the intended goal and preferred outcome of the situation,” he said dejectedly. 

“Interesting,” she muttered in four syllables and in a higher inflection than normal. It was the only thing she could think of to say in that moment. Phee looked at Tech. She really wanted him to like her back, she really did; but looking at him now, as he stared listlessly at the floor, she realized that whatever he went through with the other parent of Lyra never found any closure, and he’d never be hers until he got that closure.

“This… ‘whom’…” she probed, trying to find words that would come across and receive answers but also wouldn’t completely break either of their hearts, “might be easier to find if I had some descriptions.”

Tech thought of all the things he could tell Phee about you, apart from what you looked like and who you were before and during the war. What could he tell her that wouldn’t be a complete slap in the face to her own feelings? That he loved you more than life itself? Certainly not. Nor could he talk about the way you would gently kiss him on the underside of his jaw where it peeked out from under his helmet as a gesture of good luck before the squad left the ship for missions. He couldn’t mention how he’d look down into your worried eyes after you’d done so, before nuzzling the ridge of his helmet that covered his nose into your cheek. He also couldn’t talk about the way you’d covertly brush the back of your hands together during missions, at any chance you got, to remind yourself that the other was still there. He absolutely thought it not appropriate to reminisce about the moments after missions, where the rest of the Batch would head straight to the mess hall but you’d steal yourselves away, locking the ship’s main and cockpit doors and making love to each other in the pilot’s chair like it was the last time you’d ever get to do so, worshipping each other like it was what you were made to do. Hell, Tech then thought, the last time he did make love to you, in the tent you shared on Mayiz-3, he had no idea that it would actually be the last time. The thought only made him more remorseful, and it apparently showed on his face. 

“Tech?” Phee called, “credit for your thoughts?”

Tech closed his eyes and sighed. “I have pictures I can share with you,” he said, looking back up to her face but not into her eyes.

“Perhaps a story or two as well.” 

Across the hull, Lyra began to stir, small yawns and stretches reverberating through her growing bones. Tech noticed, and gave a small smile as he watched her sit up. 

“Is she walkin’ or talkin’ yet?” Phee asked.

“She is walking. In fact, both her mobility and agility are actually quite advanced, given she is only a year old, which I can assume is really not all that surprising given that she carries my own DNA, which as an enhanced clone allows for advanced physicality. On the other hand, her communication abilities are farther behind. We are continuously working on their improvement,” Tech replied as he stood and walked over to the cot.

Phee snorted. “What, are you giving her grammar lessons?”

Tech picked up Lyra and sat on his haunches to set her on her feet in front of him, though he remained crouched behind her and continued to hold her little hand in his. He did not, however, pick up the sarcasm behind Phee’s remark. 

“Yes,” he said as if it was obvious. To him, it was.

Phee rolled her eyes, “that’s… not how you teach a baby to talk, Tech.”

“I do not understand,” Tech admitted, “how is one ‘supposed’ to communicate language skills to a child?”

Phee stood up and walked over to the duo. “I don’t know how to describe it, you just… talk like a baby to her. It’s just supposed to be cute.”

Tech blinked and looked from Phee to Lyra, then back to Phee. “I refuse to use ‘baby talk’ on my daughter. It is insipid and in no way further develops the frontal and temporal lobes, which are responsible for speech development. In fact, several studies have found that it actually hinders development, and-“

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Phee defended herself.

“No, I am sure that I do not,” Tech disputed.

Phee looked sympathetically at the little girl, who stood looking back and forth between her and Tech.

“I mean,” she said exasperatedly, “don’t forget to talk to her like a person, not just like your student. Y’know, talk to her like you love her.” 

Tech looked back down at Lyra and squeezed her hand between his thumb and pointer finger, ruminating on the woman’s words.

“You only get so much time to do that, before they grow up and become embarrassed by you. Or at least, that’s what Shep always says,” Phee teased.

Lyra turned her head around to look at Tech, then, suddenly, she turned back to Phee, pointed to Tech, and exclaimed “dad!”

Tech’s eyes went wide and still. Did she…?

“Woah, did I just hear Lyra talk?” came a booming voice from the entrance of the ship. Tech did not notice Wrecker or Omega come aboard; usually, the pair were so rambunctious it was impossible not to notice them, but in his shock over hearing his daughter speak a real word for the first time, he completely missed them setting foot on the ship.

Lyra looked up at Tech expectingly, and for the first time in a very long time, Tech’s face grew a smile bright enough to reach his eyes as he looked into hers. “I… yes, Lyra, that is correct! I am your biological, paternal parent!” he said excitedly. Lyra smiled back at him and made the grabbing motion, indicating that she wanted a hug, and when it came to his daughter, how could Tech say ‘no’?

Phee, Wrecker, and Omega showed their collective embarrassment and frustration with groans and pinches to the bridge of the nose; but even with how straightforward and practical Tech’s vocabulary could be at times, it did not diminish the sweetness of the moment.

Pulling back, Tech looked back down at his little girl. “Now,” he asserted, “it is time for Omega’s flight training, so you must go with your uncle Wrecker.”

“Ha! You mean her favorite uncle!” Wrecker cheered, taking the baby and heading towards the ramp with her and Phee.

“To be fair,” Tech parried, holding up his pointer finger, “she has yet to meet Echo or Crosshair, so while you are currently her favorite uncle, that might change upon her introduction to Echo, when he arrives later this afternoon with the stolen Imperial data he needs me to decrypt.”

“No way, I’m gonna be her favorite uncle for like… forever!” Wrecker waved off as he left the ship.

Joining Omega in the cockpit, who was already strapped into the pilot’s chair, Tech watched Wrecker with Lyra through the cockpit window.

He may not have you by his side, he thought, but at least he had three brothers and a sister who would stop at nothing to give his little girl the best life they could if, maker forbid, something happened to him, too.

——

Lyra placed six place settings at the kitchen table. Usually it was just four, but tonight her Aunt Omega was joining them, coming home for a brief respite from being a pilot in the Rebellion; and she was bringing Echo home, too. He had fought many a long year, first in the war, then in Rex’s Clone Rebellion and now in the current one, but his age- combined with the toll his… mechanical enhancements was starting to take on him- was starting to catch up with him, and the squad felt that it was time he take a step back and focus his efforts in places other than the battlefield. Lyra wanted to join, too, but all of her uncles said she was still too young. She didn’t think so, she was nearly eighteen now- and though nowhere near as severe as her father’s, the gene for accelerated aging she inherited from him did make her, biologically, slightly older than that- but she couldn’t blame them for thinking so, because Lyra recognized that, like Omega, they had been the ones to raise her in her parents’ stead. 

She didn’t remember either of her parents, at least through any first hand accounts. One had been lost to space before she was even born, and the other had sacrificed himself for his family without a second thought shortly after he had found her on Alderaan and brought her home. Though the unusual family dynamics sometimes brought strain between them, Lyra never discredited how fortunate she was to have four uncles and an aunt that loved her to no end.

Wrecker was the uncle Lyra had the most fun with; there was never a dull moment when she was with him, only laughs, fun, and mischief. When she was a kid, he taught her how to fish, and much to the others’ abject horror, how to build, albeit small, explosives, which were often used in said mischief.

Omega, though technically her aunt, was more like a big sister to Lyra, and had particularly fond memories of being a kid solely because of her. It had broken Lyra’s heart to see Omega leave for the Rebellion, but she understood and was proud of her all the same.

Echo ensured Lyra’s life was structured and organized. He ensured her school assignments were completed in a timely manner and to the best of her abilities.

Even though Echo wasn’t always around, her life never fell into chaos, because Hunter was also this way. He wanted Lyra to know that rewards were byproducts of responsibility and hard work, but at the same time, he was adamant that she be allowed to be a kid, and live a life that was away from war. Lyra understood why Omega often labeled Hunter as a father figure, but she never quite felt the same. Unlike Omega, there had been a distance between her and Hunter that would probably never be truly bridged; every time he looked at her, a deep sadness overcame him, as if he had given up on some great, cosmic quest. She didn’t know what it exactly it was, but she surmised it had something to do with the loss of her father, because any time she brought him up, Hunter would become defensive and scurry away to avoid the conversation. 

It was because he felt as if he failed as a squad leader, Crosshair had told her once she became old enough to hear it. Crosshair, her youngest uncle, was probably the closest thing Lyra could liken to a father. Maybe, she gathered, it was because Crosshair felt guilty that Tech, her biological father, had perished while trying to free him from the Empire’s forced experimentation on clones, and in the absence of Tech, Crosshair took on the responsibility of being Lyra’s adjunct father in memory of his fallen brother; but truly, she never quite knew why. 

Even though he could be gruff and difficult sometimes, Crosshair, without fail, seemed to be there to teach her all the things that the others either would not or could not. Whether it was school subjects, the intricacies of social interaction and self awareness, changes she inevitably went through as her life progressed, or even the sharpshooting skills he passed on to her, Crosshair always seemed to be there, doing his best to support Lyra when she needed it the most. Most of all, he wasn’t ashamed to talk about her parents to her. Sure, Omega had told her plenty about Tech, but her aunt had never met his lover. Crosshair, though, had been there to witness the entire relationship between her parents blossom, and he was the only brother of Clone Force 99 that ever gave her an honest word when it came to their romance. 

“Clandestine,” Crosshair had once described it. “When we landed on Bastion it was a clusterfuck. There was so much political infighting on the planet already, making it easy work for the Separatists to take over. We didn’t really know who to trust aside from the under cover informant our briefing required us to work with. A local musician. Your father saw one performance and that was it for him. He was in love, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“After weeks of fighting, it was clear that Bastion was going to be lost to the Separatists, and in the final days, our informant’s cover was blown, and we all had to flee. We were all stuck together on the Marauder for a few days after, and in that time your parents became inseparable as friends, and before we knew it we had another member in our squad. It wasn’t even a year after that when we all noticed they’d become romantically involved. They thought they were so slick in hiding it, but we all knew. They’d be sitting up in the cockpit talking away all night long, and then they’d start snogging and fawning all over each other once they thought the rest of us were asleep.”

Lyra loved hearing Crosshair’s retelling of her parents’ love story. He never missed any details, like Wrecker often did, who often left out key details like how Tech would caress both of his cyare’s cheeks and mutter the reverent praise ‘radiant,’ in reference to the beauty he was witnessing in front of him. Crosshair had told her that Hunter loved both of her parents so much, but had known that their relationship was both forbidden and doomed, which is why he spoke about them in a tone somewhere between sentimentality and disdain, and why Lyra often avoided Hunter’s version of the story.

