Chapter Text
Echo picks his way back through the streets, trying to gauge the amount of daylight left as both suns begin to set. The shops have mostly closed and the streets have thinned out as everyone heads indoors. On Coruscant, the restaurants would be packed with the dinner crowd, but here most of the food carts have packed up for the night. The people here either go to their own home or bury themselves in one of the bars.
He uses the light flooding out of the bars to guide him back through the city, checking each one as he gets closer to where they split up. Some of them are so small it only takes a glance before he’s backing out and going to the next. The largest one he finds must be owned by the Hutts, packed with sabaac and dejark tables. In the corner he can see a rough crowd throwing vibroblades at a moving set of targets. He doesn’t need to look before ruling it out. Crosshair wouldn’t willingly go into such an active bar, with so many things for him to keep his eyes on, unless the others dragged him in.
The small bar he finds Crosshair is more subdued. Echo hovers on the last stair, using the extra height to map out the room before a Trandoshan shoves past him, nearly knocking him to the ground. Echo glares at the back of his head, but he might as well have been invisible. He straightens up again and takes the last stair, barely catching Crosshair’s eyes tracking his movements and the Trandoshan.
Echo weaves his way to the end of the bar where Crosshair is sitting with a perfect vantage point of the room. The moment Echo had started toward him, his eyes had gone back to his glass. He still didn’t look up when Echo reaches his side.
“Do you mind?” He nods to the empty seat and Crosshair shrugs, glancing over Echo’s shoulder at a small group of men. The largest was flushed, red cheeks glowing as he called for more. Crosshair’s eyes flicked between each man in the group before going back to his glass.
“Did you contact Hunter?”
“Yeah. Sounds like they were successful. They’re going to head here next.”
Crosshair hums and takes a small sip. Echo shifts on his stool, subtly stretching his spine before putting his elbow on the counter. The inhabitants of the bar is one of the most diverse assortments of species Echo had ever seen packed in one place. There were a few he’d only heard of and some that he’d never imagined- vibrant colors, exoskeletons, too many eyes, no eyes. It would be too easy to get caught staring. Echo can see this wasn’t the type of crowd that would take kindly to that kind of attention. None of them were bothering to hide the weapons on their hips and he didn’t need Crosshair’s vision to spot concealed weapons.
He glances back at Crosshair’s drink. “How many have you had?”
“This is the first.” Crosshair grimaces. “I realized wasting our credits on drinks would be counterproductive.”
“Right.”
Echo taps his fingers on the worn metal and glances around him again. The bartender was wiping a glass with his eyes fixed on a pair of Rodians that could be heard talking over the sound of the live band of Bith musicians. Echo could recognize Rodese, but he couldn’t tell if they were arguing or celebrating.
“I saw Tech’s note.” Crosshair looks down at the bar near Echo’s hand. “Were you going to tell me?”
Crosshair’s eyes dart around the room before bringing his glass back to his lips, pausing and giving his head a small shake.
“I knew you wouldn’t want it.” Crosshair sets the drink down again and looks right at him. “And I didn’t think forcing you to accept it was right.”
“So you put up your rifle?”
“It’s still mine for a few more days.” Crosshair mutters, tracing over the lip of the glass with one finger. “What happens next is up to you. If you want a real prosthetic or just the scomp link is your choice.”
“I’m sure the others will let me keep the old design.” Echo rolls his eyes, but he catches Crosshair’s mouth quirking into a small smile before he can stop himself.
“I’ll make them. If that’s what you want.”
“I didn’t get the feeling what I want matters.”
“That’s all that matters, Echo. You didn’t get asked last time. If you want something different it needs to be your decision.”
“I don’t need anything special. I know I might be broken right now, but things will go back to normal once we get the parts.”
“You aren’t broken.” Echo snorts and lets a smile play across his face.
“Look at me, Cross. I’m closer to a droid than a clone.”
“I am looking. Arm or no arm it doesn’t matter. You aren’t broken.”
“My body-”
“No one dies with the body they’re born with, Echo. We all change, but you’d never look at Wrecker’s face and say he’s broken.”
“That’s different. He still has-”
“He is still the same person. Our scars don’t define us.”
“It’s not just my body.” Echo leans in, trying to keep his voice low. “You should know that better than anyone.”
“Do you think I’m broken?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why do you think you are?”
