Archive of Our Own ^beta

You are almost done applying your makeup when there’s a knock at the door, interrupting your thoughts about your uncooperative eyeliner.

You pause with a frown, staring at the door across your bed that’s strewn with outfits. The party begins in less than an hour and you hadn’t realised how much weight you lost since joining the base six months ago as a specialist, so as a result some of your outfits now hang off you. Eventually you found something that at least kind of fitted you before settling in front of the mirror to fix your face and hair. Leaving the bathroom sink in shambles you cross the small, studio apartment, before opening the door moments after the visitor knocks again.

You were not expecting Echo.

“Oh sorry!” he exclaims then his eyes are drawn to your cerulean dress. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

You smile slightly, aware that his eyes are still following the curves and dips where your dress clings to your figure and hangs off your bare shoulders. Some of the other troopers might get a curt ‘eyes up here trooper’ but Echo is the man of the moment and after all he’s been through, you’ll let him stare.

“Oh you know just getting ready for your party where you’re lauded as the hero of Anaxes and likely carried around the base on everyone’s shoulders or in the very least Wrecker’s.”

You expect a laugh or an eye roll but to your surprise he flinches like you hit him before finally meeting your eyes. His human hand reaches for where his other hand was, finds metal and unconsciously slides up until he finds the human-metal juncture and rubs it unconsciously. Echo’s copper eyes are deep and heavy as you watch him swallow hard, his Adams apple bobbing under his almost translucent skin as you realise, he’s not ok. His lips part, eyes avoiding yours judiciously as he tries to say something but the words fail. You quickly glance both ways up the empty hall before taking him gently by the elbow and steering him inside.

You turn back after you close the door, to find Echo staring at your apartment wide eyed. “Sorry about the mess,” you gesture.

“Its… nothing,” he mumbles with a considerable delay.

“Can I get you something? A drink maybe?”

Echo finally finds your eyes and nods silently. You steer him across your bombsite of an apartment to the only arm chair that’s beside your bed and seat him in it once you remove your jacket, leaving him to work through whatever is going on while you make tea. Normally you’d make caf but you know that caffeine dosnt agree with the benzodiazepines you’re going to offer him because you know a shut down panic attack when you see one. You offer him a mug of tea with one hand and a white pill in the other which Echo stares at, before looking up at you questioningly.

“They’re benzos, like whats on your chart just prescribed to me and not you,” you inform him.

Echo’s fingertips graze your palm as he takes it from you before pushing the pill into his mouth before washing it down with some tea. He looks back at you, eyebrow cocked as he balances the mug on his metal knee. “You… get anxiety?”

“Panic attacks. Had them before the war, turns out being in an active combat zone dosnt help.”

“You don’t say.”

You smile slightly, glad that he has his wits enough to make a dry remark before you join him, sitting on the side of your bed and sipping your tea. He’s staring at the floor, likely trying to zone himself back to the present as his neural systems whir gently in the background. You wait for him to talk, some people you need to talk to and drag their attention from the monster in the room, but you suspect Echo needs time to process and start talking on his own terms. The clock on the wall ticks away and in the distance you can hear the party beginning but you push those noises away, focusing on Echo instead.

And there’s a lot to focus on.

You first met Echo a week ago when the Bad Batch returned from Skako Minor with him in tow and you were dragged from your bed in the middle of the night to help treat him. At first you wondered why they called you, Anaxes had more than enough competent medical staff both droid and otherwise but when you arrived you understood. No one had seen anything like Echo- three cybernetic limbs, a cybernetic spinal column which fed into his neural system and helped control his artificial respiratory system. It was both amazing and horrifying that so much hardware could be added to one person purely to keep them alive for the purposes of extracting intel from their mind. With your background in ancillary life support and cybernetics, you became invaluable with the help of Tech- the goggled one from the Bad Batch in getting Echo as comfortable as he could be. Tech had been the one to release him from his cryo-chamber and took meticulous notes of everything he saw, which was well outside the ethical laws of the Republic and admittedly far advanced than anything you had ever read about let alone seen.

