Day 6 - Crosshair & Kayden

I really wanted to do something special for a Gravity Falls print since I really love that show! Then I thought about a Mystery Shack cut away and here we are. Super inaccurate layout but a lot of fun to do!

by will mcphail

"Goggle-Eyed" || Tech x OC Marina

Author's Note: Hi friends! Coming in with the next portions of Tech and Marina's story! A tiny bit of time has past since they met with this piece. I am really enjoying their dynamic! As always this is part of @leenathegreengirl's Pabu AU, and she is responsible for the absolutely STUNNING art of them that is featured both in the cover and at the end with the full image! Seriously she did AMAZING because LOOK at how handsome he looks! That being said, I have a Tag list for the Wolffe/Perdita saga... I suppose it's only fair to open that up to Rex/Mae as well as this new... pair of friends... ~ M

Pairing: Tech & OC Marina

Word Count: 9.4k +

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Mentions of divorce; Mentions of character death; tooth rotting fluff

Summary: Tech and Marina continue to spend more time together, with their connection deepening in ways neither fully understands. As they reflect on their growing friendship, Marina begins to notice her feelings shifting, though she remains uncertain about what exactly she’s experiencing. She rationalizes her appreciation of his presence, trying to make sense of the quiet pull she feels, but doesn’t quite voice what’s on her mind. Meanwhile, Tech wrestles with his insecurities, particularly about his appearance. Will a small change be enough to force them to confront the growing tension?

Masterlist | Tech's Encrypted Files | Previous | Next (coming soon!)

Astonished. Flabbergasted. Dumbfounded. Confounded. Nonplussed. Taken aback. Stunned. Stupefied. Benumbed. 

Goggle-eyed.

Marina found herself struggling to make sense of the overwhelming surge of emotions she’d experienced that evening. What had started as a simple, straightforward task—repairing a crucial piece of equipment—had quickly spiraled into something she hadn’t anticipated. She had left with a mind full of swirling realizations, not just about her past, but also… something else. Delight?

She couldn’t be sure. Emotions, to Marina, were often erratic and transient, slipping through her fingers like water. They weren’t something she cared to dwell on. It was the facts, after all, that mattered most. And the facts were undeniable: the man who had moved into her old home, taking on the role once held by her deceased husband, was a disruption. His presence was unsettling, tearing at the fabric of the life she’d carefully constructed in his absence.

And yet… there was something about it, something she couldn’t quite put into words. He wasn’t the source of the discomfort she expected. In fact, he was becoming something far more complex in her mind. Tech, once nothing more than a mere discipline defined by wires, parts, and tools, had evolved into something far more profound. It had become tanned skin and sly smiles, accompanied by an ever-more penetrating gaze that she pretended not to notice from the corner of her eye. It was the calming baritone of his voice as he explained his work. Tech was no longer just a craft; it was a man—one who now filled her thoughts with a growing list of words, a catalog of impressions that expanded with each passing day, adding new, more positive descriptors to her mental inventory. Every interaction, every moment spent in his company, seemed to shift her perspective, pulling her deeper into uncharted territory. She wasn’t sure how to process it, but the list continued to grow.

She wasn’t one for ambiguity. Marina liked things clear, straightforward, and logical. But for the first time in as long as she could remember, clarity seemed elusive.

The clone had, perhaps unwittingly, shown her something she hadn’t expected. In his honest simplicity, he demonstrated not only a quiet respect for her former life but also a recognition of the love she had lost. He admired Keiron’s work, and more importantly, he kept the memory of her husband alive in ways that others never had. When she asked, he shared details about their shared craft, holding Keiron’s contributions in high regard, never diminishing their significance. It was a gesture that, while small, felt monumental. The rare few who had known Keiron never seemed able—or willing—to honor his memory in such a way. It was often clouded by pity, as though his legacy was something to be mourned rather than celebrated.

Tech, on the other hand, was a blank slate. He didn’t carry the baggage of shared grief or whispered condolences, and his only connection to Keiron had been through their mutual love of building things. It wasn’t weighed down by history, yet it still felt significant. He had no reason to keep that connection, and yet he did, treating her husband’s work with the same respect and enthusiasm he had for his own.

For a time, the idea of returning to a life of normalcy had seemed impossible, even after so many years on her own. The weight of grief had never fully lifted, and the pity in the eyes of others had only added to her sense of isolation. But Tech—this unexpected presence—had slowly begun to change that. With him, she could let go of the heavy mantle of widowhood, if only for a moment. It wasn’t that she had forgotten Keiron or erased his importance from her life. But for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t “Marina, the widow of our beloved Keiron.” She was simply Marina again—a woman with her own space to breathe, to exist without the weight of others’ sorrow pulling her down. The chance to return to herself, free from the constant reminder of her loss, felt like a rare gift—one she didn’t know she needed until it was there, right in front of her.

But there was something deeper than mere respect—something more unexpected. Marina had found, to her surprise, that Tech's presence was actually comforting. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a quiet alignment that resonated in a way she hadn’t encountered before. Tech was, in many ways, a mirror of herself—blunt, unapologetically straightforward, and entirely unafraid to speak his mind. Traits she had often been shamed for, but in him, they felt different.

He was intelligent, his mind sharp and precise, and the way he articulated his thoughts often mirrored her own. His tone—the same one she’d been accused of using, the one others had called condescending—didn’t carry the same negative weight when it came from him. Marina couldn’t help but recognize the eerie similarity, the way his words seemed to echo her own mannerisms, yet there was a subtle difference. Where others had seen her intellectual tone as an attack, as an unwanted display of authority, they never seemed to perceive it that way with Tech. His words were never laden with judgment or condemnation; they were simply the expressions of someone who understood the weight of knowledge.

In a strange way, Tech seemed to be the first person who truly understood her—someone who didn’t distort her intentions through the lens of preconceived biases. When she spoke with him, it wasn’t about putting others down or assuming superiority. It was about sharing knowledge and exchanging ideas. But for some reason, that same approach, when applied by her, had often been misread by others as arrogant or dismissive. Yet with Tech, her words felt accepted, as though he saw them for what they truly were—a genuine attempt to communicate, not to dominate.

The more she spent time with him, the more Marina realized that this wasn’t just about being understood. It was about being seen, truly seen for who she was—without judgment, without the weight of other people’s assumptions. In a way she hadn’t expected, Tech had become a safe space, a place where she could simply exist without needing to defend herself or constantly explain her intentions. It was a kind of relief she hadn’t known she was missing.

A recent revelation struck her with a quiet force: Tech possessed a simple, unassuming kindness that she hadn’t fully appreciated until now. It wasn’t loud or grand, not the kind of charity that demanded recognition, but it was genuine nonetheless. He asked about her work, about the things that others so often dismissed or scoffed at, showing a sincere interest that surprised her. Where most people, even those who were close to her, had no real curiosity or care for her craft, Tech seemed to value it, not out of obligation, but because he truly wanted to know.

And then there was his way of caring for his siblings. The ease with which he maintained things for them, often without a second thought for his own needs, was a constant reminder of the quiet depth of his generosity. He never made a show of it, never boasted about the ways he helped, and yet it was clear that, in his world, their well-being always came first. Take Crosshair, for example. The mechanical reel, essential as it was, was clearly more important to Tech than his own need for food or rest. Marina couldn’t help but admire that quiet sacrifice, the way his actions always seemed to put others before himself, even when no one was watching.

Tech’s kindness wasn’t extravagant. It didn’t demand attention or praise. It came in the form of little things—small acts of care, of thoughtfulness, that didn’t announce themselves but instead simply were. It was the sort of kindness that never seemed to wane, but rather ebbed and flowed like the tide—gentle, persistent, and always present.

In a world where so many people made kindness conditional or used it as a tool for gain, Tech’s quiet sincerity stood in stark contrast. He didn’t need to be noticed for it, and didn't require any kind of acknowledgment. It was just who he was. And for Marina, that was something rare—something that, over time, she found herself appreciating more than she could put into words.

Marina made a conscious effort not to dwell on Keiron. After all, it had been years since his passing, and the ache of loss, while never truly gone, had softened over time. She had learned to move forward, to carve out a life that was her own, one that didn’t constantly call upon the memory of the past. It wasn’t that she had forgotten him; how could she? Keiron had been her world, and that part of her would never fade. But she’d done what she could to keep the memories from overtaking her present, from weaving themselves into every quiet moment, every new day.

But Tech, in his own subtle way, was beginning to infiltrate the routine she had built. At first, it was a simple presence—his quiet way of asking about her work, his casual remarks about his siblings and their needs, the small acts of thoughtfulness that added a quiet rhythm to her days. Yet, with each passing interaction, she couldn’t help but notice how his movements, his habits, seemed to echo the ones Keiron had once had. The way Tech lingered in the workshop, inspecting tools and gadgets with the same meticulous care, reminded her of the evenings when Keiron would do the same, lost in the hum of his work, with nothing but his craft to accompany him.

It was subtle at first—a flicker of familiarity that she quickly pushed aside, telling herself it was just a coincidence. After all, Tech was his own person. But then there were moments when she’d see him pause in the same way Keiron had, when he’d focus intently on some small mechanical detail, his brow furrowing in concentration, and for a fleeting instant, she could almost see her husband in him. It wasn’t that he looked like Keiron or mimicked him outright; no, Tech was very much his own individual. But the way he became absorbed in his work, the focus he put into solving problems, the way he treated others with that same unassuming kindness—it all felt like an odd, comforting reflection of what had once been.

Marina tried not to let it bother her, tried not to allow the comparison to take root. It was unfair to Tech, she knew that. He was not Keiron, and he would never be. And yet, there were moments when the lines between the two blurred—when the way Tech moved through her world with such ease, felt eerily familiar. In those moments, it was hard not to think of Keiron, not to remember the long nights spent side by side in the workshop, their conversations flowing as easily as the work they did.

But then she would pull herself back, reminding herself that Tech, despite the similarities, was different in ways that were undeniable. He was blunt, for one, where Keiron had always been more tactful. His sense of humor, dry and sometimes absent altogether, stood in stark contrast to the way Keiron had always laughed, the kind of laughter that had filled their home with warmth. There was a quiet strength in Tech that was different—more like a steady current, unwavering and calm, where Keiron’s had been a fire, always burning brightly, fiercely, and at times, unpredictably.

But in his own quiet way, Tech carried with him a form of baggage not so dissimilar from her own. His recent divorce, the painful rift caused by his decision to initiate the split, was a burden he bore silently, but it was one that mirrored her own experience in unexpected ways. Just as her widowhood had left her isolated, adrift in a world that sometimes felt too full of memories and too empty of connection, Tech found himself similarly alienated—an unwilling outcast in the wake of his decision.

Marina never asked about his past. It wasn’t her place to pry into the details of his life, just as he had never questioned her about Keiron. Their relationship was defined by a quiet understanding of boundaries—unsaid but deeply respected. She understood the delicate nature of loss and didn’t wish to push him into a space where he might feel exposed, just as she had once been when her grief was raw and fresh.

And yet, despite the unspoken agreement to avoid personal histories, there was something about the stillness of their shared time together that had a way of unraveling the walls they both built around themselves. In the moments when they worked side by side, when the quiet hum of their respective tasks filled the air, truth began to slip into their conversations—not in bold declarations, but in small, almost imperceptible ways. The weight of his past, his marriage, the pain of his decision, started to emerge in his words, in the pauses between sentences, in the way he sometimes stared off into the distance as though processing something just beneath the surface.

Tech didn’t speak of it directly at first, but in the gentle cadence of their conversations, in the soft exchanges that had nothing to do with the tasks at hand, it began to seep out. His words, casual as they were, began to reveal glimpses of his heartache. His explanations, more fragments than stories, hinted at the cracks in his marriage, the moments of miscommunication and misunderstanding that had led to its inevitable collapse. Marina didn’t ask for details. She didn’t need to. The hurt in his voice, the careful way he chose his words, was enough to convey what he couldn’t bring himself to say outright.

It wasn’t a dramatic revelation. It wasn’t an emotional outpouring. It was something quieter—something that formed slowly, like a river carving its way through stone. And in that same way, Marina realized that she, too, was revealing her own truths to him, without even meaning to. The stillness between them—the comfortable silence of two people working side by side—had become a space where vulnerability wasn’t forced, but simply allowed to exist.

A mutual understanding began to take root between them, born of the quiet respect they both held for their former partners. It was something unspoken but deeply understood. Tech did not harbor any resentment toward Leena, despite the painful way their relationship had ended. Even in the raw aftermath of their split, he still cared for her. The hurt was fresh, yes, but his words spoke of her with a tenderness that surprised Marina. He shared stories of their good times, those small, treasured memories that seemed to hold a quiet beauty—stories of a love that, though now distant, had once been full of life. The way he spoke of Leena reminded Marina of how one might describe an old friend with whom they’d simply grown apart, rather than someone with whom they’d endured the unraveling of a relationship. It was a love, locked in another time, but still genuine. And it was a love that, in its own way, helped Marina see that not all relationships, even those that end, are tainted by bitterness.

Similarly, Marina began to notice something else about Tech—how he seemed to pull out memories of Keiron that she had long buried. When she’d thought of her late husband in the years following his death, it was usually through a haze of grief and anger, a bitter ache over the empty space his departure had left in her life. She had always associated those memories with sorrow, and each reflection felt like another wound reopened. But when she shared those memories with Tech, they didn’t feel like that. Instead, they felt warm. They felt like a blessing, like a small light in the darkness, reminding her of the richness of her past without the sting of loss. There was no sorrow in those moments as she spoke of Keiron with him. Only a deep sense of gratitude, a quiet recognition that the love she’d once known had been profound, and that in itself, was something precious.

