Echo and Omega practicing her shooting skills back at CID’s parlor: (in a scenario where Fives is alive and well 🥲)
ECHO: Okay ‘Mega, what do I always tell you?
OMEGA: *counting on her fingers* Make sure my bow, arrow and form are tuned, don’t release the arrow too quickly and tune out distractions!
ECHO: *smiling* Very good! Sounds like you’ve been doing your homework…
OMEGA: Do ARC-troopers have to tune out distractions too?
ECHO: Well, after a while you just get used to doing it. As a trooper you’re exposed to lots of things that can mess with your concentration…
FIVES: *enters the parlor, carrying a box of mantel mix and wearing a ridiculous hat he bought because he thought it looked funny* Uncle Fives’s back!!
ECHO: *no reaction*
ECHO: …As I was saying, you get used to it after a while.
I love them so much
(I still believe that there’s a chance Fives’s alive though… o.o )
Make a Wish
“Make a wish.”
“Because it’s your decanting day.” Fives’s smile shines softly in the dark. The barracks aren’t quite awake yet, but the lights are beginning to brighten, and they cast his face in gentle lines and quiet shadows, a frame for the steady care in his eyes.
“Happy decanting day,” Echo murmurs.
“Happy decanting day.” Fives’s breath reaches for his ear. “Make a wish.”
They’re not supposed to wish for things, and Echo knows that it’s why Fives asks. But his mind stalls, lost in the warmth of Fives’s arms. There’s a scar he’s had, reaching across his vertebrae and curling down nearly to his hip, since Rishi. There’s the shadow of muscle, whispering forward when he breathes. There are a few stretch marks he never lost, and he insists that they were because he gained weight too fast as a cadet, but there’s a tease in the cant of his lip and Echo knows they’re from a growth spurt.
Fives’s goatee knocks softly into Echo’s neck, a summons back to the world, and Echo doesn’t want to go. It itches, and his eyes are trying to fall closed while things feel warm and safe and home.
They’re not supposed to wish for things.
Echo doesn’t know how to wish for things.
“What is there to wish for?” What is there, other than what they already have? More shore leave? A real shower ration? Better supplies, more blankets, a night of peace?
The rest of the galaxy isn’t meant for them.
“You wished you could try that dumpling thing at the market the other day.”
“But that’s not the same.” Echo buries his nose in Fives’s hair. It’s grown longer, and he’ll get impatient and drag them both to the barber droid in a few days, but his curls scrawl past regulation with such easy abandon that Echo can’t imagine them any other way.
“Just wish.” Fives’s fingers tangle with his. The lights are brighter. Kix and Jesse, piled together on the other bunk, are still asleep. But Jesse’s started snoring, and soon it’ll wake them both. Kix will open his eyes and find Jesse’s nose half-smothered against the back of his neck and laugh, and Echo will watch from across the way and wish that they could always be so illogically happy.
Echo stifles his grumble in Fives’s scalp. His hair smells almost comforting, like a spice that is the bolder, irreverent version of General Kenobi’s tea, like the inside of a gently used Phase II bucket, like the distant, irrational memory of a place they’ve never seen.
“Just wish,” Fives says again, and the tug in is voice is so gently insistent. “What if this ends one day? What if you could go see the galaxy?”
“I’d try that dumpling thing at the market the other day.”
Fives’s shoulder nudges his, a rebuke. His inhale is too quick, and Echo wants to tell him that he can’t hide it when he laughs.
They weren’t meant to wish for things, the rest of the galaxy wasn’t meant for them, but the yearn in Fives’s voice speaks of something more than holotables and war maps and armor - even if there’s a cache of holopics stuffed into the table for the admirals to find, even if the war maps were drawn up with the knowledge that Skywalker would throw Rex off of a tower and Ahsoka would swan dive after him, even if the armor is painted with stupid codes only they know the meaning of and homages to the past that raised them.
But somewhere on Kamino, in batch 21, Echo was decanted at about the same time Fives was, somewhere on Kamino, in batch 27.
Fives breathes, and Echo pauses, and doesn’t say I wish….you. What is there, other than what they already have?
“You go first.”
Fives rolls his eyes. “I wish you would get ahold of yourself.”
“I wish that there’ll be a place in the galaxy we can be, just us, whatever we want. And we can eat dumpling things and watch real sunrises and invite Rex over so we can hear his sleep deprivation from two systems away.”
Echo hums. “Tup’ll finally get his own room.”
“I wish that one day, you’ll tell me to make a wish,” Echo says. “And we’ll feel like it’s not just a dream.”
*singing* Happy decanting day to you....
This fic made me go smell my pillow, in a misguided attempt to figure out how to describe what hair smells like. It did not help. Also, my search history for the past hour and a half is quite a ride.
Also, I would make potstickers for Fives and Echo until the day I die. They deserve all of the dumpling things. And cake.
Anyway. Soft things. Galactic things, with a little bit of ouch. (Side note: this fic can be read platonically or romantically or really whatever you choose. I do not care. But hugggsssss)
Taglist: @handsignals @artemis98 @sexy-rex