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Your POV
The hum of the Marauder’s engines blends into the pounding in your ears.
Both sounds are steady, constant, wrapping around you in the way only exhaustion and adrenaline can.
The mission had gone sideways. Again.
Hunter’s in the cockpit, his voice low as he exchanges updates with Tech. Crosshair leans over the table, rifle in pieces, muttering about faulty intel. Wrecker is slumped against the wall already, snoring like the firefight never happened. Tech sits at his station, pale eyes glued to the glowing readouts.
And then there’s Echo.
He stands near the bench, helmet cradled in his flesh hand, cybernetics catching the dim light. The white plastoid of his armor is scuffed and streaked from blaster fire, and there’s a heaviness to the way he carries himself tonight — a slight sag in his shoulders, like the weight of the armor is finally getting to him.
Your eyes linger longer than they should.
You saw him take a hit during the extraction — nothing life-threatening, but enough to make your stomach twist when you’d seen him stagger behind cover. You’d been too busy laying down fire to get to him right away, and the guilt still sits heavy in your chest.
When the ship finally slips into hyperspace and the vibrations in the deck even out, you stand. Your boots are quiet against the metal floor as you close the distance between you.
“How’s your arm?” you ask.
His gaze flicks to yours — tired, but warm. “I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He hesitates, then sets the helmet down on the bench. Without a word, he lets you guide him toward the small med station. The light there is harsh, washing out the shadows of his face but revealing every fine line of strain.
You gesture for him to sit. He does, and you kneel beside him, fingers moving to unlatch the seals on his pauldron. You try to keep your focus on the injury, but your gaze keeps drifting — the curve of his jaw, the pale scars etched across his skin, the faint shadows under his eyes. Every mark is a story you don’t know in full.
“You took the hit here?” you ask, brushing your gloved fingers just above the join in his armor.
“Yeah. Blaster bolt grazed the joint.”
You hum, removing the plate. Your fingertips graze the fabric beneath, and you feel him draw in the faintest breath. Not the first time you’ve touched him — there have been battlefield bandages, hurried shoves into cover, a hand on his arm in a crowd — but here, in the stillness, it feels different.
You clean the burn carefully, the acrid tang of medgel curling between you. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound, but you feel his gaze on you the entire time.
“You didn’t have to jump in front of me like that,” you murmur.
“Didn’t have to think about it,” he says simply. “I’m not letting you take a blaster bolt if I can help it.”
The words sink into you like warmth after cold. You secure the bandage with practiced motions. “There. Good as new.”
He studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, softly: “Be careful.”
“I will.”
For a second, his hand brushes yours — the warm one — before he stands and moves toward his bunk. “Thanks.”
You watch him go, the ghost of that touch lingering against your skin.
~_~_~_~
Your POV – Days Later
The next mission should be simple. In and out. Grab the intel. But “simple” isn’t The Bad Batch’s style.
You’re sprinting through the ruins of an old Separatist outpost, blaster fire slicing the air.
“Hunter, we’ve got two squads on our tail,” you call over comms.
“Keep moving,” Hunter replies. “Echo, stay with her.”
Echo slides into cover beside you, checking you for injuries before peeking around the corner. “On my mark,” he murmurs.
You nod. The mark comes, and you break cover together, his shoulder brushing yours as you trade fire with the advancing troops.
By the time you reach the south exit, Wrecker is already laying down heavy fire to clear the path. But another bolt slams into the wall near your head, sending stone chips into your cheek.
Before you can recover, Echo’s hand closes around your arm, yanking you behind a section of fallen wall. His tone is sharp. “Stay low.”
“I’m fine—”
“You were in their sights.”
The ramp to the Marauder drops open, and you push forward together. You notice how he never leaves your side until the hatch closes behind you.
Later, you find him working on his gauntlet in the dim corridor. “You were glued to my side out there,” you say, trying for lightness.
“That’s my job.”
“Protecting the squad is your job. Hovering over me like a shield? That’s something else entirely.”
His gaze lifts. “You’re saying you didn’t need it?”
You hesitate. “I’m saying I noticed.”
He looks away, fingers stilling on the gauntlet. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he says quietly, “to watch someone you care about take a hit you could’ve prevented.”
Your chest tightens. You’re not sure if “someone” means the squad in general or you specifically, but the way his voice softens makes you suspect the latter.