In a way, it was Tech who helped her see it. His presence, his quiet understanding, and his ability to listen without judgment, without expectation, created an environment where she could finally allow herself to reflect on Keiron without the flood of grief she had once feared. It was as if Tech had shown her that she wasn’t trapped in her sorrow anymore. She had moved through it, she had healed. And now, she could look back on that love with a sense of peace, rather than the sharp ache that once dominated her thoughts.

He had, unknowingly, helped her rediscover the depth of her own gratitude for having loved so deeply. And in that respect, it felt as though Tech had become more than just a companion in the present—he had helped her reclaim a piece of her past, transforming it from something painful into something she could cherish once more. And, in turn, how lucky she was to have someone like Tech, who could bring her back to those memories with such kindness and respect. It was a gift she hadn’t realized she needed until it was given.

In the relatively short time Marina had known Tech, his friendship had grown into something she deeply valued. What had started as a simple request to repair her boat’s engine quickly morphed into something far more significant. That first night had been spent not only fixing machinery but also learning from one another, sharing conversation, and filling a quiet space that both of them had been missing. Their time together was easy and unforced, a kind of companionship that made her realize how much she had been longing for this connection, even if she hadn’t known it.

Tech’s offer to help install the engine himself was a turning point, leading to more shared moments and an even deeper sense of connection. What had started as a technical task turned into an intimate tour of the boat, a look at her life, her home, her world. The boat was not just her mode of transport; it was where she lived, where she worked, and where she had spent years learning to be self-sufficient. Allowing someone else into that space was no small thing, but with Tech, there was an unexpected ease to it, as though his presence was just another part of the boat, fitting seamlessly into the corners where her daily life had unfolded.

Before long, Tech’s small acts of assistance became regular. He began making subtle modifications to the boat—small tweaks that helped her maintain her home and work environment more efficiently. It was clear to Marina that these weren’t obligations to him. He wasn’t doing it because it was expected or because she had asked; he was doing it because it was something he genuinely enjoyed. He told her it challenged him in ways that were satisfying, and she could see that. His mind worked through problems in a way that not only resolved issues but improved her daily life. His help became a reminder that he was invested in more than just fixing things; he was invested in her, in the life she had built.

But it didn’t stop at repairs. As the days turned into weeks, Tech’s interest in her work began to grow. Initially, it was just curiosity, but soon it became something more. He began gathering her reports, asking her to explain details, even reading them for fun. Marina was surprised, but there was something disarming about the way he engaged with her knowledge. He never made her feel like she was being overly academic or condescending, as she often feared. Instead, his questions were genuine, his desire to understand her work a quiet reflection of how much he respected what she did. Their evenings became filled with casual discussions about her research, each conversation a small exploration that allowed Marina to rediscover her own passion for her field.

Tech’s presence was never overwhelming. He didn’t force himself into her routine; rather, he became a comfortable part of it. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she found herself expecting to hear from him, to see him at least once during the day. There was something about his company that had become essential, a natural part of the flow of her life. She didn’t need to make space for him; he had simply slipped into the gaps that had once felt empty. His presence didn’t disrupt her, it complemented her. It was as though they had both found a quiet understanding, a rhythm that had been missing for so long.

With their growing connection came an unexpected candor, one that revealed fears, doubts, and the self-conscious shames she usually kept hidden from everyone else. In many ways, speaking with Tech felt like speaking to herself. But he had a kindness and gentleness toward her that she was often unable to show herself. When she opened up about her fear that everyone she grew close to inevitably met a tragic end, Tech tried to calm her, offering perspective. He explained that while she had undoubtedly been a victim of a string of unfortunate events, it was illogical to label herself as 'cursed,' as she often did. His words were soothing, a quiet reassurance that allowed her to momentarily let go of the weight of that belief.

In turn, she found herself trying to reassure him as well. She listened with genuine care to his deeper worries, those heavy concerns about his life and the choices he had made, but also to his more trivial musings. Whether it was a fleeting thought or a lingering fear, Marina offered him the same patience and understanding that he had given her. In these exchanges, a balance began to form between them—a silent promise that they could share their vulnerabilities without judgment. Each conversation, no matter how small, brought them closer, and in that closeness, they both began to find a space where their worries could be shared, acknowledged, and softened by the other’s presence.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

“I fail to understand how someone as methodical as you maintains such a non-functional hairstyle,” Marina observed, wringing saltwater from her hair as they emerged from the dive. The afternoon had been spent gathering specimens for her ongoing research, and Tech’s growing interest in her work had prompted his participation. Despite not being a natural diver, his analytical approach had proven advantageous.

Tech became aware of Marina’s gaze from the periphery of his vision. Her face remained mostly neutral, with the smallest hint of a smirk. It was the sort of expression that forced him to evaluate every aspect of his appearance—particularly his hair, or rather, the lack of it.

He’d first noticed the thinning during his cadet days. It wasn’t extreme, but it was there nonetheless. He suspected it was linked to his genetic modifications—Jango’s genome often predisposed men to hair loss, and he was no exception. The reality, however, was more uncomfortable: many women found it undesirable.

Tech raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "It’s an effective solution," he stated, his tone flat, but tinged with a subtle defensiveness. "It keeps most of my hair out of my field of vision."

Marina gave a quiet exhale, analyzing his mohawk with cold precision. The sides had regrown enough to form a near-blend with the longer middle section, and her gaze lingered. "Effective? I wouldn’t categorize that as such," she said, her voice devoid of humor but carrying a hint of clinical detachment. "It certainly attracts attention. Practicality, however, remains debatable."

Tech registered the warmth behind Marina’s words, but there was an analytical quality in her tone that made it difficult to simply dismiss her observation. He adjusted his position, momentarily avoiding her gaze as he unstrapped his gear. The discomfort had become evident—his skin was flushed from the sun, and the absence of sunscreen was now a tangible reminder of his oversight.

"Well," he began after a pause, his voice lowering just slightly, "it wasn’t always my decision." He drummed his fingers against his leg, each tap methodical, an attempt to redirect his focus. "Leena insisted I maintain it after we removed the inhibitor chips. She said it concealed my receding hairline." There was a rare nuance of vulnerability in his tone, a crack in the otherwise rigid exterior. Her comments had started as casual compliments but eventually revealed the true intent: she preferred the hairstyle as a way to mask his imperfections.

Marina’s gaze shifted slightly, her expression wavering as she processed his words. She hadn’t expected this level of introspection from him—the unease, the vulnerability beneath the surface. It wasn’t her place to pry, yet the weight of the exchange was undeniable.

Her tone softened, her words still concise but imbued with an empathy that was almost clinical in its precision. "I don’t typically address Leena’s influence, as it doesn’t concern me. But," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "I apologize if her preferences made you feel obligated to hide something that wasn’t inherently a flaw. I cannot fully comprehend the pressure you may have felt, but you need not carry that burden—especially for something as insignificant as hair."

Tech’s gaze flickered away, the discomfort still evident. But Marina wasn’t about to let him linger in that space. She stepped closer, her posture both firm and non-threatening, like a guide offering a new perspective.

“You don’t need to hold on to someone else’s perception of what you should look like,” Marina said, her voice softer than usual but still clear and direct. “You have the autonomy to choose what aligns with your sense of self. You’re practical, intelligent, and distinct in your own right. Your appearance should be an expression of that—not a reflection of someone else’s standards.”

Tech shifted slightly, his discomfort becoming more apparent, as his eyes flicked away. The vulnerability beneath his usual composure surfaced more clearly. “I don’t want to appear…” he paused, as if searching for the right term, “unattractive. I mean, my understanding of attractiveness was shaped by her preferences. And... well, women generally don’t find receding hairlines appealing. It’s a physical indicator of decreased testosterone, which impacts the body’s evolutionary drive for mating,” he explained, his words mechanical, attempting to hold onto his analytical approach even as his insecurities leaked through.

Marina observed him quietly, her expression shifting to one of understanding. She gave a faint, reassuring smile—subtle but genuine. “Tech, you’re not unattractive. You have qualities that go far beyond your appearance. There are attributes people, particularly women, prioritize that are unrelated to biology. And your hairline doesn’t define your value or identity. You shouldn’t let someone else’s preferences shape how you perceive yourself.”

Tech raised an eyebrow, his skepticism still evident. “You think changing it would help?” His tone was guarded, an edge of doubt threading through his voice.

Marina’s response was calm, with no hesitation. “I believe it may prove beneficial in assisting you with moving past someone else’s expectations. You deserve to see yourself the way that aligns with who you are, not the way someone else saw you. You need to feel comfortable and confident with who you are, not hold on to something that possibly never fit you to begin with.”

Tech seemed to consider this, his gaze drifting between Marina and the water as he processed her words. For the first time, the defensiveness in his posture eased just a little, and a flicker of realization crossed his face. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go of the weight he’d been carrying without even realizing it.

“I guess… it wouldn’t hurt to try something different,” he murmured, a hint of openness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

Marina offered him a small but approving nod. “Exactly. And if you don’t like it, you can always change it back. But at least you’ll know it’s your choice, not someone else’s.”

Tech’s gaze softened as he met her eyes, something shifting in his expression—vulnerability mixed with gratitude. “Thanks, Marina,” he said quietly, his voice almost shy, but the sincerity behind it clear.

Marina gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, a simple gesture that felt more comforting than words could express. “Anytime, Tech. And for what it’s worth, I’ve got no issue with a more mature hairline.”

Tech gave a small, relieved smile, the burden of his self-doubt easing just a little. “Good to know.”

The atmosphere between them changed, the unspoken tension that had weighed down on Tech’s shoulders beginning to dissipate as he processed her words. He stood still for a moment, reflecting on the conversation—on her reassurance, the bluntness that still managed to be caring, and the understanding woven between her observations. It was a lot to digest. But something within him shifted. Perhaps it was time to stop trying to conform to an external image, to someone else’s idea of who he should be. Maybe it was time to embrace a version of himself that felt authentic.

As if sensing his internal change, Marina gave him a brief, encouraging glance before turning toward the boat. “Come on, let’s get something to eat,” she said, her voice light and casual. “Diving is very strenuous and we should maintain a period of relaxation before continuing”.

Tech nodded, grateful for the shift in focus to something as simple as food. It was a welcome distraction, but as he fell in step beside Marina, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between them. The awkwardness from earlier was still there, hovering at the edges, but now there was something else—something deeper. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t drowning in self-doubt. Her words had struck something in him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

They made their way inside the boat, the quiet, rhythmic sound of the water slapping against the hull creating a steady background to his thoughts. As they moved toward the galley, Tech found his mind drifting back to what Marina had said. “Not unattractive.” She’d said it without hesitation, so bluntly, so matter-of-fact.

The words replayed in his mind. That simple affirmation had hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t some vague attempt to placate him with empty niceties. She hadn’t sugarcoated her assessment—just laid it out, clear and direct. And in her bluntness, there had been something real. Something genuine.

But beyond that, there was the other part—the part he hadn’t anticipated. She’d noticed. She’d acknowledged his appearance, and in doing so, she’d confirmed something he’d long suspected: that, at least in her eyes, he wasn’t unattractive. The realization made something stir inside him, a warm flicker in his chest that he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

Was that… attraction? He’d always valued Marina’s straightforwardness, her no-nonsense approach to things. But now, he found himself wondering if he was reading too much into it. If it was possible that she might see him in a different light than just a colleague, just a friend.

His hand instinctively went to his damp hair again, and this time, the usual discomfort was absent. The urge to hide it remained, but it wasn’t as strong, and for the first time, he could almost picture letting go of that trivial burden.

But then, there was the question of what this might mean for their friendship. Was it moving too fast? Had he misinterpreted the simplicity of her words? Tech felt a strange knot in his stomach, a mix of uncertainty and curiosity, and for the first time, he realized just how much he hadn’t considered about their dynamic.

He didn’t know if Marina was thinking about any of this. But he couldn’t help wondering if, perhaps, things weren’t so straightforward anymore. If there was more to this connection than he’d allowed himself to believe.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The soft thump of footsteps on the ramp caught Marina’s attention, though she didn’t immediately look up from her microscope. She didn’t need to; the rhythm of the steps, the deliberate pace, and the faint echo of familiarity told her it was Tech. He had made a promise the night before, one that was likely the reason she hadn’t bothered to glance up when the door opened.

“I have returned with the temperature regulator I mentioned—” Tech’s voice filtered into the small lab space, calm and steady, as always. Marina continued to peer through the lens of her microscope, her eyes focused entirely on the cellular structure of the mollusk she had been studying. The intricacies of the tiny organism’s internal architecture held her full attention.

“Thank you, I’ll be able to assist in a moment,” she replied, her voice thoughtful, almost detached as she jotted down her observations on a nearby notepad. "I just need to write down my findings before they slip away."

Tech paused for a brief moment, as if considering whether or not to interrupt. It was a habit she and he both shared—becoming so absorbed in their respective work that they overlooked the small courtesies, the greetings that others might find customary. It wasn’t that they didn’t appreciate those pleasantries; they simply had a way of diving headfirst into what mattered most at the time. It was something Tech had come to find oddly endearing about Marina, the way she was so fully immersed in her work, so consumed by the pursuit of knowledge that nothing else seemed to matter at that moment.

Marina’s pencil moved swiftly, her shorthand almost a second language as she recorded the detailed observations of the mollusk’s cellular layers. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t realize she was subconsciously pulling herself further away from the task of acknowledging Tech, the quiet rustle of his movements almost blending into the background hum of her work. It was only when a slight shift in the air, the soft rustle of a bag being set down, and the subtle weight of his presence drawing nearer to her that she finally realized how much time had passed. She hadn’t heard him approach.