What concerned you at the time and was plainly evident now, that while he was physically as stable as could be expected, the med staff had paid about as much attention to his mental health as they = did for any of the other clones. Handing someone who had been an organic algorithm for the enemy a bottle of benzos and telling them to be on their merry way wasn’t enough. You heard constantly that clones were built differently, but as the war wore on you realised it was one of the biggest lies told about them. They were men- with all the needs, wants, emotions and desires of any nat-born man you met its just they happened to share DNA with two million other identical faces. They weren’t sociopaths, organic droids or emotionally stunted by a longshot despite what you were told. Occasionally they were breath-takingly naïve about certain things, especially women but that was hardly their fault.

“Can I ask why?” Echo asks what feels like an eternity later, breaking your train of thought about clones.

“Why do I get panic attacks?”

Echo nods. You notice he’s willing to hold eye contact for a moment before turning his attention back to his half-drunk mug of tea. You take a sip of yours and sigh. You’ve always found the act of making a pot of tea and drinking it, taking the time to savour each mouth full and focus on the flavour of the Nemoidian smoked leaves very soothing when life became overwhelming. Happily, it seemed to be working for Echo too as well as the benzo you gave him.

 “Combination of things. Less than ideal home life growing up then seeing some pretty gruesome stuff when I was doing my med training didn’t help.”

“Why’d you join the war then? You didn’t have to.”

You shrug. “Experience and wanted to help. Anyone can sit in Coruscant and say they support to war.”

This seems to touch Echo and a small smile tugs the corner of his lips as he turns back to his tea. You decide to press your luck.

“How are you feeling about tonight?”

“I don’t want to go.”

You expect an excuse or a heavy sigh followed by another delay not an instant response. In a way that’s good, it means he’s able to process what he’s feeling but the party is going to be awkward if the man of the moment isn’t there. Not one for social events yourself, you’d normally tell him not to go but given the party is celebrating the victory he helped secure that could be turning the tide of the war you decide you best try to encourage him to attend. No one will like you very much if you let Echo hide under your bed and he needs to push through these moments of discomfort.

“Ok. Tell me about it.”

Echo gestures with his human hand. “I didn’t do anything but everyone’s treating me like a hero… Plenty of brothers have died doing more heroic things.”

“Are you uncomfortable with the title or the attention?”

“Both.” It takes Echo a moment to decide before he avoids your gaze again, sipping his tea.

“I can understand it feels strange and uncomfortable for all this attention, especially after the last few months but please don’t think its not warranted. You have quite conceivably changed the tide of this war.”

“The Bad Batch, General Skywalker, Rex, hell the rest of the GAR even… they’ve all done just as much as I have. If I hadn’t been rescued but instead discovered, they’d be calling me a traitor,” Echo returns, his tone a little desperate. “Even Tech voiced his worries that perhaps my mind still belonged to the Seps.”

You frown at him over the rim of your mug. “I disagree. I know from your physical health you weren’t there willingly. Any first year med student could see that. As for Tech, well he seems a bit blunt but I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“He did and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“You had no choice and there’s no way you would have willingly helped the Seps.”

Echo seems to freeze, his eyes fixing at a spot across the room. You watch his eyes begin to sheen with tears as he processes what you said.

“I helped them… the Seps…”

You stare sympathetically at Echo as he tears up. He tries to hold it together with a sniffle before pinching his eyes to clear the tears. You lean across and go to put your hand on his knee then remember its metal without any augmented sensory input. Good quality prosthetics that your professor at Uni operated with gave the user feedback to brain like the cybernetic was a real limb, apparently it felt ‘off’ but giving it some sensation which stopped phantom limb phenomena and aided in recovering. Instead, you rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze.

“Not willingly Echo. You’re not a traitor. You didn’t help them because you wanted to. You hand no choice.”

“I saw them… Admiral Trenches feed… I had to watch it and predict battle-“

Echo stops, overcome by emotion as your stomach turns in revulsion. All you heard was that he was used as an organic algorithm, but no one explained how and you didn’t dare as Tech to explain. You had never even heard of the Bad Batch before this week and Tech you realise makes half the surgeons at Coruscant General look like slouches, so if you asked him to explain how they used Echo, you would still be there hearing the explanation. Instead, you continue to gently rub Echo’s shoulder letting him process the emotions as they come.

“I don’t want to be there,” Echo surprises you by continuing despite being choked up, “looking like this and being treated like a hero when I don’t deserve it.”

