Private Light Through the Windows

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren glanced sideways at him when he whispered against her temple, and despite herself, some of the tension she'd been carrying since the attack eased beneath the quiet certainty in his voice; he always said things like that so easily, so openly, as though loving her had never required hesitation or caution. "I am beginning to think you enjoy embarrassing me," she murmured, the softness beneath the words undermining any attempt at real criticism, and though she didn't move away, she let his hand remain warm and steady on her shoulder as they walked. The city still felt sharp around the edges, every distant sound tugging at her attention out of old habit, but his presence kept those instincts from spiraling into something heavier, and by the time they sat down with their food, exhaustion had settled more firmly into her bones.

Watching him suddenly try to scrub blood from his shirt with a wet napkin after she pointed it out nearly made her smile outright. "Your priorities are deeply concerning," she said dryly, adjusting the bowl in front of herself. "Most people notice they're covered in blood before ordering dinner." Still, she accepted the salad with only mild suspicion now that she'd confirmed it was edible, and after another bite she listened to him explain his reasoning, her expression composed even as something quietly fond lingered in the way she looked at him. "You bought me vegetation because you thought I was emotionally fragile after a firefight," she observed. "That is unfortunately very considerate."

Then he mentioned a quiet night in.

Aren paused, looking at him over the edge of her fork long enough for him to realize too late what answer was coming. "A quiet night in," she repeated, "meaning repairing structural damage, recalibrating the front security systems, inventorying destroyed components, cleaning scorch residue out of the wiring conduits, and determining how a gang with military‑grade equipment found our shop in the first place." Her tone remained perfectly calm. "Because that is what our night is going to be."

Only after a beat did her voice soften, just slightly. "…We can do it from home afterward, though." It was probably the closest thing to a compromise he was getting.

She rested her elbow lightly on the table, studying him for a quieter moment. "And before you object," she added, already anticipating him, "you were the one who said we should keep this life going a little longer." Her gaze flicked meaningfully toward the bruising across his knuckles. "So I would prefer if neither of us ignored the fact that someone just tried to kill us in the middle of the afternoon."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen couldn't help but laugh as they walked. "Embarrassing and annoying you, they are the two greatest joys of my life. Thought you would know that by now. I didn't really have anyone to tease before I met you, so I'm making up for lost time." Which was very much the truth. He loved testing her boundaries, trying to break down the walls she tried to put up. Burrowing inside her heart was tough work, but it was worth every bit of effort. And once inside, he would make sure he was hard to rip out.

When Aren commented on his priorities while sitting at one of the outside tables, Omen only commented, "Well, those people don't have a smoking hot future wife to look at. In my view, taking stains out of my clothes comes only after getting my eyeful of you. It's very important to have your priorities right. Otherwise, the important stuff, like admiring you, doesn't get done." He took a long sip of fizzy pop from his cup, looking affectionately at his girl, a look she couldn't hide from, before going back to wiping away at his shirt. He managed to get most of the blood off, or at least enough that most wouldn't notice. But blood would remain on him spiritually at least for the rest of the night.

Omen knew Aren wasn't alright. Just how she looked at the shadows told him that. He couldn't notice it even if he tried. Still, like always, he tried to spin things in a positive direction. Cupping his ear and leaning his head in towards her, he asked in the air of mock confusion, "Are... Are you saying that I'm a good partner...? That can't be right... You just said that I was doing everything to make you regret this engagement. What changed? I really want to know." The fake innocence on his face, which fooled anyone but her, told her he was going to milk every nice word she said about him to hold on to for later. What could he say? Every ray of sunshine he could get would be a welcome one.

At Aren's reinforcement of the boring things they would be doing after their little dinner date, Omen would lay his head forehead-first onto the table and let out a groan of agony. But he knew these things needed to be done, and the workaholic he wanted to marry wanted them done right now. "Fineeeeeee... I'll help by filing the insurance claim when we get back." He didn't know how much damage there was to the building. Could be as simple as getting a tub of epoxy to cover the blaster holes or putting all new structural supports in. The technical stuff would be Aren's job, and finding these people would be easy. They were exactly the subtle kind of people. Hopefully, the registration tags of that van hadn't worn off to make the search even easier.