“Did you need help getting everything set up?” she asked, her voice smooth and casual as she finally lifted her gaze from the microscope, her pencil pausing mid-air. Her expression was focused but not unkind, as if her mind was still slightly tethered to her notes.

It was then that she looked up and froze. Tech was standing there, the same steady presence as always—only this time, something had changed. His mohawk was gone.

In its place was a much shorter, tidier cut that framed his face in a way that made him seem... well, different. She hadn’t expected him to act on her suggestion, let alone so quickly. For a brief moment, she was taken aback, unsure of what to say. She’d advised him to prioritize his own preferences over someone else’s vision, but to see him take that advice so suddenly… It was surprising, in the best way.

Marina blinked, a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she absorbed the sight of him. She hadn’t thought much about how she’d phrased her suggestion, but seeing him here, looking more comfortable in his own skin, it was clear he had done just that—he’d listened. And she hadn’t expected how good it would look on him.

Her surprise lingered for only a moment before she found her voice, though it held a softer edge than usual. “Well, I see you’ve taken my advice.” The words were playful, but there was an underlying warmth in her tone, an unexpected admiration for the change.

Tech, sensing her reaction, offered a small, sheepish smile. “I thought I’d give it a try. It feels different. I do not recall having maintained a style similar since we were cadets, but, I admit you were right. It’s practical, and there appears to have been positive benefits in not disguising something I cannot control any longer.”

Marina studied him for a moment longer, her gaze softening as she took in the change. His hair, now cut into a short, neat style, which reminded her of a crew cut—undeniably better she realized. The style wasn’t just a change in appearance; it was a reflection of something deeper—a willingness to prioritize his own needs over the pressures of someone else’s expectations. Possibly even face his insecurity head on. The result was quite attractive.

For a brief second, Marina froze, unsure how to express what she was thinking. It wasn’t like her to shy away from speaking her mind, but seeing him standing there, looking different—softer somehow—was surprisingly stirring. She hadn’t anticipated how aesthetically pleasing he would look with a change as simple as this.

Her gaze shifted, and she stepped closer to him, almost instinctively. The movement felt natural, unforced. She hadn’t expected to be moved by something as minor as a new haircut, but there was something about this moment, something about Tech’s quiet vulnerability that made her want to respond differently than she usually would.

Without much thought, she reached out—just a touch. She didn’t think about the action, but simply brushed the side of his hair with her fingers. The texture had a certain softness to it that she hadn’t anticipated. His hair, no longer styled in an exaggerated manner, now rested in a way that emphasized his features more naturally.

Tech froze, his body going rigid at the unexpected touch. He wasn’t used to just anyone being so close to him, certainly not in the intimate, casual way that Marina was. The contact was gentle, but it caused an immediate stir in him—an unfamiliar warmth that traveled through his skin, his breath hitching for the briefest of moments. His initial impulse was to pull away, to retreat into the safety of his personal space, but something in Marina’s calm demeanor kept him rooted to the spot.

The sensation of her fingers brushing against his hair was foreign, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it made something in him awaken—something he couldn’t quite place, a feeling that was both pleasant and disorienting. Tech had always kept people at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, so the fact that he didn’t recoil, didn’t pull away from her, left him slightly confused.

Marina, sensing his unease but unwilling to let him retreat into his shell, spoke with a softness that was rare for her. “You look really good, Tech,” she said, her voice quiet, but carrying an undeniable sincerity. There was no teasing edge, no sharp words—just simple, unadulterated truth. “It’s a good change. You look more comfortable. Dare I say… confident?” She asked with a slight chuckle.

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Tech felt a strange mix of emotions. The quiet praise, the unexpected touch—it was almost as if she had reached beneath his surface, past the walls he had so carefully constructed. And to his surprise, there was no discomfort. In fact, there was a small sense of... pleasure? It was a strange thought, something he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge before, but Marina’s calm approval felt different. It wasn’t based on superficial standards or expectations; it was simply about him being who he was, in that moment, and he couldn’t deny that it felt good.

Tech’s response was quiet, his voice tinged with uncertainty but also a hint of something else he couldn’t quite place. “I... Thank you.” He shifted slightly, the flush on his cheeks more noticeable now, though he tried to maintain his usual stoic demeanor. It wasn’t easy, feeling this exposed—this open—but Marina had a way of making him feel seen in a way that was both unnerving and, dare he admit, kind of comforting.

If Marina had thought Tech was handsome before, witnessing the bright, beaming smile that spread across his face when she confirmed he looked good, only intensified that feeling. She couldn't remember ever seeing him smile so widely, but it was clear her compliment had struck a deep chord with him. Marina gave a small, approving nod, her gaze still gentle. “Anytime, Tech,” she said, her tone steady again, but with an underlying warmth. Then, she stepped back, giving him space once more.

Tech stood there, processing the moment, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch his newly cut hair. It was still a strange feeling, and yet, it was starting to feel more like a choice he could own, not something that was forced upon him. And that, more than anything, made it worthwhile.

He had truly taken her suggestion without a second thought, cutting his hair the night before he could talk himself out of it. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it. He valued her opinion, but letting it push him to make a change felt like a bigger step than he was used to. Still, before his usual, logical mindset could take over, he grabbed the trimmer and tackled the overgrown patch down the middle, barely sparing a glance at his reflection.

The thick curls at the top of his head, once unruly and standing in stark contrast to the shorter, slightly grown-out sides, fell away in uneven clumps. He started at the front, shearing through the bulk with each deliberate pass, the vibration of the trimmer against his scalp grounding him more than he expected. His fingers brushed over the newly uniform length, the contrast between his freshly buzzed crown and the textured remains of his previous style disappearing with each careful adjustment.

Yes, his hairline was more visible now, his features a little sharper without the towering mop of curls softening them. But there was something undeniably satisfying about the low-maintenance cut, and the way it felt weightless, clean—almost like a reset. For that sense of ease alone, he figured he could handle whatever attention it drew to his hairline.

But as Marina continued to smile at him, her expression soft with almost childlike wonder at the change, something in him shifted again. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the need to hide behind his usual barriers. There was a quiet understanding in the space between them, a softening of the edges, a subtle recalibration in the way they interacted. It wasn’t anything he had expected, but somehow, it felt like the right kind of change.

Marina’s words had sparked something in him—encouraged him to move past his discomfort and consider what he hadn’t realized he was missing. And despite his initial resistance, he found himself feeling surprisingly grateful for it.

As he processed the change, his voice came out slower this time, like he was still digesting it. “I didn’t think much of it at first,” he said, quieter than usual. “But I think you were right. I missed having it like this—the way I used to wear it during the war. I kept it slicked back from my face. It was practical, kept everything out of my way. It helped me focus, gave me a sense of control. And... I realized I missed that.”

Marina’s gaze softened, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in the way she looked at him. “That makes sense,” she said, her voice measured but warmer than usual. “I think this looks better on you. Not just practical, but…” She trailed off for a moment, considering the words. “There’s something about it. It highlights your features more, makes you look... more open? And, if I’m being honest, a little more attractive.”

Tech blinked, a brief flash of surprise crossing his face. He hadn’t expected her to be so direct. But Marina didn’t seem uncomfortable, just matter-of-fact, like she was acknowledging a simple truth. “I think it suits you,” she continued, her voice steady, but with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It's sharp. And... well, I can’t deny, it’s a good look on you.”

Tech swallowed, the words sinking in. It wasn’t just a reassurance or a vague compliment. She had really said it—he was attractive this way. The acknowledgment made something shift inside him, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Instead, it was grounding, as if the external changes were finally matching something inside him.

Tech couldn’t help but feel a slight flush at her words, a quiet warmth spreading through him. He’d been so wrapped up in how others had seen him for so long, particularly Leena’s influence on his appearance, that he hadn’t realized how much he’d lost sight of what he wanted. But Marina’s suggestion had unlocked something—a way to transition back to a style that had felt like him, but in a way that was his choice now. Even more than that, he found her alignment with his own preference to be refreshing. 

“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted, his tone soft but steady. “But I think I’m starting to realize it’s not about changing who I am. It’s about reclaiming a piece of myself that was lost. It felt nice to just prioritize what I want and not worry about the outcome,”

Marina stepped a little closer, her eyes studying him with a thoughtful expression. “Well, I look forward to meeting this older, reclaimed version of Tech. I have no doubt this will continue to suit you if you let it grow or if you keep it this way,” she confirmed. Something about the way she seemed appreciative of his past, but also allowing him to grow was pleasant. More so than he cared to admit.

Tech studied her for a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing his features before he spoke. "We can’t all be blessed with something so distinct, to set us apart visually," Tech said, his words genuine. His gaze lingered on the silver strand of hair that framed Marina’s face, the one that stood out against the deep dark waves of her hair. He had noticed it the first time they met, the white streak seeming to capture the light in a way that made her presence feel even more ethereal. To him, it had become one of the things that defined her, an unmistakable part of her appearance that somehow reflected the complexity he saw in her.

“Are you referring to my eyes or my hair?” Marina asked, raising an eyebrow with a teasing yet intrigued look in her eyes.

Tech shifted slightly, his expression softening, his usual composure momentarily slipping. “Both,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with a quiet warmth. “Your features are... unique. I remember thinking the same thing the night we met. I can’t recall ever encountering someone with both mallen strands in their hair and heterochromia in their eyes. It’s... visually fascinating.”

A faint flush crept up his neck, coloring his cheeks as he realized how direct his words had been. He wasn’t one to get flustered easily, but there was something about Marina that made him lose his usual precision and guarded nature. The way her eyes held so much mystery and how the streak in her hair caught the light —it was a combination that was striking, yet so incredibly effortless as it was natural. 

Marina, for her part, blinked at the compliment, caught slightly off guard by his openness. Her initial instinct was to deflect, as she always did when attention was placed on something she considered unusual about herself. But there was something in the way Tech had said it—without judgment, without awkwardness—that made her pause.

Marina blinked again, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she processed his words. "Visually fascinating?" she echoed, her voice a little less playful now, a tinge of uncertainty creeping in. She shifted her weight, her gaze dropping briefly to her hands, almost as if she was weighing his compliment against the feeling in her chest.

Her self-consciousness stirred at the mention of her imperfections, something she’d always struggled with. People didn’t typically find these things “fascinating”—they found them odd, something to be fixed or covered up. Her mind immediately flickered back to all the times she’d tried to hide the streak of white in her hair, the way it made her feel out of place, like it was a constant reminder of something that didn’t fit with her age range. 

"Are you sure you're not just... being kind?" she asked, her voice quiet but laced with an underlying skepticism, as she tried to gauge his sincerity. "I mean, people usually don’t go out of their way to find imperfections attractive." Her eyes briefly flickered up to meet his, unsure whether she was simply overanalyzing the situation or if he truly meant what he said.

Tech could see the shift in her expression, and it made him feel a sudden pull of empathy, knowing all too well how it felt to be self-conscious about something others may overlook or criticize. He straightened slightly, choosing his words more carefully now, but still with the same warmth in his voice.

"I’m not attempting to purely be kind," he said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I do find your features to be fascinating. I consider that fascination positive. It’s rare to see someone with both the mallen strands and heterochromia—They have a magnet quality."

His words were steady, but beneath them was an earnestness that felt real—no forced kindness, just the quiet observation of someone who genuinely appreciated the things that made her unique.

Marina tilted her head, her gaze studying him more carefully now, her initial uncertainty shifting to a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "But you really think that?" she asked, the question almost sounding like she couldn’t quite believe it. She hadn’t expected him to respond so openly, especially considering how often she felt the need to downplay those very aspects of herself.

"Yes," he affirmed, his eyes meeting hers without hesitation. "I do not feel I have given you a reason to assume I would fabricate a compliment in order to comfort your feelings, regardless of our friendship."

There was a slight pause as Marina absorbed his words. She still felt the familiar unease that came with being the center of attention for something she considered a flaw, but Tech’s straightforwardness and genuine tone made it harder to dismiss. Her heart rate steadied as she let his words sink in. He wasn’t trying to sugarcoat things or soften the truth—he truly saw her features as something worth noticing.

"I suppose... I admit to not being used to hearing someone frame it the way you did," she admitted softly, offering a small, uncertain smile. "Most people just... don’t look at my imperfections fondly."

Tech’s expression softened, and there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. "Maybe they should. Besides, I do not consider them imperfections at all," he said, his voice low but sincere.

The silence between them felt thicker now, almost palpable, as they stood just a few feet apart, each lost in their own thoughts but aware of the other’s presence in a way that made everything feel a bit more electric. 

Tech’s mind drifted back to Marina’s features, the ones that had caught his attention the moment they first met. Her eyes, so striking and vivid, held a depth he hadn’t expected. There was something about the way the light hit them that made him appreciate the contrast between her different color irises. It wasn’t just that they were beautiful; they were alive in a way that made it hard to look away. Captivating was a good word for the effect, Tech thought. 

And then there was the streak of white in her hair, the one that framed her face in a way that added a certain edge to her otherwise soft, dark waves. Tech had never seen something quite like it before, and while he knew she didn’t particularly see it as attractive, he couldn’t help but admire how it made her seem even more distinctive.

His attention shifted to her posture then, the way she stood with quiet confidence. She had physical strength, yet there was a calm power in the way she moved, deliberate and sure. Her features were delicate, but there was a sharpness that lingered. Be it the blue lines framing her skin, moving with the contours of her body, as the tattoos boldly stood out, or the lithe muscular structure she had.

