Private The People Who Made Me

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen didn't know if the goal of this experiment was to make this thing "structurally unsound" as her mother had said but hey, atleast she was willing to participate. The Clone called that a good step forward. Aren's little comments earned her an eyeroll and a playful punch in the arm he tried his best to hide from her parents. "Mhm, and now you got others to help handle me now." He doubted anyone could truely handle him if he wanted to do something crazy but for right now, he was content being in Aren's space and it didn't seem like he would ever get tired of it.

The guaffa Aren got at her protests told her that the Clone didn't think so but he kept his mouth shut lest he get more of her wraith when her parent's decided it was time to head to their hotel after dinner. Hell, maybe he should ask if they could share one to keep the cost down when she kicked him out of the house.

Trying his best to follow along and reading from the baking book he had open to satify her mother's expections while whipping up more icing. Aren really did resasasmble her parents. Hell maybe Aren was the caf who was decaf while her parent's were a combination of whatever the newest energy drink was and rocket fuel. "I think you two missed your callings as arcitechts." Slowly but surely, their little house slowly came together and as Omen got the various snacks to make the house's doors and windows, he thought that it was coming together alright.

The breath he let out that he didn't know he had saved up. Omen guessed he was used to preparing for the violent side of his life and having to justify himself to strangers. Guess he didn't need to this time. He didn't know imperfect with this kitchen containing these people who tried to make everything as presentable as possible but being here with new family certainly was... nice in a way he had never felt before.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren noticed the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding only when it finally left him, a slow exhale that softened his shoulders by degrees rather than all at once. She didn't call attention to it. She never did with things like that. Instead, she adjusted her position, stepping a little closer to his side as they worked, her shoulder brushing his in a way that looked incidental but wasn't. It wasn't correction or supervision, just presence—steady, familiar, and unremarkable in the way the most important things often were.

"You're assuming the goal was stability," she said evenly as she aligned two gingerbread walls with more care than the project strictly required. Her voice carried no edge, only calm certainty. "That's your mistake."

Her mother hummed softly in agreement while inspecting a corner seam, fingers dusted with flour and sugar. "Structures tell you what they want to be if you listen long enough," she said. "Sometimes collapse is instructional." Her father glanced between the baking book and the lopsided house itself, then tilted his head slightly. "You're over-referencing," he added mildly to Omen. "The manual assumes ideal conditions. This isn't that."

Aren's mouth curved, faint but unmistakable. "See?" she said to Omen, without looking up. "They always do this."

When he joked that they were missing their calling as architects, her mother's gaze flicked up with interest rather than offense. "We prefer systems," she replied calmly. "Buildings imply permanence. Systems assume change." Aren slid a piece of candy into place to anchor the doorway, then finally turned her full attention to him. There was no assessment in her eyes now, no monitoring for stress or failure, just quiet acknowledgment.

"You don't need to perform," she said, low enough that only he could hear. "They aren't measuring you. They're watching how you move when nothing is wrong." Her thumb pressed once against his wrist again, grounding but gentle. "And you're doing fine."

The house wobbled slightly as her father set the roof in place. He paused, adjusted his grip, tried again, and this time it held. "It'll stand," he said after a moment. "Long enough to matter."

Aren looked at the finished result, the uneven lines, the excess icing, the overly bright candy accents, and felt something settle quietly in her chest. It wasn't pride or relief so much as recognition.

"Imperfect," she said. "Functional. Shared."

She met Omen's eyes again, steady and unguarded.

"That's usually enough."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"I didn't assume anything. I just expected you to want the building actually to look like a building," the Clone retorted as he playfully bumped her back. He only shook his head at their evication order waiting to happen as her parents tried to justify their leaning Tower of Pisa. "It's on a stable countertop. I don't know how much ideal you can get. Would you like to put a level on the whole house to find the most level spot? " He didn't expect it to be perfect or look like anything in the book but he did expect it not to be a sagging mess of gingerbread and frosting.

The look Omen gave his partner said, "You do it too." as he tried to shore up the walls with more frosting. Trying to make the windows out of pretzels, the Clone thought about her mother's words. They sounded like something Aren would say. "And you get more of a challenge." When Aren cupped his ear and whispered in her encouraging words, the chuckle that came out of her lips told her that he already knew. It was only the fourth or fifth time she had told him after all.

