Private New Beginnings, Familiar Hearts

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren barely had time to react before she felt herself being stopped mid-stride, the sudden stillness in Omen's body pulling her attention sharply upward. For a moment, she thought he'd spotted something dangerous — old instincts flaring and ready — but then she saw it. The way his eyes widened. The way his breath hitched. The way he wiped at the corner of his eye was just a fraction too late for her not to notice.

And just like that, all the fire and sharpness she carried like armor softened into something quieter, warmer, meant only for him.

"Omen…" she murmured, barely above a whisper. She didn't pull away when he turned her, didn't resist the grip on her shoulders or the sudden intensity in his expression. If anything, she leaned into it, letting her hands settle lightly at his ribs as he kissed her with a force she hadn't expected but didn't shy from. The world narrowed to warmth, breath, and the solid pulse beneath his skin — a wave of emotion crashing into her that she felt more than understood.

When they finally parted, she stayed close, her forehead resting lightly against his for a lingering second. Her voice was softer than most people had ever heard it, stripped of the walls she kept everywhere else.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said with a short, quiet exhale. "I meant it. I don't say it unless I mean it." A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips — honest, unguarded, just a little shy around the edges. "Guess I surprised us both."

She brushed a thumb lightly along his jaw, almost absent-mindedly, an unconscious little gesture that showed more affection than she ever managed to put into words. The daisy crown still sat slightly crooked on her head, and she didn't bother fixing it — especially when she saw how he looked at her because of it.

"And before you ask," she added, voice dropping into a familiar dry tease, "I am not repeating myself so that you can frame it on that burner phone."

Her fingers slipped back into his, a natural motion, like something that had always belonged there.

"But… yeah," she continued more quietly, almost beneath the breeze rustling the flowers around them. "We can keep walking. Or sit somewhere. Or just… be. I don't really care what we do."

A softer squeeze of his hand.

"As long as it's with you."

Then, after a beat, the faintest, wryest smile curled at her mouth — the Aren signature that never entirely disappeared:

"…Though if you tell anyone I wore this flower crown willingly, I will absolutely mechu-deru your entire contact list."

Warm. Steady. Herself — just with the edges gentled for him.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The Clone didn't think when he pulled her in and kissed her; he just did it. When she said those three words, his mind just wanted to show this woman all of the love he had in his heart for her. When he pulled back, it seemed like she had entranced him with a magic spell. That she sucked his soul right out of his body whenever their lips embraced. And he loved every second of that feeling.

Once they broke the kiss, Omen didn't say anything for awhile. It seemed like the Mando Convert had finally broken him. Maybe she would hear the "Hi, this is Omen. Please call back when I'm not an emotional mess. Leave a message at the beep... Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep" coming from his malfunctioning brain. Finally, he came to his senses and noticed she was still there, resting her forehead on his as she spoke with that soft special voice made just for him. The voice that made him want to kiss her all over again. Picking up the courage to use his lungs to speak, his whispered lovingly back. "I know I didn't... I just didn't think today would be the day that my hissing alley cat would decide to start actively loving me~ I'm happy you meant every word of it." Just like he meant it when his hands brushed over her sides, saying "I'll love you to the end of our days Aren, just you wait and see."

Omen just chuckled at her phone joke, hiding the fact he had a recorder in his other pocket so he could listen to her voice when she was away. He didn't need another reason for her to call him a Simp, even if he was. "Don't worry, it will be cherished in my mind forever." That, he knew for certain.

The Clone smirked, enjoying her soft hand touching his as it seemed like there was nowhere else in the galaxy they both would rather be. At her asking, he leaned in to whisper hotly in her ear. "Well... if I could teleport us back home and raise hell with you in our bed, I would but... walking and maybe a Ferris Wheel ride will work for now." And with that, they started walking once again with Omen wondering what mechu-deru was but glad he didn't have a contact list for Aren to see.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't pull back from him—not immediately, not even after the kiss had drained the breath from both of them. Instead, she kept her forehead pressed lightly against his, their noses brushing in small, soft, grounding movements. Her breath eased against his cheek in a quiet rhythm meant to steady him. She didn't say anything while he struggled to recover; she knew he needed the silence more than words. Her palms slid up and down his sides in slow, gentle strokes, grounding rather than comforting, a simple I'm here. You're not imagining this.

When he finally managed to speak, whispering about alley cats and love and promises to the end of their days, she didn't shy from it or retreat into sarcasm. Instead, a faint, warm curve touched her mouth, a genuine smile—the kind she gave to absolutely no one else. "I didn't decide today," she murmured, bumping her nose against his in her subtle, affectionate way. "I decided to say it today."
Aren rarely explained herself, but this time she let it be known: her feelings hadn't arrived suddenly—they'd stopped hiding.

Her hands slid down to his hips, fingers brushing along the hem of his shirt with small, absent motions. "And don't talk like that," she added quietly, voice low, steady. "We've got time. More than you think." It wasn't hope. It wasn't poetry. It was certainty—the kind only Aren offered when she meant every last word.

When he laughed about her joke and tried not to be sentimental, she squeezed the back of his hand with her thumb, an almost tender gesture. "You'll remember," she said, tone soft but sure. "If you don't… I'll remind you." No mockery. Just Aren's matter-of-fact promise that she wasn't going anywhere—and wouldn't let him drift away either.

