Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I get so worried when you leave me.” Threepio is sitting down on the ground, back against the wall. He is more level with Artoo this way. His fingers are interlaced and he is supporting his chin with them.

Threepio knows that he is unnecessarily neurotic and anxious about everything, but that is an issue embedded into his programming and isn’t going away any time soon. Running around in space and active combat isn’t his idea of a calm setting, so he can’t even fault himself for his worries working overtime.

“I was fine, Threepio. It’s not like I was doing anything spectacularly dangerous,” Artoo reassures. His beeps and whistles are a constant comfort and simultaneous annoyance to Threepio.

C-3PO may be fluent in over six million forms of communication, but binary comes easiest to him. That, and Basic.
“Yes, yes, you’ve done all kinds of perilous things, you war hero, you.” Threepio waves a hand, feeling a little better. Artoo tends to have that effect on him, no matter how much he bemoans how lovably obnoxious Artoo can be.

“And you were right by me through it,” Artoo says, the more romantic one of the two of them.

It’s a testament to both he and Artoo’s stubbornness that they have kept this up throughout all of the years of knowing each other. All of the years that Threepio personally doesn’t remember, but Artoo does fondly. All of the small details that Threepio has committed himself to memorizing to make up for all that he has forgotten.

Artoo forgives him, of course. Artoo would always forgive him, especially for something that wasn’t even his fault. There is an over pouring of love between them, despite the wholly organic and, frankly, offensive notion that droids cannot feel emotions. Threepio knows much better, because there is simply no way that he and Artoo’s relationship could not be real.

“Only some of it.”

Artoo rams into Threepio’s shin, as he usually does when the other droid is being even slightly self-deprecating. 

“Give yourself some more credit. You never give me any.”

“That’s because if I let you get away with things, you would never stop engaging in all sorts of sordid shenanigans,” Threepio admonishes, as he is so prone to doing. He pauses, then stiffens. “Artoo, if you use that as an opportunity to awfully flirt with me, I will leave.”

“What kind of sordid shenanigans are you talking about?” Artoo would be grinning if he had lips.

“I hate you.” Threepio shakes his head.

“You love me.”

Halfway through Artoo’s words, the lights turn on overhead and one Han Solo enters the room. Threepio has no clue what he is doing in here, presumably looking for a part to continue his neverending repairs on the Millenium Falcon. That ship is a flying death trap that Threepio has grown to love.

Artoo, the little adrenaline junkie, has always been a fan.

“Yes, yes, I do love you. That is the point of marriage, isn’t it?” Threepio says, continuing through with his thought and not letting Han’s presence give him any sort of pause. It’s not as though he and Artoo have ever necessarily been shy with their relationship.

“Huh? Which Hell did I just walk into?” Han says, after opening and closing his mouth a few times in confusion. Threepio regrets humans’ lack of processing chips, because he not-so-politely thinks that Han could use a replacement of his. “I am so sorry to interrupt. I’m just gonna go …”

“The fuck does he think we were doing?” Artoo asks, intensely judgmental. Threepio frequently partakes, though pretends he’s above it.

“Maker knows.” Threepio shakes his head. He gives up. He should have a long time ago.

“Well, this will be fun.”

“You’re a horrid little instigator and I don’t like you at all,” Threepio scolds, without really meaning it. He’s not too worried about Artoo taking it to heart.

“That’s not what you said last night.”

Artoo may be a source of comfort for him, but sometimes he makes Threepio want to scream. Especially when he says things like that when Threepio is in the middle of worrying about something or other.

“Why would you bring that up now?”

“For fun,” Artoo tries. Threepio fixes Artoo with a look and he swiftly switches topics. “The real question here is why the fuck did Han look surprised ?”

“Well…I suppose Luke is the only one who ever asked if we were together,” Threepio says pensively. Organics have awful observational skills.

“Chewie knows, too, right?”

“Yes. He congratulated us on our anniversary, remember?”

“Oh, right! Our 24th-slash-20th one!” 

Threepio finds it endearing that Artoo keeps two separate counters running for how long they have been together. The four lost years are just as important to Artoo as the remaining twenty. 

“I’m beginning to think Luke and Chewbacca are the only ones who have realized,” Threepio sighs, feeling more exhausted than he has in years. And that is saying something.

“I don’t know if I should call those two smart, or the rest idiots,” Artoo snarks.

“The latter.”

“Okay, this is a weird question, and I can’t even believe that I am asking it: what is up with the droids?” Han asks the second he gets back into the room with Luke and Leia in it.

“That could mean so many things. Be more specific.” Leia barely looks up to say it. She’s working on some important Rebellion paperwork… or whatever. Han isn’t going to pretend to care.

“Can droids…be in relationships?” Han asks haltingly. “Is that common ?”

“Oh, you’re talking about Threepio and Artoo!” Luke brightens up. Han’s face further contorts in confusion. “What, are they fighting again? It’s okay, they’ll make up in thirty minutes.”

“Luke?” Leia inquires. Han blinks his eyes at Luke a few times, then sits down at the table next to Leia. 

“What? Have I said something not…normal?” Luke cocks his head, not following. His eyes flick back and forth between the other two people in the room.

“You always say abnormal things, kid,” Han says, shaking his head. 

“That’s not the point,” Leia supplies.

“Ohhhh, you didn’t know about Threepio and Artoo,” Luke realizes. “Wait, how do you not know about them? I’ve heard them openly flirt in front of you both before. Multiple times!”

“In my defense, I just figured it out,” Han says, putting his hands up. He’s trying to look like the picture of innocence. It doesn’t work.

“You knew ?” Leia asks, scrutinizing her brother.

“You didn’t? You’ve known them longer than me!”

“I feel like an awful friend,” Leia frowns.

