Chapter Text
The click and whirr of his knee servo was almost entirely drowned out by the heavy rain mixed with hail bouncing off the Marauder's bulkhead. While Echo wouldn’t necessarily call the torrential downpour on Kamino “gentle,” compared to the soggy backwater (literally and figuratively) they had found themselves on for their current mission, he’d be hard pressed if forced to compare.
Tech continued to poke and prod at his knee joint, the casing partially open to reveal the mess of wires and circuits that had been malfunctioning for the last few rotations. Echo forced himself to breathe evenly and keep his eyes open. As long as he could see it was Tech, just Tech, working on his legs, he would probably be okay.
There was a spark and a sudden, sharp burst of static that struck through his mechanical circuits and up through his biological neurons to muddle around in zeros and ones and the smell of burning as the flesh parts of his brain tried to form a coherent thought with the circuitry of his central processing unit. Echo flinched and his breathing stuttered.
He was fine.
He was on the Marauder.
He was safe.
He was–
Static
Static
Sharp–the buzz of a hacksaw the teeth biting into his leg, his thigh, slicing through his chest, his back, his spine–
Pressure and heat and sharp and–why, why, why and–it went on and on and on and–
He couldn’t–
He couldn’t see–
He couldn’t scream he couldn’t see he couldn’t scream he couldn’t–
“The complexities of Troig poetry truly highlight the disparities between the culture of one born on Pollillus with ancestry dating back to the foundation of the planet and the culture that has grown to be popular among the sizable colonies that have made the northern half of the planet their home.”
Echo blinked. He had jackknifed into himself, clutching his scomp arm to his chest with his remaining hand, his legs pulled up against them and out of Tech’s grip. He knew he was still shaking and his scomp was whirring in anxiety, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. Every breath was difficult–he couldn’t focus on getting enough air into his lungs.
Tech sat calmly next to him, his hands flat on the exam table where Echo was curled in on himself, “While the colonists do attempt to replicate the unique meter and stylized scheme, they lack both access to the idioms from the foundation texts and to the most pivotal feature of the poetry: namely, the colonists only have one head and one mouth.”
Echo’s ragged, hitched attempt at breathing filled the silence and he was glad that they were the only ones awake on the ship. Hunter had first watch and was standing guard outside, wrapped in several different cloaks that belonged to the rest of the team but that he was currently using as a layered, desperate bid to keep warm and dry. Crosshair and Wrecker were sacked out in their bunks, the just finished mission having relied heavily on sniper cover fire and demolition expertise.
Echo finally gasped a complete breath, glad at the thought that at least it was Tech, just Tech, who was witness to this. The little corner of the cabin allocated to the medbay was laughably open to the rest of the ship–it was not where you would go for any privacy, but was used rather out of need and desperation.
Tech’s own hands twitched as Echo’s breathing normalized, Echo’s hand stilling and his scomp calming down from its rapid twisting. Tech hesitantly reached out one arm, watching Echo watching him, until he pressed his hand against Echo’s leg, right below the knee joint that was still popped open.
Echo swallowed, his breathing picking up a bit, before reminding himself it was Tech. Just Tech. Just Tech .
“As you can imagine,” Echo hadn’t realized he had started to shake, but as Tech started to speak his body slowly stopped, “When the Troigs recite their poetry, it sounds much more like a duet than anything. The audience must be somewhat familiar with the ancient foundational texts to even begin to parse out what both heads are saying. And, naturally, they are speaking at the same time. It’s one of the reasons most Troig poetry is read rather than heard.”
Echo chuckled and forced himself to lower both his legs back down to the bench. Tech glanced at him, making eye contact briefly before looking down to where his hands and tools hovered over Echo’s knee. Echo nodded, his throat suddenly dry, but unwilling to not seek the help Tech was so willing to give.
Tech reached for his knee joint, finishing the repair as quickly as possible. He shut the casing with a slight snap.
“Try it now.” Tech stood away from the table and Echo slid to the floor, taking a few steps and gratified to find that his knee was no longer making the jerky, hesitant motions that had been close to tripping him during their last evasive maneuver.
“It’s perfect, Tech.” Echo smiled up at Tech who averted his eyes and coughed into his fist to try and hide his blush and own smile.
“I am glad I could help. If you find any of your other mechanical parts are lagging or in need of maintenance, please seek me out.” Tech cleared his throat and then started to pack up the medbay, wiping down any surfaces they had touched.
Echo reached out his left hand and grasped at Tech’s elbow. The younger clone stilled, acutely aware of the touch. Echo used the leverage to gently pull Tech around until they were facing each other again before shifting his grip and leaning into Tech’s space. Here, Echo’s mind finally caught up to what his body was doing and he winced. None of his new squadmates had seemed especially tactile with him and Tech, by far, the least of them all. He had reacted without thinking by grabbing Tech’s arm–something he would have done with his old squad, before…
Before.
“Thank you. I...thank you. I know it’s hard to work with me, but I really do appreciate it.” Echo tried to maintain eye contact, but at the admission he couldn’t help but drop his eyes, his hands sliding down to his sides.
Suddenly, Tech’s arms came up to grab at both his shoulders. Echo glanced back sharply at the motion.
“Echo,” Tech started, before clearing his throat and the hands on Echo’s shoulders squeezed once, twice, “Echo. You are not, nor have you ever been, hard to work with. It is a pleasure.”
Echo found it hard to swallow and his face started to burn, a nervous energy building up behind his cheekbones and eyes and he was a soldier, he couldn’t cry–he wouldn’t cry.
“Apologies if you ever thought otherwise.” Tech squeezed his shoulders just once more before backing up and finishing his clean up. Echo stood still, watching as Tech quickly walked away as soon as the space was sterile. Echo’s face continued to heat, but when he reached up to feel if any moisture had made an escape, he found he couldn’t stop smiling, instead.