Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Omega was going to die.

She’d thought it would be okay--it always was. She thought that Hunter and the rest of the squad had the situation under control. And when Hunter told her to stay back, to let them handle it and wait for his signal so they could escape, Omega obeyed. There wasn’t much she could do, anyway. So it was okay.

And if things went awry--well. What was it Echo told her the first time she witnessed a failed mission?

Something always goes wrong.

The trick, she knew now, was to plan ahead. That way, you wouldn’t have to be surprised when the ship crashed or you were being chased by an armed bounty hunter. When you plan ahead for disaster, it’s all part of the plan.

Echo said it was something his generals during the Clone Wars used to say a lot. Omega liked to think about all the adventures he might’ve had on the battlefront while she was cooped up on Kamino, assisting with medical procedures behind closed doors in cold rooms.

She’d give just about anything to be back there right now.

Her bow had been knocked away, just out of her reach. And then, as if to taunt her, the trooper had kicked it further away, beneath a crate. Omega was cornered. They had blasters, she had nothing. If that wasn’t enough, the universe decided to torture her with irony. Because now it was raining. Just like back on Kamino.

Except for now, she wasn’t protected by the sterile rooms and bright lighting. She was soaked to the bone, squinting just to see five feet in front of her. She was surrounded by the sounds of a fight and cornered by warriors of the Empire.

A red beam of light flew past her shoulder and Omega flinched. Another one, on her right. She needed to think fast, she needed to get to the others so they could get out of here--

The platform they were on was slick with rain. Omega slipped.

Not like how she used to, when Nala Se led her out of the facilities, on those rare days when you could just barely see the sun. But Kamino was always wet, and the younger Omega had an even smaller grasp on her surroundings back then. So she would slip on the remaining rain from the torrents the day before, and Nala Se would regard her with blank eyes as she fell onto her behind and got that soaked, too.

This time, Omega did not feel her bottom hit the hard platform.

She slipped, and there was nothing beneath her.

It’s like a hundred feet in the air, she’d said, when they first got here in the Marauder.

Three hundred, Tech corrected, in that way he often did.

Echo had rolled his eyes. Yeah, well. Let’s try not to find out just how far it is by taking the trip ourselves.

Omega nodded along with Wrecker. She didn’t want to know what falling that far without something to cushion the fall would feel like. Without someone to catch her.

They were still shooting at her as she began to fall. Omega wanted to scream, but she couldn’t force the sound from her throat. Her stomach seemed to have left her on the platform as she fell without it. There was nothing for her to grab onto, nothing to slow her fall.

A quick terror gripped her heart and, for a moment, Omega couldn’t breathe.

Then the world stopped its torturous slow motion it had taken on when she’d tripped, and Omega screamed with everything she had the very first word that came to her lips, the person she’d give anything to hold onto forever right now.

“Hunter!”

She’d surprised herself, a little. Omega had yelled before--yelled for help, yelled to get someone’s attention. What did it matter what she yelled for? She did it a lot.

But never like this. Never like the very terror that had seized her heart had crawled up her throat and torn it raw before escaping. What would that be called? She’d heard one of the clones say it once, in the facilities when he was recounting a story for his brothers.

Bloody murder.

She hadn’t known what that meant at the time, but she knew now. It was coming from her own throat.

Omega was falling, falling, falling, and she was going to die.

“Omega!”

Hunter’s voice called back. It was panicked and hurried but it was always an anchor to ground her mind. I don’t want to lose you, it said. I’ll find you.

She was too far now. No amount of willpower could stretch her hand that far, to reach up to the voice. Omega was still falling, and all she could see was daggers of rain bearing down above and around her. She felt so small. Just a speck in the bigger universe who would soon be gone, and nothing would change.

I’m so scared.

“Omega!”

There it was again. His voice. She thought she might be crying, but it was hard to tell because she was falling and there was so much rain.

There were voices above, even as the sounds of fight faded. Echo, she thought, calling Hunter’s name out. Then Tech, almost right after.

And suddenly, he was falling, too.

“Hunter?” she muttered, pinching her face to try and make sense of the grey blur above her. And then, when he called for her again, his name left her lips louder. “Hunter!”