At her admitting that a night alone may still be in the cards, he immediately hopped up on the wooden seat and yelled in jubilation, "PRAISE BE TO THE FATHER, DAUGHTER, AND SON!" before Aren would manage to pull him back down into his seat. If the other people outside didn't think he had escaped a mental hospital with the blood on his shirt, they certainly did now. Resuming happily chowing down between chuckles on his burger, he only stopped to look at something on his phone. If Aren looked fast enough, she would see a cute purple cat onesie on the screen before shutting it off again. Seemed Omen had a plan for her tonight. It only mattered now if he could get to it.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened to him with the same expression she usually reserved for malfunctioning machinery she had not yet decided whether to repair or dismantle, though the effect was somewhat compromised by the faint warmth that kept gathering around her eyes every time he looked at her as though she personally hung the stars over the city. When he proudly announced that tormenting her had become one of the great joys of his life, she set her fork down with deliberate care and fixed him with a level stare.

"You missed several very important developmental stages," she informed him, her tone dry enough to qualify as a structural hazard. "Most people develop hobbies, or at the very least some form of healthy socialization. You, however, appear to have bypassed all of that and instead refined emotional harassment into an art form."

Despite the reprimand, she could hear the sincerity beneath all the swagger and teasing and reckless affection he threw at her without hesitation. Omen loved loudly, endlessly, and with a complete disregard for restraint, caution, or self‑preservation. Some part of her still struggled to understand how someone could look at her with that much open devotion after everything they had survived together, while another part of her was quietly terrified by how much she had come to rely on it.

So when he began rambling about priorities and eyefuls and her being his "smoking hot future wife" in the middle of a public restaurant, Aren simply stared at him over the rim of her drink for several long seconds before releasing a soft breath that carried equal parts resignation and reluctant fondness. "You realize," she said calmly, "that normal people flirt with subtlety. And shame."

The faint curve at the corner of her mouth afterward betrayed her anyway.

When he immediately began fishing for compliments, she recognized the tactic at once—the exaggerated confusion, the feigned innocence, the way he leaned toward her, already preparing to hoard every positive thing she said like survival rations for future emotional emergencies. It was shameless, and she narrowed her eyes at him with quiet suspicion before continuing.

"You are perfectly aware you are a good partner," she said, her voice flat but not unkind. "You simply enjoy forcing verbal confirmation out of me because you were emotionally deprived and now treat affection like a resource that might vanish without warning." After another bite of salad, she added, more quietly, "And despite your many deeply irritating qualities, you are considerate in ways most people are not."

The words came easier than they once would have, and that alone said more than she intended to admit aloud.

Watching him dramatically collapse onto the table after she mentioned repairs nearly earned another laugh from her, though she managed to hide most of it behind her drink. Barely. She clarified that the insurance claim did not count as helping because the paperwork was not labor, and she meant actual work. When he immediately shouted praise to the Father, Daughter, and Son loud enough for half the restaurant to stare, Aren closed her eyes and, for one full second, genuinely considered leaving him there. Instead, she reached across the table, caught the front of his jacket, and pulled him bodily back into his seat before he could escalate whatever public breakdown he was clearly in the middle of having.

"You are impossible to bring anywhere," she muttered, though the exhaustion in her voice was softened too heavily by affection for the insult to land with any real force. Several nearby customers were now openly staring, but Aren ignored them with the practiced ease of someone who followed the Maker and had long since learned that the galaxy's judgment was rarely worth acknowledging.

She was about to return to her meal when she caught a glimpse of his datapad screen just before he shut it off. Purple. Cat ears. Onesie. Her eyes narrowed immediately, and she set her fork down with slow, deliberate care.

"Omen," she said, her voice carrying the kind of dangerous calm that suggested she was already preparing to dismantle whatever nonsense he had just invited into their lives, "what exactly did you just look at?"

