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There is a quiet safety in the greenhouses of Kamino. One which brings ease and peace of mind despite the rumors you’ve heard happening in the facility itself. The fresh scent of flowers, the rich feel of soil beneath your fingers, and the taste of perfectly ripe fruit are all added perks—and all the Kaminoans truly allow you access to.
The whole operation you’re entangled in is still relatively new. The Jedi sought you out a few months back, knocking one night on the door to your Corellian apartment, where they requested your assistance with growing crops. They’d briefly explained there was an initiative about providing fresh food to the soldiers instead of the gloopy, grey mush you’d heard whispers of.
You’d never been much of a farmer, but the thriving houseplants in your apartment spoke of some hidden skill, so you took the job.
In your little apartment on Kamino, they all still thrive. The flowers and vines you’d placed in perfect spots made the stark white room look like some ethereal garden. Given the backdrop of a stormy ocean, this was a haven in all senses of the word—far different from Corellia and the worry someone might break in.
If it wasn’t for all these little allowances, you’re not sure you would’ve lasted.
The first few weeks had been extremely lonely. You could comm your friends, but visitors were forbidden, and the contract more or less kept you from leaving. Sitting in the mess hall with the soldiers was off limits, and the Kaminoans you worked beside considered you a pesky fly. Despite tripling their production with far superior quality within the first few weeks, they barely even glanced your way.
The bright side came when Master Shaak Ti would spend the day with you, admiring your work. She’d smile knowingly and make quiet comments about the gift the Force has given to you. She’d compliment how effortlessly you’d upgraded the crops—in ways the Kaminoans never could.
And as you work a new patch now, gently tending and weeding the fresh growth, you smile as you think of one other addition to your routine.
“What?” comes a soft, gruff whisper.
Shaking your head, you think back to a particularly stormy day with business as usual. You’d spent the morning harvesting ripe fruit, tending to the new growth and weeding out anything that could possibly harm the little lives in your charge. As night fell, you were singing to a few of the trees. They seemed to like that as they often produced fruit far more delicious than anything else you’d ever tasted.
“Not sure I know that song.”
Startled, your face burned as you spun on your toes and that’s when you saw him.
Leaning against a begonia tree stood a soldier, arms gently folded over his chest, and dark inquisitive eyes set on you.
He was different than the others you’d seen in passing. While he was dressed in the blacks you’d seen on the men, his hair was longer and swept back by a red bandana. The most curious feature was the skull tattooed on the left side of his face. You’d wondered then—and still do now—how much it hurt and why he did it.
Drawing a slight breath, you’d warned him he shouldn’t be here. Early on, you’d come to realize an unspoken rule: the Kaminoans kept the soldiers from this place.
“Nala Se doesn’t seem to mind,” was his reply.
And he’d appeared whenever possible since.
You hadn’t noticed how cute he was in the beginning. How beautiful the line of his jaw was nor how his eyes were the color of the soil you loved so much. You do notice them tonight though as he again asks why you smiled. You’ve once again declined to answer but notice how close his long fingers are to yours as he weeds the dead from your gardens.
You also notice how close he is.
And how his beautiful eyes are ripe with exhaustion.
“You don’t have to help, Hunter,” you tell him, swiftly bypassing his question. “I know you just got back.”
There’s a soft shrug of his shoulders as he pulls a weed from the garden. Rolling it between his fingers, he studies the same spiky edges you’re also now fixated on. “Tech’s going over the latest data, Wrecker’s eating his weight in the fruits you grow, and Crosshair apparently didn’t have enough action so he’s working on sniper shots.”
Swallowing back a sigh, a weight settles in your chest. It’s foolish and frankly ridiculous to even dream he’s here because of you. The sensible part of your brain tells you this is an outlet after the covert ops he’s sent on time and time again. It’s not as if he’s studying your fingers or your jaw or your eyes.
It doesn’t quite put a stop to the fantasy of him kissing you under your favorite fruit trees. Or whispering sweet nothings as you work side by side in the greenhouses. Or starting a farm together on another planet far from here. He’d be good at all those things, you decided several weeks back. He’d be good at leading and guiding and loving.
He’d be good at every part in a marriage—
Cheeks warming, you quickly turn to another plant making sure your back is to him.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Drat! Clearing your throat, you give a quick nod. “These need some love.”