The Clone would have laughed if his was sure it wasn't going to blow the house down. And he needed it to stay up for atleast acouple of minutes yet. "Speaking of shared, how about I get a photo of you all with it. Then you can take a photo of me and Aren together." As Aren and her parents bunched up together behind their mountrous creation, Omen held up his phone. In his eyes, this was as perfect as his life was going to get.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren met his bump with one of her own, lighter but deliberate, the kind that carried familiarity rather than challenge. Her eyes flicked to the gingerbread house again, assessing the sag with the same calm she applied to misaligned components, and then back to him.

"It does look like a building," she replied evenly. "Just not one meant to last." A pause, then the faintest trace of amusement curved her mouth. "Which, historically, hasn't stopped people from insisting it's fine."

Her parents didn't rise to the bait so much as drift with it. Her father glanced at the structure again, considering Omen's comment about the countertop. "Stable surfaces don't prevent internal stress," he said mildly. "They just delay the failure." Her mother nodded once, as if that settled the matter, and adjusted a wall with a fingertip that did nothing to help but made her feel better about it.

Aren caught the look Omen shot her and exhaled softly through her nose. "I know," she said, not denying it. "I learned from watching." She reached for the frosting tube and added a reinforcing line along one side, not because it would save the house, but because it would give it a fighting chance. "And yes," she added, quieter, "they do like a challenge."

When she leaned in to murmur her reassurance and heard his chuckle in response, something in her shoulders eased. It wasn't that he needed to hear it again. It was that he let her say it anyway.

At his suggestion of photos, Aren paused, then nodded. "That's reasonable," she said, as if he'd proposed a systems check rather than a keepsake. She stepped in beside her parents when he gestured them together, allowing herself to be folded into the small cluster behind the crooked, over-iced house. Her mother's arm slipped around her back without ceremony. Her father adjusted his stance so they were all in frame.

The photo was taken quickly and efficiently.

Then Aren stepped away from her parents and crossed back to Omen, closing the distance without hesitation. She positioned herself at his side, shoulder brushing his, her presence settling there as if it had always belonged.

She didn't reach for the phone.

Instead, she tilted her head toward her parents. "Us," she said simply.

Her mother lifted the phone again, already adjusting the angle, while her father waited with patient attention. The gingerbread house leaned another fraction of a degree, frosting beginning to give way.

Aren didn't rush to save it.

She stayed where she was, close to him, steady and present, while the imperfect thing they'd made together did exactly what it was always going to do.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Of course the photo had to be taken quickly and efficiently. The last thing he needed was to take a second longer and have her parents think he couldn't operate a camera on his phone. But he was glad he got to see her family and their love for each other in their own pecular way. When it came time for his and Aren's photo op, he offered the phone for her mother to take it. He then got into position, sliding his arm around Aren's waist as their little house started to sag. When her Mother gestured they had got the shot, the Clone silently put a finger up to say one more before pulling Aren's head around and kissing her with all the passion he could tranfser through his lips to hers. When he pulled away after acouple of seconds that seemed longer than they actually were, his cheeky grin springed up on his face. "Sorry, I don't think we've ever had a picture of us kissing before. Figured now who be a good time as any." And may there be many more to come.

Despite all the icing based concret that was made, the house did eventually fall which Omen said was a good thing. "We have an excuse to eat it now." After they devoured their creation (With Omen being guilty of multiple icing based infractions of Aren's nose and cheeks), he offered for her parents to sit down and relax abit before they went to check in their hotel. Whipping them all up cups of hot chocolate in winter themed mugs, he handed them out as her parents got to relax after their long flight and he got to hold her close while sipping hot chocolate and watching a holiday special on the holodisplay. It was a win-win for everyone. It was then an intrusive thought popped into his head. "Hey, do you all have any funny pictures of Aren as a kid on your phones? Just for curoisty reasons of course." Why would he have any other reason?

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let herself be pulled into the kiss without hesitation, one hand coming up to rest lightly at his shoulder as the gingerbread house finally surrendered behind them, icing sliding and walls giving way in quiet defeat. She didn't mind the timing, didn't mind the audience, and didn't bother to hide it. If anything, the subtle approval in her mother's expression and the patient, observant calm in her father's told her everything she needed to know about how they interpreted the moment and what it meant to them.

When Omen pulled back with that familiar, unapologetic grin and his explanation, Aren didn't roll her eyes or deflect with humor. She simply rested her forehead briefly against his, her voice low and measured so only he could hear it.

