Private Light Through the Windows

[Aren D'Shade]

The morning began without urgency, the kind that settled into place naturally rather than being forced into it. Light filtered through the front windows of Aren's shop on Empress Teta, catching on suspended dust and the faint gleam of tools arranged with careful familiarity across her workbench. Outside, the city moved as it always did, layered traffic threading between towers, voices rising and fading in currents that never truly stopped, yet inside the shop those sounds softened into something distant enough to feel separate, almost manageable.

Aren stood where she usually did, sleeves pushed to her forearms, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the bench while the other worked through the delicate internals of an open chassis. Her movements were unhurried, guided by habit more than conscious thought, the quiet rhythm of someone who understood the work well enough to let it unfold without resistance. A low hum filled the space, part from the systems she had open and part from the music she kept running in the background, a steady presence that kept her anchored while the hours passed.

It was the kind of work she preferred. Precise, contained, and honest in the way it responded to attention.

Her gaze shifted briefly toward a side display, not because anything demanded it but because she had trained herself to check regardless. The readings were exactly what they should be. Power stable. No irregular network activity. No stray signals brushing against the shop's systems. Everything held together cleanly, without the small inconsistencies that usually hinted at something beginning to slip.

That, more than anything, allowed her to relax into the work again.

She reached for another tool without looking, fingers finding it where it belonged, and adjusted a connection inside the droid frame. The unit gave a faint, uneven response, just enough to draw a sharper focus from her as she traced the imbalance and corrected it with a subtle shift. The system settled immediately, the feedback smoothing out into something stable and predictable again.

Outside, movement continued as it always did. Figures passed the windows, shadows stretching and dissolving across the glass in overlapping patterns that meant nothing on their own. The shop's location all but guaranteed a constant flow of people who had no reason to stop, no reason to notice, and certainly no reason to remember what they had seen once they moved on.

Aren did not look up at first when one of those shadows lingered a fraction longer than the others.

The difference was small enough to ignore, the kind of thing most people would never register, but she had long since learned that patterns were defined by interruptions as much as by repetition. Still, she finished what she was doing before allowing her attention to shift, tightening the final connection inside the chassis and setting the tool aside with quiet precision.

Only then did her gaze lift, not directly toward the street but toward the reflection in the glass, catching movement without announcing that she was looking for it.

Nothing stood out immediately. No one had stopped. No obvious focus lingered on the shop. Just the same steady current of life moving past, uninterrupted and unconcerned.

It would have been easy to dismiss.

Most days, she would have.

Instead, she let her attention return to the workbench, her hands moving again with the same calm efficiency as before, while a small part of her awareness remained stretched just beyond the task at hand. She did not dwell on it, did not interrupt her rhythm or change her posture in any visible way, but the awareness stayed there, quiet and patient, waiting to see if the pattern would repeat or resolve itself into nothing at all.

The shop remained as it had been. Orderly, quiet, and unremarkable in all the ways that mattered.

For now, that was enough.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen paused outside Aren's workshop, not sure whether he should go in or not. This was her sacred place and as the crowd flowed around him, he wondered if he should interrupt her day. And despite pleaded to be married to her, that look when Aren was mad still chilled his bones. But, he wanted to see his future wife and so he pushed the door open, smiling as he tried to fight for Aren's attention verse the viewscreen.

Carrying a basket of sandwiches and sides for lunch, Omen waved hello. "You okay eating in with me?" Something wasn't right though. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks or just thinking from his experiences as a soldier that something was off. A speeder backfire off in the distance only added to the paranoia, making him twitch for a minute. "Everything been okay here today?" Because it didn't feel okay in his mind.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't look up the moment the door opened, not because she hadn't noticed, but because she had, and she chose to finish what she was doing first, securing the connection inside the chassis before letting the system settle into a steady hum. Only then did she straighten and turn, her gaze finding Omen where he lingered just inside the threshold, basket in hand and not quite stepping fully into the space.

She took in the hesitation before anything else, the way he hovered like he wasn't sure he belonged there, and a faint smile softened her expression.

"You don't have to stand there like you're trespassing," she said, her voice calm but warm in a way that made the words feel like an invitation rather than a correction. "You can come in. Any time."

Her eyes held his for a moment to make sure he understood that she meant it, not just for now, but always, before a hint of dry humor slipped into her tone.

"You might even learn something," she added, giving him a small, knowing wink as she stepped away from the bench.

She closed the distance he hadn't, reaching for the basket without hesitation and already shifting into something lighter in his presence, something that let the tension of the day ease just a little.

"I was about to take a break anyway," Aren continued as she set the food down and cleared a space with a few quick, practiced movements. "So yes, you're staying."

At his question, she paused just slightly, her gaze drifting toward the window where movement passed in familiar patterns, shadows stretching and dissolving across the glass in ways that looked normal again, even if they hadn't entirely felt that way earlier.

"Everything's been quiet," she said, the word carrying just enough thought to suggest it wasn't the whole truth, but not enough to turn the moment heavier than it needed to be.

She let it go, turning back to him with her attention fully present again as she opened the basket and glanced inside.

"You brought enough to feed half the building," she added lightly, nudging it open further before settling against the edge of the bench. "Sit down before I decide you're just here to hover and not actually eat with me."

Her tone stayed warm, easy, grounded in something simple and real as she reached for a sandwich and glanced back up at him.

"Tell me about your day," she said, softer now, already making room for him in both the space and the moment.