Then he leaned in and whispered into her ear—heat curling into every syllable—and she felt her breath hitch, a small involuntary pull deep in her chest. She didn't move away. She didn't hide the reaction. She let her fingers tighten in his shirt for a second before leaning subtly into his side.

"A Ferris wheel is fine," she said, voice steadier after a moment, though still touched with warmth. "You behave… or don't. Depends on how brave you're feeling."

She didn't comment on the recorder in his pocket either. She didn't have to.
Her mechu-deru senses picked it up easily—an electronic whisper on the edge of her awareness, a signature disguised and faint but not faint enough to hide from her. She dragged her thumb gently over his knuckles as they walked, pretending she hadn't noticed. She'd bring it up later… when she wanted to watch him panic and blush.

For now, she let their hands swing gently between them, fingers laced, shoulders brushing in a slow, unhurried rhythm. The neon reflections off the Ferris wheel glimmered ahead of them, painting soft light across his face—and she found she liked how he looked in those colors.

"Come on," she said, tugging him toward the glowing arc of the ride, her voice dipping into something softer than she'd meant to let out. "If you're lucky… I'll kiss you again at the top."

She didn't look at him when she said it.

She didn't need to.

He'd hear the promise in her voice just fine.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

If their nose weren't rubbing together and he didn't feel her soft breath on his face right now, Omen would have thought he had imagined it. When she touched him... well, lets just say she really should be glad that Omen was fighting to control himself and not try to find some dark corner of this park to embrace her in. "I hope you decide to say it alot more then. It sounds good coming out of your mouth" As her fingers traveled their way down, Aren would see him bite his lip, like he burning up inside in a way he couldn't hide even when he turned his head away from her. Whatever they were doing when they got home, it certainly would be loud...

She would see his cheeks grow redder and redder as he steadied his heart to face her warm brown eyes as they bored their way into to his heart. Its not like he could stop them, or even wanted too. "I don't know if I like the Aren would wants to beat me up or the one who wants to rip my heart out so she can call it hers... I'm still trying to choose..." The Clone looked away again at the lights and sounds of this magical place , letting out a absentmindly soft mutter that only she could hear. "If I have enough time to marry you properly, that will be enough for me..."


A soft smile would come face as he watched her imagine what he was talking about in her mind and feel her reaction. "Glad you like my choice. And Aren..." That same snake of her voice crept into her ear as their bodies would choose no other partner. "And if I wasn't trying to control myself right now, we both would be arrested for public indecency. Hell, might even be worth it..." Aren would suddenly feel herself tugged back and her feet lift off the ground as Omen picked her up into his arms princess style, his teeth showing through his smile as he carried her towards the Wheel's soft music. "Guess this amount of bravery will have to do for now. Just remember... you asked for this."

Eventually, after alot more sinful tonuching, he eventually did set her back down to get in line for the wheel. The Clone never did let her hand go though nor did he stop glancing at her face as the ride's light danced over it. Guess Omen was thinking the same thing.. As they got strapped in, he flashed her a smile that translated it all. His affection, his love... his wanting to be in her life. And as they went up into the sky, their hands holding each other in a deathgrip, he reaffirmed there was no place he would rather be.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

For a long moment, Aren didn't say anything at all.

Mostly because she couldn't.
Her balance had vanished somewhere between the moment he'd lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing and the moment he kissed her hard enough to make her knees turn unreliable. Even now, walking with him toward the Ferris Wheel, her hand in his felt like it was anchored directly to the center of her chest.

Maker help her.

She cleared her throat once — sharply — as if that might reset the entire system.

"…you're impossible," she muttered, though the warmth in her voice ruined any chance of it sounding annoyed. She nudged her shoulder against his arm, subtle but deliberate, letting the gesture speak where words would only make her choke. "Completely impossible."

She didn't comment on the marriage slip.
Not verbally, anyway.

But the way her fingers tightened around his — slow, firm, undeniably purposeful — told him she'd heard it. And stored it. And felt something twist in her ribs because of it.

When he whispered in her ear again, threatening public indecency with that low purring voice, Aren felt her breath stutter. Her cheeks heated instantly, an honest, helpless flush that only he ever managed to drag out of her.

"Stop talking like that," she hissed under her breath, leaning closer to hide the color rising in her face. "You know exactly what you're doing."

And she hated — completely, entirely — how much she liked that he knew.

When he lifted her again, arms strong around her, she let out a startled breath that was half protest, half… something softer. Her hand fisted in his shirt automatically, her forehead brushing his cheek before she could stop herself.

"We're in public," she managed, though it came out quiet, thin, not convincing even to her own ears. "Put me down before someone thinks I'm being kidnapped."

He didn't put her down.
And she didn't fight him.

By the time he finally set her on her feet in front of the Wheel, she had regained enough composure to breathe again — though only barely. She fixed the collar of his shirt like it needed adjusting and not like she needed a second to stop shaking.

"You're lucky I like you," she murmured, voice low but threaded with something warm and unguarded. "Maker knows no one else gets away with half the things you do."

She didn't meet his eyes until they were seated inside the gondola, straps clicked into place. The lights outside painted his face in soft colors, and something in her chest pulled taut before loosening all at once.

Aren leaned over, brushing her knuckles against his jaw with a gentleness she rarely showed anyone.

"And for the record," she said quietly, "I didn't just decide to love you today."

Her gaze held his — steady, bold in its simplicity.

"I've been doing it for a while."

