Work Text:
Crosshair’s heart feels like it’s about to explode, and he’s pretty sure it shows on his face. Luckily there’s no one in the street to judge him, apart from a small group of teenagers with crazy makeup, dyed hair, and Halloween-like outfits. They throw him a quick glance but otherwise clearly do not give a shit about him. He can still feel Anakin’s lips like a phantom touch, an addicting sensation that sent shivers up and down his arms.
He can’t chase away the blue of Anakin’s eyes from his mind, the way his shirt hung low, but for now, he focuses on the road. Once he’s home, he throws his bag and keys on the counter. There’s some sort of artificial chatter in the background, some type of action movie. He peeks into the living room and guesses he missed movie night. Wrecker is eating popcorn, his second bowl, it seems from the empty one on the coffee table, while Omega is huddled on his side, knees pulled to her chin, enraptured by the movie. Hunter is sprawled, one arm on the back of the couch while his head is thrown back, asleep at an uncomfortable angle. It’s such a typical Hunter thing to do that it pulls a small grin out of Crosshair.
Omega notices him immediately, shushing him as to not wake Hunter up. She tries to motion him over, but he softly shakes his head. She looks disappointed, and Crosshair’s heart stings a bit. Next time, he promises to himself. Next time he’ll make it up to her.
He walks by the kitchen where Echo is doing the dishes, and joins him, wordlessly taking the sponge from his pale hand.
“Hello to you, too,” Echo dryly says, annoyed.
“You shouldn’t be doing dishes,” Crosshair chides, and Echo rolls his eyes.
“I’m not gonna break, you know.”
Crosshair knows, but he also knows recovery from cancer isn’t easy, and that the doctors said Echo should rest and give himself time to recover, which seems to be against his very being, even after an amputation. Crosshair also knows that Echo likes to busy himself, that doing little chores like that is the only way he can make himself useful. So he gives the sponge back and takes up drying the dishes. Echo gets back to work, and Crosshair avoids his eyes, focusing on scrubbing the plates. Crosshair can’t stop him, but he can definitely lend a hand. Literally.
“How was work?” Echo asks after a bit.
“Work was fine.”
It was more than fine, really, but he’s not going to say that.
“There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want,” Echo adds.
“Who cooked?”
“Tech.”
“No thanks”
When they’re done, he puts them away, and Echo goes into his room. Crosshair can hear the end credits of the movie and finds that both Wrecker and Hunter are asleep. Omega is gone, and he takes up the two empty popcorn bowls. Hunter wakes up with a small groan, nudging Wrecker’s leg with his foot to wake him up.
“Hey, Cross’,” Wrecker says, standing up to stretch his back. Crosshair nods to him. Wrecker takes the bowls from his hands and Crosshair finds himself alone with Hunter. He wants to run away, wants to melt into the walls, but Hunter faintly smiles at him. He pats his shoulder and leans closer.
“You missed movie night again, Crosshair. Dr. Shaak-Ti said-” Hunter scolds, but Crosshair doesn’t feel like being reprimanded like a little boy, so he shrugs off Hunter’s hand.
“I know what the therapist said, Hunter. I got caught up at the warehouse,” he sneers, and Hunter straightens himself, eyes cold and hard. He walks past Crosshair without another word, and Crosshair’s breath stutters a little bit. He waits until he can hear the door of Hunter’s room close before moving from the living room.
--
The next day, Crosshair comes into the warehouse around five, and the day is slow. He’s packing some orders and stacking them in a back room when someone walks in to drop some boxes off, overly careful by the sound of it. Crosshair doesn’t bother turning back around until they clear their throat to get his attention.
He turns around and freezes, but Anakin smiles at him and he relaxes a little bit. The other man stands in the middle of the room like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Crosshair isn’t sure what to say, doesn’t even know if he should say anything.
But Anakin beats him to it
“Sorry we were interrupted yesterday,” Anakin starts, and alright, right into it then.
“It’s fine… I don’t think we were going to stop anytime soon, anyway,” he quips and watches Anakin grins, letting out an amused huff.
“Well, it was fun,” Anakin adds, and Crosshair nods in agreement, watching as he comes to lean on the counter next to him.
“I’d be down to do it again,” Anakin hums, head bowed, and Crosshair hums in agreement, heat coiling in his stomach at the thought. “Well, not here,” he rationalizes.