Outside, the movement continued, shadows blending back into the rhythm of the street, distant enough for now that she let them fade into the background while she focused on him instead.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen came up to the counter, kissing his fiancé on the lips. "Sorry, I just thought if I got any closer, that I would make out with you the rest of the day, and you wouldn't get any work done. Plus, this is your place to get away from your new chaotic, soon-to-be husband, and I don't want to disturb that." A whisper did come to her ears before he started to unpack the basket onto the sales counter. "Unless you want to advertise a different type of show to your customers." Ones knows what that show would entail.

At her "might even learn something" comment, he could help but chuckle. "Wow, thats such a compliment to think I can actually my smooth brain can learn." The Clone gave her a playful nudge as he teased back. "I don't know though, you might be too distracting. Hell, she shoul be lucky he didn't trip as soon as he came into the store.

That face told him all he needed to know. Guess he would have to help her install a security system though knowing her, hell he would be surprised if she hadn't installed sliding down bulkhead over the front door. "I brought all that because you don't eat enough. The last thing I need is for you to wither away" He was just doing what he did best, making sure she didn't ignore the life she held within while she made artifical life without. Turning, he let out one final comment before sitting down to eat with her. "I see you installed those Vines over the windows like I suggested. Nice touch."

In a speeder van, closing on the shop as it dodged through traffic, a squad of hitmen readied their weapons, checked their grenades and idealy chatted as they got ready to do their job. It was simple really, hit the shop of two people who had caused their bosses alot of trouble. If they weren't found there, they would move on to their home. They didn't ask why the payday they were quoted to recieve was alot more than average. Maybe they should have but all these men cared about was making a payday. Little did they know this job might be a check they wouldn't be able to cash.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't resist the kiss, leaning into it just enough to linger before letting him pull back, her expression softening in a way it rarely did anywhere else, the warmth of it staying even as he began explaining himself.

"You're overthinking it," she said quietly, though there was a faint thread of amusement in her voice as she watched him. "This isn't somewhere I need to get away from you, and if you got any closer, I probably would have let you distract me anyway."

Her tone carried just enough softness to match his whisper without fully indulging it, and for a moment she simply looked at him, taking in the small tells he never quite managed to hide before shifting her attention to the basket he had brought.

"My escape is actually my workroom at home," she added as she moved a few tools aside to make space on the counter. "This is just where I get paid for it, which makes it slightly less relaxing than it looks."

She reached into the basket and began pulling things out, setting them down with the same quiet efficiency she applied to everything else, organizing it into something usable instead of leaving it scattered. There was no real complaint when she spoke again, even if the words suggested otherwise.

"You brought too much again," Aren said, glancing up at him briefly before returning to the task, though she didn't make any move to put anything back.

When he mentioned that she was not eating enough, her gaze lifted again, steady and calm, not dismissive but not entirely conceding either.

"I eat," she replied, matter-of-fact, before pausing just long enough to soften it slightly. "Just not always when I should, which is apparently where you come in."

She picked up a sandwich, turning it once in her hands before taking a bite, choosing action over argument as she settled into the break he had brought with him.

At his comment about the vines, her eyes drifted toward the window for a moment, taking in the way they softened the hard lines of the exterior and broke up the visibility from outside without drawing attention to themselves.

"They help with the sightlines," she said, her voice thoughtful as she looked back to him. "And they make it feel less mechanical in here, which I prefer."

Her attention stayed on him now, more present and grounded, the earlier tension replaced by something easier as she leaned lightly against the counter.

"You can stay," Aren added after a moment, as though it still needed to be said out loud. "You're not a distraction, at least not enough to matter." A faint hint of warmth slipped into her expression as she took another bite. "Most of the time."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen could help but smirk as she slowly munched on her sandwich. He could stop looking at her, no matter what she did. Guess that was what love was. "Because without me or EL, your ribs would be showing through your shirt." One knows she was already thin enough.

His smirk stayed on his face, his eyes more on her than on his food. Not it was bad, mind you, no sandwich could be bad if its contents were good. The Clone just thought Aren's face was tastier. "Guess that's why you want to keep in here too, I make things less mechanical." He certainly hoped he looked better than the bare walls, at least.

The swinging open of the door caught them both by surprise. Omen managed to swallow his bite and look up at the armed group of human gangers, some with cyber enhancements, the one in the front with a scatter gun in hand. "Can we help you..." The gangster in leather smirked before pulling up his gun to his shoulder and firing as he said, "You can... with your deaths!" The Clone just barely had time to jump over the bench before the muzzle flashed, spraying pellets against Aren's front desk.

Aren would see something in Omen's eyes that she had never seen before, pure rage... Rage that Omen harressed through the force, his eyes rolling back as he let out a scream of anger. "HOW DARE YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE US ON! YOU ARE GOING TO REGRET THIS CHAKARRS!" The vines over the windows slowly grew, but the gangers didn't notice over their laughing while they made a mess of the shop. Those little vines would soon seize ankles and limbs, tripping them up before going for their necks. Soon, it would be clear to Aren that he was going to rip them limb from limb, at least it seemed that way with the amount of swears that were coming from his lips.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

The shot shattered the moment before it had time to settle.

Aren dropped with it, the motion clean and instinctive as the scatter blast tore into the front counter where she had been standing, splintering wood and ringing metal in a sharp, violent burst. She stayed low at first, one hand braced against the floor as debris rattled down around her, listening more than looking while the chaos found its shape.

Omen moved fast. Faster than the moment deserved.