"You're impossible," she said evenly, not as a complaint but as a statement of fact shaped by fondness rather than frustration. After a brief pause, she added, "But you chose a good moment."

The house's collapse gave her an easy transition, and she took it, stepping back just far enough to look over the remains with the same calm assessment she applied to failed prototypes and overambitious builds. "Structural failure was inevitable," she observed, tone composed and analytical. "Overuse of icing compromised the load-bearing walls." She tilted her head slightly, then concluded, "Eating it is the correct response."

She endured the icing-based offenses with the patience of someone who had already decided the outcome was worth the mess, wiping at her cheek and shooting him a look that carried the clear promise of delayed retaliation. When the hot chocolate was handed out, and everyone settled in, Aren allowed herself to relax fully, leaning back into him with her shoulders against his chest, his arm settling around her with an ease that felt practiced despite being anything but. She wrapped her fingers around her mug, warmth seeping into her hands, and let herself breathe.

This, she thought, was uncomfortably close to perfect.

Then he asked the question.

Aren didn't respond right away. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink, her eyes still on the holodisplay as if weighing whether the request deserved dismissal, deflection, or warning. The pause was long enough to be intentional.

Her mother's mug stopped halfway to her lips.

Her father's mouth twitched, the smallest hint of anticipation surfacing.

"No," Aren said calmly, her tone even and precise, without turning her head.

Her mother finished the sip anyway and set the mug down with deliberate care. "We absolutely do," she replied, unrepentant and faintly amused.

Aren turned her head just enough to look up at Omen, her expression flat but not angry, more resigned than anything else. "If you proceed," she said evenly, "you will lose access to the workshop for at least a week."

Her father was already scrolling through his device. "There's one with a lopsided haircut," he offered mildly, as if contributing a helpful data point. "She did it herself. Claimed it was asymmetrical on purpose."

"It was," Aren replied immediately, without hesitation or apology.

Her mother leaned back slightly, studying Omen over the rim of her mug. "You should know," she said calmly, "she's always been very serious. Even as a child." She paused, then added, "The photos make that funnier."

Aren closed her eyes for a brief second, exhaling softly before opening them again, already resigned to her fate.

"This," she said to Omen without looking at him, her voice level and unmistakably final, "is what trust looks like. You brought this on yourself."

Despite everything, she didn't move away from him. If anything, she leaned in a fraction closer, her fingers threading through his as the first photo was inevitably displayed, her presence steady and unyielding.

And for once, she didn't try to stop it.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Well, at least his sense of time wasn't off. The loving smirk on his face told Aren that he enjoyed teasing her and that he always would. Almost as much as loving her. And it would be worth any retribution that she had planned if he got to see any embarrassing pictures that he could hold over her head.

She was right, it was all too perfect. It was time for him to spring the trap like the evil handsome man he was. And was not to be disappointed. Even Aren's threats didn't stop him. "You do know I can race you down there and get my gear out before you lock it down right?" As far as he knew, she hadn't install an remote sliding doors to the entrance to the workshop. And even then... Omen had his ways of geting places he didn't belong. Like her heart for example.

The Clone didn't hide his laughter as he looked at little straight-face Aren with her chopped up hair. "You... You look so adorable as a kid Aren. You look like you are ready to be CEO already..." And then the evil grin showed up on his face. "Since you seemed so fond of it, maybe we could recreate it. I could get the clippers, draw up one of the stools for you and we could get started." And if she didn't, he could always try to do it while she slept at his own peril.

His smile than grew alittle sad as he thought of something. "I would show you pictures of me as a kid but I don't think any exist. Guess thats good for me." Training... Training was his childhood. Training for a war that was meant to be unwinnable. Just thinking about the past made him squeeze Aren's hand harder. No one had trained him to deal with in-laws but he was glad they were here to share memories of Aren with him. He was far more thankful for their memories of Aren then they would ever know.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren did not rise to the bait as he clearly expected her to.

She did not threaten him, did not lunge for the workshop controls, and did not even turn her body toward it. Instead, she stayed exactly where she was, fingers still interlaced with his, and let the Force move in the way she always preferred it to move: quietly, deliberately, without drama or spectacle.

Omen would feel it not as a restraint, but as resistance, like stepping forward into a current that had not existed a moment earlier. There was no shove, no pressure meant to dominate, just a gentle, unyielding refusal that made it unmistakably clear that forward motion was no longer an option unless she decided otherwise.

Only then did Aren look at him, one brow lifting a fraction.

