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You sigh, depositing your small duffle at the entrance as the door slides shut; sagging your body back, you rest your head on the durasteel behind you, letting it cool your mind and the headache pounding at your temples.
The apartment is fairly warm and midafternoon sunlight gleams through the small window, heating a well worn, second hand couch. It isn't much and it’s far from luxurious, but the small throw blankets and odd wall decorations made it feel like home.
You’d honestly meant to be back yesterday when you got in from a long series of missions as the field medic with Clone Force 99, but a quick, frantic call from a friend in the medical center had those plans changing rapidly. Instead of catching up on sleep (that you desperately needed), you ran to pick up two shifts, working from the late hour of night when you arrived until noon the next day, when a supervisor insisted you take some time off. And then you stayed another two hours.
Removing yourself from your slumped position on the wall, you haphazardly drag your duffle and gear to one of the two bedrooms in the apartment and sling it onto a low-to-the-floor, but quite comfortable, bed.
The apartment was actually one you shared- as if anyone could afford to live on Coruscant alone, even in the mid-levels. Your other three roommates are a few field medics who you’d met in basic training, before you each got paired with your individual squads, and currently they are all off-world on separate assignments. In a way it’s disappointing to come home to a completely empty space, but right now you welcome the silence.
Your bed is calling your name after having no sleep in maker-knows how long, but the stronger part of your mind tells you that you need a shower and food desperately.
You grab a set of clean civvies and head to the ‘fresher to scrub the dirt and dust and blood of the last mission from your skin. The soft smelling soap being luxury you dearly missed.
By the time you feel sufficiently clean (plus several minutes to just enjoy the hot water) you towel off and get dressed, feeling slightly less exhausted and slightly more motivated to grab food. You know without looking that the pantry and chiller will both be near empty, a result of the constant circulation of late-shift workers not wanting to cook and the equal desire to not come back to the smell of spoiled food after a long mission.
Slipping on socks and a pair of boots, you grab a bag and some credits to head to the nearby market. Ideas of pasta seem to float to the front of your mind as you lock the apartment behind you and walk out of the complex.
The sun is not fully set on Coruscant, leaving the lower area in a dim haze. The air is cooling down, but overall refreshing with a not completely pleasant, but familiar scent. It felt like home, or as close to home as you could have.
You clutch your bag close under your arm and let yourself focus on the bustle of the city around you. It was very overwhelming when you first moved to Coruscant, with its nearly infinite cityscape and trillions of individuals with their own lives swirling around you, but now your feet move on autopilot with your understanding of the sectors layout, and instead you can enjoy the excitement constantly thrumming in the streets.
In a small gap in the crowd, you spot a familiar color scheme that has you pausing your sure-footed stride. Through the passing bodies, you could spot none other than your squadmates , picking their way past a large group of vendors. You’re almost hesitant to interrupt their time off and instead plan to slip back into the crowd, hopefully unnoticed, when you lock eyes with Hunter, who had been dutifully surveying their surroundings while his brothers were locked in discussion.
You awkwardly raise a hand in greeting and offer him a small smile, which he returns. Seeing the shift in Hunter’s focus quickly grabs the attention of the rest of the squad. Wrecker’s face lights up as he barrels his way through the crowd of pedestrians, who desperately dodge to clear a path for him, and wraps you in a tight hug.
Your hands scramble to find purchase on his shoulders as he lifts you well off the ground and you let yourself tuck your face into his neck to disguise your wide grin. By the time he releases you, you can feel a gentle heat rising in your cheeks, and you let a sly greeting slip out.
“Long time no see, eh?” You calculate it had been roughly 17 standard hours.
Crosshair is, surprisingly, the first to respond.
“You look well,” he snarks in a tone that clearly teases the opposite. You scoff at his comment, but in all honesty, you probably are a sight to behold right now- haphazardly dressed, hair still damp from the shower, smiling like an idiot in the middle of a Coruscanti market.
“Maker, thanks Cross-“ you start, unable to stop the laugh bubbling up at the sight of Echo swatting his arm.
“You’re a di’kut , Cross.”
Said di’kut removed the toothpick that, til recently, resided at the corner of his mouth, and flicked in back at Echo, whose face scrunched into a, frankly adorable, frown.
“So,” Hunter started, clearly over the antics of his brothers, “what are you doing out? Thought you had plans to ‘sleep until our next mission.’” He quoted your last conversation back at you.
Well, that had been the plan.
“Plans change.” You didn’t need to tell them you haven’t slept since the mission, “What are you doing out?”
“Looking for some good food!” Wrecker burst with a clap on your back.
“That time isn’t it? I'm out for the same thing. Where are you headed?”
“We are currently unsure, most Coruscant establishments are..” Tech hesitated, choosing his words, “Less than welcoming.”
