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a-lil-perspective · 3 years

Text

Interspersed

A/N: Here’s a lil Tech X Reader drabble I wrote while doing a big sad over the weekend. Also to rectify the disgraceful lack of Tech content on my blog. Also also, to utilize a beloved Hamilton quote from my prompt list. Anywho. Soft Tech drabble in which Tech is sleepy and suddenly questions his own intelligence. A very big mood. Not to worry; the S/O is here to help. :)

He’s doing it again.

Another day turned to night, with no end in sight.

Another project, another fixation, another night the bed is cold and stiff. Another leave he doesn’t spend with you.

“Tech.”

He doesn’t tear his attention away from his work, makes no acknowledgment to your call. He’s positively hyper-fixated, and if he wasn’t troubled, he’d be in trouble, surely.

With the sound of your perturbed tapping somewhere off to his right, Tech rather nervously concludes he still might be.

He thinks you won’t see it. That if you’re fussing over the proficiency of his hands and the hunch of his shoulders, you won’t see the way his mind is racing, burning fumes. The way he’s… struggling. He’s a reputation to uphold, and this engineer simply can’t comprehend letting you marvel over anything other than his ingenuity. Certainly not of any mental ailment. Struggles are merely a kink in the neurotransmitters that with a little self-convincing, can be plucked out and overcome with all haste.

But that is merely the science behind it.

“I wonder how long you keep ignoring me before I start a betting pool from it. Don’t think I won’t, either.”

Tech bites his lip at that, hollowing his cheeks with an expression vaguely reminiscent of a scolded child. He can’t bring himself to respond, and a surreal frustration boils because of it. He always has something to say, words filling the space effortlessly. He should apologize, should reason, should rebuttal with something painstakingly factual—

But if he says what’s on his mind he’ll spill something that’s terribly insensible, and even more terrible:

Insecure.

Even still, Tech’s thoughts often broadcast far, far too loudly for his liking.

“Am I a capable person?”

It feels like such a trivial thing; silly, even. Of course he is capable, his title alone is a testament to such. These are inquiries not to be mused aloud, in Tech’s informed opinion.

You blink in confusion. “The most capable person I know.”

Tech says nothing at that, relying on the methods you use to upend him and on the ways you speak for him when he won’t—which is ironic, given that his every waking moment is spent talking, talking over you... and about you. However it’s widely known of the way he verbally shrivels away when his burdens require him to divert all of his energy to upholding the strain. Perhaps he’s more predictable than he’d like to admit.

Perhaps that’s why these feelings manifested in the first place, flourishing in his chest until they’ve become this far too constraining thing for even the brightest engineer.

“How are you certain?”

How are you not? you nearly ask. Instead, you arch a brow. “What is this about?”

There’s only the mechanical hum-drum of the hangar for a long moment.

“I feel inadequate,” is all he says.

“What in the kriff for?” You’re utterly baffled, gaping crudely no doubt. Tech can’t tear his eyes away from the project splayed out before him. It’s just randomized parts, really. Much like the current state of his headspace.

“I… experience a sense of dissatisfaction with my work, and everything that pertains to it.”

You shake your head slowly, unable to fathom where this is all coming from. For Tech, it’s unprecedented.

You frown, and then your lips pull down even further when you realize that he can’t even see it; he won’t look at you, and it’s maddening. “Well I experience a sense of dissatisfaction over the way you’re too hard on yourself and the way you won’t ever take a break unless someone forces you. Seriously, do you know what time it is—”

“No, you don’t understand, there is… more to it,” he murmurs conspiratorially, his face scrunching.

You open and close your mouth, now at a loss. The desire to grant him peace of mind is overwhelming; all you can dwell on. Tech is this whirlwind of coding that you all-too-easily get swept up in. He’s every foreign language accumulated in the databanks. He’s the answer to questions, and the questions to every answer. More often than not, it’s a challenge to keep pace. But one you wouldn’t trade for anything.

You soften, stepping closer to him. “Then help me understand.”

He purses his lips, considering.

“I fear that when it comes down to it, I do not perform as well as I could—as well as I should.”

Your steel your posture. “Tech. Your contributions are invaluable—you’re invaluable. To your squad, your brothers. To me.”

“I sometimes wonder if it is enough.”

“It is. You are enough.”

Chapped lips pressed to a grim line, the rim of his goggles ever so slightly inching down the bridge of his nose, Tech twitches at your touch to his armored forearm. He blinks hard in an attempt to alleviate the burn in his retinas forged from an unrelenting stare at things he’d rather not examine but does anyway. His hands have fallen slack in defeat against the table before him.

You gently turn his ragged body away from the workbench because Maker knows a hyper-fixated Tech has to be herded like a baby Shaak to get any coordinated movement from him in such state. You keep a firm hand braced along his upper arm and turn his face to yours, cupping his cheek.

“I don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing, the worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind. But I’m not afraid. I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be, either. Just let me stay by your side. That would be enough for tonight.”

The engineer finally brings deprived eyes up to yours. He extends a gloved hand out, soot-coated and all, and you take it with all eagerness, squeezing tightly. It always amazes you, the way he can piece together inventions and desecrate standards to formulate his own, paving a path far brighter than anything someone else could conjure up in their wildest dreams. The way he’s so unapologetically himself.

Except for now.

“I... apologize for pushing you away. That was not my intent. I suppose I am not too well-versed in emotional discovery—yet.” His determined smile almost overrides the crackling of his voice. Almost. He takes a deep breath, giving your hand a squeeze and continuing on at the reassuring one he receives back. “But... I would like you to be here with me. Very much so.”