Then she added, almost too quietly to hear:

"…I just finally said it out loud."

And she kept her hand on his — laced, firm, unshakable — as the Wheel carried them both upward into the sky.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen smirked down at her, feeling the warmth radiate off of her as he took her red cheek into her hand, forcing their eyes to meet as his eyes smiled down at her. "Impossibly handsome? Maybe... Impossibly stubborn to put that blush on those rosy cheeks of yours anyway possible, definitely." That marriage comment wasn't a lie either. Once he had time to find a ring that was worthy of her, the Clone would propose to her in a heartbeat. To him, it was only a matter of when. And by the look of it, Aren probably would say yes too.

The Clone raised a playful eyebrow as he felt the whole of Aren's body shake in his arms. Instead of stopping. he doubled down, his voice carressing her ear like his hand was doing to her back as he held her. "I didn't know you would be into that. I don't know how big our terrance is but it might be enough for a cushioned pool chair or a swing. Then we coould horrify the neighbors all we want. Who knows, maybe make them bite their lips as they stare at us jealously, knowing they could have what we have." The grin on his face was spread out wide as he watched Aren flounder as she tried to make the affection stop. But as long as they were together, that affection would keep rolling down tille he buried her in it.

Omen gave an incredious eyebrow raise as Aren tried to climb out of his hold. Not that it was going to help her. "Aren, we both know if I was kidnapping you like this, you would have zapped me with a stun gun already. And if you are trying to say youre kidnapped, you got to put more into it then that. Right now, all you are conviencing me of is that you like being in my arms but don't want to admit it" Leaning in to kiss her forehead, his soft breath ran its way over the curves of her face, comforting her as Ferris Wheel's light only grew brighter. If only they were as vibrant as she looked right now.

His hands comforted her as she pretented to fix his collar, trying his best to calm her down as he said in his soft voice that she both loved and hated so much. "Don't bring the Maker into this. We both know I could make you stay somewhere you didn't want to be. Besides, I think you half like my stunts. Otherwise, your life would be too boring."

Leading her through the line, he looked over at her, concerned as it seemed like she wanted to balled up in the corner with all the stress she was under. Maybe he had gone a bit to far. But appreantly he was right were he needed to be. And right where he needed to be was right here in this gondola with her. Her confessions made him sure of that. Reaching up and taking her hand, his thumb ran across her own knuckles as he squeeze as close as possible to her. "For the record... I been interested in you since I met you and that never will change. I dreamed of you every night in that prison... and now that you are here, sometimes its hard not for me to lose control in those brown seas of yours... So I love you too, for all thats it worth." Giving her a playful grin as he leaned in, their faces a hands lenght apart. "So, can I have my kiss now or what...?~"

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's blush only deepened when his thumb brushed her cheek, and she gave him a look that was halfway between stop talking and don't you dare stop talking. She tried to hold onto her glare, but it wavered the second his breath touched her ear again, the second he leaned in with that maddening confidence that always made her want to elbow him and kiss him at the same time. She let out a soft, exasperated noise — one that wasn't remotely convincing — and buried her face briefly against his shoulder, both to hide the heat in her cheeks and to steal one steady breath before she melted in his arms like a bad stereotype.

"Maker give me strength…" she muttered under her breath, though the way her fingers curled lightly in the back of his shirt made the prayer sound more like an admission than a complaint. "You're going to send me to an early grave at this rate. And the neighbors, too, if you keep talking like that." She nudged him with her forehead, more affectionate than annoyed. "We're not turning the terrace into a crime scene, Omen. Not yet anyway."

When he accused her of liking being carried, her only answer was a sharp inhale and a glare that had no teeth whatsoever. "Stars above, don't make me validate that. Just because I'm not tasing you doesn't mean I approve," she grumbled, though she made zero effort to get out of his hold. In fact… she relaxed a little. Only a little. But enough for him to feel it.

His calm voice — the one he only ever used with her — softened her posture further, grounding her in a way she hadn't expected tonight. She glanced sideways at him, her expression shifting from flustered irritation to something quieter, warmer, as they moved into the gondola together.

"You didn't have to say all that," she murmured, her voice lower now, more honest than defensive. "But I'm… glad you did." She leaned against him fully this time, her shoulder pressed to his chest as his thumb traced her knuckles. "For the record… You weren't subtle either. I knew you were staring at me. Even before prison. You're about as discreet as a rancor in a china shop."

But the way she said it held no bite — only affection.

At his confession — I dreamed of you every night… I love you too… — her heartbeat stuttered, and for once she didn't fight the reaction. Her fingers tightened around his, her expression softening into something fragile, unguarded, impossibly sincere.

"Omen…" She lifted her free hand and placed it gently at his jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone, steady and deliberate. "You have no idea how much that means to me." Her voice dropped to something like a whisper — not shy, just meant only for him. "And for what it's worth? I love you too. More than I ever planned to."

Then she leaned in closer, closing the last inch between them until her breath brushed his mouth.

"You don't have to ask," she murmured with a small, wry smile. "Just take it."

And she kissed him — slow at first, then deeper, her fingers curling at the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the wheel lifted them into the sky.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Smiling softly as he watched Aren's face give way, he couldn't help but think how happy he was that she had made time for him today. Who knows what mission requests she had polietly denied or rescheduled to make this day avaliable for him. Though she was probably regretting it right now as he replied to her "Youre in trouble" look with the best "I'm a good boy" face anyone could have every asked for. Atleast until he whispered in her ear like Abeloth herself. "Maybe I'll just get one as an early Life Day present for myself. Hang you up and cover you with lights. Now that would look better than any tree we could get." Omen finally did stop the naughty talk there though. He liked Aren better alive and blushing rather than dead and in the ground. He also like his ribs not to be broken in by any elbow that Aren threw.