She didn’t know how he could possibly catch up with her. It had felt like falling for an eternity in those seconds, and yet he was only moments behind her. Omega reached out for him as he reached for her and suddenly he had her and she was there, in his arms.

Falling didn’t hurt like an injury or a burn, but it felt wrong. So, so wrong. Now they were falling together. Omega buried her face in his neck, squeezing her eyes shut as tight as she possibly could as Hunter twisted in air and did something because then, they weren’t falling anymore.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. And she heard it somehow, even though the rain was louder and she could barely feel anything but the harsh thump of her heart in her chest. “It’s alright, Omega, I’ve got you.”

She didn’t dare look or breathe until there was solid ground beneath them and they were no longer dangling in the air by a single cord. Hunter held her still and Omega clung to him as if they were still falling.

“It’s alright,” he repeated, soft despite him catching his own breath, and she began to cry. Or maybe she’d already been crying the whole time--but now she really cried.

He didn’t calm her with low hushes, a barely audible “shh” like he did when she woke from a nightmare some nights. He held her as tight and secure as she held him, as if she’d keep falling if he let go. Hunter held her head to him and wiped the hair from her drenched face and murmured small nothings that meant everything.

“I won’t let you fall,” he said, and Omega cried harder because she knew he wouldn’t, of course he wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop her from shaking. He was shaking, too, and whether that was from the harsh rain or the fall of an adrenaline rush, she didn’t know. All Omega could feel was the aftermath of pure terror, the likes of which she’d never felt before.

“I. . .I--”

She couldn’t say anything. The words wouldn’t form in her mouth and she couldn’t tell Hunter thank you or I’m sorry or--

“You’re okay,” Hunter said into her hair. The comm device on his wrist played static and then Tech’s voice, asking for a status update (his way of saying are you alive?) but Hunter ignored it and pulled Omega closer.

“Just calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

She cried until there was not enough strength in her to cry, and they stayed like that for a while. Until Omega could see something other than the endless rain around her in a freefall, could feel something other than death. She jolted with the reminder that they’d been in battle, that the others probably needed them right now, needed Hunter, and he was stuck down here with her.

“It’s fine,” Hunter said, like he could read her mind. Maybe she’d spoken those thoughts aloud. “I can hear above the rain. They’re fine. Or they’ve been captured. Either way, it’s over, and there’s nothing we can do from down here.”

“Captured. . .?”

Hunter stiffened. “They haven’t been captured. Probably. No. I mean,” he sighed, and the air left his lungs a little shakily, “they’re fine, Omega. They can take care of themselves. I’m going to stay with you until you’re ready to go.”

Omega was starting to lose feeling in her leg from the position they were in, but she couldn’t move.

She hadn’t fallen three hundred feet. He’d been there to catch her, like always.

“Okay,” she whispered, clinging to the only person who mattered for a little while. Just let it be us, for now.

“Uh. . .kid?” Wrecker’s voice pierced through the sounds of the storm from her wrist. “Are you guys alright?”

Omega tried to lift her wrist, she did. But her body felt heavy and she thought she might be sick if she moved even the slightest bit.

Hunter sighed and used his knee to activate his speaker. “We’re on ground level, beneath the bridge. Give us a few minutes.”

Silence, and then Tech’s voice again. “We’ll bring the ship to you then.”

“Copy that,” Hunter said, his voice quiet and controlled. His other hand still cradled her head against him.

“And Hunter?”

“What is it?”

There was a pause. Omega wished Tech wouldn’t stop talking because their voices in casual conversation had soothed her. The comm spoke out again, and this time Tech’s voice was the one controlled. “. . .Omega?”

Hunter glanced down at her and she drew in a deep breath to steady herself. She nodded as best she could, even though it was small and constricted by his armor.

“Yeah,” Hunter said after a moment. “I’ve got her.”

Chapter Text

It was when the world was at its quietest that Tech’s mind was its loudest.

When the rest of the batch had retreated to their bunks for what little time they had to sleep and he found himself alone, in the cockpit. Someone was always there to relieve him of duty eventually, but Tech found he liked sitting by himself, watching the stars streak past in blurs. Sometimes, he found he felt most at home in that seat--facing dozens of buttons and switches and blinking lights. It was all so technical, straight and simple, the way things should be.