“Not here,” Crosshair repeats as their eyes fall on each other, blinking once. Twice.
Next thing he knows the edge of the counter digs in his lower back and Anakin’s lips are on his.
The man’s arms frame him, braced on the counter, and Crosshair grabs the base of Anakin’s neck with one hand, keeping him there. The angle is better than the first time, and it doesn’t taste like tar and smoke. But it’s just as thrilling, and Crosshair’s heart picks up with the rhythm of their lips. It’s like last time, one single point of contact with a few possessive grasps.
They pull back, a bit breathless, but Anakin stays close. He looks the brunette up and down appreciatingly, the way his hair frames his face, the scar across his bright blue eye, his kissed-red lips. Faintly, he hears a machine beep.
“Not here,” he says, and Anakin nods. He pulls out his phone and promptly ignores a text from Hunter, handing it to Anakin. He types his number in, and Crosshair expected him to name his contact something silly, like Annie, or a clever pun Crosshair doesn’t care to come up with, but no. Just Anakin Skywalker.
Anakin hands him his phone, the screen is cracked all over. Crosshair puts his number in and notices Anakin has a lot of those in his phone.
Then Anakin leans in, a bit too close, and suddenly Crosshair feels trapped. He gently pushes Anakin away, steps toward the exit. “I gotta go,” he says, and Anakin shrugs. His shift is over, anyway. The air is getting colder, and Crosshair knows Winter’s coming. He checks his phone before jumping on his bike. They’re invited to Waxer and Boil’s birthday party next week. They’re distant cousins, that managed to be born the same day, two years apart. He doesn’t answer, and the house is mainly empty when he gets home.
Omega isn’t back from school yet. Echo probably went grocery shopping, and all the others are still working. Except, he notes; Tech. His door is half-open, and he’s hunched over his desk, tracing some lines Crosshair guesses are very important, but could not understand to save his life. Marauder is sitting on his bed, and he guesses she likes it there because it’s quieter and cleaner than any of their rooms. Echo’s probably smells like cleaning products and disinfectants. The cat lifts her head, and mrrups, or whatever cats do. That alerts Tech, who turns around in his chair.
“You owe me a paint job,” Crosshair starts, and Tech tilts his head in agreement.
“Fair enough. I do apologize for your bike. Again,” he says, and Crosshair squints, not entirely convinced. For all his big brain and composed energy, Tech is the most reckless driver of them all. At the same moment, his phone buzzes, and Crosshair leaves his brother alone, because he needs a private moment to himself.
It’s Anakin, asking him if he’s free tonight.
Yeah, he is. Anakin answers with a time and location and adds a thumbs-up. Crosshair scoffs and hears the door open.
The light tip-tap of shoes on the ground is familiar to him, and he turns to smile at Omega. She’s wearing a backpack twice her size, and Crosshair notices a scratch on her knee.
“Hello, Crosshair!” She says, a bright smile on her face, and he finds himself smiling back.
He points the scratch with his chin. “How did you get that?”
“Fell in the street,” she shrugs.
“Do you want a Band-aid?” Crosshair asks, dropping his phone on the table. He faintly remembers that people feel better with them, even if a wound isn't bleeding. Omega nods, and so he goes to get one in the bathroom. Hunter would be pleased, he thinks, picking one with some popular superhero on it.
When he comes back, Omega is looking at his lighted-up phone, and Crosshair panics a little because maybe Anakin sent him something inappropriate that he definitely doesn’t want Omega to see.
“Who’s Anakin?” She asks, dropping her bag on a chair and pulling out a couple of papers. Crosshair snatches his phone and manages not to sigh in relief. It’s just a picture of Anakin that he can’t quite see.
“A coworker,” he answers because it’s way less suspicious than saying “no one”. Omega shrugs, but he doesn’t miss the slight squint she gives him. Then she goes into Tech’s room.
Crosshair opens the picture, and sees a grey and white cat with clear blue eyes, taking up half the screen and covering most of Anakin’s face.
Anakin added that he wanted to give Crosshair a picture for his contact, but that his kitten Artoo got in the way. The corners of Crosshair’s mouth curl in what he doesn’t quite want to call a smile.