Pulling her up to peck her lips once more before they got on the ride, Omen met her scowl with a look on his face that he was the happiest man in the world because thats what he was when he was with her. "Sure, but that touch of yours and you curling up in my arms like their a good couch says otherwise. It always does." Thankfully for her, that's all he replied as he tried to get them both to the Ferris Wheel before the line got to long. Hopefully, that hold on him that she had would keep them both upright.

He shruged as the gondola rose higher in the air, his eyes going as soft as his voice as he looked across as his partner's precious form. "If I was subtle, you won't have noticed and cared for me as much of you do. Besides, I wouldn't want someone else to have this moment with you." His gaze then left her, looking out onto the garden's lights as the sun began to lower in horizon and the city started to home to life. For a moment, she would see his bravodo slip from his face as he let out a small sigh. "To be honest, I still don't know why you came back for me... Why you would take that risk... Their are literally billions of suitors for you out there and yet you chose the person born from a test tube. When I looked at you with those longing eyes, Its not hard to see the reason why. Against the only question I'll always have is why did you go for me...?"

Her degrees of her love for him made him blush for the first time tonight. Guess he knew how she felt now, wanting to melt right through the seat as her gentle touch made his heart feel like a furance that only she could feed. When Aren leaned in, practically begging for him to kiss the Mando colaborator. And that he did, kissing her hot and heavy and sliding into her hair as night started to fall around them.

As the ride came to close and they finally had to part, Omen pulled away breathless. Only able to help Aren off the ride, he only stopped to ask a question as they started to walk again. "So... what did you want for dinner?" Hopefully her answer would be he knew how to make.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't answer him at first — not because she didn't have a response, but because she needed a moment to decide how to give him one he wouldn't laugh off or misunderstand. The gondola lights were softer now, washing over his face in slow, rhythmic flashes as the wheel turned, and for a second she just… looked at him and really looked at him. The way his bravado slipped when he thought she wasn't paying attention. The way the question was asked in his voice wasn't dramatic, but real. Honest. Unarmored.

When she finally spoke, her voice came low, steady, and smoother than it had been earlier — sobriety slowly creeping back in, but not enough to harden her edges.

"Omen… you keep rewriting the story like it was all one-sided."

She shifted a little closer, enough that their knees brushed again, a quiet anchor between the two of them rather than a romantic gesture.

"I didn't fall out of the sky into your life. And I didn't rescue a stranger from a cell because I felt like playing hero." She tilted her head just slightly, eyes meeting his with that calm, precise focus she always used when the truth mattered. "I knew you before that. Before Mandalorian custody. Before the fighting. Before either of us owed the other anything."

Her gaze softened — a rare, slow burn rather than a spark.

"The carnival," she murmured, almost to herself. "That silly raffle.. The lights. The noise. You were talking so much, I wanted to short out the wiring just to shut you up for five minutes. And then…" A breath. Quiet. Warm. "Dinner."

Aren's mouth curved, faintly — not a laugh, not even a smile, just the slightest sign of something remembered fondly.

"You sat across from me like you'd known me for years. No suspicion. No agenda. Just… you. And I didn't realize it then, but I wasn't looking at a mercenary, a clone, or anyone's soldier. I was looking at the first person in a long time who treated me like a human being."

She turned her hand in his, letting her thumb brush slowly along the ridge of his knuckles — a soft, intentional gesture, almost foreign in how gentle it was.

"So when you ask why I came back for you… That's why." She inhaled, steady, unflinching. "Because you were there when I needed someone to stand with me. Because you stayed when you didn't have to. Because that night mattered more than I wanted to admit."

Her voice dipped even lower, warm enough to pull the air around them a little closer.

"And because I didn't forget the way you looked at me across that table. Not then. Not ever."

She let that sit there — honest, heavy, but without fear.

"And as for why I chose you?" A tiny exhale left her nose. "You showed me exactly who you were from the start. No walls. No lies. No pretending. You just… cared. And I didn't want to lose someone who did."

Before he could answer, Aren leaned across the space and kissed him again — slower this time, not frantic or drunk, but deliberate, deep, the kind of kiss given by someone who knows exactly what she's doing and exactly who she wants.

When they finally broke for air, she stepped off the ride beside him, still holding his hand like it belonged in hers.

At his question, her eyes sharpened just slightly, humor threading into her tone.

"Dinner… anything except ration bars. And if you say stew," she added, leveling him with a dry, dangerous look, "I'm pushing you into the nearest fountain. Don't test me."

Her hand squeezed his — not demanding, not fragile, just real.

"Pick something good," she murmured, walking at his side. "I'm starving."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Now, Omen really wanted to melt away more as he listened to her say how she felt. It took him a while to say anything, looking down around them at the various people looking like ants as they went by, living their lives. "I guess fate really did favor us, huh...?" Remembering their first minute, he let out a soft chuckle. "I was so scared of messing things up, I was a sweaty mess. We both know I wasn't the best at the whole "using words" thing... or at not being awkward. Being accepted was something that I wanted to... To be more than just a face. And you gave that to me. I'm just glad you care for me as much as I do for you."