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Wow, she could use her eyes as a level if she ever wanted too. With the way she could stare deep down into his soul and make him shiver, he knew he had found his match. Atleast until she pulled "You missed several very important development" out of her ass. That was an eyebrow raiser. "You... do know I wasn't born regularly right...? Y'know... my mother is a tube..." It didn't mean she was wrong. The Kamionians didn't care alot about socialization. Anything other than talking over training or mission planning was deemed to be sedition. And what hobbies he had were usually solitary. And so he had all the time in the word to think up lines that made her skin crawl.

When Aren looked over at him to communicate "I'm in love with this big dumb idiot" over her cup, Omen just slid his hand on her thigh under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "There, is that subtle enough?" The action was about as subtle as he could manage without just pushing her down on the floor and making out with her.

Like normal, she saw straight through him. After putting his burger down after a bit and shaking his head, he only asked "Whats your hourly rate for all that information Doc. Hopefully I can afford it." And so there little game contuined that arguing with insurance adjustors and getting hand cramps filling out a hundread page form was indeed labor. But in the end, he succed to her like always, promising to help wherever he could. Loving someone was a nerf sometimes...

After being pulled down as he acted like an idiot, Omen just gave her the dumb "I'm innoccent" grin that she knew so well. "Hey, you are the one who wanted to go out. You could have just gotten take out somewhere and you could have hid me away somewhere in your darkest dungeon. But you didn't and I appriate that." The Clone leaned in to give the littlest cheek peak to her, the only form of public affection using his lips that she would probably allow before turning to his data pad. Which was apprantly was the wrong decision as he looked back at Aren and saw death made human form.

Omen knew that second that he wasn't getting out of this and decided to give up the ghost. "I umm... decided it would be fun to get us Onesies." He brought up the screen to show 4 Onesies, a purple kitty version for her, a green one for him, a burnt orange tabby for Jett Vox and a snake oneise with a reflective rainbow scale pattern for Korda Veydran . "It even has pockets, you like pockets. I thought we could wear them for movie night tonight." As Aren got ready to tear the idea apart, she could see by the narrowing his eyes that he wasn't going to go with her flow like he usually did. He was going to die on this hill and Omen was going to see her in that oneise if she liked it or not.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren stared at him for several long seconds after the comment about his mother being a tube, her expression flattening just enough for him to realize she was genuinely weighing whether that counted as a legitimate rebuttal. "It explains some things," she said at last with complete seriousness, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her almost immediately with the faintest twitch. Watching him try to weaponize technicalities against her was becoming one of the more predictable and admittedly entertaining parts of their relationship.

Then his hand slid onto her thigh beneath the table.

Her eyes lifted slowly from her drink to his face, and the look she gave him carried the exhausted patience of someone dealing with a particularly affectionate menace. "That is not subtle," she informed him quietly, adding after a beat, "though I suppose it is slightly quieter than shouting." Even so, her hand settled briefly over his beneath the table instead of pushing him away, her fingers resting there for a few moments before she finally withdrew them again.

The conversation about insurance and labor unfolded exactly the way she expected it to, which mostly meant Omen insisting paperwork counted as suffering while she silently reevaluated whether marrying him constituted some kind of long-term psychological experiment. "You are very fortunate I find you attractive," she told him flatly after his comment about hourly rates. "Otherwise, this relationship would be unsustainable."

And then came the onesies.

Aren watched him bring the datapad back up with the same cautious attention someone might reserve for an explosive device they strongly suspected was about to detonate. Her gaze moved slowly across the screen, taking in the purple cat ears, the pockets, the matching sets, and the horrifying snake-patterned suit apparently chosen specifically for Korda. Silence followed. A long, heavy silence. The kind that usually made other people nervous.

"Omen," she said finally, her voice very calm now, "you bought coordinated family loungewear." There was no judgment in her tone, which honestly should have worried him more. Her eyes lingered on the purple cat onesie for another second before narrowing slightly at the mention of pockets, because unfortunately for her dignity, that was relevant information. "I hate that this is strategically designed to appeal to me," she admitted quietly.