“I guess I don’t,” you admit. “But I don’t want you getting hurt for my sake either.”
“Too late to stop me from trying.”
You don’t answer. Not because you can’t — but because you’re afraid if you do, you won’t stop.
~_~_~_~
Echo’s POV
The patrol is closer than expected.
Too close.
You’re ahead of him on the stairwell, moving fast but silent. He hears the echo of voices below, the clatter of armor. There’s no way out except up.
In the cramped control room at the top, he spots a storage hatch in the floor. Not much space. Barely enough for one person, let alone two. But it’s the only option.
“You first,” he says.
You drop into the crawlspace without argument. He follows, shutting the hatch. Darkness swallows you both, the air close and warm. He can feel the press of your back against his chest, every breath you take brushing against his armor.
The patrol leader’s voice is just above. His hand finds your arm before he thinks — steadying you, grounding himself.
“They won’t find us,” he whispers.
“I trust you.”
The words settle somewhere deep, but also twist something sharp inside. You shouldn’t trust him completely — not when he knows he’d throw every rule aside for you.
“You shouldn’t,” he murmurs.
You shift slightly toward him. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t promise I won’t do something reckless if it means keeping you safe.”
“That’s not a flaw, Echo. That’s just you.”
He swallows hard. For a moment, he wants to tell you everything — that you’re the first thing he looks for after every firefight, that he counts your footsteps beside his in the dark, that the thought of losing you feels like being back on Skako Minor. But the footsteps above move the moment away.
When it’s clear, he opens the hatch and helps you out. His hand lingers on yours longer than it should.
~_~_~_~
Your POV
The mission is already bad when the explosion happens.
One second you’re moving through the shadowed corridors of an abandoned relay station; the next, the entire floor shudders under your boots, throwing you into the wall. The air fills with heat and dust, the sound of tearing durasteel ringing in your skull.
“Everyone report!” Hunter’s voice crackles over comms.
“Wrecker, fine—sort of,” comes Wrecker’s voice, punctuated by the sound of blaster fire.
“Tech, in position,” Tech replies, calm even now.
Echo’s voice cuts through, taut with worry. “Where’s—?”
“I’m here!” you cough into your comm, brushing dust from your face.
But then you hear it — a deep, groaning creak. The ceiling above you splits, chunks of debris crashing down. You leap back, but not far enough. A metal beam catches your leg, pinning you against the deck.
Your comm hisses with Echo’s voice, sharper now. “Where are you?”
You give the coordinates, already trying to shift the beam, but it’s heavy — too heavy.
Seconds later, he’s there. Helmet on, blaster drawn, clearing the path like it’s nothing. Then he’s kneeling beside you, metal fingers on the beam.
“You’re hurt?”
“Just trapped.”
He braces himself, the servos in his arm whining as he pushes. The beam shifts an inch, two — enough for you to drag yourself free with a hiss of pain.
But the ceiling groans again. A section further down the hall collapses completely, sealing the corridor in both directions. Smoke and heat begin to press in.
“Comms are dead,” you realize, tapping your earpiece.
He’s already scanning the wreckage. “There’s an access hatch in the maintenance shaft, but it’s unstable.”
“Unstable how?”
He meets your eyes. “It might hold. Or it might drop us straight into the sublevels.”
“Better than staying here,” you say, but you both hear it — the rising whine of overheating fuel cells somewhere below.
The shaft is narrow, forcing you to go first. He stays close behind, guiding your steps where the metal is weakest. The smoke burns in your throat, your legs trembling from adrenaline.
Halfway up, a section gives way beneath you. Your boot slips, and for a heartbeat you’re falling — until Echo’s arm hooks around your waist, hauling you back against him.
“Don’t let go,” you gasp.
“Not a chance.”
~_~_~_~
Echo’s POV
The metal is hot against his palm, the shaft groaning around you both. He can feel the tremor in your frame, the shallow drag of your breath. You’re scared — and he is too.
The heat from below rises sharper now, the kind that means seconds before detonation. You’re almost at the hatch when the support under his foot gives way. The jolt rips a curse from him, but he shoves you upward toward the open panel.
“Go!”
You hesitate, looking down at him, eyes wide. “Not without you.”
“You don’t have time to argue—”
“Neither do you!”