When Aren leaned in to embrace him and his lips again, the Clone never wanted to let go, even when he had to when they both need get off the ride. Walking with her, hand in hand, he couldn't help but smirk at reply to asking what she wanted for dinner. "I mean, I could say it will be stew with something other with just broth in it." After bracing himself for the push that was probably going to come, he asked something to came to mind when she mentioned the food choices to avoid. "Your team doesn't have a cook among you, doesn't it? Is that why you hate ration bars?" Giving his signature raised eyebrow look like he was her mother who was making sure she was eating enough, he decided in his mind that he might go along on her next mission no matter how much she screamed for them not to, just to make sure she had something good to eat.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren stopped walking—not abruptly, but with that quiet, deliberate stillness that always meant something had struck deeper than she let on. The lights of the carnival washed over her purple hair in shifting streaks of neon, and for a moment she just looked at him, the last traces of her earlier haze thinning enough for something sharper, clearer, to surface.

"Team?" she echoed, and there was no humor in it—just honest confusion laced with something steadier underneath. "Omen… what team?"

She adjusted her hand in his, not pulling away, just grounding herself before she continued. "I work for the Mandalorian Empire. I take assignments. I run ops; they can't or won't send their regulars on. But I'm not part of one of their squads."

Her voice stayed level, matter-of-fact, but not cold.

"I don't have a strike team. Or a unit. Or… people checking if I'm eating real food or fixing my equipment or coming back in one piece." A dry huff escaped her, not quite a laugh. "Nobody's tailing me with a medpack or telling me to take a break. Nobody's covering my back unless I hire them."

She shook her head slightly, purple strands brushing her cheek as the carnival light played off them.

"So no—there's no cook. No armorer. No medic. No team." She glanced ahead, watching the path flicker under their feet. "It's just me. Running missions. Eating whatever I can carry. And ration bars don't spoil, so… yeah. I eat a lot of those."

Her fingers tightened around his—small, controlled, but deliberate.

"That's why I hate them, Omen," she added softly. "Ration bars mean I'm alone. Working. Watching every shadow because someone out there wants me dead."

She took a breath, steady this time, not wavering.

"And dragging you along on one of those missions wouldn't make me feel better." Her voice gentled, just a little. "It would just mean I'd be worrying about you instead of only myself."

Aren nudged his arm lightly with her shoulder as they resumed walking, letting their hands swing between them in a quiet, familiar rhythm.

"I don't hate the food," she murmured, almost an admission. "I hate what it represents."

Another beat.

"Which is why I'd rather have dinner with you."

She angled him a sideways glance, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

"So hurry up and choose before I get impatient and build us both nutrient paste out of spite."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

So she hadn't been completely truthful earlier when she said she had friends. Looks like someone wasn't getting dessert tonight... Still, he had a solution that would maybe work out for both of them. "How about I be your getaway driver then. It keeps me out of the action and still lets me take care of you afterward, including making you food if you want it. And I'm an okay pilot, so it should work out." Pulling her into his side after making sure she really wasn't going to throw him in the fountain, he walked her home, ready to make sure she went to bed with her belly full.

When they got back to their place, he dived straight into the kitchen, putting out some hummus and chips he had made yesterday to fill her stomach while she worked. And the look he gave her told her that she would eat, even if he had to shove the food down her throat. As she got some nourishment, the Clone got a mound of pizza dough ready, then placed it on a pizza tray and added BBQ Sauce, cheese, shredded nula, and parsley from his little garden. Sliding it into the oven, he turned to Aren, who hopefully had a mess on her face right now. Smiling, he leaned against the kitchen counter as he asked what she thought about the idea. Hopefully, it would be a compromise they both could accept.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't argue when he tugged her in at his side. Partly because she was tired, partly because walking pressed against him meant she didn't have to fight her balance after a long day. By the time they stepped inside, the familiar scent of their apartment and the quiet hum of the lights eased the last bit of tension from her shoulders. And the hummus?

She was already scooping it up with a chip before he'd even set the bowl down.

She wasn't inhaling it, but she ate with the kind of steady, focused hunger of someone who had gone a little too long without a proper meal. A smudge of hummus brushed the corner of her mouth — she didn't notice, too busy crunching and going back for more.

She only slowed when he started talking about being her getaway driver.

Her eyes lifted. Clear. Sharp. No haze whatsoever — just Aren weighing something seriously enough to put the food down.

"Omen…"

Her voice came soft, but steady—that tone she reserved for things she didn't want to snap about.

"Look, the offer is… sweet."
Her gaze flicked over him, warm but direct.
"But you know exactly what would happen if you flew anywhere near Mandalorian Empire airspace. They still have your face in their files and a bounty marker sitting on you. They wouldn't hesitate to turn you into a warning poster."

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.

"And I'm not repeating the prison rescue unless the galaxy gives me no other damn choice."

Her expression didn't change — but the flat calm in her tone made it clear she absolutely would break him out again if she had to. It was also clear she had zero interest in seeing him behind bars ever again.

She shifted her weight, one hip leaning against the counter as she reached for another chip.


"And that's why we don't live on Denon. Or anywhere the High Republic or ME can pretend we're their problem."
A dry exhale.
"Which is… fine. I like breathing in peace. And you not getting shot at by every patrol that scans you."