When she looked at him again, she immediately saw the stubbornness settling in with the absolute refusal to surrender the argument, no matter what she said next. He had already decided this battle mattered, which meant he was going to become unbearable about it. Aren exhaled slowly through her nose. "You are not making Korda wear that snake suit," she informed him first. "He already looks intimidating enough without becoming a highly aggressive reptile." Another pause followed as she continued studying the screen. "And Jett is absolutely going to weaponize this against us for the next decade."

Yet despite all of that, she still did not actually say no, and that alone probably told him too much.

Before he could start celebrating prematurely, Aren reached across the table, caught the front of his shirt, and pulled him sharply toward her until their noses nearly brushed. The restaurant around them faded into background noise as her eyes held his steadily, softer than before but no less intense. "Not tonight," she murmured, her fingers tightening slightly against his shirt. "Not with Jett or Rynar."

The corner of her mouth curved just barely, then, something warmer slipped beneath the dry restraint she usually wore so carefully. "Just you and I…" Her voice lowered to something meant only for him. "…love."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen hoped it counted as a genuine rebuttal; it was what he was after, all—a genuine test baby. It wasn't a technicality; it's what he was. Just like his love for her wasn't. When their fingers are connected, he leans in to peck her cheek, like nobody else was there, whispering. "Well, my love for you isn't subtle, so I guess it works." Aren was the only person he wanted to share a bed with. And despite her protests, he knew she felt the same way.

The grin on his face couldn't be contained, even as they argued over what did and did not count as helping. At her mention that he was attractive, he couldn't help but snap at the bait. "I think you mean when you saw one of my brothers in a history book when you were a teen, you found us attractive while criss-crossing those pale legs of yours in the library so no one else would know. But I'm glad I'm the one who gets to claim you as my wife." Aren had to look at a book about GAR, at some point, right? He wondered what feelings went through her when "his" face popped up. All good ones, he hoped.

Omen watched her face as she looked at the datapad, ready to "defuse" her if this whole thing blew up in their face. The man couldn't help but chuckle at her "strategically designed" line as his hands helped hold his face up. "That's because it's like your usual mechanics jumpsuit, just with fur. It's why you don't mind it as much as you thought you did." When she said that Korda's was too scary, the Clone was quick to protest, pointing to its face, whose forked tongue was long enough to go to the forehead. "Oh come on, its doing a "belp". How can you not find it adorable?" The Jett part probably was true, but at least she would get a good memory to replace some of the bad she had been through. He was about to say, "I guess we can save theirs as life day presents..." when his eyes shot up as Aren practically dragged him across the table to her. If anything shut him up, it was Aren looking like she wanted to rip his clothes off. He was powerless to do anything but vergeriously nod before finally managing to speak. "Mhm... Just you and I... the love of my life. Now, can you let me go so we can finish dinner and can oogle your behind on the way back to the shop?" It would be his last reward before he spent all night with her sorting out the shop into its proper state again.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's eyes narrowed the moment he painted that ridiculous image of her sitting cross‑legged in some forgotten library aisle, staring dreamily at GAR history texts, and the fact that he sounded so pleased with himself for inventing it only made her look sharper.

"You are creating an entirely fictional version of my adolescence," she informed him with flat precision, "which is impressive, considering you were not present for any of it."

She took another slow bite of salad, studying him over the edge of her fork with the kind of dangerous composure that suggested she was deciding whether to correct him or simply let him embarrass himself further.

"And for the record, I was researching military logistics and fleet deployment patterns," she continued, pausing just long enough to imply the next part was a reluctant concession. "Not admiring clone troopers."

The silence that followed stretched just long enough to become suspicious.

Then, with the faintest shift in her expression, she added under her breath, "The armor was aesthetically well designed, though."

For Aren, that was practically a scandalous confession, and his immediate delight in it made her regret acknowledging anything at all. His enthusiasm only escalated when he returned to the onesies, defending the snake suit with the zeal of a man arguing for the preservation of ancient cultural heritage.