You frown, tamping down the anger that quickly sparked in your chest. You are well acquainted with the prejudice that cropped up in all sectors of the city. Hells, there were more shops allowing droids than clones at this point, and both the GAR and the Senate seem disinclined to stop the blatant discrimination. But falling into a rant about that wasn’t productive right now. You had more than enough experience avoiding discriminatory stalls to know the best food joints that were open to all , and your primary mission shifted to getting these boys some good food. And then your mouth was moving faster than your brain could filter.
“Well I could probably point out a few stands or-“ you paused, catching your words in time. You could cook for them . That seemed too forward. Sure you all got along well, even Crosshair had shifted from outright mean to more lighthearted jeering in your conversations, but that doesn’t mean they’d want to spend their limited time off with you. That, and they’d be in your apartment, which somehow felt quite personal, despite the limited time you spent there. Anxiety twists in your stomach.
“Or?” Tech prompted, clearly not willing to let your sentence end prematurely. The Batch was looking at you expectantly, but there was something else. They looked… happy. Relaxed in a way that you never saw on missions. Maybe you were overthinking it, it would just be dinner, and you trust them to say no if they aren't interested. Besides, with how much work they have over endless missions, it might be nice to enjoy a warm meal.
You purse your lips and summon some courage.
“Well, if you’d like, you could come over to my place and I could cook something up.” You will yourself not to shy away from their gaze.
“Really!?” Wrecker all but yells, voice overlapping with Hunters' attempt to reject your offer.
“We wouldn’t wanna trouble you, it’s not exactly easy to feed five troopers.”
“It wouldn't be any trouble, I wouldn't have offered if it would be. But if you aren’t interested, I understand, I don't want to impose or anything…”
Hunter studied you for a moment, hand absentmindedly scrubbing the back of his neck; he must have found what he was looking for because he turned to exchange glances with the rest of the squad, each of them giving a subtle nod, barring Wrecker who looked quite eager. He turned back to you, apparently satisfied.
“Well then, what’s for dinner, Doc?”
You grinned at him, letting the nerves shift into excitement.
“Well,” you considered for a moment, “I was thinking ramen would be great.”
At Hunters’ agreement, Wrecker practically knocks Tech over to lift you up into his arms again. By the time your feet touch the ground, Echo has his lips pursed with concern.
“What is ramen?”
“It is a savory broth and noodle dish served in many stylized ways, often with various meats, proteins, and vegetables,” Tech states, adjusting the rims of his goggles before looking up from his data pad.
You nod in agreement, “I’ll need to pick up a few things, but there's an outdoor market just nearby.”
Falling into a pod-like formation, you lead the group a few streets over, all the while listening to Echo recount some of the worst foods he's suffered through during his time with the 501st, including an especially slimy seafood soup. He concluded that he was not particularly fond of dishes that look back at you.
Together you meander your way through several stores, picking out broth, noodles, a protein that Hunter seemed particularly interested in trying, and various vegetables, all of which Tech was keen on discussing. At some point you linked arms with Echo, who insisted on carrying the grocery bag.
When all the supplies have been collected, you pick your way back to the apartment complex. It’s a short walk away and all the while you exchange easy conversation with the squad. On missions, you try to stay professional and keep your focus in the way you were taught during basic training, despite the Batch’s often successful attempts at breaking down your walls. However, without the tension of impending injury or death clouding your thoughts, you let yourself relax.
You point out your building to the group, scanning your key card to get in. A sharp prick of nerves rocks your stomach as you make your way into the lift, dampening the lighthearted mood that had gathered during your time at the market. Logically, there was no reason to worry, after all, you’ve already sacrificed all privacy and personal space when you crowd on the Marauder for missions. That never made you nervous, in fact, you've even teased your squad, mostly Tech, about how you were claiming partial ownership over his pride and joy of a shuttle; but somehow this felt more personal, like you were letting them into a new part of your life. Which, in a way, you were.
Crosshair, having either impeccable timing or just catching onto your nerves, slides an arm to the railing on the opposite side of your body, placing him close behind you, and effectively shifting your mind from any worries you were having to the way he was nearly wrapped around your body. Then, without any warning, he jams his boney fingers into your side, causing you to yelp in surprise. Immediately turning around, you smack your hand into hard plastoid armour and glare up at him. He only shrugs back at you, a smirk playing on his face.
“You’re in your head mesh’la .” You pause for a split second. That nickname was new.
“Yeah, well you must be out of yours. If you don't keep your hands to yourself, Cross , you won't be eating.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender as his brothers jeer at him, but the glint in his eye told you he was going to be trouble.
You unlock your apartment, the door sliding open with a hiss, and step aside to let them in.