But what Crosshair couldn’t recount to her, was the brief moment in time where Tech was allowed to be her father, in the early days of her life on Pabu. These were stories that only Omega would tell her, which thinking about made her quickly finish setting the table, before hurrying off to freshen up. Omega and Echo would be arriving soon, and she couldn’t wait to see them.

Exiting her room, she fussed with her blue, wide leg pants, and her chestnut brown hair that just could not seem to sit right or stop frizzing up in the humid beach air, all the while debating if she was overdressed or not. She wanted to impress her family, mostly to subtly imply that she had fully matured, though she didn’t exactly know all the reasons why. Perhaps it was because they had all done such exciting, courageous things in their lives, and she instead felt like she had done nothing outside of live a normal, comfortable life. She did know that she wanted them to recognize that she was old enough to fight alongside her aunt against the Empire, though.

“You look fine, Lyra, and even if you didn’t, Omega and Echo would still love you,” a raspy voice drawled from the couch. She looked up to see Crosshair now sitting there, one knee slotted over the other. 

Her face fell, but her golden-brown eyes widened at the same time. “Just fine? Am I overdressed? Underdressed? What about my outfit is-“

Crosshair rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything, and instead only patted the spot to his left on the couch. She scurried over to him, brought her knees to her chest, and tucked herself into his side. He in turn wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

A moment of silence passed where neither of them said anything, the only sound being the chittering of the moonyos outside the house as they began to nestle into the trees for the night.

“Lyra,” Crosshair said, interrupting the silence, “I have watched you grow since you were a small child. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you,” he said pensively, “but I consider you to be my own daughter. I know you like the others don’t, and I know why you’re so nervous now.”

Lyra pressed herself deeper into Crosshair’s arm. “You didn’t have to, I always knew. And I consider you like my dad, too,” she said looking up at his face. Despite being the youngest of the brothers, he had aged the fastest, and Lyra could only assume that fighting in a war and the time being tortured and experimented on after said war were to blame. 

Crosshair let a rare, deep smile develop on his face, though it didn’t entirely reach his eyes. “I’ve seen the bag you think I don’t know you’re hiding under your bed,” he acquiesced, “you want to go with Omega, don’t you?”

Lyra sat up straight to look earnestly into Crosshair’s eyes. “I… yes, I do. I’ve already told Omega that I’m going with her, but I made her promise she wouldn’t say anything to Hunter or Wrecker, and I wanted to tell you in person! I really did! I just got so nervous and this wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go or for me to tell this way but I guess… well I just feel like… well,” she paused, stumped over her own words and emotions, before taking a breath to continue. “My parents died fighting oppression and tyranny, and I feel, deep down, like I owe it to them to continue their legacy. I don’t know if it’s what they would’ve wanted, either, but I know it’s the right thing to do. So I have to do this. For them, for you, for the galaxy,” she lamented. 

“For yourself,” Crosshair added. 

Lyra nodded. “For myself.”

“They’d have been proud of you, Lyra.” He didn’t need to clarify as to who. 

She tucked herself once again into Crosshair’s embrace. Another moment of calmness passed, before Crosshair started humming. It was a familiar tune that she could feel reverberating through him, and while she of course knew it from all the times he’d hummed it to her as she fell asleep or in times where she’d been distressed, she also felt like it was a tune far beyond her years or even her own life; as if it had been a whisper from a story that wasn’t hers but was intrinsically connected to her all the same.  Crosshair had never divulged as to where he’d heard it.

“I’m going to miss you,” Lyra said, before hesitantly adding, “dad.”

Crosshair exhibited uncharacteristically soft, paternal behaviors when it came to Lyra, everyone had noticed, but for her they were normal and commonplace, which was why she wasn’t surprised when he pressed a mournful but prideful kiss into her hair. 

“You won’t have time to miss me, kid,” he joked, “but always know that I’ll be there when you need me, and that I’m proud of you, too.”

Lyra smiled, and basked for a moment longer in her surrogate father’s embrace. She knew she’d only have a few minutes before the others would arrive.

When they did arrive, Lyra was eternally grateful that neither Crosshair nor Omega said anything about her upcoming departure from Pabu. She was sure if Echo, Hunter or Wrecker knew, there’d have been an argument. The very topic had caused them before on multiple occasions, and with the whole family together again for the first time in a long while, she didn’t want to sour the mood of the happy times that seemed to come fewer and farther between as the reign of the Empire trudged on. 

As the late evening turned into early morning, Lyra snuck away to load the meagre belongings she was taking with her onto Omega’s ship. As she was finishing up, Omega and Crosshair joined her on the ship. 

“Got everything?” Omega asked her.

“Yep!” Lyra shot back.

“Not everything,” Crosshair interjected. 

He walked up to Lyra, handing her a long, thin case. It couldn’t be, Lyra thought, surprised.

“Is that-“

“My custom 773 Firepuncher? Yes, it is, and I expect you to bring it back,” Crosshair quipped, his eyes squinted and the corners of his mouth pinched in a melancholic expression. 

“But… that’s your baby! I can’t just take it!” Lyra exclaimed, flabbergasted at the significance of the gift.

“It was, at one point. But you stole that title a long time ago.” Crosshair’s voice was low and hoarse.

Lyra watched the tears well up in eyes of the man who raised her. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him cry before, and the sight made her unable to keep her own tears from falling. With a sniffle, she launchd herself into Crosshair. 

“I’ll take good care of it, I promise,” she said into his shoulder.

“I know you will. I was the one to teach you how to do so,” he chortled, “now. I believe it’s time, ad’ika.”

Lyra pulled away and wiped her eyes, which glimmered with a mixture of tenderness and dauntlessness. 

“Any last words of wisdom to impart on me, buir?” She asked, throwing the use of Mando’a back at him.

Crosshair smirked. “Tech was the one that taught Omega to fly, so trust me when I say- buckle in tight.”

Lyra gave a two-fingered mock salute, and Crosshair, in that moment, couldn’t help but think back to his long lost brother, and how his daughter was so much like him despite her only knowing him for a split second in time. 

Once she was properly buckled in tight to the co-pilot’s chair, Lyra watched Crosshair through the cockpit window as he exited the ship, but stayed on Pabu’s only landing platform to watch the ship take off. She then looked down at the rifle in her hands, then back to Crosshair’s fading form. Once out of the atmosphere, Lyra looked over to Omega as she put the ship into hyperspace to ask her questions in preparation for her upcoming role in the rebellion, but she became distracted when her eyes caught on something else on the other side of her aunt.

Omega noticed, and she smiled.

“I like to keep them there, it’s kind of like having him here with me as I fly, which is comforting in the times I don’t know how to fix something or perform a maneuver, because he would’ve known. And for some reason, whenever I look at those goggles, the solution comes to me.”

Once the ship stabilized itself in its course, Omega picked up the goggles and handed them to Lyra. She’d known that her biological father’s goggles were in Omega’s possession, yes, but she’d never seen them; the thought of asking to see them had never even crossed her mind. She hadn’t known CT-9902, or Tech, as Omega had. The goggles’ glass was cracked and the frame was bent and the metal was scratched, and Lyra didn’t know if that was from her father’s tumultuous lifestyle or his violent end. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“I know I’ve asked this before, but what… what was he like?” Lyra asked softly.

“Your dad?” Omega asked in return, flipping a few switches here and there on the dashboard.

“Yeah.”

Omega thought long and hard for a moment or two. “Tech was an anomaly.

“Anything he didn’t already know he’d learn almost inhumanly fast. He was the next best shot after Crosshair, and he was one hell of a pilot. He was a skilled mechanic and engineer, and he was a ferocious soldier. But most importantly, he was brave, and kind, and wiling to do whatever it took to keep us all safe. He could be a little aloof and at times could seem almost cold, but his brain just worked differently than ours. He, without a doubt, loved his family.”

Lyra felt forlorn in a way; how come everyone else got to know her father, but she didn’t? Somberly, she asked, “do you think he would’ve loved me too? Had he known me now?”

Omega looked at her niece, shell shocked. 

“Lyra, I know for a fact that, even though he didn’t get much time with you, he loved you then and if he were here now he would’ve adored you. Both of your parents would,” Lyra shrunk into herself, suddenly feeling sheepish, while Omega continued on. “I remember the day we found you on Alderaan. Before that, Tech always seemed a little put out and crestfallen. He’d lost his other half, and I think he felt a little lost himself, because for once he didn’t have any answers. Any hope. But then we got you. We brought you back to the Marauder, and all of us were a little unsure of how to raise a baby on such a tight ship, especially when we were in our most dire hour with nowhere to go. But Tech was determined to make it work. He’d bathe you in the tiny sink in the Marauder’s tiny ‘fresher, and sing you to sleep with the song that your other parent would sing to him during their days in the war, or at least that’s where I was told he’d heard it. He always took the time to teach you things, too. The others would tease him about the fact that he’d talk to you as if you were a grown adult, but he didn’t care. He wanted you to be as prepared as you possibly could for the life you had ahead of you; that’s how he showed his love for those he cared about, and you were no different.” Omega took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts into something that might comfort her niece. “Lyra, you brought the light back into his life. Once you came along, for the first time since I’d met him, Tech was truly, genuinely, happy. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he would’ve felt the same way if he were here today.”

Lyra sat motionless, contemplating her aunt’s words. “Was it the same song Crosshair always hums to me?” she asked after a brief pause. 

“Yeah,” Omega confirmed, “I think Crosshair wanted to keep their memory alive for you, and that was one of the few ways he knew how.”

Lyra looked down at her hands, her left cradling her biological father’s broken goggles, and her right grasping the handle to her adjunct father’s rifle case. 

Perhaps she didn’t need to mourn the memory of Tech that she wished she had, she thought, because all around her, nestled in the hearts of her family, he was still right there with her.

[estoniacobaltpayne]

'39 (Tech X Reader)

PART 3: A World So Newly Born

Fic Summary: You, once a Republic informant and a member of Clone Force 99 during the War, wake up in a completely different galaxy than the one you're used to. With the help of a Mandalorian and his little green kid, you try to find your way back to whatever is left of your squad, and the man you loved and were forced to leave behind. As you navigate this new galaxy around you, Tech must find a way to navigate the galaxy you left behind in the wake of your absence.