“It’s different.” Echo murmurs.
Crosshair stares at him, brow furrowing as he tried to find the right words. He lets out a harsh breath and does another sweep of the room. “Who you are hasn’t changed. Maybe you feel different. I know, afterward… you see things different, but the core of who you are is still there. They can’t break that.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“It is.” Crosshair hisses back making the big man a few stools over glance at them before squinting at Crosshair with a frown. “Arm or no arm, you aren’t broken. Until you see that it doesn’t matter what we get, but can you honestly tell me you don’t want to have a hand again?”
Echo slouches against the bar. “If credits weren’t an issue…”
Crosshair waits expectantly, but Echo doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought.
A huge shape moves between them and the light over the bar. Echo looks up at the frowning face of the bartender.
“Didn’t someone tell you? We don’t serve your kind here. Droids wait outside.”
Echo trembles and pushes himself back to his feet, nearly knocking over his stool. “I am not a droid.”
“I don’t care. Either buy something or get out of my bar.”
“We’ll leave then.” Echo tugs on Crosshair’s arm. His view of the stairs leading back out is immediately blocked by the man from a few seats over. He stands almost as tall as Crosshair, but is three times as wide.
“You look like one of them clones.” Crosshair stands and finishes his drink in one go. The man sways a step closer and looks Crosshair up and down. Echo could almost smell the liquor on his breath. “What’s wrong with you? They take you out of the tube too early?”
He glances back at his friends, laughing at his own joke. He’s still laughing when he looks back at them in time for Echo to land a hook to his jaw, sending a few teeth flying. The other men’s faces slowly shift from amused to furious. Their reactions delayed due to the alcohol slowing their brains.
Crosshair groans when one of the man’s friends finally launches himself at them. Echo doesn’t have time to laugh before the room erupts into chaos.
Crosshair ducks and starts twisting and punching between three men, each having at least a fifty pound advantage. Crosshair was fast though. Echo watches him landing precise hits to vital areas, but he loses track of him when someones tries to smash a glass over his own head. He blocks a hit with his arm and jumps back in time to avoid a chair being flung from a nearby table where a Zabrak was busy locking horns with a massive Devaronian.
He manages to land a few hard kicks to the back of someone’s legs before they can advance on Crosshair. The first man he’d hit is groaning, blood dribbling down his chin from his missing teeth, while he watches the room spiraling further into anarchy.
“Come on, reg.” Crosshair grabs his arm and starts pulling him to the exit. Without Wrecker to clear a path they have to resort to quick maneuvers. Crosshair rolls across a table to avoid the Zabrak when he loses the strength contest with the Devaronian and is sent flying across the room knocking over several chairs and said table. Echo stays low, dodging under limbs, metal feet crunching over broken glass as he slips past the Rodians, who are still talking to each other like there wasn’t two dozen people brawling around them.
They stumble into the street, kicking up sand as they sprint into the night. Echo can hear a blaster shot go off in the bar behind them and the ensuing scramble of others following their quick exit. Crosshair snatches Echo’s arm and pulls him down an alley before anyone can see the direction they took. Neither of them stop running until the noise has completely faded behind them.
The shadows between buildings get darker the further they run. They finally stop in a narrow gap between a clothing store and an apothecary. It’s tight enough that they can’t walk side by side. Echo has enough space to lean back against the wall and let his feet press against the opposite side of the alley. Crosshair mimics him so they’re facing each other while they catch their breath.
Crosshair let’s his head rest against the cool stone, looking at Echo with narrowed eyes. “If you’re going to act like a child at least make sure Wrecker is with us.”
Echo laughs and removes his helmet, dropping it to the ground before reaching out for him, brushing his hand through silver hair, gritty with a dusting of red sand. “I didn’t like how he was talking to you.”
It’s too dark for Echo to pick out many details, but he knows Crosshair just rolled his eyes. Echo takes the small step forward and buries his face into his neck, letting his arm wrap around his narrow waist and finally relaxes. Crosshair pulls him even tighter to his chest, deft hands running up and down his spine, not complaining about the hard edges of the metal pack on his sternum where the two thick lines of cable connected. “Echo, I’ve spent my whole like being told I’m a genetic freak.”
“You aren’t a genetic freak.”
“I know. That’s what I’ve been trying to-” Crosshair sighs and lets his head fall back against the wall again.
