Chapter Text
Mira
You woke up groggy, head pounding and mouth tasting awful. Blinking against the dim light, you noticed you were neatly tucked into bed and your boots were lined at the foot of it.
You groaned, rolled over—and froze.
Wrecker was asleep on your floor, his huge frame curled uncomfortably, a blanket barely covering him.
He stayed all night? Maker.
“You big idiot,” you whispered, half-smiling.
Wrecker stirred, rubbing his eyes. “Mornin’, sunshine. You alive?”
“Barely.” You winced. “Why are you on my floor?”
“Didn’t wanna leave ya alone in case you, uh… needed a bucket,” he said sheepishly.
You laughed weakly. “That’s oddly sweet and disgusting at the same time.”
“Glad you’re okay,” he said, smiling softly.
You looked over at your chrono—0837.
“Kriff!” you shouted. “I’m late!”
You jumped out of bed, throwing yourself together and nearly tripping through the doorway. You jogged down the corridor, Wrecker running beside you, trying to fix your uniform mid-stride.
“Relax! It’ll be fine!” he said, grinning.
You burst into the med-bay and found Tech calmly scanning a trooper’s vitals, posture immaculate.
Without looking up he said, “Good morning, Mira. I predicted a thirty-seven-minute delay.”
“You what?”
“It seemed statistically inevitable, given the consumption rate of Corellian liquor last night,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Only you would calculate something like that,” Wrecker chuckled.
Flustered but grateful, you joined Tech at the bedside. He silently handed you a datapad—no scolding, just trust—and you fell into the easy rhythm of work.
By the time your shift ended, the ache behind your eyes had dulled, replaced by the hum of ship life. In the hangar, you checked the seals on Wrecker’s armor while Tech inspected the Marauder. The Batch was scheduled to depart next rotation.
Wrecker fidgeted so much it was impossible to work.
“Stop squirming!” you laughed.
“Feels like my neck’s in a vice!”
“The armor is calibrated to standard proportions—which you are not,” Tech said without looking up from his datapad.
You snorted. “Translation: you’ve got a massive neck.”
“Thanks?” Wrecker looked confused.
For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the downtime. It was easy to pretend there wasn’t a war waiting for you. That Tech and Wrecker and Vee and Hunter—and even Crosshair—were just friends, spending an ordinary day together. But the thought never lasted. What would happen when the fighting stopped? Soldiers built for war didn’t always get peace.
You shook the thought away before it could settle. Wiping sweat from your brow, you accepted the canteen Wrecker offered.
“You know what I think?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I want to know what you think,” you teased.
“I think with all this downtime we should work on some basic defense moves. We won’t have time later.”
You sighed. He was probably right. “Fine,” you whined.
“Perfect! Let’s go.” He started toward the training room.
“Now?!”
“I said let’s go, Mira!”
You jogged after him, laughing.
The training room still smelled faintly of solvent and sweat. Wrecker bounced on the balls of his feet across from you, grinning like he’d just been promised dessert instead of drills.
“All right, Doc,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Rule number one: don’t hold back. I can take it.”
You tied your hair back and gave him a mock-stern look. “Rule number two: if I break something, you’re treating your own injuries.”
He laughed, the sound booming through the cargo bay. “Deal!”
The first few rounds were harmless—he lunged slow enough for you to dodge, and you even managed to tag his chest plate once.
“Maker, lethal! You sure you’re not secretly ARC-trained?”
You smirked. “Medical school. Much deadlier.”
Then he feinted left and swept your legs out from under you. You hit the mat with a grunt.
“Hey!” you protested, glaring up at him. He was trying not to laugh.
“You said don’t hold back,” he reminded you.
You kicked out, caught his ankle, and suddenly you were both down in a heap. The impact knocked the air from your lungs. When you opened your eyes, he was hovering over you—face flushed, grin faltering into something softer.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.
His breath brushed your cheek. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said quietly, realizing your hands were still pressed against his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath your palms. “You’re heavy.”
He chuckled, easing off and offering a hand. “Built that way.”
You let him pull you up, still catching your breath.
“You fight dirty.”
“Learned from the best.” He hesitated, then added, almost shyly, “You did good, though. Quick reflexes.”
You grinned, brushing hair from your face. “Guess you’ll have to schedule more lessons, Trooper.”
He brightened immediately. “Oh, I’m holdin’ you to that.”
Later that evening you’d showered and cleaned up—probably the last decent one for a while. When you stepped into the common area, Tech was typing up reports and Wrecker was tinkering with a loose piece of armor.
An idea hit you. “All right, heroes. Since you both kept me alive and employed today, you’re officially invited to a holo tonight.”
Wrecker perked up instantly. “Yes!”
“Provided the sound quality isn’t atrocious,” Tech added dryly.
You laughed. “Nineteen hundred hours. Don’t be late, or I’m picking a romance.”
Wrecker groaned; Tech’s brow arched, quietly intrigued. You turned to leave as they started bickering about genres.
At exactly nineteen hundred, a knock sounded on your door. Both Wrecker and Tech stood there in their blacks, each balancing a pile of snacks.
“Come on in,” you giggled. “So, what did you two decide on?”
Tech sighed. “It appears Wrecker wants a comedy.”
You gave a questioning look.
“I won a game of Dejarik Duel,” Wrecker said proudly.
“Fair enough. Let’s get set up.”
The three of you arranged the holo. You settled between them, Wrecker’s arm draped comfortably across your shoulders while Tech’s hand rested around yours. The world outside the ship fell away—just warmth, quiet laughter, and the faint hum of the engines.
For the first time in weeks, you felt completely at peace.