Relationships: Tech X Reader, Din Djarin & Reader, Tech & Phee, Tech, Crosshair, Reader & Original Female character

Tags: No use of (Y/N), Gender Neutral Reader (no gender identities are specified, though for the plot of the story reader is able to give birth), Reader's description is NOT specified, ANGST, Angst and honestly very little comfort, there is a conclusive resolve but not exactly a happy ending

MASTERLIST

“Tech, turn off that incessant beeping,” a groggy voice mumbled. Tech, asleep, did not comply, and instead only encircled the person next to him in his arms. 

“Mm, Tech, hon, beepin’,” the voice drawled again, but Tech only smiled into the person’s hair. He then felt the struggle in his arms.

“It’s gonna wake the baby, Tech. Please, wake up.”

He finally opened his eyes to see you, face contorted in sleepy annoyance. Even when making such a silly face, closed eyes crusted with the goopy evidence of sleep, Tech thought you were, without a doubt, the most stunning person he’d ever laid eyes on. As he lay there admiring you for a moment longer, your eyes abruptly shot open, boring into his with a stinging seriousness not deserving of the situation.

“Tech, wake up.”

And at that moment, Tech did wake up. Alone in the pilot’s seat. It wasn’t often he slept deeply enough to dream, much less actually remember one, but the fading feeling of you curled against him left him with a chill and emptiness he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy.

Looking aside to the communications panel to his right, Tech saw an incoming transmission. Ah, that’s why he fell asleep in the chair, he thought. He’d been waiting for a call from Rex. Answering the call, Rex’s pixelated form materialized and cast hazy blue shadows around the cockpit. 

“Tech.”

“Rex.”

“I have some good news, and some bad news for you, Tech,” Rex started. “Bad news is that I couldn’t find anything you don’t already know on your lost crew mate after the botched transport from Serenno to Coruscant post-war. I’m afraid that carbonite slab is just going to stay lost to space.”

Tech felt himself shrivel up a bit in his seat. He expected as such, but that didn’t dampen the blow of Rex’s findings (or lack thereof).

“Good news is, shortly before the war ended, the 187th liberated an embryonic chamber from a Separatist lab that housed a nearly developed baby girl. They sent the chamber to an orphanage on Alderaan to be decanted once she was fully formed. Can’t ask for a better place to grow up than that, so that’s at least hopeful.”

Tech finally looked up and into Rex’s holographic eyes. “It is. Thank you, Rex.”

Silence filled the cockpit, but only for a short moment. 

“Tech,” Rex hesitantly probed, “why don’t you want Hunter or the others knowing about any of this?”

“I am mostly sure Omega does,” Tech countered, adjusting his goggles.

“She’s yours, isn’t she Tech.” Rex said it as if it was a statement, not a question.

Silence filled the cockpit, and this time it was for long moment.

“It wasn’t exactly a secret, you know. We all saw it. We all knew. I’d say that I’d have thought you would’ve known that we knew, but then again, with they way you two looked at each other, you probably wouldn’t have even noticed anyone else in the room besides yourselves.”

Tech squeezed his eyes shut, taking a moment to bask in the memory of your undivided attention on each other.

“I would have to assume that yes, she is mine.”

Rex looked at him sympathetically, “and you had no way of knowing?”

Tech shook his head, “it seemed improbable at the time for us to conceive for a multitude of reasons, so I suppose we grew complacent in our contraceptive methods and-“

“Tech, I don’t need to hear any of the more… intimate details,” Rex playfully chided.

“Ah, yes. No, of course you don’t.” Tech sat there over-analyzing his social faux pas, and decided to let Rex make the next move in the conversation.

“If you don’t want your brothers knowing, how are you going to convince them to use the fuel for a trip out to Alderaan? And what about if you find her? You of all people should know that you can’t just bring a baby onto that tiny ship and expect no one to notice.”

Tech shrugged his shoulders and brought his thumb and pointer finger to his chin in thought. Not able to think up any convincing lies, and with the realization that he, like all clones, was a terrible liar, Tech supposed there was only one feasible way to convince his brothers to let him bring a baby aboard. “I suppose I will just have to tell them the truth.”

——

“Negative.” 

“But Hunter!-“ Omega cried.

“The answer is no, and that’s final.”

It had been an emotional week since Echo’s departure. His sudden exit in his eagerness to join Rex in his fight against the Empire left a distinct ‘reg’ sized hole in the crew of the Marauder, and the remaining members of the squad were all having trouble coming to terms with the new situation in their own ways. 

So why, Tech thought, he should come clean about his newfound knowledge of his family now of all times was a mystery to him.

“We’re not flying to Alderaan. We don’t have the credits. Cid doesn’t pay enough as it is and the jobs are just getting worse and fewer and farther between-“

“But that’s Tech’s daughter, your niece! Don’t you want to rescue her?” Omega pleaded.

“Yeah,” Wrecker piped up assuredly, “she’s part of our family, she deserves to be here too.”

Tech sat stoically in the seat in front of the navi-computer, and listened to his family duke it out over what to do about the situation.

“Omega,” Hunter started with a harsh but sympathetic tone, “if she’s been sent to a family on Alderaan, she doesn’t need rescuing. She’ll have a far more comfortable life than with us, and that’s beside the fact that our life is far too dangerous for a child-“

“I’m a child,” Omega sniffled with defiant eyes. “You still came to rescue me, and I’m a kid too, so how does that make it any different?”

Hunter crossed his arms and leaned away, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument. Tech hunched in his chair, admittedly ashamed that he, usually the one to interject the most to prove his points in arguments, wasn’t the one defending himself or his child. At the same time, he couldn’t seem to find the the words to say nor the willpower within himself to argue with the sergeant on his own behalf, his emotions eating up all the energy he had in the moment, so he was eternally grateful that Wrecker and Omega were able to do so in his stead.

A beat of tense silence passed, and eventually broken by Wrecker’s booming voice. “And! Tech said that Rex said she was sent to an orphanage, not a family!”

Hunter glared at his brother.

“That was over a year ago. She realistically would’ve been found by a family at this point, and I have to prioritize protecting the family that I have now,” he said, turning to leave. As he passed Tech on his way to the cockpit, he turned to him in order to have the final word. 

“I told you to be careful back then, that what you were doing was a mistake, but no, you were ‘being smart about it’ and ‘knew what you were doing’ and you stayed in the relationship anyways. Look where that’s landed you. Landed us.”

That was unfair, Tech thought, because how was he supposed to know that his and his brothers’ lives would have turned out this way after the war? That the galaxy as a whole would have turned out this way? Hunter wasn’t typically cruel. Stern? Yes, and usually it came from the best of intentions and so far that has kept them all alive. Tech has never mistrusted his older brother’s judgement, but when it came to you, and only when it came to you, he would always, willingly, disagree.

“Eight hours,” the members of the 99 could hear Hunter say from the cockpit. 

The ship launched into hyperspace.

“Eight hours until we land on Alderaan.”

——

Bo-Katan and her gang were insufferable the first time you met them, when they told you how to find Ahsoka Tano, but here, now, in this dusty cantina, they were doubly so. Especially now, in the wake of losing little Grogu to Moff Gideon and his other Imperial remnants, and that was without mentioning the loss of the Razor Crest, Din’s home.

The last time you saw the group on Trask, Bo-Katan had ridiculed Din about his upbringing in Death Watch, and for the beliefs they had instilled in him. How dare she, you had thought, because if your memory of galactic politics during the war served you correct, and you had been sure it did seeing as it had felt like they had happened less than a year ago to you, Bo-Katan was one of the key figures of Death Watch during the Clone Wars, often bringing suffering and unrest to the people under the protection of her sister, Duchess Satine, in the pursuit of bringing back the ancient Mandalorian ways.

After Trask, you had thought you’d never have to see her arrogant face ever again, and you were quick to shake the memory of her. It hadn’t been hard, seeing that the next person you had encountered on Din’s journey was Ahsoka Tano, who although couldn’t train Grogu herself, had sent you to Tython in the hopes that Grogu could use the force to call out to someone who could train him. This had been where the events of Grogu’s kidnapping and the destruction of Din’s ship had taken place. 

It had also been the place you had met Boba Fett.

Between the stress of all the previous events that had led up to meeting him, you had broke down in tears (to which Boba only looked at you with intrigue) when you heard his voice, one that was so different than the one you fell in love with, but was far too familiar just the same. 

So when Bo-Katan questioned and disgraced his and his father’s heritage by referring to Jango Fett as his ‘donor,’ and her companion, Koska, spit out the word ‘clone’ as if it was the harshest slur she could muster (and you were sure that in her mind, it was just that), you lost it. A feral growl left you, and you picked up the closest thing to you- a ceramic bowl- and launched it at them. 

“Don’t you ever disrespect the clones!” you seethed.

Koska lunged at you. Boba came and joined in on the fight on your side. Pandemonium ensued. 

“What, did one break your heart? I don’t see the problem, there were thousands more that could’ve replaced him,” Koska mocked you.

You growled, and pulled at the braid on the back of her head. She in turn gripped your wrist and twisted. It was a harsh and petty and undignified fight, but ruthless all the same.

Or at least it was until a set of arms looped around your midriff and pulled you off of her. 

“No, Din! Let me at’er!” you rasped, struggling against his hold on you. 

“No, I won’t do that,” he tried to console in your ear. It only mildly soothed you.

“What is your problem?” Bo-Katan interrogated you, coming way too close to your face for comfort. Koska Reeves was angrily setting herself back in the corner, pretending to be both unaffected and uninterested in the ordeal she had just been involved in. She definitely bullied kids when she was in school, you thought judgmentally.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” you spit.

She eyed you skeptically. Finally, after a beat, she commented, “you’re far too young to remember the war, so why do you care about the clones?”

You felt Din’s arms tighten around you, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt safe. You gently gripped his hand in a gesture of gratitude. The weighted presence of him pressed against your back felt familiar, and for a moment you considered giving in to your whims and pretending that it was Tech pressed against you, plastoid instead of beskar, waiting for the right moment before he’d start peppering chaste kisses down your neck and shoulders; but that wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t fair to Din.

Din seemed to be picking up on your idiosyncrasies, because he knew in this moment that you’d be quite overwhelmed already, so he simply stayed still and let you make the next move. 