“My teacher said we had to use a calculator,” Omega says from afar.
“Oh. I don’t need those.” Tech answers, very matter-of-factly.
--
“So what are you studying for?” Crosshair asks, and Anakin blankly stares at him for a few seconds, brows furrowed.
“What are you studying for?” He repeats, louder this time. This bar is overcrowded, too hot and it smells like sweat and tobacco. There’s a pool table somewhere and every time the cue ball hits another, it drives him crazy.
“Oh. I want to work with cars,” Anakin answers, leaning over his glass. They’re huddled together from thigh to shoulder. Crosshair would be lying if he said the way Anakin’s thigh pressed on his wasn’t terribly distracting.
“Like a mechanic?”
“Pretty much,” the man says, and then a girl screams in the background. Crosshair tenses before he realizes it’s a whoop of joy, hand tight around his glass. The ice has melted a long time ago, leaving a thin layer of water on his fingers when he lets it go. He wipes it off on his sleeve and can feel Anakin’s heavy gaze on him. Crosshair isn’t the type to get self-conscious, but he doesn’t like being observed that way. So he stares back and watches as Anakin’s eyes turn half-lidded. The other man isn’t impressed, holds Crosshair’s gaze as if there aren’t a thousand distractions around them. Crosshair needs to correct himself; he doesn’t feel observed, he feels seen. And he doesn’t like it, looking back down in his drink.
“I wanted to be a pilot. One of those fast, loud jets, you know” Anakin adds, then sighs, leaning back on his chair. “But I’ve always been good at fixing things.”
Crosshair can imagine Anakin, high in the sky, laughing as he flies. But he can also see him sliding under a car, oil, and dirt smeared on coveralls, wiping his hands off. He would be good both as a carefree pilot and a good-humored mechanic.
“You said you were in the army,” Anakin says, and Crosshair loses his train of thought.
“What did you want to do before?”
Crosshair shifts, balancing his empty glass on one corner, making it spin between his hands. When he was still in the program, there was always this uncertainty. This threat of it all going tits up. And it did. He’s thought about that many times, and about what he wants to do now that he’s left that life behind. And each time it’s the same thing.
“I don’t know. Nothing.”
He’d been young when first approached by a man who said he knew his dad. That they were old friends. It was good at first, he made a good team with his brothers.
“Nothing?” Anakin repeats.
“Nothing.”
“My brother’s a teacher. You could be one.”
Crosshair scoffs and shoots a look at his companion. He’s not sure what they are, really. Not friends. But then again he’s never been one for labels, and he won’t start today.
“I’m not good with kids.”
He thinks of Omega, of how little he actually knows her. Hunter would be better suited for a teacher, but he’s already busy as a nurse and taking care of Echo before they send him back to his twin. But just what Hunter does, he helps people.
He turns to Anakin, whose attention has gone elsewhere.
“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, watching as Anakin recenters on him, eyes half-lidded.
“Yeah,” he breathes and stands from his seat, Crosshair on his heels. They pay and finally get out of this fucking bar, and the snap of the cold air on his face feels like a blessing. It’s cold enough that they can see their breath. They stop in front of the bar, not sure what to do. Crosshair shoves his hands in his pockets, looking at the empty park on the other side of the street.
“We can go there,” he says because he feels stupid just standing there, but he’s not ready for this evening to end. He doesn’t think it’s a date. Anakin didn’t say it was one, so he won’t either.
“It’s creepy,” Anakin hums, and Crosshair gives it to him. The way the lamp posts cast the shadow of the trees on the playground reminds him of a horror movie set. He feels as if the ghost of a murdered child will come running out of darkness.
“Scared of the dark?” Anakin teases, and Crosshair scoffs. He’s only scared of the dreams that come with it, the
He crosses the street, and Crosshair follows behind. Anakin heads for the swings, instead of the nearby benches, and sits on one. Crosshair stands by, watching him softly rock back and forth. It’s too low for him, knees comically jerked up, and Crosshair grins when Anakin grabs his sleeve and drags him closer. He complies, and although he’s shorter than Anakin, it’s still too small for him, and the chains creak in a threatening manner.
“Aren’t we a little bit old for this?”
“So?” Anakin shrugs, swinging a little bit. Crosshair shakes his head, and stretches his legs out, shifting his weight to move the swing. “When I was younger, my step-dad used to tell me those were for girls.”