She didn't need to see his eyes to understand what had changed. It was there in the way the air shifted, in the way his presence pressed outward through the room with a force that wasn't controlled so much as unleashed. She had never felt that from him before, not like this, not with that kind of intensity, and for a brief second her instinct told her to intervene, to pull him back before it went too far.

She let the instinct pass. There wasn't time, and more importantly, there wasn't a need. Not yet.

Instead, Aren shifted her focus outward, rising just enough behind the counter to get a clear line of sight through the broken edge of the desk. Her attention skipped over the ones already losing footing to the vines and settled on the others, the ones still moving cleanly, the ones with reinforced limbs and artificial precision built into their movements.

Augmented. That, she understood immediately.

Her hand lifted slightly, fingers flexing once as she reached, not physically, but through something far more precise. Where Omen's response filled the room like a storm, hers moved quietly, slipping into the systems that supported their bodies, finding the seams not in armor, but in function.

She did not force entry. She aligned with it.

The first one faltered mid-step as his cybernetic leg locked under him, the servos misfiring in a sudden cascade that sent him crashing forward. He tried to catch himself, but his arm followed a heartbeat later, jerking violently as its feedback loop spiraled out of sync, turning correction into failure.

Another raised his weapon toward Omen, but the targeting system in his augmented eye fractured into static, flickering between delayed inputs and false alignment. His shot went wide, slamming harmlessly into the far wall as his own systems betrayed him.

A third turned toward Aren, slower, more deliberate, and she met that one directly. Her focus narrowed, threading into the internal network that kept him moving, and for a moment, she did nothing but observe how it responded under pressure. Then she introduced just enough interference to matter. Power routing stuttered, cycling unpredictably between subsystems as priorities rewrote themselves faster than they could stabilize. His stance shifted. His grip faltered. The machine within him could not decide what to obey.

Aren held that imbalance there, not pushing further than necessary, only ensuring they could not recover their coordination.

The shop continued to break apart around them, but within that chaos, she found structure again, something she could influence, something she could manage. Omen's presence tore through the room unchecked, and she did not try to rein it in. Instead, she worked alongside it, shaping the space in ways that made his path clearer and his targets less able to resist.

"They're augmented," she said, her voice steady despite the noise, carrying just enough to reach him without breaking her concentration. "I can interfere with that."

Another ripple of disruption followed, subtle but effective, turning precision into hesitation and coordination into delay.

"Just avoid the ones that stop moving," she added, quieter now, her attention already shifting to the next target as another cybernetic limb spasmed under her influence.

Her movements remained controlled, deliberate, her presence threading through circuits and signal paths while his force dominated the physical space. It was not clean or restrained, but it worked. For now, that was enough.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The pounding in his head forced Omen to move. He needed to respond... He couldn't let these people get away with this. Aren's voice couldn't reach him as he got out of cover, a strand of vines covering him like they were his armor. All the Clone wanted right now was blood...

Not even reaching for the knife in his boot, he walked up to the first man who talked to him that was struggling to get his scattergun on target as his arm sparked, Aren's work taking hold. Without any effort, he gave the ganger one soild shot to the jaw, knocking him out in one hit. In the next beat, he was going for another one like he was on rails, taking them all on one on one like he was possessed.

Both could see the last ganger up calling in for help before a knee connected to his ribs. For Omen though, it didn't matter. Even as a second speeder van pulled up, Omen moved like his life wasn't in the balance and his feet were anchored to the ground. Walking up to the door, a tangle of vines offered up one of the ganger's repeating blasters which he took in both hands. Bringing it up into his shoulder, he pumped rounds into the vehicle's gas tank as the gangers inside tried to pile out. Aren could hear the explosion and know what it was even if she didn't look up.

Dropping the blaster, he walked over to one of the gangers' unconscious bodies, that hadn't been burned to a crisp. Leaning down, he ripped a patch off the ganger's jacket and examined it, looking at the words around a grinning imp-like Elomin face... "The Risen Demons... That's a hell of a name..." Taking a deep breath, Omen finally let go of his strangle hold on the force, the mess of vines inside going limp once again though the covered the floor now instead of just the windows. Walking back in, he looked slightly worn out as he put the patch on what remained of the front counter. But Aren could also see that she had her future husband back in mind. "Well, looks like someone is out to get us Love..." Surprising, neither of them heard police sirens in the distance. "Guess they have the power to make the police turn a blind eye too" Whoever these people were, they weren't going to last long if he had anything to say about it.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren stayed where she was for several long seconds after the explosion, one hand still braced against the shattered remains of the counter while the aftermath settled around them in waves of ringing silence and drifting smoke. The sharp scent of burned fuel mixed with scorched circuitry and splintered wood, hanging heavy through the workshop while faint embers crackled somewhere outside in the street. Beneath all of it, stronger than the destruction itself, she could still feel the lingering imprint of Omen's anger pressed into the room like heat trapped inside metal after a forge fire burned too hot.

Her eyes followed him quietly as he moved back through the wreckage.

The vines had gone limp now, sprawling across the floor in tangled coils that crept over broken shelving and scattered parts, their earlier violence replaced by stillness so complete it almost felt unnatural. A display case near the entrance leaned sideways against the wall, one support bracket melted clean through, while shattered transparisteel glittered across the floor beneath the lantern light from outside. It looked less like a shop now and more like the aftermath of a raid.

And in the middle of it, Omen looked exhausted.