"No," she said calmly. "You won't."

Her tone carried no irritation, only certainty, the same voice she used when correcting a faulty assumption or shutting down a plan before it turned into a problem that could not be undone.

"You could try," she added after a moment, almost thoughtfully. "But you would lose, and then you would sulk for the rest of the evening. I do not want to explain that to my parents."

Her mother, observing the exchange over the rim of her mug, tilted her head slightly. "She is being merciful," she remarked with quiet amusement. "That is how you know you are already in trouble."

Aren ignored the comment and focused on Omen again, easing the pressure of the Force just enough that he could settle without feeling pinned or challenged. When he laughed and teased her about the childhood haircut, about recreating it with clippers and misplaced confidence, her expression flattened into something unimpressed but not genuinely annoyed.

"I was six," she replied evenly. "And I cut it because symmetry made sense at the time." She paused, then added dryly, "It still does. Just not like that."

She did not deny the fondness in his voice, nor did she pretend the picture did not matter, but when his smile shifted, and his grip tightened, when humor thinned into something quieter and heavier, Aren noticed immediately. She turned fully toward him, grounding him with their joined hands, her thumb brushing slowly over his knuckles in a deliberate, steady motion.

"You do not have to fill the silence," she said quietly. "And you do not have to compete with what you did not have."

Her gaze softened, not with pity, but with understanding shaped by patience and time.

"You had people," Aren continued. "Even if no one let you call them family. Brothers. Squadmates. The ones who knew your tells and watched your back without being asked." She held his eyes. "That still counts."

Her father spoke then, his voice mild but certain. "Family is not defined by how early it starts," he said. "It is defined by who stays."

Aren did not look away from Omen as she spoke again.

"You get to see this," she said, subtly indicating the room, her parents, the warmth that had settled into the space without effort. "Not as something you missed, but as something you are allowed to learn now."

The Force withdrew completely, leaving only her hand in his and the quiet contact of her shoulder against his arm. Her voice shifted just enough to carry dry certainty again.

"And for the record, if you ever touch my hair with clippers without permission, I will absolutely put you through the wall. That part is not negotiable."

Her mother smiled into her mug.

Aren leaned a fraction closer to him, lowering her voice so it was meant only for him.

"Stay," she said. "Just like this. You do not need to prove anything tonight."

And for once, the world was not asking Omen to fight, or flee, or perform.

It was simply letting him belong.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen forgot she was a full force user... She never used her ability to do anything useful. No dancing brooms calling the house, no self-squeezing mops swiping across the kitchen floor. Aren just left most of the grunt work to little old Clone Boy. Still, if that was the price of dating her, it was worth it. She would still receive the Clone's upraised eyebrow, which said, "Really? You are no fun at all." It took only a moment for that smirk to come back though as he wrapped his arms around her. "Guess I'll just have to wait till their gone then." He flashed a smile to her parents with a apolegetic explation of his of waiting for them to go. "Not that you have to leave mind you. Its been nice to have the chance to know where Aren comes from. And the silly pictures don't hurt either." Well, atleast they didn't hurt one of them.

The Clone managed to smile as he brushed off her mother's comment with his innocent smile. "Guess thats why she has that tone most of the time when I'm around. I thought it was just her baseline." Still he didn't say anything more about her hair for the moment just in case he made this occasion any less joyous for her. He knew how much she got to see her parents. Might as well not ruin the mood.

Omen didn't tell her that his abilities often put his "brothers" off... Its why he mostly did solo missions back then. And another reason he was thankful to be here with her family. Despite his fears, her parents were welcoming in their own way. "Yeah, I've heard that line before from your daughter. Guess you taught it to her. But I'm glad I get to go to "be normal" school." It was something he probably needed.

Omen probably needed that threat too. "If you break me, I can't do chores around the house for you. Or the other benifits of having me around." He left the part unspoken for all of their beneifits. As he glanced at her Mom smiling though, he wondered how many times she had threatened to put her Dad into a wall, and if it had changed into a mild mannered man he was today. Ones, Omen hoped that didn't happen to him when he got older.

Smirking, he gave Aren a squeeze as he said with affection. "You have me trapped behind you and you can stop me from getting up remember. I'm not going anywhere and I don't want too. You are stuck with me whether you like it or not." And stuck behind her, they stayed as he enjoyed the rest of their evening. Together as one family.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren did not comment on the eyebrow or the accusation that she was no fun. She rarely defended herself against charges that were mostly accurate, and this one did not merit correction. Instead, she accepted the way his arms settled around her, familiar and grounding, and let herself lean back into him just enough that it was clear she was not resisting the contact, only choosing how much of it she returned.