Because there is no way in the galaxy you’d ever tell him all your thoughts. You can’t. Not when he’s him and you’re you. No matter how many times he might catch you with a dreamy look in your eyes. The universe would burn first and all of Corellian Hell would rise and destroy everything not burnt to ash.
Instead, you take a deep breath as you sidestep again. “Bad mission?”
Wiping his hands on his pants, he’s quick to brush a fleck of dirt from your cheek—how did he get so close again—before turning his back on you and working elsewhere. It’s fair, to be honest. You’ve done the same to him but for far different reasons.
Humming softly as you check the watering system, you give Hunter his space. This isn’t the first time a mission has gone sideways, and he’s been quiet about it. Your heart wants to believe he thinks you’re too innocent for the horrors he witnesses, that he keeps mum because he desires to protect you.
Logically, you know he can’t share details about covert missions.
So, you go about your end-of-night tasks. Watering, checking, cleaning, and you’re grateful Hunter grabs the broom and sweeps the paths clear. While you enjoy that responsibility, he’s far better at it and tends to complete it in half the time.
“It’s not the mission.”
His gruff voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, barely above a whisper and nearly drowned out by the rain pelting the side of the greenhouse. Looking over, you notice he’s stopped sweeping. Broom in hand, his eyes are distant and laced with a fear you’ve never seen before.
“I dreamed about you last night.”
Stamping down on your fluttering heart, you focus on the fact you’ve heard clones don’t dream. At least, not like normal. Not about friends, family…loved ones. He’d never dream of gazing into your eyes or placing his forehead to yours. His night would never be filled with your smiling face or laughter.
Brushing your hands on your pants, you straighten up. “What about?”
His face wrinkles from his pursed lips to his forehead as he debates his response. “You…were in danger.”
You’re not sure why your feet move so slowly as you approach, nor why your fingers twitch and long to give his shoulder a comforting pat. It’s off limits, you remind yourself. Despite goodbye hugs at the end of the night, you make it a firm rule never to place a hand on him. It seems to go against his code, and you’d never do anything to jeopardize him.
“What happened?” you opt to say from a safe distance.
The softness of your voice brings his gaze to yours. You’re certain if it was something funny like you’d fallen asleep in his bunk, he’d offer that up with a laugh and remind you to sleep more. Instead, conflict brews like the raging seas outside meaning this is nothing good.
“Hunter, I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” he responds, and his gaze sweeps across the greenhouse. “You should be concerned with your fruits and vegetables and everything beautiful you provide.”
Your heart skips like a stone across water, and you condemn your unwieldy emotions. He didn’t call you beautiful. He was talking about the agriculture surrounding you both. Leaves, plants, trees, grass, those things. Not you.
Never you.
It’s against Code. “Please?”
Gaze returning to yours, those rich brown eyes are full of contemplation and thought. Finally, they steady like the structures you’re standing on and he sweeps a hand through his hair. “There were bombs dropped. Kamino was on fire. And you… You were here.”
Well, that’s a mood lightener, but don’t offer that joke because it doesn’t seem currently appropriate. Instead, you wet your lips. “Dreams are just dreams. They don’t mean much.”
Otherwise, he’d be kissing you under the begonia tree right now.
Returning his broom to the holder, he becomes more reserved than you’ve ever seen. “You don’t understand.”
“That a dream is a dream?”
“No,” he says as he heads for the door. Opening, he looks over his shoulder. “I couldn’t save you.”
And then he’s gone.
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Frowning, you don’t understand why the new plants won’t take root. You’ve stayed up countless nights over the past two weeks trying every technique you know of—and a few you’ve made up—yet by some bewitching situation, they fail to recover. In addition, you’ve noticed most of your beautiful greenhouses have begun to wilt and die.
Sighing, you dig your fingers into the somewhat dry, scratchy soil you’ve worked so hard to give life—
Grabbing a bit, you bring it to your nose.
It took you three years to perfect the mixture that keeps your own plants thriving. That same mixture you allowed the Kaminoans access to, but the one before you isn’t it. It’s not just the scratchy, coarse feeling of the dirt, but the scent is acidic.
Throwing it into the deadening pile, you’re not really surprised. The Kaminoans have always come across as cold and calculating. Truth be told, you never understood why they wanted to feed these growing men anything different than mush.
Maybe a farm will hire me on, you think as your stomach churns with the thought of leaving.