Your head dipped and you let out a deep sigh. You then squeezed Din’s hand one last time before moving his arms away from you. Finally, you steeled yourself and looked square into Bo-Katan’s eyes. 

“I remember you from my old life, or at least the articles I’d read on you. Ever since meeting you on Trask, everything you’ve said to despise now is exactly what I remember you to be, or are you so quick to forget your old ally, Pre Vizsla?”

Bo-Katan’s jaw clenched as she glared at you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You smirked. In your experience, whenever someone had uttered those words to you, it meant they had run out of points to argue on, but still wanted the last word. You’d let her have it, you thought, even if only for Grogu’s sake; Din, and you supposed yourself, too, still needed her help to rescue the child.

Once back aboard Boba’s ship, Slave 1 you believed he had called it, you sat in the cockpit with Din and your newfound allies as plans were devised for storming Moff Gideon’s light cruiser. Every time Boba spoke, you found yourself automatically snapping your gaze to him. Though Tech was a genetically deviant clone, he of course still shared some striking resemblances with the regs, and that did not exclude Boba, who possessed the same prominent, broad nose, tanned skin, and sharp jawline that Tech had. His eyes, though, were a much darker shade of brown, and for that fact you were extremely grateful. Tech’s eyes were the most stunning golden shade you’d ever seen, and had Boba’s been the same, you might have melted down right then and there. The whole ordeal was giving your mind whiplash; the fear of whether or not you’d be able to find Grogu and the anguish of being close to someone who looked too similar to the man you loved but would never see again were fighting for dominance in your mind. As you sat there, festering in your heavy emotions, you failed to notice the others leave after the briefing, nor did you notice that Boba was the only one to remain. 

“Did I do something to offend you?” he queried, breaking the silence with his thick accent. His voice caused you to straighten up and nearly jump out of your seat.

“Oh, no I… uh,” you gasped, ungracefully and unintelligently.

Boba looked at your wide eyes, and your mouth which opened and closed in a manner which he thought to be similar to a fish. You sat on your hands, eerily straight, and your posture was tense with emotion. He took stock of all these things, too. 

“But there is something about me that bothers you. I can tell,” he posed.

You sighed and tried to relax your shoulders, but you couldn’t. How many times were you going to have to tell this story? How many times were you going to relive a moment that you wanted nothing more than to forget? You decided to turn the tables and ask him a question instead of giving him an answer.

“Did you… did you know any other clones during the war?” you asked in a hesitant tone.

“A few,” he drawled, narrowing his eyes at you, “why?”

You blinked a few times for good measure, or at least to buy yourself time to analyze your next move. “I did.”

Boba was taken aback by that. “Child, you don’t even look old enough to have been born during the war,” he responded, sounding slightly offended.

You felt bad for offending him, and that was your breaking point. Your eyes closed in order to rid themselves of the tears accumulating there. “I should be, though. I should be older than you!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “I should hate you. I should hate Din, and every other karkin’ bounty hunter out there for that matter, for taking me away from them, from him! But I don’t and I don’t know which hurts more, the fact that I don’t or the fact that I’ll never see him again!

“Tell me this, why are bounty hunters so fond of putting bounties in carbonite? Do you not know the repercussions of bein’ stuck in it? Are there not easier solutions? Stun shots? Cuffs? Surely carbonite isn’t the only solution, hell, if only for the fact that it costs so damn much to use! And now I’m stuck here, in a time that I shouldn’t be in, at least not at the age I am now, and I’ll never get to see Tech ever again, which I’m sure means nothing to you, he was just a clone trooper.” Your rant ended with a sigh, but you still continued on, feeling even worse for Boba now that you had just emotionally exploded on him. “I don’t hate you. You’re a good man, and I’ll never not be grateful for your help in rescuing Grogu. You just remind me of someone I was never given time to grieve. Hell, I never thought I’d have to grieve him, at least not like this. I just… I just wish you weren’t the only clone immune to the effects of advanced aging, then at least I might’ve had the chance to find him. I wouldn’t have even cared if he’d moved on from me, I certainly couldn’t’ve blamed him, and if he hadn’t I’d have still loved him if he was old ’n gray, but I won’t ever even get the chance to find out if he was happy, or say goodbye,” you admitted, trailing off.

Boba looked at you pensively. “Omega,” he countered after a moment of tense silence.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” 

“I’m Alpha,” he clarified, “and the other clone, the only other clone, that was immune to the advanced aging, was a girl named Omega.” Boba watched the shock and underlying hope cross your face.

“My father, in his agreement with the Kaminoans to be cloned, would receive a clone to raise as an offspring, and he had his choice of son or daughter. Evidently, he chose a son. I only came to know about this when I took on a bounty assignment for the girl, Omega, when she joined the Rebellion and started making problems for the Empire.” 

A look of abject horror crossed your face, to which Boba chuckled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get to her. The last lead I had on her was on an island on an Outer-Rim planet called Pabu, but she had been long gone, and she had three older brothers that weren’t going to give up her location. Old and defective clones, but they still gave a good fight-“

“Defective clones!?” you shot up out of your seat. You wanted to get your hopes up, but you had to be careful. There were a small handful of other defective clones out there, but the possibility of these defectives being Clone Force 99 was all too real. “What did they look like?” You asked. This was the first time your dejected look had been replaced by excitement, Boba thought.

“It was a long time ago, I don’t remember exactly,” Boba watched you deflate, and for reasons beyond him, he didn’t like seeing you disappointed. He sighed in deep thought, trying to drudge out even the faintest of memory of the squad he’d encountered on Pabu so many years ago. “All I remember,” he started, “was that one was enormous, even as an old man, and another had a stupid headband and was trying his damn hardest to hold onto whatever hair he had left on his head.”

You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, which hung open in shock. The tears returned to your eyes with a vengeance. Those had to be Wrecker and Hunter, you thought. Though they must have been long gone at this point, clearly they had settled on this planet Pabu, and perhaps going to Pabu to hear the stories they left behind might bring you some much-needed closure. 

A firm but gentle hand from behind you squeezed your right shoulder. Din’s. His presence must be becoming comfortable to you, you gathered, because for the first time, the unexpected contact from him did not send you shooting up out of your boots, and you instead leaned back into him.

“Ahsoka told me about Omega,” Din added, “she also said that her and her brothers were raising their niece.”

“What?” you gasped, tense with shock, and for the first time in a long time, hope. Din placed the hand not on your shoulder on your left bicep and held you closer to him.

“They must have found your kid. The… one you had with him,” he furthered. Boba noticed the way Din had to choke to get that information out. Whether it was from the looming anxiety of finding his own kid, or from the feelings he could tell you neither requited or even know of, Boba was unsure. Perhaps it was both. He was sure that you hadn’t noticed the choke, though.

“I’m sure I still have the coordinates in my ship’s log somewhere. To be honest with myself, I’m horrible about deleting old data.”

“A trait you do not share with all clones, but one you certainly share with Tech,” you smiled fondly, though your eyes remained far away. “But for now, let’s just focus on getting Grogu back,” you said, turning around to look into Din’s visor with an expression far more determined and optimistic than the Mandalorian had ever seen on you. 

For the first time, Din noticed that, though you could not see his eyes, you were staring into them all the same.

[estoniacobaltpayne]

'39 (Tech X Reader)

PART 2: Don't You Hear My Call?

Fic Summary: You, once a Republic informant and a member of Clone Force 99 during the War, wake up in a completely different galaxy than the one you're used to. With the help of a Mandalorian and his little green kid, you try to find your way back to whatever is left of your squad, and the man you loved and were forced to leave behind. As you navigate this new galaxy around you, Tech must find a way to navigate the galaxy you left behind in the wake of your absence.

Relationships: Tech X Reader, Din Djarin & Reader, Tech & Phee, Tech, Crosshair, Reader & Original Female character

Tags: No use of (Y/N), Gender Neutral Reader (no gender identities are specified, though for the plot of the story reader is able to give birth), Reader's description is NOT specified, ANGST, Angst and honestly very little comfort, there is a conclusive resolve but not exactly a happy ending

MASTERLIST

Tech’s life after the war was not what he thought it would be; not what he wanted it to be. Of course, he enjoyed meeting and bringing in Echo as part of their squad shortly before the war ended, and no doubt that Omega might just be the sole purpose of his life at this point. But something was missing. Someone was missing. 

Crosshair’s deviation from the squad left a sizable hole in his heart, of course. However, there was not a day that went by that he didn’t mourn you; didn’t mourn the life he wanted to have with you. A year had passed since the war had ended. A year and four months when it was broadcasted that you were to be publicly executed by Count Dooku on Serenno. A year ago and four months since he was unable to bring himself to watch it. A year and four months ago that a piece of his soul, he swore, withered away. 

The other clones found it difficult to witness Tech’s grief, especially in the wake of their own. They were your friends and hell bent on finding you, too. When the news of your execution broke though, the Chancellor, and therefore by extension the Republic, felt it too costly to rescue you, somebody ‘whose life or death meant very little in the grand fate of the Galactic Republic.’ Tech lost what little respect he had for the more or less self-appointed Supreme Chancellor when he announced those very words. His brothers noticed the change in him, of course; Tech isolated himself from his brothers in ways he hadn’t before. No longer did the animated dialogue between he and you float down the ship from the cockpit; and instead of talking to his brothers, sometimes the rest of the 99 could hear him talking to the empty co-pilot’s chair, as if he forced the conversation enough, you’d reappear in the seat and give a sarcastic rebuttal. Echo, when he joined the squad and witnessed Tech’s unhealthy habit, had lightly inquired as to why he did it, to which Tech blew up, leaving the other boys to explain as to why. Echo never inquired again. 

Clone Force 99 could do nothing the day of the execution. They had been grounded on Kamino, and had been given strict orders not to infiltrate Serenno to rescue their captured teammate. For all the times Tech, and the 99 as whole, disobeyed orders, he didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for not disobeying that one; but at the same time he also knew that, even if the whole squad had disobeyed and went to rescue you, they’d all have ended up dead, either from the hands of the Separatists or the Kaminoans once they returned, and somehow he knew you wouldn’t want that. But it didn’t mean that the logic made the aches in his chest go away, and it didn’t alleviate the pain that plundered through him each night as he tried and failed to sleep. It didn’t heal the bruises on his soul that were left by your absence.