Not simply tired. Drained in a way she had not seen from him before, as though whatever rage had taken hold of him had burned through more than adrenaline on its way out. She watched him place the patch down on the ruined counter, her attention settling briefly on the grinning Elomin face stitched into the fabric before lifting back toward him again.

"The Risen Demons," she repeated quietly, the name carrying a dry edge that might have become humor under different circumstances. "Subtle."

The attempt faded almost as soon as it formed.

Aren moved out from behind the counter at last, stepping carefully through broken debris until she reached him. Her hand found his arm first, not searching for injuries exactly, but grounding herself in the reassurance that he was fully present again. Because for several moments there, he had not been. She had felt him slipping somewhere deeper beneath the anger, beneath instinct and reaction, into something far more dangerous than the men who had come through her door with blasters in their hands.

"You scared me," she admitted softly.

There was no accusation in it, no sharpness or judgment, only quiet honesty. Her fingers tightened briefly against his sleeve before her gaze drifted toward the ruined storefront again, where the remains of the second speeder still burned somewhere beyond the street. The absence of sirens pressed at the edge of her awareness more insistently the longer she noticed it. No local patrols. No emergency response. Not even curious onlookers lingering nearby anymore.

That unsettled her more than the attack itself.

"Maybe that precinct," she said after a moment, her voice steadier now as her thoughts began reorganizing themselves into something colder and more analytical, "but there are others. Someone will eventually have to respond once this much damage gets reported."

Her eyes lowered briefly toward the patch resting on the counter.

"Unless they are being told not to."

The thought settled heavily between them, carrying implications neither of them needed spoken aloud. Aren exhaled slowly through her nose before letting her attention drift across the workshop again, this time truly seeing it. The destroyed displays. The scorched walls. The holes blasted through equipment she had spent months restoring piece by piece. This had not been opportunistic violence or random intimidation. Someone had deliberately sent those men here, and if they had done so, eventually someone would begin asking why.

Questions that would lead back to her.

Her jaw tightened faintly before she spoke again.

"If they start looking into my past…" The sentence trailed off for a moment, unfinished but heavy with implication, while her gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the ruined entrance. "There are things connected to me I have not explained properly."

Not lies exactly.

But omissions. Entire sections of herself she had kept buried because it was easier to move forward when no one looked too closely at the shape of where she had come from.

Slowly, her attention returned to Omen, and for once, there was very little distance left in her expression at all. No careful deflection. No measured neutrality. Just honesty layered with fatigue and the growing realization that some secrets became more dangerous the longer they survived untouched.

"We should clean this up," she said quietly, her eyes drifting once more across the damage surrounding them. "Then close the shop for the day."

Her hand slid down from his arm until her fingers settled gently against his, holding there for a moment as though reassuring herself he was still anchored beside her.

"We need to talk."

The words were calm, but they carried a weight that had nothing to do with the ruined storefront around them and everything to do with what she had finally realized she could no longer keep compartmentalized between them.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The scene brought more sadness to Omen now that the battle was done. All of Aren's work was just scattered on the floor... He hadn't acted fast enough. Not that he could have, but the scene before him left a pit in his stomach. And the way he leaned against the counter told Aren he had used a lot of his energy in that assault. The brief, violent cough that came out of his throat told her even more. At least her joke brought a small smile to his face, though. "What do you expect? Sith Cultists to think up a good name?"

The Clone searched her face as she reached for him, and he pulled her in to embrace her. "I'm still here for you, Love. And I'm not going anywhere." Omen had just given her a taste of the madness that had sent him to prison. One's forbid that she ever see all of it.

His ears flicked as Omen noticed the same thing. The lack of response was certainly concerning... "These guys clearly have some reach... At least we don't have police making our life a living hell, though." But that reach could only help them so much before Omen found out where their snakepit was and cut off the snake's head.

Omen's brow furrowed as he heard her talk about her past. What would that matter...? "And why would they...?" As far as they were concerned, they both just wanted posters to be collected. If they really knew what they were facing, they would have brought a lot more men or tried another approach. But he managed to nod in agreement with her action plan. "Plus, find out all the information on this gang so we can deal with it later."

Omen couldn't help but look concerned as he squeezed her hand. Aren never got touchy-feely without a reason, and the Clone suspected it was a bad one. Without any hesitation, he drew in and kissed her deeply, making sure she knew here for the long haul. "You can tell me you were the Emperor in a past life later. Let's get this place cleaned up." No matter what, Omen wanted to be with her at the altar, secrets or no secrets, to stay with her in sickness and in health.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let herself lean into the kiss for a moment longer than she normally would have, one hand resting lightly against his chest while the chaos around them faded into the background beneath the simple reassurance that he was still here, still solid beneath her hands despite everything that had just happened. The smoke, the ruined shelves, the shattered front of the shop all remained exactly where they were, but for a brief moment, none of it seemed quite as heavy as it had seconds earlier.

When she finally pulled back, the corner of her mouth curved faintly despite herself.

"No," she said softly, a thread of tired amusement slipping through the exhaustion at last. "I was not the Emperor in a past life."

The humor lingered only briefly before her gaze drifted around the workshop again, taking in the wreckage with quieter resignation now that the adrenaline had started to settle. A cracked datapad sparked weakly near the wall. One of her storage bins had burst open entirely, scattering precision components across the floor in glittering metallic trails. Even the smell of the room had changed. Burned wiring and smoke had buried the familiar scent of machine oil and warm circuitry she associated with the shop so completely that the absence of it felt wrong.