Marina, for her part, had her own thoughts spinning as she took in the way Tech stood, every inch of him calm and composed, yet still distinctly masculine. She had never realized just how much his frame intrigued her—lean, but still strong in a way that wasn’t immediately obvious. His shoulders were broad enough to give him presence, yet his posture remained loose and fluid, never too rigid. The subtle muscle definition in his arms and chest made his clothes fit just right, neither too tight nor too loose. Not to mention, his extreme height.

Her gaze lingered on his face then, noticing again how sharp his jawline was, the way his dark eyes seemed so deep in contrast to the warmth that always radiated from them, especially when he was focused on something or someone. She couldn’t help but appreciate how his features seemed to soften when he wasn’t guarding himself so closely. His face wasn’t overly rugged, but there was something undeniably attractive in the way his expression shifted so effortlessly between serious and thoughtful. And his smile—subtle as it was—felt like a glimpse into something real, something less guarded.

It was then that she realized, with a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks, just how much she appreciated his physical presence. She hadn’t thought of him this way before, at least consciously. But now, as she took in the way he stood, his posture more open and relaxed than she had ever seen, she couldn’t seem to stop noticing the quiet strength in the way he held himself. There was something striking about his features that hadn’t quite registered before.

His face, angular and defined, seemed to capture the light differently now—his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline giving him a more mature, composed appearance. She noticed how his lips, fuller than she remembered, were now set in a way that exuded calm resolve. It was something she hadn’t noticed when he was always so focused on something technical, but now, in this moment, his expressions seemed more present, more... human. His golden skin caught the fading light, and Marina couldn’t help but admire how it seemed to glow with a subtle warmth. There was a clarity to him now, both in appearance and demeanor. 

Tech caught the shift in her expression, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth through him. Now that he’d seen her gaze linger, the way her eyes softened when they met his, he realized how much he’d been thinking about her, in ways he hadn’t really acknowledged before. Her presence was striking, but it wasn’t just her looks that stood out—it was everything about her. The way she held herself, the confidence she alluded. Everything about her made him feel an unexpected sense of calm, despite the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. He hadn’t realized how drawn to her he’d become, how much he admired the quiet strength she had, both physically and mentally.

It became clear in the way he had subtly closed the distance between them. After Marina had gently stepped out of his personal space, careful not to intrude, Tech had unknowingly drifted back into the proximity they’d shared before. Even more telling, his hand had come to rest on the table behind her, a simple gesture that framed her within the space without being threatening. The air between them shifted, the quiet energy now charged, as both of them became acutely aware of how close they truly were.

They both stood there, each quietly acknowledging the attraction, but neither ready to act on it just yet. Instead, it lingered in the space between them, the unspoken connection hanging in the air. Both were more aware of the other’s physical being now, and while they weren’t quite ready to categorize the tension, it was there, building slowly but steadily, a quiet, undeniable truth they were both still processing in their own ways.

Day 5 - Rex & Mae

I can't say I've ever met a man more in denial about his feelings than Captain Rex. However, his unwavering devotion to Echo—and his determination to help his friend find happiness—has created the perfect opportunity for him to grow even closer to our favorite doctor. Perhaps, in time, these two will move past their own hesitations and finally embrace what seems so obvious to all of us: the connection that's been waiting to take shape all along.

With a touch of nostalgia and a wonderfully sweet gesture, these two are undoubtedly on the path to growing even closer this Life Day season!

(Ao3 link HERE if you prefer that formatting!)

Event Masterlist

(💚💕EXTRA special thank you my very dear friend and creative partner @legacygirlingreen for making this event possible and for allowing her OC Mae to be a part of this AU! She is, as always, the beautiful mind behind ALL the writing, design layout, post editing and song selections!💕💚)

💚Tag List💚

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream

Finally! The ''science'' behind the ''rocks''

LOOKS TO THE MOON So far, all the illustrations that I've posted here have been fairly old, but this one is very recent. I'm not usually one for fanart but Rain World is both an incredible and visually stunning game and it felt wrong to not give it any love, so I sincerely hope you enjoy.

Touching Revelations || Captain Rex x OFC Mae (NSFW)

Author's note: Howdie there folks. Continuing on with the snapshots of our favorite Captain, and (hopefully) your favorite doctor on Pabu! As a reminder this is part of a collaboration with @leenathegreengirl as part of her AU series. You can find the full image on both her page HERE or all the way at the bottom. Anyways, thanks for stopping by and if you are new, feel free to check out her page, where you can see more of the AU. - M

Summary: Captain Rex seeks some solitude while he's traveling alone after a long day, as his routines seemingly continue to be undone by feelings growing a bit more undeniable.

Warnings: Male Masturbation, sexual fantasies, kind of pervy (but more in a horrified light than anything), slight illusions to breeding kink, mentions of penetration/strip tease

Minors go away.

Pairings: Captain Rex x OC Mae Killough (her info found HERE)

Word Count: 5,500+

Masterlist || Previous Section || Next Section (Coming Soon)

All clones did it, whether they admitted it or not. Anyone who claimed otherwise was a liar. During the war, privacy was a luxury few could afford, and quick moments of solitude in the fresher became a necessity. Fortunately, Rex had the rare privilege of private officer's quarters, granting him more seclusion than most. Yet, there was something irreplaceable about the feeling of warm water cascading over his shoulders, a rare moment to let go and feel truly at ease with himself.

It wasn’t that he never indulged in the occasional moments of respite during shore leave—he certainly did. Unlike many of his brothers-in-arms, he didn’t actively seek out such opportunities, preferring to let them come to him. Yet, from time to time, he found himself in the company of a charming woman who offered him her appreciation for his service in ways that were impossible to ignore. He wasn’t one to turn down their gracious offers, knowing better than to let a fleeting chance slip through his fingers.

Still, those moments were rare, and truth be told, he had grown accustomed to relying on his own hand for satisfaction. It was simpler, predictable, and free of the entanglements that often accompanied more intimate encounters.

Over time, he’d come to accept solitude as part of his life. The fleeting affections he experienced on shore leave were just that—temporary, like waves crashing on the sand before retreating into the vast, indifferent sea. There was no permanence to them, no promise of anything more than a brief break from the grinding monotony of his duties.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t seek it out the way others did. Many of his brothers treated shore leave like a hunt, prowling for companionship to fill the void left by endless days on the front lines. But for him, the chase felt hollow. The warmth of another’s touch, though intoxicating in the moment, was quickly replaced by an ache that seemed deeper somehow, more profound.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want more—he did. But the idea of tethering himself to someone felt as unrealistic as anchoring a ship in a storm. His life was unpredictable, driven by duty, and there was little room for the kind of stability that a real connection required.

He became quite familiar with the solitude of his right hand, the fantasies within his own mind, and the fleeting privacy offered by the confines of a fresher.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

The day had dragged on, an unrelenting slog of challenges that felt insurmountable. Frustration weighed heavily on Rex’s shoulders—nothing he’d done had gone according to plan. The intel he’d been counting on had evaporated into thin air, and his contact had been compromised before he could secure anything useful. He’d barely managed to get out unscathed, though the near-miss left him tense and exhausted. 

As he leaned over the controls, ensuring the autopilot was engaged, Rex finally allowed himself to step away from the cockpit. The silence of the ship seemed louder than usual, amplifying the gnawing weight of failure pressing on his chest. Yet, it wasn’t just the mission that troubled him. It was the absence of Echo—a presence Rex had grown to rely on more than he cared to admit.

Not that he could blame him. Echo deserved to be with his wife-to-be, building a future Rex couldn’t fathom for himself. And what was Rex left with? The hollow title of a soldier with no army, fueled only by a stubborn resolve to cling to a life that no longer existed? A clone too set in his ways to imagine anything beyond the battlefield? Or maybe just a man too tightly wound to think clearly, running on fumes and purpose that felt increasingly fragile.

Yeah, probably that last one.

One perk of his most recent stay on Pabu was the repair of the hot water generator by Tech, which meant he could finally enjoy an endless stream of warm water after the grueling hours of the day. It was a small luxury that made a big difference, and as Rex reached for the controls of the fresher, his dirty hand fiddled with the temperature setting out of habit.

He stripped off the grimy clothes without a second thought, tossing them into the corner to deal with later. There'd be time for a proper wash when he made it back to base. These days, there wasn't much about the GAR he found himself longing for, but the ease of having droids on hand to handle the laundry was definitely a perk. Not having to worry about washing his fatigues had been a convenience. But as simple as it was, there was something oddly freeing about these everyday tasks—the small acts of self-sufficiency that reminded him he had more control over his life than he once did. Scrubbing clothes, though seemingly trivial, became a symbol of that freedom, a reminder that, for all the structure and orders that once defined his existence, he was now in a place where he could make his own decisions, even about something as mundane as laundry.

The warm cascade of water pouring over him felt like an indulgence, a rare moment of pure relief. It was as if every muscle, every thought, was being soothed by the gentle pressure, leaving behind only calm. Not that Rex was a religious man—he had long since abandoned any belief in an afterlife—but if there were such a thing, he imagined it might feel like this: like a long-awaited exhale, like a weight lifting from his chest, leaving only peace behind.

He wasn’t sure how exactly he ended up like this, his weathered palms instinctively curling around himself. It was almost automatic, like an ingrained reflex that had taken root during the years of war. Back then, he would have easily blamed it on the constant pressure of water rations—the brief, rushed showers squeezed in between missions or moments of solitude snatched in the most unlikely places. He’d learned to survive on the bare minimum, to find peace in the fleeting privacy that he could steal away, even if it was just for a few precious minutes of quiet in the shower.

Now, there were no rations, no hurried schedules. He didn’t have to share the water with anyone, didn’t have to rush or sneak away. Yet still, the habit remained. His hands moved almost as if by instinct, finding their way to his body, wrapping around himself without thought. In truth, there was nothing left to blame except the way his mind and body were constantly on edge, the tension that clung to him after years of battle and loss. Even here, in this moment of solitude, he couldn’t shake the remnants of that adrenaline, the tightness in his chest that made him long for something to hold on to, even if it was just the simple act of gripping his own skin.

It wasn’t about necessity anymore. It was something deeper, something his body had learned to do long ago—an anchor in a world that had constantly been out of his control. Even now, it was the only way he knew how to steady himself when the weight of everything, past and present, threatened to pull him under.

By touching himself. 

Rex wasn’t one to seek out encrypted holochannels. He had experienced enough moments in real life to know that sometimes, the old-fashioned way was better. For him, that meant retreating into his own mind, crafting his own fantasies. He’d had his share of encounters during times when he was granted some freedom, fleeting moments with women that blurred together into a single, faceless figure he could call on whenever he needed. It was simple, uncomplicated, and—most importantly—free of guilt. He could indulge without consequence, without the weight of expectations or the complexities of real connections.

The soldier didn’t necessarily need a clear starting point—his mind wandered wherever it chose, moving in its own rhythm. As his hand moved steadily along the length of himself, he found his thoughts drifting, no particular direction guiding him except the ebb and flow of his own desires. In the quiet, he imagined a pair of legs—strong, yet graceful, the kind that held an effortless power.

His mind traced the shape of them, starting with slender calves that led up to firm, muscular thighs, each curve and line reminding him of strength and subtle beauty. There was something magnetic about the way they moved in his imagination—something simple, yet deeply captivating. The way the muscles flexed, the smoothness of the skin, the promise of both strength and softness in one form. It was the sort of thing that, at its core, could be easily overlooked, but in his mind, it became something almost hypnotic.

And as if he was visualizing a real woman standing in front of him, he moved his attention to just slightly above. Eye’s closed as the steam only built around him, Rex couldn’t help but picture one of the most beautiful curves of a woman’s body. The kind of thing he and his brothers argued over the merits of in the solitude of their barracks. 

He wasn’t sure why exactly he’d always preferred a woman’s behind and the lovely visual it provided. Perhaps it was rooted in the simple aesthetics. A wish to latch his large hand on and just feel it under his grasp. Or the fact that he could get away with copping a glance more often in that arena than a woman’s chest. Regardless of the reason, he always appreciated a full, round, ass.

Deep within, the man had always been drawn to the idea of painting fair skin with the impression of his own hand, a touch that would linger long after he had gone. There was something profoundly primal about it—the raw, intimate connection of watching himself mark that vulnerable place. In those moments, it was as though the boundary between reality and something greater blurred, bringing heaven into the tangible world, if only for a fleeting instant. A handprint, a silent but powerful reminder, left its trace for later, a testament to his presence, his claim.

It stirred something wild in him, something fierce that he often tried to suppress. Though he was a clone, that didn’t diminish his natural biological instincts. The urge to reproduce—an inherent part of him—hadn’t been erased with his creation. In fact, after the removal of his inhibitor chip, that primal drive, once muffled and distant, had grown louder, more insistent. Now, during moments like these, it wasn’t a faint whisper in the recesses of his mind—it was a guttural, urgent call that resonated in the deepest corners of his consciousness, pulling at him like an unyielding tide.

That’s a nice train of thought…

His hand quickened, grip tightening as he leaned back against the wall, seeking the stability it offered. The steady rhythm didn’t do much for Rex; he craved the shift in pressure and speed to bring him closer to release. This time was no different. He flexed his hand, adjusting his motion to pull himself closer to the edge, all the while letting his mind drift away from the present moment.

At times, his mind seemed to latch onto the more uncommon, often unnoticed details—those subtle aspects that others would likely overlook. With his eyes closed, an image began to form in his mind, and he was taken aback when it settled into a pair of eyes. Innocent. Wide. Trusting, yet strangely familiar, as though they held a story of their own. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the appeal of such a gaze. There was something profoundly captivating about the submission they conveyed, the way they looked up at him with quiet vulnerability, as if they understood their place in the moment, beneath him. 