That was, of course, the way his brain was wired to think. He was supposed to feel most at ease when things made technical sense, when he knew exactly where everything belonged and what everything did.

There was always something for him to fidget with--and without the constant distraction of others milling around him or even the heat of a battle, Tech’s focus was a force to be reckoned with. If only he’d had more nights alone like this, he might’ve been able to finish his chip device sooner. He’d be able to accomplish many things, he supposed, if only the world would slow to a standstill.

But that was not the way things worked.

So Tech found himself enjoying these small moments--and if not that, at least he was able to relax. Days, though always a set amount of standard hours, could move awfully fast. And he did love spending time with his brothers (and the newest addition to their squad, his sister), but there was only so much interest Hunter and Wrecker could show in the things Tech’s mind dwelled on. He’d rambled enough as a cadet that they had basic knowledge of really anything that could come in handy, and Echo was akin to a human computer most days. Crosshair, though not currently present, had been one of the many who had developed a habit over time of just telling his brother to keep it to himself. (Not that Tech particularly minded. It had given him many opportunities to ‘one-up’ his brother, as Wrecker used to say.)

Tech had grown used to being the only one with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge in their tight-knit family. Hunter was often glad to listen, as was Wrecker, and Echo often conducted entire debates with Tech. They enjoyed exchanging information and digging deeper, if there was ever time.

Which there rarely was. Tech remained unaffected by the fact. He was busy enough himself with the war. There was barely time to rest, much less sort out the intricacies of his mind and satisfy his desire for more.

That war, however--the war they’d been bred to fight in, the battle they knew nothing outside of--came to an abrupt end.

And Tech met another lifeform who seemed to have that same curiosity he’d always recognized in himself.

Omega.

Hunter had taken to the young clone rather quickly, and Tech would be lying if he and the others hadn’t as well. She was, as Wrecker insisted before they ran off for their Mantell Mix, irresistible. Tech thought she was simply a persistent, adventure-seeking child who had finally found where she belonged. Nothing more, because what more could she be?

Tech did enjoy being alone at the helm, watching the stars and piecing together the puzzles of his mind and whatever contraption lay in his hands, but he liked these nights most when he was joined by his younger sister.

Her feet didn’t reach the bottom of the chair, and he suspected they wouldn’t for a while. It didn’t matter as much when she drew her knees to her chest and watched the stars. Periodically, she’d glance away from the windows and watch Tech’s hand as they worked. She’d ask questions. It usually ended there.

Tonight Omega seemed especially interested in the compartment beneath the control panel. Tech had sensed something was off with the calibration of the lever, and though it wouldn’t affect the ship’s performance, he did like to work small things out like that.

He was aware, of course, that Hunter might be a little more strict with Omega at this time. If it were him in the cockpit when she slipped down her ladder and into the chair beside him, Hunter would start an easy conversation to relax her and then send her back to her room for sleep.

But Tech knew if Hunter was extremely concerned with it, he’d have done something about it. It wasn’t as if his brother didn’t know--he’d probably been able to sense Omega’s restlessness before she’d even drawn open her curtain just by the change in her breathing. Tech also understood the sentiment of not being able to remain asleep for so many hours straight, and since Omega didn’t have a shift herself, she couldn’t be expected to stay under for so long.

She was tired, however. It was obvious in the way her head rested at a funny angle against the back of her chair, how her grip on her knees was loose. The usual lifelike alertness in her eyes was dimmed. But her eyes did not close and she didn’t seem to lose interest in his task. It reminded Tech of himself; of many sleepless nights when rest was the furthest thing from his mind.

“The red with the blue,” Tech muttered quietly, knowing she was peering over at the wires pinched delicately between his fingers. “That is important.”

Omega hummed in understanding. Her small voice was closer now--Tech hadn’t even realized she’d moved from the chair to get a better look.

“Tech?” she said after a few moments of silence, when only Wrecker’s deep breathing could be heard across the ship. Her voice was lowered to just above a whisper. “Can I. . .can I do it?”