Still, she moved.

Aren stepped away from him slowly and crouched near the overturned display closest to the counter, beginning to gather salvaged parts into small, organized piles almost automatically. The motions were practiced, grounded in their familiarity, even if her thoughts remained elsewhere. Bent support brackets to one side. Intact processors to another. Anything too damaged to repair went into a separate crate without hesitation.

For several moments, the only sounds were shifting debris and the distant crackle of the burning speeder outside.

Then, quieter: "Sometimes I wonder when we actually stop running." The words slipped out before she could decide whether she truly meant to say them aloud. Her hands slowed briefly over a half-burned interface board while her eyes unfocused somewhere beyond the destroyed storefront.

"Every time it starts to feel stable, something else finds us. Denon. Bastion. Here." A faint breath left her through her nose, somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief. "I keep thinking eventually we will reach the point where we are just allowed to exist somewhere without someone trying to kill us or drag the past back to the surface."

Her fingers resumed moving after that, methodical again, though more slowly now.

"And I do not actually know if people like us get that."

The admission sat heavily in the air between them, not dramatic enough to sound hopeless, but honest enough to reveal how tired she truly was beneath the composure she usually maintained so carefully.

Then something else he said finally caught up with her thoughts. Aren looked up from the scattered components in her hands, one brow knitting faintly. "How do you know they are Sith cultists?"

The question carried immediate suspicion, not disbelief exactly, but the sharp recalibration of someone realizing Omen had identified something she had not. Her attention shifted toward the scorched patch still resting on the counter.

"Because if you recognized them that quickly," she continued more thoughtfully, "then I think there is a conversation hidden inside that statement too."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen talked as he started to drag the uncousious gangers bodies to the back of the shop where they could figure out what them. "No, you just frown like him" Was he wrong? She certainly could be a spoilsport at times. (She would say she was the sane one. Maybe she was even right...)

As Aren crouched near the display, she would feel a hand grip her shoulder. "Hey, it can be replaced. We can't... And atleast they didn't try bursting into our home. So we count our blessings and make sure this doesn't happen again." Though they both knew that was no guarentee. But then again, what stopped this from happening to anyone else, someone one that couldn't defend themselves. Her asking if they could stop running made him come over and just embraced her, not letting go even if she asked. "Life is an unpredictable beast Hun. We can't control it even if we tried." He turned her head to look at him. "Us probably taken that station job probably didn't help but no, this will not be our life. We are staying here til they put us under..." And Omen would guarentteed they would be the last ones standing.

At her last question, Omen only shrugged. "I don't know if they are a cult or a swoop club, but they are not good..." He kicked the repeating blaster where he had left it on the floor. "And they have military grade hardware so someone's supporting them. Plus the no cops that would usually be swarming this place means that this group has more power than it should... Seems like we got an investation to get rid off." And once they gathered all the information on these guys, Omen would certain give their doorbell a ring.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren looked up at him immediately at the Emperor comment, disbelief flickering across her face despite everything else weighing on the room. "I do not frown like the Emperor," she said flatly, though exhaustion softened what might otherwise have become a sharper retort. "My standards for basic functionality are simply higher than yours." In her mind, that remained an entirely reasonable distinction.

The corner of her mouth threatened to betray her for half a second before she forced her attention back to the scattered parts. When his hand settled on her shoulder, warm, grounding, steady despite the adrenaline still shaking through him, her hands slowed more effectively than any argument could have. He was right. The shop could be rebuilt. That truth should have made the damage easier to face, but she still winced at every shattered component and burned display because she remembered building all of it piece by piece, often with too little money and even less sleep. This place had not simply existed. It had been assembled through stubbornness, survival, and her own refusal to stay broken.

Then he pulled her into his arms again, and the tension she had been holding in her shoulders finally loosened. This time, she leaned into him without resistance, resting her forehead briefly against his collar while she listened to the steady certainty in his voice. He always spoke as though survival was inevitable as long as they stayed together long enough to force it into existence. Part of her loved him for that. Another part quietly feared he would get himself killed trying to make it true.

"We are very bad at choosing peaceful jobs," she murmured against him, the dry observation carrying more affection than criticism. "I think that may be part of the pattern."

Her gaze drifted toward the ruined entrance as he spoke about the gang, her thoughts already reorganizing themselves around the practical details now that the immediate danger had passed. Military-grade weapons. Coordinated timing. Local law enforcement conveniently absent. The pieces fit together too cleanly to dismiss as random street violence, and the fact that they had come here specifically bothered her most.

Aren stepped back just enough to look up at him properly, though her hand remained loosely hooked around his arm, neither of them quite ready to separate. "No," she said quietly. "Groups like this do not get equipment like that without backing, and they do not attack targets this openly unless they are confident someone will clean up after them."

Her gaze flicked toward the scorched patch on the counter. "Which means either they are more established than they look…" A thoughtful pause tightened her expression. "Or someone bigger is letting them operate because they are useful."

Neither possibility sat well with her.

She crouched to retrieve a damaged interface module, turning it in her hands to assess whether anything could be salvaged. "And if they were willing to hit us in broad daylight, they will probably try again once they realize we survived the first attempt." There was no fear in her tone, only analysis, steady and unflinching.

Her attention shifted sideways toward him again, softer beneath the practical edge returning to her voice. "So unfortunately for you," she said, "I think your investigation is going to become our investigation."

A faint pause followed before she added, quieter and edged with dry warmth, "And next time someone attacks the shop, I would prefer slightly less property damage from both sides."