Taking a step back, your gaze drifts across the greenhouse, mind wandering to all the memories that flourished here. All the struggles and joys, the tears and laughter as you gave life to countless plants. Taking a deeper breath, your thoughts drift further…
In the months after Hunter’s comment, the topic of dreams was never approached again. You chose to avoid any such subject for fear of making him sad again.
Instead, you took every chance possible to see his normal slight smile bloom across his lips before he eventually grew to grin at your most witty comments. His warm laughter became a constant as you both joked of herbology, foods, and just how many edible flowers existed in the galaxy.
“They can’t all possibly be food,” he insisted as he tried a blue and red one. He’d watched how you slaved for weeks in an attempt to make it taste like a juna berry. When he popped it in his mouth, he chewed slowly before gagging and collapsing to the floor. Your heart had nearly stopped by the time you noticed he was laughing and met your gaze.
“Well, this one is.”
His desire to test your creations made your heart flutter more than anything. The way he willingly tried any new vegetable or fruit you came across, trusted you to know it wasn’t poisonous, and allowed himself to be vulnerable to the possibility of death cemented his place in your life. It was also the easiest time to feel his fingers, rough from war, brush against your skin. He’d joked about this being preferable to the lab rat Nala Se often made him and his brothers to be.
You brush your fingers over a place he once touched you on your forearm. He’d been excited about a dinner you prepared and shared with him. He’d apologized profusely for the overstep, but the smile wouldn’t leave your face as you told him, “It’s fine.”
Oh, it could be fine all the time. You often daydreamed about his fingers laced through yours. Imagined the way his hand would feel on your back. How wonderful it would be if his arm was wrapped around your shoulders.
Eyes closed, it’s easy to picture his fingers gently brushing through your hair—
Your breath catches because he did.
Once.
You had managed to get caught in a tree branch, and he wrestled you free before taking great care to smooth your hair. He then took a bit of time checking your face for injuries. More than once his gaze crossed your lips which was humorous since the branch only attacked your hair.
That memory gives way to when you found yourself tangled in overgrown vines you had decided to tackle on your own. How the Jedi ever thought you were qualified or the Kaminoans let you stay had baffled you due to that, but Hunter arrived just in time. He’d plucked you from captivity before carrying you to a nearby bench where his fingers explored exposed skin for injuries and applied bacta to scratches.
Standing alone in the greenhouse, you’re left with only these memories. Recollections of what seems like a lifetime ago and, given the deterioration of this garden, will never be again.
Frowning, you think back to what Hunter once said.
I dreamed of you…I couldn’t save you.
Could he have envisioned this? Instead of bombs and fire, they were all allegories for the greenhouses? The dying of all your hardwork?
You leap into the air as a klaxon alarm blares. Gaze darting, your breath freezes as goosebumps riddle your skin in pesky raised dots. The noise is low and terrifying, easily sending chills up your spine creating a fear you’ve never known in all your life.
Soldiers rush through the door, blasters aimed.
“Halt!” shouts one, voice modified and monotone.
A second kills the power.
The hum of the greenhouse dies with a groan allowing the pelting rain and thunder to rattle everything within. Through flashes of lightning, you see several more troopers rush in and beyond them…
Eyes widening, there are pops of red and blue and green distorted by the storm leaving you struggling to make sense of it all. You’re not even certain the words “What’s going on?” are heard over the cacophony. To make matters worse, the emergency lights flicker on and off, unable to pick a stance as a distant explosion rattles the building.
When a blaster appears in your face, you find your hands up near your head, and your lips part in silent terror. In the near year you’ve been on Kamino none of the soldiers have ever come across as threatening—let alone aimed a weapon at you.
“Hands behind your head,” calls a second one. “Interlock your fingers.”
You don’t move as they shift behind you, prodding you forward with their blasters. “What have I done?”
They don’t take the time to give any answer—let alone a dignified one—as they shove you toward the door. Outside, visibility is barely a foot from the door giving the illusion the heavens are mourning this upheaval and you wonder if they could explain what’s happening.
Heart thumping in your chest, you realize this is what Hunter had seen. This is the dream he had once upon a time. This is what he couldn’t save you from.
The chaos, confusion, uncertainty.
A blaster fires in the darkness and you snap your eyes shut.