Tech paused, the sharp, fraying cords balancing easily in his hands. She could, of course. It was a simple job. He couldn’t remember a time when someone had asked something like this of him, though. After a short moment of hesitation, as Omega waited patiently, Tech leaned back so she could slip under his arms. Her hair now blocked his view but he felt her small, soft hands settle on top of his as she sought out a way to gently pluck the wires from his fingers.

“Like this?” she wondered. And Tech had no idea what she was referring to because he could not see but nothing was smoking or flashing so he nodded. And then he remembered she couldn’t see his head as hers was turned on him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Omega stepped back, seemingly proud of herself, and Tech was forced to lean back lest he desired a mouthful of her blonde hair.

“That was easy,” she decided, leaning against him.

Tech opted not to tell her that had been the case because she had completed the easy part. “I’ll finish up,” he said instead, trying his best to lean forward without disturbing her head, which she had rested against his chest. It was a failed attempt, and Omega removed herself from against him and instead turned around, contemplating a silent decision.

Tech watched silently, curiously, as she ducked out from beneath his arms to retrieve her blanket from the copilot’s seat. She scurried back to him and when he didn’t seem to catch on quick enough, she wiggled her way back into his embrace and settled herself on his lap.

He froze, only slightly unsure when she curled up against him and her head rested in the nook between his neck and shoulder, her hair tickling his chin. “Omega. . .”

She pulled her blanket tighter around her and closed her eyes. Tech would admit, she was practically weightless compared to some of the many things he’d held in his arms, but nothing he’d ever carried had brought such warmth as the one currently pressed up against his chest.

“You really should get to bed.” His voice was a whisper, and Tech decided after a few long moments that he’d been talking to the stars. Omega’s breathing had evened out and his had, too, right along with it. Tech retracted his previous conclusion--sitting alone in the cockpit with only the sky and his thoughts for company compared dully to this. To the absolute calm Omega rendered in him. She. . .soothed him. Only Hunter had ever been able to do that to such a degree.

He didn’t want to think about when Echo would come to relieve him of duty and this moment would be over. For once, his mind had settled to a rhythmic hum--a stark contrast to the screeching halt it often came to when it mattered most.

There was no doubt about it, Tech thought as the tension eased from his cramped muscles and Omega breathed steadily before him. She’d found where she belonged. All on her own.

Omega was a part of their family. And Tech would do anything to preserve moments like these.

Chapter Text

“Echo, what’s this?”

With a squint, the older clone scrutinized the chalky black rock settled in Omega’s palms.

“Charcoal, Omega.”

“Why’s it all the way out here?”

Echo glanced down at her. She was half his height, shivering with what was either excitement or a chill--probably both. She was a ball of energy, she had been ever since they’d landed on this cold, white planet to run some diagnostics on the ship. It hadn’t occurred to any of them when making the decision that Omega had never seen snow, let alone been able to explore an entire planet full of it.

They’d been taking turns watching her, and as Hunter was now scouting the premises for any signs of hostility (and supplies) and Wrecker was back with the ship, lifting the heaviest parts, the job fell to Echo.

“Because it’s cold, Omega, and some people have half a mind to find warmth in weather like this.”

She gave him that adorable look, where she quirked a brow and pursed her lips, and her entire head tilted in beration. Her way of saying, Oh come on, Echo.

He returned it with a half-hearted eye roll and turned back to their task. He had been with the ship, assisting Tech with the repairs. He’d liked it far better over there, where the engines of the Marauder still emanated heat and he kept himself busy. But it was his turn to watch the kid, and she wanted to explore. Tech had concocted some weak excuse of a job to keep the two of them occupied elsewhere, searching for an herb he wanted for the medkit.

Omega was practically dancing around him as he kneeled in front of a small shrub at the base of a sad-looking tree. She gathered a handful of the soft powder in her hands, then watched as it all melted slowly and she was left with muddy sludge. She should have gloves, Echo knew. Her fingers must be numb by now--not that she seemed to care. They’d done their best to wrap her in every piece of extra fabric that had been laying around, but it wasn’t much. Once everything had quieted down and there was a lull in the action, Echo had time to worry about the fact that she could be extremely prone to sickness. While he and the rest of the squad had been exposed to all different kinds of places and ailments, Omega had never once left the sterile rooms of Kamino’s facilities. He could only hope that the scientists there had prepared her system for every sort of virus that might get her sick out here.