A small pause. Then, with something closer to honesty slipping in beneath the humor:

"I don't need you in a firefight just because you think it'll help me. I don't work in teams. I don't drag people into jobs. It keeps things cleaner."

Another chip. Another crunch. No hesitation.

"But if —"
She glanced at him, level and unguarded.
"— If I let you anywhere near one of my runs, it won't be because I need a pilot."

Her eyes held his, quiet and certain.

"It'd be because I trust you to watch my back. And that's not a card I play lightly."

A beat. Her gaze dipped toward the oven, then back to him — the faintest edge of amusement warming her features.

"…the cooking offer, though?"
She nudged the hummus bowl with two fingers.
"That one I'll always take."

And she dipped another chip.
Calm. Unflustered.
Completely Aren.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen's eyes looked down as his face shifted, considering what she was saying. He could say there were ways around these problems, facial masks that would hide his identity, and fake documents to help him pass by. Besides, he doubted anyone would really go after him if they hadn't started already. He and Aren had been good about cleaning their tracks and making new identities for themselves. Guess it was that 1 percent channge that was keeping Aren up at night. Letting out a sigh, his face eased into a half-smile when she told him he trusted him. "I don't think you should trust me completely. You might let your guard down enough to let me pick you up again. But thanks, that means a lot to my soulmate of mine~ Reaching out to take her hand, he might her gaze, his eyes telling Aren that he was here, whenever she needed. "Guess I don't like the fact that you are going on these errands without any backup. I know you're talented and can hold your own. It's just lonely when you go away. I end up listening to recordings of you, just to help imagine your face in my mind.

Turning as the oven's timer went off, he pulled out the hot pizza, the cheese melted perfectly over the cooked crust, and laid it on the side. "To be honest, I just think it would be nice to have friends for when you get sick of me and want to throw me out of the house. I'll need someone's couch to stay on." Cutting her a piping hot slice, he commented on her logic."I don't think the High Republic would care about someone not in their files either. What happened was a long time ago and has been filed away, not being looked at since my arrest. You still haven't really happened there by the way. You might as well tell me now, I'll even promise not to laugh when you finish.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren paused mid–chip, her hand hovering just a second longer than usual. Not out of fear. Not out of guilt.

Out of calculation.

For a moment, she didn't answer, eyes drifting down to her fingers before she brushed off the crumb-dust and set the half-eaten chip aside. She leaned her hip more firmly against the counter, crossing one arm loosely over her stomach, the other resting lightly against the counter's edge.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet — not soft, not hesitant. Just… stripped down.

"Alright," she said. "You want the truth? You'll get it."

Her gaze flicked up to him, steady, sharp, but not guarded.

"It wasn't some political scandal. It wasn't terrorism. And it wasn't a mistake."
Her jaw shifted once, the smallest movement, before she continued.
"A Jedi caught me experimenting on people."

She didn't blink.

"They were volunteers. Most of them. The rest were people no one cared about — the ones society steps over on the street and pretends aren't there." A dry exhale, neither defensive nor ashamed. "I was improving them, or trying to. Cybernetics, neural augmentations, cognitive adaptations. Testing stim-boost interfaces. Building better humans out of the ones the galaxy had already thrown away."

Her voice didn't crack. It didn't waver.
It simply was.

"And yes. Some died."

No flinch. No pause.

"I was careful. I was working to prevent that. But the truth? They were dying anyway. Starvation. Exposure. Violence. Nobody was going to miss them. Nobody ever had."

She lifted one hand, rubbing her thumb against the heel of her other palm — a small, grounding gesture, but perfectly controlled.

"The Jedi didn't care about any of that. About context. About the fact that half the galaxy runs on droids that are modded far beyond their original design. About the fact that corporations rewire people every day through contracts and debt, and nobody blinks."

Her mouth curved — not into a smile, but something colder, more knowing.

"No. They cared that I changed the human body without their morality council's permission. They cared that I didn't ask first. That it wasn't done in one of their sanctioned labs with a dozen committees approving every step."

A faint shrug.
The truth lay easily on her shoulders.

"So I ran. Before they could label me something I wasn't. Before they could turn me into a case file for some padawan to study."

She looked away for a moment, toward the pizza cooling on the counter, watching the steam curl upward before she returned her eyes to him.

"That's what happened."

Another pause — this one longer, gentler.

"And if you're going to laugh," she said, voice dipping into a dry murmur, "at least aim it away from the food. I don't want crumbs in the hummus."

But beneath the humor was something real.

Aren had just given him something she never gave anyone:
The truth of what made the galaxy hunt her.

And she didn't look away.

Not from him.
Not from any part of it.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

The air seemed to freeze as the words "experimenting on people" came out of her mouth. And then she said the words that only the majority were volunteers. His head was spinning, and the worst thing was that he knew she stood by her decision. As much as he wanted to fly off the handle, he could understand the way she was thinking. No permission needed from those stuffy people up on the medical board. I can help people myself. Gripping the counter as he looked back in those brown eyes of hers while trying to figure out something to say. Either way, the Clone was certainly not laughing at the end of her story.

Eventually, Omen did speak, though, in a voice that told her he was still trying to get his head around this new omission of hers. "If it were just replacement arms or legs, maybe I would approve or make sense of it better. But messing with people's brains...? Making a person completely different and act differently isn't always the best thing... Say someone snatched me from the bar, changed my brain to be "better." I could read and regurgitate a thousand books for you, play any musical instrument you put in my hands, but I wasn't the same person who left out the door. Would you still love me for me?" Moving over and sitting on one of the kitchen stools, his elbow sitting on the counter as he rested his head on the counter, wondering what the hell he was to do with this new information.