"You say that like you would not complain the entire time," she replied evenly, though there was a quiet warmth under it. "And like you would not enjoy every minute of pretending you are being deprived of something."

At his admission that it had been good to see where she came from, Aren did turn her head slightly, just enough to look at him properly. Not searching. Not testing. Simply acknowledging the sincerity beneath the teasing.

"I am glad," she said. "They do not visit often, and they do not always explain themselves well. But they are… consistent. That matters." A pause, then, drier. "And the photos are not a bargaining chip. Do not make me correct you on that point."

Her mother's smile lingered at the edge of her awareness as Omen brushed off the earlier comment, and Aren allowed herself a quiet exhale. The evening had unfolded without friction, without the careful negotiations she had prepared for in her head, and that alone felt like a small success.

When Omen deflected the conversation about his past, about brothers and distance and things left unsaid, Aren did not push. She had learned long ago that some truths surfaced only when they were ready, and forcing them early only taught people to bury them deeper. Instead, she covered his hand with hers and squeezed once, a silent acknowledgment that she had heard what he did not say.

Her father's presence shifted then, subtle but unmistakable, the way it always did when he was preparing to move on from a space. He glanced at the chrono, then at Aren's mother, who nodded in quiet agreement.

"We should check in before it gets too late," her mother said calmly, already reaching for her coat. "You both have had a long day."

Aren straightened, disentangling herself from Omen just enough to turn and face them properly. She stepped forward and embraced her mother first, briefly but genuinely, then her father, who rested a hand on her shoulder a moment longer than strictly necessary.

"I will see you in the morning," Aren said simply. "I will send you the route I recommend."

Her father inclined his head. "Of course you will."

As they moved toward the door, Aren walked with them, listening to the quiet sounds of coats being adjusted and bags being lifted. At the threshold, her mother paused and looked back at both of them, her gaze thoughtful but warm.

"This is a good place," she said. "Take care of it. And of each other."

Then they were gone, the door closing softly behind them, leaving the house quieter but no longer empty.

Aren stood there for a moment, letting the stillness settle, then turned back toward Omen. Her expression was calm, composed, but there was something looser in her posture now, the kind of ease that came only after holding something carefully and realizing it had not broken.

"Well," she said, returning to his side, "you survived."

And this time, when she leaned back against him again, there was nothing holding her in place but choice.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"And you say that like you wouldn't like forcing me to beg." Omen said with that same warmth in his voice. He wouldn't have it any other way as his look of love back at her told her the same. At her explaining her gladness of her parents being there despite their faults, which Omen raised a eyebrow with the hidden message of "They are still in the room y'know...". Hopefully her parents won't mind having said to their face.

Atleast her Mom was still smiling, that was a miracle all in itself. This evening had been good and he hadn't been kicked out of his own house. It was hard not to call that a win.

As for himself, Omen gave Aren his best smile to tell her he was alright. His past... Its not that he didn't want to talk about it. Its just was... hard... Hell, he didn't even remember half the stuff he had done before his incareration. You couldn't talk about what you didn't know.

His eyes automatically glanced at her father's movement, knowing what he was doing. Omen knew it was time for them to go because he did the same thing when he wanted to move on. Pushing himself up with his arms with a grunt off the couch, the Clone went to open the door as her parent's got their coats on and embraced their daughter. He offered his handshakes to both her parents though he thought he would be blessed to even get that knowing her families tendicies. Omen even offered to drive them to their hotel if he didn't want to call a hovertaxi. It was the least he could do for her parents after they kept this evening... pleasant.

Once it was just them and they had crawled into bed, Omen hatched his evil plan. In the middle of the night, while Aren slept soundly in her bed, the Clone slipped out from under the covers and slunk off to parts unknown, his feet dancing along like a church mouses. Soon enough, he would slip back into bed and she would wake up to the sound of a razor coming from behind her. When she turned around to scold him, all she would see is his evilly grinning face and his phone playing a video of razor noises. When his shivering cold hands touched her bare skin, she would realize it had all been a diverison. For Omen, it was time to bask in his own villianous glory as he cackled out loud. Sure, he was a good guy but deep down... he knew he could out evil any Sith if he wanted too.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren did not startle when the sound reached her, and that alone should have warned him that the performance was already unraveling.