The remark carried just enough teasing to soften the truth beneath it, even as the blackened hole where the speeder had exploded outside remained undeniable proof that neither of them had handled the situation with anything resembling restraint.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen would pull away with a sharp gasp with mock hurt eyes when she said that her standard was higher. "See, you are even speciest like he was, thinking clones are lower. I... I just can't believe you right now. This isn't the woman I wanted to marry..." He playfully poked her in the tummy as if trying to find an access panel. "She must have built a Smyth droid that betrayed her... Yes, that's what you are, just a copy of my true love." He would cut the act out as soon as Aren shot a glance his way but that wouldn't stop him from chuckling.

Omen sighed as he started to chop up the extra vines, offering up a quiet prayer for their sacrifice. "No... We are bad at choosing a quiet life..." Which wasn't wrong. If they didn't take on violent jobs, they probably won't get the backlash... But Omen wouldn't know what to do to himself otherwise than terraform a whole planet. "And that's why we will have to get them first. I'm sure I could call Korda and we could get this cleaned up by nights end." Which would probably be true, the two of them could take down anything.

The Clone came back over to cup her chin and give her a long kiss, telling her sweetly. "Looks like it's a date." Omen couldn't help but blush at the property damage phrase though. "Yeah... Yeah... At least they are breathing... At least most of them are..." He followed her gaze out to the blackened remains of the speeded out of the street. "Let's just say they parked illegally and the punishment for that is death." That's what the traffic rules wrote by the Sith worked, right?

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren stared at him for exactly two seconds after the accusation of being "speciest," her expression flattening into the kind of long-suffering disbelief that suggested she was actively reconsidering every life decision that had brought her to this moment, and that expression only deepened when he immediately reached out and poked her stomach as if genuinely expecting to find an access panel hidden beneath her shirt. Her eyes narrowed at once.

"You are unbearable," she informed him, voice flat with the kind of certainty that came from experience rather than exaggeration, and the worst part was knowing, absolutely knowing, that Jett would laugh herself breathless if he ever repeated this story to her.

"Omen," she added a moment later, calmer now in the way that usually meant danger for everyone involved, "if you tell her that story, I am deleting something important from your ship."

The threat should have landed, but it lost most of its force the longer he insisted she was some kind of replacement droid, and the absurdity of it finally hit her hard enough to cut straight through the lingering tension from the attack. She laughed, soft at first, then fully despite herself, warm and unguarded in a way she rarely allowed anymore.

"You are impossible," she said once she managed to speak again, though the words carried far more affection than criticism as she reached out and caught the front of his shirt lightly between her fingers. "And for the record, if I were a droid replacement, I would have installed something specifically designed to stop you from talking." Her gaze drifted over him with deliberate consideration before she added, "Possibly a stun feature."

The corner of her mouth curved as she released him and watched him move through the workshop, gathering the fallen vines while offering them what sounded suspiciously like a funeral prayer. It should not have been endearing after everything that had happened today, after the smoke, the fight, the wreckage, but unfortunately for her composure, it was.

Her attention softened as she worked beside him, sorting damaged components into salvageable piles, bent casing here, burned circuitry there, the familiar rhythm helping steady her thoughts while he spoke about quiet lives, investigations, and inevitably dragging Korda into whatever came next.

"Korda is going to enjoy this far too much," she murmured, dry but resigned. "The moment he hears the words 'criminal syndicate,' he is going to start emotionally preparing for property destruction on a planetary scale."

Which, honestly, was not inaccurate.

So when Omen stepped close again and cupped her chin before kissing her, Aren leaned into it without hesitation, letting the moment settle around them despite the smoke still hanging in the air, the debris scattered across the floor, and the unconscious criminals tied up in the back room. Somehow, none of it stopped him from making the whole thing feel absurdly domestic.

"Looks like it's a date."

The words drew another soft laugh from her as she rested her forehead briefly against his.

"I think our definition of dates may concern normal people," she admitted quietly.

Her gaze drifted toward the ruined storefront when he mentioned the speeder, the blackened remains still smoking faintly beneath flickering streetlights. She took in the cratered pavement, the twisted frame, the lingering heat distortion, then looked back at him with deliberate seriousness.

"The parking violation may have been excessive," she said. "I am not entirely convinced the death penalty was proportionate."

A faint pause followed before the dry warmth returned.

"Though I admit the message was probably very clear."

The humor faded gradually, leaving something quieter as she surveyed the workshop again. The destruction still hurt to look at, but less now than it had ten minutes ago, maybe because he was still standing beside her, maybe because neither of them had pulled away from the other even once through all of it.

Aren exhaled slowly and nudged a damaged crate with her boot.

"We should finish cleaning before I decide to rebuild the entire front wall tonight out of spite," she said. "And after that…" Her gaze lifted to him, steadier now. "You are telling me everything you know about these people."

Another small pause followed, and the faintest hint of warmth returned.

"And then we are both getting food before one of us passes out."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

As always, Aren's faces as he tormented her gave the Clone another reason to live. He couldn't help but smile as he said, "I love you too." Her threats only made his grin go wider. "Fine, have it your way. Just you admiting that I annoy you is enough for me." As she gripped his shirt, he couldn't help but lean in to whisper. "And just lifting your shirt would be enough to stun me speechless." Giving her another kiss for good measure, he set about his task of cleaning the store up.