Fingers trembling, you hold your shaky breath as thuds sound around you. You’re not sure what it would be like to die, and you wonder if it includes pain. Nothing quite hurts, but the world around you ceases to exist.
Gloved hands are suddenly on yours causing you to peek with a gasp.
The helmet before you is foreign and unfriendly, except for a streak of red running down the center and a skull painted onto the left side. There’s only one man you could think of who would choose these markings. Surprise blossoms in your chest. Despite the gravity of the situation, despite how bleak the outcome, this is a reward you never expected but always dreamed of.
“Hunter…” you breathe.
“Are you okay?” he questions, voice modified by the helmet. “They didn’t hurt you?”
Shaking your head, you swear you’re floating on air. It’s definitely foolish and you should be running, yet, Hunter is here and he’s come for you so nothing else matters. Dead or alive or somewhere in between, none of that matters because he’s here in front of you.
“You’re okay?”
Nodding, you find your voice no longer works. As panic ebbs into the distance, a calm fills you and you exhale with a yawn.
“Okay,” he says softly, not with anger or disgust or frustration. No, there’s almost amusement in his tone which adds to your ease. “C’mon. Out the back. We’ve got to go.”
Without a word, you follow him. You’re certain he could sprint far faster without you, but it’s not as if you’ve been training for a marathon. You’ve been growing plants which involves anything but running. Still, your heart warms as he makes sure to stay right next to you, guiding you past soldiers on the prowl.
Reaching his ship—you’ve heard him call it the Marauder several times—Hunter quickly ushers you in. He jogs up the steps behind you as the door shuts and the ship lifts with a disorientating jolt. You sway on your feet, unfamiliar with flight, nearly toppling to the left. Hunter’s at your side in an instant, steadying you with one hand and removing his helmet with the other.
Looking over those inside, you’ve never met them, but you recognize them by the stories Hunter’s told you over the past months. Giving a polite smile, you’re not sure you could formulate words if you tried. At least not until you turn, and your eyes widen as your jaw drops.
Stored on several shelves, sits a sizeable collection of plants from your apartment here on Kamino. While not all your little ones have made it, the ones that have are…
Well…
They’re all your favorites.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t save them all.”
Water in your eyes, you place a hand over your still open mouth. All those times you’d mentioned which ones you’d loved the most, he’d actually been listening, taking notes, committing them to memory.
“Why?” you finally whisper.
There is nothing logical about this. He shouldn’t have remembered your favorites. He shouldn’t have brought them to the Marauder. He shouldn’t have taken you from the greenhouse.
Leaning against the wall, he looks over all the plants he’s saved. “You love them,” he says softly before taking a deep breath and meeting your gaze. “And I’ve always loved you.”
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The quaint little house beside the lake is everything you’ve ever wished for and yet nothing like you’ve ever dreamed. Surrounded by the vast garden you’ve cultivated over the last six months, you breathe in the fresh, rich air.
In the shade of a begonia tree, you work the soil of a planter containing a new type of fruit you’re cultivating as an argument drifts through the air about which vegetables to put in the nerf stew for dinner tonight. Tech and Wrecker are always quarreling over their favorites, debating about which one pairs best.
Crosshair always wins in the end because jogan seems to go well with every meal.
Rough-tipped fingers skim down your arms creating a bouquet of butterflies fluttering in your chest before joining your hands in the soft, spongy soil. Your smile grows with a content sigh when a kiss—feather light—is pressed to your cheek.
“This for me?” Hunter questions, a smile on his soft voice as his breath dances across the side of your face and sends a shiver up your spine.
His nose caresses the top of your ear before he places another kiss there which fills your mind less with daydreams and more with logical happenings these days. You giggle and weave your fingers with his in the soil.
“That a yes?”
Wincing, you can’t keep the smile from your face as you nod. Of course, this planter is for him. He told you shortly after arriving here that his favorite was the juna berry you once cultivated which undoubtedly means there’s only one plant you’re trying to recreate.
Pulling your hands from his, you brush them on your pants before pulling a budding flower from your work. Turning to him, he grins with an open mouth, and you place it in.
Chewing thoughtfully for a moment, he gives a firm nod. “I’d say it’s better than before.”
“That’s good to know,” you reply before he sweeps you closer and kisses you.
Under the begonia tree.
Leaving you tasting your hard-earned efforts.
And you agree.
This is far better than it was before.