"The tongue makes it worse," she said calmly, though the image of Korda standing at full height in an aggressively reflective snake onesie while maintaining absolute seriousness had already taken root in her mind. Unfortunately, the longer she pictured it, the harder it became to hate. She blamed Omen entirely.

Then she had pulled him close, and for one brief moment, the noise around them faded beneath the warmth in his eyes and the way he looked at her like she was something precious enough to ruin him completely. It always affected her more than she wanted it to.

Which made it all the more predictable when he immediately ruined the moment by mentioning ogling her ass on the walk back.

Aren closed her eyes with the kind of exhausted affection reserved for men who were both infuriating and irreplaceable. "One day," she murmured, "you are going to say something genuinely romantic and then destroy it within the same sentence."

Still holding the front of his shirt, she leaned in just enough that her forehead nearly brushed his before she finally released him. "You are very lucky I love you," she said quietly.

Then her gaze drifted deliberately downward and back up again in one smooth, devastatingly controlled motion.

"And that you look good covered in blood and bad decisions."

The corner of her mouth curved, subtle but unmistakably dangerous, before she leaned back into her seat and picked up her fork with practiced calm, as though she had not just threatened his ability to think coherently for the rest of the evening.

"Finish your burger," she instructed. "You are helping me rebuild the shop before you earn the privilege of staring at my behind for the rest of the night."

A beat passed.

"And if you keep behaving," she added without looking up from her salad, "I might even consider the cat ears."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"Mhm... Fictional... Right..." Omen only raised an eyebrow as he smirked at her. Maybe he was digging himself a hole, or maybe he was just making conversation. Either way, he had dirt on her that she didn't know he had. As he flipped through the phone, he landed on an image of a text thread with a message going from Aren's mother saying, "We should have expected Aren to fall in love with you," followed by an image of an old image of Aren's search history on what must be an old computer. Apparently, young Aren hadn't remembered to delete her search history. A history that included things like "A GAR Clone bare-chested with a rose in his mouth.", "A GAR Clone in sexy poses", "two GAR Clones kissing". There was even a photoshopped image of Teen Aren kissing someone who seemed to be Captain Rex. He had to admit, teen Aren had taste.

Aren's parents were really neat when you got to know them. It took a little while for Omen to break through both of their shells, but they seemed to have a sense of humor once they got to know each other. They even had a secret text chat for sharing recipes, pictures of each other's travels, and embarrassing videos of toddler Aren falling over. That little picture was just the tip of the iceberg. Omen had even printed out that picture and put it where Aren would never find it. At least until a pipe needed fixing.

It would probably take a minute for Aren to recalibrate her mind to what was just revealed, during which Omen took the time to eat his burger in the stunned silence. When she finally rebooted, saying that one day he would say something truly romantic and then destroy it in the next sentence, he only wiped his hands off as he finished his burger and captured her chin, pulling her face in as he whispered. "And one day, you are going to let me love you while not looking like I made you run a marathon...~." Playfully licking some dressing off her cheek before releasing her, Omen couldn't help but smile as he looked into those brown eyes. "And yes, I'll always be lucky that you love me because I'll always be right beside you, whether you like it or not." At least he would be till Aren got fully fed up with him and pushed him onto the grav-tracks' third rail.

That gaze... That gaze was enough to make him blush, no matter what Aren said. Managing a cough to try to disengage, all he could do was ride the wave till it ended. "Thanks, I'll get in gang wars more often... Gonna make me think you are a blood-sucking vampire if you keep going." It was the only way to hit the conversation back over the net in her direction. At least until she said that if he behaved, she might consider wearing cat ears. That was enough to make him chow down on his burger, hoping to finish it quickly to see the image of heaven that Aren suggested she would wear.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren went completely still.

Not the ordinary stillness she slipped into when she was focused or unimpressed, but the dangerous kind, the kind that emptied her expression so thoroughly it bordered on unnatural. Her fork lowered very slowly onto the plate as the restaurant noise faded into a distant, irrelevant hum beneath the crushing silence settling over their table while Omen proudly displayed what was, without question, the single most catastrophic thing he had ever chosen to reveal to another living being.