You reciprocate the smile, and with a free hand you ruffle through his unruly tuffs, a stray chuckle escaping you at the sight.

“Well. I’d much rather be in bed with you than standing here,” you gesture to his less-than-ideal work surroundings in the isolated part of a mostly vacant hangar. Tech looks longingly to his project that’s more busywork than an actual project, sighing.

“Soon—”

“Has become now,” you gently chide.

“My work—”

“Will be there when you wake up. But more importantly, so will I. Rest now.”

With that you pull him along, ignoring his endless excuses and refutes, and the way he reaches out for his tools like a child and his beloved toy he can’t bear to part with.

You lead him out and towards the barracks, to your quarters, with Tech undressing in small increments along the way after he quit grousing under his breath. It’s futile; he knows your resolve is unshakeable. It’s a deduction he made long ago, in a sweet past that feels but a dream now. But then he looks over to you and remembers that it’s still very much an active dream. One that a part of him aches at the very thought of ever waking up from.

By the time you make it to the door, Tech’s helmet is tucked under his arm, turned up like a literal bucket, his gauntlets and other small armor components resting inside. A resourceful man through and through, with not a care in the world as to whether or not anyone stumbles upon his oddities. Public perception has never been a priority for Tech. So ahead of his time, ahead of the game.

You get cozy once inside, freeing yourself from a constricting uniform while carefully eyeing Tech in the doorway for signs of instability—it wouldn’t be the first time he’s nearly collapsed from exhaustion while removing his armor, utilizing his last ounce of strength left at whatever ungodly hour he’s finally reeled in.

Stripped to his blacks, Tech flops onto the bed and nestles against you, sprawled at an awkward angle with his head resting on your bare thighs. He wraps a tired arm around the circumference and squeezes like it’s that of a pillow. He’s got you in a vise-like grip, and you can’t help the snort it pulls from you.

“Why do you do this to yourself.” You caress his face with the back of your hand, gently scrutinizing the quivering Commando who’s now faced with the side-effects of potent caf shots he very much has an addiction to. They always hit him hardest once coming to a full stop in his endeavors, no longer masked by the methodical fidget of limbs hard at work. You feel his lips curl into a frown as his body involuntarily trembles.

“Do, what?”

You stifle a yawn, grappling for the blanket at the foot of your bed and draping it over the two of you; he’s chilled. “Fight like you’re running out of time,” a flick to his expanse of forehead. “Doubt that big brain of yours.”

Tech shoots upright, damn-near colliding his head with your inclined chin. “Technically, intelligence does not equate to a larger brain mass, at least not in us humans—”

“Stop talking,” you hum, pressing him back to your leg and batting away the fatigue rapidly seeping over you. You stroke up and down the corded muscles of his back to ease him out of the shakes.

Tech falls silent but only for a moment, revisiting the question that you both already know the answer to. He traces random, unsteady shapes over his pillow. “I do it for you, you know.”

“But you do it at the cost of yourself. And... of us.”

There’s a pervading sadness to your words, and it tugs at Tech. “I strive to be the best I can, for you and my brothers, and the mission.” It sounds like such a wormy excuse in his ears.

You lean forward, hair strands lurching with to kiss his cheek as you press your lips to the shell of his ear. “Be the best you can for you. Just stay alive. That would be enough.”

Tech squints contemplatively. With effort, he reaches up to rest a hand on your cheek. “Well then I must respectfully request the same of you.”

“Oh I will, don’t you worry about that,” you smile down at him, fingers carding through his hair as your gaze flits somewhere far away. “We’re smart. We’ll make it.”

“I’m smart?”

As if he needs you to tell him that.

You scoff but it’s not heavy. “You know you are.”

“But what is ‘smart’?”

Either he’s pulling your leg (literally) or getting all philosophical on you, and in either case: exhaustion and a distant validation have successfully taken the reins in the conversation.

You roll your eyes. “I’m looking at him.”

The goggled member smirks. “Is he good looking?”

There’s this rare side of Tech that shines through in his hedge of exhaustion. It’s delightfully loony, one of those seldom instances where the precocious engineer retains his fleeting youth through fatigue-driven giggles and caricature expressions. It’s a lovely thing you don’t get to experience often, but when you do, you milk it for all its worth.

A playful swat to his backside. “Handsomest thing I’ve ever seen. The smartest, in fact,” you purr, thoroughly humoring him but also believing in him; the sum of your playfulness and your full endorsement. You sweep your hair out of his face, resting your forehead against his.

“What would I do without you...” he murmurs against the skin of your leg, lids fluttering heavily, drunk with exhaustion and undying appreciation. His goggles lie crookedly affixed to his face, which makes the entire sight that more endearing.

“Excellent question, Tech; what would you do without me?” You gingerly remove his corrective eyewear and set it atop the nightstand. Tech’s toothy, lopsided grin is truly a sight to behold. He ponders for a second, then lazily shrugs one blanketed shoulder.

“I’d never get tucked in.”

#star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #tech #tech x reader #sorry y’all I’m trying to come around #having a helluva time over here hahah #anyway!#should I do tags for these drabbles?#I never know #I have no idea why the title #it’s a title I’ve had down as a Tech wip for the longest time now #and it just #stuck #Tech is baby and just needs some love and validation #don’t we all #my writing #it’s a lil thing #*silently begging for requests from my Hamilton prompt list*

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