And as he stood there, doing his best to take in what little information the squad’s new boss, Cid, was giving them for the next mission- a mission that would take them to Serenno, no less- Tech found himself hyperaware of every muscle in his body; he had to, he thought, because if he didn’t, he’d surely collapse. Cid wanted them to travel to Serenno to recover the treasure left behind in Dooku’s palace. Such a stupid mission, but Tech had to tell himself that, though it was illogical because Dooku was long dead, it was retribution; he convinced himself that he would be taking from Dooku like Dooku took from him; and that was without mentioning the insane amount of resources they could conjure for themselves- resources the squad could use to disappear, and never have to do Cid’s dirty work ever again.

Tech’s attempt at self-conviction did not comfort him, though. No amount of gold or jewels or high-end treasure in the galaxy could hold the same worth as your presence in his life did. 

It didn’t help that Cid’s pirate friend, Phee, he thinks he recalls her name to be, had begun to try and win his attention. At first he didn’t notice the way she flirted with him; but as the briefing waned on, and as the ‘brown eyes’ comments- along with the dallying stares- started to pile on top of each other, Tech began to realize that she was indeed flirting with him. It was unexpected but it wasn’t uncomfortable, per se. She was undoubtedly attractive and in another time and place, in another life, Tech could see himself reciprocating; but it wasn’t holistically welcome, either. He wanted this mission to be over and done with, and the distraction of her toying with him was not what he needed. Not now, when in a few short hours he’d be traveling to the place where you, the love of his life, had breathed for the last time. 

You never needed to flirt with him, Tech thought, because from the moment the two of you met, it was as if all the answers Tech had needed throughout his life had been given to him and all the things that had ever felt off-kilter instantly fell into place. Tech was a little different; he knew this about himself and as he grew older he became less ashamed and more emboldened by it, but then he met you. Someone who was different in entirely other unique ways but different nonetheless. You were instant friends. In interpersonal communications, Tech always felt like he was missing something, as if everyone around him had been in on some cosmic joke, and he was the only one that wasn’t. You had felt the same; but together, whatever it was around you that you weren’t able to pick up didn’t matter. Everything was comfortable with you. Not every missed social cue needed to be explained and especially not chided for its lack of instinctual understanding. You could simply exist together, and Tech found that that meant far more to him than any other metric of sentient connection ever could. When Tech had realized this for himself, it wasn’t long before he realized he was in love with you. He supposed the process must have been similar for you, too, because there was no awkward phase. There was no dancing around each other, not really, nor was there any doubt in either of your minds that you loved each other, completely and without judgement. You simply went from being friends to being something more. Your relationship simply went from a time where you didn’t kiss to a time where you did. Tech wasn’t entirely sure when this shift in distinction happened, but he surmised that though it was earlier on in the war opposed to later, he still didn’t get enough time with you, and he was sure that there would never be another moment in his life where he didn’t love you. 

Standing next to his ever-overthinking brother, Hunter noticed the way Tech’s face was tight with agitation. He recognized the signs that were leading to a blow out and then a shut down- the tapping of his fingers against his leg, the way his eyes were blown but unfocused, and the way his nostrils would occasionally flare. Hunter couldn’t blame him; he recognized the emotional rollercoaster his brother must have surely been on in the briefing, and Tech was never great about reconciling with his negative emotions. As soon as Cid wrapped up what little information she was able to drag out in order to make it seem like she had more, Hunter led the squad out of her office, out of the parlor, and down the streets of Ord Mantel City towards the Marauder. He encouraged Tech to go off to work on whatever part of the ship he needed to before takeoff; Hunter knew it was the best outlet he’d get when there was four other people milling about the ship, but he just had to hope that it would be enough to take Tech’s edge off before leaving for Serenno.

——

At least the leg pain was distracting enough from the awful feeling that was brought about by being on Serenno, Tech thought as he sat working on Romar’s broken data bank. Tech came into the mission ready to take out any Separatist he crossed paths with. It wasn’t in his nature to do so, it wasn’t just or logical or moral either; nor did Tech actually believe he could carry out such impulsive vengeance. But the anger still simmered beneath him just the same. Then he, Echo, and Omega had met Romar, who had led them back to his place of dwelling and had been nothing but, albeit wary, kind to them since. While Tech worked on the data bank, Romar recanted tales of what it was like to live on a Separatist planet. The initial hope for something better than what the Republic could offer, then the quiet reconning that it wouldn’t be better at all. Romar’s overall demeanor and his accounts of the war made Tech reconsider his bias. Was it genetically instilled in him, or was it learned through the combination of being shot at by battle droids and your loss? Tech figured it could’ve been any or all of those three things, plus a myriad of other things as well; but Tech knew for sure that, no matter what, you wouldn’t have wanted him to carry that chip on his shoulder for the rest of his life, especially since the Separatist Government no longer existed, and the fact that he was a deserter of the evil Empire that succeeded the Republic, and that was without saying that the squad aided a Separatist against the Empire before on Raxus. So by definition, was he really all that different? If he was, how? He also wondered how would you have felt about this; would you be angry? Surprised? Perhaps even proud of him?

Sometime during the tinkering and nearly one sided conversation, Romar addressed Tech directly, interrupting his inner monologue. 

“There’s something on your mind,” Romar prodded, “something deeply personal, too.”

Tech was unsure if he should take the bait or not. Romar had been nothing but full of insufferable ‘old man’ wisdom, and questions that weren’t posed as such but invoked rapid introspectional answers all the same. Tech didn’t know Romar, not really, but for some reason, the concept of talking about all the trauma your absence caused to someone he didn’t know felt easier to him than talking to any of his brothers. He was only briefly aware of Omega’s figure, now poised with interest in a taboo subject she most certainly knew of but knew nothing about all the same.

Romar watched the hesitance roll around Tech’s features. Finally, Tech responded.

“There was someone I knew that was killed on this planet.”

Romar smirked, and Tech saw in his eyes his eagerness for more. “This someone, you cared a lot about them, didn’t you Ace?”

Tech was all too certain that Romar saw the pain in his eyes, and for someone who was often chastised for talking too much, Tech found he was having a hard time pushing the words out. “I… the love of my life, actually,” Tech bemoaned before bitterly spitting out, “publicly executed by Count Dooku.”

Romar’s face, which was full of compassionate mirth before, soured. He looked down, unable to even attempt to meet Tech’s eyes. 

“I remember that. It wasn’t long before the war ended, wasn’t it?”

Tech nodded his head once. 

“Well, maybe I’m just an old man with a janky memory, but if I remember correctly, no execution ever actually took place that day.”

Tech’s head shot up. “What!?”

Romar finally met his eyes. “They gathered us all in the castle courtyard for the ‘grand display.’ None of us wanted to go, but out of fear of the same fate, we all went when we were rounded up for it. They brought a prisoner of war here, captured on Mayiz-3. But the prisoner was encased in carbonite. Dooku felt it more prudent for the slab to be displayed in the city center, where no one could forget their own fate should they decide to step out of line. Last I heard, the slab was being transferred off world with a shipload of other plunders, but then it was ransacked by pirates. I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened to it after that.” Tech couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was a possibility of you being alive! He felt his brain begin to whirr up again and push away the foggy despair, but before he got too far in his hasty planning to find you, Romar continued.

“Apparently, but I don’t know how true this really is, the prisoner had a child, too. Thought you should know. Can’t tell you what happened to her, though. Just know that the Separatists really thought having her was gonna give ‘em the leg up on you guys, since she was, y’know, the kid of a clone.”

Tech wasn’t sure if he went numb from the pain in his leg, or from Romar’s hopeful but tertiary-at-best information. He could have a child out there? 

As Tech finished twisting the last screw into the databank, he felt himself slipping from the conversation. He was aware of Romar’s talking, but not a word of it registered in his mind. Should he find you first, or the child that may or may not exist? Either way, it could be a lifetime before he tracked down even one or the other, not to mention with his meagre half life span. 

When Echo returned and frantically interjected that Omega had run off, Tech braced himself for the rest of the mission he still had to finish. As he limped through the forest towards Omega and the shipping container, he thought about you, and the journey he’d undoubtably embark on to find you. He knew that deep down, you’d want him to exhaust every resource to find your kid before he even thought of finding you. Thinking of the kid- how would he explain this to his brothers? Would they be angry? Annoyed? Happy? Hunter was never particularly pleased with the relationship Tech had built with you, always saying it was too risky. Crosshair never cared neither here nor there about your relationship, only ever saying that it was ‘good for the two of you to blow off steam,’ but Tech figured Crosshair’s opinion wasn’t even worth the brain power thinking about, seeing as he was still with the Empire. As for Wrecker, well, he wasn’t sure that Wrecker ever even knew completely what had been going on between the two of you, because if he did, he’d have been the most happy for you both.

Tech was aware he was fighting on autopilot. Between the pain in his leg and his distracting thoughts on finding out more about your potential survival and his potential child, Tech didn’t notice the trooper sneaking up behind him. The rest of the scuffle didn’t even register, neither did the moment his subsequent fainting happened, either. 

When he came to, Romar was there, helping him to his feet. 

“Been a hell of a day for you, hasn’t it Ace?”

“It has indeed,” Tech said as he pushed himself up. For the first time in a long time, Tech thought, he was standing up straight; not hunched over like he usually was, but instead tall and proud in a sense of anticipation that spread throughout his body. “Considering how remiss I was to even step foot on this planet, I’d say the day turned out extremely well.”

Romar continued his ‘sage advice’ as the Marauder pulled up to the cliff edge behind him, and Tech turned in time to see Omega running up the ramp. He too turned to board the ship, but Romar had one last thing to say before they parted. 

“Go find ‘em, Ace. Go find ‘em, and tell ‘em you love ‘em. Everyday.”

Tech nodded, and for the first time in a long time, his smile reached his eyes. As he entered the ship, he found himself installed with a sense of purpose, which was something he hadn’t truly had in a long time.

——

You remembered the figure that was Commander Ahsoka Tano of the 501st battalion well. While you never personally met her, the stories about her told around the GAR were plentiful and glorifying, and after seeing her nearly best Din- who was inarguably one of the best fighters you’d ever seen-  time after time you were certain that all of those stories were true. 