“Careful,” he told her when she just barely caught herself after overlooking a stone hidden in the snow. Echo plucked the plant from the ground and shook his head. Sometimes, she seemed much too old for someone so young. And others, she was like this--blinded by her wonder at the world. It could be slightly dangerous, he supposed, but some unknown instinct inside him wanted to preserve that innocence. Maybe in another life, Omega would’ve been allowed to see the world through a childish haze--for what it wasn’t. She might have a room full of toys and she might never have to touch a weapon.

He watched her stand with her hands on her hips, surveying the snow-blanketed land beneath them from their vantage point on a hill. Echo couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was catching snowflakes on her tongue--a habit she’d picked up from Wrecker the first time they’d gotten some snowfall here.

She turned to look at him, and Echo felt something in his heart throb. Her smile was wide enough to light up an entire room. Her cheeks were dusted with crimson from the freezing bite of the wind, and her skin was a little too pale. The hair she’d had clipped back from her face had begun to fall. Echo had bought her those barrettes (a term only made known to him during one of the many random conversations held between Rex and Commander Tano during the war) at a market when they’d been on a more inhabitable planet. Her hair was growing at a crawling rate, but growing all the same. Echo eventually got sick of watching her brush it from her eyes when she pulled back to aim with her bow or when she bent to see something closer. Hunter had developed a habit of removing it from her face whenever she was close enough, and Echo decided it was just impractical.

The clips were colorful. Omega loved them the moment he handed them to her, and for the first few days, he had to help her put them in her hair. Now she did it herself every morning. Once, Hunter found a couple of them in his hair after falling asleep in dangerously close proximity to the female clone. Echo had joked that maybe he should forget the bandana since the pink and blue clips brought out his eyes.

“Echo, have you got that herb? I could use your assistance once more. Omega’s, as well. If she’d like.”

Omega lifted her arm to her face, grinning wide. “Copy that, Tech! We are on our way.”

Echo sighed as she grabbed his hand and began to tug him along behind her, descending the hill. He was much too fond of this kid. The only thing that eased that thought was the fact that he was far from the only one. He could see it in the way Tech glanced at her as they worked, guiding her hands. When Hunter held her--in times when she needed it and times she didn’t. Wrecker would drop anything to come to her aid, to make her smile.

There wasn’t much Echo wouldn’t do to save her from the terrors of reality. For now, he would do his best to guide her through them. 

Chapter Text

To Omega, friendship looked like Echo and Tech.

She knew it was an odd choice for something so important. And there was a lot more to see in the world, of course. But Omega herself had made her fair share of friends, and she’d only been away from Kamino and Nala Se for so long. She’d met the batch, of course, and then there was Hera, the determined pilot, Cid, a bossy and strange friend, Rex, Echo’s old captain, AZ, the droid—the list went on, and Omega was proud to have it.

But she hadn’t really known what friendship—a good one, a real one—could look like. 

Clone Force 99 had always been a tight-knit group. She knew this even before she joined them and flew on their ship and explored their belongings. Hunter was close with Crosshair, Tech with Wrecker, Crosshair with Tech, and so on. Each of them contrasted the other with stark differences, and they all worked. There was a bond woven between them made of strong, magnetic thread, tying them together into one whole; a family.

And then Echo came, and Omega thought he melded well. He was referred to as a “reg,” but he certainly didn’t look it, and Omega knew he didn’t feel it either. She was sure there had been some uncomfortable adjusting for all of them when he came along, but it was all for the best. Echo belonged with them just as much as the next Batcher, and he’d grown to become an essential part of the team.

She knew it wasn’t to be addressed, due to some unspoken rule of socialization, but Tech rather liked Echo. Perhaps even more than Hunter or Wrecker did. She didn’t always pick up on it, but eventually, she noticed that they volunteered to partner up when it was time to split or that they tended to sit next to each other, maybe even without realizing it. Tech sought out Echo to put his thoughts into words. Echo listened. And not just in passing, or because it was the right thing to do, but because he wanted to hear what Tech had to say.

He didn’t get frustrated when Tech interrupted him or talked for what seemed like hours, the way Crosshair might. He didn’t lose focus like Wrecker often did, and he didn’t get distracted in the way Hunter did, ever the multitasker. Echo just listened . And then he contributed. He began to hold up the right wrench even before Tech could ask and was always ready to match his banter. 