“You do deserve it and then some Echo.”

“I’m a clone. We do what we’re supposed to do and stay in the background. I don’t understand why the sudden need to glorify me. There wasn’t a parade for Hevy when he died. Or Fives…”

You don’t know either of those names but clearly they are brothers who have died during the war. That’s another thing- if the clones are as sociopathic or stunted as some people like to say they are to ease their conscience, then why do you keep seeing chronic survivor guilt? Talk to any trooper who has served longer than a year and they will soon start talking about brothers they lost and usually how it should have been them. Often the first thing a trooper talks about when they come around from surgery is asking where their brothers are and who survived. It doesn’t get any easier telling them they’re often the sole survivor.

“Then consider this the celebration of them,” you suggest after a long pause where you allow Echo to process his feelings and cry into his hand. “All those brothers who died and were never noticed, let this party be for them and not you.”

Echo looks up, his eyes filled with tears and his brows knitted together in a frown. “I… I never considered that. They want me to give a speech…”

You pull your hand away from his shoulder and gesture. “There you go. It’s a good opportunity to remind everyone of who they lost and the value of their lives. None of us would be here if it wasn’t for someone else’s sacrifice.”

Echo wipes his eyes, nodding resolutely. “That’s true. Thank you.”

“No worries,” you smile, standing and extending your hand for his mug. Echo drains the last sip before placing it in your hand.

You place both mugs in the sink before wandering across to the bathroom. “If you give me a few more minutes, I’ll finish doing my makeup and walk in with you if you like?”

“That would be nice.”

You return to trying to straighten your liquid eyeliner wings aware that Echo is trying to furtively watch what you’re doing. You grin to yourself, remembering the time you burst a bunch of troopers bubbles that Padme Amidala wore an inch of makeup to look like that and likely wore a rotation of wigs to get her hair that consistently good all the time. You can’t blame them, most clones don’t even know what make up is let alone how it works.

“What are you doing?” Echo asks warily, appearing behind you.

Done with your eyeliner you hold up the false lash between a pair of tweezers. “False lashes.”

Echo tilts his head, watching you as you gingerly apply one before blinking rapidly to dry the glue. “What’s wrong with your own?”

“Nothing. I just like these big fluttery ones for parties.”

Echo squeezes himself into your narrow bathroom and begins cautiously examining all the products strewn across the tiny vanity space. Each container is handled with uptmost care, labels read and the open ones are cautiously sniffed before being replaced. Its actually a little endearing to see his curiosity.

“All of this… goes on your face?”

You hold the chuckle in until you get the second eyelash attached before turning back to him, fluttering your long lashes to get the glue to set quicker. “Some is for my hair, some is for my body like this,” you pick up a round palette of bronzer, “this makes me look browner.”

Echo glances at the container in your hand and then at you, a silent question clearly forming in his head at the same time you think the same thing. Echo chews his lip warily as you grin at him.

“Would you like to try some?”

Echo nods sheepishly. “The docs say I might never get my colour back, apparently cryogenics wreck your melatonin.”

“Melanin,” you correct gently. “Melatonin is a brain chemical though that probably took a beating too.”

Echo grins crookedly. “Yeah probably.”

“Take a seat, sir,” you motion at the closed fresher lid. “This is the finest establishment in all of the GAR.”

Echo chuckles warily before sitting down on the closed lid, folding his hands obediently in his lap. You pop open the lid and step over him, gently moving the fat brush with its ultra fine bristles through the compacted brown powder for a moment, contemplating how to do this as Echo stares up at you. Looking away from the powder compact for a moment you stare down into his round, copper eyes marvelling at how pretty they are close up, framed in dark lashes that don’t need any cosmetic help, unlike your own. After a moment thought, you decide to throw caution to the wind and reach down to gently move his hand and scomp arm from where they were folded on his lap.

Echo makes a noise of surprise, a cross between a squeak and grunt, as you slide onto his lap letting your legs settle either side of his metal thighs, your toes just touching the ground. You’d be lying if you said this was the most comfortable lap you’ve ever sat on, as you slide a little higher until his waist is trapped between your thighs. Echo is staring up at you, mouth open and eyes wide in a look that’s equal parts panic and arousal. You smile slightly, sliding a hand over his shoulder as you watch his darker pupils widen, clearly enjoying this but also shocked and possibly a little terrified.