As the air cleared and Din’s intentions in seeking her out were made aware, you found yourself with that deep scowl that seemed to perpetuate into every hour of your life now, and you began to zone out of the conversation happening around you. You wanted to feel connected to the father and son duo, you wanted to care about their mission. That wasn’t to say you didn’t care about them, that you weren’t grateful that they chose to share their lives with you, but you never felt like you were truly part of their clan. You supposed that it was just you, that you’d never connected with anyone like you had with Tech, and you were positive you wouldn’t ever again, either. It didn’t matter now, you thought, because after months of being out of carbonite and traveling with the pair, you supposed you felt like you had to resign to the life you were now living. You could only hope that in time, you could forget Tech’s brown eyes and the comforting way they held the vision of you, and stop waking up from despairing dreams where you could feel his hands splayed out on your form but you knew they really weren’t all the same.

Startling you from your thoughts, the conversation between Ahsoka and Din turned to you when Ahsoka asked, “and who are you?”

For the first time since meeting her, you looked into her eyes. They seemed focused and full and inquisitive. You were positive that she must’ve thought yours looked beady and anguished and tired. Perhaps she thought you were skittish, you thought. 

“I… don’t know anymore, commander.” You weren’t sure what else to say.

“Commander?” Din inquired.

Ahsoka looked at you skeptically. A flash of something you couldn’t quite make out passed across her face. 

“How do you know that title?” she asked tensely.

“I was one of the few conscription soldiers in the GAR, but I was taken hostage and frozen in carbonite shortly before the end of the war, sir,” you replied, the words meekly tumbling out of your mouth.

Another looked crossed her face, and this time you were able to make it out- it was the face one would make when a puzzle piece that had been perpetually troubling finally found its place in the picture.

“You traveled with Clone Force 99, didn’t you?”

Your eyes snapped to hers. You did not tell Din much about your squad, and certainly nothing pertaining to your intimate relationship with the squad’s second in command, so she wouldn’t have gotten that information from him while you were zoned out of the conversation, and how she knew was beyond you.

You never had a good sabaac face, and this seemed to be a case where your expression responded enough for words to be unnecessary.

“I was a part of the 501st, and those boys were nothing if not terrible gossips. Anakin…” a painful pause broke Ahsoka’s concentration, but she was quick to recover, “General Skywalker had to reprimand the clones at one point. Apparently, a dangerous rumor started that you were… involved with one of them.”

You were sure Ahsoka saw you sink into yourself. “I… I was, yeah. I guess there’s no point in tryin’ to hide it anymore, it’s not like there’s any clones to court martial or decommission anymore.”

A pensive smile appeared on Ahsoka’s lips. “Is that the cause of the emptiness I feel from you? Your lost clone?”

“You can… feel what I’m feeling?” you asked, astounded by the abilities of the Jedi in front of you.

Ahsoka could only offer the same pensive smile as before. “I can,” she started. “What was his name?”

“I thought clone troopers didn’t have names,” Din interjected. Both you and Ahsoka glared at the Mandalorian man, unamused, before ignoring him altogether.

“Tech,” you responded. “He was the pilot, the engineer, the medic, the tactician, the mechanic, he was… everything. And now he’s gone,” you ended bitterly.

Sensing your discomfort, Ahsoka changed the direction of the conversation. “What did you do before you joined the GAR?” She asked.

“I was just a musician, nothin’ special, not like Tech,” you relented, “but I mean, that’s how I got into the GAR; at some point I found myself becoming an informant, passin’ information to the Republic by pretending to be ‘just a singer’ in seedy clubs. But then the war came to my home world, Bastion, and I knew I couldn’t just sit back and let the Separatists take over, even if it was a backwards garbage heap of a planet, and that’s how I met the 99. They sought me out for information, then helped fend off those droids, and I found myself with ‘em the whole time. When the Separatists completely took control of the planet, they helped me flee off-world, and I guess I just never left their side after that. Falling in love with Tech was inevitable, bein’ cooped up on that ship together all the time.”

At the end of your monologue, you internally (and without realizing, externally, too) grimaced. You hadn’t meant to share that much information, but it had just tumbled out regardless.

Ahsoka looked at you with a thin, bittersweet smile. “There are still a few clones out there, perhaps they will know what happened to him after the war.”

The hope she tried to ignite in you did not spark. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

There was a moment of introspective silence between the two of you, but it didn’t last long as Din interjected again.

“Maybe, that can be our mission now that we have found Grogu a Jedi,” Din said with a hopeful nod of his helmet towards Ahsoka, who in turn glanced back with a sheepish scowl.

“As I have already told you, I cannot guarantee his training. I will test him in the morning, and we will go from there.”

Din’s visor slowly trained itself towards you. “Do… you think he’d still be alive? Maybe he’s looking for you, too?” he asked, trying to deflect his disappointment in Ahsoka’s response to Grogu’s training.

You squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly feeling overstimulated by the sounds of the conversation and the buzzing of insects, and the heat and flashing shadows casted by the campfire you all sat around. Those, combined with being now forced to think back to Tech, felt overwhelming, which in turn only made you think about him more. He’d have known what to say and do to calm you down in that moment, you thought. He’d have kneeled on one knee in front of where you were sat and called your name softly but sternly, eyes full of compassionate concern, and when you wouldn’t have- couldn’t have- responded, he’d have gently placed his helmet over your head, lowered the visor, and sat himself on the floor by your feet, before occupying himself with a task on his datapad as he waited patiently for you to come back to him. He’d done similar things in your time together, and you for him in return. 

Din did not know to do such things. Instead, he sat stock-still, expectingly, waiting for you to answer, completely unaware of your impending emotional fallout.

You tried to steady yourself by taking a deep breath. It only sort of worked. “No, I don’t. Clones, at best, lived to about forty, and he’d be way older than that by now.” You could only hope that Tech got to live that long. 

You looked up to Ahsoka and Din, who clearly wanted to hear more from you about your past life and lover. After a minute of getting nothing from you, Ahsoka attempted to continue the conversation. “Was there anyone else you knew or were close to that weren’t clones and maybe could know what happened to him after the war?”

You crossed your arms and once again without thinking, divulged, “no one other than the kid we were gonna have together, but it was stolen outta me by the Separatists to be a lab experiment, so… no. No one.” The unabashed vitriol in which you gave the sentence sent both Din and Ahsoka leaning back in their seats in surprise, and Grogu’s head snapped to you, eyes wide and large ears pulled down and out. “Well, I have no one but these two,” you concluded, gesturing towards Din and Grogu, trying to at least sound a little softer.

Din leaned closer to you and gently set his hand on your bicep. You knew it came from good intentions. All the same, it was not comforting. You suddenly felt too enclosed and between Din’s body heat and the campfire, your emotional fallout finally made itself known to your companions.

You stood up abruptly and frantically shook your hands out as if attempting to rid yourself of the cloying feeling the conversation left on your skin. 

“I don’t… I don’t wanna talk about this. About him!” you bellowed.

Ahsoka’s face looked startled, but not surprised all the same, and her eyes held a pitied look to them that you really hated. For once, you were glad you could not see Din’s expressions. 

“I’m sorry. I thought it might help you, to talk through your grief,” Ahsoka commented.

Whether or not she meant to sound as such, it felt patronizing. You were sure she hadn’t meant to sound that way, given that she had been so kind earlier, but in the moment you felt pressured and unable to control what you were feeling. You’d make a shit Jedi, you briefly thought. Grinding your teeth, you retorted, “Well it doesn’t! I’ll never see him again and I never even gotta say goodbye! The only thing I had left of him was ripped from me for some evil purpose I’ll never know! They’re… gone,” you trailed off, hiding your chin into your chest and crossing your arms again, “they’re just gone.”

Din and Ahsoka watched as you sulked off to be alone. 

Once you were out of earshot, Ahsoka turned to Din with a grave seriousness. 

“I know of the child of which she speaks,” she began. “I knew many clones during the war, of course, but I also fought alongside several during the rebellion. Captain Rex, once the captain of mine and General Skywalker’s battalion during the war, led a clone resistance in the early days of the Empire, long before the Rebellion that we knew was even an idea. He often called on Clone Force 99 for assistance.

“I knew one of them fought in the Rebellion, once she was old enough. Omega. She was a pilot, and a shrewd fighter. She often spoke of her family. Her brothers, and her niece, the child of a clone and a person enshrined and lost to space, whom her brothers were raising collectively. She will know what happened to the young girl. Find Omega, and you’ll find your companion’s missing child, of that I am sure.”

Din’s posture was apprehensive. “I… was not aware there were female clones,” he remarked before asking, “and wouldn’t she have also perished from the rapid aging?”

“No,” Ahsoka answered, “like the rest of her squad, she was biologically engineered to be different, however, she was the only one immune to the effects of rapid aging. Her and only one other clone, codenamed ‘Alpha,’ but he was raised by the genetic donor of all clones, a bounty hunter called Jango Fett, who named him ‘Boba’ and raised him as a son.”

Din sat in silence, before looking back to see you absentmindedly drawing in the dirt with a stick twenty feet away or so. His gaze lingered on your form for a while, contemplating what he should do about you, and how he felt about you and your situation. Ahsoka noticed. “You are wary of your companion?” She asked.

“No,” he answered truthfully.

“Then you feel something else.”

Din snapped his helmeted gaze towards the Jedi across from him. Grogu, who had been nearly half asleep at this point, perked his head up and made an inquisitive chirping sound at the sudden insinuation. 

After the initial shock, Din slowly trained his helmet towards the fire, before taking in a deep breath that seemed to take all the physical effort he could muster to do, before letting it out again in a short sigh. 

Ahsoka smirked as Din relented, “is it… that obvious?”

[estoniacobaltpayne]

'39 (Tech X Reader)

PART 1: Sweetest Sight Ever Seen

Fic Summary: You, once a Republic informant and a member of Clone Force 99 during the War, wake up in a completely different galaxy than the one you're used to. With the help of a Mandalorian and his little green kid, you try to find your way back to whatever is left of your squad, and the man you loved and were forced to leave behind. As you navigate this new galaxy around you, Tech must find a way to navigate the galaxy you left behind in the wake of your absence.