Her teenage search history. Captain Rex. The photoshopped image. For one suspended moment, Aren genuinely looked as though her soul had left her body. Then came the realization that her parents had helped him. Her eyes narrowed with terrifying precision. "Oh," she said softly.

That was worse than yelling. Much worse. Omen knew that tone instantly, the one she used right before deciding exactly how much suffering someone deserved.

"You formed an alliance," she continued, her voice slow and clinically calm while her gaze remained locked on the datapad, every horrifying detail now permanently seared into her consciousness. Young Aren kissing Captain Rex. The shirtless clone searches. The fact that her mother had apparently preserved all of this instead of destroying the evidence like any morally responsible parent.

Aren closed her eyes briefly.

Entire Sith wars had probably begun over less emotional devastation than this.

When she finally looked at him again, her composure had somehow become even more dangerous. "You realize," she said with perfect calm, "that I can never speak to either of my parents again, and I especially cannot survive knowing my mother typed the sentence 'we should have expected Aren to fall in love with you' with her own hands."

The worst part, the truly unforgivable part, was that Omen looked unbearably pleased with himself.

That expression alone sealed his fate.

So when he leaned across the table afterward, captured her chin, whispered against her skin, and then had the audacity to lick dressing from her cheek like some affectionate menace who genuinely believed he was going to survive the evening, Aren simply stared at him with the exhausted calm of a woman reaching the absolute limits of her restraint.

Then his phone sparked.

Not dramatically. Not explosively. Just a sharp pop beneath his hand followed by a curl of smoke as the screen instantly died.

Aren leaned back into her seat afterward with complete composure, reaching for her drink as though nothing unusual had happened at all. "You should consider that a warning shot," she informed him evenly before taking a slow sip, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her a second later with the faintest twitch of amusement.

"Also," she added, quieter now, "teenage me had excellent taste."

There was still embarrassment sitting beneath the words, still horror at the fact that those images now existed somewhere outside her own memories, but it had softened around the edges, beneath reluctant acceptance and the simple reality that Omen looked far too delighted by all of this to regret any part of it.

Her eyes settled on him again, steadier this time, thoughtful beneath the irritation.

"And if you ever show Korda that search history," she continued calmly, "I will bury your body somewhere so remote even the Force will lose interest in finding you."

A brief pause followed while her expression flattened again with renewed seriousness. "I am completely serious about the Rex one."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen wished he had brought his helmet to dinner. It might have been able to block the fork that was about to be magnetically thrown at his eye. Despite his jolly tone, once he saw Aren's eyes turn into gleaming predatory slits, she could visually see the sweat pouring from the Clone's face as he couldn't help but think he had gone one step too far... His next sentence made it clear he was trying his best to backpedal his way out of this predicament. "Maybe me and your mom watch "The Great Galactic Bakeoff" when you are working at the shop if I'm not doing anything else. She and your Dad are fun to talk to... It helps the day go by...They do love you, you know that right...?" Despite thinking they were scary before meeting them in person, they actually had a lot in common, like a love of baking and traveling. He had even played a song on his flute for them a couple of times for their applause. Now he was thinking that getting so chummy with his in-laws might have been a mistake...

As she stared him down, saying she could never talk to her parents again, Omen finally knew the true meaning of fear. To say he regretted the lick was an understatement... At this rate, it might be his death warrant. This was the look of Anzats who were about to suck out someone's brains, and he couldn't keep the terror off his face. When his phone sparked, he actually looked relieved that that was all Aren was planning on doing. Or at least that's all he hoped she was going to do. "U... Understood Ma'am..." The Clone didn't respond to her line about excellent taste. Apparently, she had completely booted him out of his usual romantic good mood into a state of shock.