Omen didn't care if she though his prayers were silly. All life deserved to be remembered, even the planet lifes. Even the people outside deserved to be remembered as burnt husks. She was right about Korda though. "Why do think I want to bring him? He will wipe these pests off the earth without us needing to do any work." Which would be true. After hearing about how Aren's shop was attacked, he would probably ripped through the entire planet like a tornado, uprooting whoever these guys were in the process. They wouldn't have to do any work even, just point and shoot.


Trash bagging the vine pieces to be taken out to the dumpster, Omen comments "I think our definition of what a realitionship entails is different than most people." Which was true. Not many couples hunted down gangsters together, or fought in gunfights together. And yet here they were, and even more amazingly they were still alive. That amazing thought totally didn't keep him wondering what God liked them enough to let them live this long. The Father by how much they had lived through no doubt.

The Clone took the chance to glance out at the burning wreck of a speeder van and after a minute, shrug at Aren's comments. "I mean... they should have known better by trying to stick their speeder where it didn't along. You know how the Sith agreessivly prosicute and try to preserve the law. I just saved them from the noose. In a way he wasn't wrong, they probably would have been punished hard. Omen had just gave them a faster trip to their judgement.

Omen didn't really know alot about these gangers but he had heard a rumor they were part of a swoop gang with connections in the government and off-world. He didn't know much more that but he was going to find out. But then, he heard something come out of Aren's mouth that made him truely concerned but he couldn't show. Putting on a brave face, he smiled and nodded. "Sure, we can go out to eat out. Not like the guys in the back are going anywhere. Just let me go to the bathroom." And with that he scurried off to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

If Aren listened through the bathroom door, this is what she would hear. " Jett...? This is Omen... Its Aren... She's not herself... Not the woman I fell in love with. She's... She's... actually wanting to take care of herself and stop herself from being malnousered... Shocking I know. This person must be some Clawdite actor. No way this is my Aren. Its just impossible... I might need your help to find the real Aren so call me back when you can. I'll need all the help I can get." Maybe the bit was getting alittle long in the tooth but it still seemed good for the Clone.


Aren D'Shade

Mentioned: Jett Vox

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched him disappear into the bathroom with narrowed eyes, one brow lifting the moment the door locked behind him, because the timing alone was suspicious enough to earn her attention, especially after the very particular look he had tried and failed to hide before retreating. She kept sorting through the damaged remains of the workshop for a few more seconds, stacking scorched components into separate piles while the faint sound of running water did absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that he was talking to someone through his comm.

Then she heard Jett's name, and she went still, not dramatically, just enough that the half-disassembled interface module in her hand stopped turning while she listened through the muffled barrier of the door. By the time he reached "malnourished," her eyes had already closed in exhausted disbelief, and by the time he started insisting she had been replaced by a Clawdite impostor simply because she wanted food and basic self-preservation, she had to set the component down before she crushed it between her fingers.

She let exactly three seconds of silence pass before crossing the workshop with calm, deliberate steps, stopping outside the bathroom door with one hand resting lightly against the frame while the other folded across her chest. "You realize," she said through the door with dangerous composure, "that if Jett answers that comm, she is absolutely going to encourage you." A beat followed, dry and unhurried. "And if she gets Korda involved, I will be forced to fake my own death out of sheer irritation."

Despite the sharpness of her words, there was laughter sitting underneath them now, softened by exhaustion, affection, and the simple relief of still having him here beside her after everything that had happened. She leaned against the wall beside the door, letting the tension bleed out of her shoulders. "For the record," she continued, her voice steadier, "wanting food after being shot at is not evidence of identity theft. It is generally considered a sign of functional survival instincts." Another small pause, this one edged with reluctant amusement. "Which means congratulations. After all these years, some of your terrible habits are finally becoming contagious."

The corner of her mouth curved despite herself as she glanced back toward the ruined workshop, the scorched counter, the shattered displays, the half-cleaned debris scattered across the floor, and, honestly, hearing him joke about it from behind a locked bathroom door probably helped more than she wanted to admit.

Her voice softened when she spoke again, the shift subtle but unmistakable. "And for the record…" She tilted her head toward the door, her tone gentler now. "The woman you fell in love with is still here." A faint beat passed before the dry humor returned, warm and steady. "She is just apparently making the deeply irresponsible decision to continue surviving long enough to marry you."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

How Omen became a Special Force's Sniper, known for being a silent killer, was beyond his own understanding. Probably beyond Aren's too because he certainly wasn't acting secretly right now. Through the door, she could hear him hiss "She's onto me... I'll talk to you later when Korda isn't putting you through your paces." before acting like he was washing his hands and coming out of the bathroom to what would likely be his demise.

From the sound of the way he talked alone, he could tell it was Aren just by the irritation in her voice. "Good to know I'm rubbing off on you somehow. Who knows, maybe you'll even have as good of an ass as mine someday. I doubt it, but maybe. But just know I'll always do my best to be here for you, My Fiancée. Let's try to keep this life going a little longer because I would be lost without you." His hand reached for her globe's long enough for him to pull the violet-haired tech into him, looking into her eyes as the Clone said "Let's go to HuttaBurger. I want to tear something apart with my teeth. Otherwise, I might have to sink my teeth into you." Maybe it was the adrenaline from their deadly afternoon, but Omen was feeling crazy and when he felt crazy, something reckless was about to happen for either good or for ill. In this case, Aren would receive a long love bite on her neck for all to marvel at.