Relationships: Tech X Reader, Din Djarin & Reader, Tech & Phee, Tech, Crosshair, Reader & Original Female character

Tags: No use of (Y/N), Gender Neutral Reader (no gender identities are specified, though for the plot of the story reader is able to give birth), Reader's description is NOT specified, ANGST, Angst and honestly very little comfort, there is a conclusive resolve but not exactly a happy ending

MASTERLIST

“Okay, yes, but you still have yet explain to me why y’all call it a ‘spanner,’ when we all know the correct way to say it is ‘wrench.’”

Light chatter, or perhaps something more akin to friendly bickering, reverberated around the durasteel walls of the cockpit, which was cast in a warm golden glow from the rings of the planet the Havoc Marauder was in orbit above. It helped perpetuate the calm and camaraderie that was so desperately needed to soothe the crew of the ship as it braced for battle in the morning that would surely be too soon to arise. You, the crew member occupying the co-pilot’s seat, thought this doubly so, as unlike the clones sleeping on the other side of the closed cockpit door, you were not enhanced with the ability to, among other things, stay up talking all night and not be affected in any way. That, you thought, and the fact that the moments you and your compatriot occupying the pilot’s seat had to steal away like this were becoming far more scarce as the Clone War trudged on. 

“Well, the ‘wrench,’” he held up the tool he was using on the segment of a landing gear he’d been ‘improving’ on for the last hour ‘for fun’ (he’d stolen the ship part from the last cruiser you’d been stationed on, something he’d been reprimanded for before but had in no way been dissuaded from doing so again), “as you so call it, which by the way is very much not the correct term for it, but I will excuse your ignorance on the fact that linguistics and regional dialects play major roles in the shaping of language across the galaxy-“

“Tech!” You snorted, “you’re digressing again.”

He smirked up at you. Though his face remained pointed towards his project, his eyes bore into yours with a glint of mischief. “It was not a digression, merely a side annotation to further prove my point.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your face. Tech liked your smile, he thought in that moment.

“The reason why it is technically called a ‘spanner’ is because it is a tool used to span things such as bolts, and linguistically makes far more sense. You could even go as far to say that, above all other names for it, “spanner” makes the most sense even if only for the reason that it will… span the test of time.”

“Oh, brother,” you deadpanned. Usually, Tech’s humor (albeit sometimes a tad off putting), was dry and sarcastic; but recently he’d been playing with bad puns, and you, who between the two of you was the one that typically employed such humor, were starting to think that maybe you and him were actually spending too much time together, like Sergeant Hunter had not-so-jokingly joked to you.

You looked to Tech, who was trying to stick his landing by doing his best to keep a straight face. It almost looked painful, you thought, and the tight and constrained way the muscles in his cheeks and jaw pulled was funnier than his joke entirely, and before you could stop yourself, the most undignified chortle left the depths of your diaphragm. Tech, unable to resist the sound of your joy, laughed too. 

And your chuckling lasted a good while, too. Tech didn’t usually laugh, at least not so unabashedly, and to see his eyes pinched nearly shut and a full smile running across his face was a rare sight to see indeed.

You thought back to his eyes, and the way the golden light illuminated him. He was so pretty. He was pretty, he had pretty brown eyes that were aglow with the cosmic lights, and he was looking at you. You then wondered if he knew how pretty he was.

“You’re so beautiful, Tech. I hope you know that.”

The glint of mischief in his eyes had long since recessed, replaced instead with a glint of pure adoration, and his smile, though smaller than it had been during your collective laughing fit, was no less sincere. 

He replied, softly but confidently. “And you, my dear, are positively radiant.”

You’d never felt or believed yourself to be particularly beautiful before knowing Tech; but since knowing him, since being loved by him, you had no doubt in your mind, that if Tech, who never says anything without complete fact and conviction, said you were beautiful, you must’ve been created in the vision of a deity. 

Tech sat his project on the ground and returned the spanner to the pouch strapped to his thigh, before slapping his hands on his knees and standing up. He then reached his arms out and down towards you, and made “come here” motion with his hands. Not one to resist him, you obliged by sliding your hands into his. He pulled you up, out of your seat and into his arms, before releasing your hands and instead clasping his together behind your back, sealing him against you. You rested your own hands on his strong forearms and beamed up at him, and that was all it took for him to rest his lips upon yours. 

It was the brief moments like this that made you forget that, outside the ship, a war was ravaging the galaxy around you. You could forget that one or both of you could easily perish come the morning. You could forget the fact that if you and Tech mutually continued to cultivate whatever it was that had grown between you over your years with Clone Force 99, you’d become more bound to your duty to each other than to the Republic, which, like Sergeant Hunter had warned and subsequently scolded the two of you about, would in best case scenario lead to you being imprisoned and Tech court-martialed. But when Tech’s dry yet plushy bottom lip caught on your upper lip, and his left hand unclasped itself from his right behind your back to cradle your cheek, for that brief moment in time, you both were all too uncharacteristically eager to forget all of that in order to only remember that you loved each other. 

——

The planet, Mayiz-3, whose beautiful golden rings cast their glow upon you only a few nights before, was far more hostile than you could have possibly imagined. Not because of its flora or fauna, and certainly not because of the native people there, who had been nothing but kind to you since you met up with them in order to aid them in their fight for liberation; but, because of the volatile geothermal terrain and atmosphere (the sticky wet air and bogging heat seemed to make you sick late into the evenings and well into the early mornings), and the Separatist invaders who had occupied the land for a power and money grab. 

The main base, though mostly manned by battle droids and the odd tactical droid, did house some Separatist Naval Admirals and Lieutenants, along with a few bounty hunters and mercenaries. The last two of those groups you always found the most difficult to deal with, as they were bound by pay check, not duty, therefore making their methods more volatile and unpredictable. 

You and the boys of the 99 had split off from the group of freedom fighters; they’d hold the Separatist’s attention out front, while your squad travelled on a land speeder to the other side of the base, in order to infiltrate, steal as much information as possible, and blow it up before any of the TAC droids caught on. A basic and realistically fallible plan, but nothing had been presented in the preceding days of briefing and strategizing that had been in any way better.

Your seat in the back of the speeder made for a nauseating ride. Tech, though you trusted him with your life, drove like a bat out of hell when he wanted or needed to, and between the suffocatingly hot and humid air, the dizzying speeds, and the sharp curves around the many protruding geysers, your head was not quite right once you reached the back of the Separatist base. It didn’t improve much when you disembarked and your feet touched solid ground, either. But not one to let your squad down, you said nothing. You could only hope that the inside of the base would offer the respite of air conditioning. 

Which it did not. If anything, the base inside was stuffier than it had been outside. You supposed that the humanoids on the base wouldn’t bother coming down to these lower levels unless absolutely necessary, and it would be quite expensive to keep the AC on for droids, who didn’t need it.

Tech, busy next to you slicing into the computer matrix via a droid access terminal that sat at the crux of a four-way intersection of halls, did not notice you in your post keeping watch beside him, or how you had to rely on the wall adjacent to him to stay standing. Crosshair, Hunter, and Wrecker, who’d each taken one of the other three halls to watch, didn’t notice either. 

Just as you were beginning to feel okay, the rest of the squad slapped their detonators to the walls and took off running towards their next infiltration point. By the end of your run, the dizzying was back with full force. By the time you ran from that point to the next, you thought that you were going to keel over. By the time you reached the central computer system, your luck had run out. Both yours personally, and the squad’s as a whole. 

Either by user error or from not knowing that the Separatists had known what you were up to the whole time, Tech had barely plugged into the system when three full squadrons of B1’s surrounded you. It was then that you finally did keel over. 

——

When you awoke, you were alone in a med room. As you further regained consciousness, you realized just whose med room it was, and you attempted to bolt from the cot only to be held back by straps bound to your wrists and ankles. 

“Shit,” you thought to yourself, but a meek whine left your lips instead of the aggravated expletive you were aiming for. Just as soon as you were beginning to think of a plan to extricate yourself and find your boys, find Tech, an older man in a lab coat entered your med room. 

“You gave us quite the scare.” You wiggled defiantly in your shackles. The doctor (or you at least hoped he was actually an MD), ’tsk’ed patronizingly at you. “Now, now, no need to be hasty or ungrateful, we did spare you and your child’s life you know. Though it is such a pity that one of those nice young clones you were traveling with won’t get to meet their offspring, isn’t it?” He looked away, towards the screen mumbling “yes, such a shame,” in the same patronizing, nasally voice.

With all this information you were starting to become dizzy again; but if you were going to get out of here, you were going to need to set that bit of life altering news aside. For now.

“Where is my squad?” you demanded with as much false confidence as you could muster. You surmised it came out more as a frightened slur of squeaks.

You expected the doctor to smirk maliciously and eagerly deliver the devastating news. What you weren’t prepared for however, was the grimace and visceral anger that crossed his features when he said, “when you fell ill in the central computer chamber, all hell broke loose. Those degenerate clones of yours started firing, and managed to take out a few of our droids.

“One of them clearly felt the need to prioritize your safety and made for your pathetic form on the floor- I can only assume that that was the father of your bastard child- but was briefly incapacitated by a shot to the shoulder. A pity it wasn’t fatal, really, though I must give him credit for his persistence.” The malicious smirk inevitably surfaced on his face. “Unfortunately for him though, by the time he got back on his feet, the droids that weren’t pinning the other three clones in the corner were retreating, with you in captivity. Once we had you secured we made a hasty exit. They tried to follow us, but they were fools to think they would have made it to their ship to catch up with us in time.”

The 99 made it out! You thanked the Maker or the Force or whatever it was you’d seen the Jedi generals meditating or praying to. They were safe, and if they were safe, then you knew that not only Tech, but all of your squad, would stop at nothing to see you home safe, too. 

An insincere concern flooded the man’s face. “You know, you and that baby of yours are precious to us; with such promising clone DNA at our fingertips- and I won’t deny that that squad of yours really was impressive- we could change the tide of war in our favor.”

Despair and anger coursed through you. “You’re a right fool if you think I’m gonna let you have my baby,” you spit.

The malicious smirk on the doctor’s face deepened. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re a right fool if you think we don’t already have it.”

He gestured towards an incubation tube across the room, and at that moment you swear you could feel all the color draining from your face. 

You and Tech had discussed early on in your relationship that children had been off the table. Neither of you particularly wanted them, and even if you eventually changed your minds, you were fighting a war, you couldn’t have them for that simple reason alone; but now that the situation had, against all odds, presented itself? You found yourself unsure of what you or Tech would have wanted, and at the same time deeply saddened by the loss of your autonomy and ability to make that decision for yourself. 

