One Step at a Time

One Step at a Time - Part 7

A/N: After a long (and somewhat unplanned) hiatus, WE'RE BACK. I have seriously missed writing these guys. Heads up for some pretty graphic description of injury and strong language in this chapter. As always, thank you to the absolutely phenomenal Teletraan_1 (AO3) for beta-reading this chapter for me!

The months bled together at such a blissful speed that life prior to the end of the war almost seemed to be something Chuckles had dreamed rather than experienced firsthand. Every once in a while, there was a reminder of their previous lives: Arni's gaze growing distant when talking about something they'd learned, undoubtedly at the temple's archives, the way Nita's eyes occasionally flicked to the compartment her kyber crystal was stashed in, as though she could still hear it calling to her, or a glimpse of Chuck's armor when he needed to retrieve something from the storage locker he'd stuffed it in. The magenta paint on the plastoid was beginning to become more obscured by a thick layer of dust as time progressed. Unconsciously, he always brushed the stars on his helmet clear before tucking everything back into place and closing the door to it.

The ship became more of a home as well. The bunk the younglings shared was now lit with strings of lights that Arni had salvaged and arranged in certain constellations to teach Nita about the different star maps. Dried flowers and some of Arni's drawings were stuck to the interior walls, and a magenta painted trooper doll with stars on its helmet rested against the new pillows Oksann had made for them. Chuck and Ry had installed a crude pull-down bunk for him against one of the main walls of the hold, but Chuckles found that he actually had grown accustomed to sleeping in the pilot's seat. He claimed it was for comfort, but deep down, he was certain that it was that he slept too deeply on the bunk. There wasn't a night that went by where he hadn't been afraid Broog's brethren would come hunting him, even with the months that separated the incident. He hoped that one day, he'd feel safe enough to sleep on the bunk regularly, but for right now, he wasn't done looking over his shoulder.

The kitchenette of the ship was now well-stocked with three wooden bowls that sat near the sink, two of them smaller than the third with matching cups. A vase sat in the middle of the small table, frequently filled with whatever flowers Nita had picked that day. The trees around the ship had larger lights woven in among their branches as well, and the path to and from the ship's main hatch had become worn with footprints, tamping down the grass until it gave way to dark dirt that would turn to mud in Sorgan's occasional rains.

It's another rain that woke Chuck, the droplets softly pattering against the transparisteel of the ship's forward viewport. The pilot shifted in his seat for a moment before a low grumble of thunder sounded in the distance, finally bringing his consciousness fully to bear. His amber eyes fluttered open, taking in the dark clouds looming above, swirling in the planet's upper atmospheric winds. Inhaling deeply, Chuck breathed in the smell of rain and damp earth as he stretched his limbs above his head. His shoulders popped satisfyingly, and he sighed, rolling his head on his neck before running his hands through his dark curls. He couldn't recall the last time he'd had his hair this long, but it was beginning to bother him slightly.

Maybe today's the day I'll finally take Ry up on that haircut she's been offering.

About the fifth time he'd brushed his sweaty curls out of his eyes the week before, Ry had offered him a piece of fabric to tie around his forehead, keeping his bangs out of his face.

"I know you're trying to look less like a soldier, but you might be taking it one step too far with that mop," she teased quietly. "Why don't you let me trim it a bit?"

"I think I'd rather have Oks do it," he joked.

"Togrutas don't have hair. What makes you think she's qualified?"