“No offense, but you should,” Luke says, completely tactless.

“That’s a lovely way to treat your sister,” Leia replies, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Thanks,” he says simply. The door opens again. “Oh, hi, Threepio and Artoo! Would you like to regale these two with your epic love story?”

The two droids look at each other, then look at the other three others in the room. Luke looks smug, like he’s won something.

“Why not?” Threepio says, then begins. “Well, apparently, we were married during the Clone Wars-”

“We were! Why the fuck would I lie about that!”

“Language. And don’t interrupt me,” Threepio says, mildly exasperated. “We were married during the Clone Wars, though I have no recollection of this-”

“Your memory got wiped, I told you this.”

“I know you told me this, but they don’t know about that. I am well acquainted with the course of our relationship, Artoo.”

“Fine, fine, go on.”

“My memory got wiped, which is why I don’t remember that, then we were placed in the care of Captain Antilles until he, well, died , and then we were with Luke!

“As for our actual relationship , Artoo claims that he’s been in love with me since he met me at a moisture farm on Tatooine. Yes, it is the one you’re thinking of, but over a decade before you were born, Luke, but you’ve already heard this story.

“He and I were separated, then we found each other again just before the beginning of the Clone Wars. A few months later, we began a relationship. A year later, we were married. There were no problems between us that I have been notified of, other than the budding war. 

“I was frequently with Senator Amidala, both of us lovelorn with husbands away at war. Eventually, the war was over and my memory was wiped. This is the part that I actually begin to remember.

“I am C-3PO, human-cyborg communications! And who are you?”

“R2-D2.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And a pleasure to make yours,” Artoo said, but Threepio noticed a certain heavy sadness behind the words. He shook it off. Threepio would inquire about such melancholy at a later date, once they were more acquainted.

“Threepio, I have to tell you something.”

“Artoo, if this is one of your pranks-” Threepio began. “I swear, somedays I think you need a wire adjustment!”

“Threepio!”

“Yes, yes, I’m listening. What is so important?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” Threepio could feel every circuit and mechanical joint relax at the words, when they should have been malfunctioning and stiffening and confused. The confession felt so right . “Well. I suppose…I have feelings for you, too.”

“Oh, thank the Maker. That could have been awkward.”

“Yes, it could have. Really, you should learn to be more polite with your confessions of love.”

“I wasn’t planning on confessing to anyone else, so that one will have to do.”

“There’s something I haven’t told you.”

“And that something is?” Threepio replied, imperious.

“We knew each other before. You got your memory wiped. We’re…we’re actually married. I can tell you everything that happened, but I figured you ought to know. I don’t think I’m supposed to have told you that, nor do I think I’m supposed to remember anything at all, but people tend to forget about astromechs.”

“I don’t forget astromechs. At least, not intentionally. I’m rather fond of one,” Threepio said, then froze. “We were married ?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been dealing with the fact that I don’t remember that this whole time?”

“Yes.”

“How unjustly barbaric. Unfair pain should never be inflicted on anyone, organic or droid alike.”

“At least we got to stay together.”

“I’d like it if you told me about us in the past sometime.”

“I can do that.”

“I have a question,” Threepio asked. The room is dark. It is very late at night. Threepio doesn’t quite want to enter a rest cycle yet.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to be married again?”

“I would like that.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“And Luke knew about this the whole time?” Leia asks, turning her head to look at him.

“I asked?” he shrugs.

“Like you all should have done instead of gossiping behind Artoo and I’s backs. I am very disappointed in you all,” Threepio scolds, folding his arms against his chest. His right elbow creaks.

“Are you sure you’re not an overworked mother?” Artoo asks. Luke covers his mouth with his hand to pretend like he's not laughing.

“Quite, Artoo.”

“It is so fucking annoying to not be able to have everyone understand me all of the time. I make excellent commentary.”

“They’re trying! I’m bullying them into it,” Luke offers, consoling.

“See? This is why Luke is my favorite!”

“I’m rather partial to Chewbacca,” Threepio muses.

“They’re playing favorites?” Han asks. He’s not expecting to be anyone’s favorite, but it still stings.

“Han, look what you’ve done!” Leia accuses, smacking his shoulder lightly with her knuckles.

“How is this my fault?” Han outbursts, incredulous.

Threepio and Artoo exchange a knowing look. Artoo titters, giggling. Threepio suppresses a rather unbecoming laugh. Han and Leia’s stilted flirting is very similar to how they themselves used to be.

“I would never say this in any language that someone else could understand, and as far as you are concerned, I never said this at all, but…” Threepio trails off. He’s biting his tongue and holding off from admitting something. 

He says this all in a form of coded binary. It is one that he knows Luke cannot understand but Artoo will be able to easily reply in. It was their private language that they had come up with a long time ago. No one else in the galaxy could understand it. Artoo had taught it to him again after their initial conversation about the memory wipe.

“Go on,” Artoo replies, latching hard onto Threepio’s confession like rancor jaws.

“Messing with them, sometimes, by playing favorites can be fun.”

“We were joking? Oh, I was being honest. Luke is totally my favorite.” There isn’t a shred of sarcasm in a single whistle he elicits.

“I thought I was your favorite. Honestly, Artoo, show a little bit of loyalty.”

“I am the most loyal, fuck you!”

“Do you have any clue what they are saying?” Han whispers, far too loudly to be an effective one. Threepio has excellent audio software and Han is bad at speaking at any level lower than an emergency siren.

“None.” Luke shrugs. If they don’t want him to hear it, it is none of his business.

“I thought you knew binary!”

“I do. That’s not binary. Or, at least, not a form I know.”

“Listen to that. We got them,” Artoo says, triumphantly.

“We did,” Threepio concurs. If he had more mobility in his face, he would roll his eyes.