For once, he held back, only nodding while the thought of the perfect line, I'll be happy as long as my body is buried under yours. stayed in his head. Now wasn't the time to push Aren off the edge. "Of course... I'll... go throw our trash away." And with that, he picked their trays of finished food up and waddled with them over the trash receptacles, hoping there wasn't a pee stain on his pants after that fright. At least he knew the line now not to cross if he wanted the engagement ring on his finger to stay on it.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched him attempt to retreat from the disaster he had created with all the grace of a man trying to outrun an avalanche after personally kicking the first stone loose. The fact that he was sweating did not help his case, nor did the sudden appearance of phrases like Bakeoff, flute, and your parents are fun to talk to, which somehow made the entire situation dramatically worse rather than better.

By the time he finished explaining himself, Aren had one hand pressed lightly against her forehead, and her eyes closed as she attempted to process the horrifying reality that while she had been spending long hours in the workshop, Omen had apparently been off building an entire secondary social life with her parents. Recipes. Travel stories. Baking competitions. The more details he supplied, the less it felt like a friendship and the more like a coordinated operation that had somehow developed without her knowledge.

When she finally opened her eyes again, most of the earlier murderous intent had faded, leaving behind something that looked suspiciously like exhausted resignation.

"You formed a family chat without me." The accusation carried all the weight of a galactic betrayal. Aren stared at him for several long seconds before slowly shaking her head. "I do not even know if that is technically a crime, but it feels like one."

Despite herself, however, some of the sharper edges of her irritation softened when he mentioned that her parents loved her. She knew that. Of course, she knew that. The problem was never the love. The problem was that her mother had apparently weaponized that love by preserving photographic evidence of teenage stupidity and distributing it directly to her fiancé. There was a difference. A very important difference.

By the time his datapad had sacrificed itself and Omen had retreated into visible survival mode, Aren found herself watching him with growing disbelief. The swagger was gone. The confidence was gone. Even the endless supply of terrible flirtation seemed to have vanished beneath genuine concern for his continued existence. Honestly, she preferred him a little nervous. It was probably good for him.

When he stood and announced he would be throwing away the trays, sounding remarkably like a condemned prisoner reporting for execution, the corner of her mouth finally twitched upward.

"Omen." Her voice stopped him before he could escape. Not sharp. Not dangerous. Just enough to make him turn back toward her. Aren held his gaze for a moment before letting out a quiet breath and shaking her head.

"For the record, I am not actually angry that you spend time with them. Concerned about their judgment? Yes. Deeply disturbed by the existence of those images? Absolutely. But not angry." The warmth lingering beneath her words became a little harder to hide then, though her eyes narrowed again a second later.

"Though I am still deciding whether helping my mother archive my adolescence constitutes conspiracy." That earned a pause before she continued, unable to let him escape entirely unscathed. "And if I ever discover there is a second folder, I am setting your datapad, your ship, and possibly your flute on fire."

Aren lifted her drink and took another sip, looking entirely composed once more despite the lingering embarrassment still threatening her dignity. "Now go throw away the trays before I remember the Rex picture again."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"Hey, I added you, but you never accepted. At least I don't think..." Omen had sent a group invite to all 3 of them, with Aren being the only one not to accept. Guess she lost it in all of the notifications on her phone. But for once, though, Aren had the other hand and was squeezing him for all it was worth. To say the Clone hated this was an understatement. But he knew better than to argue with his fiancée when she was in a rage.

When Aren's voice made him turn around, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at what she was saying. "Concerned about their judgement...? You're saying talking to me isn't a good idea?" He didn't know if he should feel insulted or admit she was right. Because it clearly wasn't if she got this upset over one detail, it was going to be a long day.

Omen gave a half smile as a flicker of his old manner returned to combat her threats. "Well, you are going to find them first, and if I did hide any files somewhere, they are going to be mighty hard to find." That statement would probably be enough to get her to dig up the backyard. Not a bad view while drinking his coffee in the morning. At her order to throw their trays away, he gave a salute with one of the trays in his hand before going to do the dangerous task of throwing his trash in the right bin. He really should be getting a medal for this.