Echo pulls back and trails his fingers along Crosshair’s cheek. His eyes that were trained on the night sky slide shut when Echo pulls him down into a kiss. Crosshair slowly relaxes in the familiar press of lips, chapped from the day’s heat, but no less sweet. When they do finally pull apart he knows Crosshair’s eyes are full of affection, even if his words come out firm.
“If I could erase what happened to you, I would. Even if that meant we would’ve never met.” Echo frowns at the idea of a galaxy where he’d never joined the Batch, never met Crosshair. “But there’s no going back. A new arm won’t erase what they did to you. I know that, but it doesn’t mean you have to lay down and accept what they left you with. This is still your body and you can make it whatever you want.”
Echo’s throat goes dry while his eyes blur with tears. He looks down at his black gloved fingers, opening and closing his fist while Crosshair gently wipes away each tear. He allows himself a moment to consider the limitations he’d forced himself to accept since being saved. The disgust he could never quite get rid of when he looked at the cold, inhuman arm that was a constant reminder of what the Techo Union had taken from him. Not being able to catch Omega when she dropped from high places. Struggling to keep up with Crosshair when he started scaling buildings for better vantage points. Years of hard won experience with a variety of weapons, only to be limited to a single pistol. Only having one hand to explore Crosshair in the rare moments they had complete privacy.
He lowers his eyes and whispers, “I want the better arm.”
“Okay, then we’ll wait for the others-”
“But,” Echo looks up at Crosshair and gives him a nervous smile. “If we do this, I’m not taking anymore from the rest of the squad and we aren’t going to sell your rifle.”
“How do you propose we do that?”
Echo grins and puts his helmet back in place. Then easily leads Crosshair toward the exit to the alley.
It takes the rest of the night, into the early morning before they leave the smoke filled Hutt bar. Cross had spent his time throwing daggers at a board trying to make it look like he wasn’t a master. Echo had told him to miss a few in the beginning to lure in bigger bets before taking the prize money. The sour look on his face at the thought of deliberately missing had put a smile on Echo’s face that didn’t fade until he had to do his part.
The sabaac tables had higher purses, but Echo couldn’t bring himself to risk everything on a deck of cards. The possibility of the game being rigged was too high, so he stuck to the dejark board. Putting their few credits on the table made his palms sweat and the blood leave his arms, flooding back to his hammering heart. He knew he was a good player. He wouldn’t have risked this if he didn’t like his chances. Only after winning two round in a row did he start to relax.
They shuffle out and drag themselves back to the ship to try to rest until shops start to reopen. Neither of them manage sleep. Crosshair cleans both of their weapons, wiping away dust until they’re gleaming. He makes a few comments about what he’ll do if he gets his rifle back and finds any evidence that Ryver had tampered with it. Echo compulsively counts and recounts their winnings until Crosshair takes them away and tries to distract both of them. All he manages to do is create several new bruises on his knees and the top of his head.
Eventually, they sleep, wrapped tightly around each other.
Ryver doesn’t hide his surprise when he unlocks his front door and sees them standing there. They have all the credits they need, but Crosshair ruthlessly negotiates until he takes off a few. The Weequay still doesn’t hand anything over until he’s inspected each one for counterfeits. Eventually they leave Ryver’s shop, each of them holding the end of a small crate, Crosshair’s rifle back in its rightful place. The Weequay had made a few offers to do the installation for an additional payment, but Crosshair had made it abundantly clear he wasn’t going to touch Echo.
Tech is only half a day from Tatooine, but Echo doesn’t want to wait.
He drags Crosshair into the shade near their ship with tools borrowed from the dockworker. Crosshair follows Echo’s instructions and after a few tries his arm starts to take shape. He doesn’t have Tech’s experience, but Crosshair’s hands are unnaturally steady and his eyes easily pick up on the smallest details. Echo squeezes his shoulder when he makes a few small welds between pieces. Tech will want to take a look at it later and likely make some adjustments, but Echo is glad Crosshair was the one to do this much.
Sharing this with him, having a chance to be alone when he cautiously curls and uncurls his fingers, is everything to him. The others would be thrilled to see this, but Crosshair, and now Hunter, know exactly what this means.
It’s right that the first thing he holds, the first thing he feels in years is Crosshair’s cheek as he pulls him into a kiss.