Eventually, Omen did get up to pour himself a glass of water to cure his burning throat and mind. "At least tell me you put up gravestones for the ones who passed..." He... really needed a lay down. Moving over to the couch, he plopped down on his back, still trying to make sense of this. "At least you tried to help people, though. I wish I were there, though. To at least help you through... I guess I'm just as guilty as you for not being by your side..." After a second's pause, his voice came out unsteady from the other side of the couch. "I don't know if I would have decided as you had done, even with the skills you have. Hell, I probably would have chicken myself for the same reasoning as the Jedi and Medical Council. But at least you tried to help people that others looked down on. I can't be that angry with you... Besides..." His arms would reach out into the sky so she could see them over the couch's back. "I need your cuddles too much to say mad at you~" This issue probably wasn't settled, atleast not in his mind but maybe he could push Aren to use her talents to help people. Just with less modifying people's brains.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't rush toward him. She didn't interrupt. She didn't reach for his hand or soften the blow. She just watched him — really watched him — the way someone does when the person they care about is trying to process something that can't be swallowed all at once. She let every piece of his confusion spill out: the discomfort, the questions, the instinctive recoil. She held the silence without flinching, without apologizing, without trying to soothe anything that should hurt.

When she finally spoke, it wasn't defensive.
It wasn't remorseful.
It was simply… true.

"Omen… you're assuming I was trying to preserve who they were."

Her voice was low, steady — not cold, just honest in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

"I wasn't. Not then."

She stepped closer to the counter, placing one hand lightly against it as if to ground her words in something solid.

"I didn't have Sith eyes. I didn't have a mark announcing what I was. I looked like anyone else. But I was Sith. And I acted like it." Her gaze lifted to him, steady and unblinking. "I wasn't healing memories. I wasn't stabilizing trauma. I was rewriting people. Deliberately."

She didn't hesitate.

"I took away the parts that made them collapse under their own pasts. I erased memories that kept them chained to failures. I rebuilt pathways so they would think differently. Function differently. Survive differently."

She let that sit, heavy but unembellished.

"They weren't puppets. I never wanted slaves. But they weren't the same people by the time I was done with them. That was the point."

A faint, almost tired exhale escaped her — not regret, not pride, just acknowledgment.

"I believed giving them a new identity was mercy. That wiping out what life had beaten into them made them stronger than they had ever been allowed to be."

She looked at him again — not challenging him, not testing him, just offering the truth without disguise.

"You asked if I'd still love you if someone rewrote you into something 'better.' No. I wouldn't. Because you're not one of my projects. And I'm not that woman anymore."

Her fingers tapped once against the counter — a small, controlled gesture.

"But back then? Back then, I truly believed what I was doing was giving people a future the galaxy had denied them."

She didn't shy away from the next part.

"And yes. People died. Not many. But some. I didn't bury them, Omen. I didn't have time. When the High Republic discovered what I was doing, I barely got out alive." Her voice stayed level. "This isn't something I've been running from for years. But once they found me? Once they labeled me as someone who 'tampered with sentients'? That was it."

Aren didn't dress anything up. She didn't soften the edges or wrap her past in excuses. Her tone stayed level, even, almost clinical in its honesty.

"You wanted the truth. That's what this is."

With that said, she circled quietly around the couch and lowered herself beside him — not close enough to assume he wanted comfort, but near enough that reaching for her would have taken no effort at all. She didn't push. She didn't crowd him. She made herself available, a presence rather than a demand.

For a moment, she looked ahead, letting the silence settle between them. When she finally spoke, her voice shifted just slightly, losing some of its usual guarded precision.

"For what it's worth… you're taking this better than you think."

Her eyes turned toward him, steady and open in a way she rarely let anyone see. There was no challenge there, no attempt to sway him — only a quiet acknowledgement of the choice he was making by staying in the room with her instead of walking out.

"If you weren't," she murmured, "you wouldn't still be sitting here."

She drew in a slow breath, enough to steady herself rather than punctuate the moment, and let it out again in a softer exhale.

"I'm not pretending what I did was noble," she continued, her tone calm but grounded. "I'm not pretending it was clean, or even something a person should forgive."

Another small breath — not heavy, not dramatic, simply honest.

"But I'm here now. And I'm not running from any of it."

Her shoulders lowered imperceptibly, the faintest easing of tension as she settled more comfortably into the truth she had laid bare.

She stayed beside him, unflinching and unapologetic, exactly as she was — not asking him for acceptance, not trying to justify the past, simply allowing herself to be seen without armor, without disguise, waiting for him to decide where they went from here.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen didn't say anything for a long time after Aren stopped talking. He didn't know what to say. What she was talking about... couldn't be easy for her and what she did... well, to say it wasn't right was an understatement. How she thought people would make new lives without the resources around them would be anyone's guess. But, she attempt to do more for the downtrodden on Denon then the Republic or anyone else for that matter ever did. "I don't think there is any taking this better... What you did was... misguided to say the very least and if I was there I would have argued against it till I was blue in the face but... I wasn't... I failed just as much as you for not finding you... For not being there when you needed me... The clong scrathed his hair as his eyes went to the ceiling, trying to figure out how the hell to talk to his thoughts. "Sorry... I'm making this about me, aren't I... Maybe thats the only way I have to rationize this..."