“Feel free to make yourselves at home,” you smile and gesture to the open-concept living space and kitchen in a way that is hopefully not as awkward as it feels.
Echo turns to you, “Mind if we ditch some armour?”
“Of course, go ahead.”
Warmth spreads through your face as they each remove the top half of their armour, Tech retaining his vambraces, and spread out around the room. You try not to let your eyes linger on how their tight fitting blacks cling to their impressively built frames, with limited success.
Quickly pushing that thought from your mind, you grab the controller to switch the holoscreen to the first thing you could find: some cheesy reality dating show. Wrecker sprawls on the couch and lolls his head back, Tech joining him at the opposite side. Crosshair perches on a barstool at the kitchen counter with a good vantage point of both the kitchen and the holo. You quickly shoo Echo away from where he was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen and he joins his brothers on the couch. Hunter saddles up beside you in the kitchen while the others settle in, resting his hand on your back. When you look up at him, you find him already watching you.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” a soft smile slants across his face.
“‘S more of a mess when my roommates are around.” He nods in understanding, his roommates are a bit of a mess as well.
“Thanks for having us over, Doc.” The sincerity of his gaze sends sparks through your body and you can only hope that his senses don't pick up on the stuttering of your pulse.
“Don't thank me yet, you don't know if the food is any good. It shouldn't take too long, you can go sit down for a bit.”
He’s probably been just as busy as you since getting back, between mission reports and making sure his brothers were all cared for. For a second it seems like he might protest and insist on helping, but then he gives your waist a quick squeeze and goes to sit in the mismatched chair near the couch.
With the Batch relatively settled, you begin to work on pulling out cookware and heating up the broth in a pot. You give the vegetables a rinse and pull out a knife and chopping board to start cutting, quickly abandoning the task when the broth heats to the correct temperature. With a plan to cook two packages of noodles at a time to maintain a good cooking temperature for the noodles, you start the first batch, before dropping a pad of butter into the pan for the vegetables. You turn to keep chopping, only to see Cross had taken over the task quite dutifully. It was very… domestic . A fuzzy feeling was creeping back through your body at the sight.
Rather than try to move the ridiculously stubborn man back to the couch and ruin a genuinely sweet moment, you just skirt behind him, dragging your hand gently across his shoulder blades and offering a soft thanks as you gather some of what he's already cut to sauté. You grab a second pan for the meat.
The rest of the cooking is a quick blur of setting out bowls and alternating between cooking and dishing out batches of ramen, setting aside an extra batch for when Wrecker is inevitably still hungry. By the time the last bowl is full, the kitchen is a bit of a mess, but the meal in front of you is nothing short of mouthwatering.
You rap your knuckles twice on the counter closest to the living room, “Dinner!”
The Batch files in, Echo and Tech invested in an almost heated debate over the bachelors in the holo, with Echo vehemently protesting Tech’s pick to win as being shallow and Tech retorting about how his pick obviously had the highest probability of winning, regardless of his shortcomings.
Wrecker seemed to be nearly bursting with joy as he grabs a bowl and you hand him a set of chopsticks. His free arm slings around your shoulders and he drops a kiss to the top of your head, along with a gleeful ‘thank you.’
“There’s also forks on the counter if you’d prefer,” you gesture to where you'd set extra silverware, doubting that any of them had much experience with chopsticks.
The rest of them each follow suit, grabbing bowls and chopsticks and offering you thanks, to which you duck your head in quiet acceptance of their praise.
They all migrate back towards the couch with full bowls, sans Echo, who instead moves to the counter due to his inability to hold the bowl and wield utensils simultaneously. You opt to join him with a bowl of your own.
You scoop a large bite of noodles, almost groaning at the taste, stomach growling in appreciation. You'd nearly forgotten how long it's been since you ate. Both your escapade with the Batch in the market and cooking dinner had taken much longer than the quick dinner you had anticipated having alone.
Glancing over at Echo, you see him grasping hopelessly at the chopsticks. He met your gaze with an almost guilty grin that told you he was about to make a stupid joke.
“Mind givin’ me a hand?” He raises his scomp-link for emphasis.
Maybe it was the tiredness truly setting in or maybe it was the joy of seeing the usually-tense ARC Trooper letting his guard down, but laughter swelled out of you at the idiocy of a pun you certainly should have seen coming. His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes, which only made you smile to match him, before scooting your stool so you were shoulder-to-shoulder to give him a quick run-down.
Across the room, Tech seemed to have given a similar demonstration about chopstick technique, resulting in Wrecker grabbing one of the forks you had left out to expedite the process of food consumption.