But beyond the submissive nature in their stare, there was an undeniable beauty to those eyes. Not that he considered himself a romantic by any means—he wasn’t one to indulge in such sentiments—but the vibrant blue tugged at something deep inside him. It was a hue he knew all too well, one that had marked his existence, one that had come to define him throughout much of his life. Cobalt blue was his color—his identity in a world of little variation among him and his men. Seeing 501 blue staring back at him was a strange comfort. 

A stray curl of hair that fell between them was another detail that caught his attention. It drifted between them like a soft, teasing gesture, framing the stunning eyes in a way that felt almost intimate. He’d always admired long, curly hair on the nat-borns when they were planet-side. There was something almost intoxicating about it—the bounce, the way it seemed to possess its own rhythm, its own life. It wasn’t just the texture that fascinated him; it was the femininity it exuded, the divine softness that contrasted so sharply with the harshness of the world around them. It was delicate, almost ethereal, a thing of beauty that was both natural and profound.

Not only that, but the curl was a dynamic shade of red—a color that always managed to captivate him, no matter the context. It wasn’t the garish, artificial red that so many of the women at the bar seemed to wear. The kind of hue that screamed of chemical concoctions, a clash of tones that burned his eyes and assaulted his senses with the lingering scent of synthetic dye. No, this was different. This was the kind of red that reminded him of something more natural, something raw. A vibrant, fiery hue that seemed to pulse with life—one that Rex had often associated with the women in the contraband magazines he’d come across in his years of service. Magazines hidden under the thin, uncomfortable mattresses in the barracks, carefully tucked away between flimsy sheets of paper, waiting to be discovered during routine inspections.

It was a shade of red that spoke of effortless beauty. It was neither too bold nor too soft, but instead, it held a unique vibrance that couldn’t be ignored. That deep, almost untamed red—a color that appeared in flashes of flame, in the quiet of sunsets, and in the rich, soft strands of hair that had always seemed so impossibly alluring to him. The kind of red that belonged to women in those glossy, forbidden pages—women who exuded a kind of captivating charm with every glance, a beauty that felt untouched by the world around them.

It was a color that told a story without words, one of fiery independence, untamed grace, and an almost dangerous allure. Rex had always found himself drawn to it, unable to resist its pull, as if it carried an unspoken promise of something more—something beyond what the sterile, clinical walls of his life had ever offered. The same shade as…

Then, as though his mind were playing a cruel trick on him, a fantasized voice echoed in his skull, sharp and clear, revealing the one he had been imagining all along. The full image solidified in his mind, and with it, the truth of who he had been fantasizing about all this time became undeniable.

Curvy, long legs, muscles shifting with each movement, water clinging to her pale skin like a second layer. He had seen those limbs before—balanced gracefully atop a surfboard on Pabu. Leading to that perfectly shaped ass, heighted by the delicate curve of a feminine lower back, all clad in a blue bikini upon the sand. Blue eyes had once stared up at him from the hull of his own ship, wide with amazement and wonder, a gaze that seemed to see straight through him as he tried to twirl the petite woman in his arms.

And those bouncy red curls, brushing against his cheeks from the gentle ocean breeze, their vibrant color catching the fading sunlight, glowing with a golden hue that made them look almost alive. The light made them burn brighter, a fiery halo that intensified the pull she had on him.

Then came the voice—the voice he knew all too well, still echoing in his mind, soft and filled with ecstasy. “Rex… yes.” It moaned, and he refused to open his eyes, unwilling to let the fantasy slip away. Teeth pulling plush pink lips behind a flash of white as he let the truth settle in.

Mae. He was fantasizing about Mae.

This wasn’t the usual fleeting fantasy that so often danced through his mind—the fragmented, nameless woman whose face was nothing more than a blur, a fleeting memory of someone he may have seen once in passing. No, this was something different. It was a vivid, intricate mental image of someone he knew well, someone whose presence had become a part of him. This was her. The image wasn’t hazy or incomplete; it was full, detailed, as though his mind had painted her with a clarity that made her feel more real than anything else in his world.

Had he been able to summon the same self-control he had relied on so many times in his life as a soldier—self-control that had kept him alive through countless missions and dangerous encounters—he would have stopped. He would have forced his hand to still, his eyes to open, and he would have put an end to the perverse act before it even began. But something inside him, some deep, unexplained force, kept him anchored in the fantasy. The mental image of her—the woman with whom he had shared such a rich companionship, a bond that ran deeper than anything he’d ever expected—overrode the disciplined restraint he had long prided himself on.

It was as though the very thought of her, the connection they shared, made the rules of gentlemanly behavior feel irrelevant. The boundaries he had once lived by, the ones that kept his emotions and desires in check, dissolved under the weight of this overpowering need. For some reason, Mae made him forget the lines that had always kept him grounded.

It wasn’t that he had ever intended to cross that line, not with her. She wasn’t some fleeting distraction, some unattainable fantasy to be locked away in his mind. She was real—her laughter, her presence, her touch—things he had grown accustomed to in ways that made the idea of imagining her like this feel both intoxicating and dangerous. There was a depth to their companionship that went beyond the physical, a connection built on respect and understanding. He had never allowed himself to imagine her in this way before, not like this.

But now, as the image of her lingered in his thoughts, he couldn't help but indulge in it. She had always been there for him in ways that went far beyond what anyone else could offer. In a world where he had learned to shut down his emotions, to push past the desires that could cloud his judgment, she had quietly unraveled the walls he had so carefully constructed. It wasn’t the passion that drew him now, but the intimacy they shared—the trust, the warmth, the way they could be open with each other in a world that didn’t often allow for it.

Her face, her body, the way she moved—his mind replayed every moment, every shared glance between them. Each small detail now seemed amplified in the haze of his thoughts, as if his own body was betraying him, wanting more, needing more. He could almost feel her—her scent, her warmth, the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.

But even in the haze of his desire, there was a part of him that still fought against it. He couldn't lose control, not over something like this. He had always been in charge, always kept his emotions at bay. Yet now, it seemed as if his own mind and body were taking him to a place he hadn’t planned to go. The more he fought it, the stronger the pull became, as if the very thought of her held him captive.

It was a twisted sense of vulnerability, a rawness he hadn’t expected to feel. She had never been a fantasy before; she had been his equal, his friend in every sense. Yet now, in this moment, she was something more—something his mind wanted her to be, something he wasn’t sure he could control anymore.

“Rex…” The artificial voice, an uncanny mimicry of hers, called to him, sending a ripple of heat through his veins. He watched as a playful smirk curved on those full lips, a look that seemed both teasing and knowing. At first, the images had been drawn from tangible memories—moments he had lived, moments that felt real. But now, as the vision took on a life of its own, he realized he wasn’t simply recalling what had already passed. No, now he was conjuring things that hadn’t happened. Fantasies, unspoken desires that had long been buried in a part of him he rarely acknowledged.

Delicate hands twisted into a soft blue shirt, dragging it up as more and more pale skin was revealed. A small thatch of neatly manicured curls briefly drew his attention before the swell of round breasts came bouncing before his view. Perky rose colored peaks just begging for a taste. The sight was glorious to behold. Not that he’d neglected to notice the way that her smaller frame amplified the shape or the side of such breasts, but the idea that he’d assumed them to look that way uncovered was something he’d unpack later. Right now he was so close to release simply at the thought of burying his length between those breasts even just for a moment. 

Hand clenched so intensely around himself as the steam nearly shook him from the fantasy, Rex clung on the best he could. Moving faster as he felt that telltale sign he was nearly there came in the form of beads of precum leaking over his hand. Body shaking from the exertion of it all, he finally came to one last thought. 

His body laying down. Rex could see the contrast of tanned skin on porcelain as his hands tightly gripped the curve of her waist. Mae perched herself above him, strong thighs straddling him. Smirk decorating her lips while she ran her nails up and down the expanse of his chest. The bounce of both breasts and curls as she leaned back, surrendering to the feeling of himself inside her body. “Rex… please.. fill me up-” came the song most delightful to his ears as he did just that. 

Well, not in her body, but his cock throbbed desperately as he spilled white ribbons of cum all over his fingers. Eyes finally opening, Rex saw just how sizable the mess was through the steam of the fresher. He couldn’t recall a time there ever had been that much mess. 

Reality shattered around him in an instant, crashing through the fragile bubble of his thoughts with brutal force. His mind had unraveled, driven by the image of the only woman he had ever allowed to mean something more than just a passing interest, the one he had held in such a profoundly deep regard. It had been a moment of weakness, one that exposed the rawness inside him he had long worked to suppress. The weight of that realization settled like a stone in his chest, suffocating him. The fantasy, the desire—everything he had indulged in—felt alien now, a betrayal of the very principles he had spent his life upholding.

Disgust curled in his gut, bitter and sharp. How had he let it go this far? How had he let himself become so tangled in a web of longing and fantasies that didn’t belong in the reality he had crafted for himself? The very thought of it sickened him, and he recoiled from the vulnerability he had unwittingly exposed.

Snatching the bar of soap from the small cutout in the wall, he scrubbed his skin with a desperate urgency, as if washing away the grime of the day could somehow erase what he had done. He lathered until his skin burned, raw and red, before finally pausing. Tilting his head back into the steady stream of water, he let it rinse the dirt from his short hair, hoping clarity might come with it. But all he could find was one question echoing through his mind.  

Why her?  

He had long since convinced himself that she was just a friend—nothing more. He might have believed it, too, if she hadn’t always been there, trailing behind him with that sweet, effortless smile. If she hadn’t given him that ridiculous little offering—a necklace, of all things. His eyes dropped to it now, glinting against his chest, almost mocking him. She had been the first woman to treat him with genuine kindness, not out of flirtation or manipulation, but out of a simple, quiet respect for the man he was.  

And yet, he wasn’t blind.  

He had done his best to ignore it, to shove down the thoughts that threatened to surface. She was beautiful—undeniably so. That’s why Jesse had teased him that day on the beach, throwing out some crude joke about how the pretty doctor should give him an STD exam.  

Wait.  

His movements stilled, the water forgotten as his mind latched onto the thought. Shutting off the shower, he hurriedly dried himself, his pulse quickening as a realization settled in. Maybe that was it. Maybe Jesse’s little joke had planted the seed, giving life to a fantasy he hadn’t even realized was forming. Maybe that’s why, when he was alone, it was her hands—small, delicate, yet certain—wrapped around his cock in the dark corners of his mind.  

The thought offered him a strange sense of relief. It was just that—just a fantasy. Nothing more. Pulling on a pair of briefs, he moved through the rest of his routine with practiced ease, shutting down any lingering doubts before they had the chance to take hold.It was easier to blame Jesse then confront the idea he might be falling for her. 

At best, he could admit that he might have let himself get too consumed by his physical desire for her. Even that acknowledgment felt wrong—uncomfortable and out of place—but after what had happened, he couldn’t deny it. He had lusted after a friend. That was a line he shouldn’t have crossed, one he would need to be mindful of the next time he saw her. For Echo’s wedding no less. A day in which would be filled with romance and- 

Rex stopped himself with a disgruntled shake of his head, as if someone were around to hear his loud thoughts. He would be rigid at his brother’s wedding. He could be polite, but he would not engage with her more than he needed to even if it pained him so. Those walls needed to stay high enough that pretty doctors couldn’t climb them.

Stretching out on his bunk, he checked the systems, ensuring no alarms had gone off. The ship hummed softly around him, the vast emptiness of deep space his only company for the next few hours. The solitude would do him some good—a chance to clear his head. Because even with a logical explanation for his feelings, the guilt and confusion still weighed heavily on him.

Just as his body began to relax, his datapad chirped. He sighed, annoyed at the interruption but knowing better than to ignore it. If there was any kind of avoidable danger, he couldn’t afford to let it go unchecked.

Flicking on the screen, he expected the usual—a fuel-level warning, an ETA adjustment, or maybe a quick message from Echo. But when he opened the waiting notification, his breath caught, and the pad nearly slipped from his hands.

It was a photo.

Glasses slid halfway down a delicate nose, tired eyes fighting to hold a smile. Messy hair framed flushed cheeks, evidence of exhaustion from what had clearly been a long day. Beneath it, a message appeared: Late nights are the worst. Hope yours is much better than mine :)

The image hit him like a punch to the gut and a flutter in his chest all at once. She looked utterly worn out, yet still so achingly beautiful. He hadn’t realized how much he had been bracing himself for her to reach out, but now that she had, his emotions tangled even further. She messaged him every night, a habit they’d formed long ago. And when he wasn’t dodging enemy fire or barely able to stand, he always responded.

Here, tucked away in his private bunk with no one else to overhear, he usually ended his days with these lighthearted exchanges. But tonight, with her image staring back at him, the comfort he usually found in her messages had turned into something far more complicated.

For a long moment, Rex simply stared at the screen, unsure what to do. The familiar pang of guilt twisted in his chest, tangling with the warmth her message brought. She had no idea what she was doing to him—how her sweet words and tired smile were unraveling the restraint he had worked so hard to keep in place.  

Keep it together, he told himself. Don’t make this more than it is.  

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tapped out a reply, keeping his tone light and casual.  

Long flights are never fun, but I think you win the “rough night” competition. Try to get some rest when you can—don’t overdo it. Captain's Orders.

He hesitated, rereading the message, debating if it sounded too cold. But before he could second-guess himself further, he sent it. Leaning back on the bunk, he stared at the ceiling, willing his mind to quiet.  