The hatch frame burns his fingers as he pushes you through, the smell of scorched metal filling his lungs. The world below roars, and he knows he’s out of time. He grabs the edge and pulls himself up after you.
You reach for him, both hands gripping his armor. The floor shakes violently, throwing you both to your knees. The blast below hits like a wave, the hatch slamming shut behind him.
He can hear your heartbeat in the silence after — fast, uneven, alive. Relief surges so strong it almost knocks him over.
Without thinking, he says it. “I love you.”
The words hang in the thick, smoky air.
Your eyes widen, but you don’t look away. You reach up, cupping his jaw with soot-streaked fingers. “I love you too.”
It’s not tentative. It’s not uncertain. It’s a truth that’s been waiting between you for far too long.
~_~_~_~
Your POV
The heat fades slowly, but the echo of the blast stays in your chest. He’s here, breathing hard, helmet gone now, eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing worth looking at.
You want to say more — to tell him how every moment you’ve been with him has mattered, how you’ve counted on him in ways you’ve never counted on anyone before. But words are clumsy things, and right now the air is too heavy for them.
So instead, you lean forward until your forehead rests against his. His breath shudders against your lips, and you can feel the faint tremor in his metal hand where it cups the side of your neck.
“You scared me,” you murmur.
He huffs something like a laugh. “You terrify me every time you step into the line of fire.”
“Guess we’re even.”
He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “Not even close.”
~_~_~_~
Your POV
The Marauder hums beneath your feet, a steady, familiar sound that usually calms you. Not tonight.
You’re sitting on the edge of the medbay cot, armor stripped down to your base layers, a med scanner resting against your thigh. Your leg’s bruised from the beam earlier — not broken, Tech insists — but the ache is deep.
Echo stands nearby, helmet off, arms folded like he’s guarding the door. Wrecker’s laughter drifts faintly from the cockpit where Hunter is flying and Tech is probably lecturing him on proper course alignment. But in here, it’s quiet.
You break the silence first. “You haven’t moved since we got back.”
He shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug that means I’m not telling you the whole truth.
“You okay?” you ask, softer now.
He looks away for a beat before answering. “Wasn’t sure we’d make it out.”
You swallow, the image of the collapsing shaft flashing behind your eyes. “Me neither.”
Your gaze catches his, and it’s there again — the moment in the smoke and heat, his voice saying something you’ve replayed in your head a dozen times already.
“You meant it?” you ask. “What you said?”
His eyes hold yours, steady and unflinching. “Every word.”
You nod, throat tight. “Good. Because I did too.”
For a second, you think he might look away, but instead he steps closer, his metal hand brushing your knee gently — careful, like he’s still afraid of breaking something fragile.
“Then we don’t waste any more time,” he says.
You smile faintly, leaning into the touch. “Deal.”
~_~_~_~
Echo’s POV
He’s used to the rhythm of missions — the drop, the fight, the extraction, the return. You get patched up, you move on. But this time, the rhythm is different.
This time, the sound of the blast is still in his bones, and the image of you slipping from that shaft is carved into his mind like a scar.
He’s not good at speeches. Not good at risking words the way others risk blaster fire. But when you ask if he meant it, there’s no hesitation.
Every moment since Skako Minor, he’s been learning what it means to fight for something beyond survival. And now, looking at you — bruised but alive, stubborn as ever — he knows exactly what that something is.
When you say you meant it too, something unknots in his chest. The kind of tension you don’t notice until it’s gone.
He touches your knee, feeling the warmth through the thin layer of fabric, the small give of muscle beneath. You lean toward him, and it’s enough.
For now.
~_~_~_~
Your POV
Later, the ship dims for night cycle. You’re stretched out in your bunk, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, but your mind is wide awake.
The door to the crew quarters hisses, and you glance up to see Echo leaning in the frame. “Couldn’t sleep?” you ask.
“Just making sure you’re alright,” he says, voice quiet.
You shift to make room. “Come here.”
He hesitates only a second before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of your bunk. You rest your head on his shoulder, the hum of the ship wrapping around you both.
Neither of you speaks for a long time. There’s no need. You’ve already said the most important thing.
When you finally drift toward sleep, you feel the faint press of his lips against your hair, and the murmur of words he thinks you won’t hear.
“I’m not letting you go.”
And you believe him.