She shifted only enough to register the rhythm of it, the artificial steadiness that didn't belong to anything mechanical meant for real use. Razors did not hum with that kind of looped perfection. They wavered. They caught. They complained. This was too clean, too intentional, and her awareness settled over the room with quiet certainty rather than alarm.

Her eyes opened slowly, gaze steady in the low light as she turned her head to meet his grin, assessing him not with irritation but with the same calm focus she brought to systems that required correction rather than punishment.

"Omen," she said softly, voice even and unhurried, "if you're attempting psychological warfare, you are misjudging both the target and the method."

He barely had time to react before she reached for him, not to push him away or fend him off, but to catch the front of his shirt and pull him closer with deliberate intent, drawing him into her space until his balance depended on her grip. She held him there for a moment, close enough that his breath brushed her cheek, her forehead nearly touching his, the unimpressed calm in her eyes shifting into something far more purposeful.

"If you wanted my attention," Aren murmured quietly, her voice lowering as her hand stayed firm against his chest, "you already had it."

Only then did she extend her awareness beyond him.

The Force answered without spectacle, mechu-deru threading effortlessly into the circuitry of the phone in his hand, her focus sliding through power flow and logic pathways with practiced ease. There was a brief spark, a sharp protesting chirp from the device, and then silence as the screen went dark and stayed that way.

She didn't release him immediately.

Instead, she kept him close, her grip steady as her thumb rested against his chest, feeling the proof of him there and very much alive, her gaze lifting to meet his again with unmistakable intent.

"You woke me," Aren continued calmly. "You staged a threat using a sound effect. You brought an unsecured electronic device within reach."

Her thumb pressed once, slow and deliberate.

"These were questionable decisions."

Her expression softened then, not into forgiveness but into something warmer and far more dangerous, and she leaned in to close the distance properly this time, her mouth brushing his in a kiss that was unhurried and clearly chosen. It wasn't a reprimand, and it wasn't teasing. It was an answer.

When she drew him with her, guiding him down instead of pushing him away, it was with quiet certainty, hands firm at his shoulders as she shifted the balance so they moved together, bodies close, the space between them disappearing by her decision rather than his.

"If you're going to wake me," Aren said softly, her voice close to his now, breath warm against his jaw, "you could at least do it honestly."

Her hand slid to the back of his neck, keeping him there, not demanding anything but making her intent unmistakable as she kissed him again, slower this time, letting the moment deepen without words or urgency, heat building in the way of things that were long familiar and still very much wanted.

Somewhere nearby, the phone remained lifeless and forgotten.

The rest of the night continued without need for sound effects, threats, or distractions, unfolding exactly the way Aren had chosen, with purpose, closeness, and no further interruptions from ill-advised technology.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

He didn't know she would be immune to the cold too... Guess she really was the scary one of the two of them. The grin slowly faded away as soon as he relized how much he had miscaluclated. "Yeah, sorry for waking you..." It was now time to face the three headed serpent head on before it ate his heart and spit it out.

His eyes went wide as she reeled him in. This is one of the rare moments that she took the lead and it always surprised him. Omen couldn't help but smirk though as he saw that change in her eyes. "What made you doubt I wanted it? I never want to stop having it. I always want to on your mind and in your heart. Always good to hear you admit it though." The Clone was so focused on her, he didn't even hear the phone shut off. Guess loving someone was like that sometimes.

If she wasn't his partner, he would be terrfied right now. She had that way about her that could scare the daylights out of you. Omen quickly started with "Look I'm sorry, I just thought it would be funny... Please don't make me sleep on the couch..." before her lips quickly shut him up. His hands started to travel along her curves as they kept going at it, not wanting to let her win. But she had won his heart the first date they had ever had so it looked like that wasn't in the cards. All he could is keep up.

When they parted for air and she fit herself into the curve of his neck, he couldn't help but grin like a mad man as he replied. "But whats the fun in that?" Taking her by the hips, he pulled her ontop of his body as they engaged as the kiss went on and on. And all he could think is that he didn't want this dream to ever end as their clothes hit the floor.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Morning arrived quietly.

Aren woke first, the way she usually did, awareness returning before her eyes opened, the room registering in pieces rather than all at once. Light filtered in through the windows in a pale, unassuming wash, and the warmth beside her was steady and familiar. Omen was still asleep, sprawled in a way that suggested he had no intention of moving any time soon, one arm flung out as if he had decided during the night that gravity was optional.