Her reply came almost instantly.  

Rest? What’s that? Pretty sure I’ll be on my feet until the sun comes up. At least I’ve got something to distract me now ;)

The winking face made him clench his jaw, a sudden heat building in his chest. She wasn’t flirting—not intentionally, anyway—but it was the way her words always felt so personal, as though she genuinely wanted his attention. And damn it, she had it. She always did.  

He started typing, then stopped. His thumb hovered over the screen, unable to decide if he should keep responding or put the datapad down and end the conversation there. But then another message popped up before he could reply.  

How’s the flight so far? I bet it’s quiet. I’d trade my chaos for your peace right now.

Quiet? Peaceful? That was what she thought this was. And in a way, she was right—out here in the stillness of space, there was nothing but the hum of the ship and his own thoughts. But right now, those thoughts were anything but peaceful.  

His fingers moved before he could stop them.  

I’m not sure you’d like it. Too much time alone out here makes a guy think too much.

The moment he sent it, he regretted the vulnerability. It wasn’t like him to open up like that, not even to her. But she responded almost immediately, her words striking a chord he hadn’t expected.  

Thinking isn’t always so bad. Just don’t let it get the better of you. You’ve got people who care about you, Rex.

He exhaled sharply, his chest tightening at her words. You’ve got people who care about you. Did she mean herself? Was that what she was trying to say? Or was he reading too much into it, letting his mind twist her kindness into something it wasn’t?  

He had to stop this.  

Rolling over, he typed out a quick reply.  

Thanks. I’ll try not to overthink it. Get some sleep, Doc. You need it.

The dots indicating she was typing appeared immediately, letting him know she hadn't deviated from his message, reading it instantly and forming a response without delay. Soon another message came across his screen.

That's a polite way to say I look terrible. Not that I blame you, these eye bags could carry a venator...

Grumpily sitting up, as if sitting up would somehow aid him in typing his message, he quickly replied without a thought before he could worry over the interpretation. Perhaps it was because he was angry with himself for the action he'd only very recently just undertaken, but something about the way she degraded herself didn't sit right with him.

Not at all what I meant, and you know that. Your eyes might show you're tired, but that doesn’t mean they're anything less than beautiful. Just… making sure someone forces you to get rest since we both know you have a habit of neglecting that. Whatever you are doing can likely wait till the morning. So just do me the solid and head home and get the rest? People care about you too.

This time, he didn’t wait for her response. He placed the datapad face-down on the small table beside his bunk and turned away, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep.  

But her image lingered in his mind—the tired eyes, the soft smile, the way she had reached out to him like she always did. It was comforting, and it was torture. And no matter how tightly he tried to close his eyes, he couldn’t push her away. 

His datapad chirped one last time, and despite his better judgment, he reached for it. He told himself he was just checking—just making sure it wasn’t something urgent. But deep down, he knew the truth. He wanted to hear from her again.

Her message was simple.

I suppose you are right. Goodnight, Rex. Sweet dreams.

That was it. No teasing remark, no playful jab—just a quiet goodnight.

He exhaled, sinking back into his pillow, the tension in his body finally easing. Maybe it was the exhaustion setting in, or maybe it was the warmth her words left behind, but for the first time that night, he let himself stop fighting it.

And whether he wanted to or not, she was the last thing he thought of before the stars faded into darkness.

Full illustration by @leenathegreengirl !

Between Hearts and Ruin Pt. 3 "Spontaneity"

Summary: Tech and Leena’s marriage is strained, with mounting tensions that leave Tech feeling exhausted from carrying the weight of trying to fix their issues. Despite his efforts, he’s reached a breaking point, unsure of how much longer he can continue. The same night Tech starts to find some peace with his uncertain decision about their future, he meets someone new, stirring unexpected feelings. Meanwhile, Leena, who isn’t ready to let go, finds solace in the company of someone she knows only vaguely. Both are left questioning the path forward, caught between their unresolved past and the pull of new, uncharted connections.

Word Count: 8k

Pairing(s): Tech / OC Leena

Warnings: Mentions of splitting up

Author's Note: Hi friends! This is a 3 part story crossover between myself and @leenathegreengirl! All characters are part of her Pabu AU. All other chapters will be posted at the same time and linked below. Please check out her page to learn more about the AU if you are new, and if you have stuck around for a while... buckle up because it's going to get intense... You can find a link HERE on her account to a book version of the full story!

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

She distanced herself from the others, as the temptation to defy her twin's warning only intensified. It felt unjust—every single part of it. Despite the way Leena had recoiled at Kayden's harsh words about Tech, the pull to see him again was undeniable. She needed to confront him. She wanted to yell at him, to voice every frustration she’d been holding in. But more than anything, she yearned to break down in front of him, to cry—to make him feel the weight of the guilt that seemed so well-deserved for the things he was doing.

It didn’t matter that her stomach churned with a relentless storm of anxiety from the cruel words spoken about the clash between her and Tech’s natures. It didn’t matter that the past few months had left her feeling like a stranger to her own happiness. Because despite everything, despite the doubt, she was happy. What did they know of her life, of her heart? They weren’t her. They couldn’t possibly understand how she truly felt.

Kayden bringing up their childhood was utterly absurd. People were allowed to grow, to evolve, to leave behind the mistakes of their younger selves. Holding someone to the standards they had set as children—before they’d even fully understood who they were—was beyond unfair, Leena thought. It was a betrayal of the very idea of change, of the human capacity to learn and improve.

Leena could feel the shift in perspective over the past few weeks, a quiet and subtle transformation that gnawed at her from the inside. At first, when she stormed into the room at the tail end of Kayden's proposal from Crosshair, everyone had rallied behind her. They had been on her side. But as time passed, things began to change. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, everyone seemed to be lured in by Tech’s explanation. Even her own sister—her closest confidante—began to lean toward the idea that Tech wasn’t entirely to blame, that perhaps their marriage was worth giving up.

And Leena? She was left questioning everything.

She couldn't shake the feeling that Crosshair was at the heart of it all. He’d been one of the first to listen to Tech’s side of the story, and from that moment on, things had started to shift. Whenever she collapsed into their living room, her heart shattered and her body wracked with sobs as she clung to Kayden, Crosshair was the first to slip away, retreating to his room when her grief became too much. And then, at night, she would hear it—the whispers. Muffled, fragmented conversations slipping through the cracks of their walls, barely audible but unmistakably mentioning her name, and Tech’s, woven together in murmurs that felt too intimate for her to ignore.

Kayden’s unwavering support was no longer a guarantee, and the sting of that realization was sharper than anything else she had felt. The whispers in the dark—those hushed, secretive murmurs slipping through the walls—echoed her deepest fears: she was losing everyone, piece by piece. The people she had relied on, the ones she trusted to stand with her, were slipping away. She had been left behind with nothing but excuses. It was supposed to be her side they stood on.

As Leena walked the familiar path back to the secluded bungalow she knew Tech had retreated to, the weight of it all pressed down on her. Her mind wandered back to the moment everything began to unravel, to the conversation that had changed the course of everything. The words exchanged between her and Tech, so sharp and final, had felt like a blow to her heart. And yet, she couldn’t quite shake the memory—the way Tech had looked at her then, his eyes a mixture of regret and resignation, as if he was already preparing to walk away before he had even spoken the words. Not to mention the only time she’d ever actually seen him angry.

"Leena, would you please sit down?" Tech’s voice carried from the other room, frustration unmistakable in his tone.

She had perched herself on the edge of the counter of the fresher, trying to hurriedly get ready. Plans with Chori had been set, and that meant she had to leave soon. But as she’d returned to the house later than expected—caught up in the distraction she couldn’t quite place any more—she lost track of time. Sitting at the table, watching Tech work, the minutes slipped away unnoticed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to get caught in the flow of things, and Chori had long since grown accustomed to her tendency to lose herself in the moment.

“I’m not sure I have time before I leave to meet Chori,” she called out, her voice drifting over her shoulder as she rushed to finish her makeup. The faint rustling in the next room paused for a beat, but Leena didn’t give it much thought at first. She was too focused on the mirror in front of her, on the task at hand. But when a long, exasperated sigh followed, she felt a knot tighten in her chest. She hastened the final touches, fingers trembling slightly as she tried to speed through the motions.

Tech didn’t respond. Leena assumed he was just settling in for some quiet time, perhaps planning to relax on his own for a while. But as she moved toward the door, preparing to grab her jacket and leave, she heard him clear his throat, his voice cutting through the air with unexpected gravity.

“You promised we would have the conversation I mentioned a week ago,” he began, his tone measured but sharp. “I feel I have been patient enough, but the timing seems to change constantly to accommodate your schedule. I do not think it is fair to—”

Leena’s gaze flickered to the wall display, catching sight of the time. Her heart skipped. She was already running late. “I’m sorry,” she interrupted, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I promise we’ll have it when I get back—”

“Please do not interrupt me,” he cut in, his tone firm as he finally turned his gaze toward her. Leena nodded, her eyes briefly flicking back to the wall before she met his again.

“Tech, I’m already late,” she pointed out, her voice strained as she tried to reason with him, but he refused to turn toward her to acknowledge her words. Instead, he shook his head slowly, his frustration only growing.

“As a result of your own distraction,” he continued, his voice tight. “First, it was because you got held up with Omega. Then it was helping Crosshair plan some surprise for Kayden. Every time I try to have a serious conversation, something else always comes up. I’m continually sidelined. These promises made and not kept are becoming increasingly frustrating.”

Leena’s pulse quickened, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. His accusations hung in the air, thick with frustration, and for a moment, she could only stand there, caught between the need to explain herself and the mounting pressure to leave.

“I know I’ve been distracted, Tech,” she said, her voice tight, but there was a flicker of defensiveness in it too. “But you can’t keep acting like the world revolves around your schedule. I’m trying to juggle a million things. I have things to do too.”

She could feel the tension rising in the room, the space between them filled with the unspoken words neither of them wanted to say. She glanced at the door again, willing herself to walk out, but her feet felt like they were stuck to the floor.

Tech’s eyes were cold now, a calm but sharp anger that sent a chill down her spine. “That’s exactly the problem, Leena,” he replied, his voice deceptively quiet. “You are prioritizing everything except promises made to me. I’ve been patient, but this... this is becoming a pattern. We keep putting it off, and I can’t keep pretending that it does not bother me.”

She clenched her fists at her sides, the urge to leave becoming overwhelming. Why did everything have to feel like this? She had wanted to escape this conversation, to get away from the suffocating weight of it all, but now she felt trapped, both by his words and by her own inability to walk away.

“I have prioritized you!” she snapped, the frustration bubbling over before she could stop it. “You so often work late into the evenings with little to no regard for me. How often lately have you neglected to attend plans with me to see our friends? You just hole yourself up in this stuffy house and work. I can’t live like that. I have a life outside of you, Tech.  And you’re not the only one who’s been patient here. I have been patient with you.  I told you we will have the conversation at some other time.”

Tech stood there for a long moment, just looking at her, as if weighing her every word. His jaw clenched, and she saw his expression harden, the faintest flicker of disappointment passing across his face before he masked it.

“This isn’t about your life outside of me,” Tech said, his voice low but steady, the weight of his words pressing into the space between them. “This is about the commitment we made to each other—the trust that’s supposed to be the foundation of this. And I can’t keep pushing my feelings aside while you run off to others, ignoring something I consider to be incredibly important.”

Leena’s jaw tightened, and the sharp sting of frustration burned in her chest. She crossed her arms, the familiar defensiveness rising within her. “Fine. I’m the bad guy,” she bit out, sarcasm coating her words. “Glad we’ve established that, Tech. You’re right. I’m wrong. Same as always. Can I just go meet up with my friend now? I know you don’t understand what it’s like to want to be around other people.”

Tech’s eyes flashed, and the chill in his gaze sharpened. “That’s not only inaccurate, but it’s also unnecessary. And childish,” he scoffed, clearly displeased with her tone.

Leena felt the sharp edge of his words, but she wasn’t backing down. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, her temper flaring, but also a deep frustration with the way he was trying to frame the situation. She knew it was a low blow on her part, especially considering that Tech did have friends—people he was close to, even if they didn’t share the same emotional reliance on others that she did. She knew they were wired differently in that regard. But at this moment, it didn’t matter. Her anger at him derailing her plans, turning what should’ve been a simple, enjoyable evening into a guilt-laden argument, was growing unbearable.

“There it is,” Leena said, her voice dripping with frustration. “It’s always childish when it’s something you don’t like. It’s childish for me to want to have spontaneous dance sessions in my kitchen with my partner. It’s childish for me to fill the bed with plushies because my partner won’t sleep next to me unless he’s exhausted. You always do this, Tech. You make me feel like I can’t be myself—like I can’t be spontaneous. And that hurts.”

Her voice wavered as the frustration bled into sadness, a deep ache rising in her chest. She had always prided herself on being free-spirited, willing to embrace the little moments, to laugh, to dance, to find joy in things that didn’t always fit into a neatly organized box. But here he was, once again, pulling her back into the rigid structure he clung to, forcing her to bend and twist herself into a shape that didn’t feel like her own.

Leena took a slow breath, trying to steady herself, but the weight of it all was too much. She was tired—tired of feeling like her happiness, her quirks, were something to be judged. She was tired of always having to conform to his routines, his quiet, methodical approach to life. She didn’t work that way, and it felt like every time she tried to break free, to embrace the unpredictable, she was made to feel small, childish.