“Everything ok Echo?” you murmur, gently working your fingers into his tense shoulder.

Echo swallows hard. “Yes ma’am. Will I be paying extra for this?”

You can’t help but laugh, not expecting him to sass you like that. “On the house this time.”

You gently begin dusting the brown powder on his forehead, Echo’s eyes closing with enjoyment as he tilts his head up. You’re careful to apply the powder in even, broad strokes, marvelling at how even a fine dusting of the brown powder is making a difference. As you begin to work around the cybernetic ports on the top of his head, Echo surprises you by wrapping his hand gently around your hip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. Echo’s eyes open to check your face as you gasp gently in surprise before you smile down at him, carefully dusting your way around his bald head, before letting them close again with a soft exhale.

For several minutes you lose yourself, focused entirely on the rhythm of the brush, sweeping the fine powder on his head and then down his face, your breaths ghosting over his skin and listening to Echo’s own breathing. With each inhale you can hear his artificial respiratory system whir slightly and then on the exhale there’s a creak, like his ribs are made of creaking steel. The soft kabuki brush sweeps over his translucent skin, tinting it to a more normal clone colour that you know everyone will notice but whether any of his brothers will be game to point out or question you’re not sure. Either way you’re being careful to make sure every inch of him that’s exposed is the same sun kissed brown that you hope wont look too unnatural on him.

Holding the brush and palette in one hand you gently run your fingers up the back of his neck, applying gentle pressure towards you. “Lean your head on my shoulder, I need to get the back of your head and neck.”

Echo obeys, albeit a little hesitantly, resting the weight of his head on your bare shoulder. His forehead is warm, almost burning hot against your skin. After a moment he finally exhales, the breath stirring down your décolletage, making you shiver. You’re aware of your own heart thudding away as you stir the bristles through the powder, forcing yourself to be calm despite his strong, broad hand gripping your hip and working his finger tips into your soft flesh. Echo exhales again, this time turning his face deeper into your collarbone and pressing his aquiline nose against your chest. Your hand shakes in your vision as you begin to brush the powder down the back of his neck, blending out the changes in colour and hiding the exposed translucent skin. Echo’s chest expands against your own before releasing a breath that shudders down to his fingertips that is buried in your hip. You have almost finished, dabbing the brush back in the palette when he inhales sharply against your neck almost like he’s in pain.

“Echo? Echo are you ok?” you ask gently, leaning back to find tears leaking from his eyes.

Echo removes his hand from your hip to rub his eyes, removing some of the powder. “I’m sorry… I’m ruining your work.”

You gently rub your thumb under his eyes, smearing the powder some more. “Echo its ok. I can fix it. No harm done.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs a few times, almost chanting it as if to stop himself from crying.

“Echo. Don’t worry about the bronzer. Do you want to talk about it?”

It takes him a few moments to form words, by now the tears streaming from his eyes as he struggles to breath. “Its this… you… you’re so warm.”

Under normal circumstances you’d probably tease a man who’s lap you were sitting in for calling you warm but you realise what he means. He’s forgotten how it feels to hold another warm body against his own, the very intimate and grounding sensation of their being against yours. There are few sensations in this mortal life than holding someone against you to make you feel like you are truly here and in this moment. The doctors theorised that he was unaware during those months locked in a cryo-chamber because normally the victim would be unconscious, but if they were feeding him a livestream and using his brain he couldn’t have been completely unconscious. Months without human touch, forced to witness atrocities against his own brothers, feeling like the galaxy moved on without him. He only thing your mind can compare it to is being stuck at the bottom of a deep well but even that dosnt come close. That thought breaks your heart as you put the palette down and pull him into your arms properly, sliding your hand up the back of his bald head.

This sends Echo spiralling over the edge, breaking down completely. The metal from his scomp arm digs in your back as he wraps both arms around you, but you don’t complain instead letting him sob openly on your shoulder. You can’t even begin to imagine the depth of hurt and how a simple act of human contact has caused his emotions to avalanche beyond all control. You will both be late to the party but at this point you don’t care, instead content to hold him for as long as he needs.