The room was rather quiet, excepting the holoscreen, once everyone became fully invested in their meals. The sun had long since set, and everything was cast in the flashing from the light from the holoshow, as well as the standing lamps around the room, which your roommates all agreed was preferable to the abrasive fluorescent fixtures. Echo and Tech continued to comment on the dating show, with Crosshair chiming in every so often to comment on how ridiculous the whole thing was (though his concentration on the screen revealed he was rather invested). At one point you got up to refill Wreckers bowl and join the rest of the group on the couch with Echo in tow. You end up squeezed between Wrecker and Echo, with Tech on the other side of Wrecker and Cross tucked on the broad arm of the couch. Hunter looked as if he was melting into the armchair.
By the time the episode ended (on an overdramatized cliffhanger), you were almost asleep leaning on Wreckers arm. The bowls gently clink together as Hunter gathers them up to bring into the kitchen. With a yawn, you move to stand and start the dishes but Echo reaches in front of you to prevent you from getting up, meeting your bewildered look with a retort about how you invited them over and cooked and how dishes were ‘the least they could do’. You stammered in response, which Crosshair snorted at, cracking his eyes open and shifting his head from where it was leaned against the wall. He looked exhausted. They all did.
“At least let me dry!” You raise your voice so Hunter could hear you over the running water, “you don't even know where things go!”
“I believe I could assist with that.” Tech stands, trying and failing to hide his smirk at your losing battle of hospitality.
Meanwhile, Echo enlists Wrecker to keep you from getting up, leaving you with your torso fully wrapped in Wrecker’s arms and your legs draped across Echo’s lap. With no chance of escaping, you resign yourself to lay back into their arms and listen to the sound of Hunter and Tech cleaning up the dishes and the dull chatter of the following episode of the dating show.
When you open your eyes again some time later, Hunter seems rather panicked. His chestplate has been haphazardly reattached and a strong grimace paints his features.
“Sorry Doc, didn’t realize it was so late,” he shook Crosshair awake, “We’ll be out of your hair and let you get some rest.”
Wrecker and Echo shift to get up, untangling themselves from you. Crosshair waking bearily on the armrest. You stand up too, catching a glance at the chrono displaying half an hour to midnight.
“Are you headed all the way back to the barracks?” You question, almost rhetorically. It seemed ridiculous to trek back across the city this late. You never know what precious limited time there is to sleep before you all ship out for the next mission, but you're certain that the Batch shouldn't have to spend sleeping hours commuting back to uncomfortable bunks.
“You could just crash here for the night.” Hunter paused from where he was collecting and passing out armour plates.
After an uncomfortable amount of silence, you gesture vaguely to the couch. “It’s a pullout.” The group pauses from the beginnings of reattaching armour plates. “I can grab some spare sheets and blankets, if you don't mind sharing a bed.” A yawn stretches through you, prompting a few more from the group.
You must have underestimated exactly how tired Hunter is, as instead of politely declining and herding his brothers out like you anticipated, he doesn't even try to argue, nodding slowly in agreement before moving back toward the living room.
Dragging yourself into action, you stretch your limbs high above your head before setting Hunter and Crosshair to figure out the couch while you go in search of extra sheets in the linen closet. You return, handing them off to Tech and Echo before gathering some throw blankets to add to the bedding.
While your team sets up, you return to your room to change into sweatpants and a sleep shirt. You quickly brush your teeth in the connecting bathroom, then gather what pillows you have on your bed to bring out to the living room.
When you return, the men are all stripped of their remaining armour and left in blacks. The bed is fully made and looks quite cozy, though it will certainly be a tight squeeze. Wrecker crawls in first, settling in the center of the bed with a heavy sigh. Tech follows, leaning in to press a tired kiss on your forehead before crawling to the far side. Echo settles in between Tech and Wrecker, while Cross moves to Wrecker’s other side. Their movements are practiced, as if they had done this a hundred times before. It was quite likely that they had, with time in the field and on Kamino providing little other comfort.
Hunter flips off the lights before slipping an arm around your waist and leaning to speak softly in your ear, his voice gruff.
“Joining us, mesh’la ?” You realize that you've just been standing by the side of the bed, watching them all settle in. You had planned to return to your own bed, but leaning into his chest, you feel yourself quickly losing the battle against sleep. And you gave up all your pillows.
“Mmph.” A low laugh rumbles around you and Hunter nudges you toward the couch, tucking you in next to Crosshair, who was quick to pull your back to his chest and tangle up your legs, before pulling himself in behind you. You adjust the blankets in an effort to keep Hunter tucked in with you, knowing full well he would sacrifice his own comfort otherwise. With nearly no space between you, Hunter lets his eyes fall shut and rests his forehead on your own.
“G’night, Doc.” You don't know if you respond out loud, as you lose all grip on the waking world. After months of harsh missions and endless carnage, you were cuddled up, safe, content, and finally asleep.