Tech’s response was sharp, cutting through the moment. “It is childish the way you’re acting right now, Leena. I will not apologize for calling the situation as I see it. I asked for a discussion, and you made promises to have it several times. You keep brushing my request aside. You’re the one breaking your word. When I brought it up last time, you said tonight was a good time to talk. And now, once again, you’re neglecting me. That is you, going back on your word. I don’t see how holding my partner to their promises is something I should be villainized for.”

Leena felt the sting of his words, but it wasn’t enough to stop her. “It’s not about breaking promises, Tech,” she countered, her voice rising with the force of her emotions. “It’s about you treating me like my needs—my desire to be spontaneous—don’t matter. And now you say I’m ignoring your needs,”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss in the first place, Leena!” Tech’s voice was sharp now, the calm that usually defined him slipping away with his growing frustration. “I’ve been here, trying to better suit your needs. Every time you don’t like the words coming out of my mouth, you pull back into this state of trying to appeal to me through guilt, turning it into a smaller, more irrelevant issue. This—it’s becoming the most exhausting, repetitive argument we continue to keep having. It’s starting to feel like I’m stuck in the most unpleasant routine and I can’t break out of it.”

He stepped forward, his body tense, as his usual calm demeanor shifted into something more urgent, more impassioned. Leena could see the shift in him, the subtle but undeniable way his frustration was mounting, spilling over in a way that surprised her. She had expected him to remain composed, to be the steady, logical one—but now, there was a new intensity in his voice.

“Let me make this very clear,” he continued, his words more measured, but still laced with an undercurrent of frustration. “Just because I’m not like you, doesn’t mean I judge you or think any less of you. I respect you, Leena. I respect the individual person you are, and I’ve made an effort to accommodate the differences between us. But when you keep pushing my boundaries, trying to force me to be something I’m not, simply to make me more like you—it feels unfair. Your constant quest to reshape me into someone who thinks and behaves exactly like you doesn’t feel like love or compromise. It feels like control. It puts me in the position of being unable to fulfill your needs and that hurts. You know I pride myself on being able to solve problems but your never ending void of things that are ‘wrong’ with me or ‘wrong’ with how we function seem insurmountable.”

Leena’s chest tightened as she processed his words. She hadn’t expected him to voice this so bluntly, to lay it out with such intensity. She had always felt the differences between them, but hearing him speak so plainly about it made her realize how deeply this was affecting him.

“Every time we address these issues, you cry, demand that I comfort you, and then there’s no real change. No effort to understand my needs. It’s always a list of new things you need me to alter about myself so that you can be happy,” Tech said, his voice low now, tinged with a bitterness that Leena had never heard from him before.

“I can’t even fully blame you for all of this,” Tech began, his voice quieter now, but still heavy with emotion. “I’ve continually made the effort to accommodate your requests, even when they make me incredibly uncomfortable. I’ve tried to meet you where you are, even when it meant pushing aside my own boundaries. And yes, I acknowledge that there are times when I’ve been unfair to you, too. But this whole situation—it’s leaving both of us so unfulfilled. I can feel it, Leena. I can see it in the way you avoid being around me. You’re gone so much now, and the truth is... we’re both miserable. I don’t think either of us knows how to fix it anymore.”

His words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of everything they had both been avoiding. There was no anger in his voice now—just resignation. But it stung all the more. The quiet truth of his statement settled in her chest like a lead weight, and for a moment, all she could do was breathe, her thoughts spiraling.

But before she could respond, he continued, his voice taking on the familiar cadence she had come to dread. “We both know this isn’t working. We both know we’re just going through the motions, and pretending everything’s fine isn’t helping either of us. I’m tired of waiting for things to change when it seems unlikely given the depth these issues—”

“Stop. Tech, stop talking right now,” Leena interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to break the flow of his words. A chill swept over her as she felt the shift in his tone. That shift from frustration to the all-too-familiar, clinical, matter-of-fact way he spoke when he was trying to distance himself emotionally. It wasn’t anger anymore, but it felt even worse. He wasn’t mad at her—he was simply... resigned. Detached.

The same tone that always made her feel like she wasn’t capable of understanding the bigger picture. The same tone that made her feel small, as though she were simply too naïve, too impulsive, to grasp the full weight of the situation. It was the voice that stripped her of any agency in their relationship. The voice that made her feel ignorant—like a child fumbling in the dark while he watched from above, quietly disappointed.

Her pulse quickened as she tried to steady herself, but the feeling of inadequacy washed over her. She hated that tone.

“Leena,” Tech’s voice was soft, but it still carried the weight of everything that had been unsaid between them. She immediately shook her head, as if the simple motion could shut out the truth he was about to speak.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, her voice strained, a desperate quietness to it as she tried to keep her composure.

“Leena, please—” he urged, stepping closer, his voice laced with a combination of concern and frustration. But it was too much. The words she didn’t want to hear, the thoughts she didn’t want him to share, felt like they were suffocating her.

“No.” She snapped, her hands flying to her ears, covering them as if the simple act of blocking out his voice could erase everything he was trying to communicate. Her eyes squeezed shut, the darkness behind her eyelids somehow offering a false sense of control as she tried to steady her breath, desperately trying to hold herself together.

But it was no use. The emotions that had been building inside of her for what felt like an eternity, the pressure that had been quietly simmering beneath the surface, all erupted at once. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore.

And then, just as she thought she might be able to pull herself together, she felt his hands. His touch was firm, grounding her in place, but it wasn’t the kind of touch she wanted. His hands rested on her shoulders with careful distance, a space between them, as if he was trying to steady her without crossing that invisible line. It was meant to be comforting—she could tell—but in that moment, it felt like a thousand miles away.

The tears came faster now, hot and raw, filling the room with a desperate sorrow that she couldn’t contain. She shook with the intensity of it, her chest heaving with the force of her sobs. Every part of her wanted to collapse into him, to feel his warmth, his comfort—something that would anchor her in the midst of her chaos—but he was so far away, physically and emotionally.

Without thinking, she reached out, hands trembling as they grasped at the empty air, desperate to close the distance between them. She wanted to pull him into her, to hold onto him so tightly that the words and the pain and everything else would just go away. But no matter how much she stretched her arms toward him, he remained just out of reach, keeping her at a distance from his chest.

Her body trembled as she fought against the overwhelming wave of emotion crashing over her. The sobs filled the space around them, echoing through the cottage as she cried out in frustration, in helplessness, in all the things she couldn’t put into words. She was too far gone to hide it anymore.

“Why won’t you just hold me?” she whispered through the tears, her voice breaking. It was the simplest of requests, but the hardest one to make. Tech’s grip on her shoulders tightened ever so slightly, but his words still hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken distance between them. 

“Because I refuse to play into this cycle any longer, Leena,” Tech’s voice was firm, but the undercurrent of frustration was clear. “I need space. I need—”

But before he could finish, Leena’s anger surged. Without warning, she shoved him away, the force of her actions surprising them both. The movement was desperate, a physical manifestation of everything she had been holding back.

Without a second thought, she turned and ran for the door, her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of their conversation too much to bear. She couldn’t hear anything else he had to say, nor did she want to. The words, the distance, the suffocating silence between them—it was all too overwhelming.

Her hand was already on the door handle, and she didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Tech didn’t call out after her. He didn’t chase her, didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he just stood there, rooted in place, his eyes locked on her retreating figure. His expression remained unreadable, distant. It was as if he had already accepted her departure—like it was inevitable.

He let her go.

The silence that filled the space in the wake of her exit felt louder than anything she had ever heard before.

Leena’s steps quickened, each stride growing more forceful, more determined. The anger bubbled up inside her, each step pushing it higher. It felt like it was all she’d been living in since that moment: a constant, exhausting cycle of sadness, anger, and a gnawing confusion that never seemed to let up.

It left her spiraling, caught in a whirlwind of hurt and the desperate need to take action. She wanted him to feel the weight of what he’d done, to make him realize the depth of the pain and come back, to fight for what they had left. She wanted the validation of everyone else to agree with her, to have them all stand beside her, reaffirming that she wasn’t the one who had caused this rift. She wanted everything to fall back into place, to go back to the way it was before—before the arguments, the distance, before they had become strangers in their own relationship.

But the truth was, Leena wasn’t ready to face the reality that some of what Tech had said that night had struck a chord within her. The words he’d thrown at her—harsh as they were—had a ring of truth she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge. To admit it would feel like admitting defeat, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that.

That’s why she needed to speak with him so desperately. She wanted to apologize, to beg him to understand that she never meant to hurt him, to make him feel like he had to carry all the weight of their struggles alone. She wanted to show him that she was willing to put her needs aside if it meant he would stay, that she would bend, just as he had, to make it work.

As Leena neared the last few rows of houses, the jungle looming just beyond them, she felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her—both physical and emotional. Her mind was still reeling from the night’s events, from the weight of the argument and the hollow space it left in her chest. Distracted by her turmoil, her footing slipped, and before she could brace herself, her knees slammed against the cold stone with an unforgiving force.

The pain shot through her, but it wasn’t just the physical ache that struck hardest—it was the crushing weight of everything she had been trying to avoid. Kneeling there on the unforgiving streets, her knees bleeding slightly from the scuff, the rawness of her emotions overwhelmed her. For a moment, she felt as though the fire that had been pushing her forward—driving her to act, to fight—dissipated entirely.

Something about being sprawled on the ground, her body aching and vulnerable, made the internal storm inside her grow even more unbearable. It was like the final nail in the coffin, the moment when the fight in her finally seemed to wither. The hurt wasn’t just physical; it felt like suffocation, like being trapped beneath water for far too long, your lungs desperate for air but unable to find it. It felt like being wedged into a tight space, your limbs aching from the lack of freedom, a constant tension in your muscles that couldn’t be relieved. It was a constant throbbing in her skull, as if the pain would never cease.

And the embarrassment. The sting of humiliation surged through her, as though her world had just crumbled on display. She prayed—more than anything—that no one had witnessed her fall. Please, don’t let anyone have seen. This entire situation had become an embarrassment in itself. Their loved ones, once supportive, now watched in silence as everything between her and Tech unraveled. She couldn’t bear how everyone else seemed to be finding their own happiness while her world came crashing down in slow motion. It was suffocating, their pity hanging around her like a dark cloud.

Part of her longed for the sympathy, craving it as some sort of validation. Yet another part of her resented it, hating the feeling of being seen as weak, broken, unable to manage her own life. This constant storm of conflicting emotions felt like it was tearing her in two. She could never quite tell which side of her thoughts would win out—one minute she was angry, the next, she was desperate for someone to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. But it never was.

“Leena?” came a voice from behind her, loud but gentle. It held an unexpected weight that broke through her spiral of thoughts. It was a clone—though not one of the batch. Their voices were all uniquely altered by their enhancements, and after spending time around the “regs,” Leena had learned to recognize a handful of them, though their voices often blended together in her mind. Still, the voice was unfamiliar enough to be a comfort, a momentary distraction from the mess she felt she was drowning in.

Leena heard the shuffling of footsteps growing closer, the soft sound of boots dragging against stone until they stopped just in front of her scraped knees. She couldn’t bring herself to look up. Looking up meant meeting their gaze, exposing just how deeply she was affected by everything that had happened. She wasn’t ready for that—wasn’t ready for someone to see her so raw, so vulnerable. Especially not someone like Rex or Jesse. They were both good men, people she respected, but the thought of receiving an awkward pep talk from someone who shared so many of the same traits as the man who had just broken her heart felt unbearable. It wasn’t just that they were clones—it was that they shared his essence, and right now, everything about that made her skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, trying to wave them off, her voice barely above a whisper. She hoped it was enough to send them away, but as she shifted slightly, there was a sudden movement that made her freeze. Whoever it was didn’t retreat. Instead, they knelt down beside her.

“You’re bleeding,” they said, their voice soft but laced with concern. Then they sucked in a breath, clearly startled by what they saw. “And… you’ve uh… been crying.”

Leena squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to break again. The words hung in the air, heavy with truth, and she hated hearing them. Hated that someone had seen her like this, completely unraveling. But even as the harshness of it hit her, something in their tone made her pause. It wasn’t judgment, wasn’t pity—it was simply a quiet recognition of her pain, and that somehow made it worse. In the solitude of her emotions, she had convinced herself that no one noticed, that she could slip away unnoticed. But here they were, kneeling next to her, acknowledging everything she had tried to bury.

“Yeah? I wonder why that is?” Leena retorted with a sharp, sarcastic edge in her voice, her words dripping with frustration. She hoped the tension in her tone would make it clear that she really didn’t want company right now. The sting of her emotions was still too raw, and the last thing she needed was someone trying to console her. It was easier to be cold with this man, whoever he was, than to face the reality of what had just happened. She couldn’t take her anger out on Tech—he wasn’t there to receive it—but that didn’t mean her frustration wasn’t bubbling over. This stranger would be an easier target for her bitterness, she thought.

The response came slowly, almost like they were testing the waters. "Uh... because you fell and hurt yourself?" Their voice was cautious, as if trying to gauge her reaction, unsure whether to push further or retreat.

Leena stiffened at the answer. It was simple, logical—but it only served to highlight how much she’d failed to keep her emotions in check. Fallen, hurt herself. It seemed like such a small thing, something that could easily be brushed off, but the truth was far more complicated. It was the culmination of everything she had been struggling with, everything that had been building up for days. And now, here she was—scraped knees and face full of tears—and no one to share the weight of her broken heart with. Kayden had tried and she dismissed her. 

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she finally glanced up at the figure kneeling next to her, but it wasn’t with the relief of someone ready to accept help. It was with the defiance of someone who was tired of feeling so out of control. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep the tears at bay. 

