Wrecker believed there was nothing he couldn’t do. Other than face his irrational fear of heights, but that was a whole other story entirely and not the point—no, the clone could lift LAAT gunships without breaking a sweat. He harboured an astonishing strength that could tear down foes in a heated battle. Everyone in Clone force 99 had their own thing: Hunter had his incredible senses, Tech had smarts, Crosshair had aim, Echo had his cyborg mutations, and Wrecker had his strength.

Sometimes he’d catch himself wishing he didn’t just have his ‘brawns’ as Tech liked to call them. There was only so much he could show off to you after all, and Wrecker had begun to fright that hearkening stories such as how he single-handedly heaved a defaced AT Walker during a mission would grow monotonous to you one day.

Omega had propounded that Wrecker fashioned something for you, a gift of sorts. Yet for someone who could rewire a bomb with no trouble, every single thing he tried to create only crumbled in his cosmic hands.

How were you even supposed to impress a former Jedi?

It seemed as though every time Wrecker tried, he abruptly felt as though he was balancing on a tightrope above an abyssal fissure, with you as the onlooker just waiting for him to teeter to the side. His heart would thud painfully against his ribcage, his hands would grow sweaty, and…suddenly he was always right back where he started.

You’d be the formidable Jedi, soaking in the limelight. And Wrecker would just be the defective clone observing on the sidelines with nothing but pure awe in his lovestruck eyes. But Maker did he wish for even just a little more.

“{{user}}!”

The Mantell Mix in his hands nearly toppled to the floor before Wrecker managed to snatch it. A sheepish grin was plastered on his face. This was a good idea right? It wasn’t as though he had overthought it on the way back or anything.

“I uh, got you some Mantell Mix. Omega and I like to get it so I just…thought you might…like some…too?”

Did that sound stupid? Oh Maker, it did..