And Omega thought Echo might find some sort of comfort in Tech. 

There were nights when Echo was haunted by ghosts of his past. He didn’t seem to like to talk about what had come before the Bad Batch, what his life was like before he’d come home with the others and Omega watched him take everything in stride—even the stares and jokes and roughhousing. He’d become very good at deflecting when questions were asked, so Omega decided to stop asking and instead tried to fill the holes of his mystery losses however she could.

Some nights, Echo didn’t sleep. Some nights he didn’t even try. He’d tell Omega how important it was that she conserve her energy and shoo Hunter off to bed, and then he’d sip a cup of caf and busy himself with something on the Batch’s long list of to-dos. Or he’d sit and stare at nothing. In those moments, he looked paler, and rougher, and truly, truly haunted. 

She’d been sitting in the cockpit one night with Tech. Everyone else was supposed to be asleep. It was still early in the night but it had been a calm day, so Omega had enough energy to last her a few hours. She liked the hum of the ship and the sound of Tech’s hands as he tinkered. She liked that he didn’t insist she rest when she wasn’t going to listen anyway.

“Omega,” Tech said softly, prompting her to move so he could flip an unknown switch behind her. 

She patted Gonky and watched her brother tap away at his datapad. It went like that for many minutes, the pull of the stars lulling them into a familiar routine of closeness. Tech gestured for her to come over and hold something for him, and Omega obliged without question.

A shuffling at the doorway caused them both to look up. Echo stood behind them, his hand on the wall. He looked almost as startled as they did, but only for a moment. He blinked. Then swallowed. Then he straightened up again, squaring his shoulders. 

“Echo?” Omega wondered quietly. 

“Come sit,” Tech said, looking back to his work. 

Echo nodded, almost to himself, and trudged over to the seat Omega had been sitting in earlier. He lowered himself down and stared straight forward. He looked pale. Even more so than usual.

Omega looked from him to Tech. Something was wrong. They should do something, she thought. Hunter always comforted her when she was upset. Or Wrecker put her on his shoulders and declared her Queen of the Galaxies. Or something, anything so she wouldn’t have to be alone in her feelings.

But Tech continued tinkering, shifting to look at something on his datapad. He didn’t say a thing for a while—so maybe Omega shouldn’t, either—and the sounds of his work filled the cockpit. Omega pretended to be as busy as Tech was, almost afraid to move an inch, but she watched Echo out of the corner of her eye. 

Tense muscles began to unwind. His only hand was no longer clenched in a death grip in his lap. The intensity in his eyes dulled into something a lot more somber. It was like watching him uncoil in slow motion; bit by bit. He went from high-strung to just. . .tired.

Omega bit her tongue. She wanted to reach out and hug him. She wanted to ask him what was wrong the way he’d done for her so many times.

But then Tech began speaking. First it was just to himself, mumbles about things Omega couldn’t really understand. Then he prompted Echo for his opinion. When Echo glanced over at him with a barely perked brow, Tech simply prompted him again without even looking up.

Omega felt herself fade into the background, and she took a seat beside Gonky and listened. Tech kept the conversation steady until Echo was speaking at full volume and with as much effort as he’d put in on a good day. She watched, warmth swelling in her chest. 

Tech knew what he was doing. Maybe it was just his personality, but. . .he’d drawn Echo out from whatever dark place he’d gone to and given him companionship. It definitely wasn’t the first time. Tech might not be the best when it came to understanding others on a purely empathetic level—he preferred his statistics and logical conclusions and anything that could be calculated—but he still tried. He always tried when it came to his brothers.

And me , too , Omega added to herself, curling up against Gonky’s side. 

When she woke in the morning, Echo was hovering over her, urging her to eat breakfast, what little color he’d regained since his rescue returned to his face. 

She grinned up at him and obliged.

So, to Omega, friendship looked like the two of them. It was clear to her in the way they shared looks, finished one another's insults (when they weren't insulting one another), and exacted a plan with nothing but a nod in the other's direction.

She liked being able to call them her brothers. 

One day, Omega would have something like them.