“The swings?” Crosshair says, a bit bewildered.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I know. I didn’t like him,” Anakin chuckles a bit, and Crosshair isn’t sober enough to stop himself from joining. He hears a car honk a few streets from here, and suddenly it’s silent. He turns to Anakin and finds him with a smile on his lips. Crosshair is itching by how much he wants to reach out and do something. Anything.
But then he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and he knows time’s up. He rises from the swing, takes his phone out, and reads Hunter’s message. Something cold runs up his spine when he learns Echo had to go to the hospital. Hunter assures that he’s okay now, but that he’d overworked himself too much.
He swallows and looks back up to Anakin, who’s still on the swing.
“I’ve got to go.”
Anakin nods briefly smiles and Crosshair wonders if he thinks he’s bailing or something.
“It’s my brother. He went to the hospital, he’s sick.”
“It’s alright. I get it,” Anakin says, and his expression turns somber. Crosshair wonders if he looks too worried, for Anakin to guess Echo doesn't just have a very bad cold.
“My mom got sick when I was younger.” From his tone, she didn’t make it. Anakin doesn’t say it, but Crosshair hears it anyway.
Crosshair swallows, tries to bury the feelings surging under something tight in his chest. It feels too personal to know, too much for what Anakin is to him, but for once it feels like someone understands.
“He’s recovering, but it’s hard.”
“I hope your brother’s alright,” Anakin smiles.
“Yeah, he’ll be okay. The treatment took out a lot from him, and he’s working too much.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying all those things, but it feels good, even if he feels like he’s repeating himself.
Anakin hums, takes a deep breath. It looks difficult for him to talk about it, too.
“My mom could barely stand, in the last few weeks. She felt useless, I think. She missed her old life.”
Crosshair doesn’t know what to say, and he’s beginning to think it’s a thing that’s bound to happen around Anakin. Well, he’s never been very good at talking.
Anakin shrugs, and Crosshair wonders if he’s cold, with just a shirt on.
But the man is reaching for him, pulling him closer and Crosshair closes his eyes for a short but strong kiss. Anakin squeezes his bicep a little, then lets him go.
--
When he comes home, he finds an exhausted Hunter putting away the dishes, while Omega washes them, using a stepladder to reach the sink. It’s endearing, he has to admit.
“Good to see you,” Hunter says, and it feels like he means it. “Where’d you go?”
“Went out with a friend,” Crosshair answers, leaning on the doorframe.
“I didn’t know you had friends,” Omega snickers, while he rolls his eyes.
“I’ll leave you to it, I need to check on Echo,” Hunter says, bending down to press a quick kiss on top of Omega’s head before leaving the kitchen. Crosshair is still amazed, at how easily they show affection. How Tech lets her take his glasses right off of his face, when he used to not even allow anyone in his room three years ago. How Hunter went from awkward-and-unsure-reluctant-guardian to knowing how exactly Omega likes her plushies arranged. How gentle and careful Wrecker became around her, and now he teaches her how to defend herself.
She bows her head, buries her arms into the swamp of bubbles and dirty water. Crosshair walks over to her and notices the brashness of her movements, the way her jaw is clenched. She looks like she’s about to explode.
Crosshair is scared of reaching out to Omega when he’s had a few drinks, scared he might say something that will shatter the already very shaky bond he’s got with his little sister, but he goes for it anyway, because it feels like something Anakin would’ve done.
“Everything alright, kid?” He asks, and she nods a little, not meeting his eyes. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” she says, voice breaking a little bit. Then she stops moving and gets down from the stepladder.
He’s seen Hunter and Wrecker do it before, so he drops down to her level. He looks at her, tilts his head and she takes in a sharp breath.
“It’s just- Echo. I’m scared,” she lets out, and Crosshair feels something break in his chest.
“Me too,” he says and catches Omega’s hands when she reaches out.
He squeezes her hands, so small in his. He doesn’t remember the last time he said he was scared. Out loud, at least. He wants to comfort her because Echo will be fine. The worst is behind them, they don’t need to worry so much.
“He’ll be okay.”
Maybe he’s sugarcoating. Is that good for children? He’ll ask Dr. Shaak-Ti next week, she probably knows.