Letting out a breath, he reached out and pulled her down onto his chest, gently stroking his fingers through her hair. "I don't think you are a bad person. You are mortal, just like I am. You tried to follow along life's path and you got lost... I know what that feels like. But we are here now. And I want to do my best to make up for lost time, bad person or not. Who knows, maybe we will make each other better." His hand pulled her head in as he trapped her in a kiss that seemed to last eons. The Clone would be here whether Aren liked it or not, till the very end.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't pull away when he drew her against his chest. She let herself settle there, her breath brushing the fabric of his shirt, her fingers resting lightly against him—not clinging, not seeking comfort, but anchoring herself in the present moment while he tried to make sense of something he never should have had to process. She listened to every word he pushed out, every contradiction he wrestled with, every instinctive recoil he struggled to name. And when he apologized for making it about himself, she didn't correct him. She understood too well: sometimes the only way to face someone else's darkness was to hold it up against your own.

When his voice finally quieted, when the last tremor of his thoughts faded into the stillness between them, she exhaled slowly and lifted her head just enough that her voice reached him clearly, without force.

"Omen… you didn't fail me."

Her hand flexed once against his chest—small, intentional, grounding.

"You didn't know what I was doing. You didn't even know where I was. You can't blame yourself for not standing in a place you were never given the chance to find."

She let that truth settle before she continued, her voice steady, unflinching.

"And you need to understand something else. I didn't stop because I woke up one day with a conscience."
Her gaze lifted to meet his fully. "I stopped because I was caught."

There was no hesitation. No attempt to soften it.

"A Jedi from the High Republic walked right into the middle of what I was doing. They saw the people I'd rewritten, saw the ones who didn't survive the process, saw exactly what I thought I had the right to change." Her tone didn't waver. "They tried to arrest me. Tried to drag me out. And the only reason I'm not in one of their cells right now is that I teleported away before they could finish the sentence."

A faint, humorless breath escaped her—closer to a sigh than a laugh.

"I've been running ever since. Changing names. Changing systems. Staying ahead because I don't get the luxury of being forgiven."

She shifted, sliding off his chest to sit beside him—not far, not close, just within reach if he wanted her there.

"I wasn't healing anyone," she said quietly. "I was rewriting them. Stripping out memories I decided were unnecessary. Altering responses, instincts, and entire emotional frameworks. They weren't puppets—but they weren't the same people either. And yes, some of them died because of what I did."

Her fingers tapped once against her knee—slight, controlled, the echo of someone who refuses to flinch from her own past.

"It wasn't noble. It wasn't merciful. It was control. And the Jedi saw that for exactly what it was."

She let the silence breathe around them for a long moment before her voice softened—not apologetic, but human, raw in a way she rarely allowed.

"I didn't climb out of that because someone saved me. Not because someone found me or pulled me away from the edge. I changed because I had to. Because I realized exactly what I had become when I saw myself through someone else's eyes."

Her gaze found his again, steady, unguarded.

"And I'm not asking you to forgive any of that. You don't have to approve. You don't have to make peace with it tonight. Or ever." A quiet breath moved through her chest. "Maybe you're even right to walk away."

The words were soft, honest, without melodrama.

"I'm not pretending this is something easy to carry. And I won't pretend it isn't something that could make you leave."

Her hand drifted toward his—not taking it, just resting close enough that he had to choose.

"But if you stay…" Her voice dropped to a low, steady murmur. "…don't stay because you think you were supposed to save me. Or because you're trying to fix what I did."

Her thumb brushed once across his jawline, slow, deliberate.

"Stay because you choose to. And if you can't… I won't chase you."

Her forehead rested gently against his, the contact warm and still.

"But if you're still here. After everything I told you. And whether or not you realize it… that matters to me more than anything else tonight."

She didn't move closer.
She didn't pull away.

She stayed.

Exactly as she was—past and all—waiting to see if he still chose the space beside her.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen settled into a long, quiet silence again. He knew deep down that he couldn't have changed anything either nor could she have for him. He also felt something similar to her back then. "I... probably wouldn't have stopped if I wasn't caught either... I would hunt the people responsible down and well... let's just say they would still be screaming right now in a torture chamber..." Omen looked away, a look of shame etching his face. He wasn't proud at what he was back then. His life had just got up in smoke and he had just had enough... Had enough of living this rocky life... And he almost did. If Aren didn't find and become the greatest part of his life, he knew he would still be here....

He turned back to Aren, putting his forehead on hers as his hands pulled her down onto him like the current about to dash a ship against the rocks. "I know, I can't save you or change you. I never want too. You probably always have that dark heart and I probably will too. But I want to be here... I want to go on more dates with you. I still want to share your bed and annoy you by having my light on the brightest setting while I read. So yeah, I want to be here for you and I accept you for who you are, good or bad." It was then he got an idea. Gently letting her up and hopping to his feet, he went over to the radio and turned to the dial to some soft music. Offering his hand out to her, he gave her his best smile."Can I have this dance?"

If she accepted, he would haul her up to her feet, his hands on her hips as he started to slow dance with her in the middle of the living room. A devilish grin sprouted on his lips as he joked. "Seeing you in all evil makeup and leather while you cackle would have been fun." Humor was the only way he could repress those bad thoughts... And making her smile didn't hurt either.

Aren D'Shade