Before they left, Omen handed Aren a frozen blumfruit treat as an olive branch. It probably wouldn't be enough to thaw the permafrost in Aren's heart, but it was worth a shot. Either way, the clone appeared more shut down on the walk home. Apparently, trying to scare the living tar out of someone had side effects that left them not exactly the most perky people ever. When they got back to the shop, he did the work needed without a word. Clearly, something was going to have to happen to get him out of this funk.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren slowed mid-step as Omen explained himself, her attention shifting away from the frozen blumfruit treat in her hand and settling fully on him. At first, the claim earned nothing more than a skeptical look. The idea that he had somehow added her to this alleged conspiracy and she simply hadn't noticed sounded ridiculous on its face. Omen knew perfectly well that she answered his messages, and while her parents occasionally possessed an alarming talent for ambushing her with unnecessary emotional involvement, she certainly wasn't ignoring their communications either.

Which was why the certainty in his voice bothered her.

She found herself replaying the statement almost immediately, searching for the flaw in it, only to discover that the flaw might not be his at all.

A memory surfaced gradually rather than all at once. A notification. An invitation. Omen's name was attached to it. She remembered seeing it while she was in the middle of something at the workshop, glancing at it just long enough to register what it was before deciding she would look at it properly later when she had time to spare. At the time, there had been a deadline looming, a client waiting for an update, and a cybernetic arm spread across her workbench in seventeen separate pieces. Later had seemed entirely reasonable.

Apparently, it had never happened later. The realization settled over her with slow, creeping horror. "Oh." The single syllable carried considerably more weight than it should have.

For several seconds, she said nothing, walking beside him while she reconstructed the implications one uncomfortable piece at a time. If Omen was telling the truth, then the group existed. If the group existed, then her parents had been talking to him regularly. If her parents had been talking to him regularly, then the exchange of recipes, travel stories, and baking competitions was not some elaborate fabrication designed to torment her.

It was real. Somewhere in the galaxy, there was a conversation thread containing her mother, her father, and her fiancé, and she had unknowingly excluded herself from it. Aren closed her eyes briefly.

"I think this may actually be worse." The admission sounded reluctant, as though she resented reality for arranging itself this way. "Because now I cannot even blame any of you." Her gaze shifted toward him again, lingering there for a moment before she shook her head.

"I would have preferred discovering you had fabricated the entire thing. That was a much more manageable problem than learning my parents and future husband apparently formed a social circle behind my back while I was busy being productive."

There was no real anger left in her voice now. Embarrassment certainly. Disbelief without question. But beneath both sat the uncomfortable realization that Omen had not actually done anything wrong.

Which was deeply inconvenient. The frozen treat disappeared in a thoughtful bite while she considered that reality.

"I still maintain that preserving the Rex picture should qualify as a criminal offense," she said eventually. "The fact that my mother apparently safeguarded it for years and then handed it directly to you suggests premeditation, which I am fairly certain makes the charge more serious."

A pause followed before the corner of her mouth finally twitched upward despite herself.

"Though I suppose it does explain why she liked you so quickly. She probably looked at one photograph of us together and decided I had successfully predicted the future."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen couldn't help but smirk as Aren finally admitted it wasn't totally his fault. The way she could block everything out while working was astounding. "Well, looks like we learned an important lesson today." To be honest, given her reaction, he wished he had fabericated it all too. But he didn't and thought those photos would be fun to tease her without Aren blowing her top. One of times in many that Omen had be wrong.

The Clone lagged behind, lettting Aren walk ahead for a moment as he let her go on about how he should be put away for his crimes against her. "You do know where you got me from right? You married a bad boy and now you have to pay the price. Without hesitating, Omen whisked her around and pulled her in, giving her a passionate deep kiss with one hand on her cheek and another taking the messy ice cream cup out of her hand so he could get close to her. When he pulled back, his voice whinded its way into her ear. "You can punish your naughty little clone when you get home. I probably need it" He then pulled back and kept walking back to the shop, singing a certain tune for everyone, esspessialy Aren to hear. "It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do. Hey, baby, I think I wanna marry you. Is it the look in your eyes, or is it this dancing juice. Who cares, baby? I think I wanna marry you..." It was clear, they were going to be married come hell or high water. Even if Omen had to drag her to the altar.

Aren D'Shade