Leena took a moment to assess him, her gaze moving slowly over his appearance. Sweat clung to his skin, and his shaved head glistened in the dim light. It was a look she’d seen countless times before on the regs. Most of them kept their hair short, if they had any at all. Rex was one of the few exceptions she could think of, and even his hair was kept cropped closely. 

But the man before her, this particular clone, had something else that set him apart: the tattoos. Intricate blue patterns snaked up the side of his face and head, marking him with a kind of permanence that only soldiers like him seemed to wear proudly. The tattoos weren’t the only distinguishing feature, though. A few metal piercings caught in the light. But, it was the hearing aid that drew her eye next—an essential part of him, always there, a reminder of the harshness and endurance of his life.

Hardcase.

She wasn’t particularly close with Hardcase, but there was a certain sense of familiarity between them. They all shared the same space, the same friend group—living and working on the same isolated island. It created a bond, whether or not they acknowledged it. Hardcase had always been the kind of guy who radiated energy, someone who was constantly full of life and laughter. It was hard to pin down whether it was the result of surviving so many close calls with death or if that was just who he had always been. Either way, his presence was infectious. He was the kind of person who could easily lift a room with his humor and his reckless charm.

She knew he spent a lot of time with Wrecker—given their shared love of all things chaotic and physical—but beyond that, she’d never really spent time with him in an isolated setting. They were part of a larger group, a shared dynamic that never really allowed for individual connections to form outside the group context. And besides, Leena had never really felt the need for anything deeper with him.

There was an unspoken boundary in her mind, a line she’d never even considered crossing. Seeking companionship from another man while married had always felt... inappropriate, almost like a betrayal. It didn’t matter that Tech spent time with Mae—those moments had always felt different. Non-threatening, even. Leena had never felt any insecurity over that relationship. Mae was a friend, nothing more. But in her own case, even in the absence of anything beyond platonic with Hardcase, the thought of it felt wrong. It was a loyalty to Tech, to the life they had built together, that kept her from seeking out these kinds of connections.

Leena shook her head, almost frustrated with herself for even allowing her thoughts to wander in that direction. She hadn’t come here for this—to think, to question, or to even entertain the possibility that she was somehow drifting into unfamiliar territory. Yet, as she noticed Hardcase’s gaze lingering on her scraped knee, the care in his eyes almost felt like a gentle reminder of the kindness that had been missing in her own world lately. The thought of chasing after Tech in this moment didn’t seem right anymore.

Tonight had been a storm, an emotional chaos she couldn’t untangle in her mind, and maybe, just maybe, circling back when things weren’t so raw would be the better choice. Time had a way of settling tempers, she knew. It was just a matter of waiting for the tension to dissolve enough so they could both approach the conversation with clearer heads. Something about seeing a near stranger—someone as disconnected from her personal life as Hardcase—show the kind of concern that her own family hadn’t, made her pause. There was no history there, no emotional weight, and that made it easier for her to consider it without the usual walls going up. Hardcase’s detachment from her current situation allowed her a space to breathe, to think for once without everything being clouded by the overwhelming noise of what had just happened.

“It’s just a scratch,” she said quietly, trying to downplay it, but there was no fooling him. She watched as he shook his head, a subtle hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Still probably hurts,” he said, his voice gentle, but there was a knowing tone in it. He wasn’t dismissing it, but acknowledging the hurt in a way that seemed more... real. More understanding.

Leena’s gaze flickered instinctively to the side of his neck. It was there she saw the fading scars, a patchwork of history that spoke of battles fought and injuries endured. She’d heard stories about the extent of the damage he’d suffered—not just from the physical pain, but the emotional toll it had taken on him. She had seen him swim once or twice, the way the marks ran down his body, crisscrossing like an unfinished map. They were part of him, just like the carefree energy he always exuded. She had no idea how someone could endure that level of pain and come out on the other side seemingly unscathed, emotionally.

So when Hardcase's concern shifted to something as minor as her scraped knee, something about it caught Leena off guard. His concern felt genuine, untainted by her complicated history with Tech or her emotional baggage. It wasn’t about fixing anything—it was just care, unprompted and unassuming. A small, quiet gesture that she couldn’t help but find almost absurd in its simplicity. She couldn’t help it—she giggled, a soft sound that escaped her lips before she could stop it.

It was the first time in hours she had felt any sort of release, and it felt so good, so unexpected. Here was a man who’d faced real pain, real struggle, and yet he was tending to her small, insignificant injury like it was something that mattered. It was such a contrast to the suffocating silence she’d experienced all night. In that fleeting moment, something shifted inside her—this ridiculous, absurd giggle breaking through the wall she’d built up inside.

“Is that a laugh?” he asked, feigning shock, his voice teasing but with a soft edge of curiosity.

“Does it matter?” Leena replied, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of weariness. She shifted to sit more comfortably on her leg, the sharp stone and dirt bits pressing into her skin as she examined the scratches she’d earned from the fall. They were insignificant, really, but they seemed to mirror the small pains that had built up inside her over the past weeks, things she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge.

“I think it does,” Hardcase shrugged with a faint smile, his gaze flicking to her as he reached into his pocket. Leena wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for, but when his hand emerged with a small piece of scrap cloth, she raised an eyebrow. It was odd, but then again, she had learned to expect the unexpected from people like him.

Without waiting for her to say anything, he passed it to her, and she took it with a quiet nod. The gesture, simple and unassuming, was oddly comforting. It wasn’t much—a scrap of fabric—but at this moment, it felt like a bridge over the distance she’d tried so hard to maintain between herself and others. Leena dabbed at her face, wiping away the evidence of tears she hadn’t noticed gathering until now. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice quieter as she focused on the task at hand. She hadn’t realized how much of a mess she’d become in the span of a few hours.

Hardcase didn’t reply right away, but his eyes held an understanding she hadn’t expected from someone she didn’t know well. “I can’t say I recall hearing one from you in a while,” he said after a beat, his voice softer than before, not mocking, just observant. It wasn’t an accusation, but an acknowledgment of what she’d been through, and it made her feel oddly seen.

Leena paused, her fingers tightening around the cloth for a moment. “It’s been a... rough time,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mind briefly flashed to the argument with Tech, the overwhelming tide of emotions, the disconnection she couldn’t seem to fix.

“That’s an understatement,” Hardcase said, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. It was light, like he was trying to pull her from the depths of her own thoughts. “Sometimes we forget how to laugh. Or maybe we forget it’s okay to laugh. Even when things feel impossible.”

Leena’s eyes flicked to his face, studying him for a moment. There was a sincerity in his words that she wasn’t used to hearing from people, let alone someone she barely knew. It was like he saw through her outer walls, recognizing the fatigue in her that she’d been so desperate to hide.

“You don’t really know me,” she said softly, surprised by the vulnerability in her own words. "You probably think I’m just... over reacting, or something."

Hardcase shook his head, his expression softening, losing some of the usual guardedness that came with the military. “I think... you’re going through a really tough time. It’s okay to hurt when things don’t make much sense.” He paused, running a hand over his head as though searching for the right words. “Sorry. I’m not great at saying the right thing. I’m sure you’re used to smarter conversations than this.”

Leena couldn’t help but let out a small breath of relief. She knew he was alluding to Tech’s natural eloquence—the way he could articulate his thoughts with precision, always calculating the best way to express himself. Tech had always been able to explain everything, to make sense of the world when she felt lost. But there was something refreshing about Hardcase’s rawness, his willingness to admit that he didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t try to overcompensate with words, instead offering his honesty in a way that felt genuine.

Tech’s brilliance often left him detached from others emotionally, his sharp mind sometimes blinding him to the vulnerability of those around him. But Hardcase... Hardcase seemed to understand the weight of the unsaid things, the quiet moments where words weren’t necessary, only understanding. It was a stark contrast to what she was used to, but in this moment, she found herself leaning into it.

“It’s... it’s okay,” she said quietly, glancing up at him as the remnants of her tension began to ebb. His concern wasn’t forced, it wasn’t because he thought he had to say something profound—it was simply because he cared, in his own, unpolished way. And for some reason, that felt easier to accept than anything Tech could offer right now.

“I didn’t think I’d be... here, like this,” Leena continued, her voice growing softer as she spoke. “I didn’t think things would get so complicated, you know? I didn’t think I’d feel like I’m... falling apart.”

Hardcase nodded slowly, his eyes understanding, but there was no pity in them. He didn’t look at her like a broken thing to be fixed. “Yeah, life has a way of throwing everything at you all at once. Makes it harder to keep your footing. But that doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

The words hung in the air between them, simple but impactful. Leena swallowed, her throat tight. She wasn’t sure why she was opening up like this—after all, she barely knew him. But in some strange way, his presence felt like the only thing holding her together in this moment. Maybe it was his unspoken kindness, his ability to let her just be, without judgment or expectation.

“Thanks,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for the cloth, for the concern, or for not trying to fix her. Maybe it was all of it.

Hardcase smiled, his expression soft and genuine, the kind of smile that didn’t demand anything in return. “Anytime, Leena. Anytime.” His gaze shifted to the water in front of them, a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, before he turned back to her, his dark eyes meeting hers with quiet sincerity. “Can I walk you back to your place? I want to make sure you get there alright.”

Leena paused, her thoughts swirling. His offer was simple enough, but there was something in his tone that made it feel different from the usual gestures of kindness she’d grown accustomed to. It wasn’t pity, or some well-meaning obligation—it was just genuine, the kind of kindness that didn’t come with strings attached. For the first time in weeks, someone was being kind to her not because they had to, but because they wanted to. It felt... good.

For a fleeting moment, the weight of everything seemed to lift, just enough to breathe. She nodded, her throat tight as she forced a small, thankful smile. Hardcase rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants, and extended his hand to her. She took it, grounding herself in the steady strength of his grip. He didn’t push or try to fix anything—he simply offered his support, in the most human, uncomplicated way.

“Are you sure I’m not ruining your evening plans?” she asked after a pause, noticing in the corner of her eye that he'd changed into something a bit more polished than usual.

“I was already running behind to meet everyone at that gathering,” Hardcase replied with a shrug. “A few extra minutes won’t be a problem.”

Leena mulled over his words, feeling a flicker of relief at the thought that he, too, could be late for things. "It’s winding down, you know?" she added, almost absentmindedly.

“Yeah… got a bit distracted,” he admitted with a sheepish grin before quickly adding, “Not by you. Before I found you, I mean,” he reassured her.

“Oh?” she said, intrigued, happy for the distraction of his story and what might’ve caused him to be behind.

“Yeah, it’s kinda silly, actually,” he muttered, looking away, almost embarrassed.

“Nothing wrong with a little silly,” Leena replied after a beat, watching the way his features shifted at her words. There was something in the way she said it—maybe the quiet understanding in her voice—that made him open up.

“Well, there’s this moonyo that hangs around outside Jesse’s house. And I’m telling you, that little guy is great at finding hidden things... at least, that’s what I call them,” Hardcase said, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. Leena noticed the way his voice had gotten a bit louder, likely due to his partial deafness—or maybe he’d always been a bit boisterous.

“Hidden things?” she asked softly, genuinely curious.

“Yeah. Hidden things. One time, I followed him to this alcove in the caves, and it was packed with all kinds of stolen stuff from around the island—clothes, little trinkets, all sorts of shiny objects. That moonyo’s a troublemaker,” he grinned, before his expression shifted to something more wistful. “Another time, he led me to this quiet spot by the water, a place no one really knows about. Anytime he’s hanging around, but then suddenly bolts off like he's on a mission... I just follow him.”

Leena chuckled, a gentle smile curling her lips. “You probably think it’s ridiculous. Following an ape around for no reason…”

“No, not at all,” she interrupted, meeting his eyes. “I think it’s sweet and…” She paused, searching for the right word, then added, “spontaneous.”

Hardcase’s eyes softened, the warmth of her approval settling over him. With a little nod, he continued, telling her more about the secret treasures his four-legged companion had led him to discover. 

As they walked side by side, the cobblestones beneath their feet rhythmically clicking with each step, Leena allowed herself to relax just a little. Hardcase’s words came in a steady stream—nothing heavy, just casual musings about random things: the weather, a funny incident from earlier that day, a strange looking cloud in the sky. His voice was calm and unassuming, filling the silence in a way that wasn’t overwhelming or uncomfortable. It wasn’t the kind of conversation she had with Tech—where every word had its weight and meaning—but it was nice. Simple, comforting.

Leena let herself get lost in the sound of his voice, her focus shifting away from the sharp edge of her pain for a moment. It wasn’t that the hurt was gone, but for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like it was choking her. She wasn’t fighting it. She wasn’t fighting anything. There was no expectation, no pressure—just the quiet comfort of someone walking with her, offering their company without expecting anything in return.

As they neared the house she’d been staying in since the split, Leena felt a pang in her chest, a mix of relief and sadness. This place had become her refuge and her prison all at once. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to stay there, or what would come next, but in this moment, with Hardcase walking beside her, she allowed herself to hope for just a bit of peace.

When they reached the doorstep, Hardcase gave her a final, casual nod. “Here you are. Safe and sound.”

She smiled, though it was a bittersweet one. “Thanks, Hardcase. Really. For everything.”

He shrugged, his smile light. “Like I said, anytime.”

Leena watched him turn to walk away, his figure growing smaller with each step. She stood in the doorway for a moment longer than she intended, feeling a mix of emotions well up in her chest—grief, gratitude, confusion—but most of all, a sense of being... understood. Not fixed. Not judged. Just understood.

Art by the lovely @leenathegreengirl!

Ya girl decided to try something new with her hair…and I don’t think I’m loving it 😆

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