“As for you, you are far less important to us, and the Admiral has decided that your execution shall be swift and imminent-“

“What!” you exclaimed in shock and desperation, but the doctor continued, “as soon as your transport reaches Serenno. Count Dooku himself wants you, a known informant for the Republic, to perish publicly; it will be moral boosting for the Separatists and it will absolutely destroy the moral of the Republic.”

You lied there like a fish out of water, dehydrating with no hope of rescue. You couldn’t even cry, at least not out of fear for your own life; but as you sank deeper into your own mind, you thought of Tech. You thought of how he was going to feel having to watch your execution on a galaxy-wide broadcast, how you were not going to see the end of the war with him, and how you weren’t going to get the life with him that you wanted. You thought of how sorry you were that you couldn’t give it to him. Then at long last, you felt the tears roll down the sides of your cheeks. 

The doctor was right about one thing, however, and that was that Tech was, sometimes to a stubborn fault, persistent; and you owed it to him to be persistent too. You decided you weren’t going to let them take you down without a fight.

Later, as the droids led you to the shuttle that would take you to your doom on Serenno, you figured you could at least make them take you out here as you attempted to make a hasty escape, on the landing platform of a Separatist war ship in the middle of space; you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of your public execution. Right before you got to the ramp of the shuttle, you abruptly stopped, crouched, and swept the leg of the B1 next to you. You grabbed its blaster, and opened fire on the entire hangar. It was brash and definitely not calculated like Tech would have wanted, but it was the best you could come up with on the fly in your current condition. The droids were easy to take out, one at a time they consistently fell; but what you forgot to account for in your hasty plan, was that there were also those damned few mercenaries and bounty hunters, that were only bound and loyal to their pay check; and you were their current pay check.

A fingerless-gloved hand yanked your shoulder backwards, and before you could swing your blaster around and clock your assailant with it, the bounty hunter had already done that to you. You stumbled backwards, and the bounty hunter, a tall blue humanoid with bright red eyes and the biggest- and quite frankly stupidest- hat you’d ever seen lunged for you and grabbed the blaster out of your hands before tossing it out the hangar barrier.

“Well now,” he drawled, knowing he had you corned, “we can’t have you being a problem, can we? No. Not on my ship.” He pulled out a pair of cufflinks and though you struggled and thrashed, his agility allowed him dodge your swings and lunges and get them on you. “Let’s go see a man about an eopie.” He led you down to the cargo hold, and you struggled and purposely dragged your feet the whole way. At multiple points you thought that he’d grow so annoyed that he’d figure the money to transport you wasn’t worth it and he’d just shoot you right then and there.

As you entered the cargo hold and saw his method of containing you, you started to hope he would just shoot you right then and there. 

——

You looked across the cargo hold of the ship to watch, quite frankly, the most unserious scenario you’d ever witnessed. 

A bounty hunter, clad in intimidatingly shiny, unpainted beskar armor with weapons strapped to every inch of him, chased a rambunctious green non-human baby around the hold, trying to get his little romper back on after a much-needed bath. 

As unserious as it was, it had become a common scene in your life- the shenanigans of the Mandalorian Din Djarin and his adopted son, Grogu- since the small child had defiantly melted you from your carbonite prison despite the warnings his father gave him not to. It had taken you days for your auditory and tactile senses to return to you after your extended time frozen in carbonite had come to an end, and months for your vision to return even to a cloudy state.  When you were finally able to have a conversation again, Din had explained to you who he was and how the duo found you.

Between bounty hunting and his quest to find Grogu’s ‘people,’ the pair had found themselves in many an odd and dangerous place, and at one point came across an abandoned Separatist cargo transport ship that had been pillaged by some type of insurgent group. In it they had found you, eternally encased, and before Din could stop the child, Grogu had figured out how to ‘defrost’ you, and the rest had been history. His quest, he had told you, required him to find the nearly-extinct Jedi, which at your confusion (because you definitely remember the Jedi being prominent members of galactic society) prompted a retelling of a history you didn’t know- what became of the galaxy after the Clone War- something which had obviously pained him to recount given his body language; you didn’t feel the need to ask why. He had then asked for your history- how and when you had become frozen in carbonite, then what it had been like in the war, and eventually, your squad; you didn’t feel the need to tell him much, either, or at least you felt like you couldn’t tell him much, at least about the 99. Not yet.

Thinking back to them had hurt, and continued to hurt thereafter. For you, it didn’t feel like it was that long ago, a couple of months at most, because that’s when you had been ‘defrosted,’ and for the thirty-or-so years you had been frozen, you were unconscious. Every time you looked into Din’s dark and unforgiving visor that gave absolutely nothing away, you felt a pang in your chest. Even though the rest of the 99’s helmets were the same as the Mandalorian’s- where no one could see the wearer’s eyes, their’s had always been personal and special- Tech’s had always been personal and special; you were always able to see the emotions flash through his eyes, even in the midst of battle. His beautiful, warm brown eyes that always seemed to be focused on you were one of the many things that had made you fall in love with him, and now, so many years, decades later, you were anguished that you’d never see them again. Because if Din’s history was accurate, that meant that Clone Force 99 either joined the Empire or deserted, and either way, that meant that any clones that survived the war and hadn’t succumbed to their rapid aging had been scattered around the galaxy with little to no trace.

As you sat there with a vacant look and contemplative scowl that scarcely seemed to dissipate as of late, Din finally wrestled Grogu into his clothes and held him securely to his chest before he looked over at you.

“What’s wrong?”

You continued to look absently past where the man and his kid were. You should be in the Havoc Marauder, not the Razor Crest, with Tech asking you ‘what is wrong’ instead of Din’s conjunctive way of saying it, and it should be Tech standing there holding the kid that you were going to have together, not Din holding Grogu, you thought. 

You realized these unwanted thoughts were selfish; Din had been nothing but kind and protective of you as you acclimated to the world you were suddenly forced to reside in, but at the same time these unwanted, selfish thoughts were obstinate and difficult to rid of.

Taking a deep breath, you finally answered.

“Nothing that matters. Not anymore.”

[estoniacobaltpayne]

'39 (Tech X Reader) Masterlist

Sooooo....

I wrote a long, angsty, multi-chapter Tech x Reader fic. Oops. I actually just sat down and starting writing this whole thing, like, y'know, a sicko.

It's based off of Queen's song '39, which is a sci-fi story about a man who goes into space for a year but, upon his return, discovers that 100 years have passed on earth, and his grandchildren are all grown and everyone he knew and loved in his life is gone.

So the premise is this:

You, once a Republic informant and a member of Clone Force 99 during the War, wake up in a completely different galaxy than the one you're used to. With the help of a Mandalorian and his little green kid, you try to find your way back to whatever is left of your squad, and the man you loved and were forced to leave behind. As you navigate this new galaxy around you, Tech must find a way to navigate the galaxy you left behind in the wake of your absence.

Relationships: Tech X Reader, Din Djarin & Reader, Tech & Phee, Tech, Crosshair, Reader & Original Female character

Tags: No use of (Y/N), Gender Neutral Reader (no gender identities are specified, though for the plot of the story reader is able to give birth), Reader's description is NOT specified, ANGST, Angst and honestly very little comfort, there is a conclusive resolve but not exactly a happy ending

Notes: Honestly, as much as I love em, I'm tired of Reader in Bad Batch fics always either being a Jedi or a medic, so in this story, Reader is a musician (totally self-serving for me seeing as I'm a musician, yes I know lol) that used said talents to get into clubs in order to extract sensitive information from Separatist patrons and act as an informant for the Republic. But it's not a major plot point. Honestly, this is more of a collection of events rather than a rolling plot anyways lol. Also, both Tech AND Reader are described as being neurodivergent in this fic!!

PART 1: Sweetest Sight Ever Seen

PART 2: Don't You Hear My Call?

PART 3: A World So Newly Born

PART 4: Little Darlin', We'll Away

PART 5: All Your Letters In The Sand

[estoniacobaltpayne]

"Y/n threw her long blonde hair into a messy bun"

[estoniacobaltpayne]

I think the clones like to annoy each other sometimes and it’s a toss up about what that irritant will be

For example:

Crosshair often perches on surfaces nearby whoever he is trying to annoy so they always just have him and his hot breath breathing down their neck. Tech has pushed him off of a chair before because he was sick of him

Wrecker is an angel and never does anything annoying ever So Wrecker will straight up lift them up and move them to like the chair right next to them so he can sit in their chair lmao

Cody pokes Rex all. the. time. He’s walking by and Rex is in the middle of talking so he just pokes him on the back of the head. He’s speaking in a group setting and Cody jabs him directly in his ribs so he makes a very silly and indignant noise

Echo, my sweet boy, asks them what they’re doing. Repeatedly. He asks and they tell him and he goes ‘oh, okay.’ Then gives it a minute then goes ‘hey, what’re you doing?’ And does that on repeat until they get annoyed enough to go after him

Tech records embarrassing things they’ve said and plays it back to them when they’re on his nerves. The way they shut up soooooo quick

Hunter walks silently behind whoever his target is and gets as close as possible so he can scare the absolute hell out of them. When he does he just keeps following so they keep feeling like he’s going to do something weird

[estoniacobaltpayne]

Does anybody want to talk about Star Wars

[estoniacobaltpayne]

Omegas' tendency to copy them is adorable. (When Hunter looked at her knowingly and indulged her. He's such a dad)

[estoniacobaltpayne]

Assorted clone doodles from the past week or so LOL, feat. longer-haired Rex (gives off surfer dude vibes) and mohawk Tech (I MISS HIM)

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[estoniacobaltpayne]

Happy The Bad Batch eve!! Can’t believe we made it

[estoniacobaltpayne]

mandatory pre-mission hugs from the papa batch (ಥ﹏ಥ)

[estoniacobaltpayne]

DIN DJARIN’S HOTTEST MOMENTS

4. 158/214 votes → Din’s beskar spear heel kick in The Rescue

[estoniacobaltpayne]

the bad beach 🏖

bonus:

[estoniacobaltpayne]

Retro Tech and Echo 🕹️👾

Ahhh the boysss <33 From last week's art challenge, where the theme was Retro. It felt very fitting to do the tech/mech bros hihi

[estoniacobaltpayne]

I’ve been wanting to draw this for SO LONG finally I got the gang down!! T_T