She watched him for a moment longer than necessary.

There was no analysis in it this time. No cataloging of risk or readiness. Just the simple fact of him being there, breathing slow and even, the tension that so often lived under his skin was finally absent. Satisfied, Aren shifted carefully, easing herself out of bed without waking him, padding quietly down the hall toward the kitchen.

The low hum of activity met her halfway.

EL was already there, moving with precise efficiency between counter and stove, metal fingers handling utensils with practiced ease. A pan hissed softly as something aromatic hit the heat, and the scent of caf, real caf, not ration substitute, was already filling the space. The droid's optics flicked toward her as she entered, registering her presence instantly.

"Good morning, Aren," EL said in her even tone. "Omen indicated a preference for a hot breakfast following…heightened nocturnal activity."

Aren paused, then leaned lightly against the counter, folding her arms as the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself.

"He didn't need to annotate that," she replied calmly.

"Noted," EL said, entirely unrepentant. "Current menu selection includes protein, starch, and sugar content calibrated to improve mood and energy levels. Omen's mood improvement probability increases by twenty-three percent when bacon is involved."

That tracked.

Aren watched the droid work for a moment, the movements smooth, controlled, almost soothing in their predictability. Outside, the city was beginning to stir, distant traffic noise filtering in through the windows, but in here the space felt insulated from urgency. Domestic. Real.

She reached for a mug and poured herself caf, taking a slow sip as EL plated the food with meticulous care.

"He'll wake up eventually," Aren said, more observation than instruction.

"Statistically likely," EL replied. "He exhibits elevated motivation when food is prepared by others."

Aren huffed softly into her mug, eyes drifting toward the hallway where Omen still slept. For once, there was no need to hurry him along, no reason to brace for what came next.

Breakfast would be ready.

And for now, that was enough.

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

About thrity minutes later, Omen opened his eyes, feeling around for Aren with his splayed out arm. When he didn't find her, he managed to pull some underwear, shorts and a t-shirt on before waking out to the smell of bacon. EL was right, his mood was happier when bacon was invovled but that thing that he prefered a hearty breakfest after... noctoral activities he had never said. EL had thought of it all by her own. And Aren questioned why he didn't trust droids and wanted to all the cooking himself. As fair as he was concerned, EL might have some Sep programming from 100 years ago that might posion his food. Who knew with talking clankers.

Coming up to her, he dragged his feet across the floor as he sleepily draped his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. "Hi both of you... I wish you would have stayed in bed with me for a cuddle session but I'll take learning you are so flexiable as a worthy exchange. You say you aren't a fighter but you certainly have some moves. You doing yoga or something down there while I'm not watching?" Distrust aside, Omen was happy when EL his plate got set down in front of him and sat down, starting to go to town out it to replace the calories she had sucked him dry of last night. In the middle he managed to ask, "So... your parents planning on doing anything with us today or did we tire them out?"

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't turn when he came up behind her. She had already registered him by the shift in weight on the floor, the drag of his feet, the familiar way he moved when he hadn't fully woken up yet. She let him drape himself around her anyway, accepting the kiss at the back of her neck with a quiet breath out, one hand lifting just enough to rest over his forearm in acknowledgement rather than invitation.

"I didn't leave to escape you," she said evenly, eyes still on the counter as she reached for her mug again. "I left because EL was already awake, and you were dead to the world." A pause, then a glance sideways at him. "And no. Yoga is inefficient. I stretch when I need to."

EL set his plate down with precise timing, as if on cue, and Aren took her own seat across from him just as her comm chimed softly against the counter. She checked the display, expression neutral, then answered.

"Yes," she said after a moment, listening. Her tone softened just a fraction, the way it always did with them. "We're eating now. No, you're not interrupting."

She listened again, one elbow resting on the table, fingers loosely curled around her mug.

"That makes sense," Aren replied. "Empress Teta has more visible history than subtlety. Start with the old plazas near the Inner Ring. Avoid the guided tours unless you want half-truths packaged as facts."

A pause.

"Yes. We can meet later. Send coordinates when you decide."

She ended the call and set the comm back down, returning her attention to Omen without urgency.

"They want to see the sights," she said simply. "Empress Teta proper. Architecture, markets, whatever passes for 'local color' this cycle." Her eyes flicked briefly to his plate, then back to his face. "They suggested we meet up later, after they've walked themselves into exhaustion."