After making sure the gangers were secured and the store was clean up enough that there wouldn't be a fire if two wrong wires connected, Omen started to walk down the street with her, his arm lazily around Aren like across her shoulder's was its favorite spot to rest. Both of their heads were probably on a swivel but Omen thought that would be only attack that would happen today. It would take the Gang they faced off with time to regroup. which gave them time for a dinner date.

When they came up to the restaurant, Omen went up to order for them. From her position, Aren could see the server at the counter openly cowered at the sight of the blood on the Clone's clothes he had forgot to clean off and the bruising on his knuckles. On the plus side, they certainly got their food faster. Sitting back down with her, he handed her a plate of Nuna Salad, hoping that he had gotten his Beloved's order right. He of course, had a whopping Bronto Burger to try to appease the endless pit that was his stomach. Doing the same little prayer before he dug in, Omen glanced out of the corner of his eye at Aren, making sure she was okay after such a brutal day.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren knew the moment he stepped out of the bathroom that he had absolutely not learned his lesson.

The look on his face gave him away instantly. Somewhere between smug survival and a man who believed charm could shield him from consequences that were becoming increasingly inevitable. Her eyes narrowed the moment he started talking about his ass again, though exhaustion softened the sharpness into something closer to fond disbelief.

"You are remarkably committed to making sure I regret this engagement," she said dryly, but the words barely had time to land before he caught her hands and pulled her against him, derailing her irritation with practiced ease.

And then, inevitably, he said something sincere enough to cut straight through her annoyance.

Her expression softened almost at once. Even after the fight, the damage, the uncertainty hanging over both of them, he still looked at her like surviving together was the simplest promise in the galaxy. Her hand rose automatically to rest against the side of his neck.

"You are not getting rid of me that easily," she murmured.

Then he mentioned biting her instead of the burger. Her eyes narrowed again. "Omen, if you—" Too late.

The sudden bite to her neck made her inhale sharply before she shoved lightly at his shoulder in immediate protest, though there was no real force behind it. By the time he pulled back, she was staring at him with the weary disbelief of someone reconsidering every decision that had led her to falling in love with this man specifically.

"You are unbelievable," she muttered, rubbing at the mark he had undoubtedly left. "Now Jett is going to notice that and look at me like she's discovered new forms of psychological warfare."

Still, she went with him.

By the time they reached the restaurant, the adrenaline had settled into a heavier exhaustion that made the warm lights and crowded noise feel strangely distant. Aren stayed close beside him while he ordered, her attention drifting automatically across exits, strangers, movement patterns—old instincts still running beneath the surface even as her body reminded her she hadn't stopped moving since the attack.

The server's frightened reaction when Omen approached the counter didn't escape her either.

Aren's gaze flicked to the blood-stained across his sleeves and the bruising on his knuckles. For a moment, memory stirred—Empress Teta under Sith Covenant control, where sights like that had become common enough to stop drawing stares. Back then, she'd learned to read the difference between danger and survival at a glance.

Here, the server had no such context.

"You know," she said once he returned with the food, "most people try to appear less threatening during dinner dates."

Then she looked down at the plate he handed her.

The salad earned a visible pause.

Aren stared at it for several seconds, blinking once as though trying to understand how this had become her meal. Across the table, Omen sat with what looked like an entire ecosystem stacked between two buns while she had apparently been assigned leaves.

After a moment, she looked back up at him.

"You saw me rebuild a shop after a firefight and decided I needed foliage," she observed calmly.

A beat passed.

Then, with a faint shrug of resignation, she pulled the plate closer.

"To be fair," she admitted, picking up the fork, "this is still probably healthier than whatever horrifying thing you ordered."

The corner of her mouth curved as she took a bite, and after a moment, her expression shifted with mild surprise.

"…Actually, that's not terrible."

Which, from Aren, was practically a glowing review.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen smiled against the side of her head like the Imp he was before pulling back, clearly proud of his work. "Or she is going to giggle at us for being young and in love. And I don't mind showing it to her." As they gathered their things and stepped out the door, he whispered the heartfelt words that they both knew to be true. "I love you Tinkerbell, with all of my heart. And the day I stop showing it is the day I die." Hopefully that sincere statement would be enough to quiet her down during their walk.

Despite all of the hardship they went through and aggravation he put her through, Aren stayed put. That's how he knew she was the one. And as he squeezed her shoulder to ground her as they walked to tell her no ghosts were going to haunt them tonight, Omen would make this purple haired beauty know it wherever they went together.

The Clone didn't really notice the blood on his shirt or the nervous face of the counter worker. He was already on Cloud 9, too busy enjoying his date with his future wife to notice. When Aren pointed it out though, Omen hastily wetted one of the napkins with his drink and tried to dab it away. "Sorry, guess adoring you took up my mind..." The look of contempt on Aren's face was clear to see when she saw her salad was clear to see, making Omen wince. "And this why no one but me and EL are willing to cook for you." He knew saying that Aren could have told him what she wanted before ordering but knew that would just earn him another look of contempt. At least in the end, the purple haired tinker didn't seem to hate their meal which was a win in his books.

"I figured you didn't want a big meal after all of that..." While he on the other hand needed to recover all that energy he had spent dealing with the intruders. Taking a bite of his burger, he was careful to chew with his mouth closed, least he be told how disgusting he was. Swallowing his bite, he asked what she wanted to do after this. "So... after we drop the people we kidnapped off in a police station where they aren't going to be released in a day, how about a quiet night in?" It would go a long way to sooth her nerves.

Aren D'Shade