There was the faintest hint of amusement in her voice.

"So no," Aren added, "we didn't scare them off. They're just being efficient."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"I thought it was to leave the scene of the crime, so you didn't need to admit you like looking me sleeping." Omen had caught those brown seas that were her eyes looking at him after waking up before and probably wouldn't be the last. "I'm going to have to learn those streaches though if if I'm going to keep up with your... creativity..."

As EL put his plate in front of him, the Clone started to chow down. He still thought he was the better cook but atleast this was edible. Glancing at Aren as she talked, he imagined who was on the other line. As Aren ended the called and said her parents were going to be touring around, meeting only after the end of their extensive adventures. That was fine with him, it gave him the afternoon to prepare for Round 2. "Whats the odds they are going to be gossiping about us?"

As he finished up, he took his plate to the sink, starting to wash the plate. The last thing he wanted to do was to leave all the manuel labor to EL and become soft. That won't be fitting of a warrior or a househusband. "So, are you just gonna disappear into the dark downstairs or do you want to do something with me before your parent's call?" The Clone hoped it would be the latter.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched him for a moment as he moved around the kitchen, the way he always did when he was trying to pretend he wasn't already planning three steps ahead. She took another sip of her drink before answering, letting the quiet stretch just long enough to be intentional.

"I don't disappear into the dark unless there's a reason," she said calmly. "And today, there isn't one."

She rose from her chair and crossed the small distance between them, stopping close enough that he'd have to pay attention without her touching him yet. Her gaze flicked briefly to the plate he was washing, then back to his face.

"There's nothing in the workshop that needs me," Aren continued. "No systems are drifting. No calibrations are overdue. And unless you're about to tell me one of your limbs feels wrong, I don't need to take anything apart." A pause. "So yes," she added, tone dry but warm beneath it, "I'm available."

She leaned in then, just slightly, close enough that her voice dropped without effort.

"As for my parents," Aren said, "they're absolutely gossiping. Quietly. Analytically. With footnotes." A faint curve touched her mouth. "But not in a way you need to worry about."

She reached out at last, fingers catching the hem of his shirt and tugging him closer, not hurried, not tentative.

"We have time," she said simply. "And I intend to use it."

Her thumb brushed once against his side, grounded and deliberate.

"So decide," Aren finished, meeting his eyes. "Do you want to keep pretending you're productive…or do you want to actually do something with me before they call back?"

Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen grinned from the sink as the sound of EL cleaning the living room as Aren told her that she didn't have any orders to handle. "Making yourself avalible for me? You shouldn't have." Finishing up at the sink, he put his dish away in the dishwasher and came over to Aren for a side hug. "Thank you for fiting me into your busy schedule"

As she asked if he actually wanted to do something today, he thought about it. "Well, I think there is a droid exibit at the Science Museum if you want to go out. Otherwise... He leaned in to whisper so only she could hear, his breath moving over her ear. "We could try to do noctural activities in the daytime. Or we could go spy on your parents." Pulling away, he put up his usual chesire smile up. "Or, like you said, we could just pretend to be productive. Its up to you." The Clone only hoped she would choose one of the more devious options as his fingers intertwined over hers. It would make this day more interesting.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't pull away from him. If anything, she leaned into the side hug just enough to make it clear she'd heard every word and was considering it carefully.

"Careful," she said quietly, eyes lifting to his with that familiar, unreadable calm. "You make it sound like access to me is a privilege."

A beat.

"It is," she added, deadpan.

When he leaned in to whisper, she didn't flinch. She listened, expression neutral until he finished, and then she exhaled through her nose, the faintest hint of amusement giving her away. Her fingers tightened around his, anchoring him where he stood.

"Spying on my parents would require effort," Aren replied evenly. "And the science museum would turn into a debate about ethics and obsolete design within ten minutes."

She shifted closer, just enough that her voice dropped without being secretive.

"But pretending to be productive," she continued, gaze steady, "while engaging in… horizontal choreography?"

Her mouth curved, small but deliberate.

"That has a high efficiency rating."

She tipped her head slightly, considering him the way she did when she'd already decided.

"EL can manage the house," Aren said calmly. "No alarms are pending. No systems are failing." Her thumb brushed once across his knuckles. "Which means we're free."

Then, softer, unmistakably for him:

"So yes. Let's be very busy doing absolutely nothing useful."

Sergeant Omen